Page 3 of The Daughters of Avalon
Rhiannon said, “Why not? At least then she wouldst know how we live. She never acknowledged me, perhaps, but she knew you well enough. It would seem to me that if she cared at all, she would wish to see how you fared.”
Elspeth sighed, wearied by that particular discussion. It wasn’t always so easy to defend Matilda, because it was true: Matilda had only once ever bothered to come to Llanthony, and even then, she’d never bothered to see her sisters. She’d come toremind Ersinius of his oath to support her. But, of course, that was fruitless. As had so many who’d knelt before Matilda whilst Henry still lived, Llanthony’s illustrious chaplain, like most of Stephen’s barons, would never abide a woman on England’s throne.
“Elspeth? Please... youmusttrust me. I have a plan.”
“What plan?”
“Trust me,” Rhiannon said, her eyes revealing her desperation as the first rays of twilight crept in through their window.
The Golden Hour was swiftly approaching—that hour between times, when the veil between worlds was at its thinnest and thehudwas at its strongest.
Elspeth said, her eyes glinting with unshed tears, “I do trust you, Rhiannon, but what you propose may have consequences beyond our imagining. Remember the White Ship?”
“Precisely,” Rhiannon argued. “And for that meddling, what price has Morwen paid? If you ask me, she has profited greatly, and to this day, I have never once seen any evidence that our mother suffered a single day.”
Elspeth held her composure. “We know not what price she’ll pay, but I cannot be made responsible for the burden this could heap upon your shoulders. You are my sisters,” she said. “I love you dearly. Can you not understand? I would never forgive myself if aught should happen to any of you because of me. Let us say no more. I’ll wed that man, come what may.”
Silence met her declaration, and no one spoke another word. The weight of her decision sat like an anvil on each of their breasts, pressing the life and breath from their lungs. And nevertheless, to wed this man seemed Elspeth’s only legitimate choice.
Fat tears shone in Rhiannon’s eyes. “I cannot bear it,” she said. “Come tomorrow evening, you would trade yourself like an old goat and a sack of meal.”
“Nor I, in truth,” admitted Elspeth, and she rolled up the parchment and rose from her chair, leaving her sisters to stare helplessly at one another, while she tried to salvage her composure. She made her way to the window, tears spilling into her lashes. For these past thirteen years they’d been trapped in this godforsaken priory, waiting and waiting…but for what?
For this?
Sweet Goddess, nay…
She peered out the window, searching for the guards, some little part of her perhaps still considering Rhiannon’s plan, reckless as it might be.
Despite the tumult in her heart, the evening seemed perfectly tranquil, with a blushing sky that brushed the rooftops with warm vestal light. Their crude little cottage lay at the back of the priory on the highest point of the hill, like a tower prison without a tower. And nevertheless, from this vantage, Elspeth could spy the entire vale of Ewyas.
At this hour, the west-facing windows on the chapel glinted unevenly against a well-spent sun. The rare and expensive forest glass was smashed threesennightspast—a keen reminder that so long as the Welsh had breath to resist, so they would.
Mayhap her sisters could not remember, but Elspeth could never forget: This land was once hallowed land—not blessed by the dictums of the Holy Church or the men who sought to profit through her favor, but by the spirit of the Welsh, and the divinity of the land itself.
It was changing now… more every day, but it still bore a trace of that wild, untamed country, wherefaerieswhispered through swaying branches, and the wind blew sweet over mortal’s brows. The chapel of their hearts had been constructed of arches, butunlike those forged by men and scarred by chisels, these were built by the Goddess herself, whose loving hands had bowed the ancient heads of trees to create a magical place beneath.
Now, like a cancer, the priory had grown and grown, stretching like a greedy lover in the middle of a verdant bed, unfurling farther and farther into Welsh territory. What had begun as little more than a prison to hold the king’s “witchy daughters,” had become a strategic center of power for the Usurper. Llanthony was now the richest, most well-endowed priory in all of Britain, completely self-sufficient, despite its remoteness. There was even a new hatchery and once a week, wrapped in damp rushes, fresh fish were brought all the way from Llangorse. Likewise, from the newly consecrated Abbey Dore, came huge casks of ale. Ten years ago, at her mother’s direction, they’d built an aviary unlike any that graced the king’s land, filled with pigeons and white-necked ravens that could speak the king’s tongue. Both birds were bred for correspondence. But, unlike the messenger pigeons, which naturally returned to where they were born, the ravens were drawn to only one place—wherever Morwen should be, making her indispensable to her king.
Alas, for all that these monks were “servants of God,” they were naught but conspirators with her mother and so long as Elspeth lived, she would never, never abet them… and yet, here she was… about to wed a man her mother ordained.
The light in the cottage grew fragile now, as dust motes danced in the sun’s fading rays. The golden hour was here. If, in truth, Elspeth meant to change her mind, she must do sonow. Once the sun had set, it would be too late…
Rhiannon must have sensed her wavering. “Elspeth, please… youmustgo.”
“I cannot, Rhiannon. I have sworn to protect you.”
Rhiannon pressed her. “And how will you do such a thing after you have gone? One way or another, youwillgo. Only think better of it, please! If you do not leave tonight, youwillbe forced to leave on the morrow. And how will you help us then?”
It was true. One way or another—with or without her sisters—Elspeth would be forced to leave the priory… and still she hesitated. Evenwhite magikcould be treacherous, though only their mother had ever dabbled in thehud du—black magicas the English were wont to call it.
Before she was born Morwen had conjured a mist like the one Rhiannon would have them summon tonight. It lured the White Ship over the rocks, sinking the fated vessel, and carrying their father’s only legitimate male heir to the cold, black depths of the sea. That single conjuring changed the fate of nations and claimed two hundred and fifty innocent lives. So, then, it was not the intent that dictated consequences. Rather, it was the nature of the harm inflicted. And there was no way to foresee such a thing. Blackhudor white, there was a price to be paid. Finally, Rhiannon offered the only argument that could possibly sway her. “A man such as d’Lucy might use your skills against Matilda—or worse…”
All five sisters understood instinctively what the worst might be: If he were a godly man, like Ersinius, he could beat Elspeth until she bled. As her lawful husband, no one would have any right to stop him—not even Morwen. He could call her a witch and pythoness and mistreat her for what he did not understand… or… he could put her to the pyre, like they did to their grandmother. But, if she left…
“If I go,” Elspeth said, reasoning, “he will simply wed the next of you. Tis not as though he bears me any love.”
“Aye, but let’s speak true, Elspeth. I am next. He would never have me,” argued Rhiannon, and her sisters’ gazes all turned in her direction, looking abashed. “Well,” she said with perfectconviction, turning up a hand in resignation. “Tis true. He would never wed an afflicted daughter with a disagreeable temper.” She lifted the hand up, silencing them, when they opened their mouths to console her. “Regardless, Morwen is greedy. She would never allow him or anyone else to take Seren—her prized jewel—whilst I remain unwed. Therefore, it buys us time.”
