“What is?” asked Rhiannon.
“We’re being followed,” said Jack.
23
Whatever awkwardness existed between the paladins, it vanished in that moment. They moved deftly together, like a choreographed dance, as though teacher and student had already rehearsed their parts.
Jack responded by moving forward to sweep up the reins of Rhiannon’s mount, drawing her off the road.
A glance about revealed that Marcella had chosen a spot to their advantage, with ample shelter on either side of the lane.
Even as Rhiannon dismounted, Jack was already down from his mount, unsheathing his dirk.
For her part, Marcella stood squarely in the middle of the lane, defiant and fearless, preparing to face their pursuer alone—a single rider who revealed himself without delay.
Rhiannon gasped aloud, her heart kicking against her ribs as she realized who it was…
Cael.
It was Cael.
No longer dressed in the finery of their wedding ceremony, he looked like a dark lord emerging from a mist.
Dressed in the accoutrements of war, he and the horse came trotting up the narrow path, his slow but purposeful gait deceptive in its casual affectation. Beside him traveled a lone, gray hound, eyes as yellow as a wolf’s, the head nearly as tall as the belly of his mount.
But though his pace was easy, there was little about him that was carefree. He moved fluidly with his destrier—a monstrous beast unlike any Rhiannon had ever beheld, and he wore his great sword tucked behind his back, with the pommel rising over his head so he could easily grasp the hilt. He appeared larger than life, and only for an instant, her knees went weak as pudding.
Fortunately, Jack caught her before she fell, but then he put a small blade to the tender flesh of her neck, as though to threaten her. Shocked by the sting of cold metal, Rhiannon unleashed her hud du and the knife in Jack’s hand heated swiftly, glowing red like fresh hammered steel straight from a forge. Jack yelped and dropped the knife.
Casting him an annoyed glance, Rhiannon rushed into the lane to stand beside Marcella, but here, again, the elder paladin seized her by the tunic, dragging her back behind her. “Damnation!” complained Rhiannon, but Marcella ignored her, her attention affixed to the approaching rider.
“I’ll not allow you to return her to Morwen,” said Marcella, and lest anyone mistake her meaning, the paladin withdrew the sword from her scabbard and held it at the ready.
Calm as ever, Cael kept his saddle even after he halted, his dark eyes looking past Marcella to Rhiannon.
“I do not intend to,” he said, with a half-smile that materialized only for her.
“Bedamned! If that is true, then love for this woman has compelled you where I could not, and now you have endangered everything!”
“Indeed, I suppose I have,” he said without much concern, leaning forward in his saddle, with a shrug.
Still nursing his hand, Jack emerged from the thicket, and if Cael had witnessed Rhiannon’s act of defiance, he must have approved, because he glanced at Jack with lifted brows, then turned a devastating smile toward Rhiannon and winked.
That small gesture of approval sent heat surging through Rhiannon’s veins and a slow burn crept into her cheeks. Even so, she kept her feet planted behind Marcella, uncertain what to do. “We are not aligned,” he’d said.
So how was it possible they suddenly were?
They were not.
So why is he here?
To return her to her mother?
Never!
She daren’t believe a word he said.
He stabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m guessing this was your work I spied by the brook?”
He directed the question to Marcella.
“The bloody fool recognized her,” said Marcella, though she didn’t lower her sword. “What else would you have me do?”
Cael’s grin widened, and Rhiannon watched the pair closely. Cousins, they most definitely were not. She recognized the heated look they exchanged, but Cael’s gaze cooled at once, and Marcella groaned as he swung his leather-clad leg over his mount and slid to the ground. Still, he made no move to unsheathe his sword, and finally, Marcella lowered hers.
“I meant every word I said, Cael. I am tasked to keep Rhiannon safe, and I wouldst do so on pain of my life—no matter what you say, I’ll not be swayed!”
“I warrant she can take care of herself,” said Jack darkly, sucking on a finger.
Cael approached them, still making no move to retrieve his sword. “As I’ve said, I’m here to help.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s my wife, lest you forget.”
And with that, he met Rhiannon’s gaze, begging her to… what? Understand?
Her heart did a little leap in her breast, though she didn’t know what she was supposed to say, much less feel, or do.
Indeed, they were man and wife, but in name only, and yet…
And yet…
And yet…
She lifted a finger to her lips, remembering his impassioned kiss, and Cael grinned like a well-satisfied cat.
“Why should I trust you?” persisted Marcella.
Hardening his voice, his gaze returned to Marcella. “Ever once, have I lied to you?”
Marcella’s tone was rueful. “Nay.”
“Why would I begin now?”
For a long, long moment, the pair glowered at one another, and then Marcella conceded. “Swear to me you are not here in the service of Morwen!”
“I am not here for Morwen,” he said calmly. “I am here…” His black eyes met Rhiannon’s again, as he said, “For her.”
Apparently satisfied—or as much as she could be under the present circumstances, Marcella resheathed her sword, and said, “Then you are a stupid fool. Then, again, from what I know of you, you have always been a fool, Cael d’Lucy, and far be it from you to ever listen to the advice of a woman.”
They decided to make camp, but not for the evening, only to rest the horses and sup, then prepare a new strategy.
Now that Cael had joined them, with news of Morwen, it was perhaps wiser to take stock of their circumstances.
Accordingly, whilst they waited for Jack to return with a stitch of firewood, Cael perched himself on a fallen tree to share some of the details of his return to Blackwood.
Apparently, it was Cael who’d loosed the hounds. One lone wolfhound refused to leave him and remained stubbornly by his side. The enormous beast sat quietly behind him, his eyes never leaving its master. He was like Rhiannon, she supposed—painfully loyal, invisible, besides.
Like that hound, she listened quietly as he discussed his politikal matters with Marcella, only now and again sliding Rhiannon a black-eyed glance.
Marcella relayed the news they’d heard from Stephen’s man this morn—a happenstance that Cael was apparently already aware of. Evidently, he’d been privy to some of the negotiations while he was still in attendance at Wallingford. Perhaps perceiving what was to come, Morwen had summoned him home some weeks past, with demands that he marry Rhiannon once and for all. As of that time, the King and Duke Henry hadn’t yet reached any agreement, although it was apparent they would soon.
Stephen no longer had the will to fight. His eldest living son wasn’t fit to rule. Nor did his youngest have the mind for politiks, although Cael suspected William simply wasn’t bold enough to claim what he wanted. Unlike Eustace, who was brazen and stupid, William would be the sort to skulk about in the shadows and steal what he wanted through cunning.
The King’s sons had inherited much from their mother, because even despite usurping Henry’s throne, there were many who claimed he was only complicit because he’d believed it was for the good of the realm. Greed was not his sin. Doubtless, he no longer considered this to be the case, and his actions spoke volumes. He was already distancing himself from Morwen, and, with his wife dead, he could far more easily confess the iniquities of his elder son.
As for Morwen, evidently Cael had given her the draught that was intended for him, and this was why she hadn’t given immediate pursuit. In fact, according to her husband, she could be sleeping still, though Rhiannon doubted it. The laws that applied to others did not apply to Morwen. She was, indeed, a force to be reckoned with; the time to face her was growing nigh. Even now, there was an impending sense of doom in the air—a prescience that manifested itself like an ague in the bones, a damp chill that raised the small hairs on her nape.
“By the by,” said Cael, with a wink for Marcella. “Well done. She never once thought to inspect her cauldron.”
The paladin blushed, a rare hint of color appearing in her high cheeks. She looked softer and more vulnerable than she had since Rhiannon met her. She smiled coyly. “Doubtless it was the sweet rot of lilacs,” she explained.
“Brilliant suggestion,” he said. “I only hope she directs her anger accordingly when she wakes.” He exhaled sharply. “I left her with a hall full of sleeping guests.”
Rhiannon grimaced, hoping her mother would be in too much of a hurry to waste time with punishments. Still, it was impossible not to consider the worst case scenario—that she would wake and slaughter all those innocents, whose worst crime it was to try to curry favor with the lord of Blackwood by attending his wedding.
In any case, she was relieved to know Cael wasn’t there to suffer whatever fate her mother deemed appropriate.
“They are safer without you,” suggested Marcella. “I warrant she would have abused them only to spite you.”
“I considered that,” admitted Cael.
“Any news of Mordecai?”
“No sign of him. He did not arrive with Morwen, nor did anyone mention him thereafter. She must have put him to another task.”
“Clearly, she trusts you,” said Rhiannon, acerbically.
Cael merely shrugged, ignoring the veiled accusation in her tone. “She trusted my greed and my desire for vengeance,” he readily confessed.
But Rhiannon wasn’t prepared to leave off simply because he’d confessed his sins.
“You should have killed her when you had the chance,” she said sourly. “I know my mother well enough to know she’ll not return the favor when she faces you again. It was stupid and why? What possible reason would you have to spare her? You left her insensate, and vulnerable—precisely as you’d want her to be in order to vanquish her once and for all. Now, not only will she never let down her guard again, but you’ve lost the opportunity to save more bloodshed.”
He didn’t answer, though he sighed, and then produced the twin reliquaries from about his neck to show them. Side by side, they were indistinguishable.
“That’s it?” asked Marcella. “That’s what she’s been holding over you all these years?”
He nodded. “This is it,” he said, casting another brief glance at Rhiannon. Marcella, too, slid Rhiannon a careful glance, and Rhiannon realized there was more to this story—inconceivably so, as there was so much she’d already learned.
How many secrets did one man keep?
How complicit was he in her mother’s machinations?
And nay; she didn’t like it that he confided so much in Marcella—shouldn’t Rhiannon be the one to know her husband best? Even if her marriage wasn’t a sham, she’d spent these past five years with Cael, and clearly, there was a lot he’d never bothered to share with her.
And yet, he’d shared everything with Marcella…
The realization made her burn with envy—envy she ought not be feeling, considering the circumstances.
Nothing was as it seemed, and now, with her sweet sisters still in danger, what Cael did or did not share with a woman of his past shouldn’t concern her… and still it did.
They were all silent a while, waiting for Jack, mulling over the things Cael had already revealed.
Eventually, the silence grew too heavy to bear. They returned to their stratagem, drawing out maps on the ground.
Considering the distance between Cannock and Macclesfield, Cael and Marcella discussed taking a new route. It was agreed that they should rest till eventide, and then, when night fell, they would set out across the moorland.
Morwen’s birds could see well enough by night, but by then, they might be roosting. Her mother would use them wisely, positioning them at intervals to watch where they emerged from the woods. That would be their most vulnerable point, but everything would depend wholly upon how intent Morwen was to push those birds to their limits. Already, they had determined she would not. Her birds meant more to her than did any of her daughters. She would not dispatch them when they were at their most vulnerable. She would use them when they were at their best, and rest them otherwise.
On the other hand, she would and could send Mordecai to scout these woods. It was entirely possible he was already in pursuit. Lamentably, no one knew what he was capable of.
Her sister Rosalynde had witnessed his transformation in that woodlot south of Whittlewood and Salcey, but what he was, precisely, nobody but Morwen knew.
His form had been that of a dragon-like creature, with a beak and speared tail. Rhiannon had never in her life even imagined such a creature existed, and all she had known to do was warn her sister to run. In the end, the Goddess had intervened, offering Rosalynde words to bind its mortal form, and yet, despite this fact, Mordecai had somehow returned.
“He can’t change at will,” said Cael. “He’ll come as a man, with all a man’s weaknesses.”
“And you know this how?” ventured Rhiannon, annoyed yet again, though she knew her ire wasn’t entirely rational.
Cael had yet to embrace her, and what should she expect? That he would rush into her arms and beg forgiveness?
Nay.
He wasn’t that sort of man.
And yet… he hadn’t bothered to answer her question, and the simple fact that he and Marcella were still so familiar didn’t set well with her. Instead he and Marcella continued their discourse. Therefore, once Jack returned with his kindling, Rhiannon did to the kindling what she longed to do to both Marcella and Cael.
The fire blazed to life even before Jack could fully retrieve his hand from the pit, and he gave her a beleaguered glance.
Oblivious to their exchange, Cael and Marcella continued to talk.
Jack sat down beside Rhiannon, and said, “I’m sorry.” Perhaps he’d mistaken the reason for her self-indulgence. “I didn’t intend to harm you with the knife.” He cast a surreptitious glance at the lord of Blackwood. “Rather, I only meant for him to think I might.”
“I’m not angry, Jack, don’t worry.”
“You sound angry,” he said.
Rhiannon cast him a pointed glance. “Did you find dinner?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Nay. But I tell you true, if they want something other than what’s in our saddle bags, they’ll have to go get it themselves. I’m weary of being everyone’s errand boy.”
Rhiannon knew precisely how he felt, although she didn’t wish to confess it.
“Alas, I’d like to say I know how you feel,” said Jack, leaning close. “But I don’t. In fact, I can’t say much about your husband’s debt to your mother, but—”
Rhiannon shot him a furious glance. “Because you are sworn to secrecy, or because you do not know?”
Sweet fates. Did everyone but her know about her husband’s debt to her mother?
“Well… I do know his life depends on her good graces,” he finished.
Didn’t everyone’s?
It wasn’t enough of an explanation—and neither had it come from the right person. Incensed beyond measure, Rhiannon tossed a pebble into the flames.
“The fact that he’s here says a lot,” Jack persisted. “Take heart in that.”
Rhiannon offered the young paladin a cutting glance.
Was she so transparent?
Were her feelings so near to the surface that he could read her so easily?
Why couldn’t Ca
el?
He sat there, discussing ancient relics with Marcella, both their heads together, whispering feverishly, scarcely aware of anyone else in their proximity.
“So you do care for her?” she asked Jack, a little petulantly.
“Aye,” he confessed. “Sadly, she fancies herself more of a sister to me.”
“Why don’t you tell her how you feel?”
He shrugged, then hitched his chin. “Why don’t you tell him?”
Rhiannon frowned. “Because I don’t feel that way,” she persisted.
“And yet… you do,” he argued. “There’s no mystery in the way you two regard one another, Lady Blackwood.”
“Nay, Jack,” she contended. “Art mistaken.”
“Oh? In that case, how about I attempt to kiss you and see how it is that your husband responds?”
“I’m his wife,” she hissed “How do you think he’ll respond? He’s like any other man. He may not want something for himself, but he won’t give it away.”
“That’s not what I see,” Jack argued, and perhaps to prove his point, he leaned closer to Rhiannon, as though to whisper in her ear… so close that she could feel the feathery heat of his breath tickle her flesh.
Before Rhiannon could push him away, her husband stood, unsheathing the sword at his back, deftly and with purpose, then drove it into the ground between them. “Altar boy,” he said. “Get your smooth little arse away from my wife.”
Jack complied at once, with a knowing smirk, and when Cael sat back down to continue his conversation with Marcella, he chuckled and said, “I told you so. That man is so aware of all you do, I can scarcely imagine how he’s keeping his attention on their discourse.”
Much to her consternation, Rhiannon couldn’t hide her answering smile.
24
For the past few hours, it was all Cael could do to keep his attention on Marcella. That man-child was trying his patience—sitting so close to his wife, mumbling things he couldn’t hear into her ear—good Christ, she was his wife, and still he could scarcely believe it!
Lord of Shadows (Daughters of Avalon Book 5) Page 20
