Page 210 of The Daughters of Avalon
Weaving a tale of Avalon drowned.
Dancing forlorn in a white-crowned tower,
Crooning to ghosts through the witching hour.
Blackwood, Blackwood, there she despairs
Fore'er mourning her paradise lost.
Keeping a vigil for ladies and lords,
For dragons on deep, and dread Saxon hordes.
Blackwood, Blackwood, there she remains,
All through the dark and light of day.
Eyes o’ fire, and bright-silver mane.
Summer to winter and summer again.
There were more verses… but Seren couldn’t remember them all. Elspeth used to sing it now and again, though she couldn’t remember if Elspeth learned that song from their grandmamau, or the maid, Isolde, who’d cared for them for a while in Henry’s court. Her brows knit, because she had forgotten that lady. But for some reason her face re-emerged tonight from the depths of her memory.
Isolde… the very first woman to brush her hair… long before Elspeth was old enough to care for them. It was Isolde, in fact, who’d roused them from their beds on the night they’d learned their father’s fate, and it was Isolde who’d escorted them to Llanthony in Wales. But, for all that she’d claimed to love them, she’d handed them over to the priory, then stole away never to return. All lies, clearly.
For that matter, it was also through Isolde they’d learned about the Promised Land—the Summer Isle wheredewinefolklived free, without fear of persecution. It was now a drowned island, inhabited by lost souls. Perhaps all lies as well?
It could be, for it was also Isolde who told them the world was born in fire, and that it would end in fire. She’d also claimed herself a true maid of Avalon, and bade them to keep her secret.To this very day, so far as Seren knew, neither she, nor any of her sisters had ever betrayed her.
Curious how she’d blocked these memories… and curiouser yet that they’d returned to her as suddenly as had her affinity for the divine. She lay puzzling over that, when Wilhelm turned and whispered, “Art awake?”
The sound of his voice gave Seren a little shiver. “Aye,” she said.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Mayhap, I am cold.”
And it was true, though it was only partly true. There was too much on her mind… and too much in her heart… and, in truth, she could just as easily cast herself a warming spell.
He turned onto his side, peering over at her across the glowing embers, and was silent a long while, then said, “You can use my blanket.”
“Oh, nay,” she protested. “’Tis cold, Wilhelm, and I would not leave you...”
“Seren. I am not so noble as that. You may come lay beside me and we will double them together.”
Seren’s heart skipped a beat—as much for the tender way he’d spoken her name as for this thing he’d proposed.
Share his blanket?
Whilst he lay beneath it?
“I will keep you warm,” he said huskily, and then slid an arm out from beneath the blanket, inviting her over, and Seren swallowed with great difficulty. She held her breath until it grew painful. This was not an invitation to mate, but she was no cretin. She understood well enough what happened betwixt men and women when they lay in proximity… what was more… she found herself longing for such things to happen betwixt them.It was true.It didn’t matter that he was the bastard son of a lowly baron. Nor did it concern her at all that his brother was anexecutioner for the Church. If she lay beneath his blanket, she could not be held accountable for the mischief her hungry heart would rouse.
Uncertainty kept her still, but her heart urged her to get up and go to him. Sweet fates, she’d been confronted by men of all types, wanting this or that, but never in her life had any man wanted naught—and for that alone, she wanted Wilhelm all the more.
The fire between them burned lower, cooling with the long night, but the fire in her heart reignited.
“If you prefer, I can put more kindling on,” he said. “But I loathe to do that now that we are so close. It would be a travesty if your mother discovered us when we are so close.”
