Page 93 of The Daughters of Avalon
See what you did, Arwyn!
There was only meager comfort in the fact that Arwyn did not respond. Dismayed, Rosalynde gasped when she saw her dung-coveredgrimoire.
“Nay!” she said, kneeling in the dirt to begin wiping it off—praying with all her heart that her mother would not somehow sense her betrayal and fly out of the palace to catch her on her knees—only then, it might be a propitious position from which to beg for her life.
Goddess please!
Grimacing with disgust, she attempted to dislodge the horse-dung with a finger, grateful it wasn’t fresh, but it was nevertheless disgusting. With a groan, she slid the book across the dirt… and that’s when she spotted the twin black horses hobbled side by side…
Like shining gifts from the Goddess, there stood two lovely mares with glistening black coats. She needed only one. And… as luck would have it, there was no one near the horses, and the stableboy was busy arguing with another customer.
Scooping up thegrimoire, Rosalynde bounded to her feet. Not quite daring to place the book against her breast, she nevertheless held it close and made her way toward the horses. Mild mannered, neither protested her approach, and thankfully, both still wore their tack, though it was certain that neither of the saddlebags would contain anything of value. Stifling the urge to peek inside—because that might look suspicious, she pretended as though she knew what she was doing, untethering one of the horses, and apologizing to the other as she did so. Feeling a pang of regret when she led the animal away, she reassured herself that these were the gifts the Goddess had provided, and who was she to look a gift horse in the mouth?
Quickly, she opened one of the satchels, slid hergrimoireinside, patted the mare’s soft, black rump, and hurried away. When she was out of the line of sight of the stable hand, she tried to mount. It wasn’t so easy as she would have supposed…
Cursing beneath her breath—because it wouldn’t serve her disguise to be running about spouting oaths—she tried twicebefore removing her mother’s cloak. Vexed with the garment simply for existing, she shoved the monstrosity into the saddlebag, not caring if it was ruined. At any rate, it was temperate for winter, and it would be easy enough to cast a warming spell—she knew plenty of those after so many years living in such mean quarters at Llanthony.
Alas, until now, she had never stolen anything of value, but the Book of Secrets was more precious than any crown jewel, and in the wrong hands, more lethal than Stephen’s Rex Militum. So long as she had the Book in her possession, she must have faith and press on. No matter what… she must do all in her power to defend the Book of Secrets.
Finally, she placed her foot in the stirrup and without daring to look back to see if anyone noticed, she settled her rump in the saddle, prepared to risk life and limb to keep the Book safe, she snapped the reins and made for the city gates.
It was a long, long journey north, and there was no time to lose…
Chapter
Four
Squeezing past the hoard still waiting to air grievances to the king, Giles was more than ready to be shed of the palace.
Certainly, it was possible that, in his day, Henry Beauclerc had had nearly as many plaintiffs, but Giles couldn’t imagine a single body more constrained by those walls. And to make matters worse, there were so many people in attendance that the air was spicy with scents—not a one of them recalling him to frankincense or myrrh.
“It smells like a dirty twat in here,” groused Wilhelm, his mood growing surlier by the instant.
And yet despite his annoyance over his brother’s persistent rancor, Giles’s shoulders shook with mirth. It did, indeed, smell like a dirty twat.
At last, they emerged into the yard—fresh air, at last. And yet, even then, Wilhelm’s face twisted with disgust and his shoulders remained taut enough to bounce a penny off. “You should be relieved,” Giles said. “You never relished the notion of bringingherhome, anyway.”
Nor had Giles, in truth, but that was neither here nor there. Morwen Pendragon had pressed her advantage, and when all was said and done, King Stephen gave into the lady’s ferventdemands, sending Giles home without her beauteous daughter, but with the promise of a title and the dispensation to rebuild—so long as he agreed to bend the knee. He was to return six months hence to kneel and take his bride.
“Relieved?” said Wilhelm, casting a glance over his shoulder at Giles. “He made you earl, Giles—earl,for the love of Christ! For what reason, but to appease you so you might sooner kneel, and now you certainly will.”
Wilhelm bolted past him and Giles narrowed his gaze on his brother’s back, restraining his temper. Finally, at long last, they would arrive at the crux of Wilhelm’s rage. Giles had been back now for four months, and his relationship with his half-brother was no less contentious than it was on the day he’d arrived. Wilhelm questioned his every edict and Giles was at a loss as to how to address the matter, since he couldn’t glean its cause. But, until this instant, it hadn’t occurred to him that his loyalty might be in question. “So, then, you think the gift of a title is enough to make me forget his son murdered our kin?”
“Don’t forget Lady Ayleth!”
Giles screwed his face. God’s save him; he loathed to confess that he’d been gone so long he couldn’t even remember Lady Ayleth’s face. And despite this, he mourned her as he did all Warkworth’s wasted lives. He only wished Wilhelm would stop baiting him, as though her name were a battle cry meant to rile him against Stephen. They were already on the same side, even if he couldn’t share everything he knew. “Nothing has changed, brother. You may continue to sneer and despise our king at will, but I am compelled to look the man in the face and pretend an alliance I will never honor.”
Wilhelm said nothing, and Giles continued. “In the end, I, too, will have forsaken all my oaths—and worse, because at least Stephen must have believed his lies when he spoke them to Henry.”
Put precisely so, there wasn’t much to argue over, and to his credit, Wilhelm remained silent, though Giles wasn’t yet through. “Simply because I was not there to cart out those bodies does not mean I cannot imagine the atrocities committed. I grieve for them as much as you.”
If he did not openly weep—it wasn’t his way—his losses were just as profound. In the space of a single night, both their lives changed.
Wilhelm marched before him, quickening his pace, and Giles said in a moment of pique, “You may have known him longer, Willie, butIam Warkworth’s rightful heir.”
“And well do I know it!”
“By the saints!” Giles snapped. He lurched forward, reaching out to snatch his churlish brother by the sleeve of his tunic, yanking him back. “What in God’s name ails you, brother? Have I not done all you’ve asked and more? Before this is done, I will have given up my very soul for this cause.”
