Moonstone Magic

By Jill Gregory

In this fairy tale story of love and magic, anything can happen -- and it does -- when love unexpectedly touches the hearts of an inexperienced but charming sorceress and a battle-hardened leader of men.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jill Gregory
• Release date: Dec 30, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370780402

Book preview

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—powers 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