Chapter 26

Twenty-Six

Arising mist obscured the forest floor—naturally, else Rhiannon would smell the manipulation.

They could barely see the full moon through the lush canopy of summer green, but the night was still bright enough to lend a modicum of light as Cael scouted the path ahead with his wolfhound by his side.

Like its master, the overlarge beast moved stealthily through the woods, padding through a pillow of composting leaves.

Jack assumed the rear of their cavalcade, Marcella's normally amiable apprentice silent and taciturn—more and more so as the night wore on.

By now, everyone was tired, and it was a dangerous proposition to double back through these woods, effectively countervailing the lead they'd attained.

For her part, Marcella rode beside Rhiannon, tirelessly scrutinizing their surroundings, her sword at the ready should anyone emerge from the shadows.

If everything went according to plan, it was estimated they should reach Amdel's parklands by Lauds, or thereabouts—a full seven bells in the saddle, stopping only now and again to tend to the mounts.

For the sake of their horses, the pace remained easy; even so, Rhiannon was bone-tired, and by now, her lids were heavy. Still, she found little enough to complain about, particularly considering that whatever discomfort her companions were suffering now, they were suffering it for her. Her gratitude was boundless, and her heart was full. So much had changed over these past few days.

Scarcely a week ago she'd been imprisoned, with no hope for escape. Now, she was free, and no longer alone.

In fact, not only was she surrounded by men and a woman who'd sworn vows to protect her, but she also found she rather enjoyed Marcella and her painful candor.

She enjoyed Jack, as well.

And she loved Cael, though she couldn't seem to say it aloud.

Despite fearing the worst, he was alive and well… here, with her. And soon, very soon, she would be reunited with her sisters as well—perhaps a bit longer than anticipated, now that they were doubling back so far, but everyone had seemed to agree that this was the best laid plan.

Ellie, Seren, Rose… it won't be long now.

Together, they would find a way to defeat Morwen.

Together, they would endure.

Had Seren already realized her destiny?

She wanted desperately to mindspeak but didn't dare.

How strange the fates.

Her sweet sister was simply not the sort that Rhiannon would ever have imagined in such a role. Goddess knew, if there was anyone in this realm less ferocious than Seren, Rhiannon didn't know them. She had always envisioned the Regnant as a warrior queen, more like herself, truth be told.

How wrong she had been.

And what of Rose?

Was she still the same? Prickly as a thorn, and wily as a fox—slipping away from the priory every chance she got. It was inconceivable to imagine that only five years ago, Rose had been a young girl, who'd enjoyed stealing men's clothing. She wore them to slip into the woods to forage for herbs.

Of all her sisters, Rose had been the most like Rhiannon, and Seren and Arwyn had been most disparate—both sweet and gentle, with voices that never carried.

And then there was Elspeth—dearest Elspeth—she and her eldest sibling had locked horns so oft they both ought to have beat each other senseless.

Oh, nay, they never came to blows, but Elspeth had been equally as willful as Rhiannon, only far more self-righteous. And yet, she supposed Ellie had earned the right. She had been the one who had to defend them against Morwen.

Seeking Cael, taking comfort in his presence, her gaze traveled unerringly through the shadows, finding him tall in his saddle, looking like a venerable champion… her very own.

She couldn't wait to introduce him to her sisters.

She wanted to assure them she was free and on the way, but daren't mindspeak with Morwen in pursuit. Now that Rhiannon understood more about what her mother was—a Sylphkind—she realized it would be impossible to keep her from intercepting anything she put into the aether.

Nay, she decided. It was safer to keep her thoughts to herself, although, apparently, she couldn't manage to conceal them all from Marcella. The paladin, with her limited abilities was able to glean the truth about what was lurking in her heart—else it must be a woman's intuition. "I was right," she said, with a little smirk in her tone. "You do love him."

Resigned, Rhiannon gave the paladin a tentative nod, though she wasn't even certain that Marcella could see the gesture in this inky darkness. Thankfully, Cael rode far enough ahead that he couldn't overhear.

"It pleases me to know it," she said. "He's risked so much to join you, I hope you realize."

"I do," assured Rhiannon, although she knew he hadn't told her everything yet, and it still annoyed her that he was keeping secrets. "Alas, you seem to know my husband better than I do," she said, though she didn't intend it as an accusation, and thankfully Marcella didn't take it as one.

The paladin laughed softly. "It took me years to cut through his armor," she said. "But never fear, I've no doubt he'll tell you everything in good time. Perhaps even tonight when we are safe at Amdel?"

The tiny hairs at Rhiannon's nape prickled—anticipation?

The thought of being alone with Cael sent a frisson down her spine—not fear precisely, but not entirely delight.

For one thing, she hadn't the first notion how to do a woman's duty in the bedroom. Oh, she knew how it was done, and, in fact, she'd pleasured herself a time or two in secret. She understood it could be pleasant for a woman as it was for a man. But she desperately wished to please her husband, and as bold as she liked to believe she was, she blushed like a nun merely at the thought of undressing in his presence.

Would he find her lacking?

Would he regret having embroiled himself?

After all, he didn't have to wed her, and in truth, he was promised little for the effort. If in fact King Stephen meant to cede his crown to Duke Henry after his death, he hadn't any reason to keep his Rex Militum, since the entire purpose of that commission—by all accounts, Rhiannon had heard—was to find and exterminate all threats to his reign. So, then, Cael might yet have to forfeit Blackwood, after all—not that she cared, mind you. Though she could certainly find it in her heart to love that pile of stones, she would be content enough to simply be with Cael, wherever that may be.

She wondered then… were they truly wed if they hadn't yet had a first night?

Did men still have the desire to lie with a woman in the midst of war?

She considered that, and thought perhaps the answer must be yes, because she was a woman and even she thrilled over the barest possibility. Moreover, she'd heard about those women who followed troops, sometimes traveling along with them. They wouldn't be doing that if men didn't enjoy them, therefore the answer must be aye, but then, she frowned over the thought, wondering if Cael had ever availed himself of their services. She didn't relish the possibility.

Something inexplicable had changed since he'd joined them—something Rhiannon couldn't begin to construe.

It was as though she might be two people now—one, naught but a silly, blushing bride who longed for nothing more than to be touched by her lord husband. The other a dauntless soldier, ready to do battle for the sake of the realm. Neither of these two women had any likeness to the other, and somehow she was both.

And really, considering the circumstances, she shouldn't even allow her head to be so filled with thoughts of kisses and caresses, but she couldn't help it.

Even the steady trot of her mare left her wiggling in the saddle, and she felt like a doxy, exposed, even in full attire. No one was watching her, but she felt as though everyone one must be. She longed to ask for Marcella's advice, but didn't know how to broach the topic, and then it occurred to her that, normally, this might be something a maiden would ask her mother—more's the pity, because she'd never had one.

"You speak so fondly of your mother," Rhiannon ventured. "And yet you've never spoken her name."

"Isolde," said the paladin after a moment.

"Isolde?"

"Aye."

"The same?—"

"Indeed, she is one and the same," Marcella said, and once again she heard rather than spied Marcella's smile.

Goddess, alive, it didn't seem there could be any more surprises, but here was yet another.

Isolde was the old woman who'd tended them for a while at court, whilst they were still very young. She was also the same woman who'd delivered Rhiannon and her sisters to Llanthony the year King Henry died. She was the one who'd roused them from their slumber in London, and spirited them away to the Vale of Ewyas, where she'd placed them in the care of those monks. Only then, she'd gone, and they never saw her again, and Rhiannon had only assumed she had abandoned them to their misfortunes. After all, who wanted to attach themselves to five penurious young maids.

Rhiannon didn't know what to say.

"We parted ways after an argument over your mother," said Marcella.

Rhiannon shook her head. "So, it seems, my mother is the cause for so much discontent. I'm so sorry to hear this, Marcella. Have you seen her since, or are you still estranged?"

She sensed Marcella's gaze, even through the darkness. Her face became visible only in glimpses as moonlight pierced the foliage. "My mother is dead," she said. "She died a few moons after Henry died. There was a bout of leprosy at Blackwood when I was young, and despite that she was healed, she was twisted and ravaged by her illness. After she left court and deposited the five of you at Llanthony, she wasted away and died. God forbid she should ever humble herself enough to appeal to me—not in life. Though I do still see her now on occasion."

Rhiannon blinked. "You still see her?"

Silence was her initial response, and then, Marcella asked, "'Tis odd how we can know something in our hearts, and still not know it experientially."

"I don't under?—"

"As you must know already, all things are one, living and dead. If the stars align, you might still connect with loved ones Beyond The Veil, but you must wholly believe it."

Rhiannon considered that a moment, and then Marcella added, "If you look and listen, you'll see signs of our departed in so many forms."

Rhiannon wondered how Arwyn would appear—in a glorious explosion of flames, she decided with a smile. Her youngest sibling may have been gentle at heart, but she was dazzling in spirit. She found the thought comforting and tucked the knowledge away for further exploration.

"How much longer to Amdel? Do you know?"

Marcella peered up at a sliver of sky through the trees. "I would suppose by now we have passed into Darkwood, so perhaps another bell."

Rhiannon stiffened.

"Never fear," Marcella said, correctly reading her unease. "We are far north of the inn."

Rhiannon shivered, although it had little to do with the evening's damp or chill. "I have never been there, but I know enough from my sisters to know it is nowhere I wish to be."

Marcella agreed. "No man, lest he have some death wish, ever rests at that inn."

"My mother is the patron, did you know?"

"Of course," said Marcella. "And I must confess I made good use of that knowledge."

"Hunting?"

"Aye."

Rhiannon arched a brow. "Dewinekind?"

"Nay," said the paladin, sliding her a glance. "I know what you think, Lady Blackwood. Fortunately, 'tis been an age since dewinefolk were the sole concern of the Guard, or even the Church. Mind you, we've far worse enemies now, and the greatest being your mother."

Rhiannon peered back to find Jack loitering at a distance, and she wondered how much he knew. "If you don't mind my asking, what precisely is Jack to you?" Rhiannon asked, taking advantage of Marcella's forthcoming mood.

"He's only my apprentice."

"And Cael? I know his commission is nearly the same as yours."

"Not quite. He answers to your King. I answer to my Church."

"Your Church," Rhiannon mused aloud. "How odd to hear you say so, though I suppose one creed is the same as another."

"More or less," agreed Marcella. "Some call it prayer, others invocation. Still, these are one and the same, and how sad to know it and still find so much discord."

"I did wonder… how came you to be a paladin?"

There was a long, long pause, and then Marcella said, "Interestingly enough, because of your mother. She charged me to spy on Matilda whilst she was still wed to the Emperor. And, of course, this was precisely the reason for the discord with my mother. She begged me not to do it, and I… well… as you know, I forsook her advice."

"Did you do it to please my mother?"

"I did," Marcella confessed. "I would have done anything for Morwen in those days."

"Anything?"

Marcella didn't immediately respond, and Rhiannon afforded her a small change in topic. "So, you said Cael came to supplicate my case to the Guard? Did he oft have business with the Church?"

"Ah, Rhiannon… there is so much I am not at liberty to say, but I suppose he did. Often, our dictums were… shall we say… very well aligned."

"So, then, he answers to both the Guard and the Rex Militum?"

"Alas, my dear Lady Blackwood. 'Tis not so simple as that."

"Please… call me Rhiannon. I haven't any notion how to behave as the lady of a great house. But, at any rate, I consider you to be my friend."

"As you wish," said the paladin dutifully, but there, again, was a smile in her voice.

Rhiannon smiled as well, and they rode for a while longer in silence. She felt, for the moment, content. But it was important to her that Marcella understand exactly how she felt, and she wanted the paladin to understand she was at peace with her past with Cael, whatever that might be. "He cares for you, I think."

There was no need to say who she meant.

Marcella sighed impatiently.

"May I inquire something of you?"

"Of course."

"Do you love him still?"

"Nay, Rhiannon. I do not. Not the man he has become."

"But I don't under?—"

"Please," Marcella interrupted, "suffice to say that not every wetted wick is worth keeping lit."

Heat suffused Rhiannon's cheeks, and Marcella turned to peer over her shoulder to see where Jack might be. Finding him well out of hearing range, she confessed, "Alas, your husband was not my only mistake; there is Jack as well."

Rhiannon lifted a hand to her lips. "Sweet fates!" She giggled nervously. "Who haven't you lain with?"

The paladin snorted. "Not you," she jested. "Care to remedy that?"

Rhiannon's blush burned hot. "Nay! Sweet fates! I-I did not mean that to be so disparaging… 'tis only…"

"Promiscuity is unnatural for a woman?"

Rhiannon nodded quickly.

"Alas, mon amie. A woman's desires are not so different from a man's. And besides…" She eyed Rhiannon's attire. "If you wear a man's breeches long enough, you'll find it affords you liberties you never imagined."

Rhiannon laughed softly, though she tugged at her leathers, and then, confessed, "You know… I… I… was wondering. I have… never lain with a man…"

The whites of Marcella's eyes widened visibly. "Not even?—"

Rhiannon shook her head, embarrassed.

"I assumed?—"

Rhiannon shook her head again, her face burning so hot now that she was grateful for the cover of darkness.

"Oh, my," said the paladin, and then she grinned at Rhiannon until Rhiannon could spy the whites of her teeth as well. "Well then… please allow me to do you the honor of explaining the joys of congress."

And then she did. And out of everything Rhiannon had heard so far, this was the most shocking of revelations—not because she didn't already know what should transpire between a man and woman, but because there were so many ways to accomplish the task.