Page 257 of The Daughters of Avalon
No, he wasn’t!
Not with Rhiannon.
Surely her mother meant that he was besotted with that woman he was speaking to?
She frowned, because he did seem to like her overmuch, and to the contrary, she and Cael fought far too oft. And then she sighed, because she didn’t know what a besotted man should look like, and it galled her that her ownmothershould find the notion so utterly appalling. It would seem that on a day like today she might dredge up some small shred of good will in her awful bag of bones. But she didn’t sound pleased when she said, “I’ve known that man a long time, and let me tell you, I’ve never once seen that look in his eyes. Take care if you are not already deflowered, my daughter. I suspect he will pound you till you bleed.”
Startled by the brutality of that image, Rhiannon winced, and despite her resolve not to be affected by anything Morwen said, she blushed hotly. “He’s never touched me inappropriately,” she said in defense of him.
And it was true.
Whatever else he might be, Blackwood’s lord was a gentle man. She couldn’t even imagine him “pounding anyone until they bled”—most certainly not a woman who was his wife.
Oh, she had no doubt he’d done far worse to those men he was sent to “hunt,” but Rhiannon was not his enemy.
Oh, yes, you are,a small voice argued.
And perhaps she was.
Morwen snorted. “Grimace all you like but remember this: My daughters were not bred to be prudes.”
It was the wrong thing for Morwen to say. All caution flew out of Rhiannon’s head. “Really,Mother? How would you know? You were not there!”
Noteven whilst they were together in London while King Henry was still alive. Rather, it was always Elspeth who’d nurtured them, and then Isolde once the nursemaid arrived. Morwen was scarcely ever about, and even when she was, she was utterly blind to her daughters. “Not all men are so foul,” she suggested. “Nor is every bargain to be made in a bed.”
Morwen laughed brutally. “And yet,” she said. “That is precisely where this bargain will be sealed tonight, in a bed.” There was a smile in her voice and Rhiannon swallowed her disgust—not that she wasn’t attracted to Cael. She was. But she would not be used so meanly.
“Only remember this, my dear, all the while his tongue tickles your bits… your husband’s ambition is the same as mine. Today, you did not merely align yourself with the lord of Blackwood, you have bound yourself to me. Trust me when I say… that man cares less for what lies betwixt your soft thighs than he does for what else he has to gain.”
Rhiannon’s gaze slid to her mother’s face, and she knew the bloom in her cheeks had little to do with the impropriety of her declaration. Morwen was furious, she realized, but good! At least Rhiannon was not the only one who was nettled, and if her mother’s intentions had been to give Rhiannon worry over the possibility of a physical union with her husband, well, she’d struck her mark. The entire ordeal was disgusting, and no matterwhat she’d been taught, she was repulsed. Nay, she was not a prude, but she was still a maiden—not because she feared the coupling. She and her sisters had been taught to revel in all that made them women. Their ancestors had been pagans, who, rather than find shame in the act of procreation, had been taught that the greatest gift a woman could bestow on the world was a child of her womb.
Not that Morwen ever valued such gifts.
Despite that she had, indeed, borne the world five daughters—all “squealing from her womb”—she was a very poor excuse for a mother. Even so, the images that accosted Rhiannon now filled her with chagrin. No matter what, she would not allow any man to “pound” her.
Goddess forgive her if Cael reneged upon his promise…
If he dared try to force her…
If he left her in shackles…
She didn’t think she could bear it.
Her mother was crude and cruel—not that Rhiannon had ever hoped for more. Where Morwen Pendragon was concerned, hope was only another tool for that woman to abuse. “I see you are unchanged by the years,” Rhiannon said, her loathing beginning to creep to the surface, though she somehow held her aplomb. “How comforting,” she added very drolly, her gaze again seeking Cael, who was still speaking to that damnable woman.
If only to cover her unease, Rhiannon reached for her cup of mead and took a small swig—too sweet, she thought.Over-spiced.And, for the first time in all her years at Blackwood, she considered how she might improve their kitchen—ifonly this were a union in truth. Too bad she wouldn’t be staying.
Her mother was also watching Cael and that woman, her displeasure in plain view. “Well,” she said. “You needn’t be overly concerned. He could have had that tart long ago ifhe’d wanted her, and besides, she’s hiscousin. Though… I do wonder… why he’s not introduced you?”
Cousin?
Swiftly on the heels of that thought, Rhiannon had yet another, and a prickle of fear stabbed at her heart. If, in truth, this were some grand scheme to deceive her, it wouldn’t do for Morwen to become suspicious.
What could she say to deflect?
And then it came to her, and she said, affecting an air of confidence. “He means to give us time. If you must know,Mother, my husband has some idiotic notion that you and I will reconcile. Alas, he cannot possibly understand that no matter what my heart feels for him, it willneversoften towardyou.”
“You wound me,” Morwen said, completely without feeling, and Rhiannon cast her mother a withering glance.
