A Tender Magic Read online

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  Hard Shell Word Factory

  www.hardshell.com

  Copyright ©2005 Linda Madl

  May 2005 Hard Shell Word Factory

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Epilogue

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  "Sweet Jesu, Leandra,

  You're so cold. You're turning blue all over..."

  Wasting no more time, Garrett hooked his thumbs in the shoulder straps of her shift and peeled the wet garment from Leandra's body. His warm, strong hands brushed along her hips, her thighs, and the back of her knees.

  She closed her eyes and let her head rest against him. “Being close is nice. Is this the love potion at work?"

  "I don't care what it is,” he whispered, “I just need to know you're safe and well."

  "I didn't think a love potion would work like this,” she said. “Don't you feel the attraction?"

  "I feel it.” His mouth hovered temptingly close to her face. Gently catching the back of her head, he planted a kiss on her lips.

  "In a kiss, lovers share everything, Lioness, even their tongues,” he murmured when she failed to respond.

  "Really?” She shivered, though no longer chilled.

  He leaned toward her again. “Like this..."

  Dedication

  To my parents,

  who taught me to cherish and respect the written word,

  to take pleasure in the beauty of the world, and to love.

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to Earl Hoyt, expert traditional archer of Hoyt Archery Company, St. Louis, Missouri, for enthusiastically sharing his expertise. I have a new appreciation for the ancient skill of archery.

  Nurse and fellow author Eileen Dreyer earns a special thank-you for her understanding medical advice. She helped pull Leandra through nicely.

  Thanks, too, to all my friends, family and colleagues who contribute in more ways than they know to my writing: Babette, Judy, Karyn, Barb, Ron, and Lori.

  Author Betina Krahn deserves appreciation for her kind support of this project.

  And heart felt thanks to my editors, Caroline Tolley and the editors of Hard Shell Word Factory for their faith in A TENDER MAGIC.

  Cupido,

  Upon his shulders wings had he two,

  And blynd he was, as it is often seene;

  A bowe he bore and arrows brighte and kene.

  —from THE KNIGHT'S TALE

  by Geoffrey Chaucer

  Prologue

  Fabled Realm of Lyonesse

  Beyond the Shores of England

  The Year of Our Lord 1346

  "OPEN IN THE name of Lyonesse,” Leandra cried, pounding on the door of the witch's cottage. Silence greeted her. She glanced uneasily over her shoulder at her cousin.

  Brenna lurked in the garden shadows, her face hidden by her cloak hood. “What did I tell you? She's not home. Let's go before someone sees us."

  Leandra winced. No one in the forest clearing could fail to hear Brenna's hissing whisper.

  Unwilling to give up so easily, she turned back to the door. She feared failure more than discovery. Brenna would never admit to making this clandestine visit, and Sergeant Ralph and his loyal mounted guards who waited at the garden gate were sworn to secrecy. Though someone might misunderstand this venture, she'd come too far and this mission was too important for her to be deterred now.

  She renewed her knocking. “I say—"

  Without warning, hinges creaked and the door swung open.

  She paused, fist in midair, then blinked as her eyes adjusted to the dim cottage interior. A tall, brown-eyed, ageless beauty dressed in common russet faced her. Surely this was no witch.

  "I seek Vivian of the Forest,” Leandra announced in her noble lady voice as she attempted to peer beyond the woman. Sergeant Ralph had assured her that this was the place.

  "I am Vivian. I've been expecting you, Leandra of Lyonesse. And your cousin.” With a gesture of welcome, the woman stood aside. “Please, enter. You've come for a love potion."

  There was no need to say more. Leandra beckoned to Brenna and stepped through the doorway.

  Close on her heels, Brenna chanted in her ear, “What did she say?"

  "She said she was expecting us,” Leandra whispered back, tugging her skirts free of her cousin's feet. “She knows I want a love potion."

  "Well, she might have guessed that.” Brenna pressed close to Leandra. “All of Lyonesse knows of your betrothal to Reginald of Tremelyn."

  Darkness closed around them as Vivian shut the door and turned to face her guests. Only a fire in the hearth lit the room. Leandra straightened to her full height, summoning her courage. Brenna huddled closer.

  "You are right to seek a love spell from me,” Vivian said. “I understand that the earl was devoted to his late countess."

  "Yes.” Relief washed over her. No need to recite all her carefully prepared justifications for obtaining the potion. Vivian understood. “But he writes that he is ready for a new wife and family."

  "We pray that he is over his grief.” Vivian clasped her fine, long hands in front of her in an oddly nunlike fashion. “But a potion should eliminate any sorrow that lingers."

  "Yes. Can you help me?"

  "The brewing of a true love spell is an exacting business, fair lady.” Vivian wagged a slender finger at her. “It takes time and careful alchemy. First, the fiery heat. Then a delicate cooling. After that, the thaw must be prudently timed. Stewing follows. Through it all, one must stir tenderly."

  "Of course.” The explanation mystified Leandra, but she was too set on securing the potion to risk questions.

  "I began preparations as soon as I saw your visit in the waters of my well.” The wise woman waved toward two stools already sitting by the crackling fire—proof that they were expected.

  Brenna edged toward the door. “Maybe we should leave and return when the potion is ready."

  "Please sit, ladies,” Vivian bade. “I will not keep you long. My apprentice will see to your needs and those of your escort."

  "Sit, Brenna,” Leandra ordered, unwilling at the moment to humor her petulant cousin.

  Oddly, without another protest Brenna sank onto one of the stools, and Leandra joined her.

  Singing soft incantations, Vivian retired to the corner table with her pestle and mortar, absorbed in her work—her visitors temporarily forgotten.

  The apprentice, a courteous, chubby-cheeked young boy, served cups of the most delicious well water Leandra had ever tasted. After waiting on the men outside, he retreated to his corner near the hearth, where he crouched and stared, his worshipful gaze unnerving Leandra.

  Brenna shifted uneasily. “I
f your father finds out about this, we'll be in a lot of trouble.” She nodded for emphasis and began to rub her knees. “And Mother Mary Elizabeth, if she learns what we've been up to, she'll have us saying paternosters for weeks—months. I'll get calluses."

  "Don't worry.” Her teacher's reaction was the least of her worries. “I've taken care of everything. They'll never know."

  "Why are we doing this anyway?” Brenna whined. “Tremelyn's first envoy practically drooled on your hand when he took it. No doubt the potbellied fool has given the earl a glowing report of your beauty. I'm the one who needs a potion to win a husband."

  Leandra cast her pretty, dark-haired cousin a sharp-eyed look. Brenna had been first to ask all the questions of the envoy. What was my lord, the earl, like? Did he fancy dancing? Did he favor fine clothes? When the envoy had presented her with a small portrait of Lord Reginald, Brenna had wrested the painting from her hand.

  "What a fine-looking man, even with gray in his hair,” Brenna had exclaimed, critically eyeing the picture. “But of course an earl, even an old earl, would be comely and charming. And a good lover, don't you think, Leandra?"

  Tremelyn's envoy had blushed. Leandra snatched the portrait from her cousin's clutches, thankful that her father had missed Brenna's brazen words.

  Now, she sighed. How did a maid capture a man's heart? She had no mother to advise her. Only nuns and Sergeant Ralph of the guard served as her teachers. Brenna was no help. Her idea of winning favor was to flutter her eyelashes and show a little ankle. Instinctively, Leandra knew there was more to love than that.

  Tucking her feet beneath the stool, she anxiously clasped her cold hands in her lap. She must please the earl. Anything less would be to fail Lyonesse and her father. They desperately needed the protection of the knight, the garrison, and the fighting men the earl was sending. With a love potion, she could ensure that Lord Reginald's grief over the loss of his first wife would fade and that this match would work.

  Suddenly, from across the room, Vivian shrieked strange words. She seized her mortar and whisked into the back chamber. Curious, Leandra stared after the witch. Was she cooling or stewing now? The timid apprentice huddled deeper into his corner, until his mistress called his name. Reluctantly, he crawled to his feet and followed her.

  Brenna and Leandra glanced at each other.

  "What does she want him for?” Brenna asked.

  Leandra shrugged. In the next room crockery clattered. Metal rang against metal. Vivian's voice sang out in a language Leandra assumed must be magical. A cat yowled, and a lid slammed shut.

  A black cat leapt into the room. Brenna and Leandra jumped up. The green-eyed feline paused lightly on all fours, arched its back, and stared with unblinking interest at them.

  Firelight stroked its ebony fur.

  "Sweet Mary, I hate cats.” Brenna and the animal glared at each other in mutual dislike.

  The creature prowled toward them. Brenna's mouth twisted, and she drew her skirts closer about her feet.

  Tail lancing the air, the cat made for the hearth, slipping past them in a blur. Then bone by fluid bone it settled on the stone and regarded them with a shrewd, unwinking gaze.

  Absurdly, Leandra noted that the cat was missing whiskers on one side of its nose. Just what went into a love potion?

  "Look at him, staring as if he knows everything,” Brenna complained. “So sure of themselves, cats are.” She sniffed and studied the feline, her eyes narrowing. “I'll take that smug look off your face, sir cat.” She launched herself at the animal.

  "No, you don't.” Leandra grabbed her cousin's arm just before her boot came down on the cat's tail. “I'll not have you offend Vivian."

  Brenna's boot struck bare floor.

  The cat fled.

  "All I need is a potion brewed by an angry witch,” Leandra muttered. “What if she decides to mix a spell to turn Lord Reginald into a frog? Sit down and behave yourself."

  Brenna sank to her stool in a fit of giggles. “You and a frog on your wedding night."

  "'Tis not amusing.” She frowned. Brenna always refused to take things seriously.

  "You never do see the humor.” Brenna giggled again.

  Leandra settled on her stool. Yes, that was her other shortcoming, besides her ignorance of certain worldly things. Her father and Mother Mary Elizabeth bluntly told her with a sorrowful shake of their heads that she lacked humor—a quality essential in a charming woman. How was she to make up for that?

  Vivian swept into the room, appearing breathless with excitement. She held up a tiny silver phial capped with a silver-topped cork. “Your potion."

  "That's it?” Leandra rose slowly, frogs and Brenna's foolishness forgotten. There was her future caught in a tiny bottle.

  "It's colorless and tasteless,” Vivian said. “Only a few drops for you and a few for the earl will seal your fate. You will be bound together forever."

  "With only a few drops?” she repeated. A powerful brew indeed.

  With deliberate steps Vivian approached her. “I have no qualms about giving this potion to you, Leandra, heiress to Lyonesse, despite its power. Although you have seen only sixteen summers, I know that your heart is pure, your head is wise, and that you do not ask for this spell with a light mind."

  Leandra nodded, overwhelmed by the immensity of what she was doing. She was acquiring the means to take a man's will from him, to bind him to her whether he wished it or not. True, she wanted only to do the best for Lyonesse's welfare, but did she dare deny a man's right to choose his own destiny?

  "This is no frivolous elixir,” Vivian continued, tapping the phial with her forefinger. “Neither simple magic ring nor enchanted cloak of invisibility. Nor is it a mere aphrodisiac to inflame passion or enhance fertility.

  "My love potion will bind two hearts forever. You will love each other truly, above all things and all others. With passion. But most importantly, you will love with the courage to make any sacrifice to ensure the happiness of your beloved."

  Leandra drew a deep breath and thought of the little portrait of Lord Reginald: his pleasant smile, his high, smooth, intelligent brow. But most clearly she recalled his eyes. Surely a man with such dark, gentle eyes deserved to make his own choice.

  "Can nothing break the charm?” she asked.

  "Only a special antidote that's difficult to brew,” Vivian explained. “It is used when one of the lovers dies, to free the survivor to wed again. Should you have need of it, my lady, I will brew it. But the antidote must be drunk fresh. Use this potion with great care. Release from it is not easy."

  With a trembling hand Leandra accepted the phial. Success! The potion was hers. She held the shining container up so that the firelight caught it, and the silver glowed pure and innocent.

  "Well, now that's settled.” With a clap of her hands Brenna rose from her stool, her fears and suspicions obviously overcome. “Mistress Vivian, do you have something to bestow a dimple here? See? To match the one on the other side of my mouth. All my life I've had only this one dimple ... And seasickness. Do you have anything for seasickness? I just know this voyage to Tremelyn is going to make me ill."

  With a smile of forbearance, Vivian turned to her cluttered shelves. “I believe I can help you, too, Lady Brenna.” The two filled the cottage with their chatter as the wise woman mixed cosmetic remedies for Brenna.

  Though she was relieved to have the potion in her hands at last, Leandra sank down by the fire with a heavy heart. She deplored dishonesty. Her betrothal vows had already been spoken at the altar in Lyonesse chapel. She'd said them as honestly as she could to a man she'd never met. Lord Reginald had spoken his vows in the cathedral at Tremelyn. They were promised to each other in the presence of God and their families. Little could change that now.

  She might not even need the potion. Still, there was so much she didn't know—about Reginald, about his beloved deceased countess, about marriage between a man and a woman. What if he took a dislike to her? It was conceivable
. What would happen to the people of Lyonesse then?

  So much rested on her shoulders. She gave a despairing shake of her head. Hastily she tucked the love potion phial into the cuff of her brown surcoat. Now, at least, she possessed the power to secure success in the future.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter One

  The West Country of England

  The Year of Our Lord 1346

  "WHY DO YOU wish to become a knight, Garrett Bernay?” Father John intoned as he stood on the altar in the rosy, stained-glass sunlight. His clear, mellow voice carried easily over Garrett's tawny head to an impatient congregation who shuffled their leather boots and wooden clogs on the stone floor. “Is it with the hope of gaining personal treasure?"

  In defiance of tradition, Garrett looked up from where he knelt, his gaze drawn to the Bernay sword. High over his head the cherished weapon—soon to be a knight's sword once more—was held fast in the hands of his sponsor, Reginald, Earl of Tremelyn.

  "No, Father,” he responded with honesty and swallowed with difficulty, willing away the tightness in his throat. But he could not keep his eyes from the newly blessed blade. It had once been his father's and his father's father's. Five generations of Bernays had sworn honor on the weapon since it had been carried home from the Holy Land. At last he had won back the right to do the same.

  "Is it that men may show you homage?” Father John asked.

  "No, Father.” He bowed his head and humbly promised, “I wish to be a knight so that I may serve the Church with a pure mind and heart.” All of which was true.

  Garrett looked to his longtime family friend. A twinge of guilt nagged at him. His reasons were not quite as pure as that. He wanted to be a knight to wipe away the shame from his family name, to live down the disgrace of his uncle's treason against the king. He wanted his brother, Wystan, and himself to be able to hold their heads high again—as was their birthright—to walk proudly once more among all the nobles of the land.

  In truth this knighting ceremony was only a formality. He'd been knighted a month ago on the battlefield.