Page 239 of The Daughters of Avalon
Chapter
Three
Proud and utterly defiant.
Cael’s jaw worked furiously as the key’s iron teeth cut into his palm. This was not what he had planned.
Having heard the horn blast, here he was—andwhy?Because he was listening to his bloody heart.
Nay, he thought.
It was not true.
His heart was cold.
It was simple human decency not to wish to see a woman suffer, and whatever he’d become, he was still flesh and blood like any other man.
And yet, because he was flesh and blood, he burned. Even now, he longed to pull Rhiannon into his arms and kiss her fiercely, especially now that their time was so short.
Not once during their time together had he ever felt the desire to rush their wooing. He’d enjoyed their verbal sparring and hoped to win her for life.
But now the stakes were higher, and the time was gone.
Waiting until the last of his guards dispersed, he anticipated the ebbing footfalls…
No matter that these men were loyal to him, he didn’t intend to have an audience. He had a good sense of what Morwen was capable of, and, whether out of fear, love or greed, few men could deny her. She would compel them if she so chose, and she would do her worst if she suspected treachery.
At any given moment, he could not afford to forget that everything he possessed, he possessed through her good will. He had returned to this realm as vulnerable as a babe, and she’d been his benefactor since.
If it weren’t for her recalcitrant daughter, he might already have had all he desired. And somehow, even after five long years, this was where they stood…
Rhiannon was willful and noncompliant.
Much like that first day, she stood facing him now, hands upon her hips, her blue eyes glittering fiercely.
“Well?” she asked. “The guards are gone. Will you speak now, or did the cat get your tongue?”
Cael laughed, though ruefully, wishing for a shot of Marcella’s new brew.
Originally, her mother had intended for him to wed Rhiannon’s eldest sister. It was Elspeth, not Rhiannon, who was the rightful heir to this estate, and her husband should own this demesne. Once that possibility was removed from the table, Cael had steadfastly refused a change in plans. Why, he didn’t know, but he had a sense of it now…
Knowing Rhiannon would never succumb to pressure, he’d protected her all this time. If Morwen realized that she was the only reason they weren’t yet wed, he wasn’t certain what she would do. But he had never coveted Elspeth—not for an instant since meeting Rhiannon. With her dark copper tresses and those feral eyes, she’d stood up to him from the first, and even whilst her gaze was still afflicted, he could harbor no pity for her at all. She’d asked for no quarter and gave none.
Perhaps, in truth, her sister was Blackwood’s heir, but Rhiannon wasthePendragon at heart, and even now, with a shadow of fear clouding her storm-blue eyes, she could set him afire with only a glance. And yet the one thing he knew for certes was that he would never take what Rhiannon would not willingly give, and he understood very, very clearly now: She would never give her heart to anyone.
In the silence that followed her question, his gaze moved to her window. Already, the sun was beginning to set. The torches along the pathways were not yet lit. Even so, he surmised they had few minutes remaining before Morwen presented herself in his hall.
Blackwood’s defenses consisted of several safeguards. Surrounded by woodlands, the castle was built atop a craggy hilltop. And though it was small in terms of fortification, it was easily defensible and completely impenetrable, unless one knew of the narrow path that led to his postern gate.
The climb up was steep, and the barbican was designed to restrict access to the castle’s interior.
Even beyond the first wall, there was a series of narrow bridges built over pits, all filled with pikes. It was carefully designed so that persons seeking entrance to the inner bailey were forced to travel along a narrow path.
On a good day, even in broad daylight, it was impossible to traverse more than one-man deep, and at any time, those bridges could be withdrawn.
Knowing Morwen, she had arrived with pomp and ceremony, escorted by her lackeys—all those Welsh kings she’d gathered to her side, men she’d inveigled with promises. Owain Gwynedd, the self-proclaimed King of Wales; Madog ap Maredudd, Prince of Powys; Maredudd ap Gruffydd, Prince of Deheubarth. The latter ruled with England’s support, though he’d gladly put a blade through Stephen’s eye.
No doubt she would expect Cael to greet her with Rhiannon at his side, but not because she cared to lay eyes upon her estranged daughter; merely so she could test the girl’s resolve.
