Heart's Magic by Flora Speer Read Free Book Online Page A

on the morrow.”
    “Brice!” Alda’s full lips pouted, her
golden-brown eyes signaled her annoyance. “You will escort me at
once!”
    “Of course, my lady. I am ever at your
service.” Brice extended his arm, Alda laid her fingertips on his
wrist and together they stepped down from the dais and left the
great hall.
    This kind of scene on Alda’s part was so
commonplace that no one in the household paid any attention. But
the guests did. Giles and Hugh had risen as soon as Alda stood.
Mirielle noticed that Giles’s teeth were clenched and his hands
were balled into fists. A moment or two after Brice and Alda
disappeared from view, Giles moved with purposeful stride to the
door they had used.
    “Stop him before he does great harm.” Hugh’s
voice was little more than a whisper but Mirielle heard it clearly,
for Hugh echoed the warning in her own thoughts. She looked at him
with a question in her eyes.
    “Do it now,” Hugh said. “I cannot. He would
not listen to me and I cannot blame him for that. But you can stop
him.”
    “Yes.” She hurried after Giles, into the
darkness of an anteroom from which stairs wound upward. Above her
she heard Brice and Alda climbing toward Alda’s chamber at an upper
level of the keep. Alda was complaining about a cold draft.
Mirielle ran up the stairs, knowing she dared not call out to the
man pursuing the couple for if she did, Brice would hear her.
    She caught up to Giles just before he reached
the landing where the steps opened onto the musicians’ gallery that
was built above one end of the great hall. The woolen curtain over
the entrance to the gallery had been drawn back so light from the
hall could illuminate this portion of the stairs, thus saving the
use of a torch. Above, Alda and Brice continued their climb.
    “Sir Giles, wait, please.”
    He heard her whisper and stopped, turning.
The bleak expression in his eyes reminded Mirielle of the mountains
of her native North Wales in wintertime, all bare and cold, hard as
the flint that was their chief component. She had seen men look
that way when they were about to erupt into violence. She did not
know why Giles was so angry, but she did know she had to deflect
his fury.
    “Sir, I believe you are lost.” It was the
only thing Mirielle could think of to say that, in his present
mood, he would not dispute. “Your chamber lies on the other side of
the keep.”
    “I was not seeking my chamber.” Giles drew a
deep breath. “Surely you know that your cousin Brice is acting
dishonorably. So is Lady Alda.”
    It was exactly what Mirielle thought, but she
knew that she was unawakened to the sensual desires that could
drive men—and women—to foolish deeds. Perhaps, once aroused, those
desires were uncontrollable. In any case, she must forestall the
threat of violence against Brice.
    “You do not understand,” she said.
    “Would you care to explain it to me?” Giles
ground the words out from between clenched teeth.
    He stepped onto the narrow balcony that was
the musician’s gallery and Mirielle, with a sigh of relief,
followed him. Below, in the great hall, the servants were clearing
the tables, snuffing the candles, dousing the extra torches that
had been lit during the meal and were no longer needed. The
men-at-arms who slept in the hall were finding their places. Even
the dogs were settling down for the night. Hugh had disappeared. As
more and more torches were put out the gallery grew shadowed,
emphasizing its privacy.
    “Well?” Giles’s eyes gleamed in the half
light. “Your explanation of your cousin’s behavior, if you please,
Lady Mirielle.”
    “Brice and Lady Alda are very distant cousins
by marriage,” she began.
    “And clearly also more than friends,” Giles
snapped.
    “This is not your affair,” Mirielle said.
    “No, it is theirs. A shameful affair. Tell me
about it.”
    Ordinarily, Mirielle would not have made any
explanation for Brice’s actions to someone who was a stranger. But
Hugh had