Page 103 of The Daughters of Avalon
Chapter
Nine
His dark eyes glinted, and his smile transformed his face like to that of a delivering angel’s.
For a moment, Rosalynde was too dumb to speak.
There were legends that told of a distant kinsman—the Merlin of Britain, better known to her people as the prophet Taliesin. He was purported to be the most beautiful man in all the realm. For love of him, Cerridwen’s own daughter had defied her witch mother, and in turn Cerridwen doomed the entire isle of Avalon to the Endless Sea. This instant, Rosalynde could well believe a face like that could change the fates… this man might well change hers.
She could scarcely believe her good fortune. She lifted a hand to her breast in surprise. “Where do I wish to go?”
“I believe it’s what I asked.”
But, nay.Of course, he would wish to help her. There was naught surprising about that. She was a woman in distress—and not merely a woman, but a woman of the cloth. What man worth his salt would ever abandon a sister in her time of need?
“We haven’t time for twaddle,” said the brother, and Rosalynde’s hopes were dashed.
She looked from one man to the other, uncertain which of the two was the one in charge. For what it was worth, despite the bigger man’s perpetual frown and his aggressive posture, the other man seemed more… well… perhaps dangerous—even if the other did not perceive it.
Like Elspeth, Rosalynde could sometimes read auras and the beautiful man facing her had a thin but distinct thread of black in his life force—no red, which implied to Rosalynde that whatever it was that informed his colors, it was not tied to his emotions. In other words, he could slice a man’s throat, but it was not a thing he would do in anger. Fortuitously for her, she didn’t sense that throat-cutting was a pastime he was inclined to, else the black in his aura would be more prominent.
Still, it was there, and it gave her pause… and she was glad now that she had taken time to conceal her pentacle. Anyone who might stumble over the diagram who did not understand the Craft might think it to be Satan’s work. It most certainly was not. Simply by nature, alldewineswere inclined to follow good Christian tenets. Their priests and priestesses were not unlike Christian priests, who in their hearts and minds were closer to God. Her grandmamau claimed all gods were one god, born of the same Great Mother, from whose very womb had sprung the world itself.
Looking back and forth between these two brothers, Rosalynde watched as the handsome man’s jaw tightened, though rather than appear frightening, he was more arresting—like the graven image of a golden idol. And mayhap this was why the other one did not take him seriously: He was too stunningly beautiful to appear threatening. Apparently, only Rosalynde sensed the quiet rage burning behind his words. “You return to Warkworth. I will escort the lady myself.”
“Giles.”
“Wilhelm.”
“Nay,” said the other man resentfully. “I’ll not leave you.” And Rosalynde took a defensive step backward.
Giles?
Giles of Warkworth?
Wasn’tthatthe name of the lord expected to wed her sister? And yet, it could not be—if so, he had clearly and inexplicably found her sister wanting, else Seren would be with him now. So far as Rosalynde knew, her sister was supposed to have returned to Warkworth with her betrothed.
Giles’s dark eyes shone like tourmalines—as impossibly dark as his hair was fair. “Accompany me, or nay, I will not leave this Sister alone.” He turned to cast a pointed glance at his brother and Rosalynde could feel the underlying tension mounting between them. Whatever it was that was troubling these two men, she wanted no part of it.
“Well,” she said, considering her mother, “I should be going…” As it was, she feared to tarry longer, and she hadn’tanydesire to embroil herself betwixt these two siblings. Even so much as she longed to inquire about her sister, she daren’t do so. “You may have the mare,” she said, waving good-bye, but neither of the brothers bothered to look at her. “I’ll be going!” she said louder.
“Nay!” said Giles, turning to stab Rose with a razor-sharp glare, and yet she sensed his anger wasn’t directed at her. “I. Said. I. Will. Escort. You.”
“Oh. Very well,” said Rosalynde, as he turned again to look at the one called Wilhelm.
“And come to think of it, not only will I escort you, my brother will as well.”
So now she knew which of the two was in charge…Giles. Giles de Vere. The very one who was fated to marry her sister. What a strange, strange turn of fate, but she couldn’t decide whether it was good… or bad.
Right now, it felt more bad than good.
The tension between the two brothers was indisputably brittle. The air crackled between the pair as palpably as it had with her warding spell—which, she realized only belatedly was completely diminished. Giles must have broken hermagikwhen he’d stepped into her pentagram.
Naturally, her first thought was for Morwen… if her mother should happen to peer into her crystal at the moment, there would be naught to keep her from finding Rose. Holding the book close, she frowned.
“As you wish,” said Wilhelm, peering down at his boots, looking as though he might suddenly retch… and then, he did.
Rosalynde twisted her lips into a grimace and looked away.
