Page 324 of The Daughters of Avalon
Alas, Rhiannon daren’t look directly into anyone’s eyes. She watched the ramparts burn until every inch of wood was consumed and then finally extinguished. It happened swiftly, like a pile of old dry leaves put to a flame.
“Remind me to never anger you,” jested Cael, and Rhiannon felt the heat of his gaze. Even so, she daren’t face him—not yet… because… she didn’t want anyone to see the uncertainty that must be emblazoned upon her face.
Uncertainty was weakness.
This was no time to be weak.
And worse—she must confess—there was a hint of rapture in her heart. She might not be too proud to have ended those lives, and yet… and yet… she had, indeed, thrilled over the return of hermagik—the song in her veins longing to be sung. Even now, her body thrummed with energy and the hair on her head stood on end as she thought about her mother.I will end you,she thought silently.
I promised retribution, and I will give it.
Finally, at last, she would put an end to the woman who gave her life. Her mind whirring with thoughts of vengeance, she stood back and watched as the gate was completely consumed, leaving only a dark smoldering crater in a blackened wall.
When the smoke cleared, altogether they mounted their horses, and one after the other, marched into the castle, as that same, white-necked raven soared overhead.
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
Fierce and beautiful.
His wife reminded him of the warrior queen Boudicca. Although she was long gone before his time, his father used to recount her tale to him as a boy: A noblewoman by birth, her lands were seized by the Romans. She and her daughters were flogged and defiled. In retribution, Boudicca raised an army and crossed the nation to challenge the governor in Anglesey, putting to shame the hearts of men who’d so willingly prostrated themselves for greed. Hers was the voice in his ear that had given him so much ambivalence throughout his life—on the one hand enjoying the fruits of his associations with Rome. On the other, shamed by the demise of the Old Ways.
Seduced by power and gold, he was as responsible as any, and for so long, he’d been a man confused; today he was not.
He was fiercely proud of his Welsh bride.
She was wise beyond her years and ruthless as she must be to deal with the Witch Queen.
Standing there, with her deep, copper hair and her bright blue eyes, she’d cast a judgment upon the Prince and his men, ending all discourse over their fates as swiftly and easily as one doused a candle’s flame.
God only knew, he pitied those men their final moments, even as he understood it was the right thing to do.
Wilhelm Fitz Richard was right. Given the opportunity, they would have aided and abetted Morwen in the coming battle; this was no time for mercy.
Familial pride lifted his shoulders as he cantered up alongside Rhiannon, waiting patiently as she refused to meet his gaze. Finally, when she dared to look at him, her eyes were bright with unshed tears.
Clearly, she wasn’t so hard-hearted as she wanted people to believe—fortunately for him, else she would never have come to love him. Only now he knew she did, despite that she’d yet to say those three precious little words.
“You did what you had to do,” he told her gently. “They would have proven to be disadvantages. I know how difficult it is to resist your mother’s call.”
“And yet… you did?” She furrowed her brows. “Did you not?”
The breath caught in his lungs. How to properly address this—and should he do it right now?
“Alas, I must confess, even now ’tis not so easily done.”
“I see,” she said, with a note of discord, her voice turning icy. “So, then, what keeps you by my side, Lord Blackwood?”
Love, he thought.
Pure and simple.
Love so impassioned, he longed to fall to his knees and kiss her feet. “I spoke true. I’m here for you.”
He recognized the storm brewing in her eyes.
It raged within him as well.
