Heart's Magic by Flora Speer Page A

father-in-law, Baron Udo, was buried
in the crypt, along with his wife, his parents and grandparents,
and an assortment of children from the family that had held Wroxley
for three generations.
    The heavy chapel door squeaked a bit on its
hinges as Mirielle pushed it open, but otherwise all was silence.
Tall, narrow stained glass windows set into the plain stone walls
were the only decoration in the little chapel. On rare sunny days
shafts of multicolored light coming through the windows made the
chapel glow. Not so today. Lacking sunlight to bring it to life the
stained glass was dark and muted in appearance. Nor was the rest of
the chapel much more cheerful. The unused altar was a bare stone
slab. The floor was made of polished stone slabs. There were no
cushions to kneel upon, no benches or chairs, not even candlesticks
or a crucifix.
    Yet here was the comforting peace that
Mirielle sought. She felt it at once and the knots at her heart and
in her stomach began to unwind. She went to her knees on the stone
altar step and bowed her head.
    How long she remained there she did not know.
Nor was she able to formulate a suitable prayer. She did not know
of any prayers applicable to her immediate circumstances. All she
could do was send a plea for help to the Presence she knew was with
her in that sacred place.
    “Please, give me the patience to deal with
Alda’s jealousy and with Brice’s stubbornness where Alda is
concerned. Show me what I ought to do about those two men, Giles
and Hugh, whom I am certain should not be here at all. Give me the
courage to do what is right.”
    When she had entered the chapel the door had
not shut tightly after her. Through the slight opening she heard
the soft scrape of footsteps on stone. Mirielle lifted her head.
Someone was descending the stairs to the anteroom. At the level of
the anteroom the footsteps paused before continuing down the next
flight toward the crypt.
    Mirielle got to her feet, her prayerful mood
gone. On tiptoe she sped to the doorway to look out through the
opening between the door and its frame. As she expected, the
anteroom was empty. The footsteps stopped below, at the bottom of
the stairs. Then a deliberate pacing sound reached her ears.
Someone was in the crypt, walking among the marble tombs.
    Her curiosity aroused, Mirielle slipped out
of the chapel and went to the steps that led downward. She could
see a flicker of candlelight below. There were candelabra in the
crypt, tall, three-branched objects made by the blacksmith in Baron
Udo’s time because Udo went daily to the crypt to pray at his
wife’s tomb. As part of her duties as acting chatelaine Mirielle
saw to it that candles were always in place on the candelabra, with
the flint and the wool lint necessary to light them close at hand,
but seldom in these days did anyone pray in the crypt.
    Mirielle went down the stairs as quietly as
she could. At the bottom she drew into the shadow cast by the tomb
of Gavin, the first baron of Wroxley. She knew his story, in part
because Baron Udo had named his only son after the man. Everyone in
the castle knew the tale. The first Gavin had come to England with
William the Conqueror and, like many other Norman warriors in that
band of invaders, he had won a title for his loyalty. He had been
given Wroxley because it lay in a rebellious area and William
trusted him to bring it under control. Baron Gavin had held his
lands with brutal justice. His tomb was a massive, shoulder-high
oblong of stone with a harsh face carved onto the reclining figure
atop it, a fitting tribute to a man of iron and blood who had died
in battle against rebels. Baron Udo had made his son the first
baron’s namesake in hope that the second Gavin would be as strong
and valiant as his ancestor.
    Mirielle peered around the corner of the
first Gavin’s tomb. On one of the candelabra all three candles had
been lit. The flames sent a ghostly light across the stone walls
and the low, arched roof. The other