Her eyes made their way east of the rocks. Just as Brima had told her, there was a small outstretched piece of land that looked like a cliff.
She walked closer to the set of rocks. Slowly, in the farthest corner of the arc, hunched over and silent, a figure took shape.
Robin braced a hand against the cold stone and smiled. “Alistair.”
“Brima sent you, didn’t she?” He sat up and pulled his hood back to look at her.
“Actually, they all did. Well, except your aunt and uncle. They don’t know I’m here.”
His eyes were in sharp contrast to the white surrounding them. His hair countered the dark stones behind him. Alistair didn’t look at all the same young man she had met in the Cursed Woods over a month ago.
He patted the ground beside him and Robin took a seat, wrapping her cloak around herself.
“Robin, where are your gloves?”
She grinned. “Forgot them during my grand escape.”
“And you didn’t ask my cousins to throw you a pair?”
“I was in a rush,” she replied. “I wanted to make sure you were well.”
Alistair ran a gloved hand through his hair. “Come here,” he said and opened his hands.
She placed her hands in his and he began rubbing them between his own.
Robin leaned her head against the stones. She watched him as he worked.
“What happened, Alistair? Why didn’t you return with your aunt?”
“She won.”
“Who is she?” Robin asked. “And what did she win?”
His eyes didn’t move from her hands. He was quiet for a moment.
“The witch. The healer told me today.” He released her hands and rested his elbows on his knees.
The comfort and warmth he had offered moments ago evaporated. An empty feeling settled in Robin, making her feel hollow.
She gripped at the clasp of her cloak. Her vision was blurring.
“S-she cursed you again? Before she died?” Her voice was uneven and teetering. She could feel her throat growing tight as she fought back the tears.
If Alistair’s not here…no, I can’t. I will find a way to save him.
She inhaled through her nose and stiffened her shoulders. Alistair was staring at her with raised brows.
Robin balled her hands into fists. “I will not allow you to die. I don’t care how far we must travel, how much money we must spend, I will not lose you, Alistair. You will not die.”
He smirked. His lips began to quiver, and then Alistair had one hand over his middle while he howled with laughter.
Robin scrunched her face in concern. She placed her fists on her hips and glared at him.
“What the bloody hell is so funny?”
A few tears streamed down Alistair’s cheeks. His laughter slowed and he took in several deep breaths before turning back to Robin. His eyes were wide and happy as he looked over her face.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” she huffed.
“I’m not dying, Robin.”
“What?” The empty feeling was replaced with a blazing anger. “What do you mean you’re not dying?”
“I thought you wanted me alive,” he stated.
“I did but I’m very much questioning my decision now.”
He held his hands up, palm forward, still smiling. “Can I explain?”
“I suppose.”
Alistair clasped his hands together. The smile now left his face.
“The witch, she…I-I killed her when I called Edwin from the afterlife, remember?”
She nodded.
“Apparently, when one with a witch’s curse kills the witch that cursed him, he gains the creature’s power.”
He watched her.
Robin stared back at him. “What else?”
“That’s it. I’m now a warlock or whatever Amian said.”
“Amian?”
“The healer,” he corrected. “He told me I absorbed her power by killing her. Now, it’s like…” At that moment, he turned away. He lowered his head to his clasped hands and took in a long breath. “Now, it’s like she’s still inside me. It’s like I’m still cursed, Robin. She won.”
Robin wanted to smile. She wanted to laugh, grin, and then slap Alistair for worrying her the way he did. There was lightness in her heart now because his life was no longer in danger. She wouldn’t have to complete her journey without him.
Yet, what to her was good news was a blight to him. Her mind raced for soothing words and she found none.
Uncertainty circling her, Robin reached out and took hold of his clasped hands. His eyes turned upward.
What do I say?
There were no right words. In one way, Alistair was wrong. The witch was gone from this world, likely burning in hell for her sins. On the other hand, a part of her, her power was still with Alistair and therefore a part of her was still alive. Otherwise, couldn’t be argued.
What do I say?
She opened her mouth. Her uncle had held her hands like this after her parents’ death. There weren’t any words for that situation either. Still, he had found some that were good enough.
“Nothing I say will take away your pain. It is likely nothing I do will cure you from this ill either. But what I can assure you is that time will shrink the pain. And when it becomes too much to bear, I will carry it with you.”
Tears filled her eyes again. She squeezed Alistair’s hand.
Thank you, Uncle Terryn.
“I think I must be the luckiest person ever to have walked through the Cursed Woods.” He tucked her hand under his. “You are the greatest companion, Robin.”
She smiled. “As are you, Alistair. And please remember, you are not the only one who has been cursed. You helped me regain my strength and learn to walk again when I left the tree. In a way, I will being do the same for you.”
He nodded. “Together, then?”
“Together.”
Robin stood and pulled Alistair along with her.
“You know my aunt is going to likely slap you and my cousins with her spoon for sneaking out.”
She gulped. I hadn’t thought of that.
A smooth material covered her hands. She looked down and saw that Alistair had slipped his gloves off to place on her.
She snatched her hand away and began to pull the glove off.
“I can’t ask you to lose your fingers on my account, Alistair.”
He sighed. “And if you return home without your fingers, Uncle Garron is likely to toss his ax at me. Which would you prefer?’”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re intolerable.”
He slipped the second glove onto her other hand.
“I think that’s what you like about me the most.”
“I’ve told you this before and I’ll say it again, Alistair. Arrogance does not suit you.”
She spun on her heels and started to walk in the direction of Helen’s Tree. Alistair had caught up with her in a few moments.
“You don’t seem to mind it on Arthur,” he laughed.
Arthur. The proposal…
“What’s that look?” Alistair asked.
“Huh?”
The laughter left his face. “You looked sad for a moment, Robin.”
“It’s nothing.”
“I think you know that I know it’s much more than nothing.” He gestured to her face. “It was clear as day.”
This just isn’t the right moment.
She met his gaze. “I want to tell you, Alistair. It was on my mind during our entire journey up here. But I haven’t figured it out myself yet, so once I do, I’ll tell you everything. How does that sound?”
He searched her face. “Fine. I’ll hold you to it, though.”
“Agreed.”
“How was my aunt when she returned, by the way? It took much convincing to get her to leave me for some time.”
“She wouldn’t answer a single question about you. She kept glancing out the window, too, which was
quite worrisome. Oh, and she referred to you as Merlin.”
Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Is that your middle name?”
“No. Actually, it’s my first name. Alistair is my middle but I prefer it over Merlin.”
“Hm.”
“What?”
“I agree that Alistair is a better choice. Merlin doesn’t suit you.”
“I wish someone would tell Aunt Una that.”
Robin peered at the sky. She shook her head.
“What?”
She shrugged. “It’s nothing. Only that the name Merlin makes me think of an old librarian who spends his days surrounded by dusty books.”
Alistair laughed. “Exactly.”
Chapter Twenty Two
M organna breathed through her mouth despite the cold weather. She knew it was not lady like. Her father would have scolded her for not acting proper. However, her nose could not afford another whiff or sniffle. With each intake through her nose, the stench of Lilith’s muddy flesh on her own made Morganna’s head swim.
She knew she had no choice but to smear the black sludge over herself. It was part of the witch’s spell, so that when Lancelot arrived he wouldn’t see Morganna. He’d see Robin in her place.
She flung her braid to her other shoulder and stared at the monster across from her. Lilith sat like a child on the ground, hunched over with smudged red eyes and a stick in her hand as she drew into the layer of snow.
“Are you sure he will come?” Morganna asked.
She nodded and continued with her design.
The little witch had been following Lancelot for several days. She now knew his habits, behaviors, and patterns—including the paths he traveled.
Morganna peered back out at the road. Lilith had proven herself trustworthy. Not only had she consistently supplied Morganna and her child with food, she had stolen supplies from the capital. As hard as it was to admit, she knew without Lilith’s aid she would not have survived the first snow. Blankets and dry firewood were essential when living within the elements.
Morganna stared down at her stomach. Each day it rounded a bit more, her child became a bit stronger, even with the meek meals she had supplied him. Mordred was going to be a strong king.
She placed one hand on her stomach. The other she turned palm-upward to stare at the seed it held.
Lilith would not tell her where it came from. She would not even tell Morganna the seed’s name. All the creature had said was that it belonged to her, so it belonged to Morganna, as well and she needed to get Lancelot to swallow it.
HIS MIND WILL BE OURS AND ONLY OURS, Lilith had said.
Witchcraft had been Morganna’s first thought.
She took a deep breath and let the thought settle in her mind. Perhaps, her actions were cruel, but her intention was good. She needed to rule Camelot properly with Arthur by her side as it should be. Mordred should know his father as any child should and all this could only be done if Robin was revealed to be the villain she was.
Arthur could not see beyond her light blue eyes and pouty lips. He was dumbstruck by her moon pale skin and dark hair but Morganna would set him free.
Because she knew he loved her. He had simply forgotten…
She nodded to herself. Yes. I will make him remember.
She clasped her middle. He has to remember.
Snow crunched in the distance.
Will he notice?
Morganna shook herself. “He won’t know it’s me.”
The small sound of punctured earth made Morganna turn to her right.
Lilith sat squatted on the ground. She was using the same stick from their first encounter.
I COULD KILL INSTEAD. YOUR CHOICE.
She shook her head. “We need him. It’s the only way for Arthur to see Robin for what she truly is.”
YOU HATE THIS MAN.
She scoffed. “He thinks himself a man, yet he is only a boy in truth. Arthur gave him too much freedom.”
It nodded. Dark wisps of Lilith moved about as the wind blew.
HE’S CLOSE.
Morganna gulped. She looked down at her stomach. “This is really for you, you understand? It is only one sin.”
She turned to the little witch. “Is there anything else I need to know? Once I give him the seed and…the deed will be done?”
She bobbed her head.
HE EATS SEED. HIS MIND OURS. YOU SIN. WE CAN BECOME ONE.
Morganna looked back at the path. She could hear footsteps.
“And he won’t recognize me?” she asked.
Lilith turned her head to the side. The red splotches on her face shrunk for a moment, nearly disappearing. The creature dug into the earth again with the stick, its eyes never leaving Morganna.
YOU WEAR MY FLESH. I MAKE YOU LOOK LIKE HER.
The stick froze for a moment.
I CAN GIVE YOU MORE.
Before Morganna could assure Lilith she had enough rot, the creature offered its arm. What once were wispy tendrils of black solidified into an arm that looked liked possessed wood. It was so rigid and the veins within too large for such a tiny arm.
Lilith reached forward with her other arm which was as deformed as the first. She took a finger and dug into her wrist until an inky liquid appeared. And then, it thickened like spoiled porridge.
She moved her finger down the forearm until the rotten porridge pooled from her. She pushed her arm forward, the liquid becoming a sludge.
Morganna had covered her nose at the sight. Her eyes stung with the very smell. Yet her feet moved her.
Be strong, be strong. This is for Mordred and Arthur. Lancelot’s sacrifice is necessary.
She scooped a bit from Lilith’s arm and began to rub it on her face. She did not breathe while she did so.
The distant footsteps had become louder.
He’s here.
Morganna looked up from her stomach and locked eyes with Lilith. The witch nodded and Morganna stood before taking a deep breath and clasping the seed in her hand.
She stepped out into the road and looked to her right. The sound of crunching snow came to a halt. Lancelot’s eyes were fixed on her and Morganna found herself giving him an appreciative once-over, as well.
Dressed in his sparring gear with an old cloak of Arthur’s wrapped around him, the boy was quite the sight. His brown hair lightened under the moonlight. He even seemed a bit taller.
She smiled. I am sorry you must suffer, as well. I can at least promise Arthur will not truly be harmed.
“Robin? What are you doing here? Did you just return?”
Morganna fought the urge to smile. Their plan was working perfectly. Now all she had to do was play the part.
Her eyes roamed over him. She shook her head.
Lancelot slipped his sword into its sheath and turned to face her.
“Where are your friends?”
“I came to see you,” she said. Her dress slipped lower.
He quirked a brow. “Is that so?”
She nodded but turned her gaze away from him. Her thin, delicate fingers trailed over her nearly bare chest. Morganna looked back at him with small, pink trembling lips.
Lancelot stormed towards her and gripped her smooth shoulders under his hardened hands.
“What’s happened?” he asked, trying to force her eyes to meet his. “Were you all attacked on your way back to the castle? Were there bandits?”
She closed her eyes and a whimpers slipped from her lips.
“Robin…”
He pushed her hair back and ran his thumb along her jaw.
“I-I…”
“Yes, Robin. What is it?”
“I don’t know what to do,” she stuttered.
“About what?”
Morganna met his eyes again, her lips slightly pursed as she gazed at him.
“About you, Lancelot.”
His hands froze. “What do you mean?”
Her eyes found Lilith’s in the shadows. The witch
nodded. Morganna turned back to face Lancelot.
“I don’t want Arthur to become suspicious. We need to be patient.”
A vein pulsed in his neck. He cupped her cheek and flicked away a stray hair. “I’m done with being patient.”
The smirk had faded from his lips, replaced with a smile. His thumbs stopped their circular movements on her cheeks. His gaze bored into her.
Morganna took in a sharp breath, pushed aside the warmth rising in her stomach.
“N-no,” she stumbled over her words.
Lancelot’s smile only grew. He leaned closer to her lips.
“You come to me like a ghost. Every night, I see nothing but you, Robin.”
Lancelot moved his hands away from her face to the small of her back. He closed his eyes and Morganna knew this was the moment. She leaned forward, moving her hands up his chest until she had a good range. Without another thought, she tossed the seed into her mouth and lunged forward until her lips crashed onto Lancelot’s.
Forgive me, Arthur.
His arms secured her against him. The weight he put behind their kiss forced Morganna to lean further back.
His tongue smoothed over her lips, before moving between them. Suddenly, her mouth tasted of Cook’s stew and roasted squash.
Arthur’s favorites.
Morganna pressed her feet into the ground and straightened in Lancelot’s arms. She wrapped herself around him, her own tongue now parting his lips.
She ran her fingers up from his neck through his hair. Her hips pressed against his and Morganna found a tight pressure growing between her legs.
The taste of deer meat, rosemary, and cinnamon coated her tongue. But she wanted more. It had been awhile since she had anything that reminded her so much of home…so much of Arthur.
And so the moan left her. Lancelot unclipped her cloak and they stepped back into the woods.
His mouth moved down to her neck and suddenly she was pressed against a tree. The rough bark was pushed into her back, yet she found the sensation enticing as Lancelot’s hands moved up her thighs.
His tongue darted out and coated her lips. With the cloak and if she imagined hard enough, she could even pretend he was Arthur.
She moved her head back as the boy’s mouth moved from her neck to her chest. Winter’s chill was caressing her skin, only to quickly be replaced with Lancelot’s warm lips, his heated palms.
The Woman In the Tree Page 25
