Wedding at Warehaven
October 27, 1117 - Warehaven Keep on the Isle of Wict

Clouds streaked steadily toward the near-full moon like ghostly fingers reaching across the sky. Sir Randall FitzHenry, bastard son of the King, waited silently beneath the towering oaks.

Soon the pale glow would go dim. Then, under the cover of darkness, he and his men would swarm Warehaven Keep.

As he had done many times this last hour, he stared across the narrow field separating the heavy woods from the keep. Through the open gates Randall could see the still roaring blaze of the bonfire in the bailey.

For three successive nights the shouts and laughter of those dancing around the fire drifted across the field. Behind the voices beat the rhythmic pulse of the tabor drums.

The first part of his mission would be easy. There'd been no battles on the isle since his grandsire's day, so the keep was lightly guarded¾as evidenced by the open gates. Warehaven would be conquered before the inhabitants knew they were under attack.

His spies had done their jobs. They'd brought him the layout of the keep, the names and descriptions of those in charge and the plans for each night's festivities.

He looked up at the sky. This task had been blessed--proof was in the clouds straining to douse the moon's light. Randall knew his advance men were in place. As soon as darkness overtook the sky, they would see to the men guarding the gates.

He nodded at the joyous shouts of Warehaven's celebrants. Let them make merry now. For this would be the last night they practiced their pagan rites.

No more would they shamefully cast aside their inhibitions to dance and mingle so brazenly in the open before the fire.

And no more would they enact some Wild Hunt. A shiver traced down his spine at the memory of gazing upon the woman they'd sacrificed. Bruised, torn and broken she'd died in agony, her unseeing eyes open wide, a scream frozen forever on her lips.

Aye, he would find this stag of the forest--this supposed pagan god and his followers. He would end the vileness plaguing Warehaven once and for all. Those tasks he would accomplish without fail and without remorse.

The last task his liege, his father the King commanded--the one that left a bitter taste in his mouth--he would begrudgingly fulfil. He would ensure the keep's loyalty by forever binding Warehaven's unwed witch to the crown.

Shadows inched across the field as the moon disappeared behind the encroaching clouds. Randall raised his hand, holding it steady above his head until darkness overtook the last glimmer of light.

He lowered his arm, silently waving his men forward.

# # #

'Father will flay us alive if he learns of this.'

At her sister's hushed rebuke, Brigit of Warehaven forced her attention away from the fire. Ailis the oldest wrung her hands, while Mathilda the middle sister kept looking over her shoulder.

At times Brigit could hardly believe she was the youngest of the three. The other two were far more timid than she could ever be.

While Ailis was correct, their father would be outraged by this reckless behaviour, Brigit had no desire to run back to the keep like a coward. Instead, she advised, 'Then perhaps, Ailis, we should not tell him.'

'He'll find out.'

'What matter does that make to you? Besides Simon, I am the only one still living under his roof and rule.'

'True enough,' Mathilda countered, 'but do you think our husbands would approve of this either?'

'None us will suffer censure if all goes well.' Brigit pulled Ailis's hooded mantle tighter around her sister's shoulders and tucked a wayward braid further inside the hood. 'We need only stick to the plan. Keep your hood pulled low over your face and nobody will pay us the least bit of attention. If we're not seen, there'll be nothing to tell.'

'I don't know, Brigit...'

She shot a glare toward Mathilda. 'Not you, too? I thought you were set on casting your spell before the bonfire this night?'

When Mathilda dragged the toe of her shoe back and forth across the dirt without answering, Brigit prompted, 'Does Daniel's attention matter so little to you after all?'

Mathilda squared her shoulders. 'Nay, I need see this through.'

It was all Brigit could do not to roll her eyes at her sisters' indecision. They each had a mission tonight. Their father, brother and the two husbands were gone from Warehaven hunting and seeing to the nearby fields.

Sir Geoffrey, the man their father left in charge of the keep, took it upon himself to call for an early start to the annual harvest festival. A bonfire had been set in the middle of the bailey for the last three nights in a row now. With the lord absent, the people had taken advantage of the merriment until morning light broke the night's darkness.

Each evening the three of them willingly locked themselves into the chamber they shared rather than fall prey to some rowdy guard who'd imbibed too much to remember his place.

She'd chafed at being so confined. So, yesterday morning she'd devised a plan to see if the spells she'd heard the midwife talk about for years would work. Her sisters had begged and pleaded with her not to be so foolish. When Brigit had refused to change her mind, they decided to accompany her and had chosen their own spells to cast.

Ailis carried her husband's first child and she wanted to know how many babies they would have. She was determined to stand before the bonfire, twist an apple on its stem while counting the turns before the fruit snapped free. Supposedly, each turn represented a child for her and Robert.

Overly concerned that her new marriage seemed lacking, Mathilda was anxious to cast a spell of desire upon her husband. She'd plucked stray hairs from Daniel's garments and braided them with some of her own. It was said that if she tossed the braided lock into the fire it would make the owners of the hair burn for each other.

Since Brigit was the only one still unwed, her sisters insisted that she must see a vision of the love that would come to her during this next year. To do so, she had only to walk away from the bonfire and glance over her shoulder to see his image in the flames.

She'd worked hard at restraining her reckless nature of late. The sheer excitement of doing something Brigit knew they shouldn't was far too seductive to let pass.

'Are we ready?' Ailis didn't sound eager, but Brigit knew if she gave either of them the slightest chance they would try to drag her back inside the keep.

'Aye, 'tis time.' Brigit motioned for the others to adjust their hoods before leading them toward the fire. They stayed close enough behind her that she heard Mathilda's nervous giggle and Ailis's hiss of reprisal.

'Ho, what have we here?' A guard staggered toward them. The stench of ale reached them first.

Brigit pulled a dagger from beneath her cloak and pointed it toward the man's groin. 'Keep your distance.' To her surprise the order sounded steady. She'd feared that the heavy pounding of her heart would make her words falter.

And to her relief the man actually listened. He stared at the knife, then raised his hands before turning around to find a woman more willing to share his company than they were.

'He recognized us.' Ailis tugged on Brigit's cloak. 'Did you hear me? We are lost.'

'Stop it.' Brigit swatted at her sister's hand. 'Did you not smell the ale? He wouldn't have recognized his own mother.' She didn't bother to add that he wouldn't have recognized his wife either, but his unfaithfulness was none of her concern. She'd leave that in Brother Peter's capable hands.

'What are those?' Mathilda's half gasped question brought all three to a halt.

Brigit followed the direction of her sister's trembling finger. Uncertain, she slowly moved toward the objects stacked a slight distance away from the growing fire.

Ailis's reached past Brigit and fiddled with the loosely tied leather thongs, permitting the side to fall open. 'Cages?'

Brigit picked up one and turned it around. Reeds were woven into the crude shape of...a cow...perhaps. Another appeared to be...a pig. She set the cage down, wondering, 'Aye, but for what purpose?'

A woman unfamiliar to Brigit hurried toward the oddly shaped reed cages carrying a chicken by its neck. Without a word, she stuffed the squawking hen into a cage, tied it shut then carried it back to the fire.

Mathilda grasped Brigit's sleeve. 'They aren't going to...'

The woman tossed the cage onto the roaring fire, stopping Mathilda's question.

'Oh, Dear Lord.' Ailis crossed herself and muttered what sounded like a prayer before grabbing Brigit's other arm. 'We need leave this place.'

'This place?' Brigit shook herself free from her sisters' hands. 'This is our home.'

'I meant the bailey. Brigit, we shouldn't be here.'

'You knew that before we left our chamber.'

'But we didn't then know they were practicing pagan activities.' Fear sent Mathilda's pitch higher, and louder.

'Keep your voice down.' Brigit leaned toward the other two. 'What did you think they were doing? The two of you infants can run back inside if you wish. But I am going to finish this.'

While a part of her feared for the safety of her soul, curiosity to know what the people of Warehaven were doing was strong. The seductive pull of the music and wild, unrestrained dancing was stronger.

'I am not an infant.' Ailis huffed, then headed toward the fire. To Brigit's relief Mathilda followed. They elbowed their way through the crowd to the edge of the roaring blaze.

Ailis opened the pouch hanging from her waist, retrieved her fruit then stepped forward. She twisted the apple on the stem and twisted and twisted again.

By the sixth time her eyes were nearly as large as the apple. 'Oh, nay, please, nay.' She wailed before giving the apple one more hard spin.

The stem broke free and Ailis stumbled backward nearly screaming, 'Seven?' before smacking Brigit's arm. 'This is your fault!'

'Aye, of course it is. I forced you to twist the stem so lightly that it took over long to break.'

Mathilda pushed between them. 'Now 'tis my turn.' The flickering blaze gleamed in her eyes.

A finger of ice cut through the warmth of the fire to trail down Brigit's back. The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose and she turned to glance over her shoulder only to find herself staring at Warehaven's captain. Taken aback by the hard-focused intent glimmering in Geoffrey's eyes, Brigit stepped away from the unspoken threat.

Why was her father's man looking at her as if he'd like to devour her¼or worse? His heavy-lidded perusal was out of place and unwelcome. Instead of enticing, she found his silent invitation repulsive.

Even with the thrum of the music, the heat flowing through her veins and the rampant wickedness surrounding her, Brigit had no desire to be caught up in the throes of this wildness with Geoffrey.

She turned quickly back to her sisters, hoping he would understand the rejection.

A gloved hand grasped her shoulder. 'I am honoured that you have graced us with your presence.' His hot breath blasted against her ear. 'But surely you did not come out here only to watch?'

Shocked by Geoffrey's boldness, she fought to ignore him, hoping he would soon leave her alone. If she turned on him with the outrage burning in her chest it would only cause a scene and draw attention to her and her sisters. Thus far, no one else had made any comment about their presence and she wished to keep it that way. Brigit forced her attention on her older sister.

Mathilda and four other women seemed to compare their braided charms before tossing them into the bonfire with a joyous shout of glee before spinning away to giggle their way back into the crowd of onlookers.

Brigit shrugged Geoffrey's hand off her shoulder and moved between Ailis and Mathilda. To her relief he did not follow. But neither did he move away.

'Well?' Ailis asked, her growing excitement obvious in her racing questions. 'Did it work? Do you feel any different?'

Mathilda stretched languidly like a satisfied cat, inching her hands up her body then reached briefly for the star-dotted sky before crumpling into laughter. 'Oh, aye. Yes, I'm sure it did. I feel...I feel...different. More alive. More alluring. I'm certain Daniel will burn for me.'

Brigit knew that with the music and dancing, the roaring fire and the general mood of the gathering, any woman would feel more alive and alluring. But she wondered if the spell casting had added to the emotions coursing through Mathilda.

''Tis your turn, Brigit.' Mathilda grasped her wrist, pulling her from their circle.

Ailis laughed before pushing her forward. 'I can't wait to see who it will be.'

From the corner of her eye Brigit saw Geoffrey retreat. To her dismay he headed around the fire. Had he guessed at their plans? Seeing one's true love in the fire was a common old wife's tale. Was he somehow going to ensure he was the man she'd see through the flames?

She shook her head. It made no difference. Let him do as he wished. She'd no fears of becoming his wife or love. She'd see him dead first.

Brigit put Geoffrey from her mind and hesitantly approached the fire. Each step closer made her heart pound faster. The warmth flowing through her limbs grew hotter. As if of its own accord her body swayed to the beat of the incessant drums.

Two young women from Warehaven's village joined her. The three of them laughed nervously then tossed their heads in unison before falling into a rhythmic step toward their vision of the future.

Brigit untied her red cloak and tossed it behind her to her sisters. Then she mimicked the woman on either side of her. Shoulders rolling suggestively, swaying hips and tapping feet drew ribald shouts from the men and encouraging cries from the women in the gathering.

Unable to ignore the heady sensation racing through her, Brigit closed her eyes, threw caution to the wind and gave herself over to the beat of the music.

Two steps forward, one back. A turn, a twist then a tap of the toe brought them to another step forward.

The crackling rage of the fire roared in her ears shutting out any other sounds. Its burning heat ate away her inhibitions. She ran her hands down her body. The curves and swells tingled to life beneath her touch.

They repeated their seductive moves and came another step closer to the fire.

Primal heat licked at her flesh. An unbidden longing to feel a man's arms around her, to writhe naked beneath him flared to life with an intensity that drew a moan from her parted lips.

Another round of twisting and turn steps brought them to the edge of the fire. With a flourish, the two women from the village turned, swirled laughingly away from the blaze and into the open arms of their waiting men.

Left alone to finish the dance and complete the spell, Brigit tossed her head. Curious to see who the fire would show her, she looked over her shoulder.

The shouts of the gathering turned suddenly to screams of fear and horror, freezing her in place.

The pounding in her chest was no longer from excitement. A bone chilling cold crashed into her stomach as a horse catapulted through the flames to land then rear up before her...

From the book HALLOWE'EN HUSBANDS by Lisa Plumley, Denise Lynn, and Christine Merrill
Imprint and Series: Harlequin Historicals - Publication Date 10/08
Copyright © 2008 by Denise Lynn
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher.
The edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A
For more romance information surf to: http://www.eHarlequin.com

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