Page 7 of The Daughters of Avalon
He would laugh?
Elspeth screwed her face, feeling a sudden overwhelming urge to rush forward and punch the fool in the shin. His chortling—at her expense—was jovial enough to enrage her.
Sweet fates.She was hardly any shrew, but she welcomed the fury to distract her from her sorrow. In truth, she might have expected ire, or condemnation—or even lechery—but not this.
At the moment, she was so unsettled by his laughter that she could scarcely bear to look at the man. Mother Goddess, how could any man that size move so swiftly?
If only he’d not kept such a tight hold on his reins, or if he’d moved a little slower, she might be on her way by now. Instead, she was standing here like a ninny, trading quips, though not by choice, with a man large enough to comprise two of Llanthony’s chaplains.
And yet, make no mistake, the fellow was far from fat. Every bit of flesh Ersinius possessed in his belly would have to be shoved up, forcibly, into his man breasts and then mindfully sculpted in order to be half the size this man was.
At long last, the stranger overcame his hilarity and bothered to ask, “Art hurt, lass?”
Daring to meet his sea-green eyes, Elspeth found him leaning in his saddle, the evidence of his mirth still clinging to the corners of his lips. “I’m unharmed,” she confessed. “No thanks to you.”
“If I recall aright,” he said, his eyes gleaming, “I was strolling by, minding my own affairs.Youassailedme.”
His Scots accent was subtle, but Elspeth recognized it all the same. He had the diction of one who’d been away from his country overlong, but that did nothing to settle her ire. She hadnolove for Scots—and even less for reavers. Why should she feel guilty over stealing a thief’s horse? “You were not riding her,” Elspeth said, unreasonably.
“No,” he agreed. “I was not. For a good reason.”
Elspeth hitched her chin. “What good reason, prithee?”
“Not that I should owe you explanations for why I dinna ride my own horse, but I dinna wish to have Merry Bells harm herself in this foul weather.”
Merry Bells?
Elspeth blinked, then frowned, chastened, though he couldn’t possibly have understood why. Naturally, she had already known there would be consequences for the aether spell, but she hadn’t taken much time to consider all the many possibilities. That horse’s life was no less valuable to the Goddess than her own, and now she worried even more about the Rule of Three, mostly for sisters’ sakes, because she had selfishly allowed them to abet her in this failed escape—failed because, only now that she was caught, she realized there was so much more they should have considered. And, of course, with the recent vandalisms, Stephen would send reinforcements. From the beginning, this was doomed. And yet, surely, the Goddess had something better to offer a humble servant than this? The very thought of being trussed over this man’s horse and returned to Ersinius like some sack of meal, disheartened her. And then would he hand her over to the Bishop to be made an example of—like her grandmamau? It wasn’t inconceivable. No matter that they couldn’t prove that mist wasn’t an act of God, they would consider Elspeth a poor example to her sisters.If they didn’t escort her by blade-point to Blackwood, they might still wish to be rid of her and what better way than to burn her at the stake?
Calm yourself, Elspeth.
I am calm,she lied.I’m calm, Rhiannon!
But in the meantime, the Scotsman continued to berate her. She didn’t hear half of what he said, but she focused on his words now.
“The fact thatmyarse was not planted inmysaddle was not an invitation for thievery.”
Elspeth would like to have forgotten he was there, but he gave her a thorough once over, and added, “Then again… judging by the fit of your clothes, this wasn’t your first thievery. Di’ ye burgle somepuirsentry too deep in his cups to notice you were nicking his breeches?”
A warm flush crept into Elspeth’s cheeks. “Are you through being amused?”
“Not quite,” he said, “though I assure you my amusement is far more pleasant than the alternative.”
Elspeth arched a dubious brow. He couldn’t possibly be such an ogre if he loved his “Merry Bells” so much. And anyway, what sort of name was Merry Bells for a warrior’s horse?Merry Bells?
If she weren’t so furious, she would have returned the favor by laughing—heartily—rolling over the ground with a hand to her belly.
Indeed, Elspeth wished to do so, but considering how angry and heartsore she was, laughter wasn’t forthcoming—unlike this fool, who seemed incapable of wiping the infuriating smirk from his lips, even whilst he berated her.
But then something occurred to her—something remarkable. He appeared wholly unaware of who she was, which meant… he wasn’t sent to fetch her.
Relief vied with irritation. For all that he rankled her, Elspeth desperately needed help, and as much as she loathed to acknowledge the truth, she sensed a certain virtue in his aura—and this, after all, was her greatest skill: reading people. Whilst Rhiannon could read actual thoughts, so long as Elspeth remained in proximity, she could read emotions—betimes like an aura, filled with colors.
This man’s air was lit pale orange, with just the tiniest hint of blue, like the shades of a low-burning flame. It was perhaps for that reason she’d felt so emboldened to provoke him.
But here, now, they were at a standoff, unless Elspeth relented—which was to say that if she wished to engage his help, she realized she was going to have to be nicer. “So, then…” She swiped primly at her tunic. “You did not saywhyyou are here?”
“Aside from dodging pretty little thieves?”
