Midnight Magic Read Online Free PDF Page A

allowed all of his daughters to speak their minds—to a point.
    “What else must I know?” Emma asked.
    Gwendolyn glanced at Nicole and lowered her voice. “Thirty-two others died at Wallingford.”
    Emma crossed herself. “Lord have mercy.”
    “The battle must have been horrific. I cannot help but wonder what part Sir Alberic played that the king saw fit to grant him Camelen.”
    Emma waved a dissenting hand. “Likely none at all. Kings do not grant baronies for performance in battle. We must assume Alberic is a highly placed noble and likely a king’s favorite long before Wallingford. Camelen is quite a prize for one so young.”
    All quite true. “When he rode through the gate he looked around him, inspecting the place. I could not tell if he liked what he saw of Camelen or not.”
    Gwendolyn put down the comb, separated Emma’s thick mass of silken, reddish-brown hair, and began braiding, all the while pondering her other impressions of Sir Alberic of Chester. His expression hadn’t revealed his thoughts, at least not until he’d spotted her wearing chain mail. To that he’d reacted with definite dislike.
    “I can tell you Sir Alberic does not approve of women wearing chain mail.”
    Emma glanced at the trunk into which Gwendolyn had placed the mail shirt, where it would remain until needed again by either sister. “Most men would object, I suppose, but it affords us protection.”
    It did, even if Gwendolyn disliked wearing the heavy chain mail. She handed her sister the end of the waist-length braid. “Hold this,” she ordered, then took the two steps toward the table to fetch a strip of leather.
    When she turned back to Emma, she noted her sister’s puzzled expression.
    “What?” she asked gently.
    “Father held Camelen and his other manors by royal charter,” Emma said slowly, obviously sorting thoughts as she spoke. “With Father and William . . . gone, we become royal wards. A frightening thought.”
    Frightening, indeed. But where Emma and Nicole faced an uncertain future, Gwendolyn had no choice in her course.
    Not for the first time since their mother’s death did Gwendolyn wish she could confide in Emma. But only now did she resent being her mother’s choice as guardian of the legacy, which she alone knew about and must guard with her life if need be.
    A pendant for the woman. A ring for the man. A scroll bearing instructions on how to recall King Arthur from Avalon during England’s darkest hour.
    The pendant and scroll rested safely and secretly behind a loose brick in the bedchamber’s hearth. Once she retrieved her father’s ring, she must take all the artifacts to a place of safety in Wales, to her betrothed.
    Gwendolyn had always understood and accepted that her duty to the legacy must come before all else. She just hadn’t realized that doing so might mean abandoning her sisters. Her heart broke for the loss, but she truly had no choice. She would have to leave Nicole to Emma’s care and pray the two came to no harm.
    Despite Nicole’s fears of banishment from Camelen, Gwendolyn doubted Sir Alberic intended to blithely toss the daughters of Hugh de Leon out the gate. Control over the fates of high-born, unwed females was simply too valuable a right to squander away.
    Emma again rubbed at her brow. “Damn ache. I need my wits about me and cannot think through the pain.”
    Gwen fetched a cup from the small bedside table. “I know this has cooled, but if you drink the rest you might feel some relief.”
    Emma’s nose scrunched with disgust. “Foul brew.”
    “Merely willow bark in broth.”
    Emma drank, her distaste for the herb-infused broth visibly rising with each sip. “There. Satisfied? Believe me, Gwen, no potion will ever cure what ails me! The headaches are my penance to bear. Now leave off!”
    Stunned by Emma’s sharpness, Gwendolyn could think of no words to comfort her sister. The pain a penance? Surely not. Emma wasn’t thinking clearly. Pain mixed with