Knight and the Witch 02 - A Summer Bewitchment by Lindsay Townsend

wear the colors of this land in honor of it, my lord.” Elfrida spoke first, feeling Magnus gently squeeze her fingers in support of her approach. “The purple and white, as you see, and your own colors of red and gold.” She touched her red hair and her marigold necklace.
    As she did so, she glimpsed a thought from a mind that was not hers, a picture of a man as tall as Magnus and young-looking as herself, beardless and handsome, garbed in green. Silvester, where are you?
    Behind his supple figure lay a field of marigolds, a distant castle, a wagon. She concentrated on the wagon, trying to see more, just a little more…
    She had to draw a breath and the picture fractured, flinging her back into the present. The silence that had begun to fall like snow in the hall was now complete. In the midst of rushing supper food to the high table, the pages and servers had stopped, as if they were encased in ice. Elfrida knew that for the sake of courtesy she should have waited for the lord to attempt some form of welcome, but she did not care.
    What grace has this man shown to me or to the missing girls?
    Lord Richard blinked a pair of flinty gray eyes at her and seemed to recover himself, his pride at least. He said something in Norman French, but was swiftly stopped by Magnus’s answering burst of English.
    “Oh, please, do not trot out a word about betters. I have slain better men for less.”
    “This is my hall—”
    “Do not dare threaten me or mine.” Towering beside her, Magnus had no time for fine manners, either—the Percivals’ mean trick with the “gift” of her brown gown had seen to that.
    “Where is Silvester, so I may challenge him?” he demanded. “But of course, you do not know where he is, just as you cannot find Rowena.”
    “Or the other girls,” said Elfrida.
    “Have a care,” Lord Richard spat, his round face glistening as his eyes narrowed with distaste. “I need only clap my hands a second time and you shall be cut down by arrows.”
    “Your archers will not see.” Casting the doubt, Elfrida prayed for clouds, whispering an earnest spell within her own mind, a charm of darkness and flowers, a promise to the Holy Mother.
    Please accept this vow, my lady, and I shall offer marigolds and honey at your altars throughout this midsummer, also garlands of sweet cicely and lilies.
    The scent of the flowers spiked around her and the heavens granted her wish. Daylight in the hall dropped abruptly as the sun dipped below the horizon. She sensed the distant crackle of thunder on the fine hairs of her arms, a sign of power and magic in play.
    Magnus unsheathed his sword, the blade glittering in the sullen air. “I see right well.”
    “As do I.” Elfrida stepped forward. “My knife would fall faster than any arrow.”
    Lady Astrid spat words in Norman French, her features revealing her speech.
    “I need no weapon at my belt,” answered Elfrida. “There are many kinds of blades.”
    She touched her belt of lilies, releasing another swirl of perfume, and Lord Richard flinched.
    Sensing the moment as well as she did, Magnus touched her shoulder lightly and nodded to the entrance of the great hall. Elfrida turned and walked out, her flower garlands rustling, the marigolds sparkling, purple and white petals falling about her like rare silks and jewels. Sensing the whole hall bewitched by her progress, she clung to one of her protective amulets as she won every slow, careful step.
    Please let him follow in safety . Please let my charm hold till then .
    She heard a shout behind her, a war cry, and her spine chilled. She longed to turn, look back, though guessed it would be fatal to do so.
    Please let Magnus be safe.

Chapter 13
    She heard a strong, heavy man striding behind her, then, as she tried to run down the outer steps of the manor, she felt his arms hook her right off her feet.
    “No running,” Magnus warned, bristling a kiss against her ear as he slammed her tight against his body and carried