Love's Magic by Traci E. Hall Page A

her gold plate—her grandmother, for pity’s sake. You plan on dumping her there, alone.”
    Flinching at the accusations, which were exactly true and so were a direct hit, Nicholas’s temper rose until he was close to exploding. The last thing he needed was to lose control. Knights did not lose control, or else they put the caravan at risk.
    “Not alone. She’ll have you.”
    Petyr grabbed the reins of Nicholas’s horse, jerking them around so that Nicholas swayed on Brenin’s back. “You can’t do it. The baron wanted you to have a true marriage.”
    Nicholas snatched them back, damned tired of being told what his “father” wanted. Grinding his teeth, he leaned forward so that Petyr would hear every last whispered syllable. “Ever since I met you, you tell me what I can and cannot do. If you are to be loyal to me, then remember your place. I don’t need a nursemaid.”
    Petyr’s lips turned white with anger. “Your father never spoke of you until a few years ago, and then you went off on crusade. I’d like to think you were a real man, instead of the weak, disinterested fool you are now.”
    “Enough!” Nicholas punched Petyr square in the nose, his fist landing in the center of the knight’s face with a satisfying crunch. “Mind your business, or be gone.”
    Petyr fell from his horse with a loud crash into the brush, blood streaming between his fingers as he covered his face with his hands. “That’s twice now, damn you.”
    Satisfied that he’d made his point, Nicholas was surprised to hear a feminine shriek of anger.
    “What?” he asked as Celestia quickly halted her mare and dismounted in a fluid jump. She seemed more concerned over the blood pouring from Petyr’s face than any insults the knight might have been spouting.
    “‘Tis nothing,” Nicholas said. “I warned him.”
    She glared at him, her light eyes flashing as she shouted, “Why did you do such a thing? And to your own man?”
    Nicholas started to tell her the truth, that she was the cause of the fight, but halted his tongue. Celestia had turned her back on him anyway, and he watched with fascination as she ripped a swatch of cloth from her hem and bathed as much blood as she could from Petyr’s face.
    Then she stripped her hands of her gloves and tossed them aside, rubbing her palms together, as if creating a spark to tinder. She was humming something beneath her breath, and he swore he could feel a lick of heat from where she knelt in the dirt. When she put her hands on each side of Petyr’s nose, the knight groaned, but not like it hurt—more as if the pain had eased.
    Uneasy, Nicholas heard the snap as she set the bone. The bleeding stopped, as did her chant.
    Petyr, his blue eyes wide with fear, scooted backward so fast that Celestia was knocked to her rear. Nicholas knew that the knightly thing to do would be to jump down from his horse’s back and hold out his hand to help her up from the ground. Yet he was frozen.
    “Are ye really a witch?” Petyr asked, his voice squeaking like a lad’s.
    “Nay!” Celestia reached toward him, but Petyr crawled backward on his elbows. “I am a healer.”
    Nicholas could see the hurt Petyr’s question caused in the rejected slump of Celestia’s shoulders. Still, he could not move to soothe her when he had more questions of his own. The hot desire between them, was it magic—not real? Had she attempted to bind him to her through lust? Nicholas straightened, his belly sick.
    “Sir Petyr, please, do not be afraid. I am no witch that casts spells or lures demons to do my bidding.” She got to her feet and brushed her reddened palms against her legs.
    “She was born with the gift, blessed by God, you stupid oaf.”
    Petyr glanced at Nicholas, then to Evianne, then back to Celestia.
    “One woman in each generation is blessed; however, Celestia is the most gifted, to my knowledge.” Evianne sent Petyr a sassy wink, and Nicholas was amazed at the old dame’s audacity. Her