Chapter 15
The Maze of His Nwyfre
“Alaura!” Bronwyn espied her amongst the mass of people outside the castle entrance. Her face brightened when she saw him.
She waved then wended her way around the citizens of Maskil to come face to face with him.
“How are you feeling?” He held her hands as gently as he would butterfly wings, surprised she allowed him to do so.
“Better.” She glanced at the boisterous crowd, many shoving to be next in one of the several lines entering the castle. “Did you check on Isla?”
“I saw her for a moment.” He leant forward to ensure she heard. “I apologise for insisting you stay in my quarters last evening. I couldn’t have kept you safe otherwise without leaving Isla alone.”
“No need to apologise. In my irrational condition I needed a friend to look out for my safety.” She held his gaze. “I’m grateful I had you to do so.”
“Alaura, I’ll always look out for your safety.” He saw the corner of her lip curl into a smile, but she refused to let it blossom across her mouth. Before she pulled away, he had to change the subject. “Are you attending the inquest?”
“It’s too incredible to miss. Poor Lady Dasia. When I heard the tragic news, I knew at once I must attend.”
“You’ll need to get in a line and be searched by one of the guards.”
Alaura looked at the men frisking everyone who entered. Their hands touched every part of the spectator’s body searching for concealed weapons. “This is my first inquest. I didn’t know the protocol.”
“It’s for everyone’s safety, including your own.” Certainly she wouldn’t let a stranger search her but request him to do so. Bronwyn’s fingers tingled against her skin at the thought of touching her in places a male caressed to arouse their mate.
She nodded timidly. “Do I have to go through one of those entrances or…”—she stared at him, looking for the trust they had grown over the years—“can you…can I go through this door and…you perform the search?” Her grip tightened on his hands.
He felt ashamed. He couldn’t take advantage of his position. She wanted to be treated with respect; he’d honour it. “I’m supervising, but sure, I can perform the search if you prefer.”
“I’d feel…I mean I trust you won’t take advantage of your station.”
“I never do.” He released her hands and pointed to her feet. “May I have your boots, please?”
She slid off her footwear, and he checked each boot.
“Turn around.”
She complied and he guided her arms into the air. He patted down each one then ran his hands over her sides and back. To his surprise, she wore his tan-coloured shirt. It hung loose about her shoulders and hips. A black belt held it snug around her waist. It felt strange yet enchanting. When he wore this shirt again, he’d think of Alaura and her captivating body wrapped in the same material.
Bronwyn had performed hundreds of routine weapon searches on both men and women. He zipped through each as if he explored a horse for broken bones. But Alaura wasn’t a horse or any other woman. His pulse pounded at the mere thought of exploring places he had only dreamt about with the woman who ignited his blood like no other. He wished their first intimate encounter didn’t have to be like this, but the search had to be performed, if not by him by one of the other male guards on duty. Thoughts of another man touching her body urged him forward.
Going under both arms, he reached to her front and placed his palms below her neck. He had smelt Alaura before but never like this. His air passages filled with her scent, and every pore gulped to drink in her warmth. His hands slid to her breasts. Her ripe nipples brushed against his palms, sending a ripple of pleasure through his blood. He felt the heat rise in his groin. As his training dictated, his fingers slid beneath each breast to make a thorough search. He felt her gasp.
Continuing the search, he caressed her abdomen and hips.
“Spread your legs, please.” It sounded more like a whispered request than an official order. He felt her legs part and his hands edged their way from her groin to her ankles. Thankfully, she wore trousers today.
When Bronwyn completed the search of the second leg, he rose and settled his hands on her waist. Her warm fingers came to rest upon his knuckles, and she held them in place. “It was my duty,” he whispered into her hair.
“I know.” Her soft voice spoke only to him.
“You may put on your boots.” He released her and tried to shake the sensations she had created. He knew no woman more enchanting than Alaura of Niamh, and while he considered this search to be his duty, it provoked profound pleasure.
A shout permeated through the crowd. Two guards wrestled a human to the ground, bound and dragged him away. More people gathered around the entrance, eager to get the search over with so they could enter the castle.
“Sir.” A guard came to stand by Bronwyn. “Sanderson requested you to the Throne Room. He instructed me to take over the supervision of these privates.”
“Thank you, Corporal.”
The guard eyed Alaura. “Does she need to be searched?” He ran his tongue along his bottom lip.
“I’ve already searched her.” He turned to her. “I’ll see you inside.” He motioned for her to move on.
She caught his open hand, gave it a squeeze then released it.
As Alaura entered the castle and made her way to the Throne Room with the wave of spectators, she replayed the route Bronwyn’s hands had taken in the search. She had felt naked as he caressed her body, arousing every nerve and fanning the embers in her blood. She folded her arms across her breasts, still feeling his touch.
Alaura found a seat near the centre of the Throne Room. She savoured Bronwyn’s lingering scent as she waited for the inquest to begin. When she washed this morning, she couldn’t bring herself to completely remove the odour she had gathered from sleeping beside him in his bed. The desire to retain his smell had overwhelmed her and incited her to wear one of his shirts. Fortunately, he had kept any observations of this unspoken. Her cheeks warmed thinking about her response if he had decided to question her.
Since Bronwyn had held her in his strong arms and carried her to his bed, she’d felt powerless against her emotions. While not the first time she wanted him, it marked the first time she’d fallen prey to her desires. The illness had weakened her defences, and she surrendered to the hunger. Seeing him on his knees before her and looking up with concern in his eyes made him irresistible. Her gaze had followed his jaw line then crossed to the lips she longed to kiss. She imagined her hands caressing his bare chest, and without warning they reached for it. Through half-closed eye she watched her fingers draw his shirt tail from his trousers, eager to embrace his naked body. Thankfully, he’d stopped her. But she wondered if they’d been alone, would he have resisted? Though wrong to think so, she hoped not.
His scent consumed her when she laid her head upon his pillow. It felt as if she rested in his arms. She had dreamt his gentle hands had removed her dress, and he pressed his firm, nude body against her bare skin. As his sweet kisses warmed her lips, his tender fingers explored every curve of her breasts, drew hearts around her bellybutton and edged their way closer to the softness between her legs. She had surrendered to her desires and had dreamt away the night.
Alaura couldn’t have guessed the simple act of attending an inquest would draw them closer, but it had. Dozens of others lingered near, yet it felt they stood alone. When his hands caressed her breasts, she’d felt him quiver with excitement. The sudden movement had triggered unfamiliar sensations, and she had gasped. The memory stirred impure thoughts. She allowed them to infiltrate her being, wash through her veins like a flood down a mountain side.
Without warning, a person dropped onto the wooden bench beside her.
“Can you believe this?” said Catriona, flustered. She adjusted her blouse and straightened her skirt over her lap. “I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. They should h
ave female guards to search females if they want us to attend public inquests.”
Alaura ushered Bronwyn from her thoughts. “Are you referring to the weapons search?”
“Of course! Those guards are having a field day out there. And a few of the women. Pah! I heard two girls giggling and saying they’d leave so they could be searched again! Imagine. Such immaturity. The man who searched me took his good ol’ time. I swear he gave my breasts an extra squeeze for boyish fun! They’re not weapons and nothing hid beneath them!”
Alaura sat up straight, and focussed on her friend. “I’ll tell Bronwyn.”
Catriona shot her a look. “That they mistook my breasts for weapons?”
“No! That female guards should be available to search females.”
“Did they maul you, too?”
“No, he was an honourable guard. Bronwyn.”
“You were lucky. I should have entered at his door.” She leant close. “Then again, I’d rather be groped by a stranger I wouldn’t have to face again.” A peculiar expression crossed Catriona’s face. She sniffed Alaura’s shirt. “You smell like…like your friend you say you seldom see but often speak of. Certainly you didn’t gather his scent from a quick search.”
Alaura shrank in her seat. Although Catriona missed many things, she often had an insight which surprised her.
The Throne Room soon filled to capacity, and guards shut the doors to prevent more citizens from entering. A trumpeter stepped on a raised platform near the thrones and played the familiar tune, signalling the arrival of the Lords of Aruam Castle. Everyone rose.
Alaura searched for Bronwyn and found him near one of the exits at the front of the room. He watched the lords make their entrance and didn’t see her. Through bobbing heads, she spied on him, noting how he stood firm with the serious expression he wore whilst on duty. But she knew him in a different light, with a smile which lit up his face and eyes that teased her to reflect the same.
When the signal sounded, the citizens sat down.
Lord Val raised his hand for silence. Alaura thought he looked peculiar. She sensed a recent illness, but without a closer examination, she couldn’t be sure. The dark rings beneath his eyes suggested a restless sleep.
Alaura studied the other lords. They, too, seemed unusually reserved for the day’s inquest. The belt securing Lord Nevell’s supertunic distracted him. He fidgeted with the little piece of metal in the buckle where it poked its head out of the hole. He looked around the room as if not seeing anyone in particular; no, he scanned the area as if wondering where he sat. Peculiar, she thought. The healer happened to be a wise man, not one to belittle tragic events. She had spoken to him several times over the years with regard to remedies and potions.
With the doors and windows secured, the heat rose inside the room. After last evening’s sweltering temperatures, Alaura wished they permitted air circulation.
Lord Mulryan’s movement caught her eye. She watched as he tinkered with the metal decorations on his scabbard. He unfastened a leather strap securing his sword then re-buckled it. His hand, constantly moving from one to the other, kept his attention except for the odd time he looked towards the window as if watching the sun rising.
A person walked down the centre aisle and their small breeze delivered a distinct spicy odour towards Alaura. They must have cooked food before attending the inquest.
She saw Farlan at the front of the room. He safeguarded an exit on the opposite side of Bronwyn. The two guards made quite a pair. Though Farlan measured much taller, they seemed oblivious to their physical differences. Both men had an eagerness for shenanigans, wore their uniforms proudly and remained loyal to their duties. She had nothing but respect for Farlan.
The captain of the guard held a position near him. The two measured the same height. Farlan’s hair—neatly cut and combed—shined with a rich brown, the colour which might have painted Sanderson’s before the grey invaded. Alaura thought Sanderson intimidating, but respected his leadership. Gruff better described him.
It felt extraordinary to find such familiarity amongst former strangers. She hadn’t gone out of her way to make friends with those in authority at the castle; it happened naturally because of her relationship with Isla. She sighed, feeling safe surrounded by those she trusted, and one, she believed, who’d do anything for her.
“Citizens of Maskil.” Lord Val disturbed Alaura’s thoughts. “You have heard by now fiends have murdered Lady Dasia in her sleep.” A roar in the crowd forced him to pause. “The ruthless murderer has yet to be apprehended. We are using everything at our disposal to gather evidence and bring the culprit to justice. During this inquest, we give you, the fine people of Maskil the opportunity to convey your thoughts and offer information which may aid in a swift arrest.
“The individual responsible for the deadly deed used evil magic to destroy Lady Dasia’s spirit. The lethal weapon was magic!”
The noise of the clamorous crowd echoed off the stone walls. Alaura cast a worried glance at Catriona. Over the past few months, guards had discouraged the use of magic within the town. It made little sense to her. Magic, like any craft, could be beneficial when used for good. Still, teachers instructed their apprentices to be careful of when and where they performed their spells. And—if at all possible—refrain from revealing the fact they practised magic.
“Magic is the root of the evil!” Lord Val raised his voice for the benefit of those in the back of the room.
Alaura gasped. How could he, an illusionist, say this? He excelled in the craft. Did he refrain from using magic, or were lords permitted to practise freely? A strange urgency sparked in her belly, and she felt the urge to escape as if a henchman had grabbed her from behind. Another pang of fear erupted and sent shivers down her spine. She had a desire to shout out but didn’t know what to say.
“Lady Dasia’s death must be avenged!” cried Lord Val. “Does anyone have information to share which will help bring this ruthless criminal to justice?”
“I saw strange things—sparkling lights, smoke—flitting about the castle last night!” shouted a citizen. “Sure as there’s yesterday’s ration in slumgullion, magic created it!”
“Toss the magic-users in the dungeon!” hollered another. “Use every tool in the hand to learn their secrets!”
Alaura sank in her seat. She had a general respect for the citizens of Maskil, but what they said sounded ridiculous and frightened her. How could they condemn every person who used magic? Others made suggestions and offered their opinions on how to flush out the murderer. As their voices rose and the atmosphere became more chaotic, she wished she had stayed at her dwelling.
The strange sensation expanded in her stomach, leaving goose bumps on her skin. Her breath quickened and thoughts not of her making urged her mouth to speak. Magic-users are evil! Look at the one in front of you! She’s the murderer! She slapped her hand over her mouth. Surely, she wouldn’t say such things.
Suddenly, a force from behind yanked her from the bench.
“Look!” said the large human who held Alaura by the back of her shirt. “A magic-user! She murdered Lady Dasia!”
Alaura wriggled to break free, but the strong man held her firm. The mob clamoured, and she scarcely heard her voice as she screamed at him to let her go.
“She’s guilty!” hollered the crowd.
Alaura felt helpless in the face of the madness consuming the room. The man thrust her into a mass of swiping hands. They poked, slapped and kicked her as the force of the people propelled her forward. A great shove landed her on her hands and knees in front of the lords.
Bronwyn rushed forward and pulled her to her feet. She clutched him and tried to shelter herself from the insanity. In defiance, he faced the lords. “They’re wrong, My Lord! Alaura did not murder Lady Dasia!”
“How can you be certain?” Lord Val glared down at him.
“She stayed with me last night.”
“All night?”
“All night. My
daughter fell ill. She tended to her needs.”
“She stayed in the castle? Under the same roof as Lady Dasia? Do you swear she remained with you the entire night?”
“Yes, My Lord. She slept next to me. I’d have known if she’d left my bed.”
Goodness! Alaura wished he hadn’t said that. No one could know they shared the same bed. They’d assume other things, and assumptions could beget danger; if the news reached Petra South, Bronwyn might be charged and hanged for violating her.
A man in the crowd yelled. “She’s an evil witch! She’s guilty!”
Bronwyn looked around the room. Alaura watched his strained face; he appeared as shocked as she by the confrontation. When their eyes met, his harrowing expression escalated her fears.
“Is she your mate?” asked Lord Val.
“No!” She shook her head. They couldn’t think this—no one could because of the repercussions.
“She’s a trusted friend,” said Bronwyn.
“Is she loyal to you?”
This time, they answered together. “Yes!”
“And what do you have to say?” Lord Val scowled at Alaura. “Did you murder Lady Dasia?”
“No, My Lord. I could never do such a thing. Bronwyn speaks the truth. I remained in his quarters all night tending to his daughter. I never left her side.” She cowered under the lord’s intense stare. She held tighter to Bronwyn.
“You’re fooling us!” Lord Landis leant forward and peered at her. “Perhaps you used your magic to trick this sergeant, slip from his quarters and complete your deadly deed!”
Lord Val glared down at Alaura. “Did you trick him with magic?”
She shook her head wildly. “I didn’t cast a spell on Bronwyn! I didn’t murder Lady Dasia! You have to believe me!” She watched the rage build in his eyes and swell the veins in his neck. She sensed the heat from his body at this distance.
“My Lord, Alaura is innocent! I eagerly place my life in your hands for her defence.” Bronwyn wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer. “I beseech you, Lord Valmour Efren, see past the accusations. Search your inner self to find the truth. You have the power to see what others dismiss.”
Lord Val snapped back as if struck by shocking news. Alaura watched him struggle with the mention of his full name. Had people reduced him to the abbreviation for so long, he no longer recognised it? Did he believe Lord Valmour Elfren to be another person? His pale greyish-green eyes became fixed on her. She felt them upon her skin as if he reached out and touched her. His gaze felt cold, and before she had time to defend herself, he weaselled his way into her nwyfre.
Gripped by the intensity of Lord Val’s stare, she felt helpless to stop him from invading her thoughts. He forced his will upon her and searched for the source of her magic. She felt him gasp. Her legs grew weak. If not for Bronwyn’s arm wrapped around her, she might have collapsed.
She’s guilty!
A peculiar voice echoed in Alaura’s head. Who spoke the deadly words? Not Lord Val.
“Alaura of Niamh, I sentence—” Lord Val clamped his hand over his mouth. His eyes grew wide.
She felt him dig deeper into her life force. He neared her meadow, the sacred place where her magic flowed. She tried to stop him but fell under his powerful spell.
Kill her!
Once again, the unfamiliar voice sent shivers through her body. Where did this person hide, and why did he order Lord Val to kill her? She wanted to run, but her legs stood frozen in place.
She is innocent! Lord Val argued with the strange voice, fighting it as he searched Alaura’s private thoughts.
“Alaura of Niamh, I find you—” Again Lord Val forced his mouth closed.
Alaura tried to hold back the lord’s energy force, but he overran her defences. He trespassed into her meadow where her magic cascaded down glimmering stones and pooled within banks made of sweet coneflowers, asters and white trilliums. She watched in horror as he drank from her spring, gathered her magic to use for himself.
Lord Val took command of his voice. “Alaura of Niamh, I find you innocent!”
She buckled from the sharp withdraw of Lord Val’s energy force. It left her faint, and she clung to Bronwyn to steady herself. She watched pain race across the lord’s face as if he now fought an intruder in his life force.
Lord Val leant forward and glared at the dwarf. “Get her to safety. Secure her in your office.” When Bronwyn hesitated to move, he snapped, “Now!”
Alaura complied with the force pulling her from the Throne Room. She stumbled blindly along the castle halls, wondering if she’d slam into the floor before being permitted to stop.
Suddenly, Bronwyn halted. He gripped her shoulders to steady her. “You’re trembling.” He pulled her into his arms. “You’re cold, freezing. Alaura, you look as pale as if death has snatched you.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his shoulder. Sharp pain raced through every limb and gathered in her core. The agony grew and with it a chill which threatened to freeze the blood in her veins.
“You’re safe,” he whispered. “I won’t let him harm you.”
The heat of his breath upon her neck and his strong arms holding her enabled her to speak. “You couldn’t have stopped him if he wanted to.” Her voice quivered, and she wept. “He acted possessed.”
“Things could have turned out worse, but you’ll be fine.”
Alaura shook her head. “He trespassed to forbidden places. He scoured my spirit and stole from my spring. I submitted only to save my life. His strength, his anger overwhelmed me.” She sobbed louder. Surrendering to his arms, she wished Bronwyn could erase the awful memories of an unwanted man in her most private thoughts, the most sacred place of her being.
“What do you mean? Did he cast a spell on you?”
She nodded. She pressed her cheek against the rough material of his uniform vest.
“What did he do?”
“Bronwyn, h…he violated me.”
“How?” He pried her from his embrace and held her to face him. “I didn’t witness anything.”
Her trembling hands tucked her hair behind her ears and wiped her eyes. Bronwyn helped dry her tears. “He…he touched me in intimate places,” she began, embarrassed by the fierce encounter. “He’s a powerful illusionist. His energy force trespassed into my nwyfre, my life force and…and he saw my inner thoughts…my inner most pleasures, dreams and fears.” The tears fell again, and her strength faded. “He besmirched my magic spring! He dipped his goblet and stole what he pleased!”
“But…” His face twisted in confusion. “Alaura, I don’t understand magic like you do. I don’t understand what he did.” He pulled her back into his arms. “Does it hurt? I mean…does it leave a wound? Do you still have magic?”
“It hurts…it aches. It steals my breath. My magic feels displaced.” Her tears fell in steady drops onto the shoulder flashes of his vest, soaking the two yellow triangles signifying his rank as sergeant. “I feel a void, a weakness as if my energy is exhausted.” She sobbed harder. She squeezed her eyes closed, reliving the attack and the feelings it generated. A guttural wail escaped her lips. “I feel dirty! I can’t make the feeling go away!”
“What can I do?” Bronwyn held her tighter. His eyes welled with tears as he struggled to keep her from collapsing. “What can I do to help you?”
Alaura pressed her body against his, feeling every muscle, every contour. She wanted to climb into his skin and let him cleanse the filth from her meadow. “I wish you could remove his foul energy and replace it with your positive nwyfre, but you can’t!” She clutched his shoulders and braced herself as her legs threatened to give way.
“Alaura!” He held her steady. “Please, let me help. It pains me to see you in such agony.”
“You have no training! You can’t do it!”
He cupped her face in his hands and looked deep into her eyes. “I might. Let me try. I’ll do whatever you ask. Give me a chance, Alaura
. Please, let me help you!”
She grasped the back of his hands still pressed against her cheeks. She tried to control her emotions, but Lord Val’s negative energy created a whirlwind of reactions consuming her senses with a throbbing ache. Bronwyn didn’t understand nwyfre; how could he attempt to cleanse her?
Still, she couldn’t resist the kindness radiating from his being. She wanted to surrender to him, to relinquish her body, her mind and her nwyfre to him. He secured her in his grip, eager to ease her pain. His charisma beckoned her forward. She cautiously peered into his life force. There, she found a calmness which soothed her trembling. His hands, warm against her skin, steadied her nerves, and after a moment, she breathed deeper. Better able to gather her thoughts, she ventured deeper in his nwyfre and allowed him access to hers. He lay open to her in ways she could never have imagined, and she found herself in a warm secure place.
“Take what you need,” he whispered. “I give it freely.”
Alaura peered further. She felt a gentle hand guide her through the maze of his nwyfre. Shy at first at what she might find, she paused to appreciate the many strands of energy caressing her spirit. They washed through her veins and healed a small part of the damage the lord had caused. Going deeper, she caught her breath—Bronwyn did have magic! While untrained and ancient, it felt as powerful as hers. She gazed upon the natural flow of his spring. Surrounded by towering hemlock, it babbled betwixt two large granite stones and pooled beside a clump of luscious ferns. His magic emanated purity and innocence. She knelt on the bank and absorbed the positive energy radiating from his virtuous magic. The ache in her head which threatened to bring her to her knees subsided, and she took a deep cleansing breath.
She sensed Bronwyn smiling, and she looked back to see where he had gone in her nwyfre. He touched her memories of long ago, seeing her as a child in Petra. The time had come to separate before he discovered too much about her life. Gently, she withdrew her spirit from his life force, nudging him from hers as a meeme ushered a child off to bed.
The cold stone walls of Aruam Castle came into focus, and she shivered. She pulled him near and rested her head on his shoulder. She felt his strong arms around her and his soft breath on her neck. “Thank you.” Her voice sounded weak, but she felt stronger.
“I wish only to do more to help you heal.”
Alaura held him tighter and felt his heart beat against her chest. The rhythm kept time with the blood flowing through her veins and for a moment, she let them sing together. She wanted to tell him many things, but fear for his safety and for her own, stopped her. Though she didn’t want to let go, she knew she couldn’t stay.
“Bronwyn, I can’t go to your office. Beathas is better able to heal me further. And I’ll feel safer away from the castle. May I go?”
“I’ll take you myself.” He gripped her hand and led her from the castle.