Page 203 of The Daughters of Avalon
“Aye.”
“So, it seems, Duke Henry aligns himself with David?
“So it seems.”
“The Earl of Chester and the Earl of Cornwall are planning to take York?”
It was a bold move, Seren realized.
“Your guess is good as mine,” Wilhelm said. “But I am not surprised. De Gernon has long been discontented, and Rainald is Matilda’s half-brother.”
“Yay, I know,” said Seren, with a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Rainald ismybrother as well.”
Wilhelm’s brows collided, as though only now perceiving this fact. But it was true; the Earl of Cornwall was as much Seren’s kindred as he was Matilda’s—obviously, so was Duke Henry. Perhaps it hadn’t occurred to Wilhelm how many bastards her father had sired, or perhaps more significantly, how well he appointed them. But though her father had given little enough of his time, he had givenallhis children generous endowments, including Seren and her sisters. The simple fact that she couldn’t claim her money was all due to her mother. And they were not alone in their complaint; even Matilda had been deprived of her due.
Ye gods! Duke Henry was at York. The significance of that was not lost to Seren. Tensions were escalating so quickly. And now, the simple fact that Duke Henry had joined this fight was momentous, because, in essence, it meant he, as the rightful king of England, would agree to cede York’s archdiocese to Scotland, awarding the entire northern ecclesiastical power to David.
“How far from Warkworth lies York?”
“Thirty leagues, perhaps.”
“Aldergh to York?”
“A little bit further. Closer to the border.” He gave Seren a meaningful glance, correctly assuming her thoughts, because he said, “Your sister is safe there, and, in truth, I would venture to say that if tensions continue to escalate, Giles will send you both north to join Elspeth at Aldergh. I have never seen that fortress, but by all accounts ’tis inviolable.”
Seren nodded, and for an instant—only the briefest instant—she suffered a pang of longing to return to York to meet her nephew. Whereas only a few months ago she mightn’t have cared much about either Henry or Matilda, she longed now for some connection to her family. Or, perhaps it was something more like hope… something she now had a glimpse of thanks to Wilhelm. But, truly, with her sisters all scattered to the winds, and Arwyn…gone—she still could not conceive it—Seren had never felt more alone… except for Wilhelm. She glanced at him now, wishing she could smooth the worry lines from the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t so much that she was no longer affronted by his lie of omission, but the darker his mood, the more inclined she was to try to lift it. “I must believe my father would support this,” she said.
“Did you know him well?”
She peered up at a passing bluebird, watching it alight upon a low-lying bough. “Nay. I was only seven when he died.”
“Still old enough to hold him in your thoughts,” Wilhelm suggested.
“Oh, I do. But, as my mother was of the mind herbratsshould never be seen or heard, only Elspeth ever escaped this edict. My father came to know her better, perhaps because he and Morwen were… shall we say… newly entangled.” Her cheeks burned with chagrin. “Elspeth was the first child Morwen bore him.”
Wilhelm’s dark eyes were warm, inviting her to tell him all her secrets. “So you were born in London?”
“I was. My sister was born at Blackwood. The rest of us in London.” She sighed wistfully. “By the time I came along my father had very likely grown weary of so many…”
He lifted both brows. “Bastards?”
Seren laughed softly. “Aye, so see, we are not so different, you and me.”
“I beg to differ,” he said, and quieted as though to contemplate all that she’d told him.
For some reason it pleased her immensely to know he cared enough to know her history—as she longed to know his. “I don’t know why, but I thought you were born in Wales,” he said.
“Not I, though I was raised there. After my father died, I was sent to live with my sisters in the Vale of Ewyas—not very far from Blackwood.”
“Why did you not return to Blackwood?”
Seren rolled her eyes. “Ah, well, that is a looong story. The short of it is that women cannot inherit lands in Wales. When my uncle died, Blackwood was forfeit to Gruffydd ap Rhys, the King of Dyfed. And, in order to keep the estate, my mother would have had to marry one of his sons. By then, Morwen and Henry were already…”
“Entangled?”
Seren nodded, her cheeks burning. “Elspeth was two, I suppose, and my mother was already in confinement with Rhiannon. At the time, Henry had a bit less tenuous influence over the Marcher lords.”
He lifted his brows again. “Less than Stephen?”
