A Winter’s Rose
Page 12
Thirdly, the man didn’t seem know what to do with her, though he was perfectly content to ignore her. Unlike his brother—who couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her—every once in a while, he peered out of the corner of one eye and then swiftly away when she net his gaze.
And fourthly, like a child looking for validation, Wilhelm talked a lot, rambling on and on about everything, from the difficulty of catching cony, to the idiosyncrasies of a good war horse, to the dissembling of Stephen. Rose wondered if Giles realized that a simple thank you from him might actually tame his brother’s prattling. And nevertheless, since it wasn’t forthcoming, Wilhelm carried on. And on. And on…
Now, he took it upon himself to name every known infraction Stephen ever made—everything from the breaking of his oaths to her father, to the handling of the kingwoods.
But, of course, neither of these men had any inkling they were speaking about Rosalynde’s father, and she hadn’t any inclination to tell them. She sat quietly, watching, listening.
“You were not there, Giles. I distinctly heard him say—with his own mouth—he would overturn Henry’s forest laws,” Wilhelm talked through greasy fingers, as he gnawed at his bone, spitting out slivers. “Still he has not. Twelve years of lies, and more lies.”
The differences between these two brothers couldn’t be more distinctly evident by the manner of their supping. Wilhelm, dark and brooding, tore after his meal with more zeal than Rosalynde had, much to her chagrin because it wasn’t very attractive to watch. But at least she had the veil to hide her greasy teeth and lips. Giles, on the other hand, purposely sliced his meat from the bone, placing the neat slices into a growing pile. “I have no issue with the kingwoods,” Giles said. “As it stands, there’s hardly any boar left anywhere. At least Henry’s Forest Law protects them.”
Wilhelm argued, “There’s boar in Pickering and Inglewood.”
“For now, and yet the instant he overturns that charter, every man and his brother will hunt them. They’ll be gone before you know it.”
Wilhelm hmphed. “And you think that man honors Henry’s Law because he cares about boar? Nay, brother. He maintains those kingwoods because he covets them for himself.”
Giles offered his brother a lift of his brow. “There’s much I do not respect about our king, but I warrant he hasn’t time for hunting, Will. Gossip doesn’t behoove you.”
Wilhelm growled, tossing away his bone, sliding Rosalynde a prickled glance. Meanwhile, Giles leaned back against the stump Rose had been seated upon earlier, staring contemplatively into the fire, and every now and again he looked at Rose, studying her as though she were a suspicious roll of knucklebones.
Only now that she had a bit of food in her belly, and she could think more clearly, she realized that, whilst she continued wearing the veil, the worst case might be that her eye color would change, and Giles might note it. Elsewise, much of her face remained hidden, and if either of these men suspected something, there was hardly any chance they would rip the veil from her face to reveal her.
And nevertheless, she could not abide the smell of the veil now that she had cony grease all over it, and if the itchy fabric wasn’t annoying enough, the foul odor made her long to rip it off and toss it away.
Truly, now that she was away from London, there was no reason to keep the glamour or the veil, save that these two arguing brothers had already seen her face, and how would she explain it? She had but needed the glamour to escape London without being recognized. Here on the road, it was enough to be wearing the habit.
She tried her best to ignore Giles, eating quietly, listening intently, and therein also discovered precisely where they were—not in any of the kingwoods, so it seemed, even despite their heated discussion over the subject.
Long past Darkwood, Giles had directed them to some small woodlot south of Whittlewood and Salcey, where only small quarry survived, which was indubitably the reason the woods seemed so quiet. Sadly, it couldn’t even be called a forest. Unlike Darkwood, with its thick cluster of trees, the woods were thin and sparse. There was hardly any place for hart or boar to roam or hide—nor for that matter, any place for anyone to hide, which, in essence, was the deciding factor in Rosalynde’s decision to leave—the sooner the better.
So much as she appreciated these brothers grim and their sweet, lovely horses—and so much as she’d like to believe the Goddess had sent them to aid her—she had no choice.
Rhiannon once told her that following the will of the Goddess should be easy. It was only difficult if you were attempting to force your own will over the will of the Mother. So, if, at some point, all of life seemed to be conspiring, it was time to reexamine one’s decisions.
Therefore, so much as she had hoped Giles could be her very own champion, it mustn’t be so. It was too difficult to be in his company; and there were many, many reasons to leave, only a few to stay. And truly, considering that she hadn’t actually anticipated finding herself a champion at all, there was only one true reason to stay: the mare.
On the other hand, when she considered all the many reasons to flee, they were a multitude.
Most significantly, there was the matter of the warding spell—without it, she would never sleep at night. And, when it came right down to it, two surly brothers with shiny swords were hardly any defense against her mother, and, anyway, both men were far too immersed in their own squabbles to have any sense for impending danger.
Moreover, even if Rosalynde could manage to find a good warding spell to be used without a proper pentacle, she was afraid they would be shocked to see her cast it, despite that they could no longer witness the effects it wrought upon the aether—startlingly beautiful formations, not unlike fae dust, or tiny, winking stars.
Sadly, most folks could no longer see the things a dewine saw, nor hear the voice of the Goddess. But to a dewine’s eyes, all things were made of stars—even this… strange appeal betwixt her and Giles. Rose felt it like an annoying tug at her heart and a crackle in the air, and it was hardly as comforting as she’d imagined it should be. It filled her with incredible angst, and she had more than enough of that already with worries over Morwen.
So, then, whilst Wilhelm continued to complain about Stephen’s reluctance to overturn her father’s Forest Law, despite his promise to do so, Rosalynde planned her escape…
If she could manage to slip into those puny woods, perhaps these contenders would be too busy thinking up ways to best each other, and too replete to bother coming after her—at least for a while. As exhausted as she was—and, sweet Goddess she was—she knew they must be all the more so, because at least she had managed to sleep last night and a little while in the saddle.
And anyway, neither of these brothers should care about a silly nun. Quite to the contrary, they should be pleased to be rid of her—and, no matter, Rosalynde didn’t believe they should trouble themselves with a search when they had days and days left to travel on their own account. Warkworth, she’d learned, lay far, far to the north—nearly as far as Aldergh. It was a week yet to Neasham, or so Giles had said, but that was afoot. Neasham was south of Aldergh—perhaps only halfway—and yet, so much as Rosalynde loathed to add another week or more to her travels, if she managed to hide herself well enough, even from these contentious brothers, she’d arrive at Neasham, long, long after they’d departed. Then, she could entreat upon the sisters to sell her a horse—and so what if they should happen to mention a silly nun from their travels. She would have more than enough of the philter remaining to cast one final glamour—one that would mask her dress as well as her face. They would see her as a luckless traveler and she would tell them that she had been robbed. If they wondered why she still had money to purchase a horse after being burgled, she would explain that she’d hidden the gold marks in the hem of her gown—and in fact, she could show them, and once she was gone, that would be the last of her lies.
As for the dream about Rhiannon… perhaps, after all, she wasn’t alone. Perhaps Rhi wou
ld guide her, and she must trust her sister above all.
“You’ve been gone a long time, Giles. Not everything is as it was. And nevertheless, I’d not steer you wrongly.”
Wilhelm’s tone was resentful, and yet, Giles didn’t answer, despite that Rosalynde sensed there was a pointed message in his brother’s statement. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep? If she hadn’t so much on her mind, Wilhelm’s rambling would have had the same numbing effect on her.
At last, she decided that the time had arrived—now before she lost her nerve.
If she hurried, she could still find a good place to conceal herself before the sun set.
Scooping up her Book, she got up, belly roiling, though not over the meal she’d so ravenously consumed.
Without a word, she took the grimoire and bounded away, abandoning the cloak. She didn’t want them to suspect, and she didn’t need the cloak anyway. She’d only taken it because Arwyn had given it to her and it would be easy enough to cast another warming spell once she was safely away.
Chapter 18
Alas, nothing ever happened quite as one expected. It was Wilhelm, not Giles, who sprang to his feet to follow. “Sister!” he called out, and Rosalynde winced, pretending not to hear him. He shouted a little louder, and she feared he might wake his brother. “Sister, wait!”
Goddess please!
Was she never going to be away?
Realizing that she couldn’t possibly outrun the man, she halted, turning to face the lout, pasting a serene smile on her face, and raising the Book to hide her quickened breath. “What may I do for you, Wilhelm?”
Cheeks flushing, the big man cast a nervous glance toward their camp, where his brother remained seated by the fire, still sleeping, judging by his repose.
“I beg pardon if I have offended,” he said, and Rose softened at the pleading quality of his voice.
“How can I help you?”
“I should like to confess my sins,” he said, his face twisting with what appeared to be regret—or perhaps it was only indigestion. Rosalynde couldn’t tell. She had a grumble in her belly herself.
“My lord, I am no priest,” she protested.
He smiled awkwardly. “And I am no lord—baseborn,” he said sheepishly, and then he stood, scratching his head, then gesturing to her book. “In truth, I wouldst simply pray… if you might. Tis been an age since I have done so, and I am not certain God will listen.”
“God always listens,” she reassured him.
Smiling gratefully, he nevertheless glanced back toward their camp, then swept out a hand, gesturing nervously. “Shall we walk apart?”
With a sigh, Rosalynde peered back at Giles, feeling her opportunity slipping away. Even now, the sun was lowering.
“Please, Sister,” he begged, and put a hand beneath her elbow to lead her away from Giles, deeper into the woods. “You see… I fear I’ve dishonored my father by dishonoring my brother…”
Rosalynde felt like a lamb being led to her slaughter and she sorely hoped his God would be listening, because she hadn’t any notion how to help this man. She was very glad her grimace remained hidden behind her veil. Her sister Elspeth had been far more dutiful at her prayers. More than not, Rosalynde had spent her days at the priory dreaming of new adventures, and if, in truth, she knew the hours of prayer, it was only so she could better plan when she could escape into the woods to forage. “Alas, I love a lady my brother was promised to…”
Rosalynde’s brow furrowed, curiosity getting the best of her. “Lady Ayleth?” she asked, and that same prickle of envy reared unexpectedly.
Wilhelm lifted a bushy black brow. “Perchance you knew her?”
Rose shook her head. “Nay, I but guessed. I heard you speaking of the lady on the road and I wondered who she was. So she and Giles must have been betrothed?”
“Never,” he said. “Though I am quite certain it disappointed her uncle when my brother left for the seminary.” He looked even more discomforted, scratching his head, leading her farther afield. “You see, what ails me is that Ayleth loved my brother, and even now that she’s gone, I envy him her love—particularly so, because it seems to me that Giles never cared.”
Rosalynde flicked a finger across the vellum, feeling oddly defensive over Giles and his honor.
“Wilhelm, envy is a sin, love is not,” she explained, telling him what she thought the Goddess might want him to know. “But you cannot fault yourself for loving Lady Ayleth. In truth, you cannot force a heart to love where it should any more than you may force it to love where it should not. And, besides, my lord Giles must have cared for the lady; did he not say he would give alms for her soul?”
In answer, Wilhelm peered into the treetops, mayhap supplicating for strength. “Aye, and, truly, it does soothe my soul to know he offers alms, though… I confess… it was all I could do not to weep blood tears when King Stephen offered my brother an Earldom and Lady Seren Pendragon to wed.”
Her attention well and duly caught by the mention of her sister, Rosalynde turned to face him.
Wilhelm’s eyes were narrowed. She could see the fury burning in them. “The lady comes to him with a generous emolument, and Stephen himself would presume to pay for the wedding. And yet, tis not so much that I begrudge him a bride—nor even a title, Sister, tis...”
“I notice Lady Seren does not travel with you,” she interrupted, wanting desperately to know more about her sister and Giles. “Did your brother not accept?”
Wilhelm looked annoyed by the change in subject. “Of course, he did, only on the condition that he return six months hence to take his vows—like some poppet.”
“I see,” said Rose, wishing vehemently that luck would have found her traveling with her sister—except that it would have meant leaving Arwyn alone, and some part of her was grateful they were still together.
And more, she didn’t wish to think of Giles and Seren together, though why that should be true, she didn’t care to explore.
And still, too bad for Seren, because Rosalynde had already determined Giles was an honorable man. Her sister would be so fortunate. Torn between sisterly pride, and some burgeoning sense of envy, she longed to ask Wilhelm what his brother thought of her beautiful sister, but that was all the more reason for Rosalynde to leave—now, before Giles’s de Vere had the chance to undermine her good sense and will. The last thing she intended was for any man to come betwixt her and her sweet sister—as a woman must surely have come between these brothers. “Do you not love your brother?” she asked gently, laying a hand on his arm.
“I do,” said Wilhelm. “I would give my life for Giles.”
His brotherly admission made Rosalynde both happy and sad. She, too, would die to save her sisters, and this doubtless was the reason she had insisted upon taking the grimoire to Elspeth. Not only did she believe she was the most capable, but she had known in her heart that neither gentle Seren, nor innocent Arwyn could ever manage such a harrowing quest.
“How did Lady Ayleth die, if you would pardon my asking?”
The warrior’s countenance darkened. “Burned alive,” he said, and his face was a sudden mask of fury. “By the Count of Mortain and his Welsh witch.”
Morwen. Sweet fates, how many more atrocities had her mother wrought in this world? Her evil was like a poison filtering through the veins of this land, destroying all it touched.
“They came in the wee hours with torches. I lost two sisters, as well as an elder brother, and my—our sire.”
“And Lady Ayleth?”
Rosalynde’s heart wrenched for the man.
Wilhelm nodded glumly, and the grief-stricken look on his face tugged at her heart. It was no wonder he was so tormented. “I should have died that night with my kinsmen,” he explained. “Alas, I was away with a message to Arundel. Imagine my shock to return and encounter my home in ruins.”
Poor man.
She closed her arm around his. “Wilhelm,” she entreated. “Do you love your brother truly?”
“Oh, Wilhelm…” Rosalynde shook her head with compassion. “I… I am … so… so sorry,” Hot tears brimmed in her eyes, and she swallowed, with some difficulty. “Do not worry, my brother. God will forgive you.” She sensed this was precisely what he needed to hear. “I feel the love in your heart is greater than your ire, else you would never have sought my counsel.”
Wilhelm nodded fervently. “Still, I worry,” he persisted, his eyes dark with torment. “So much as envy is my burden, I’d not lose my brother, good Sister. I fear it more than I fear my own death. Giles is all that remains of my blood kin, and he is too arrogant and too certain of himself, despite that his blade has never shed a drop of blood. He is an innocent, learned by books and the Church, not by his blade, and in this day and age, I fear for his safety, even as I fear for my soul.”
Rosalynde’s brows lifted. “Art certain of that?” she asked, because she did not feel it could be true. She did not read auras so well as Elspeth, but Giles was no innocent. And, to be sure, neither did he strike her as an arrogant man, nor a man who took his responsibilities lightly. It was only now, as she stood conversing with Wilhelm that she suspected it might have been folly to try to escape him. She had a good sense that his honor would not allow him to leave her to the mercy of the world at large. And now that she understood… she realized that he had been far more patient with his wayward brother than even was proscribed. If either of them had hubris to be disposed of, it was Wilhelm, not Giles. Giles had treated Wilhelm with enduring patience, even as the elder man had baited him, and now she understood that Wilhelm thought his age and experience to be worthier than his brother’s. She was not fit to make such a judgement, but she knew in her heart that it took a great man to wield unyielding patience over anger, and a strong mind to understand that his brother’s temperament was not a sign of disloyalty, but rather, a tormented and confused mind.