Page 189 of The Daughters of Avalon
Affecting an air of serenity and grace, as befitted her station, Maude sat patiently, studying the exchange between the King and his subjects, considering the man who’d supposedly come to bend his knee… Giles de Vere was seething, like a teapot over a low flame. And yet, the look in his black eyes was never so canny and he chose his words carefully.
“I, too, am a man of my word, Your Grace. I will, indeed, kneel for my lands and I will fight for my country, but I cannot join yourGuard.”
She did not miss the look he cast Cael d’Lucy.
Curious that…
“In fact,” he continued. “It is your right to send an army north to secure York, and, of course, you must do so. You may rest assured the Vatican has no more desire for David mac Maíl Choluim to take this bishopric than you do.”
“And you know this, how?”
Here it was, at last; Maude scooted to the edge of her seat, anticipating Giles’s response. No man had ever revealed an association with the legendary Papal Guard, for which her husband had modeled his own cloak and dagger company.
Giles smiled, though barely. “Alas, Your Grace, this you must know I cannot reveal. But I can tell you this: In the matter of York, my sword and my fealty are not in disagreement.”
Stephen narrowed his gaze. “So, then, youwillkneel for metoday?”
The Lord of Warkworth’s dark eyes glinted with cunning. He paused overlong, Maude believed, but there was little she could say over the matter when he nodded assent, and said, “I will, Your Grace.”
Upon his agreement, the gloom of the room immediately lifted. Thirteen sighs blew and the candles on the tables shivered in relief. Still, she not did not join them in their solace, because she couldn’t help but feel there was something she was missing… something that called to her woman’s intuition. She simply could not fathom how any man could see his house burn to the bedrock, knowing full well her son was responsible, and not still entertain some manner of vengeance. Morwen, when she returned, must get to the bottom of it.
Chapter
Twenty
Wilhelm searched, but found no sign of those birds. If, in truth, Jack saw one, it had fled, and good riddance.
Cunning little creatures.Once, as a child, he’d watched a raven solve what was essentially a cunning puzzle, learning to pick a warehouse lock by trial and error only to get at the grain within. And this, after mimicking the sound of a woman’s shriek to rid itself of the guard.
Fascinated by its machinations, he’d watched from his perch in a nearby tree, leaving the raven to its machinations all the while he’d trimmed cock feathers for fletching.
But these ravens were not those ravens.
These ravens were Morwen’s ravens—uncanny was more the like. Immediately discernible by the patch of white on their napes, these birds had thickset bills, short tails, and ebony feathers that bore a deep purple sheen. More the size of a goshawk, they were rather enormous birds, with four-foot wingspans. He could scarcely imagine what a sight they’d presented with thousands of them bearing down on Aldergh.The image alone gave him a shudder. Insofar as he knew these particular ravens were not native to Briton. Where they came from was anyone’s guess. Perhaps Morwen had summoned them from her cauldron. But this much he knew: By that witch’s design they’d gifted one of those infernal birds to nearly every household throughout the realm. The simple fact that Warkworth escaped having one was only due to the fact that the King’s son had burned down their demesne.
Bloody bastard.
One day, he would see justice done for his kinsmen—his father, brother, sisters, and aye, Lady Ayleth, as well, even despite that he could no longer recall the lady’s face. It had been replaced now by the bewitching countenance of a sorceress whose beauty was the least of hermagik.
Aye, he must confess it; Seren Pendragon occupied his every waking thought. He didn’t care who her mother was. Like Rosalynde, she was innocent of Morwen’s sins. He was wrong about her, and, somehow, despite the grim occasion, in her presence he was like a seed, unfurling and reaching for the brilliance of the sun. Her smile, little occasion as they’d had for it to appear, was fleeting, but exquisite, nonetheless.
So, it seemed, he was guilty of everything he’d accused his brother of—being swayed by a lovely face, so much so that he was willing to risk everything for her cause.
It left him with a strange ambivalence, but none at all when it came to keeping the lady safe. If he’d encountered one of those birds he would have twisted its neck till it was dead and left it to be devoured by dung beetles.
Simply to be sure, he searched for hours. By the time he returned to camp, he had a grumble in his belly that threatened to wake the dead. Fortunately, Seren and the boy were already asleep. He took every care to step over her pentagram, stooping first by the boy’s side to tug the blanket up, over his chin. Tiredas he must have been, he never once stirred. And neither did Seren when he moved to her side, falling to one knee to gaze into her face.
So beautiful.
So still.
A sudden thought occurred to him and his heart thumped—what if Morwen’s minions found them whilst he was out searching? God help him if he’d failed her—as he’d failed her sister.
His breath caught in his throat as Seren’s bosom lifted, straining against the bodice of her gown, and he swallowed with relief, cursing himself silently for the stirring in his loins. Without a moment’s hesitation, he reached down, resettling her blanket so it covered her entirely, sheltering her from his greedy eyes.
God’s truth, never in his life had he felt so protective over any living soul—not even Lady Ayleth, truth be known.
Seren had watchedas Wilhelm tended Jack and the sweetness of his gesture stole the breath from her lungs.
