Page 67 of The Daughters of Avalon
“Quite,” Elspeth said, and she curled up her knees, wrapping her hands about her legs, trying not to think about the butterflies flitting in her belly.
Ever since leaving Amdel, they hadn’t had much to eat but chickweed and sorrel and berries, eggs and mushrooms. Malcom hadn’t wished to hunt, for fear of borrowing anymore trouble.
Thankfully, he, too, was quite well versed in foraging, but Elspeth could do it better. She knew precisely which plants were edible, and by now, she was beginning to fill her purse.
Evidently, now that they were closer to Aldergh, he felt more at ease to hunt, but no matter how hard he tried to make itwork, the sparks would not fly, and Elspeth feared it was because everything was so wet. She herself felt damp to her bones, and she was eager for the coming fire—if only he’d allow her to light it for him.
At last, looking furious—more at himself—he turned to look at her, and said, “Go on. Do it. I know you’re dying to.”
“Art sure?”
“As sure as I am that I will begin gnawing at Merry Bells herself if I dinna put something substantial in my belly.”
Elspeth laughed, sending Merry Bells a thought of reassurance. She closed her eyes, imagining the flash of light before her lids, and whispered:
Fire burn, light bestow, I conjure you, high and low.
She felt a burst of heat, and then opened her eyes to see that Malcom was looking at her, scowling. “You had to speak words this time? I thought you didn’t have to do that? Did you do it just for show?”
Elspeth tried not to laugh. “Everything is wet,” she explained.
To that, he gave her a dubious nod, arching a brow. “You can’t wave your hand and conjure a cony while you’re at it, can you?”
Elspeth shook her head, though, in fact, she could.
Well… she couldn’t produce one from thin air, but she could certainly lure one to her hands. And nevertheless, she would no more summon some poor beast from its sanctuary, urging it to trust her, only to fill her belly. That would be a grievous sin. There was more than enough to be found foraging, and a few hunger pangs never put anyone at risk of starvation.
With the fire now lit, Malcom grabbed his bow, annoyed, and set out to hunt. “I’ll stay close,” he reassured, and Elspeth nodded.
Sighing, she got up from the blanket to go after the blackberries she’d saved for later. Of course, she would try whatever Malcom brought back as well, if only to soothe his injured pride, but she would leave most of it for him. She didn’t mind a bit of flesh, but preferred not to make it a habit. And while she was looking for the berries, she remembered the book down in Malcom’s saddlebag, and fished it out, bringing it back to the blanket and sitting down to peruse it.
With her hand full of berries, trying not to squash them, and the juice seeping from her palm, she laid the berries down, glad for the tartan in case she might stain it. And once she was settled, she opened thegrimoire.
A small slip of parchment slipped out from the pages. It was a drawing—a golden two-headed falcon with a maxim that readAltium, citius, fortius.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
There was no mistaking her sister’s artwork.
Rhiannon’s drawings were done with a practiced hand. It was her work that graced the pages of theirgrimoire—all the sketches of flora and fauna, detailed to the smallest degree.
If Elspeth needed more proof than the words with which Malcom had returned from Wales, she had it now in the sketch done by her sister’s hand, scribbled in ash and sealed with wax.
How long had she known?
Obviously, her sister had had a vision of Elspeth’s future, and now that Elspeth realized, she, too, could see more clearly…
Their bond was irrefutable by the simple fact that Malcom couldhearher, and that he so easily had championed her. He was her soul mate bonded to her by the Goddess—and she understood now that he must feel it as well, or else he would never have wed her so swiftly, without dispensation from the Church, or consent from his king. Without any hesitation, they had bound themselves together as man and wife in the oldest imaginable ceremony, practiced by lovers since time immemorial.
But, now, Elspeth wondered: Could Malcom also be the key toalltheir futures? Was it possible Rhiannon had seen this, as well, and this was why her sister had insisted so vehemently that Elspeth must leave the priory?
All things were connected, Elspeth realized.
Where a butterfly fluttered its wings, that’s where the mighty gale was spawned. Consequently, it was the angry flap of a mean hen’s wings after swallowing a seed that birthed a sea swell tremendous enough to sink the entire Island of Avalon.
Thinking about that, later that evening, she lay next to Malcom, facing his back in the darkness, listening to him breathe, remembering the delightful feelings she had experienced whilst riding behind him in the saddle. Her cheeks burned over the memory, but if she could experiencethatwith nothing but his proximity, spurred by the sound of his voice and the warmth of his body, what more could she feel? Even now, her skin warmed as she considered what to do…
