Moon Shadows (21 page)

Then Gwynna felt a surge of energy through her. Her fingertips and toes tingled.

Power. Magic.

It was all coming back.

Stars glittered like enormous jewels, spangling the velvet blackness, winking at the moon.

A shriek of tortured fury poured from Ondrea's throat behind her and she whirled to face the sorceress.

“You've ruined everything, Moon Witch!'

As Ondrea charged toward her, Gwynna held up a hand, and this time, the sorceress was stopped dead in her tracks.

“
Yoportmante
,” Gwynna said coldly.

Ondrea flew backwards into the chamber, landing with a thump against the wall, then sinking to the floor, a dazed expression on her face. But Gwynna was no longer heeding her. She rushed to Keir, lying still as a stone now upon the floor.

For one heart-shattering moment she thought he was dead, but then she saw his chest rise ever so slightly and fall, and she knelt beside him.

Placing one of her hands upon his cheek, and the other upon his heart, she spoke the reversal spell Antwa had taught her.

Nothing happened and tears scalded her eyes. She repeated the spell, more urgently and commandingly, and as she finished, one tear slipped down her cheek.

It dropped upon Keir's lips.

“Oh, my darling.” Her broken whisper shook with love. She touched her finger to the tear, pressed it against his lips. “Feel my grief. Feel my love. Do not leave me.”

As she whispered the words, Keir stirred. His eyes opened and he gazed up at her. A weak smile curved his lips.

“Gwynna. I won't ever leave . . . you,” he croaked.

In that instant, she forgot everything else but that her love was alive. She bent and touched her lips to his, felt their warmth, and in them sensed the beating of his heart.

But suddenly, the cauldron Leopold had first summoned careened toward them.

Ondrea's words rolled through her head.
Nothing made by those dedicated to good can destroy me.

But something evil might
, Gwynna thought. She snapped out a freezing spell and the cauldron stopped, hovering above the carpet. Gwynna sprang to her feet, concentrating fiercely on the cauldron as Ondrea faced her from across the chamber.

Slowly, Keir managed to raise himself to a sitting position. Ignoring the lingering pain from Ondrea's spell, Keir watched a great battle begin.

Gwynna, her dark hair gleaming in the moonlight that flowed from the balcony, was silently directing the cauldron toward Ondrea. But every time it advanced, Ondrea lifted her hand, made a swift twisting pattern in the air and the cauldron halted—then began to glide slowly toward Gwynna once again.

Back and forth they went. Again . . . and again.

Keir could see the concentration pursing Gwynna's lips, the whiteness of her cheeks as she willed the cauldron to obey with all the skill and power she possessed.

And suddenly, the cauldron swung toward Ondrea and this time it did not slow, did not shift direction.

Sweat glistened upon the sorceress's perfect face. Her eyes bulged with concentration. And yet the cauldron sailed near . . . nearer . . .

Fear glazed Ondrea's eyes, and they turned a dark frenzied shade of orange as she wove her hand frantically through the air.

As he looked toward Gwynna, Keir saw the opposite. Her face was calm, intense, but it shone with hope, and her eyes were bright and fixed upon her goal. Now it was Gwynna who looked as powerful and unstoppable as time and death and heaven.

The cauldron drifted steadily toward Ondrea, halting before her, hovering just out of her reach, teetering back and forth.

Back . . . and forth . . .

Suddenly Gwynna darted forward. With a cry, she seized the cauldron, snatching it from the realm of spells. Then she swung it up and tilted it, pouring the sticky boiled brew over Ondrea.

“Good cannot kill you, but evil will,” she cried as the foul red liquid streamed over the sorceress's hair and garments and ran in rivulets down her face.

Ondrea shuddered violently, but couldn't seem to move her arms or legs. Her mouth opened, closed, opened again and a silent scream exploded from her lips, which seemed to drip blood. The scream could not be heard, but it was felt by Gwynna and Keir—it rang through them, empty and hollow and cold as Ondrea's heart.

Again and again she screamed, but no sound filled the chamber, and then, suddenly, black smoke burst from her mouth and eyes and enveloped her. The clouds of smoke were thicker than night and when they vanished an instant later, Ondrea, too, was gone.

All that remained was a small charred pile on the floor where she'd stood. A pile of gray ash.

“Lise. Come back . . . come back to us,” Gwynna muttered, half in hope, half in prayer as she swayed on her feet, struggling to stay upright. The contest with Ondrea had drained her far more than any of her visions ever had. She felt as though her blood had turned to water.

But even as she tried to turn toward Keir, to help him, he was already at her side, his arms sliding around her, holding her up.

“You did it, Gwynna. You destroyed Ondrea.”

“It almost cost me . . . you. Oh, Keir,” she gasped. “Her spell . . . nearly killed you. Are you all right?”

Keir wrapped his arms more tightly around her and drew her close. “I've never felt as all right as I do now.”

He scooped her up into his arms as her knees buckled and cradled her close.

“Do you know what you've done? You've freed the moon, the stars, the sun. The dark creatures that hid here under the protection of Ondrea's evil spell will now be exposed to light,
and they will hide and flee. The Valley of Org is no more as it was.”

“But her Black Knights. The vampires. The demons . . .”

“With any luck, they'll lose their courage now that their protectress is gone—defeated by a moon witch of Callemore.”

“We must find a way out of here, out of Org. I have no strength now for a vision, but I must know about Lise—”

“You'll know, Gwynna. We'll make our way to Callemore and find your sister. And she'll be well and strong and beautiful. Though not as beautiful as you are.”

But Gwynna didn't hear these last words. She had already slipped into a swoon, filled with dreams of gnomes and rats and cauldrons—and of a great half-moon sailing through the sky, frosting the silver night with moonbeams and shadows.

S
UNIGHT
filled the garden at Callemore Castle the morning after the wedding.

Queen Lise strolled arm in arm with her husband among the sweet-smelling rose bushes and apricot trees, laughing and reminiscing in delight about the celebration.

“Did you not think Gwynna's gown lovely, William? Such a pale elegant gold, soft as a cloud. Did you see how it shimmered in the torchlight? And the jewelled collar—Antwa fashioned it herself, you know, from diamonds and moonstones, rubies and faeries' gold.”

“I didn't know. But Gwynna always looks charming. She is nearly, very nearly, as lovely as her sister,” William said, his eyes twinkling as Lise shot him a laughing look.

“You are so politic, my lord,” she praised him.

“I am so married, my queen,” he replied, and pulled her into his arms amidst the flower beds and unicorn statuary.

“After what Gwynna did for you—for
us
,” William continued in a more sober tone, “I wish her every happiness—forever. And I'll do anything in my power to assure that she
knows only happiness,” he went on quietly, tenderly stroking his wife's face.

“Then perhaps you should be guarding the bridal door,” Lise suggested, her mouth quivering with laughter. “From the way Gwynna and Keir were gazing at each other last night, I am quite certain they'd be extremely happy if no one disturbed them in their chamber for a fortnight. But I'm certain the servants will insist on bringing at least a tray of food before the sun goes down today.”

William chuckled. “I remember our wedding night,” he said softly, nibbling her ear, and Lise grinned as she pulled him down on a bench beside her.

“I only hope Gwynna, who risked so much, fought so hard and saved us both, will be half as happy as you and I.”

William kissed her on the mouth, a loving, lingering kiss that made Lise's heart swell with the joy of being alive.

“Based on what I've seen and heard between Gwynna and her Duke of Blackthorne, I don't think you need worry about your sister ever again,” he murmured. “Keir adores her. Almost as much, my darling, beautiful Lise, as I adore you.”

 

I
N
a separate part of the garden, Antwa leaned against an apple tree, listening to the song of birds in the branches and remembering how Gwynna had sung in her chamber as she prepared to don her bridal gown. She smiled to herself, pleasure filling her heart.

The premonition I felt the day Gwynna left for Org has indeed come true
, she reflected with satisfaction.
But it has not proved dire—it has proved instead a blessing
.

For the Gwynna who had returned was
not
the same, but the changes that had come hadn't been for the worse, they'd been for the better. Callemore's princess hadn't lost anything of her goodness or spirit or will; she had simply become
more.
More wise, more powerful, more good. More of a woman and more of a witch.

Antwa glanced toward the castle, where the girl she'd taught since childhood was now a woman in her husband's arms.

“And so it shall be,” she murmured aloud, remembering the vision she'd had after the ceremony—of children and laughter and peace.

“The fruits of hope,” Antwa told the bird that perched on her shoulder, its feathers ruffling her ear. “Now she'll reap only happiness. For all of her days.”

 

H
IGH
above the garden, in a wide, high-ceilinged chamber, the bride and bridegroom awoke in each other's arms.

Gwynna was the first to awaken and to find herself curled naked beside Keir's long, hard-muscled form. She smiled, stretched like a cat and cuddled against him again, recalling the wedding, and the wedding night and everything they had done and said to each other when they were alone at last by the light of the fire.

She pushed herself up on one elbow and studied his face, that hard-planed, devastatingly handsome face she had first thought so devoid of emotion.

This morning, he was handsomer than ever, but no more did he look formidable—not to her. In fact, he looked almost boyish, and so much younger, his dark hair falling over his brow, his eyelashes resting against his lean, tanned cheeks.

Love filled her, spilled from her. All for this man who had stayed by her side through unimaginable danger and brought her safely home.

Not only her, but the horses they'd rescued in Org, and the rat and his family who'd all sought refuge under her protection and who were now ensconced in a comfortable dirt hole within the bailey.

The entire group of them had raced straight back to Callemore, stopping only briefly at Blackthorne so that Gwynna and Keir could gather food, clothing and supplies. And when she'd finally galloped on the dun horse over the drawbridge of her own home and bolted up the stairs to Lise's quarters to find her sister alive and perfectly restored after her ordeal, she'd nearly burst with joy.

But that joy was now matched once again—equal in
every way—by the joy she felt here in this marriage bed with Keir, within the dark blue silk bed curtains, and beneath the rich gold coverlet and furs drawn across their waists.

She wriggled closer to brush her lips across Keir's chest and traced a finger down the bulging muscles of his arm. And he opened his eyes.

“Good morning, my wife.”

“Good morning, my husband.”

They grinned at each other, and Keir reached for her, for this moon witch with her midnight hair and creamy skin, with breasts so beautiful he could have kissed them all night long, with eyes that burned sweet fire into his soul.

His mouth found hers, tasted, teased. One kiss led to another, and one touch to a thousand touches. Her hair fanned across the pillow like black lace as he leaned over her, kissed her.

And the lovemaking they shared this morning was as deep as the Wild Sea and as hot as summer's sun.

And as they touched each other and told each other of all they felt in their hearts, as their bodied twined and their love soared and their souls shuddered to their very cores, all the emptiness and loneliness of a man who'd lost everything was forever erased by the love of a woman who gave everything and held nothing back.

In the days that followed Gwynna traveled with her husband to her new home at Blackthorne Keep. There she worked a different kind of magic—she transformed a bleak, drafty, joyless keep into a home of warmth, light and beauty. A place where first her son and then her daughter were born—into a world where sunlight gilded summer gardens and moonlight glimmered over winter snow. A world where goodness prospered, and old evils faded like mist.

Even in the once invincible Valley of Org the darkness dissipated and goodness seeped in, bringing with it people to populate the barren land, and grass and flowers to spring up where once there had been only dead trees and dust.

All of the dread creatures scattered and skulked to distant lands, and peace settled over the countryside.

And Gwynna and Keir loved each other all of their days—and all of their nights.

Their passion never faded, and neither did their love. It held through all their years together, bright and strong and brilliant as the sun, as magical and enduring as the glow of the moon.