A Witch's Tale (10 page)

His head lowered with agonizing slowness, his
lips meeting hers at last. The touch of his firm lips on hers was a jolt to her
senses. Her lips trembled and parted under his. He snatched her to his chest
with a sudden groan, his strong arms imprisoning her as his mouth explored hers
with infinite slowness.

Madeline hung weakly in his arms as his
tongue stroked inside her mouth, waves of sensation clamoring within her. A
weightless feeling entered her limbs, her blood turning molten as it burned
through her veins. The desire to be closer to him made her press herself to
him, her arms sliding up around his neck, drawing him nearer. The incredible
sensation of his kiss was abruptly ended as Gavin tore his mouth free and
backed away from her, obviously as shaken as her. He left the tent in haste,
making her touch her tingling lips in wonder, eyes wide with tumultuous desire.

Madeline forced the memory of the kiss aside.
She had plenty to attend to in their absence as she set about altering Lord
Lyon’s lavish lady’s apparel. By day’s end, she successfully altered three of
the gowns to fit her and changed them in a way to not draw the man’s notice,
removing gauze, ribbon and lace for a simpler enhancement. She sighed with such
contentment, she questioned her feelings.

What started out as some dreaded chore to
meet Gavin’s reward had become far more in a day and a half in his company. She
was wistful at the inevitable parting of their ways. Her blue eyes narrowed
slightly. She was not gone yet. She had eleven days to make sure Sir Gavin
thought twice before sending her on her way.

A feeling of unease reminded her of Minerva’s
stern lectures about men, forgotten at the remembrance of his stirring kiss.
No, she would give Sir Gavin his ardent reward and make him unable to leave
her, enslave him as any sorceress might. He thought her magic a great joke. He
would soon learn she had spells to see to her own ends.

She frowned then, unwilling to employ such
trickery to win the man. Her love spells weren’t often binding enough, seen
enough in her efforts within the village. Those who sought her help to ensnare
the object of their desire often discovered the passion soon waned for the
other.

It depressed her to know some truths existed
beyond her magic. You couldn’t keep one who didn’t wish to be kept. She warned
them all and now listened to her own advice. While Gavin might desire her, he
hardly gave her his heart. Much like his stolen birthright, that had yet to be
won.

That brought her to another matter. Sir Gavin
didn’t believe in magic or what it could do for him. She wished to see him win
back all that was stolen from him, touched by Sir Gaston’s stories. She had the
means to help him now, even as skilled as he was at jousting.

He couldn’t chance losing; that much was made
clear to her. His situation was most dire should he lose the day. As proud as
he was; he would refuse her offer to help him along, seeing it as cheating.

Madeline smiled cunningly as she set up her
work table on top of a nearby crate. She might bungle some spells, but she
mastered the spell for luck. With a little of it, Gavin would succeed in his
quest to reclaim his father’s honor.

She hummed as she worked, recalling Minerva’s
advice in setting a spell for luck. She found strands of his hair in her comb
and whispered the words to bind the spell, smiling in satisfaction.
Hold thy
man, stay his course; keep him true, upon his horse,
she thought with delight
and blew across the burning mixture, sending furls of smoke billowing into the
air. She cleaned up the makings of her spell. None would unseat Gavin this day
with her help. She chuckled as she returned to her sewing.

****

Gavin frowned when he went to lift each of
his legs out of the saddle. They wouldn’t move. His eyes widened in alarm.
Alastair looked up at him and frowned in concern.

“What is it, my lord?”

“I cannot move my legs,” Gavin replied in
wonder and shifted in the saddle, growing obviously alarmed as he struggled to
get off his horse.

Alastair went to lift one and shook his head
as it wouldn’t budge. “Mayhap you have a cramp, my lord? After a day like this,
it is no wonder. You sent every man flying upon their backsides this day. How
you remained seated when Sir Rohan’s lance struck you is amazing.”

Gavin lifted his visor and shook his head in
disgust, unable to lift his legs. It was as though some unseen force held them
there, forcing him to remain in the saddle. He was becoming increasingly
concerned as Alastair tried prying them away from the horse’s sides. He soon
tired in his efforts and shook his head, grabbing his reins.

“I will walk you back to our camp. Perhaps
Madeline has something to help with your cramps.”

“It isn’t bloody cramps, Alastair!” Gavin
exploded and his eyes darkened in outrage. “I cannot move my damned legs!”

“Do not panic, my lord,” he assured him. “We
will have you off Cyrian here in no time at all.”

Gavin was grim as Alastair led his horse back
to their camp and into the tented enclosure, away from prying eyes. After
several tries, Alastair shook his head and went to find Madeline, leaving Gavin
to sit atop his horse in frustrated anger.

****

Madeline accompanied Alastair within the tent
and her eyes widened to see Gavin in full armor, fuming atop of his horse. She
cringed to know her spell kept him there. She berated her wording of the spell
as she took in his inability to get off the horse.

She brightened at a possible solution. “Can
you undo the saddle straps, Alastair?”

She gasped when he undid the straps. His lord
slid sideways as the saddle was freed; then slid under the animal. He now hung
suspended underneath the animal’s undercarriage, still stuck to the animal’s
body. Cyrian pawed the ground, looking back at his master in outrage. Gavin was
cursing loudly. Alastair stared in fascination to see him hanging upside down
beneath his mount, his knees and thighs hugging the horse.

“Can you not let go of the animal, Gavin?” his
friend asked in obvious dismay. “It looks bloody strange, my lord.”

“Don’t you think I would if I could?” he
nearly shouted; bringing the other men running.

They all stared at the sight in wonder,
scratching their chins. Soon every one of them had some idea how to free their
lord from his horse. Grease was used to finally slide his limbs free, though
they stayed frozen into the same position.

They sat him upon the ground on his back.
They all frowned to see his legs still straddling the air in such an undignified
manner. Henry had the nerve to snicker. Gavin shouted at them all to leave him
alone.

Madeline and Alastair tried to bend his limbs
but couldn’t. He lay upon the ground with his eyes closed in obvious acute
shame, face red with annoyance. Madeline was furious with herself for helping
him now; realizing she’d bungled yet another spell. Gavin could not put his
legs down. That she’d succeeded in keeping him on his horse was also obvious.
He appeared to still be in the same position he would be in if still on its
back, his legs hugging the air now.

“Let us get him to the tent,” Alastair
advised, shaking his head in wonder. “Tis’ no cramp like I have ever seen.”

“It’s not a damned cramp for the thousandth
time!” Gavin snarled as he struggled on his back, his hands clawing the ground
next to him. He couldn’t sit up or stand in such a position. His other matters
came to light when he announced he had to make a call to nature, sending
Madeline running from the tent. Alastair struggled to help him.

Madeline’s only desire was to keep him seated
on his horse, not to humiliate him. She tried to recall a spell to reverse this
and realized it must run its course for the rest of the day. Thinking of him
remaining in such a position until tomorrow morning made her cringe inwardly.
If he didn’t have cramps now; he would then.

The men managed to get their lord to the
tent. Alastair and the others got his upper half free of his armor. His boots
were removed and his calf leggings, but the rest was stuck to him in such a
position. His armor-clad legs in the air still drew much mirth from the men. He
summarily banished all but Alastair and Madeline from his sight.

“Have you nothing for this condition,
Madeline?” Alastair asked under his breath in concern. “We must do something
for him.”

“I can give him something to sleep, but I can
think of nothing,” she said and shook her head, closing her eyes to chastise
herself for such an obvious mistake. Her wording affected the spell, taking its
literal meaning. Minerva said such was the case with casting spells. She
cautioned her with specific rules to govern such possible foibles being made.
The wording must be very careful. Tears came to her eyes to think of his
discomfort now.

Alastair saw to his personal needs. She
brought him a tray of food later to keep him company upon the bed. Helping prop
him up with pillows to eat, she sat at his side. He could hardly meet her gaze,
such was his profound embarrassment.

“You cannot help it,” she managed as she
helped him to eat finally, realizing his undignified position mortified his
pride. “By morning this condition should pass, surely?”

Gavin scowled at her words and lay back
against the pillows, glaring at his upraised legs. “I feel ridiculous!”

Madeline smiled at his churlish tone, knowing
his anger was well-founded and feeling guilt she put him in such a position.
She vowed to ease his concerns now and take his mind off his locked lower
limbs.

“Tell me about your home? The one you seek to
reclaim?”

Gavin raked a hand through his dark hair and
smiled as he reclined against the pillows, his expression softening. “You would
get the recollections of a small boy. Rivenhahl is a castle. It lies in the
borderlands between Scotland and England. I was only five when we left there.
Henry was a newborn baby. The others were all my age. My sister was not even
born yet. I remember running along the parapets looking for sight of my father
coming home from court. I used to stay up there for hours until my mother made
me come down. It was my favorite place. The people of Rivenhahl were all loyal
to my family. I cannot remember an unpleasant memory of the place. The land is
fertile, the ponds bursting with fish. It is Heaven on earth.”

“I’ve heard much of what was done to your
father then,” she began and saw his face tighten in anger. “What did the Earl
of Strathmore have to gain by your father’s banishment and disgrace long ago?”

Gavin sighed and rubbed his eyes. “He was
jealous of my father. Queen Elizabeth enjoyed having her courtiers fighting
over her. It is as much her fault as any other’s.”

“Yes, but one does not go so far to discredit
a man for a queen’s fickle favor.”

Gavin looked at her incredulously. “Men have
killed one another for so little, Madeline. My father didn’t ever enjoy her
attentions. You recall he had a wife? She often chose to forget that, keeping
him at court for endless lengths of time without my mother. It was all rather
deliberate on her part.”

“Was he her…?” she broke off and looked away,
dropping her eyes, flushing in embarrassment.

“Was he her lover? Was that what you would
ask?” Gavin asked without anger. “He refused to speak of it, even to me. I
believe he must have been for her to have gone to such lengths to punish him.
That is only the act of an angry lover.”

“Did your mother know?”

Gavin shrugged. “My mother had to have known.
She was very beautiful. She knew he loved her before any other. What he did
while at court was beyond his control. She knew that. I believe the queen was
jealous of her. That was why she chose Rivenhahl to send her lady’s bastards
too; to poke a stick at my mother.”

“That would be quite distressing,” she said.

“Despite what you must think, none of the men
are my father’s sons,” he stated in a furious whisper, conscious of them
outside the tent.

“I never implied such a thing,” Madeline said
and her blue eyes widened at his angry outburst.

“Then you would be the first to not think
it,” Gavin remarked and scowled. “My mother believed Alastair was his for a
time. It took much convincing on his part to assure her he was not. You can see
the queen enjoyed putting them at odds?”

Madeline felt sad his parents were often
quarreling over the queen’s games and just listened to him now, sensing he
needed to talk.

“I think his being accused must have given
Elizabeth the means to let my father go at last,” Gavin recalled with a frown.
“She could not get him to forget his wife and child.”

“How does one cheat at a joust?” she asked
and frowned. “I know nothing about the sport.”

“He was accused of taking gold to lose the
match, Madeline,” he explained with a tight expression. “All who knew my father
knew he would never throw a joust for coin, even to be released from court to
go back to his family.”

“You will concede he might have felt like he
had no choice?”

Gavin smiled wistfully and shook his head.
“You would have had to have known him. It was not in him to do such a thing,
even for love of us. No, he was accused by Strathmore, and a great deal of gold
was found in his tent. For that alone; he lost it all.”