Page 248 of The Daughters of Avalon
Giles’s face split with a toothy grin. “Only betimes?”
Reluctantly perhaps, his brother’s lips turned up at one corner, revealing a hint of a smile that betimes mirrored Giles’s. But the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll wager five marks he’s not gone to Edwardstone,” said Wilhelm as he chewed.
“You think Ording lied?”
“Nay,” said Wilhelm. “I just think he wanted us gone and it was the first thing that came to his lips.”
Giles arched a brow, intrigued by the conjecture and the wager. “Silver or gold?”
“Gold,” said Wilhelm as he chewed.
An entire month’s wages.
“Where to?”
“Darkwood.”
“Darkwood?” asked Giles. “What makes you so certain, brother?”
“Well… consider it… that mean little shit might not give a damn that he’s defiling God’s lands, but I warrant his men will. See how you rush to chasten me for words alone? After Bury St. Edmunds, they’ll abandon him for fear of God’s wrath.”
“Probably, but why Darkwood?”
“Only think on it,” suggested Wilhelm. “Money will not gain him what he wants, but Morwen could give it to him yet. And where wouldyougo if you meant to seek that Welsh witch?”
Darkwood Inn was more than a den of thieves. It was Morwen’s enterprise, so they’d discovered some years ago. She, alone, was Darkwood’s patron, and though she might not be in residence, that inn keeper would know how to reach her. Giles gave his brother a nod, and without another word, he turned his mount.
His brother followed suit.
Chapter
Six
The former lady of Blackwood arrived with, all things considered, a small retinue. Thankfully, none of the bunch happened to be Mordecai. For that much, Cael was grateful. Her manservant was nosy, intrusive, and the first thing he seemed to like to do, every time, was pore through the castle to see what he could find. Preventing Mordecai from gleaning their plans would have been nigh impossible, and there was no way Marcella could finish her task in the courtyard with Mordecai milling about. As it was, he sent Morwen’s Welsh “guests” with escorts to see to their quarters and personally kept Morwen preoccupied, so she wouldn’t run to admire her Unholy Grail. Hopefully, in the meantime, Marcella would find a way to mask the scent of her potion, because Morwen had the nose of a bloodhound.
He cringed now as she sniffed the air, like a dog following a scent, and he moved quickly to distract her. “I see you managed to wrest Owain from his throne of twigs.”
She arched a brow. “Art jealous, my pet?”
“Hardly. He’s cocksure, no doubt, but he’s already made himself an enemy of the one man who helped him take his throne.”
“Cadwaladr?”
“Aye.”
“If I have my way, he’ll be driven into exile. Don’t worry. We’ll dispose of Owain soon enough,” she said. “You’ll take his island then. For now, we need his armies.”
“Even the best of Welsh bowmen won’t stand against Stephen.”
“He’s weaker than you think,” she said. “And besides, we only need one.”
“So, then, you have news from Wallingford?”
“Nay,” she groused, removing her gloves and snapping them with annoyance. “You?”
Cael shook his head. “Nay. Apparently, whatever compromise they’ve agreed to is now only privy to those who were present in the marquee. I’ve not heard a whisper.”
“Your…spy?”
