Page 144 of The Daughters of Avalon
“Blackwood?” asked both her sisters in unison.
Equally confused by the disclosure, Seren shrugged. Only Elspeth had ever seen their familial estate, built high in the Black Mountains. It was served now by a new lord—one of King Stephen’s known assassins—but it was Elspeth, not Rhiannon, who had been promised to that lord.
Like Avalon, the castle and its lands were now lost to them forevermore because of their mother’s greed, but evidently, Morwen had a plan to retrieve it.
“What kind of beast would accept a bride delivered by tumbril?” asked Rosalynde.
Arwyn retorted. “What kind of mother delivered her so?”
“A mean, greedywitch,” answered Seren.
And, aye, she’d meant to use that word with all the disgust most commoners felt for it.Witch.
It was a very good thing Elspeth fled the priory when she did, else she might never have gone, and even now if she learned of Rhiannon’s fate, Seren had little doubt her eldest sister would return. After all, Ellie had been more a mother to them than Morwen ever was, and she would never have left them if she had known what travesty would befall them.
On the other hand, Rhiannon must have known something. She had been so insistent that Elspeth leave, and once Elspeth was gone…everythingchanged.
As life happened, her sister claimed, nothing occurred without consequence. There was a price to be paid for every decision made. Seren’s only consolation was that Rhiannon must have understood her fate. She must have known that she would be expected to take Ellie’s place… but to what end?
It was only after therap, tap, tappingbegan again that she realized they’d been blessed with an interval of silence—silence enough to allow her to think clearly.
But now the bird pecked more ardently at some unseen morsel, giving Seren a shiver as she listened.
It was a long, long time before Morwen returned, and when she did, she wore a smile as black as her heart.
Carrying a torch, Morwen waltzed into the room like a cat who’d swallowed a mouse, and it was only then, by the light of her flickering torch, that Seren saw what it was that Bran was pecking at… bits of raw flesh. Blood stained the floor where he pranced. Her stomach roiled, but she daren’t look at her sisters for fear that one of them might sob.
For the moment, ignoring her daughters, Morwen gazed fondly at her hideous bird. “Has my sweet pet been entertainingyou with his supper?” she crooned, more to the bird than to any one of her daughters. “My beautiful boy.”
As the girls watched, she placed her torch into a cresset, and then, still smiling, she flicked open a small compartment on her ancient ring, then moved toward the tub, turning the contents into the dark liquid. Only then, once this was done, she met Seren’s gaze, and like a lover tempting a man, she removed her gown. Convulsively, Seren swallowed, desperate to look away, only self-preservation kept her eyes affixed on her mother. Once bared, she slid her nubile body into the tub, wading into the glistening liquid, and then, sat, like a seductress bathing in oils.
But it was not oil, Seren realized belatedly.
It was blood.
Dark as a plum.
Horrified, she watched as Morwen painted her lips with the oily substance, then, thoroughly amused by Seren’s expression, she giggled, and giggled… and giggled… and then she began to sing:
When thy father went a-hunting,
A spear on his shoulder, a club in his hand,
He called the nimble hounds,
‘Giff, Gaff; catch, catch, fetch, fetch!’
Chapter
One
DOVER, JUNE 1, 1149
The skies were blue again, streaked with wispy, white clouds that were moving too fast to cluster.
With plenty of wind to fill the sails, the harbor was bustling with last-minute preparations—supplies being hauled onto ships, deckhands inquiring after work.
Adding to the mayhem, the Maritime Market was teeming, drawing merchants and customers to the Saturday Feria after more than asennightof storms.
