Page 326 of The Daughters of Avalon
“For everything I have done,” he said, and once again, his wife dared to look at him, her demeanor hardened again.
“What about for the things you did not do?” she asked, and gone was the soft, sweet young woman who’d slept so peacefully in his arms.
Cael swallowed, tormented.
Why, indeed, had he not set her free?
Because he was afraid she would leave.
Because he was afraid to die.
Because he was a greedy bastard intent on revenge.
More than anything, he longed to pull her into his arms, and kiss her desperately, tell her again and again that he loved her—as he knew, he should have long ago.
She was, he feared, much like a cat, nearly gone feral—one instant curious and longing, the next ferocious and distant. “Ask me no promises, I’ll give you no lies,” she said, tossing his own words back at him. God’s truth, it was nothing less than he should expect from the defiant woman he’d come to know and adore. And nevertheless, it struck him a doubly painful blow, because, in truth, he didn’t deserve anyone’s forgiveness, much less hers.
Nor was he entirely certain he would ever earn it.
In the end, he decided, this was not the time for a heartfelt discussion, not with so many curious ears. So, he let it go, leaving her question to linger between them.
What now if she tests you?
Chapter
Thirty
Dismounting in the courtyard, the entire entourage approached the keep together.
No groomsmen came running, nor did any sign of life catch anyone’s eye, save for one lone cock pecking about a garner.
Cael commanded the wolfhound to stay, and the solemn beast lay down beside the horses to wait.
Inside the castle, it was equally as dismal.
Amdel’s hall was dark, its walls covered with smoke-stained, sagging tapestries. The sour scent of spoilt rushes made Cael’s nostrils flare as their boots clicked along rough stone tile. Following the light of a lone, flickering torch illuminating the recesses of the great hall, they entered to the resounding boom of a clap. Thunderous against the silence, it cut through the room, echoing harshly against bare stone walls.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
There, they discovered the brat prince seated atop the lord’s dais, hunkered down in his chair, drunk and belligerent, his eyes bloodshot and angry as he glared at both Warkworth brothers, leading the way into the hall. “Lauds!” he shouted. “Lauds!” And then he laughed maniacally. “Shall we toast toyour perseverance, my lords?” He clapped again, and this time the sound was hysterical.
“Guards!” he called. “To me! To me!” But no one came.
No. One. Came.
The hall remained empty of footfalls, except for their own, until all who were present came to a wary halt before the littered dais.
The Warkworth brothers immediately moved to one side, Jack and Marcella to the other, just in case Eustace attempted to run, though he scarcely wiggled a toe. In fact, his gaze followed Giles and Wilhelm as he sank further into his chair, and said, wiggling a cup, “Drinks, anyone?”
“You’re a sot,” said Giles.
“And you, my lord de Vere! You’re but a lackey, though you believe you’re a very wise man. My auntie Matilda keeps you by the short hairs of your cock.”
Giles unsheathed his sword.
Cael knew the brothers longed to silence him forever for his sins against Warkworth, and, in truth, he would like to hand them both a torch. The King’s son was a waste of human flesh—a bag of bones with no redeeming qualities aside from the potential enrichment of good soil.
“You’re all so pathetic!” said Eustace. “Look at you!” He laughed, and then, his gaze fell upon Rhiannon, his eyes narrowing as he scoffed, “At long last! The proud, prodigal daughter emerges. Has anyone ever told you that you look precisely like your mother, dear? Alas, I warrant you’ve not half the wits she has. Too bad.”
