Page 46 of The Daughters of Avalon
And the answer entered his head, unbidden. Because that was the answer:witchery.
He’d met a woman in Scotia once; her name was Una. Much like Elspeth, there had been something surreal about her—nothing he could put a finger to name, but if you were around her for any length of time, strange things occurred: rising mists, objects appearing in one place when you left them in another,and generally small things that defied explanation but were too mundane to worry over. Ever since meeting Elspeth, there had been a number of unusual occurrences—like the clearing of that fog in the woods, and the simple fact that she had predicted it so easily—as though she had known… or perhaps even conjured it.
But, of course, those things could easily be explained away as luck or coincidence… except the wound on his shoulder… and if wished to pretend it didn’t happen, he had the damagedhauberkandsherteto prove otherwise.
She seemed so reluctant to continue, so Malcom reached out to clasp her hand. “Tell me what ails you, Elspeth…”
You would not believe me.
Malcom blinked, hearingthatvoice again… that strange voice he’d heard that morning in the woods—a soft murmur that sounded more as though it were a memory of a whisper at his ear. He did not avert his gaze. “I would,” he said, responding, as though she’d spoken.
Surprised, her gaze snapped up to meet his. Her pupils widened, then darkened, and for a long, long instant, the silence in the room was deafening.
At long last, she turned away from him, and said, “Morwen… she’s my mother. She’s?—”
Malcom sat straight, daunted though he hadn’t anticipated it. “I know who she is,” he said. And still, as stunning as her disclosure might have been, he never expected what she revealed next.
“My father is King Henry.”
Malcom blinked. “DeadKing Henry?”
Elspeth nodded, furrowing her brow, her lips thinning with displeasure. “My sisters and I have been sequestered for thirteen years, forgotten, until now that my mother has use of me.”
Henry, Henry?
Not that Malcom meant to give her pause, but he allowed his hand to fall away from hers, only considering the king who’d once abducted him from his home as a wee boy of six. Henry Beauclerc was the reason Malcom agreed to fight Matilda. He could not in good conscience back a king—or queen—who would stoop to such an ignoble deed as to wrest a child from his home and use him forpolitikalmeans. It was also why he’d never felt any compunction over not serving David. The two kings—brothers by law—had schemed to put Malcom into Henry’s court so they could barter with Malcom’s father. Say what they would about Stephen, the man had a far nobler sense of justice, even if his virtue might, in fact, be responsible for prolonging this untenable war. But, least he didn’t have the blood of women and children on his hands.
Elspeth’s confession explained so much: her betrothal to d’Lucy, as well as her aversion to Stephen… and now he recalled what she’d said that morning he’d met her in the woods:My fath—Henry would turn in his grave to hear you say such a thing.She had evidently meant to saymy father.Malcom had been too dull-witted to catch her slip. But, of course. Why else would five girls be ensconced in a well-endowed priory in Wales—a monastery run by King Henry’s old chaplain?
“And your sisters?”
She nodded again, though now she would not face him, perhaps afraid to meet his gaze. “We are all daughters of Henry,” she confessed. “Daughters of Morwen. Daughters of Avalon as well.” And then she buried her face in her hands and wept.
Chapter
Nineteen
Elspeth sobbed quietly.
For better or worse, now the truth was spent. She had confessed herself to this man—this stranger who’d been placed in her path—her champion so Rhiannon had claimed.
After all, she’d placed herself—and her sisters—at risk, and for all their differences, she shouldnotbe trusting this man, or any man.
She couldn’t look at him now for fear of the repulsion she’d spy in his eyes, for Elspeth was truly someone to be reviled according to the faith of this land.
And what was more, she was kin to a king whose daughter Malcom fought so vehemently to oppose—in favor of a blackguard who’d stolen her father’s throne.
For that matter, despite his pretty title, he was a Scots-born mercenary, who’d sworn his allegiance to her cousin. If he should decide to forsake her here and now, there would be naught she could do. For all that was said and done, theirs was an impossible bond.
Once again, Malcom placed a hand on hers, reassuring her, and Elspeth dared to lift her gaze to his, tears glistening in hereyes. Only, by the look on his face, she realized that, somehow, he had already gleaned so much of what she’d yet to say.
Could it be that he would not revile her? Could it be that despite their differences, he would stand for her?Look to your champion,Rhiannon had said.Look to your champion.
Daring to trust him, Elspeth willed Malcom to open his heart to the truth, because she understood now that if she didn’t place herself at his mercy, she would remain powerless to do aught to help her sisters. For better, or worse, he was her champion in truth.
“You healed my wound,” he said, acknowledging his suspicions, and it wasn’t a question, Elspeth realized.
She nodded soberly. “Whilst you slept.”
