Page 217 of The Daughters of Avalon
My Book for the child. Or he dies.
The parchment was unsigned, but it was not by Mordecai’s hand the note was scribed. She knew her mother’s script well enough to recognize it. The letters were etched so deeply into the parchment that it bespoke her fury. She wanted the Book, now, or she would kill the child. Rosalynde knew her mother well enough to know the consequences of defying her. But, deep in her heart of hearts she knew they needed thegrimoireto defeat Morwen. And yet, if they kept theBook of Secrets, they would condemn the child. The babe would suffer the consequences. On the other hand, if they conceded thegrimoire, Morwen would have one more powerful weapon at her disposal.
All hope of defeating her might be lost…
It was Edmund who gave voice to her deepest fear. “Even if you return the Book, there’s no guarantee she will return the child unharmed.”
Neither was Rosalynde certain anyone who faced Morwen would live to speak of it.
And still, there was no doubt in her mind: She could not live with herself if her decision brought about the death of her nephew. Nor would her sister ever agree to abandon her child. Rosalynde would not defy a mother’s wish. So, it seemed they had no choice.No choice at all.Together, they must face that demon, come what may.
“Where is she?” Rosalynde asked.
“The Widow’s Tower. In Holystone Wood, west of the nunnery. Even if you leave now, m’lady, you’ll not arrive till the sun rises on the morrow.”
Rosalynde nodded, her eyes stinging with unshed tears.
Mordecai.
White-hot fury coursed through her. “If that beast so much as attempts to enter my demesne, loose your arrows!”
“He is gone,” said her steward.
Gone?Was he so certain they would concede the Book?
But of course, he was. They were dealing with Morwen, and Mordecai knew what they knew… she would kill that boy if they refused her. He was her mother’s servant in every way, canny as she was.
“Gather a retinue,” she demanded. “Find my sister a good set of leathers and a worthy sword. We ride at once.” She turned on her heels to go inside to inform her sister.
“Lady Rosalynde,” pleaded her steward. “You must wait until m’lord returns!”
“Nay, I’ll not,” she advised the man. And then she said it again, more to bolster her own resolve. “I will not!”
She was adewine. A Child of the Goddess. A Daughter of Avalon. She would take the sword Giles gave her and put it to good use, and she would ride as the Queen of the Iceni once rode—with fury in her heart and vengeance in her soul.
Seren had gone willinglyinto his arms, only because she’d believed Wilhelm held some measure of affection for her. How could she have been so wrong?
But nay, she was not wrong. He was a stubborn fool, because it wasn’t possible to feign what she’d spied in his eyes and felt with his touch. She had gone her entire life without falling prey to such temptation—not even when that handsome Thomas Becket came to visit with an endowment for their priory. She’d caught his eye, no doubt. But Seren had never even considered being alone with the man. He was pretty enough, and as most pretty young lords did, he’d coveted her body, but when the time came to speak from his heart, he hadn’t had a word to say. What was more, he hadn’t actually wished to hear a word from her, expounding endlessly about how a good woman should mindher father and her Church and tongue. She’d only wished she could turn him into a worm, not unlike what she wished to do to Wilhelm right now. Only, in her fury, she decided to take an example from her sister Rosalynde and speak her mind.
“Did I not please you?”
He didn’t answer, and Seren insisted he address her. “Wilhelm!”
His cheeks bloomed—perhaps as brightly as hers—and he suddenly seemed to have great difficulty looking her in the face. In her anger, she gave her horse a heel and urged it forward, forcing Wilhelm to fully acknowledge her.
“You did please me,” he said finally, scarcely looking at her. “More than you can imagine.” But he spoke through his teeth, and she could see the knob rise in his throat.
Seren’s eyes stung with unshed tears. Goddess save her; she could feel the same stirring in theaetherthat called towitchwater—but nay, she would not give Wilhelm the satisfaction of knowing how much he’d upset her.
“Seren,” he said, shaking his head—but why? To deny her?
Already today, they’d come a long way without speaking. Only a good hour ago he’d confessed how near they were to Warkworth.Soon she would see her sister, and tomorrow he would scurry away, like a puppy with his tail between his legs. And then, her heart would bleed even more than it was bleeding already. What did he believe he was doing? Saving her from him? Or him from her?
Seren was desperate for him to address the issue.
“Why would you ruin everything? Do you regret what passed between us, because I do not. You’re a foul-tempered man betimes, and you’re a crude bore. You eat as though you’ll never see another day, but I do not regret giving myself to you, Wilhelm Fitz Richard!”
He reined in his horse, looking at her with a tilt of his head and furrowed brows. Then, without a word, he slid down and came to her side, peering up at her with an intensity that unnerved her.
