Page 322 of The Daughters of Avalon
“How can you know?” asked Wilhelm.
Rhiannon’s eyes met Wilhelm’s and she held his gaze. “Because… I feel his heart flame.”
The behemoth narrowed his eyes.
Undaunted, she continued. “There are four on the ramparts, one elsewhere on the premises, and I presume he must be hiding inside the keep.”
“Like as not drunk and lamenting his fate,” agreed Giles.
“Quite likely,” agreed Marcella. “We heard the cur was dispossessed and that Stephen intends to cede his throne to Duke Henry.”
Giles nodded affirmation. “Indeed, that’s the plan,” he said. “However, after I left, Eustace accused his father of ruining his life. He took a contingent of his own men—more than he has here, I presume, but I believe he lost them all after looting Bury St. Edmunds.”
“Idiots,” said Cael.
“Anyone of note on the ramparts?” asked Marcella.
Giles shook his head. “I don’t believe so.” He shook his head again. “Only a handful of dafties who believe the King’s son has some chance with Morwen’s intervention.”
A prickle of fear raced down Rhiannon’s spine at the mention of her mother. Instinctively, she peered up at the skies, searching for ravens. None were yet to be found.
And yet, even so, she understood with conviction that there were no coincidences. The Mother Goddess provided, if only one listened, and there must be some reason Wilhelm and Giles were already here.
There was a good reason they’d happened upon the King’s son as well.
Whether or not they were aligned, their fates certainly were.
“We’re pleased to see you,” said Giles. “Now mayhap, we’ll root out the bastard and set off to Warkworth together.”
“We won’t be traveling on to Warkworth,” said Rhiannon. “I’m afraid this is where we must make our stand.”
“Impossible!” declared Marcella.
“We haven’t the men or resources,” said Giles. “Warkworth is where they will send reinforcements.”
“What goes here?” asked Wilhelm, frowning, perhaps slow to realize who Rhiannon was, since they had never laid eyes upon each other before now.
Rhiannon closed her eyes, inhaling a breath, communing with theaether,ifonly to be certain. When she opened her eyes again, she was sure and she met Marcella’s gaze, pleading with the paladin to keep faith. Out of everyone standing here, Marcella was the one person who might fully understand. “And nevertheless, this is where we must remain,” she said.
“God’s bones!” erupted Wilhelm. “Who the hell is this woman to tell us what to do?”
Very somberly, Giles clapped a hand to his brother’s shoulder, and said, “You of all people… can’t you see the familial resemblance? She’s Rhiannon Pendragon.”
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
Like Warkworth, so many new castles were being designed with an eye toward safeguarding against fire. The brothers had learned the hard way how devastating such a happenstance could be. Five years ago, at Morwen’s behest, Warkworth was put to the torch, on the command of the man who now lay hidden within this very fortress.
It was Wilhelm Fitz Richard who proposed sending a few, well-placed missiles onto the ramparts— “An eye for an eye,” he said. Positioned right, those arrows could very well ignite the entire edifice, especially if those dull wits atop the barbican were keeping barrels of pitch over the gates, ready to boil and turn. If those should happen to catch fire, the parapet would ignite and burn swiftly.
As with Warkworth, there were two curtain walls, one defending an already compromised outer bailey and a smaller, stone wall surrounding the keep.
Only part of the outer wall was made of stone, and the wood they’d used to bolster it was dry and ready to burn, even despite the deluge they’d received last night.
Additionally, the ground, though puddled, was baked, signifying an overall lack of rain.
All things considered, they decided it would be simple enough to take out the outer wall without compromising the inner wall. Worst case, if the arrows didn’t catch, they would create a suitable distraction, and Giles and Wilhelm could approach the gates to set fire to the doors.
