Page 226 of The Daughters of Avalon
“Wilhelm,” she sobbed, and in speaking his name, she only wept harder. The wind rose, gripping trees, as dark clouds swept over the clearing, converging over the tower—black as night, only with a silver lining that shone as bright as the sun. Every soldier… every man bearing witness… re-sheathed his weapon. Bloodied, and battle weary, they stared with mouths agape as little by little the glittering rain began to extinguish the fire, putting it out, lick by lick by lick.
Seren fell to her knees, her fingers grasping at sodden ash. She was only vaguely aware that Rosalynde and Elspeth had come rushing to her side—Elspeth only waiting for the circlet to vanish, so she could rush into the tower to find her child.
Rosalynde whispered with a note of awe, “Witchwater.”
Indeed, it was.
Indeed, it was.
Indeed, it was.
Turning up her palm to catch the glittering droplets, Seren wept and the storm raged harder, washing away the coat of ash from her palm.
“True love’s tears will save the newborn prophet,” Rose whispered softly, but Seren hadn’t any clue what her sister was talking about. She didn’t care about prophets or prophecies. At the instant, she didn’t care about anything at all except Wilhelm and the babe. He came marching out of the tower and Seren’s grief turned at once to joy.
Elspeth’s babe was cradled in his arms. The child wailed as Seren wailed, flailing his arms about.
Elspeth rushed to greet them, her arms reaching desperately for her child.
Swallowing her relief, Seren’s heart hammered like thunder. Her eyes inspected Wilhelm greedily—his dirty, sooty, red-flushed face, his arms and legs in one piece. His beautiful darkeyes met hers and clung to her, even as Elspeth embraced her baby, stealing him away.
He was alive.
His eyes only for her, Wilhelm strode to Seren, arms open wide. He caught her in an embrace, kissing her soundly. She clung to him, tasting the salt of her own tears. “I love you,” he said, tearing his mouth away, and she wept. “I love you more than life, Seren. Be my wife!”
Without question, Wilhelm Fitz Richard, bastard son of Richard de Vere had risked his life for her. He’d faced her mother so she wouldn’t have to. His love burned brighter than anywitchfire. The truth was plain for everyone to see. In that instant, as he waited for Seren to speak, it seemed that the very breath of the world waited as well.
The babe was alive.
Wilhelm was alive.
Morwen and her soldiers were gone.
The fire was doused.
“Yay,” she whispered. “I will marry you.” And she kissed him again, as every man and woman in the glade erupted with huzzahs. Even surrounded by the carnage of battle, the sight of two lovers kissing lit the glade with another fire entirely… the light and flame of hope and love.
Epilogue
WARKWORTH CASTLE, JULY 13, 1153
Seren and Wilhelm were wed at Warkworth on a warm, summer morn, with Rosalynde and Elspeth and their families in attendance. The ceremony was modest, presided over by a priest, with vows spoken again in private to honor the Mother Goddess.
Young Jack was delivered to Warkworth and spent a month with Seren and Wilhelm before boarding a ship to Normandy. Escorted by an emissary of the Church, he returned to his mother in Calais, vowing to return to England when he was old enough to avenge his father.
No word ever arrived about Rhiannon. No matter how oft they entreated the King for news, Stephen refused to answer their pleas. They only knew she was still alive because Giles had a spy in Stephen’s court. However, nobody anywhere knew where Morwen had gone, and the longer her absence, the more Seren feared she was out there… scheming.
Four years had passed since the Battle at the Widow’s Tower, four years to the date. Having split his army to ride north to Elspeth’s defense, David mac Maíl Choluim forfeited York; during the Battle at the Tower, King Stephen slipped into the cityto fortify its garrison, forcing David to withdraw his remaining troops. His debt to Elspeth was paid in full.
As for King Stephen, his Queen Consort was dead—perished of a fever at Hedingham a year past. Now, he sat alone on his stolen throne, and despite having retained York, the bishopric did not go to Stephen’s choice. There was a new Pope now, and Stephen would see his nephew reappointed. But though it was possible he would succeed in that endeavor, the new Pope still refused to consecrate Eustace.
Empress Matilda was no longer the favored candidate for succession. As the true and rightful heir to England’s throne, by virtue of his father and his grandfather, the Vatican would see twenty-year-old Duke Henry crowned instead, and they would employ any means to see it done, including engage the Papal Guard. Once again, tensions were escalating.
Early this past January, Duke Henry returned to England with a modest army, taking the King’s castle at Malmesbury.
In retribution, Stephen intensified his long-running siege of Wallingford. Now, even as Rosalynde, Seren and Elspeth sat conversing in Warkworth’s solar, Stephen’s own brother, Henry of Blois and the Archbishop of Canterbury were aligning forces to broker a treaty for peace. Giles himself rode south to help with the negotiations and Malcom rode north with David to quell unrest in the northern shires.
Fortunately, the castle at Warkworth was complete and fully girded—so much so that Malcom had brought his wife and three children to await his return.
