Page 238 of The Daughters of Avalon
At long last, the lord of Blackwood revealed himself, sauntering into her chamber with a turn of his lips that revealed the barest trace of a smile.
“Ah, my dear Rhiannon, don’t tell me you missed me?” he asked, with his usual mordancy, though it wasn’t a question, and even if it were, Rhiannon suspected he had long ago surmised the truth—devil take him!
Shehadmissed him, though she’d be damned if she’d ever say so, certainly not to him.
“Hardly,” she said. And no matter that the timbre of her voice seemed laden with contempt, her heart did a telltale leap at the familiar glint in his eyes.
He had no right to be so beautiful, and now she understood Lucifer’s lament—no man with a heart so dark had a right to shine so bright. There were no half measures where he was concerned; his shoulders were impossibly wide, his hair was dark as coal, his lips were sinfully full.
And truly, for a blackguard, he had a very endearing, but telltale habit of holding his chin and brushing a thumb over his mouth when he looked at her, as though he would love to kiss her. It never failed to steal Rhiannon’s breath.
“How sad,” he quipped, and Rhiannon lifted her brow.
“So says the lord with a smicker.”
He regarded her a moment longer, still brushing that thumb across his lips, and then he frowned. “Have I not treated you well enough?”
He had, and so he had.
Far better than her mother would have liked. Had she had her way, Rhiannon would have remained chained to a wall in the tower, deprived even of a window.
“Have I not provided your every desire?”
“Everything but my freedom,” she said easily, never at a loss to remind him.
Clearly, he was in no mood to banter. She saw his countenance darken, and winced. And suddenly he approached her, and Rhiannon took a defensive step backward—not that she was afraid of him.
Rather, it was that she no longer trusted herself in his presence. Having spent so much time alone together, playing Queen’s Chess, supping and drinking, sharing wit and words, she had by now developed very disturbing feelings for hergaoler—feelings that thoroughly confused her.
In truth, Blackwood’s lord was ever gentle, showering her with gifts. And still, she remained a prisoner. No matter whether she be draped in scarlet, or that her bed was piled high withermine, she could not for one minute afford to forget what he was: at best, an opportunist; at worst, a murderer—and perhaps even worse than that.
And yet, when she should utterly despise him for aiding and abetting her mother, she found she could not. Instead, she suffered a pang of longing whenever he wasn’t near, and she loathed herself for the inexcusable weakness.
Today, his eyes glinted strangely.
“Is anyone truly free?” he asked, still assessing her. And then he came closer yet, and said, “With the absence of constraints should come great restraint; without it, the strong are said to enslave the weak. It is, as they say, a conundrum.”
Rhiannon frowned. “Ever with the posturing, my lord! Make no mistake, I amnotweak.” She lifted her right arm, proffering the right wrist, returning his canny smile. “At least, I would not be without these. Care to test me?”
The familiar timbre of his laughter threatened to warm the cockles of her heart.
“Alas,” he said, standing before her, so desperately close that he could have reached out to brush a wisp of hair from her face, as he ofttimes did. “There has never been aught about you I’ve found to be weak, Rhiannon. In fact, I have come to fear you will be my ruin.”
“Yourruin?”
Sweet fates. He must be jesting!
“Aye,” he said, and Rhiannon took yet another step backward, unnerved by his proximity. “What doyouwant, Lord Blackwood?” Her nerves were frayed, and she was tired of his posturing. It was easy enough to speak drivel whilst he held her in shackles. As forhisruin, there was little about Cael d’Lucy that one could ever mistake for fear, but neither would she cow to him, or apologize for whatever sense of distress he was feeling.
“Your mother is here,” he confessed, at long last, and it was just as she’d feared. Rhiannon’s heart tripped painfully.
“And?”
“And,” he said, without further ado, because, in truth, what more need be said? They both knew well enough that her mother despised her. Whatever the former Lady of Blackwood had in mind for her second eldest daughter, it would simply not behoove Rhiannon.
She swallowed hard, uncertain what more to say.
No matter how lightly she and Cael bantered, no matter how much consideration he gave her, in the end, he was still her mother’s minion, and all she knew for certes this moment was that her time had run out. If Morwen was here after so long an absence, she was returning because it was time to put her plans in motion. Once more, she cursed the manacles for blocking hermagik. Without thehudshe was hapless as a babe, and it galled her that she felt reduced to begging for freedom—still, she would not.
