Anne O'Brien – Chosen for the Marriage Bed (страница 3)

In a circular tower room in the great de Lacy fortress of Talgarth further to the north, a man donned a black magician’s robe over tunic and hose. Nicholas Capel, renegade priest, necromancer, caster of horoscopes and personal adviser in all unorthodox matters to Sir John de Lacy of Talgarth lit a single candle. Master Nicholas Capel was a man of overweening ambitions and cunning perversion. By his reckoning it was all about to bloom into spectacular fruition.

Power! What more could a man desire? The power to manipulate, to bend men to his desires as pieces on a chessboard. The power to destroy if need be.

He moved to sit behind a table in a high-backed armed chair, painted with strange symbols, with blood-red naked swords on each of the four stout legs. He drew the velvet cover from a crystal. Spread his hands, palms flat against the wood, and looked deep into the crystal’s heart.

‘What is the future here?’

Beside the crystal rested three torn pieces of parchment with Capel’s distinctive angular lettering. Three names. John de Lacy, his temporal lord—or so that fierce magnate believed. A little smile warmed Capel’s eyes. De Lacy would never be his master. Richard Malinder of Ledenshall, whose growing power in the March was a thing to be envied. And it would grow further if steps were not taken to harness or appropriate it. Then there was his own name, or the one that he was known by. Nicholas Capel.

‘Our fates are connected.’ He moved his palms to cover the three names. ‘I know it. But how? Show me the future!’

Then grunted, startled. In the crystal a female figure emerged. Dark haired, tall and slender.

‘Who are you?’

The figure turned full face. Capel strained closer.

‘Elizabeth de Lacy?’ he whispered. ‘This is unexpected.’

Within the crystal sphere the figures flowed silently as if in the steps of some complicated dance. Until he and John de Lacy faded away into nothingness and, in the very centre, Elizabeth de Lacy stood beside Richard Malinder. Silently, smoothly they turned to each other as if drawn by some invisible cords. They smiled. Malinder stretched out his hand. Elizabeth placed her fingers there so that he might kiss them with silken grace. He held out his arms, she stepped into them and they curved around her, enfolding her. The scene shimmered with power as he bent his dark head to take her mouth with his own. She allowed it, clinging to him, so close it was as if they were one being. Her dark robe wrapped around his thighs, the mass of her hair lay on his shoulder, his hand wound and clenched within its heavy weight. The kiss was endless, infused with a striking depth of passion.

Capel frowned at the intensity of the scene.

‘So you too will play your part, Elizabeth de Lacy. It seems you are destined to become lovers. Now, that does surprise me. Perhaps it is not wise after all for you to be left to dwindle into obscure unwed old age in Llanwardine Priory. Perhaps I must ignore your wilfulness and find a new path for you.’

The scene changed. Richard retreated. Elizabeth stood alone. In her arms lay a new-born child, dark of hair. Massed clouds of danger threatened an imminent storm.

Capel smile widely to show his teeth, leaned back in his chair after casting the cloth once more over the crystal and blowing out the candle, consigning the lovers to oblivion. For a long time he sat and thought in the dark shadows. Separating the strands, weaving them together until the final tapestry suited his purpose. He would use his powers in the service of John de Lacy for as long as it was in his interest to do so. There was an advantage to being the power behind the mailed gauntlet where no one would look or suspect. And then? Well, then all would be revealed.

But of one thing he was certain. Richard Malinder and Elizabeth de Lacy must be brought together. They would provide the path to his greatness.

Chapter Two

Elizabeth de Lacy stood outside the iron-studded door of the Prioress’s private chamber, defiantly twitching her skirts into more seemly order, smoothing the novice’s wimple around her shoulders. She had been summoned and her nerves raced beneath her skin, even though she could think of no sin she had committed for which she had not already been punished. She knocked lightly. Entered on command, then came to a halt on the threshold, eyes narrowing in astonishment, then deep suspicion.

‘Come in, Sister Elizabeth.’

She obeyed the calm, beautifully modulated voice. Bowed her head to the Prioress, hands folded before her and eyes downcast as she had been taught, before curtsying to her uncle, Sir John de Lacy.

Elizabeth gave no thought to the tasteful comfort of the room, in stark contrast with the rooms of the Priory that she inhabited. Her whole attention was centred on the man who stood beside the Prioress’s chair. And the second man who hovered at his shoulder. Now what?

‘You have a visitor, Sister Elizabeth.’

Elizabeth felt the power of his presence as Sir John cast an eye over her. His energy filled the room, as his figure did not. Not over tall, light-framed, wiry with dark hair and light blue eyes, proclaiming more than a hint of Welsh blood in the de Lacy family over the generations, Sir John was all controlled energy. Face heavily lined with impatience but deliberately impassive, he stated the reason for his visit.

‘You look well, my niece.’

Elizabeth inclined her head with arrogant composure as her only reply. Her only protection against those searching eyes. She knew what she must look like and it could not be a pleasing picture, her black habit unflatteringly leaching any colour from her cheeks, and it would be even worse without the disguising folds of her robes and veil. She would not smile or bid him welcome.

Nor would she even acknowledge the man who travelled with her uncle. Nicholas Capel. Tall, impressive with his sweep of hair to his shoulders, he was a familiar figure at Talgarth. What was he to her uncle? Adviser? Servant? Elizabeth did not think the man served anyone but himself. Some said he was a priest, defrocked for unnamed sins. Jane, tight-lipped, swore he was a necromancer who served the Devil. Clad in black from collar to hose, his bottomless dark eyes all but stripped the flesh from her bones. Elizabeth shuddered.

‘I have made a decision on your future, Elizabeth.’

Elizabeth’s heart leapt in her breast within the confines of the rough black cloth that rubbed her skin raw. A sudden beat of hope that shook her whole body. Surely everyone in the room must be aware of it? But she allowed none of it to register on her face.

‘And what is your decision, Sir John?’

‘You are to come home.’ Elizabeth allowed the briefest of glances at the Prioress, but found no enlightenment there. ‘Or not home, exactly. But you are to leave the Priory.’

‘I see.’ But she did not.

There was a light knock on the door, which opened to admit a young man whose presence brought the first genuine emotion to Elizabeth’s face and a quick flush of bright colour.

‘David…! I didn’t know you were here.’

‘I’ve been seeing to the horses…’

Once she would have run across the room to greet him. Once she would have flung her arms around the young brother whom she had raised from childhood, holding him close in delight at his presence. Once she would have laughed her pleasure at his familiar, lively features and kissed his cheek, ruffled his dark hair. Now under the stern gaze of the Prioress, her uncle’s untrustworthy watchfulness, Capel’s sinister stare, she stood her ground and waited.

‘Elizabeth!’ Regardless of protocol, David strode across the room to grasp her rigid shoulders and salute her cheek, studying her face with the sharp blue eyes of the de Lacys. ‘I couldn’t stay away.’

‘You look well. How is Lewis?’

‘When does our brother not thrive?’ David swept her query away. ‘Has Sir John told you?’

‘No. He has told me nothing.’ Elizabeth returned the grasp of his hands, a quick fierce pressure, then released herself. It would be too easy to allow emotion to hold sway. She must take care to show no weakness. She had still not been told of the plan for her. ‘So what do you want of me, Uncle?’ she asked Sir John. ‘Why must I come home—but not home, exactly?’ Better to know now, however much she might dislike the outcome.

‘My daughter Maude is dead.’

‘I know.’ Her face softened a little. ‘We had heard. I am sorry.’

The Prioress was quick to intervene. ‘We are not so closed off here that we were unaware. We have offered our prayers for the little maid’s soul, Sir John.’

He nodded, but continued to address his niece. ‘It is intended that you take Maude’s place in the negotiated settlement with Lord Richard Malinder of Ledenshall. That you will honour the marriage contract.’

Startled, Elizabeth took a breath as she considered the statement. Release from Llanwardine. But at what cost? She was once more to be a player in the ongoing de Lacy scheming to achieve even more power in the March. But with a difference. Dismay gripped her. ‘I should have known, shouldn’t I? I am to be a bride again. But this time I am to be married to a Lancastrian, not aYorkist. I am to be wed to the enemy. Your plots would seem to have taken a turn for the devious, Uncle.’ She ignored her brother’s strangled cough, keeping her direct gaze on Sir John’s suddenly heated countenance. He might prefer that their differences not be aired before Lady Isabel, but what did she care?