Page 193 of The Daughters of Avalon
Seren gasped aloud, her brows colliding. “A huntsman?”
The Church gave them one name, but, like the King’s Rex Militum, they were naught but a company of assassins—executioners for a cause. It so happened that one of their causes was the slaying of witches. From time immemorial the Churchhad been determined to vanquish all enemies of its doctrine, whether or not they were enemies in truth.
Wilhelm lifted a shoulder, then his hand. “Paladin, huntsman. Aye, whatever name you must give them.”
But, nay, it could not be true…
“Do you know who they are, Wilhelm?”
He nodded soberly. “I do.”
“And yet you left my sister alone with that man?”
Wilhelm gave her an odd smile. And his explanation in no manner assuaged her. “You mean your betrothed?”
Seren frowned at him.
“Rest easy, m’lady. My brother is no longer at Warkworth, I would presume, but I promise you he would never harm your sister.”
“And you? Are you?—”
“A Paladin?” He shook his head. “I am but a simple man.”
Hardly, Seren thought, but she pinched her blanket together, peering over at Jack, realizing only this instant how much danger she’d placed him in. If only she’d left him in Dover, he would have been safer there.
There simply hadn’t been time to inquire after help, and even if she’d had time aplenty, she knew the boy had no one there to give him shelter. And, besides, if she’d raised suspicion for herself, they might all be locked away in a tower—Wilhelm, too, for abetting her, and Jack, as well.
But how would she bear it if Morwen slew them?
“I did not realizeshapeshiftingwas possible,” she said after a moment. “We are not witches of the sort men so long have conceived, who turn men into toads at will. This is but an old wives’ tale, Wilhelm—a tale of the sort that mothers tell young children to frighten them into behaving.”
“I know,” he said gently. “I know. Your sister explained it all to me. I know who you are, Seren.” And once again, her name,whispered so gently on his lips, made her heart skip another beat. Only it affected her more deeply this time. It brought a new sting of tears, because there was not only acceptance in his tone, but a note of affection as well. He understood who she was, and still, he cared.
“Remember that day… in the King’s Hall… I must confess, I saw only your mother. My heart was so filled with vengeance—how dare Stephen ply my brother with riches and beauty, I thought to myself: How could Giles possibly have any hope to defy you, if in truth your mother would send you to Warkworth as her emissary—this is what I believed. It was only later… once I met you that I realized how fortunate my brother was to have been offered you to wed.”
Seren choked on her emotion over his confession. She opened her mouth to speak, but he wasn’t through yet. He held a hand up to silence her.
“Alas, men such as I are simply not fit to kiss your feet. We are fortunate to wed at all, much less wed a bride of our choosing.” Seren wanted to argue, but she could not. Men of his station were never so fortunate. He was bound to his lord in ways even a simple farmer might not be. If he married at all, he would marry whom his lord decreed, and since he was blood-kin to her betrothed, Giles de Vere would no doubt wish him to marry to strengthen alliances.
But… she was sister to Rosalynde. If, indeed, he was free to wed Rose, he should certainly be free to wed her—but, nay, Seren. Nay! What are you thinking?
If Wilhelm was promised to Rosalynde, who was she to turn his heart? She was no wanton, nor was she a siren, luring men to their doom.
So, this was the thing her sisters had so oft teased her about. Her beautywasa curse, because she could, indeed, turn men’s hearts with a glance, but if she should ever inspire them tosin against their beloveds… how was she any better than her mother?
And anyway, theirs wasn’t true affection, she apprised herself—at least not on Wilhelm’s part. If aught, it was lust. And though Seren was beginning to feel something akin to affection for this man, what Wilhelm felt for Rose was bound to be more sincere.
Sweet fates. At the moment, she wished so much she could be as ugly as Morfran, because then, folks might love her for her soul, or not at all. They would not tempt her with glances like the one Wilhelm was tempting her with now… as though he could, in truth, be fond of her.
Groaning inwardly, she averted her gaze, and she was thankful when he changed the subject entirely. “I must confess, I fear for that boy,” he said. “I worry for you, as well, but if you can do half of what your sister can do…” There was a note of admiration in his tone. “Well… let us say you might be saving me. Jack, however…”
The very implication tightened her shoulders. “Oh, nay! We couldn’t leave him.”
“Not here,” Wilhelm agreed. “I meant Neasham. The sisters there are kind and they would keep him safe until such time as we can arrange for his return to Calais.”
Seren lifted a thumbnail to her lips, nipping at it. “Neasham?”
“Aye.” He nodded. “Your sister saw to it they would be forever in our debt.”
