Page 105 of The Daughters of Avalon
He and Wilhelm shared a meaningful look, and Wilhelm shook his head ever so slightly.
Giles turned to wink at Rosalynde. “As tempted as I am to seek out your thief at a nearby inn, I’d rather reimburse you myself than deal with that den of miscreants. And besides,” he said, with a lop-sided grin, “it seems my brother is afeared.”
To that, Wilhelm cut him a mean glance, but Giles ignored him. “Five gold marks, you say?”
Rosalynde nodded, but reluctantly, because she still had all her money hidden in the hem of her gown.
“Worry not, Good Sister. I will provide you the entire sum, especially since I do not intend to part with the mare. But youmust be content with a few silver marks until I can send you the rest… if you will trust me.”
Inexplicably, Rosalynde did trust him. Though, sad to say, he had little cause to trust her as she’d been lying to him from the very moment he’d happened upon her. “How… kind,” she said, struggling with her guilt.
He would give five gold marks to a stranger he’d only just met? He must have plenty more, and never mind, because she shouldn’t take a penny.
Giles de Veremustbe a champion, indeed, and there could be no doubt he was sent by the Goddess, but… what could possibly have happened in London to change her sister’s fate? Had Giles repudiated Seren?
That seemed… utterly… impossible.
There was naught wrong with Seren. Her sister wasn’t merely lovely; she was as kind and gentle. She was gracious and good in all she did, and no one could fault her for anything— certainly not the likes of Giles de Vere.
The merest possibility of him repudiating her sweet sister did more than confuse Rosalynde; it tempered her gratitude, even as some terrible, terrible part of her—some part she couldn’t explain and didn’t wish to acknowledge—was oddly gleeful their union wasn’t ordained.
But why? Why would she feel this way?
If Giles was such a goodly man, why should she begrudge Seren that boon? Rather, she should be pleased for their union, not relieved that the bargain wasn’t sealed.
Brooding over her ludicrous thoughts—that perhaps Giles was not meant for her sister after all, rather he was meant for her—Rosalynde went about her woodland bower, holding hergrimoireclose, surreptitiously hoofing at the lines of her pentacle beneath the bracken.
At intervals, both men peered in her direction, casting her odd glances, as though they questioned her very sanity. But, of course, they would; what a sight she must present, looking like a hen scratching at feed.
Alas, she couldn’t take any chances. Covered by bracken, her diagram wasn’t visible to any but discerning eyes, but she didn’t intend to leave anything for Morwen to discover, particularly so near to Darkwood—the very name gave her a shiver. All this time, unbeknownst to her, she had been headed directly toward that place, and it was almost as though her mother had been leading her to her ruin.
Even now, was Mordecai waiting for her?
What might have happened if these men hadn’t come upon her sleeping?
She took comfort in this: If, in truth, Morwen had found a way to influence Rosalynde’s thoughts, Rosalynde should have felt her prying. Even more significantly, it wasn’t her mother’s way to wait about for anything. Morwen did not take lessons in patience from the spider in a web, no matter how sticky her thread or how deadly her poison might be.
Rather, her weaknesses were pride, impetuousness, and arrogance. And, in her vainglory, she would never guess how powerful Rhiannon was growing. None of her daughters would dare reveal it, and hopefully, that realization would come too late for her. And nevertheless, before anything could be accomplished along that vein, Rosalynde must first deliver thegrimoireto safety… somewhere Morwen wouldn’t be able to reach it. To her knowledge, that place could only be Aldergh.
Hurrying as best she could, she erased all traces of her pentacle, all the while thinking about Elspeth and Rhiannon, how different her eldest sisters were.
Elspeth had been their father’s favorite—more beloved even than Matilda, and if only she’d not been born a bastard, shemight have been his choice to wear England’s crown—not that it would have ended any differently for her than it did for Matilda. Times were never so dire as to place a woman on the throne. And nevertheless, if anyone could inspire confidence, it was certainly Elspeth. She had their father’s grace, and Matilda’s fearlessness, albeit without the haughtiness that plagued their father’s rightful heir.
Rhiannon, on the other hand, could be as ruthless as Morwen in so many ways, cunning and cold when she must. But she was loyal and fierce in her defense of those she loved. And, unlike Morwen, she did have the patience of a spider, weaving her web so meticulously, only waiting, waiting…
Someday, Rhi must be the one to challenge Morwen, though if her sister had a plan, she’d kept to herself, and it aggrieved Rose to no end that she had so meekly allowed their mother’s guards to abuse her that last night at the priory. They’d placed Rhiannon in iron shackles, tossed her into a tumbril, and to this day, Morwen refused to speak of her second eldest, and Rhi, so skilled as she might be, mustn’t be able tomindspeakoutside proximity—why, Rose didn’t know, but she assumedmindspeakingworked like the light of a flame. Up close, it burned brightly, but the further one moved away from the source, the dimmer it became. Long ago, many, many eons before Rosalynde was born, Rhiannon claimed that folks were more accustomed tomindspeaking—not merelydewines, but everyone.
Eventually, they learned to block the ability to save themselves the grief of hearing the truth, because the heart did not always agree with what the tongue proclaimed.
Similarly, right now, her heart was telling her one thing, and her mind was telling her another.
Run!said her mind.
Stay,said her heart.
At long last,the brothers were ready to ride, and Rosalynde whispered a silent prayer of thanks to the Goddess.
Giles helped her onto his saddle, then promptly mounted behind her, scooting as far back as he could possibly go. Perversely, the effort he took to avoid her amused Rosalynde, and she took some small comfort in the fact that he must still think her hideous.
