Page 159 of The Daughters of Avalon
If ever Seren had believed her mother could be redeemed, she now knew that wasn’t true. Morwen was a fiend of the worse degree—she was a monster willing to murder her own kin. There was no other explanation for that fire. Seren knew it wasn’t natural. That pure-blue flame could only have been conjured bywitchfire—something she now understood to be real, for ifwitchwindexisted, so too didwitchfireandwitchwater. But if only Rhiannon could advise her…
His voice was gruff, filled with torment. “Lady Seren?”
Seren longed to send him away.
Ambivalence ruled her emotions. After all, she did need his help, and she must believe he was Goddess-sent. His presence here must not be a coincidence, and yet, if she believed in fate, she must also consider that Arwyn was meant to die, and this was simply detestable. How could the Goddess forsake her sister that way?
How could the most innocent of lives be squashed like a fly?
“Have you…” Again, Wilhelm Fitz Richard scratched at his head. Seren was coming to realize this was a nervous habit. “Perchance you know… some… spell?”
He fluttered his fingers at her, and Seren’s heart skipped a beat. “Spell?”
He rolled his hand in the air. “Aye. What is you call that… aglamour?”
Seren blinked.
He knew about glamours?
“Your sister… when we met… she was wearing some mask, or so she claimed—can you cast this spell?”
Sweet fates!Was he truly asking her this so openly? Dare she answer? Could she trust this man?
Inexplicably, despite that his presence disturbed her, she did long to trust him.
“Aye,” she said, with no small measure of trepidation.
Never in her life had she spoken so freely of the Craft to anyone but her sisters. And yet, he clearly understood a bit of what aglamourwas already. It was a chimera, like maquillage, only drawn by theaether. Rosalynde must have enlightened him.
“I could do it, but I have no philter,” she lamented. “The little I had was in a pouch aboard the Whitshed.”
Tears pricking her eyes again, she reached into her pocket to dig out a few oddments—not nearly enough for a spell, and still she saved what remained, dropping the fragments back into her pocket. She knew better than to discard even the smallest seed.
He blew out a sigh, sounding resigned. “I’ve no idea what that means, but never mind.” He turned and went for his saddlebag, lifting up the flap, dipping his hand inside, and fishing out a thin, black woolen cloak of the sort that her mother’s minions sometimes wore. Returning to Seren, he offered the garment to her. “Wear it,” he said, and it was a command.
Mother’s mercy!He was contrite and ready to serve one minute, arrogant as a king the next. What must she make of this man? Aggrieved as she was, she accepted his cloak. “Does this mean you intend to take me with you?”
“Aye,” he said crossly, then muttered something unintelligible beneath his breath.
“What did you say?”
“Naught, damn it all! If you’ll not leave without that boy, and I cannot truss you up like a goat ready for slaughter, so it seems you must accompany me back into the city, after all.”
Trussed like a goat for slaughter?
The image incensed Seren, but she suspected he might be needling her, and so she tossed his cloak over her shoulders and said, drolly, “How good of you,my lord.”
He didn’t bother to turn to speak to her. “I have already said, I am no lord, though if you mean to mock me, enjoy it,m’lady.”
Seren blushed, because, in truth, she had forgotten. Despite all his poor-mouthing, it was simply impossible to think of him as aught less than a man of authority, dressed as he was in those sigil-embossed leathers. He wore them only too well, she noted, with shoulders high and straight, and his bearing more attuned to that of a king or a duke. His aura and presence were undeniable. The entire woodlands seemed filled by him. Sweet Goddess have mercy, even his trews were dwarfed by his size, and to the contrary, the cloak he’d lent her swallowed her whole. When she lifted up the hood to conceal her plaited hair, she couldn’t even see beyond its folds. And so it was that when she neared his horse, he swept her up without warning—yet again—only this time putting her neatly in the saddle.
She yelped in surprise. But he didn’t give her time to protest. He mounted behind her, putting his spurs to the horse.
It never occurred to her until they were well away that she hadn’t even considered balking. Every thought of escape had vanished the very instant he’d said she could accompany him. And now, it was all she could do not to turn and sob against his shoulder as his arms enfolded her.
He is not comforting you, pea brain,she reminded herself.He is performing a duty to his lord, keeping you safe until you may stand before your betrothed.
And nevertheless, the urge to unburden herself was unbearable. She caught her sob before it formed, and stiffened when he touched her, drawing away from him and making herself as small as she could in the cage of his arms.
