Moonstone Magic Read online

  Moonstone Magic

  By

  Jill Gregory

  Dedication

  For Rachel.... and Beth, Carrie, Dustin, Erin, Jessie, Kimberly,

  Morgan, Robert, Ryan and Sara... with all my love.

  Copyright 1985; Digital Edition published by Jill Gregory, 2017

  Cover design by Tammy Seidick Design

  Digital formatting by A Thirsty Mind Publishing and Design

  Smashwords Edition, 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this book, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, may be reproduced in any form by any means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission from the author.

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

  The scanning, uploading, and distributing of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic and print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. The author appreciates your support.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Excerpt: Sage Creek

  Excerpt: Forever After

  Excerpt: Never Love A Cowboy

  Titles by Jill Gregory

  About the Author

  Praise for Jill Gregory

  Chapter One

  “Come closer, Brianne, I beg of you. I must tell you something of the utmost importance,” the queen whispered.

  Brianne, younger daughter to Queen Erinn and King Ansgar of Morksbury, obeyed swiftly. With grieving heart, she crept from her stool to kneel beside her mother’s deathbed, clasping the queen’s limp, cold hand in her young and strong one. Her mother’s stout old waiting woman, Bobwen, looked on from her bench, tears glittering upon her stubby lashes.

  Outside the castle, the apricot dawn unfurled across the winter sky like a king’s proud banner. It glistened over the surrounding village and the frost-laced forest beyond, but inside, the queen’s bedchamber was dim, save for the scented candles smoking in their holders. Yet even in the dim light, Brianne’s face shone with grief. She was a slim, fragile-looking girl, as quiet and nimble as a mouse, with pale, angel hair plaited down her back. She wore a russet gown of plain wool on this cold winter morn when spring seemed impossibly far away. The mosaic stone floor was cold through the coarse material, yet she remained kneeling beside the bed, and pressed her lips to her mother’s hand as she savored these last precious moments, and forced back the tears which threatened to spill from her eyes.

  “I am here, Mother. What is it you must tell me? Perhaps you should wait... until you are stronger...”

  “I will grow no stronger, my daughter. Even without the Sight, you know that as well as I. Let me speak now, and keep quiet, I beg, so that you may hear all my spoken words.”

  The queen drew breath, shivering a little, despite the fur-lined blankets tucked around her. She spoke with great effort, yet her words were clear and purposeful. It would not be long now before she joined her husband in the Other World, but first she had to impart this crucial message to her younger daughter. If not... she could not bear to think of that. She focused on Brianne, so young, so strong, so full of life.

  “Three visions came to me in the night, Brianne—all three centered upon you. Gather courage now, for what I am about to tell you will frighten you. But you must know—your sister is in grave danger.”

  Brianne felt a cold shaft of fear pierce her heart. “Emma! Oh, Mother, no!”

  It seemed impossible that anything could threaten Emma, her elder sister by four years. Not Emma, the tall, flaxen-haired beauty with her dark fairy eyes and laughing voice. Emma had powers—she could heal and conjure and sway men’s minds.

  Brianne had always adored her sister. Emma had brushed her hair for her nearly every day when they were young, had taught her to spin, and had told her many a tale by the fire on winter eves while their mother listened smiling at her loom, and the waiting women snored.

  Emma was in danger? Brianne’s heart constricted with fear. Three years ago, the handsome Duke Feour had come for Emma with a great procession of men, horses, and gifts. He had married her with King Ansgar’s blessing, and had carried her off to Raudinium.

  Brianne had thought Feour the handsomest man in the world, and the strongest, and the bravest. She still did. How could Emma be in danger when she was with Feour?

  “Mother, I don’t understand. Tell me what is threatening her.”

  “An assassin!” Queen Erinn coughed, gasped, and clutched Brianne’s hand even tighter, as if drawing strength to utter the words. “The vision was unmistakable—and terrifying, Brianne. Your sister, Feour, and their babe are to be murdered in a fortnight if they are not warned. An evil man, Gandur, has plotted their deaths.”

  “Mother, no!” Brianne’s lime-green eyes darkened with fear. “Oh, what can be done? A message—I must send a message. Bobwen!” she cried sharply, but her mother grasped her sleeve.

  “No, do not send... anyone. There is no time. Raudinium is too far. Too far even for a messenger like that one.” Queen Erinn’s bleary gaze rested a moment on the great black raven perched on a ledge near the window, its dark eyes glinting. “Do you not see, Brianne? There is only one way to warn her—you must warn her.”

  Brianne turned the sickly color of the gruel sitting untouched on the bedside table.

  “I... can’t!” she burst out miserably.

  “You... must warn... her.” Erinn gasped, and then began to cough. Her chest heaved, and great wretched breaths shook her spare form as Brianne watched helplessly, her fingers twisting and clenching on the fur-lined coverlet. When the spell had passed, and Brianne had lifted a cup of water to her mother’s lips, Erinn sagged back against her pillows and continued in a raspy whisper.

  “My power is all but gone. You have seen it ebb. Once, I could have sent Emma a warning with no more effort than it would take to brew a posset or to don my cloak, but now... those days are forever gone.”

  Brianne could do nothing but nod. Until six months ago, her mother had been the most powerful of sorceresses, a Seer, a Watcher, a Gatherer of Spells, one on whose quiet strength and power all those of the castle and surroundings could rely. Even when Brianne’s father had died two years ago—a terrible blow—Erinn had remained the strongest of them all, continuing to guard and oversee the welfare of the castle and the village, protecting them with her wisdom and insight, guiding the villagers, advising the men who fought under her father’s banner how to defend the land. But six months ago, a wasting sickness had come upon her, and she had grown ever weaker, losing all of the radiant power that had been hers over the years.

  And I, Brianne thought despairingly, cannot take her place. I cannot help my people or even warn my sister of her doom, for my powers are nonexistent—I am lacking in that which all the women of my family have possessed throughout the generations.

  What good am I to anyone?

  Erinn, weak as she was, still had the ability to read her daughter’s thoughts.

  “No, Brianne,” she said gently, and sat up a little, taking deep breaths between sentences, yet speaking with calm firmness. “Do not fall into despair. You know the story of your birth. Your grandmother, my mother, the Wise One, foresaw that you would command the greatest of powers—powe
rs greater than her own, greater than mine or Emma’s. In her wisdom, she knew that these powers would overwhelm and do harm to a small child. You were not strong enough to bear them as a babe or a toddler, or even as a girl, so she took them from you and secured them in the moonstone that belonged to her—until the time of your thirteenth birthday, when she knew you would be strong enough to manage them.”

  “But the moonstone was lost.” Brianne’s voice held ragged despair. “I am nineteen, Mother, nearly twenty—so very old. And my power is no greater than that of a billy goat!”

  “Only until you regain the moonstone and wear it around your neck from sunrise to sunset— or the other way around,” her mother reminded her, reaching up with great effort to touch her daughter’s cheek.

  “But it is gone! It disappeared when I was still in swaddling clothes, before ever I could claim it.”

  Erinn’s eyes gleamed within her ashen face. “Ah, my daughter, do not despair,” she repeated. “I have seen the moonstone. That was my second vision. I know now where it can be found.”

  Brianne’s mother smiled at her, a soft, misty smile, full of tenderness. “Three visions,” she murmured. “The first one was of Emma’s danger. Though she possesses power to heal, and limited Sight, she is blinded to the danger which is closest to her. But the second vision offers hope to her and to us. For this vision was of the moonstone. Brianne, it is in the possession of the man who comes for you this morn.”

  Shock crossed Brianne’s pale face. She went cold inside. “What man, Mother?”

  Again, the coughing fit came upon Erinn. Bobwen quickly mixed herbs into a cup of broth and hurried forward to spoon some of the steaming liquid to her mistress’s lips.

  “Rest now, my lady. You can tell her more in a while...”

  “No! There is no time, Bobwen. No time.”

  For a moment, her eyes locked with those of the old woman who had served her nearly all her days, and understanding, as well as deep, mournful affection passed between them. Then Bobwen stepped back and motioned Brianne forward again.

  “Do not interrupt or argue,” she warned in a low tone, though her hand upon the girl’s shoulder was gentle. “She will need all her strength to finish her speech.”

  “I understand.” Swallowing back her tears, Brianne knelt once more and clasped her mother’s fingers. Already, she felt the life draining from them. They seemed no more substantial than wisps of dried leaves cradled in her own small, vibrant hands.

  Despite the turmoil roiling within her, she forced herself to speak calmly. “Tell me, Mother. Tell me of this man who is coming.”

  “He appeared in the third vision. A warrior, tall and strong. I saw a castle... a gray stone castle set upon a hill. You will find the moonstone there, Brianne. I saw it, round his neck, glistening in the firelight of the castle. But... it was dark, blurred...”

  A shudder passed through her, spasming across her shoulders and chest. “At first,” she gasped out, shaking her head, “I could not see the color of the man’s banner—and suddenly a mist obscured the vision. I struggled to see, and then it became clearer. I saw the green banner flying alongside his troops, the green banner of Eadric, the man to whom your father promised you.” Her faded green eyes glazed over as the vision suddenly appeared to her once more. “I see him! Look! He is at the river now. He will be here soon to claim you for his bride.”

  Brianne’s arm swept around her mother’s thin shoulders as Erinn bolted up in bed with the burst of vision, then slumped weakly. Brianne held her close for a moment before helping her to settle back upon the pillows. Gazing into that withered, exhausted face, drained of all its vitality, she wished she could heal this wasting sickness and bring her mother back to health. If only she were already in possession of the moonstone... perhaps her healing powers might have been great enough...

  But this was not her destiny, she realized bitterly, nor was it Erinn’s. Her destiny, she reflected—a very different destiny—was upon her, according to her mother’s words.

  Enveloped by grief and pain, she was yet beset by confusion. She had to bite back the questions that rushed at her. Why was King Eadric coming for her now, after all this time? Why did he want her as his bride, a girl whom he had never set eyes upon?

  When he had not come for her at fifteen, or sixteen, or seventeen, she had begun to think herself safe. But now? On the day of her mother’s death?

  Sobs of anger and frustration welled up inside her, but she fought them back. Eadric must wait, she decided wrathfully, until her mother had been buried and properly mourned. She would not go with him today...

  And then she remembered the moonstone—and the danger threatening Emma.

  “Mother, what am I to do?”

  Erinn’s lips struggled to form the words. Her eyes grew duller even as she spoke. “You must go with him, Brianne. At once. Find the moonstone. Wear it... and warn your sister. You must not... fail.”

  “I won’t, I swear it!” But her heart was hammering with fear.

  Go with Eadric, a man she had never seen, a barbarian king? The cruelest of tyrants?

  Her mother was speaking again, the words falling from her lips like the last weak drops of tea from the bottom of a cup.

  “Go now, my little one, dress yourself as befits the daughter of a king, and go down to meet them at the gates. Let them think that the Sight warned you of their coming—they will be in awe of you, a little afraid of your power. It is a weapon of sorts, remember that. Go... go to the gates. Greet your future husband... and do not forget, with every step along the path, you draw closer to the moonstone...”

  “I love you, Mother,” Brianne cried, flinging herself down in anguish at the last moment, pressing her lips for the last time to that colorless, sunken cheek.

  Erinn’s eyes cleared for one brief moment. With the last of her strength, she smiled and squeezed her daughter’s hand.

  “Child, my beautiful child,” she whispered gently, “always remember... my love for you will never... die.”

  The once lustrous green eyes closed like fans. The hand in Brianne’s went slack. Brianne could no longer hold back the tears that sprang to her eyes. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

  Her mother’s fingers dangled lifelessly in hers. A chill, aching numbness crept through her.

  “There now, Princess.” Bobwen’s fat, gentle hands tugged her from the bedside. Brianne knew she, too, must be grieving, but Bobwen hid it behind her customary sternness. “She is gone from this world, and there is nothing more to be done for her—only that you keep your promise,” the serving woman said. Her plump, jowly cheeks sagged as she nodded at the distraught young woman before her.

  “Do as your mother bid—and quickly. Your days for roaming the forests free as a mouse and dallying over the flowers and herbs are gone. There is no time to waste.” She pushed the dazed girl toward the door, then met Brianne’s tormented gaze as she paused on the threshold.

  “Have no fear,” Bobwen reassured her, more gently. “I will see to her in the way that is proper. Think now of your sister. Do what you must.”

  Brianne knew she was right. She fled through the dank castle corridors to her own chamber, and with shaking fingers threw off her plain woolen tunic and hose. She donned a fine gown of wool dyed the color of plum wine, aware of the richness of the jeweled collar and gold-embroidered sleeves. It slid loosely over her slender figure, and she wrapped it with a belt of gold. Her heart pounded as she pulled on hose of pale kersey. Her serving girl, Midd, a round-faced little cherub with deft fingers, swiftly brushed and replaited her hair, threading gold ribbons through the pale tresses, all the while biting back the questions that swirled within her.

  “Oh, my lady... is it the queen? Whatever is amiss this morn that has you so in a whirl?” Midd cried at last as Brianne threw her best fur-lined cloak about her shoulders and began to run from the chamber.

  Brianne never paused, but tossed a glance behind her as she ran. ‘Never fear, Midd—al
l will be well!” she called, and prayed that it would.

  Her mind was spinning with such confusion of emotions and urgency that she could scarcely think of what was to come. She clung only to the command that she reach the gates in time to greet the warrior who came for her, intimidating him with her “powers.”

  She was chilled to the bone, and the winter wind blasted through her with icy force as she ran from the castle and hurried toward the walled gates. Even as she ran, she heard the thunder of hooves over the roaring wind, an ominous sound that could only come from a sizable troop.

  Most of her father’s men were fighting in the south, and she saw no one but a shepherd and some village women as she streaked toward the gates. It seemed incredible that in a few moments, she would come face to face with Eadric, the barbarian of Wen about whom she had heard so many tales. When her father had pledged her to Eadric years ago, Eadric had been a young king new to the throne. He’d not yet committed the many acts of warfare, rape, and pillage that would earn him a gruesome reputation among all the peoples of the land.

  Brianne knew her father would never have willingly pledged her to someone as ruthless as Eadric. She, who had sat by his knee and studied maps and strategies and borders with him, was a practical, keen-witted girl who understood the necessities of politics. She had not rebelled. After all, her father had pledged Emma’s hand in marriage several years earlier, and for the same reason—as a means of sealing pacts with another ruler who might otherwise prove to be an enemy.

  And Emma’s alliance had proven a wise one beyond all expectation: Raudinium was a rich land, and a generous ally, and the treaty between Raudinium and Morksbury had been long-lasting and advantageous for both realms. In addition, Feour had turned out to be a brave and fair-minded leader with whom Emma had fallen in love.

  But to King Ansgar’s dismay, Eadric proved to be a very different sort of man.

  To start with, he had wrung the marriage promise from Ansgar at a council where his men-at-arms appeared ready to strike the king down if he did not agree to it. It was plain that Eadric, whose army numbered ten times more men than Morksbury’s, lusted after the smaller kingdom. And King Ansgar, backed into a corner, had protected his lands and his people in the only way left to him: by agreeing that one day in the distant future, Morksbury and Wen would be joined together, not through war and conquest, but through marriage.