Page 185 of The Daughters of Avalon
“If `tis any comfort,” he said, “I do not think he would judge you.” Regarding her still, he held the evening’s meal firmly positioned between his thighs. “Ido not.”
The warmth in his gaze made Seren’s cheeks burn. “Mayhap,” she said, “but, believe me, I have seen the way folks regard those who are different, and it would destroy me to see him look at me that way.”
Or, you,she added silently.
He nodded again, retrieving his knife, slashing a few judicious slices across the carcass, severing muscle, she presumed. Afterward, the pelt came off easier.
Dropping his knife again, he tugged the remainder of the fur off the rabbit without much effort, and, for an instant, as she watched, Seren was beguiled by the sinew of his arms—every muscle dancing.
What are you doing, Seren? Pining after a man already taken?Censuring herself, she tossed her stick into the flames, marveling over the fact that Wilhelm took so much care withtheir pit, surrounding it with fieldstones, very much the same way her pentacle was meant to work for protection. He might not have much skill with fire-kindling, but he was a custodian of nature no less than she was. Herdewinefolkfancied themselves guardians of nature, andmagikwas only a tool, Goddess-given, to accomplish good works, each according to his way. The Craft of the Wise was simply a practical study of thehud, anddewinitywasn’t so much about what skills one possessed; it was a philosophy of being. Her people believed all things were connected, living or dead. All told, there was very little difference between her and Wilhelm, save for the tools they wielded.
Seren was coming to understand him better. To be sure, he had a servant’s heart in that burly breast, even if his demeanor was far from subservient.
In fact, she wondered how those Warkworth brothers fared when together. As well as she could remember Giles, she didn’t believe he was all too forbearing, and she had a vision of them coming to fists quite oft. Men were like that, she supposed, simply because they could be. No matter what circumstances they met, she and her sisters hadn’t the luxury to quarrel about who should be in command. They might not always agree about what path should be taken, but all together they discussed it, giving every argument equal merit.Dewinefolkwere not so concerned with kings or queens, nor earls or barons. According to their tenets, all men and women were created equal, and even Rhiannon would not presume to command them.
For a while, there was a priest in residence at Llanthony—one Father Cabot. For the most part, he’d been a kindly soul, but Seren could see that he had his own plan for the priory, one that didn’t align itself with Father Ersinius’ plan. Those two had argued and often, and soon it became apparent that two such strong-willed men could never reside under the same roof. So, Father Cabot departed one day, and Ersinius was inordinatelypleased by the fact though betimes, Seren wondered where the man had gone, mainly because on the day he departed no one came to call for him, nor did he take a priory wagon or a horse from the stables. He simply vanished. Though, of course, it was entirely possible he took the Rhiw Pyscod afoot to Llangorse, no word ever arrived to corroborate that fact. It was also possible that he went to Abbey Dore, but that didn’t seem likely either since Llanthony was Augustinian and Abbey Dore was Cistercian.
Perhaps it should seem a small matter for men who all claimed to follow the word of the same God, but it was not. This was, in truth, much the source of Father Cabot’s dissent. He was a true Augustinian by nature, which was to say he interpreted scripture quite severely. He’d believed in living in silence, eating and drinking sparingly. Manual labor did not suit him. To his manner of thought, men and women should spendalltheir time contemplating God in prayer, and while he was never precisely unkind to Seren and her sisters, he never condoned their presence at Llanthony—not merely because they were women, but because they were presumed to bewitches.
Seren loathed that word for all it implied. To be sure, no one ever called her or her sisters witches with a smile. Even Ersinius, who’d vehemently argued the need for their asylum, had treated them rather poorly. Overall, though he’d claimed to answer to the Rule of St. Augustine and the Austin Friars, he was more Cistercian in nature, turning Llanthony into a flourishing center of trade. If not by word, by deed, he was of the mind that everyone should do their part, and he was more concerned with how to make their God-given lands a service to God, hence the hatchery and the aviary. Moreover, he was inclined to seek grants to apply his “works” though a true Augustinian would no more put expensive Germanwaldglasin a vestibule—threetimes no less—than he would ever approve of having Morwen’s witchy daughters on the premises, only for the sake of gold.
As for the Vale of Ewyas over which the priory presided, it was no more God-given than it was modeled after St. Augustine’s rule. Those lands, along with the majority of the Black Mountains, were stolen from her people, snatched perforce and by royal decree from men who would never call that English Usurper king. But, so long as Stephen of Blois sat on her father’s throne, Wales would never come to heel. Even now, it made her smile to think of that defiant child who’d smashed the chapel’s windows—not once, but twice.
“We should be another three or four days before arriving at Neasham,” Wilhelm said, interrupting her reverie.
He was impaling his cony on a skewer, and though Seren was growing accustomed to the sight of depilated hare, she held her gaze aloft of the poor beast.
“Neasham?”
“Abbey,” he explained. “If you’d like to, we can stay overnight. I know the prioress well enough to beg a favor.”
Seren nodded, rubbing her arms absently. She knew those nuns, too. They were dressmakers for the Crown, and they were nice enough, to be sure, but not so much after learning they were Morwen’s daughters. However, unless Sister Emma had returned to their fold, they wouldn’t recognize Seren, and she hoped Wilhelm would keep that bit of information to himself. “Yay,” she said, looking up into the canopy of shimmering green. “I think it could be nice; thank you, please.” She would desperately love a bath, and a change of clothes. She could have donned one of the dresses Wilhelm bought her long before now, but it seemed abominable to do so when she smelled like the Thames.
“I suppose I should say… it was your sister Rosalynde who earned that lady’s good will. She offered Mother Helewys five gold marks for alms.”
“Five gold marks?”
“Aye,” he said. “I know. She said it was all she had.” And he smiled very fondly. “Your sister is—” He paused, seemingly unable to find the proper words to describe Rose, and his cheeks flushed so brightly. Seren presumed it was because he was trying and finding it difficult to tell her he loved Rosalynde, but it was clear enough by his words and his actions. Once again, she felt a stab of envy. “You care for her, do you not?”
He lifted his gaze from the cony. “Rosalynde?”
Seren nodded.
“Aye,” he confessed. “I do. And, if you ask me, the world needs more ladies like her, and fewer pious fools. I am so sorry about your grandmamau.”
Seren blinked in surprise. He knew about that, too?
Sweet fates, what didn’t he know? Clearly, Rosalynde had confided all, and Seren felt yet another inexplicable stab of jealousy, though she had never envied her sisters aught.
In truth, it was Seren who was blessed with the best fortune, and it was about time the Mother Goddess blessed someone else, but… well… she didn’t wish to entertain those thoughts either.
Sighing very wistfully, she wished she could read Wilhelm’s thoughts as Rhiannon or Elspeth could do. Much like his face, his aura suddenly turned scarlet, and she assumed it was because he was thinking of Rosalynde. Red, after all, was the color of passion.
It was also the color of fury, but there was naught about Wilhelm’s demeanor that betrayed the latter. Aside from his surliness, she’d come to see that he was as placid a man as his sort could ever possibly be, taking immense pleasure in the taskhe’d been given—namely sheltering her and returning her to safety. She only wished she could do something to repay him.
“Wilhelm… I was thinking… mayhap I could teach you,” she said, regarding him across dancing flames.
Overhead, the rising moon was a smile upon the twilight sky.
