Page 165 of The Daughters of Avalon
Seren sighed, moving forward again, entirely frustrated. Her horse nickered, prancing impatiently, none too pleased with her indecision. “Wherein the name of the Goddess are you going?”
“Home, I said.”
Seren furrowed her brow. “You are not going home. Did you not read that sign? You are going to Ramsgate, returning to the ocean, and, once again, I remind you that lest you have a ship, or you and your horse would like to have a good swim, the road to Canterbury is the road best traveled.”
Finally, he stopped, turning back to look at her, and his cheeks appeared to bloom. He scowled then, and without a word, spun his mare about, trotting back toward Jack. He passed the boy by, never sparing Jack or the signpost a glance.
He couldn’t read,she realized, in a moment of blinding insight.
She dropped her reins over the revelation.
He hadn’t read the sign, because hecouldn’tread.
What was more, if he hadn’t come by way of Canterbury en route to Dover, he would be judging his direction by the sun, traveling due north. Unless he’d done as she and Arwyn did, traveling straight from Canterbury to Dover, he would have no inkling that he would run straight into the sea where the ocean flowed into the Thames.
In fact, they would be hard-pressed to avoid London’s proximity when skirting the city, and she was already fretting about how they would do it. She wouldn’t feel safe until they were well north of the Wash.
Sadly, these were not areas that supported her sister Matilda. Matilda had fewer allies in the south than she did in the north, and infinitely fewer in the southeast than she did in the west.
Wilhelm trotted on, leaving the boy to wait for Seren, and if Seren didn’t know better—know he’d come so far only to help her—she might think he didn’t care one whit where she ended. Frowning, she turned to follow, calming the horse with a hand to its withers.
Wilhelm realizedhe was sorely lacking in manners.
He was hardly well versed in social decorum. Certainly, he didn’t know how to read. But he didn’t need some haughty witch reminding him of these truths—nor did he appreciate that Serenkept calling himlord. It was a grating reminder that he was lacking in every possible way.
To be sure, he was naught more than a servant with a sword, and if his sire had loved him well enough to keep him and train him, he’d never once mistaken him for an heir.
And neither had Wilhelm ever dared aspire to such heights. For the most part, he’d accepted his lot in life, and there was only one time in all his given days that he’d lamented his station. That was when he’d believed he was ill-equipped to keep his brother and people safe.
God’s truth, not even his desire for Lady Ayleth ever made him rue his birth. But there again, he found himself wallowing in envy—why?
For some slip of a girl.
From the moment they’d met, he’d recognized disdain in Seren’s beautiful blue eyes.
To make matters worse, that boy—that stupid boy from the harbor—could read better than he could.
He hadn’t stopped to ask what the sign post said for one reason alone: He lived his life by his wits, and he knew the way home by the turn of the sun. But he did not like himself overmuch for disparaging a grieving child, no matter that he’d not spoken his vitriol aloud.
Consequently, his mood soured by the minute, and it didn’t help that he’d been on his toes for weeks now, deprived of sustenance and ale, deprived of his bed, deprived of companionship and the people he most cared for.
Instead, here he was—withher—and she couldn’t care less how much effort he’d already put into helping her.
Of course, he understood she was grieving, too, but when he’d tried so hard to reassure her that he well understood what she was going through, she hadn’t bothered to ask how he knew.
What was more, in her presence, he felt for the first time in all his days as though he were being judged.
No one had ever done this to him—no one among the people he loved. Every day of his life his father had treated him with respect. His elder brother Roger had treated him more like a brother. His sweet sisters had loved him truly. And his mother—God rest her lovely soul—whilst she lived, she’d doted upon him.
He didn’t like it that Seren Pendragon made him question himself.
Not even Giles with all his fancy learnings ever made him feel so much a lesser man.
But none of that was the true reason he was so ill-tempered. This was it: Even despite Seren’s grief, she had smiles aplenty for thateegitboy, and none at all for him.
And there it was—the rotten egg in his coop.
He was envious of a boy, for the love of God!
