Page 24 of The Daughters of Avalon
In fact, her grandmamau had taught her thatallgods wereonegod, born of the same Great Mother, from whose womb sprung the world itself.
For that matter, Taliesin’s works had been well aligned with Holy church, and, in his day, his counsel had been sought after by the Holy Roman Emperor himself.
Their priests and priestesses were not unlike Christian priests, who in their hearts and minds were merely closer toGod. Indeed, Elspeth might even call herself a Christian, save for the way they’d treated her and her sisters at the priory. And yet, despite this, she followed many of the tenets of Holy Church, because the teachings were scarcely different from the teachings of the Goddess—and the one most profound was: Do good, harm none.
The darker arts were something else entirely. In the performance ofhud du,some of those spells were cast with sacrificial magic, which in itself was a blasphemy to the Goddess—and perhaps this was why the eating of flesh was discouraged.
She watched Malcom pull off the cony’s fur and averted her gaze, unable to stomach so much blood, and feeling flush, she lifted the back of her hand to her cheek.
So much for worrying that Malcom would take a fever; she was the one who was warm! And not for the least of reasons, he was seated there before her, despite the cool evening, wearing only a sleevelessgambesonover a tight pair of breeches. For all that she could see, he might as well be nude.
She tried not to notice, but his muscles were wickedly sinuous, tightening and twitching all the while he worked his ornate little dagger over the hare. Merely the sight of it was enough to leave her face burning as hot as the coals in his pit—and perspiring despite the coolness of the air.
Much as it had been this morn, his aura was a pale orange, with hints of silver. All living, and even non-living entities, radiated colors that revealed more than words alone could say. Whilst the most prominent color in Malcom’s aura remained orange, and this revealed a generally kind-heart and honest nature, it could also mean that betimes he was quick to lose his temper. He could be passionate in all things, and whatever he set his heart to, that’s where it would remain unto death.
Fortunately, Elspeth hadn’t noticed any trace of black in his aura, and, no doubt, this was why she’d felt so at ease to goadhim. Everyone had a thin, dark vein now and again, but she knew to be wary if it was present all the time. Ersinius’ was perpetually black, though she didn’t need to read auras to know that to be the case. His actions spoke for themselves.
As she sat watching Malcom work, she was chagrined to see that a deep red began to rise. This was the color of desire.He desires me,she realized. And more to the point: She desired him. How this was possible after such a short time, Elspeth didn’t know, because she had never in her life experienced any such connection. And yet whatever it was that called to her—perhaps their shared vision—she felt a stirring in her belly like the fluttering of butterfly wings and a prick in her nipples that made her long to suckle his babes. Thankfully, he could not read her as she could read him.
Her gaze moved to his lips, and she flushed, averting her gaze. “So… how far is Aldergh?” she asked casually, hoping to occupy her mind with something other than desire and form.
“Far,” he replied. “I would not blame you if you chose not to come.”
Elspeth nodded, casting him a quick glance. At the moment, he wasn’t even looking at her, and for some reason, his quickness to dismiss her as a traveling companion, pricked at her self-esteem. Mayhap, in truth, he did not desire her after all?
“In case you’ve not noticed,my lord,I’ve no need of coddling. I am quite capable of traveling over long distances. And, indeed, were I so opposed to privation, I would have insisted we call upon Amdel.” Her tone very clearly revealed her displeasure.
“Fair enough,” he said, peering up from the naked hare he was skewering on a long, sharp stick. “So… what you’re saying is… you prefer the long trek to Aldergh… with more fare like this…” He lifted his hare. “Rather than seek refuge with d’Lucy?”
“Well…” Elspeth frowned. Put likethat, it didn’t sound so appealing. However, far less appealing was the possibility ofdiscovering herself at the mercy of another of Stephen’s minions—not that they should be any worse than Malcom, though she suspected they were. “Aye,” she confessed. “I suppose that would be true.”
He nodded, then winked, and Elspeth’s heart fluttered yet again, and her face burned hotter. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice.
He set down his butchered hare, turning his attention to the construction of a simple roaster, burying two sturdy, but straight little saplings on either side of his pit. Once those were firmly planted, he hung the skewered rabbit onto the newly formed spit, and once the rabbit began to cook, she found the scent of roasting meat made her mouth water. Her belly grumbled as well, and she settled it with a touch as Malcom leaned back on an elbow to watch his fire burn. Every once in a while, he reached over to turn the spit. And by the by, he had yet to even thank her for trimming his fire, as all responsible people should do—unless, of course, it was his intent to burn down these sacred woodlands. “So, won’t you tell me… how came a Scots man to be an English earl?”
He flicked her a glance, and once more reached over to turn his poor little scorched beast. “Aldergh belonged to my grandsire,” he said. “It passed to me once he died.”
“Oh,” she said. But now she was curious. “How did he die?”
“How do most dishonorable men meet their end?”
“Oh,” she said again, nonplussed by the answer. “I am sorry.” Thereafter, the silence grew thick between them, until the crackling of the fire sounded too loud. She heard insects chirping, and even the distant gurgling of the brook. “I take it he had no sons?” Elspeth pressed after a while.
Malcom shook his head. “Only a daughter… my mother.”
Elspeth furrowed her brow. “She did not want her bequest?”
Malcom shrugged.
“I see,” she said. Of course, it only figured that they would pass over the daughter and give the estate to a grandson.Sweet fates.It brought to mind her own sister’s plight, and it galled her so much that this sort of thing could be done. But she realized it wasn’t any of her concern.
For his part, her father had been generous toallhis children, whether they be legitimate or nay. And despite not having access to her settlement, she and her sisters each had a dowry rich enough to put a gleam in any man’s eye—including Rhiannon. Of course, they had no means to take it without the king’s approval. By the letter of the law, like Blackwood, she and her sisters had become wards of Stephen, but obviously Morwen had something to say over the matter.
It seemed to Elspeth that so much strife had come to pass only to keep what rightfully should belong to a woman. And for this alone, she was committed to helping Matilda. For love of the Goddess, even if they were not blood relation, being a woman, Matilda was so much a beacon of hope, for not since the time of Hywel’s Law had any woman outside Wales benefited from a good King’s rule. It used to be that women had rights—perhaps not in England, but certainly they did in Wales. If a man and lady wed, even after seven-years’ time, it was a woman’s right to divorce him, and if she chose to do such a thing for whatever cause, there were laws in place to provide for her keeping. For example, she had the right to take a goodly portion of the estate, because she’d earned it. There was none of this wardship by men. In her own country she would have been free to choose her own mate, but then… would she have chosen a man like Malcom?
Once again, her cheeks warmed. “So… your mother was English?”
“Nay,” he said, casting her a pointed glance. “If you must know, my birth mother leapt from a tower window on the day Iwas born.” He said it with so little emotion that it sent a frisson of horror down Elspeth’s spine. “Page is my father’s lady wife, and aye, she is English.” He turned to look at her. “You remind me of her.”
