He got back in his seat and buckled himself in, then started the car. But he sat with his hand on the gear shift.
“What?”
He looked at Ava. “I have the damnedest feeling when I’m with you, Ava. As if you’re…well, you…and you’re quite beautiful, intelligent, and fascinating. And frankly you’re quite mysterious. But also, it feels as if you’re someone I’ve known forever. I can’t really explain it better than that.”
“Yes.” She felt it, too.
“And I want you so desperately!” He laughed at his own need.
“I want you, as well,” she whispered. He had no idea how much.
“We just met! I’ve been with women for months and never felt a tenth of what I feel for you after just one day!”
Ava took his hand from the shifter, turned it over and kissed his palm. “We aren’t normal people, Ron. You’ve known that all your life. There are forces at work here that neither of us is in control of.”
He caught sight of his watch, an ancient Rolex. “Oh! Look at the time! Lanna’s going to skin me if we’re late!”
He drove back the way they had come, only at a slightly faster clip. Ava brushed her hair and re-applied her lipstick. She knew the Sisterhood was going to be angry with her. Fooling around with Ron wasn’t on the menu. And apparently, it wasn’t in the Goddess’ plan, either…
But wait.
The Goddess didn’t say stop. She said slow down.
That was a big difference.
Ava wondered if the Sisterhood Leadership had her matched with the right man.
Her confusion caused a rush of panic.
Staycalmstaycalmstaycalm.
Ava couldn’t account for her response to Ron. She had better self-control than to dry-hump a man she just met in a car on some British back road! But she felt so drawn to him. So irrationally, maddeningly desirous of him!
And then the Goddess’ intervention. She didn’t say, “Don’t.” It didn’t make sense.
Ron stopped the Jaguar at an old house overgrown with ivy. Smoke came from the chimney; candlelight twinkled in the windows. There was one other car in front: a battered red nineties-era Volvo station wagon.
She started to get out of the car. “Oh, please wait, and I’ll come ’round with the umbrella.” He got out and opened her door, placing the large black umbrella over her.
Who does that? I feel as if I’m in some Jane Austen novel.
Two other couples looked up as they walked into the restaurant.
“There you are! I was about to give your appetizers to the pigs,” a large woman with badly permed brown-gray hair said with a frown.
“Sorry, Lanna. Lost track of time,” he said. “This is Ava Cerdwen. Ava, this is Lanna Suritee, the finest chef in Britain.”
“Don’t try to butter me up, you,” the woman said, but she smiled and shook Ava’s hand. “Here, take this table.” She offered them the seats in front of the large window.
Ava felt as if they were being put on display.
Ron held her chair for her, then seated himself. His manners were so antique; they charmed her utterly.
“No menu,” Lanna said. “You get what you get tonight. Want some wine?”
“Yes. Have you still got that Saint Emillion?”
“Plenty,” she said and waddled off.
An older Indian couple near the back got up to go. They stopped at the table. The man said, “Ron, good to see you in these devilish times,” and shook his hand.
Ron stood and shook his wife’s hand. “Good to see you! Ava, this is Justice Nitin Devendra, and his wife, Pushpa Nathala, MP. This is Ava Cerdwen,” he said.
“Where are you from?” asked the MP.
“Latvia,” Ava replied.
“Latvia?” questioned the Judge. “You’re not here on holiday tour, are you?” They all chuckled appreciatively at his joke.
“No, I’m here on family business.”
“Well, we’d best be off,” the MP said.
“Yes,” the Judge grumbled. “Mustn’t be late to sit by the fire and read another old paper novel.” They trundled out.
A sommelier brought the wine. “Saint Emillion 2015?” Ron nodded. Elaborately, she uncorked and poured it. She waited while Ron approved it, then served them. Ava had rarely been in a restaurant with old-fashioned service like this. She found it unnecessarily fussy and intrusive.
Ava looked around. “Is it just me, or are there an absurd number of waitstaff and others standing about?”
Ron smiled. “Most of them are Lanna’s family or friends who were displaced on The Day. The businesses that are still open have hired on as many family or friends as they can to help tide them over until everything gets sorted.”
“That’s lovely and kind,” Ava said.
“It’s rather British. We tend to take care of our own in tough times,” he said.
Ava tried the wine and noticed Ron looking at her wrist.
“That’s an interesting tattoo,” he said.
She glanced down at the small, inked design in green above her veins. “Yes. We receive the triskele when initiated into the Sisterhood.”
“What does it mean?”
“It’s the concept of the three-in-one that permeates the teachings of the Sisterhood.” Ava hoped he didn’t ask her to explain the whole concept behind it, or they would be there all night. “Mother Anya designed it for Arianrhod, and it’s been a symbol for the Sisterhood since.”
A waitress arrived with water, rolls, and a variety of olives, interrupting whatever it was Ron is about to say.
He took a sip of his wine and sat back. “All right then. You know all sorts of things about me, but I know almost nothing about you. Like, for instance, a moment ago, I found out you’re from Latvia. Start talking, woman! Let’s have some details.”
“Details. Well, then.” What to tell? “Um…I was born in Riga, Latvia. My mother often called me an impatient soul, beginning with my birth a month premature.”
Ron laughed.
They talked of their families. Ava told him about her six older sisters and the loss of both of her parents by the time she was twelve. She didn’t explain too much about her time at the Viborg Motherhouse. Ron told her about growing up as an only child and losing his parents in the last five years. He touched on his time at Cambridge, both before and after he went to serve in Afghanistan.
“You and Harper are quite close, aren’t you?” Ava said.
He smiled thoughtfully. “We are. Being an only child, going to Drunemeton was the best part of my life—all those noisy boys!”
“Harper lost his two younger brothers, didn’t he?” she asked.
“Yes. Rhys and Sam died in strange circumstances within two years of each other. I suppose Harper and I have been even closer since his loss. It feels as if he’s my older brother,” Ron said.
They ate amazing bruschetta (which she devoured) and wonderful mushroom bisque, but she started to lose interest in the meal during the fish course. Since the incident, Ava could rarely stomach more than a couple of nutritional drinks a day, and she hadn’t eaten meat in years.
He smiled and held her hand again. She felt tingly just touching him. “Do you like sports?”
“I used do quite a lot of outdoor activities—kayaking, hiking, camping—but haven’t done much in recent years. I like to garden.” Ava hoped he didn’t notice how she rushed through that; even talking about things that remind her of the incident made her slightly nauseous. The dinner did a slow roll around her stomach, and she pleaded with it to settle down. “You’re quite keen on sport, aren’t you?”
He nodded. “Weekend ruggers, football, running, tennis, golf.”
Interesting. He’s being modest. “You’ve left off broadsword fighting, I believe.”
“Yes, well. He took back his hand and had a sip of wine. “I was British champion two years running.” How fitting for a man who actually wielded Excalibur.
“So, tell me more about the life and ti
mes of Ava,” he says.
So much of Ava’s life was a close-held secret. Other parts were quite dull. “I’m not sure what more there is to tell. I do my work, study, live.” She shrugged.
He finished his soup. “Been married? Involved? Have any kids?” he asked, his casual air not quite coming off.
Ah, that’s where this is going. “No. There was a young man I thought might…well, anyway, he died in a climbing accident.” Ava clamped down on the surge of terrible pain even the mention of Helmut brought. A wave of nausea hit her, and it felt as if the room had turned into a pit. She was afraid any moment the roof would fly off and she’d be sucked out to spin away into space. She took three deep, meditative breaths.
Staycalmstaycalmstaycalm.
“That’s awful,” he said, then waited while they served duck breast in a wine reduction sauce.
“It hurt me quite a lot,” Ava said, although her voice was barely above a whisper. Focus, dammit! Change the subject. “And you? Why didn’t you ever marry?”
“Yes, I suppose I left myself open for that,” he said, smiling a little ruefully. “It’s funny, because I was talking to Harper about this just the other day.”
Ava didn’t say anything. She had a feeling he was about to say something important.
He poked at his supper. “I envied Harper his marriage, his children. I’m particularly fond of his son, Falke. His wife, Serena, was the most amazing woman—wickedly funny, smart as hell, and had Harper wrapped around her little finger quite nicely.”
It was such a tragedy that Harper’s wife and infant daughter had died. Ava set her utensils aside. There was no way she could even pretend to eat more.
He continued, “But I’ve never found any woman of very great interest. Well, that’s not entirely true. Interesting…but not marriage-worthy.”
“Hm.” She read him just a bit. He was really concerned about this.
“For that matter, I’ve found no man of much interest, either,” he added.
She was amused he felt the need to clarify a point he made abundantly clear in the car. “Our records show your line and Harper’s acquire life partners around Midsummer. They seem to just…appear.”
“True,” he said with a nod. “Every first-born since…” he looked around at the waitstaff, “the first heirs, Stephen and Falcon, have met their wives at that time. Just four days before Midsummer, when Harper was twenty-five, Serena showed up at one of Drunemeton’s charity balls. Tripped over a bump in the carpet and landed right in his lap!”
Ava chuckled with him. “It’s striking how the Goddess arranged mates for the two families.” Given that, how could She not have stopped the bombing of London?
Ron’s smile was brief. “But I’m thirty-three. There’s no history of a wife delayed this long that I’m aware of.”
Ava sat back. Where’s he going with this? “Well, none of the others of your line have been designated the actual heir.”
“Ah,” he said, lowering his voice, “and there’s the other thing that’s been worrying me: I’ll have to make a match based on power rather than affection. Like a certain king was forced to take on a certain queen. What a train-wreck that pairing was! No direct heir, she runs off with his best friend, and his son by his sister destroys the kingdom!”
Ava said in a barely audible voice, “It may be that when the situation evolves to put you on the throne, you’ll have to make a marriage to consolidate your leadership.” Is he telling me he’s attracted to me but may have to select someone else if he’s to be king? As if I need to be told this! Is that why the Goddess stopped us from making love in the car? “We’re about to consummate a plan almost 1,500 years in the making. I’ll do everything in my power to make it come to fruition,” she whispered.
Ron paused when the sommelier came to the table, considering Ava with blue eyes that had turned a flinty color.
“Shall I fetch another bottle, Lord Steadbye?” the sommelier asked, emptying the bottle into Ava’s glass.
“We’d better not tempt fate,” he said.
“Of course, my lord,” she said, and took the empty bottle away with her.
Ron leaned forward and took Ava’s hand again, giving her a very earnest look. “I have to admit, I’ve gone the motions with this whole you-know-who thing. It’s a family quirk, I thought. Everyone’s a bit insane if you peek behind the curtains. My family’s just a bit madder. But then the voice in the Grotto at my initiation as the heir, the devastation in London by forces unknown, for who knows why.” He started to say something else, but only stammered out, “Y-you...” He shook his head, unable to articulate what he was thinking.
Ava felt a little stab of fear from him, but she wasn’t sure what it was about. “You didn’t believe it, and now, here it is,” she said. “Which means everything else is true as well.”
He nodded, looking disturbed.
Ava took her hand back, considering the moment carefully. I’m acting like a moonstruck schoolgirl when I need to do my job as the High Priestess. Let’s put the focus where it should be. “You need to start thinking about how you’ll heal this country. Not just the physical mess, which will be considerable, but the psychological damage to the people. A certain royal would have audiences with his subjects—not just the ruling class—at least once a year. I would urge you to do so once a month.”
“Ava,” he said, voice lowered, “there are rules that govern what the monarch may and may not do.” He looked over at the waitstaff, lined up and standing near the kitchen. He whispered, “I’ll only be a figurehead…even if we succeed.”
“There isn’t a Parliament. There isn’t a functioning government. You’ll be quite a lot more than a nominal leader, at least in the early days.” There was a reason the Goddess wanted him to be king, and it was not just to be a ruler in name only. Some quality he had, and no one else. That part of the path was quite clear to Ava. But she couldn’t see anything at all in the future at the moment, and so she couldn’t confirm what she felt.
“I don’t know if that would be right. As a member of the House of Lords and a barrister, I would say your argument stands on pretty shaky ground.”
“As may be.” Arguing law with him wasn’t going to get her anywhere. “But as a practical matter, I think you’ll find there has to be clear leadership in the delicate early days of reconstruction. The people will require it.”
They sat in silence for a moment. It looked as if Ron had lost his appetite, too.
The waiter came back. “Ran out of steam?”
“I’m afraid so. Is there any way I can take this back to my aunt? I know she would just adore this.”
“Of course,” the waiter said. “And you, my lord?”
“Put it with hers, please,” Ron said.
The busboy took the plates away. The waiter whispered instructions to him before he went to the kitchen. “Will you be having dessert? It’s an excellent caramel flan.”
“Thank you, I couldn’t.” Ava’s stomach clenched at the very idea.
“Nor me,” Ron said. He tossed his napkin on the table, clearly irritated with Ava.
Why can’t I do anything right?
Chapter Seven
Driving back from Lanna’s, Ron was quiet, still clearly peeved with what Ava said at dinner. Once again, her inadequate social skills had poisoned the progress she’d made. She forced herself to take the larger view. This wasn’t about her, however much she might want him. Ron would be Britain’s king—the one for whom the Goddess had prepared the way. Her job wasn’t to make love to him (as tasty a prospect as that was); it was to guide him. One of the ways she was to do that was to get him to think in new ways. What he did as the country’s ruler would be part of the Goddess’ transformation of the world.
Ava looked over. He had a frown on his face, and she hated that she’d put it there. “I’m sorry I angered you. That wasn’t my intent.”
He drove through the rain for a while before he said, “I admit to becoming irritated
.”
“Me doing things too hastily again, just like when I met Harper. I’ve already nearly wrecked things by being impatient.”
He looked at Ava thoughtfully. “You scared the hell out of him. When he drove out to the house that first night, his eyes were big as saucers. It took two glasses of brandy just to get him to stop blithering about mysterious family members and tell me about your exchange with him. Is that what you mean?”
“Exactly. You see what happens when I move too fast? People become frightened...or angry.” She shrugged.
He chuckled.
“Everything must take its own time, she said.”
Danger!
Ava looked up ahead and saw another vehicle’s lights. “Ron, be careful. I have a feeling there’s something not right about that car coming at us.”
“What do you mean?” he said with a somewhat condescending tone
He didn’t know her well enough to be aware that she didn’t say things without meaning them.
“Prepare yourself!” she commanded in the booming voice of the priestess.
The black SUV bore down on them. Just when it looked as if it would pass harmlessly, it veered violently into their side. The impact spun both cars around. Glass sprayed the interior. Ron struggled with the wheel, knuckles bulging, teeth gritted. The cars shrieked in their metal voices. On the second full circle, he steered the Jaguar to the left and managed to break away from the other vehicle. But he couldn’t straighten out fast enough, and the old car jumped a curb. The long front nose of the Jag crumpled against the side of a dark shop.
“Dammit!” Ron exclaimed.
Ava’s heart was hammering, her stomach felt as if it had been swamped in cold oil, and she want to crawl into the footwell and cower there. But she had a tremendous feeling she had to act.
And fast.
Ava turned and spotted the other car, which had spun off in the opposite direction. The black Lexus was on its roof, smoking. She could see the driver in the light of the dashboard, still strapped in and dangling like a discarded rag doll. She shoved open her door. “We have to get her out before the car explodes!” She started running to the smoldering SUV.
The Midsummer Wife (The Heirs to Camelot Book 1) Page 6
