Page 88 of The Daughters of Avalon
Unworthy,the voice said.Forgotten.
“What is it?” asked Edmond, who’d ridden back with him from Reading and then worked tirelessly beside him all night long.
“’Tis naught,” Wilhelm said, shaking it off, attributing the gloom to his grief. And still, he felt a hovering darkness that unsettled him to his bones. “I would have you ride for a priest,” he said. “St. Giles must be told, but I cannot scribe the letter myself.”
“Bamburgh?”
“Might as well.”
“Will he come?”
The glow of the raging fire must have lit the night sky for leagues, and yet, no more than six leagues away, the lord of Bamburgh had never bothered to dispatch men to their aid—not even for the sake of his daughter.
“He’ll come,” said Wilhelm. “If only to shrive his daughter. ’Tis Lady Margaret who lies at my feet.”
Both men peered down at the fire-wasted body, and when Edmond lifted his gaze, Wilhelm nodded, opening his fist to reveal her sigil ring. “All accounted for now,” he said. “Lucy, Alice, Roger, my Lord de Vere, and…” He looked down at the barely recognizable corpse, giving it a nod. “…Lady Margaret. No one has survived.”
For all the hope his father bore, Warkworth was now without a lord. Even if the Church agreed to dispense Giles, there was noguarantee King Stephen would give him the seat, not if his father had been declared an enemy to the crown.
Edmond scratched his head, averting his gaze, looking as though he might weep and perhaps, he would, because his thoughts had clearly ventured in the same vein Wilhelm’s had: They were lost without a lord. Edmond returned his watery gaze to Wilhelm, and said, “Well… we still have Giles, right?”
There was little wonder it was phrased as a question. Despite that this was now Giles de Vere’s birthright, he might not agree to leave his Church, not for a pile of rubble and bones.
“Go on… fetch the priest,” Wilhelm said, with no small measure of disgust. “Then, while you’re at it, get on your knees and pray to God Giles has what it takes to see our lord avenged.”
Only after Edmond was gone did he mutter for his ears alone, “If he does not, I will.” And he glared at the motto on the lady’s ring. It read:virtute duce comite fortuna—led by virtue, with great fortune.
It was their family dictum.
But not anymore.
Chapter
One
LONDON, JANUARY 5, 1149
Flanked by two of his men, William d'Aubigny, the earl of Arundel marched into the King’s Stables. Not only was he Stephen’s loyal man, he had doubtless had some hand in the burning of Warkworth, and realizing as much, Giles de Vere stopped short of the stable yard, eyeing his elder half-brother with no small measure of concern. He slid off his mount, intending to avoid a confrontation at all costs. So much as he loved his sable, a row with Arundel would prove infinitely more troublesome. His brother would tear the king’s pet apart and their dispensation would be denied long before their bargain could be ratified.
Thankfully, Wilhelm didn’t notice the man. “We can’t leave the horses here,” his brother complained. “We’re not so poor we can’t spend the coin to stable them properly.”
“They’ll be fine,” Giles reassured, although he wasn’t entirely certain that would be the case. “We’ll be in and out before the sun sets.” Anyway, he reasoned, the stable hands were well accustomed to handling the surplus. Already, a stableboy had spotted them and was on his way.
By the saints, his brother was as loyal as they came, but already he had a bee up his bum. If Wilhelm were to have his way, they would walk into the king’s hall, wielding torches, and set the entire palace to flame—an eye for an eye. But patience and cunning were far better options. Such things were better finessed.
Vengeance is mine, I shall repay, saith the lord.
Reluctantly, Wilhelm slid off his horse. “If you say so, but do me a favor, Giles: Whatever he says in there, don’t trust the pillock. Mark me, if you bring that witch home, she’ll report everything we do, and once, again, Warkworth will be left in ruins.”
Less than five months after the fire that had ravaged their lives, Warkworth was well in the process of being restored, but doubtless the king already knew this. It could well be that they would slap Giles in irons even before he had the chance to stand before Stephen, and, regardless, if they did not leave with the dispensation, there was every chance all the work they’d accomplished would be undone. As it stood, Warkworth remained defenseless.
Waiting for the stableboy, Giles lowered his voice, urging Wilhelm to do the same. “You must trust me,” he said.
“I trust you. I do not trusther.”
And regardless, the bargain was made. Nothing Wilhelm could say would sway him, and there was so much more at stake than just Warkworth. “I promise you, Will, I’ll keep the lady in her place.”
Clearly unappeased, Wilhelm’s scowl deepened. “She, too, is a witch, Giles. Did your seminary teach you so little? How came you to the foolish notion that you could bend such a woman to your will?”
