Page 118 of The Daughters of Avalon
Her attention well and duly caught by the mention of her sister, Rosalynde turned to face him.
Wilhelm’s eyes were narrowed. She could see the fury burning in them. “The lady comes to him with a generous emolument, and Stephen himself would presume to pay for the wedding. And yet, ’tis not so much that I begrudge him a bride—nor even a title, Sister, ’tis...”
“I notice Lady Seren does not travel with you,” she interrupted, wanting desperately to know more about her sister and Giles. “Did your brother not accept?”
Wilhelm looked annoyed by the change in subject. “Of course, he did, only on the condition that he return six months hence to take his vows—like some poppet.”
“I see,” said Rose, wishing vehemently that luck would have found her traveling with her sister—except that it would have meant leaving Arwyn alone, and some part of her was grateful they were still together.
And more, she didn’t wish to think of Giles and Seren together, though why that should be true, she didn’t care to explore.
And still, too bad for Seren, because Rosalynde had already determined Giles was an honorable man. Her sister would be so fortunate. Torn between sisterly pride and some burgeoning sense of envy, she longed to ask Wilhelm what his brother thought of her beautiful sister, but that was all the more reason for Rosalynde to leave—now, before Giles de Vere had the chance to undermine her good sense and will. The last thing she intended was for any man to come betwixt her and her sweet sister—as a woman must surely have come between these brothers. “Do you not love your brother?” she asked gently, laying a hand on his arm.
“I do,” said Wilhelm. “I would give my life for Giles.”
His brotherly admission made Rosalynde both happy and sad. She, too, would die to save her sisters, and this doubtless was the reason she had insisted upon taking thegrimoireto Elspeth. Not only did she believe she was the most capable, but she had known in her heart that neither gentle Seren nor innocent Arwyn could ever manage such a harrowing quest.
“How did Lady Ayleth die, if you would pardon my asking?”
The warrior’s countenance darkened. “Burned alive,” he said, and his face was a sudden mask of fury. “By the Count of Mortain and his Welsh witch.”
Morwen.Sweet fates, how many more atrocities had her mother wrought in this world? Her evil was like a poison filtering through the veins of this land, destroying all it touched.
“They came in the wee hours with torches. I lost two sisters, as well as an elder brother, and my—our sire.”
“And Lady Ayleth?”
Rosalynde’s heart wrenched for the man.
Wilhelm nodded glumly, and the grief-stricken look on his face tugged at her heart. It was no wonder he was so tormented. “I should have died that night with my kinsmen,” he explained. “Alas, I was away with a message to Arundel. Imagine my shock to return and encounter my home in ruins.”
Poor man.
She closed her arm around his. “Wilhelm,” she entreated, “do you love your brother truly?”
“I do,” he vowed. “More than aught I wish to purge my heart. I suffer night terrors, Sister Rosalynde. I cannot wrest these images from my mind, neither waking, nor sleeping.”
“Oh, Wilhelm…” Rosalynde shook her head with compassion. “I… I am … so… so sorry.” Hot tears brimmed in her eyes, and she swallowed, with some difficulty. “Do not worry, my brother. God will forgive you.” She sensed this was precisely what he needed to hear. “I feel the love in your heart is greater than your ire, else you would never have sought my counsel.”
Wilhelm nodded fervently. “Still, I worry,” he persisted, his eyes dark with torment. “So much as envy is my burden, I’d not lose my brother, good Sister. I fear it more than I fear my own death. Giles is all that remains of my blood kin, and he is too arrogant and too certain of himself, despite that his blade has never shed a drop of blood. He is an innocent, learned by books and the Church, not by his blade, and in this day and age, I fear for his safety, even as I fear for my soul.”
Rosalynde’s brows lifted. “Art certain of that?” she asked, because she did not feel it could be true. She did not read auras so well as Elspeth, but Giles was no innocent. And, to be sure, neither did he strike her as an arrogant man, nor a man whotook his responsibilities lightly. It was only now, as she stood conversing with Wilhelm that she suspected it might have been folly to try to escape him. She had a good sense that his honor would not allow him to leave her to the mercy of the world at large. And now that she understood… she realized that he had been far more patient with his wayward brother than even was prescribed. If either of them had hubris to be disposed of, it was Wilhelm, not Giles. Giles had treated Wilhelm with enduring patience, even as the elder man had baited him, and now she understood that Wilhelm thought his age and experience to be worthier than his brother’s. She was not fit to make such a judgement, but she knew in her heart that it took a great man to wield unyielding patience over anger, and a strong mind to understand that his brother’s temperament was not a sign of disloyalty, but rather, a tormented and confused mind.
“Only tell me what to do,” Wilhelm pleaded.
Rosalynde lifted her hand, laying it upon his whiskered cheek, advising him from her heart. “Go to your brother, Will. Tell him all you have told me. Pledge him your obeisance, as it should be… as your father no doubt would have wished.”
He shook his head adamantly, lifting a hand and pushing Rosalynde’s away. “Nay, you do not understand… I cannot turn my face and allow my brother to endanger himself, when I am the one who knows better. He is my lord, but he is my brother, and I would prostrate myself if I could, but for the sake of his life and for the sake of Warkworth, I will not!”
Rosalynde didn’t have any opportunity to disabuse him of his notions. Just then, a darkling shadow passed over their heads, like a bird of prey… circling…
She realized only belatedly that they were standing in an open glade, ripe for the plucking. Her first thought was for Morwen’s ravens, but all at once, the woodlands grew cold and dark, and she longed for her mother’s cloak—that profane coatshe could scarce bear to touch, much less wear, no matter how chilled she might be.
The shadow captured Wilhelm’s attention as well, and he glanced up, his face contorting, and even as his chin tipped skyward, Rosalynde heard the sound of Rhiannon’s voice—so terrifying in its incarnation that it wasn’t possible to feel relieved. For eight long months she had longed to know if her sister lived, and if Rhi had broken her silence, it was only because there was danger.
Run!she screamed.
Only Rosalynde heard the warning, and for the briefest instant, she wasn’t certain that what she’d heard was real. Her instant of doubt was her undoing. She peered into the boughs and saw it—enormous and terrifying!
