Morwen snorted. “Me? Bewitch him?”
She sounded furiously amused.
“Cael d’Lucy?” She laughed again, a bark that resounded throughout the hall. “Nay, daughter. Much to my bother, the lord of Blackwood is his own man; he cannot be ensorcelled—which is a very good thing for you, since you no longer have the means.” She flicked a glance at Rhiannon’s manacles, then sneered, although Rhiannon blinked in surprise at her words. “Good thing he hasn’t lost his wits so soundly that he removed those, and yet I see he’s discovered a way to lessen the burden. How thoughtful. I shall have to speak to him about that to see if we can remedy it.”
Rhiannon blinked again.
Despite the overt threat, it was not that which gave her pause… Cael could not be ensorcelled?
Everyone could be ensorcelled.
Except for faefolk or dewinekind.
Rhiannon narrowed her gaze.
“Why can’t he be ensorcelled?”
“Because, you stupid, piteous girl, he’s been to the Other Realm and once that Veil has been crossed, a man’s eyes cannot unsee what they have seen.”
Rhiannon blinked again. “What?”
Her mother flicked a hand, dismissing the conversation once and for all. “Never mind, stupid wench! These things are none of your concern. If you care to know more, ask your beloved—that is, if you can pry him away from his cousin!”
Rhiannon sat upright, stunned, uncertain how to respond. Cael had crossed the Veil?
When?
How?
Was he dewine?
Nay… nay… there was naught about Cael d’Lucy that had ever led her to believe he was aught more than a mortal man. He was an executioner for the King, she realized—feared by many, but still only flesh and blood.
Yet so was Morwen—for the most part—so was Rhiannon. They were all flesh and blood. They were born and bled like everyone else. So, then, who was Cael that he should cross the Veil, and live to speak of it? So far as she knew, not even Morwen had ever done so…
And yet, Morwen was stronger than ever. Even wearing her shackles, Rhiannon could sense her mother’s force.
Alas, after five long years of wearing these shackles, Rhiannon felt drained. As beautiful and vivid as her dress might be, she felt drab in comparison. The best she could hope for would be to survive this day without Morwen discovering their plans, and with that thought, she turned to find Cael returning to the dais. His eyes found and held hers. “Forgive me,” he said, turning to regard her mother. “Did you ladies miss me?”
Though he and Morwen shared a meaningful glance, neither Morwen nor Rhiannon responded. Both sat long-faced and sullen. Cael twisted his lips, and reached for his cup, then without another word, turned the goblet, downing the contents, and called for a serving girl to return with her ewer.
“Drink up!” he said, with forced gaiety. “Tonight is a time for celebration! Tomorrow will be soon enough to resume all our petty squabbles.” And then, very discreetly, he hitched his chin at the woman he’d been speaking to—his cousin—before resuming his seat at Rhiannon’s side.
Rhiannon sat, furious now.
The one thing her fury was not, was petty.
She wanted to shout a demand that he explain himself in regards to his cousin. She wanted to ask him why the devil he had not yet introduced them. She wanted to smack him right on the cheek, and demand he kiss her… why?
By the cauldron, this wedding was a sham!
Annoyed by her husband as well as her mother, Rhiannon shoved her goblet toward the serving woman when she arrived to refill their cups.
If Cael wasn’t going to set her free tonight—well, then, he was going to have to carry her insensate to consummate their vows, because she was not going to submit to him willingly!
“By the rood! ’Tis no wonder spiders consume their young,” Morwen said snidely, and then she, too, reached for her goblet, putting it fast to her lips. “Ungrateful little bitch.”
It wasn’t entirely clear to whom Morwen was referring, because her gaze followed Cael’s “cousin” until she removed herself from the hall without a backward glance. Still, Rhiannon gloated, feeling as though she had won some small victory, because Morwen’s face was now flushed and her eyes sparkled with unmistakable fury.
Truly, if she could accomplish that at least once per day for the remainder of her life, she might not entirely mind having to remain at Blackwood, enduring Cael and his cousin as well. Her mother’s misery made her unexpectedly glad.
Alas, there was no guarantee her mother would remain at Blackwood, which meant her sisters would be in danger.
Nor would Rhiannon ever best that creature whilst she was wearing these infernal shackles.
Nay, if ever she was going to go, she must do so now…
All three musicians continued playing at intervals, while Morwen held her tongue, quietly seething, drinking one cup of sweet mead after another.
All the while Cael whispered love words into Rhiannon’s ear—all for show, she realized. “Art even more beautiful than your mother,” he said once, loudly enough for Morwen to overhear, and her mother growled, then clapped her goblet down upon the table.
“If that is the sort of woman you prefer,” she said, beginning to slur her words. “As they say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder!” And then she remanded a pitcher from a passing maid, seizing the vessel from the poor woman to pour herself another drink, and then, just for good measure, she hoarded the entire pitcher, rudely waving the girl away.
If only to annoy her, Rhiannon reached for the pitcher, as well—after all, it was her house.
Cael caught her hand. He smiled warmly, lifting her hand to his lips to kiss it ever so sweetly, his eyes spoke words that never found purchase on his tongue. No, they said, and he shook his head, almost imperceptibly.
No.
And just that swiftly Rhiannon’s sense of anticipation returned.
Something was happening.
Morwen was incandescently angry, oblivious to all but her fury, and she was, in truth, so livid that her guard came down.
With a nod, Cael laid down their joined hands, pinning Rhiannon’s firmly beneath his own, and then slowly, very slowly, Rhiannon peered over to discover that her mother’s chin began to wilt…
She blinked as Morwen’s cup tilted precariously, although her mother seemed perfectly unaware. In fact, her eyes drifted shut, and her fingers relaxed on the stem…
Stunned, Rhiannon’s gaze shifted to the ewer of mead—a ewer no one else had drunk from as yet. And now that she considered, the kitchen maid had not been passing by. She was waiting close to Morwen… waiting. Once her first pitcher was consumed, it was the same girl who’d replaced it with another.
Poisoned?
By the time it dawned on Rhiannon what must be happening, she saw Cael gesture to Aelwyd, making a discreet circular motion with his finger.
Mead for all?
Indeed, within moments—as though they’d been awaiting a cue—a horde of servants emerged from the kitchen, all cradling ewers.
As Morwen’s head lolled, they made their way down every aisle, filling goblets and mugs as they passed.
After a long, surreal moment, Cael reached over to gingerly shove at her mother’s shoulder, to which she responded by slumping listlessly to one side of her chair, eyes closing and mouth agape, suddenly drooling.