Page 296 of The Daughters of Avalon
She could hear him walking his horse to the brook to drink, and wary though she might be, Marcella let the man pass. He was directly behind Rhiannon now, his horse stretching its long, shining chestnut neck to drink from the brook beside Rhiannon. In her periphery she saw that the stranger gave her a good, long look.
“What about Eustace?” Marcella inquired, perhaps to distract him.
“Ah, well,” he said, turning to answer the paladin’s question. “The fool’s gone mad.”
“Mad?” asked Jack. “How so?”
“Fool. He fled the King’s marquee in a rage. Accused his father of ruining his life and swore to avenge himself. He took several barons with him, though most returned, falling to their knees and begging forgiveness. Seems Prince Eustace took it upon himself to relieve Bury St. Edmonds of God’s due.”
“God’s due?” inquired Jack, moving closer to where Rhiannon stood.
“Gold, jewels, he took a bloody cartload.”
Directly beside Rhiannon, the man’s horse lifted its head and slid Rhiannon a long, black-eyed glance. She sent a calming spell to settle the mare, if only for good measure.
“Only Prince Eustace remains at large,” the man continued. “A few have been sent to locate the moron and return him to his sire, before he does more harm.”
The man inhaled a long breath, and then slapped his belly. “If’n ye ask me, I believe that fool means to seek his Welsh witch.”
Morwen.
“We mean to find her before he does,” said the man, untying his breeches, and despite being in the company of women, he pulled out his cock and began to piss in the brook, yammering all the while.
“We?”
“A few of us. If you ask me, I don’t know why the King would trust those Warkworth brothers to do his bidding when neither has ever had any love for him.”
Silence.
“No matter, while they’re preoccupied, we’ll find that Witch and put her daughters down, as well—else we’ll see them all packing to Rome, let the Church do their worst.”
The silence persisted.
“If’n ye ask me… the Empress had the right of it all those years ago, burning that elder bitch at the stake. You know, I was there that day… she never screamed… not once… but those eyes… I felt cursed just the same.”
Rhiannon’s blood began to simmer.
Nobody had asked the man a bleeding thing, though he seemed to know everything. Sweet fates, she wanted to reach a hand into his throat and twist his tongue into knots.
All sound abated as the man continued to speak and the breath of the world came to pause… only the sound of his piss tinkling into the brook sounded at all.
Rhiannon swallowed her words, anger searing her veins. She had to hold herself back, because she longed to pounce on the man like a wild cat and scratch out his eyes.
“Wicked witches,” he said. “I’ll put a blade to their throats sooner’n they blink, and I’ll do it right if I ever see one. Believe me, I will…”
Very, very slowly, Rhiannon turned to face the man, and everything happened so quickly. His eyes widened with recognition at the sight of her.
“You!” he spat, mistaking her for Morwen. Dropping his cock, his hand moved swiftly to the hilt of his sword, drawing the weapon from its scabbard as his breeches fell to his knees. “Vile, disgusting bitch,” he spat.
Jack moved at once to stand in front of Rhiannon, and everything happened with a blur of motion.
The man spat another round of curses, but Marcella was quicker than he was, unsheathing a knife from her boot. She tossed the blade so hard, the thunk it made when it penetrated the man’s skull was akin to the sound of an arrow piercing hard wood.
He didn’t even realize what was coming. With the blade embedded in his forehead, he fell backwards into the bracken, with an arm dunked into the brook, and Marcella moved swiftly to cuff him with the heel of her boot, just to be sure. Satisfied, she cast one glance over her shoulder at Rhiannon, then bent to pluck the knife unerringly from the man’s face. She wiped it on her tunic, then said calmly, “Let’s go. It’s not safe.”
Chapter
Twenty-One
