Page 104 of The Daughters of Avalon
The lord of Warkworth’s toothy smile reappeared. “You must pardon my brother,” he said. “His ale has gone to his head, and his manners to the devil.”
Rosalynde nodded, but the greater part of her only wished she could flee—without these two men in her company. And nevertheless, she had the sense, after watching them, that there was no true discord between them. Quite to the contrary, the one called Wilhelm seemed to care about his lord brother, and she needn’t read auras to know it; the truth was there in his eyes. Rather, she sensed there was a certain lack of accord creating some rift between them… and she wondered if it had anything at all to do with her sister. These would not be the first two men to vie over Seren. Scarcely a month after their arrival in London, her sister had already had multiple requests for her hand, and two of those men had reputedly come to fisticuffs.
“I would be… grateful for your help,” she said to Giles. “Thank you,” she said to Wilhelm.
At the least, she must feel a little relieved for their protection. No matter how good she might be at foraging, her sisters had always claimed she had more valor than good sense.
Frowning still, Wilhelm swept a sleeve across his lips and said, “No worries, Good Sister. ’Tis but poor timing, and ’tis hardly your fault.”
Still clutching thegrimoireto her breast, Rosalynde offered the man a smile, confused by their demeanor.
“Where to?” asked Giles.
“Neasham,” said Rose, a little alarmed by how easily the lie slipped through her lips. And yet, it wasn’t entirely unrehearsed. After all, Neasham was run by a small sect of Benedictine nuns, founded in part by the very woman whose habit she had stolen in London—Sister Emma.
“There you go,” said Giles, sweeping a hand in his brother’s direction. “How convenient. We’ll deliver her, with little time lost.”
Wilhelm nodded, though sullenly.
“Thank you,” said Rosalynde yet again, and, affecting her most benevolent tone, she added, “Because of you, my faith in men is restored.” She smiled winsomely, forgetting about herglamourspell and both men turned away, perhaps discomfited by her smile. Rosalynde lifted a brow at the sight of their chagrined blushes, but at least she knew they weren’t escorting her for the wrong reasons.
“It seems to me that your good faith in men should keep a bit of caution,” Giles said, and he turned to his brother. “Go, on… prepare the horses,” And then he addressed Rosalynde again. “Gather your belongings, Sister. We’ll be on our way at once. But, if you do not mind, I would ride my own horse…. and you…”
He looked toward his petulant brother, who was already gone to do his bidding, and apparently changed his mind, because he furrowed his brow. “You will ride with me.”
Rosalynde covered her answering grin with a hand, and it was all she could do not to giggle. He looked so perfectly disheartened by the notion.
Chapter
Ten
Few things in life were mere coincidences, and if there was one thing that separated the heart of adewinefrom the hearts of ordinary men, it was that adewineunderstood intuitively never to ignore a gift from theaether.
Clearly, these two men were meant to be part of Rosalynde’s destiny, and she understood they were sent for a reason. She only prayed that reason would see her safely delivered to Aldergh, and to Elspeth… not to Morwen.
Considering their demeanors, she watched them both carefully. It would be just like her mother to send a beautiful demon to do her dirty work. Thankfully, she didn’t get any sense of maliciousness from either of the two.
The one called “Wilhelm” dutifully inspected his brother’s mare, perhaps to be certain Rosalynde hadn’t somehow despoiled the beast. But despite the feeling of rancor she sensed from him, there was nothing about his actions that gave Rosalynde any indication he conspired against his brother. Rather, he very meticulously tightened the cinches, checked the length of the stirrups, adjusted the lord’s saddle and patted the twin satchels. Finally, after having discovered the lump of her cloak, he peered inside the satchel, pulled out the garment,then gave Rosalynde a bewildered glance, before shoving it back down into the pack.
She had the sense Wilhelm didn’t entirely trust her, though if he believed she’d lied about her circumstances, he didn’t confront her. And that was a good thing because she hadn’t any viable explanations to give him. For one, she couldn’t begin to explain why she wasn’t wearing her mother’s cloak in the middle of winter, when he and his brother were heavily weighted beneath fur coats. She simply didn’t wish to wear the foul garment, and at the instant, she wasn’t cold. Her warming spell was burning strong.
The same might not be true for herglamourspell, she realized, and if she was meant to travel with these men, she must soon reinforce her spell. After all, she hadn’t missed that odd look Giles gave her when she awoke—as though he couldn’t quite fathom what or who she was.
Sad to say, it was impossible to know how long she had remaining before the spell faded, because she was only a novice and most of herphiltersand spells were untried.
Until yesterday, thegrimoirehad remained locked in her mother’s trousseau, and she and her sisters had barely had any time to study it alone. Naturally, it was Rosalynde, with her tinkering skills, who’d learned to pick the lock, and nevertheless, during these past six months, there had been so few opportunities, and they’d only had any at all because they’d persevered, realizing that the only chance they had to defeat Morwen was to learn the Craft.
Hopefully, by now, Elspeth, too, must realize they neededmagikto defeat Morwen. Men alone hadn’t any chance against her—not kings, nor queens, nor sons of kings. So much as the newly appointed Count of Mortain believed he had some hold over Morwen Pendragon, he most certainly did not. He was her mother’s poppet, no more, and Morwen was evil incarnate. Noteven Elspeth would believe it if they told her what atrocities they had witnessed at Darkwood—depravity beyond imagining. Even now, all these months later, Rosalynde still shuddered to think of it…
In her mind’s eye, she saw the blood-soaked biscuits… Morwen’s familiar plucking at the crumbs… those shining black eyes so full of knowing.
Forsooth, she didn’t know which she feared most—Morwen, her wicked birds, or Mordecai, with his unfailing eagerness to please the Dark Witch of Bannau Brycheiniog. Alas, she could only deal with one problem at a time… and right now, the problem was her fadingglamour…
Twice she’d attempted to slip away, twice Giles warned her against wandering. The second warning left her cold. “Of all the woodlands to choose, Sister Rosalynde, you made your camp very close to Darkwood,” he explained.
Rosalynde stiffened. “Darkwood, my lord?”
“Aye,” he said. “’Tis no wonder yourguideled you to these parts. These woods have long been a haven for brigands, cutthroats, and more of the like. Rich as they might be with quarry, even King Henry wanted no part of them.”
