Carlisle Castle, Carlisle
May 16, 1166
Music more suited to a harvest festival vibrated through the room. William of Ravenglas ignored the notes throbbing against his skin. Heat. Sex. Release.
Putting his back to the wall, William scanned the Earl of Carlisle’s great hall and let the bacchanal sweep past him. People pressed like salted fish into the space, most enjoying the hip-to-groin closeness and the suggestiveness of the minstrel’s tune. William shifted his weight, adjusted his scabbard and watched as the dangerously drunk minstrel tipped back his head and let a woman not his wife pour wine into his mouth. He didn’t miss a drop—or a note.
William blew out a low, envious curse. He couldn’t have managed the feat sober, much less with a half-dozen cups of wine spinning his head. He knew quite well the source of Aedan ap Owen’s mood tonight, but reverting to his wild ways wouldn’t bring Daz back.
It would only make Aedan’s wife want to kill him.
The music stopped on a high note. Whoops erupted over the room. William tensed as a vague sense of foreboding settled over his nape. Inhaling, he forced his shoulders to relax as Aedan tucked his rebec beneath his arm and disappeared like a ghost into the crowd. A faint murmur of envy and discontent followed the minstrel as the queen’s courtiers complained at the sudden lack of music.
“I have a new song.”
Stifling his surprise, William rolled his head and glared at Aedan, who now stood at his side. His friend was unpredictable at best. This song could be about anything from adultery to puppies.
“There was a boy who kissed his sister—”
Annoyance flashed like lightning. “Shut your mouth, you drunken fool.”
Laughing, Aedan lifted a cantir of wine from the tray of a passing servant. “I am not drunk.”
“I watched you drain at least six cups, probably more.”
“A wise man refills his cup before ’tis empty and lets others think what they will.”
William scrutinized the minstrel, then understood. “God’s bones. What game do you play?”
“The queen expects me to be wild with grief.” He gave a mocking bow, the movement as sarcastic as his tone. “So I am.”
The queen expected you to be dead. William rubbed the back of his neck. “Where is your wife? You need a cadger.”
Aedan smiled tightly. “I asked Tess to keep Ami out of Eleanor’s sight tonight.”
“Leave my sister to me.”
“Trust me—you do not want those two to meet.”
“Ami is my responsibility, not yours.” William took the cup a young serving girl offered. “Worry about what you play. Another song like the last and we will have a crop of bastards come next Saint Paul’s Day.”
“I do not create moods, merely amplify them.”
William pushed out an annoyed sigh. “Why do you say these things to me?”
Aedan laughed. “Because you keep secrets like others keep coins. I doubt if the king’s torturer could find out all you know in a month of prodding.”
Ignoring the barbed observation, William turned back to study the crowd gathered in the earl’s claustrophobic great hall. His father’s damp, ancient dungeon was more welcoming than the new halls of Carlisle. The lord hadn’t plastered the interior to hide the blood red sandstones or added enough torches to quell the gloom that hung over the castle like a curse.
Yet the earl knew how to entertain.
Around him, language flowed in an odd mix of Norman French and Latin, with the occasional English word thrown in to direct one of the servants. William hid his smile behind his cup, certain the earl’s people understood French well enough to inform their master of every conversation by morn. But the nobles traveling with the queen’s retinue had forgotten, or never knew, that Carlisle, the castle, only seemed like the end of the world, and Carlisle, the man, was as quick and clever as his cousin, King Henry II.
A tune strained over the din of the crowd, and then broke free of the noise, rising above the swirl of gossip, intrigue and backbiting. William glanced at Aedan. “Your brother plays?”
“Lady Carlisle finds me lacking.”
William snorted. Aedan could outplay the seraphim, but what the minstrel considered entertainment would cause Lucifer to blush. “Your cousin is a wise woman.”
“She fights a losing battle. This night is about merriment.”
Orgy was the word that came to William’s mind. Laughter rose over the smoky torches, and his shoulders knotted until pain shot up his neck. “’Tis like the cook slipped meadow rue into the wine.”
“’Tis the moon. It…Vae!”
William saw her at the same time he heard Aedan’s curse. Ami stood in the doorway, surveying the room as if it were hers. His heart thumped against his ribs, and the undefined anxiety turned sharp in his chest. Even amidst the crowd of overdressed popinjays, she stood out like an angel among heretics, alluring and disconcerting at the same time.
In subtle rebellion, she’d left off a wimple. Braids the color of captured night fell over her shoulders and back, the darkness emphasizing her rich, creamy complexion and barely blue eyes. Ami’s beauty was neither conventional nor fashionable, but timeless. The contrast of fair skin and dark hair emphasized the faint luminosity of her complexion and strengthened the strong angles of her cheeks and jaw. The defiant tilt of her chin was softened only by the curve of her mouth, which even now begged to be kissed.
And every man in the room wanted to grant that plea.
“I will get her.”
William grabbed Aedan’s arm, pulled him back to the wall. “Leave my sister to me.” He looked over the room, not seeing the other person he needed to keep track of. “Where is the queen?”
“Outside with the earl.”
“What?”
“Calm yourself,” Aedan said with a laugh. “She will not stab him herself no matter how much she wishes to.’Twould muss her overtunic.”
“Eleanor would simply change clothes.” William pushed off the wall. “Do not underestimate her hate or cunning.”
“You know her better than I.”
“Are you purposefully trying my patience? I…” One of Carlisle’s guards took Ami’s hand, and the threat died on William’s tongue.
Grinning, Ami danced toward the man, a swirl of color. Her smoky blue dress, trimmed at the sleeves with brightly dyed feathers, swallowed the torchlight and pulled his gaze to her as if she were the lone candle in the room. His skin prickled, turned hot and tight. She moved like vapor made liquid, winking in and out of shadows as dark as her curls. The summer-weight wool clung to her frame as she lifted her arms and twirled. His mouth dried. Heat flared over the room. Fabric hugged the firm roundness of her breasts and skimmed along the flare of her hips, leaving nothing to his imagination.
Or anyone else’s.
Coldly, William noted the name of each man who gazed on his sister with the wrong intent.
Laughter erupted beside him. “Relax. She is just having fun.”
William forced his shoulders against the wall, letting the cool stone hold him in place. “’Tis the feathers. She attracts the wrong attention with such frivolous adornments. The men think she is unchaste.”
“They hope it, to be sure.” Aedan’s eyes widened at the glare William threw him. “As one of us, she is free to do what she wills with their attention.”
“Bran may think she is your sister, but I am unconvinced.”
“You do not wish to be.”
“Why would I? What brother says his sister is free to be a whore? You may swive anyone who breathes but—”
“Not anyone. I never touched Eleanor.”
William ignored the jab. “Ami was raised better.”
“I grew up in a monastery.” Aedan slanted a merry grin at him. “You get no better than that.”
“And she does not like you.” Even as he spoke, an edged guilt passed through William. Ami had been chary of Aedan at first meeting, almost irrationally so. He’d encouraged her aversion to protect her from his charms even as he’d begun to suspect the kinship ties between her and the minstrel.
“She does not need to like me.” Aedan shifted his weight, moved closer, then whispered. “But she needs to know the truth.”
“Bran said—”
“My brother is over-cautious, always seeing death and dying.” Aedan punctuated his words with a dismissive wave of his hand. “’Twill not be disastrous if anyone other than you tells her the truth. She is stronger than Bran thinks, and if you lack the courage for honesty, I will tell her.”
“Tell her and face me.” William shifted to stand between Aedan and Ami. “She may not be blood, but I have loved and protected her for a lifetime as if she were my true sister. I will kill the man who thinks to nullify that.”
Aedan opened his mouth to argue, and William strode away before he did something stupid, like murdered Ami’s brother at her feet. Midway across the hall, he found her among the revelers and stopped—close enough to almost touch, but far enough away to resist the temptation.
Ami hadn’t seen him. Yet. She twirled, absorbed in the moment and glowing with joy. William knew its source went far beyond her love of dance. She possessed a power akin to Aedan’s. One he couldn’t deny, even though he knew Ami would if ever confronted. Not since childhood had she talked about the strange colors she saw or run to him in fear of the ghost she swore walked the old Roman ruins.
Aedan was as uncaring of his otherness as a beggar of his stench. But Ami would never have the luxury of being different.
Nor was she as strong as Aedan supposed. Like plate armor marred in the making, a weakness ran through Ami that would shatter her if not protected. Aedan, with his careless words and unfettered expectations, would overwhelm her like a knight over serfs in battle, never understanding until too late that she wasn’t like him, like them. The confluence of magic and events that shaped her life had carried her far from the otherness that defined Bran and Aedan. They just didn’t understand that yet.
Ami turned a half circle and hesitated. Her gaze met his, and a smile lit her face. She glided to him, breaking the pattern of the dance without a thought. “Dance with me.”
“I cannot.”
She snatched his hand. Heat scorched his skin, ignited his groin. Ami gasped. Her pupils widened, darkened. Sweat licked along his spine. He held his breath and counted his heartbeats as she circled him. If he moved, he’d burst. And if his life didn’t end in a flash of blood and fire, his stiff-legged gait would telegraph his desires. Rigid, he watched her step closer. Her hand trembled against his. Heat poured from her body, flushing her cheeks, dampening the curls that clung to the smooth skin of her neck. Her touch turned hotter, and he jerked away from the small flame at her fingertips.
For a moment, she stood as if suspended in time. Liquid horror poured into her eyes, and she stepped away. Fisting her fingers, she let a sallow-faced knight pull her back into the circle. William ignored the urge to go after her and ease the shame and ache he knew she felt whenever she slipped. He didn’t dare touch her again. Not if he wanted to—
“Vae.” Aedan appeared at his side like a wraith from one of Ami’s childhood stories. “That was combustible.”
He glanced sideways at Aedan. “Your imagination runs wild.”
“Trust me, I know lust when it singes a room or when I see a fire started.” Aedan laughed. “This is one secret you will not keep, my friend.”
“My problem. Not yours.”
“As her brother—”
“She is my family.” He gave Aedan his best glare. “I decide when, or if, to tell her she may have cousins. Or brothers.”
“If?”
“There is no gain in sharing Bran’s theories.”
“Except the truth. She has family.” Aedan gave him a long, measured look, the thought behind his gaze unknowable. “She has to know, so I can help her,” he said with quiet certainty. “She has no control. You saw what nearly happened.”
“I saw nothing.” The flame was an aberration, nothing more. Ami had mastered her strange control over fire long before he left home.
“Even now her thoughts are plain as words on parchment, her magic barely contained,” Aedan whispered. “If we do not take charge of the situation, her power will only grow more unmanageable until everyone whispers of witchcraft. You would see her burn?”
William stiffened. “Then I will speak to the earl about an escort for her on the morrow. Ami will be safe at Ravenglas.” Protected by the isolation.
“Sending her home is not taking charge.” Aedan stepped closer. “It is running from your problem.”
“I am in no predicament.”
“Truly?” Aedan gestured with his chin, and William turned to see Ami spin, her braid caressing her derrière like a lover’s touch. His palms suddenly itched to do the same. The minstrel leaned closer, his smile the one that sent the king’s archbishop into stammers. “If you wish to claim her for yourself, I would not object.”
William glared, and Aedan shrugged.
“Or if you would rather be stupid and let the sweet pass you by, I will not interfere. But tell her the truth or I will.”
With that, Aedan moved into the crowd, heading toward his wife as if her coppery hair were a beacon of hope. Her face lit when she saw him, and he took her into his arms, uncaring what others thought of his open display of affection.
A bitter lump of envy formed in William’s throat and cut off his breath. Once upon a time, he, too, had believed life held sweetness that would go down as easily as wine shared with a beautiful woman. Then he’d turned nineteen and learned how bitter his life would be. Ami, at fifteen, had surprised him. She’d grown from a gangly, stubborn girl at war with the world into a long-limbed beauty with a tongue as tart as lemon curd. He’d been lost. Still was.
She is not for you. His father’s words echoed from the past. Be pragmatic. William rubbed his neck. Practical would be to seek out Eleanor, but his gaze stayed on Ami. She spun like a will o’ wisp, braid whipping around her like the arc of a sword, piercing him with want and need. Her partner, a sallow-faced lord from somewhere in Bordeaux, looked even clumsier than he was by nature. The man stumbled too close. William stepped forward, and then stilled as a hand gripped his shoulder.
“I am beginning to think you avoid me.”
