Page 284 of The Daughters of Avalon
“About you?”
Rhiannon nodded, and Marcella lifted a hand. “Not now,” she said again, meeting Rhiannon’s gaze with a wearied look. “I promise to explain all when Jaques returns.”
“As you wish,” Rhiannon said, trying not to be vexed.
She finished dispersing her vial, then wiped her fingers on her tunic. The gesture wasn’t very couth, but considering her garments in broad daylight, she doubted one more stain could hurt them. Her own cloak was made of the crudest of undyed wools—not nearly the quality of her wedding gown. Her tunic wasn’t much better. Moreover, the breeches were too snug in the most disturbing of places. Goddess only knew how Marcella managed to move about so gracefully in such unconventional attire, because Rhiannon felt… constrained.
She was only grateful that Marcella hadn’t removed her cloak because she’d already surmised by the fit of hergambesonthat there would be little left to the imagination. It was no wonder Jack was so enamored.
What would Cael think of her now?
Reeking of horseflesh and sweat, dressed like a man. She remembered the way he’d gazed at her when she’d appeared in the hall wearing her wedding dress… the way he’d risen so purposely and then came marching toward her, drawing her into his arms and kissing her so hungrily…
Don’t think about him,she scolded herself.
Look ahead, not behind.
Chapter
Eighteen
When Jack did not return by sundown, Rhiannon began to worry. “Should he be out there, alone?”
“He knows what he’s doing,” said the paladin, in a complete reversal of attitude, as she led her horse back from the brook and tethered the mare to a nearby tree. “He’s spent the past four years training precisely for this. As young as he is, he’s even more adept than his teachers.”
“At what? Arguing,” Rhiannon said, with a lifted brow, although it wasn’t meant to disparage the young man.
Marcella laughed, as she began to undo the straps that kept her blanket secured to the back of her saddle. “Hunting,” she said carefully.
Dewineswasthe first thought that accosted Rhiannon, though she didn’t speak it aloud, careful to maintain their fragile new peace. “Who were his teachers?”
“To begin with… Giles.”
“Now you?”
Marcella’s smile lit her green eyes. “Yes, of course,” she said.
And with that single revelation, so much made sense.
That council where Jack had testified in Rhiannon’s behalf was a council of the Papal Guard. Therefore, if Giles was a paladin, and Marcella was a paladin, Jack must be a paladin, too. Did that mean Cael was a paladin, as well?
Surely not.
A spy perhaps, though Cael didn’t strike her as a man who played both sides, and regardless… the possibility left her feeling utterly bemused.
On the one hand, if it was true that he was working surreptitiously to defeat her mother, it might serve to wash the stain of guilt from his honor.
On the other hand, if he, too, was a paladin, then he was a slayer ofdewinekind—a huntsman, according to her people. Never in her life had she ever thought to associate with one, much less two—and now, perhaps she was married to a huntsman as well?
So, it seemed… the more she discovered about Cael… the less she knew.
In fact, the more she discovered about life itself, the less she realized she knew.
How in the name of the Mother were they ever going to defeat Morwen when there were so many questions left unanswered?
As it was, Rhiannon felt unprepared for this task, particularly so when she’d once believed herself to be the Regnant, destined for this fate. But Marcella was right. She had, indeed, presumed too much, and everything she thought she knew was wrong.
Oh, she realized she had a part to play—felt it deep in her bones—but what that part was had greatly diminished just since discovering her sister was to be Regnant.
