Heart's Magic by Flora Speer Page B

person in the crypt was
standing beside the tomb of Baron Udo, a lower, less bulky place of
interment than the block of stone behind which Mirielle was hiding.
Seeing who it was that stood there, Mirielle pressed one hand to
her lips to stifle her cry of surprise.
    Giles put both of his hands on the tomb of
Baron Udo in a motion that was almost a caress.
    “Justice,” he said in a low, passionate
voice. “I will see to it. I swear by your own bones that I will not
rest until all is put right and justice is done.”
    Giles lowered his head, standing in silence
for a long time. Mirielle watched him, not moving, scarcely daring
to breathe until, finally, he stirred and took a deep breath.
Mirielle heard him walking away from Baron Udo’s tomb, but she
could not see where he was going. Risking discovery, she looked
around the corner of her hiding place. Giles now stood next to the
tomb of Baron Udo’s wife. A sweet, sad smile curved his lips as he
gazed upon the polished marble features of that former lady of
Wroxley. His fingers lightly traced the contour of her cheek.
    “I promise.” Giles’s whisper echoed against
the stone vaulting. “I will not fail you.”
    A few moments later he snuffed the candles.
By the dim light filtering down from the anteroom he made his way
to the stairs and started up them. With one foot on the third step
he stopped. Within the space of half a heartbeat he whirled, came
back down the steps, and caught Mirielle, dragging her out of
hiding and pulling her into the faint light. Mirielle had thought
he was unarmed, but suddenly there was a dagger at her throat.
    “God’s holy teeth!” he swore. Recognizing
her, he lowered the dagger. “What are you doing here?”
    “I was in the chapel and heard a noise,” she
said, her voice shaking. “I—I thought perhaps one of the
men-at-arms was meeting a lover in the crypt, which would be most
inappropriate, and so I -” Seeing his grin and the way he was
shaking his head, she cut off her hastily improvised excuses.
    “Lady Mirielle, you are a bad liar. Nor are
you much better as a spy.”
    “I was not spying! I did not know it was you,
for you are reported to be sick in bed. I can see that you are not
sick. I think you are the spy here.”
    “Why? Because, thanks to your excellent
liniment, I have regained my health? Or because I have chosen to
pay my respects to the last baron?” He spoke lightly, as if he were
making a joke, but Mirielle saw no humor in his visit to the
crypt.
    “I wish you would tell me the truth,” she
said.
    Giles had replaced the dagger wherever he
kept it hidden, but he had not let go of Mirielle. She was still
pulled tight against him, an arrangement that made her most acutely
aware of his strength and his tough masculinity. Mirielle’s hands
rested on his chest, her fingers grasping the wool of his tunic.
This position brought to her mind the scene in her workroom, when
it had been his naked torso she touched. A wave of yearning swept
over her. She forced it back, refusing to give way to her
emotions.
    “When you stood by Baron Udo’s tomb, I heard
you speak of justice,” she said, hoping to prod him into revealing
what she wanted to know.
    “‘Tis only what all men desire,” he
responded.
    “Please, just once, speak truth to me.”
    “Truth?” His blue eyes caught what little
light there was. They glowed with passion and conviction. “In
truth, I mean no harm to you, or to Wroxley and the honest folk who
live here. You, and they, have nothing to fear from me.”
    “How I wish I could believe you.” With an
effort that cost her more than he could know, Mirielle wrenched
herself free from Giles’s embrace. “Whether you actually are a
pilgrim as you claim, or whether you gained admittance to Wroxley
by a lie I cannot tell, but I am certain that you have remained
here so long by deceitful means.”
    “If you think so, why haven’t you warned your
cousin Brice about me? Or if he will not listen to