Page 229 of The Daughters of Avalon
“Nape,” said Elspeth. The woman nodded. The birthmark had been covered since he grew his first wisps of hair.
“The divine symbol of life, the mark of the quintessence, which binds all elements before it.”
“My son?” Elspeth whispered again, only this time her voice held a note of wonder.
“You must call him Emrys henceforth, for by giving him by his true name, you imbue him with the legacy he is born to fulfill.”
“Emrys,” whispered Elspeth.
“It means immortal,” explained the old woman.
“And is he?”
The old woman smiled. “Alas, my dear, there are mysteries in life we are not meant to know…”
Outside, in the courtyard, the boys could be heard shouting, “To me! To me!” —a call to arms.
To this day, Seren could not hear those words without some trepidation. But boys were meant to be boys, and no one could stay the hand of fate.
“Gird your loins,” the old woman said again, with great fervor, and then came a five-year-old’s wail and Seren, Rosalynde and Elspeth all ran into the courtyard to see what happened, leaving the old woman seated at their table.
“Broc!” said Elspeth. Lachlan was kneeling before his twin brother, who was now the one seated upon his rump, red-faced and pouting, a black and blue knot the size of a buckle forming on his forehead.
“He told me to do it,” said Lachlan, looking ashamed. He held his toy sword aloft, showing his mother the true culprit. Elspeth seized both wooden swords from her sons—first Broc, then Lachlan—and the boys looked perfectly contrite. She commanded both to apologize before everything erupted into chaos. A horn sounded—heralding a rider’s approach. Leaving the boys where they sat, the sisters all ran to see who it could be.
It was Malcom Scott who rode through the open gate, accompanied by his father and two men.
He sought his wife’s gaze at once, sliding down from his horse, taking his steps as leaps until he held Elspeth in his arms. “God’s bones! I’ve missed you,” he said, and he kissed Elspeth soundly, embracing her still.
“Papa, Papa!” screamed the boys, and Malcom released his wife only to scoop up both children into his arms.
“You’re early,” said Elspeth, her cheeks aflame, and her eyes filled with warmth at the sight of her husband holding his sons.
He grinned. “Or late, depending on the state of one’s belly. Mine demands supper!”
“My lad was always a hungry beast,” said Malcom’s father, and Seren laughed, along with her two sisters, taking the MacKinnon by the arm.
“Wilhelm will be pleased to see you, and you have arrived just in time to meet a guest—a woman who raised us. You may prod her to your heart’s content for all our secrets,” said Seren, and Elspeth shook her head.
“I fear he hasn’t the heart to hear anymore,” Elspeth jested. And nevertheless, Seren proceeded to tell him all about Isolde—everything she could remember, and everything the old woman had told them. Unfortunately, by the time they returned to the hall, the old woman was gone.
No one saw her leave. No one knew where she’d gone to. Apparently, she’d never said a word to anyone. Nor did she exit through the front gates, or she would have passed right by them. She was there one instant; gone the next. Only Seren could still feel her presence…
Peering up into the rafters, she spied a blackbird perched up high. The black bird cocked its black head, peering down at Seren, and Seren smiled.
“Where is she?” asked Elspeth.
“Gone,” said Seren. “But something tells me she’ll be about.”
And she winked at her sister, finally understanding what it was that she must do. After all, what else was there to do in the presence of hungry men, but feed them? Tomorrow would bring more strife, but the moment was sweet enough for a feast. She reached for the chatelaine’s keys at her belt, leaving her sisters to chatter with the men whilst she considered the contents of their larder… and as she walked into the courtyard, the blackbird flittered to her shoulder… whispering secrets into her ear.
