Page 124 of The Daughters of Avalon
If only she wished to refuse her gift—if Giles wished to—she was free to do so. All she had to do was release his hand…let go, turn away. Confused though he seemed to be as well, he held her hand firmly, and, sweet fates, even knowing that he was betrothed to her sister, Rosalynde entwined her fingers about his, holding him fast, even as she felt a strange thread weave its way through her belly. Terrified to look away now, she peered straight into his dark, soulful eyes, only begging him to confess the things he was hearing and feeling…
The essence of nature seemed to fold and unfold itself, circling around them, like ribbons of fae dust. And still, Rosalynde dared not release his hand…
And… neither did he release hers, though she realized that, though he must surely feel what she felt, he probably couldn’t hear what she heard nor see what she saw.
At long last, Rosalynde took a shuddering breath, withdrawing her hand.
“We are ready to ride at your command,” announced Wilhelm. And when he received no response, he said, “Giles?”
Giles blinked twice, then shook his head, as though shaking off his stupor, turning to address his brother, looking as confused as Rosalynde felt.
“Aye,” he said. “Let’s go.” And he turned to Rosalynde again, blinking once more.
Chapter
Twenty-One
Precisely as Giles had predicted, Neasham proved to be a solid week’s journey, and yet, so much as Rosalynde feared another meeting with her mother’s disciples, she secretly reveled in every passing moment she spent warmed by Giles’s embrace. Unlike that first day they’d traveled together—before herglamourspell faded—he held her jealously, and if no one spoke about what happened in the woodlot, everything between them had changed. She felt it in the way he dared to embrace her—every small gesture, like the hand he rested upon her waist, and the fingers he splayed across her belly.Sweet fates.Whenever he dared to touch her that way, she felt a stirring down so deep it stole away her breath.
She was not unlike a poppet, responding to every touch. And it was almost as though he pulled at invisible strings, not out there, in theaether, but inside her body, and every tug evoked incredible sensations, from her heart to her womb.
And now she understood what the bards meant bylovesick. It was a malady in every sense of the word. She felt fevered, achy, and all week long, her mouth remained parched. Her tongue felt too large for her mouth. And no amount of satiating her thirst made any of these symptoms go away. Moreover, her handsperspired, and she had to remember to unclench them every so oft to let them breathe. To her dismay, even despite the cold, she felt hot and bothered, and the feeling put her nerves on edge, until she felt as though she were one immense ball of emotion, unraveling into theaether, like yarn into a weaver’s loom, spinning impossible dreams... dreams that revealed the two of them as consorts… and more.
And yet, if he made her body come alive, with scarcely his breath on her nape, he seemed completely unaffected.
So much as they’d slept arm in arm on his pallet, he never once offered Rosalynde more than his warmth. Only since that moment in the woods, he’d treated her with the utmost respect, put her on and off his horse with care, bundling her beneath his cloak, and refusing to allow her out of his sight, save for those moments when he must. And even then, he remained close, sword in hand, and Rosalynde daren’t complain again, not after coming so close to death.
For his part, Wilhelm seemed confused by their sudden affinity, casting odd glances. But if he thought Rosalynde wanton for clinging so intimately to his lord brother, she couldn’t bring herself to care. Giles made her feel safe, even despite the circumstances. And whether it was because of those feats he’d performed in the glade, or merely the solicitous manner in which he cared for her, it didn’t matter. It was an unanticipated pleasure to be coddled, and the feel of his arms awakened something she’d never experienced in her life…desire... but desire for what?
Closeness? Companionship? Something more?
Confused and uncertain of her own desires, Rosalynde knew only one thing for sure: Only now that Giles was holding her so covetously did she have any sense of how famished she had been for affection. And nay, it wasn’t the same as a chaste hug from her sisters. Somehow, Giles’s arms felt so right, and if, in fact, itwas wrong, she didn’t want to know. For the first time in her life, she felt—perhaps not cherished, nor loved; it was too soon for such devotion—but very intimately connected to another human being not her blood.
As similar as it was to the bond she shared with her twin, it was nevertheless as different as night and day. Certainly, she missed Arwyn, though she had never oncelongedto be held by her sister—not like this.
Nor did her sister’s nearness make her breath catch.
And even so, for all that she was experiencing this extraordinary awakening, the mood itself turned grim.
For the most part, little was said between the trio. They rode expediently, rested sparingly, and kept to the woodlands, taking care not to attract undue attention or take unnecessary risks.
Without further ado, Giles seemed to appreciate the import of Rosalynde’s mission, and he shared her resolve to see thegrimoireto safety.
For his part, Wilhelm remained quiet and brooding, and Rosalynde had the sense that he, like her, couldn’t quite banish the image of the Shadow Beast from his head. So long as she lived, she would never forget that face… the way it had metamorphosed before her eyes… even now, the memory gave her a shiver, and she suspected that such a being was only conceivable through bloodmagik.
Only now, she understood the tales of those days before the fall of Avalon in a whole new light—of that boy the Witch Goddess pursued, first in the form of a greyhound, then as an otter, then a hawk, and finally, a hen. Even understanding what she did about herdewineheritage, she had always considered those tales to be fanciful versions of the truth, meant to be interpreted. But whatever Mordecai had been in that glade, it was not human, and only sacrificialmagikcould have produced such a creature.
Now she wondered: Perhaps in truth, the distant land of her kinsmen was swallowed by the sea… and perhaps the mists of Wales gave ingress to the Nether Realm.
At the moment, there wasn’t much she wasn’t prepared to believe—after all, Giles himself was a Paladin.
A Paladin.
A Huntsman for the Church.
A slayer of witches.
Oh, yeah, she’d heard of the inquisitions, and she’d understood there was a danger in revealing herself as adewine, but after all, there was naught larger than life about a man with an axe. Executioners need not be huntsmen, and the employment of an entire company of highly trained assassins assigned to ferreting out and exterminating enemies to the Church had seemed… well, farfetched… until now. By the cauldron, how much her perception of the world had changed since leaving Llanthony, where her gravest concern had been to slip past Ersinius’s guards, only to win herself a moment to forage in the woods. Only now, with all that had transpired, did she truly comprehend why her sister Elspeth had been so afraid. Rosalynde was afraid now too, and the simple fact that her escorts were so silent and brooding gave her every indication they were as troubled as she was.
