Heart's Magic by Flora Speer

here.”
    “You would do well to leave in the morning,”
she told him, “for if you stay, I will tell my cousin Brice that
you have come for some nefarious purpose.”
    “You have no proof to back such an
accusation.” His arms tightened around her, making her even more
aware of his masculine strength.
    “I need only tell Brice that you have laid
hands on me. My word will be all the proof he will need.” She could
not bear to think what Brice would do if she carried out her
threat, but Giles could not know that. She expected him to let her
go at once. He did not.
    “Ah, well,” he said, “if I am to be tortured
and hanged at your accusation, then, my lady, let it be for good
cause.” The pressure of his arms shifted subtly, so that Mirielle
was held in a gentler manner, though still securely.
    “What are you doing?” Both of her hands were
now free. She could have fought him, could have pushed against his
shoulders or his chest. She could have called for help from the
men-at-arms below in the hall. She did none of those things.
Instead, she stood quietly while Giles, a stranger to her and
perhaps a villain, lowered his mouth towards hers.
    Mirielle trembled, wanting the kiss she knew
was coming, aching for it. Untouched and innocent though she was,
still she desired Giles’s kiss. He had a beautiful mouth, the lips
firmly molded and tempting. Those lips parted a little, and moved
closer.
    And then, unexpectedly, he released her,
holding her at arm’s length, steadying her, for without his support
surely she would have crumpled to the floor in shock at the abrupt
change that had come over him.
    “On the other hand,” he said, “you may be
right. Perhaps I should go. Will you stand on the battlements and
wave your scarf in farewell to me, Lady Mirielle? Will you give me
a ribbon to wear on my sleeve in memory of you?”
    She could not answer him for fear she would
burst into tears. She turned from him and fled the musicians’
gallery, running down the stairs toward the one place where she
knew she would be safe and undisturbed.
     
     
    Though she did not know it, Mirielle left
behind a man who was every bit as confused as she. He had come to
Wroxley prepared to meet danger and dark magic and in the knowledge
that he could be recognized as no pilgrim, in which case his true
mission at the castle might then be discovered. He was ready to
face imprisonment and even death if that was required in order for
him to uncover the truth he sought.
    Prepared for deceit and violence, he had not
expected to lose his heart in an instant, nor to be perfectly
certain that the loss was not due to any magic other than the
discovery of the one woman who could fulfill the long-repressed
desires of his lonely heart. Clothed in dignity and innocence
Mirielle had walked into the great hall and looked at him with a
rueful smile, accepting that disguise was no longer possible, and
he had seen in her eyes all the honesty and goodness he had always
wanted in his mate.
    He could only marvel at the ironic turn his
life had just taken. Scornfully rejected in his youth, when all he
had wanted was the chance to prove his love and to woo his beloved,
in the last dozen years since that rejection he had sternly refused
to allow himself to love again. Yet here, in the most unlikely and
treacherous of places, love had found him despite his firm
intentions against it and he knew in his innermost soul that this
new love would never release him from its tender and
all-encompassing embrace.
    He dared not tell Mirielle of his feelings.
It would be too dangerous for her and he would not expose her to
the chance of harm if he could avoid doing so. He wished he could
send her to some safe place and keep her there until he was
finished with what he had come to do. At the same time, he knew
Mirielle must remain at the castle. He also knew that, when she was
aware of the full truth of his presence there, she might hate him
for using her, for lying to her