Twilight Magic Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher. In such case neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Copyright © 2006 by Sharon Antoniewicz

  Excerpt from Sunset Magic copyright © 2006 by Sharon Antoniewicz All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Warner Forever and the Warner Forever logo are trademarks of Time Warner Inc. or an affiliated company. Used under license by Hachette Book Group, which is not affiliated with Time Warner Inc.

  Cover illustration by Alan Ayers

  Cover typography by David Gatti

  Book design by L&G McRee

  Warner Books

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  Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.

  First eBook Edition: December 2006

  ISBN: 978-0-446-53599-1

  Contents

  Praise For

  Also by Shari Anton

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Preview for Sunset Magic

  “Be ready to leave at first light on the morn.”

  Slowly, she opened her hands, letting go of his tunic, but unable to remove her hands from his chest. She could feel his heat, and the steady, solid beat of his heart.

  “My thanks, Darian,” she whispered, looking into his hazel eyes.

  His anger, humor, and resignation had fled, replaced by a desire so intense that her woman’s places flamed in response. Heaven help her, becoming this man’s lover would be no hardship at all.

  No matter that he tried her patience, could infuriate her in a heartbeat. No matter that he kept his emotions tightly controlled, gave naught of himself to anyone, not even a hound who adored him.

  Heaven help her, if he smiled at her as he had in her vision, demanded a tumble right now in the upstairs bed-chamber or a stable’s stall, she would relent. . . .

  PRAISE FOR SHARI ANTON AND HER NOVELS

  MIDNIGHT MAGIC

  “Just the right amount of passion, mysticism, and mythology.”

  —Romantic Times BOOKclub Magazine

  “Loved the story!”

  —RomanceReviewsMag.com

  “A fine historical tale that readers will appreciate.”

  —Harriet Klausner, Midwest Book Review

  “Sexy... touching and magical medieval romance... should please readers of both historical and paranormal romance.”

  —Freshfiction.com

  AT HER SERVICE

  “Anton captures not only the spirit of the Middle Ages, but the heart of her characters as well.”

  —Romantic Times BOOKclub Magazine

  “Anton handles history with a deft hand, even as she spins a tale that will capture the reader’s heart.”

  —Literary Times

  “Magnificent... Filled with wonderful characters and plenty of sexual tension.”

  —TheRomanceReadersConnection.com

  “Ms. Anton creates a strong, sexy hero who holds your attention until the end.”

  —Rendezvous

  ONCE A BRIDE

  “A spellbinding romance, rich in historical backdrop, fiery characters, and sexual tension.”

  —Romantic Times BOOKclub Magazine

  “Bravo . . . Ms. Anton has painted a marvelous and witty novel of love.”

  —MyShelf.com

  “A keeper! This is a delightfully charming novel, extremely well written, with characters who blossom throughout each page.”

  —TheRomanceReadersConnection.com

  THE IDEAL HUSBAND

  “Anton weaves history into her highly romantic tale with aplomb, crafting a beautiful love story brimming with period atmosphere.”

  —Romantic Times BOOKclub Magazine

  “A historical romance for readers to savor.”

  —Southern Pines Pilot(NC)

  “A lovely, lovely tale... The well-proportioned mix of narrative and dialogue; passion and romance; challenge and triumph sets a brisk pace. . . . I’m eagerly looking forward to her next book.”

  —RomRevToday.com

  ALSO BY SHARI ANTON

  Midnight Magic

  At Her Service

  Once a Bride

  The Ideal Husband

  To Mark & Susan Hyzer

  who know the full meaning of

  for better or for worse.

  And are enduring.

  Chapter One

  England, 1145

  Not this morn, Lady Emma. The king has matters of great import to discuss with his counselors, so he will be occupied for the greater part of the day.”

  Lady Emma de Leon’s nails dug into her palms in an effort to control her rising frustration. Shouting at the chamberlain’s clerk would do her no good.

  Yesterday, another of the chamberlain’s clerks had refused her request for an audience with the king, and she’d heard similar excuses on other occasions throughout the past summer. With King Stephen so rarely in residence at Westminster Palace, her opportunities to speak to him had been few and she was determined to gain an audience before he left again.

  “On the morrow, perhaps?” Emma asked of the pale little man with the graceful hands and uptilted nose.

  He huffed. “A war is being fought, my lady. Events will dictate who will be allowed into the royal presence based on urgent need.”

  Emma understood all about the damn war. If not for the war’s ghastly assault on her family, she wouldn’t be forced to plea for royal intervention on her youngest sister’s behalf.

  In as calm a voice as she could manage, she explained, “A child’s fate depends upon a royal decision, and I require only a few moments to make my request. Surely the king can spare a moment for an act of mercy.”

  “If I yielded to everyone who requested a moment of the king’s time, His Majesty would be an old man when all were done.”

  Emma again tamped down her ire, striving mightily not to strangle the guardian of the royal chamber’s door. “I realize the king’s time is precious, and if any other person could act on my request, I would not bother him. But no other than King Stephen can make decisions over his ward’s fate.”

  “Is the child in grave danger?”

  “Nay, but...”

  Damn. The clerk’s smug smile said she should have lied and told him she feared Nicole in physical danger. But Nicole hadn’t complained of beatings or whippings. Instead, the letters stank of amiability and contentment, reeked of resignation.

  No plea for deliverance. No entreaty for liberation. If not for the handwriting
, Emma would think someone other than Nicole wrote the letters. The girl was either changing or despairing and Emma knew she must procure the girl’s release from Bledloe Abbey before the nunnery sucked all the vibrancy and joy of life out of Nicole.

  For four months Emma had tried to keep her oath to Nicole, and four months now seemed far too long to be prevented from keeping that oath.

  The clerk waved an irritatingly dismissive hand. “Then the matter is not urgent and does not require the king’s immediate attention. Indeed, I suggest you put your request to parchment for the king to consider at his leisure.”

  “I did, in late summer, but have received no answer. I can only assume my request has been... misplaced.”

  Lost on purpose, no doubt. Shoved aside by the chamberlain’s clerks as unimportant. Her deceased father, Sir Hugh de Leon, was considered a traitor, and no one at court felt any obligation to show kindness or mercy to the traitor’s daughter.

  The clerk’s eyes narrowed. “Naught which is overseen by the chamberlain’s clerks becomes misplaced. You must have patience, my lady. The king will consider your petition in due time.”

  With that, he strode down the hallway toward the royal residence, to a doorway leading to the king’s chambers, which she could see but wasn’t allowed to pass through, leaving her standing alone and with no recourse. Naturally, the guard opened one of the huge oak doors and the clerk swept through without a challenge.

  The clerk belonged; she did not.

  Tempted to rush the door and force her way in, knowing she might hurt her cause further by such boldness, Emma fled in the opposite direction.

  All the way back to the queen’s solar, where Emma spent most of her days and nights, she fought the urge to scream and make someone listen to her. No one would, however. Not even if she wailed her outrage.

  Since her arrival in London, she’d been shunned, considered the undesirable outcast. Emma had known from the moment she’d been informed she was coming to court that she wouldn’t be a favorite. However, she had not expected to be treated with malicious contempt—as now, when entering Queen Matilda’s sumptuously furnished solar.

  Several elegantly garbed women who served as the queen’s handmaidens looked up from their embroidery, or loom, or book, to see who had entered. All immediately turned away when they saw who came through the door.

  No one of importance, their expressions said. Only the traitor’s daughter, their malevolence shouted.

  Intent on ignoring the hurtful dismissal, Emma plopped down on a bench at the far end of the chamber, near the open window slit through which she heard rain splatter against the palace’s thick stone walls. A deep breath helped calm her upset and sort her thoughts, trying not to blame her father or her new brother-by-marriage for placing her in an untenable situation.

  On the day of her father’s death, King Stephen had knighted Alberic of Chester and gifted him with her father’s barony. Then the king had ordered Alberic to marry one of the three de Leon daughters, send another to court, and give the last to the Church.

  Alberic’s decision on which daughter to marry hadn’t surprised Emma. Her younger sister Gwendolyn was by far prettier and more likeable than she was. Nicole, besides being too young for Alberic’s taste, had tried to stab him with a dagger. Still, Alberic would allow the girl to return to Camelen, which only proved her brother-by-marriage possessed a generous heart.

  Emma had promised Nicole she would petition the king to allow the girl to leave the nunnery and return home. Of late, Emma had considered adding a plea for deliverance of her own, but admitted she didn’t particularly want to go home to Camelen. To be dependent upon her slightly younger sister and her brother-by-marriage didn’t appeal.

  Sweet mercy, she’d been excited when Alberic informed her she was being sent to King Stephen’s court at Westminster Palace, and had arrived with hopes of finding a place for herself. Instead, she’d found only misery. ’Struth, she didn’t particularly wish to remain at court any more than she wanted to return to Camelen.

  For now, however, she must put her own discontent aside and concentrate on freeing Nicole. With her little sister’s future settled, Emma could then worry about her own fate.

  Not that she had any control over her fate, for that, too, rested in the king’s hands. A king whose time was limited and guarded by wretched, uncaring clerks.

  People gathering at the doorway signaled the return of Queen Matilda from her daily walk in the garden, accompanied by the flock of men and women who comprised the cream of the queen’s court. Everyone in the solar stood, giving the queen the honor due her royal rank. Not until she crossed the room to her ornately carved, armed chair and gave a small hand signal did everyone return to their occupations.

  Emma wondered if she should again ask the queen to intervene on her behalf. Matilda, however, showed no more inclination to assist the traitor’s daughter than the chamberlain’s clerks. Nor were any of the people favored by the royal couple interested in Emma’s problems, save one caring soul, who now came toward her.

  Lady Julia de Vere, the lovely niece of the earl of Oxford, had come to court years ago to serve as hostage for her uncle’s continued support of the king’s efforts to hold on to his crown. Though both Emma and Julia were prisoners of the crown—though held gently in the sumptuous prison of Westminster Palace and not the dreary White Tower—Julia de Vere was treated with utmost courtesy and respect by all and sundry. Emma didn’t know why Julia didn’t consider the traitor’s daughter little better than a leper. She was just grateful the woman deigned to be friendly.

  She tried hard not to notice how favorably Julia’s blond hair compared to her own drab brown, or how much better Julia’s bliaut of sapphire silk, shot through with gold thread, fitted into the elegant surroundings than Emma’s well-made but now-faded green wool.

  Emma accepted the difference in their position at court, even though she outranked the niece of an earl. Being the daughter of a Norman baron placed Emma within the ranks of the nobility, but being the daughter of a Welsh princess boosted her far over Julia. Her high birth was, perhaps, the reason she resided in the palace and not the Tower. However, no one at court felt inclined to acknowledge her station further.

  Julia’s smile went far to lighten Emma’s mood. She took a seat on the bench, careful to spread her skirt to show it to the best advantage.

  “How is your head today?” Julia asked. “You are sitting up and seem less pale.”

  “Better. I appreciate your concern.”

  “Four days is a long time to spend on pallet in a dark corner with a pounding head. I still contend you should allow a surgeon to examine you.”

  Julia meant well, and Emma would heed the advice if she didn’t already know why the headaches occurred and what she could do to make them cease. However, she considered the cure worse than the agony. She willingly suffered the pain rather than allow cursed, devil-sent visions to overtake her as they had in her childhood. Since discovering how to both evade and fight off the visions, she’d done so—though not with complete success.

  If she told Julia of the visions, her friend would be horrified, and Emma didn’t wish to lose Julia’s friendship. Best to change the subject, an easy task with Julia.

  “The surgeon’s time would be wasted. How went your walk in the garden?”

  “The flowers are fading. Michaelmas is but a fortnight away and with it will come harvest time’s chill. You should come with us on the morrow. Each day might be our last opportunity to take the boats into the pond and feed the swans. Were you able to make your request of the chamberlain’s clerk?”

  Emma suppressed a shiver at the thought of spending the day by the pond and forced herself to continue. “Apparently the king is too busy today to attend to aught not concerning the war. Tomorrow as well. Perhaps I will have better luck the day after.”

  Julia leaned closer. “I gather you did not offer to bed the clerk.”

  “Sweet mercy, nay!” Emma said, though
she’d been at court long enough not to be entirely shocked at Julia’s suggestion.

  “Officious, pompous clerks must be bribed into granting favor, either with body or with coin,” Julia stated. “If you have not the coin, then spending a night or two in the clerk’s bed may soften him in your favor.”

  Emma had already observed that Julia accepted the practice as a means of getting her way. Her uncle kept her well supplied with coin, but depending upon what she wanted and from whom she wanted it, Julia wasn’t above taking a man to her bed, or she sharing his. She was selective, though, in her bedmates and usually most discreet.

  Indeed, taking a lover seemed common practice. Once the queen retired to her private bedchamber, a veritable parade ensued of men coming in and women going out of the solar. Emma had moved her pallet to a dark corner of the large chamber to avoid being stepped on or mistaken for another woman, as much as for a quiet place to endure her headaches.

  “I refuse to offer up my virtue to so mean a little man. Nor do I have the coin to offer him. And nay, I shall not take your coin because I have no way to repay you. Allow me my pride.”

  “Pride will not open the king’s door.”

  Perhaps not, but to bed the clerk—well, not only did the pale little man not appeal to her, but even if she offered herself to him, she doubted he would accept. She wasn’t slender and pretty, as were most of the ladies who lived in the palace, and she would be mortified if she offered the clerk a tumble and he backed away in horror.

  Besides, she already knew the man to whom she would give her virginity, and he certainly wasn’t one of the clerks, thank heaven above.

  “Then I must find another way into the royal chambers. Perhaps I should slight the clerks and make my request of the chamberlain.”

  “Tsk. The chamberlain is as hard to gain an audience with as the king. The clerks guard both zealously. ’Struth, Emma, you must somehow bribe one of the clerks or you will never gain a royal audience!”

  Emma sighed inwardly. “There must be another way.” “Then you must find a means of entry quickly. I understand the king will be in residence for four more days before he returns to the field.”