Page 108 of The Daughters of Avalon
She was silent a moment. “Alas, not so well as I should. But you also know yours?”
“I do, indeed,” said Giles. “Until recently, I was… conscripted to…” He peered at Wilhelm, who seemed to be doing his utmost to ignore them. “The seminary.”
“I see,” she said.
He very much doubted she did, and yet what he did and where he’d been until the day he’d returned to England was not a matter for public consumption. He cast a glance at his moody brother. Even despite their recent discussion, something was bedeviling Wilhelm, though Giles couldn’t put a finger on it. Hewas tired, that much he could see. He was beginning to slouch in his saddle, but as tired as Giles might be, himself, he didn’t intend to stop until Wilhelm begged for mercy. If he had to hand the nun over to keep him awake, he would do it—except… for some odd reason, he realized he didn’t want to. And, more, the longer she remained burrowed in his arms, the stronger his desire to pull her back against him and keep her safe. The scent of her was like some witchery… lulling him into a state of bliss, making him long for his siren, invented though she must be.
“My lord, we’ve been traveling the King’s Road for some time. Perhaps we should return to the woods?”
Sister Rosalynde peered over her shoulder yet again, and Giles cringed at the presentation of her face so near. It wasn’t so much that she was unattractive, but to look at her made him feel drunk, and it didn’t help much that he was already exhausted and growing more so by the second. He hadn’t slept all night long. And so much as he didn’t regret it, because of the return of his sable, he was growing more and more vexed by the mile—both at this sweet, unsuspecting nun, and his lame-brained, ill-tempered brother.
“We’ll be fine,” he reassured her, and hating himself for the rudeness, he gave her a twirling motion with his finger, so she would turn back around. If he must be forced to suffer the tantalizing curves of her body, he’d rather suffer his own imagination. But, if only… because she was perfectly formed. So much as he didn’t wish to know that, he did, and it was impossible to deny it—as impossible to ignore as her sweet, beguiling scent, and he blamed it on his wasted state.
Consequently, the more confused he grew, the more cantankerous he became. “Sister, please, must you lean… so… close?”
Beside him, his brother chuckled, and Giles tensed.
Clearly, Wilhelm was enjoying his discomfort, and, evidently, he’d forgotten everything they’d discussed back in that tavern, else none of it had meant a bloody thing to him. It was enough to sour his mood.
“Say Wilhelm… do you recall my suggesting we stop by Neasham?”
“Of course,” Wilhelm said, impatiently. “You said we could deliver Sister Rosalynde with time to spare.”
“Nay, brother… before that… in the tavern… do you not recall I said we should stop to give alms for Lady Ayleth’s soul?”
His brother did not answer—not at once, and when he did, his voice was thick with emotion. “Nay,” he said. “I did not.”
Chapter
Twelve
Lady Ayleth?
Who was this woman who’d aroused such raw emotion betwixt these brothers?
Instinctively, she sensed Lady Ayleth must be the needle beneath their bums, the cause of their enmity, the pebble in their boots. But whoever she was, she must also be quite dead—or dying—since Rosalynde didn’t believe one gave alms for the souls of the living.
Alms, as well as she could glean, were paid by the devout for the souls in purgatory, so they might be freed to see the pearly gates of Heaven. However, according to her own beliefs, there was only this world and the Other World. And, if, indeed, there was a third place, according todewinetradition, it wasn’t a place mortals could bargain their way out of.
The Nether Realm was a great black void where all things simply ceased to be, just as the Isle of Avalon and the Great Witch Cerridwen. It was as mysterious a place, even to adewine, as the fae glens.
And yet, whatever the case, her heart ached for these brothers, even as she suffered a strange pang that could only be described as envy. Oh, to have a man love her so deeply that hewould vie with his brother, even beyond her death. She sighed wistfully.
As a girl, she’d so much loved all those troubadours’ songs. Every so often, as she and her sisters had toiled in their garden, bored and forgotten, she had dreamt of a beautiful champion who would ride to her rescue. In her dreams— she peered over her shoulder—he looked like Giles.
So, then, could this Lady Ayleth be the reason Giles de Vere had abandoned her beauteous sister in London?
Sad to say, if sweet, beautiful Seren did not manage to turn this man’s heart or soften the pain of his loss, what hope had Rose to do the same? And why in the name of the Goddess would she aspire to do so? Had she gone mad?
Two days alone without her sisters and already she was pining over a man.
And regardless, she rebuked herself, simply because Elspeth had married her champion did not mean Rosalynde should do the same—nor was it even clear yet that Giles was any sort of champion at all. The man was a newly appointed earl to England’s Usurper, and he might never dare risk his new title for the likes of Rosalynde, nor even Seren, for that matter.
And here was the plain truth: Rose was bound for Aldergh and her sister’s husband was an enemy to the crown.
She wasnotsome plain, hapless nun; she was a daughter of Avalon, a child of the Goddess. And just as soon as this came to be known, Giles de Vere would return her to her mother. Because if he so much as dared to oppose his king, he would sooner find himself dispossessed and perhaps even imprisoned.
As for Rosalynde… well… she would do well enough to put all her romantic notions aside—forget the bards’ tales, forget notions of courtly love and champions.
