His “cousin” smiled, and Rhiannon faltered in her step.
“Marcella will guide and protect you.”
“Well met,” said the lady, though Rhiannon suddenly had her doubts as to whether the woman was any sort of lady at all.
“Halloo,” said Rhiannon, staring.
Marcella was wearing a man’s tunic and chausses. Her hair was caught in a messy plait. Clearly, when she’d quit the hall, she’d done so to change. “Please, allow me to take those,” she demanded, plucking the manacles out of Rhiannon’s hands without permission, and offering them to Cael.
“Nay,” he said. “She means to keep them. Put them in your satchel.” And then, his tone softened with unmistakable affection. “Art certain, Marcella? She’ll flay you alive if she catches you.”
Marcella arched a brow. “As she will you if she discovers the truth.”
“But she won’t,” he said.
“Neither will she catch me.”
“Godspeed, sweet cousin.”
Marcella cursed softly beneath her breath—words Rhiannon didn’t comprehend—and then she said, “God be with you, Lord Blackwood.” Then, she made to leave with the manacles, but before Rhiannon could turn to follow, or even protest, Cael caught her by the arm.
“Rhiannon,” he said hoarsely, the sound guttural and anguished.
Rhiannon winced over the strength of his grip, lifting her gaze to meet his dark, unfathomable eyes.
“We are not aligned,” he said meaningfully.
Rhiannon frowned, then swallowed uncomfortably. “I know.”
The torment in his gaze was indisputable, and yet it couldn’t possibly match the pain in her heart. “You must understand… if I am forced to pursue…”
Rhiannon nodded, understanding. “I know.”
And she did.
She truly did.
She knew full well that if he caught her again, he could not afford to give her a second chance. “May the Goddess keep you,” she whispered, tears scalding her eyes.
He nodded soberly. “And you.”
Then, without warning, he drew her into his arms for one last kiss, only this time he kissed her with a fervor born of the moment, tasting and plundering her mouth in a manner she’d never imagined a man would wish to taste a woman.
Sweet fates.
This was not the simple imparting of a kiss, and in retrospect, the kiss in the hall couldn’t compare…
In her heart of hearts, Rhiannon understood… this was farewell.
She was his wife in name only.
From this day forward, she was his enemy, as well…
So much regret squeezed through her heart—so many years of pretending!
Good-bye, Cael, she thought.
Good-bye!
Unbidden, tears stung her eyes.
She couldn’t help herself—every word she’d ever longed to say flew to her lips, and she spoke them, but not with her mind, or with her voice, but with her tongue… answering every forage of his with a taste of her own, exploring his mouth as wildly as he did hers, until the kiss left her dizzied and breathless. It was all she could do to remain standing on her own two feet. Of their own accord, her hands moved to his shoulders, and any ambivalence she’d felt before was gone. When he might have moved away, she clung to him desperately, never wanting the moment to end…
Yegods…
If she dared to stay, she would know it was because of this kiss—betrayed by her own heart!
If she left… this kiss would haunt her for the remainder of her life. Only, what possible good could be wrought by staying? Already, he’d warned her that they were not aligned. She really must believe him!
Neither could he love her.
It was all a sham.
Except… it didn’t feel like a sham with his arms around her, and his mouth possessing her, his tongue exploring the depth of her mouth, as though he were committing the feel and taste of her to memory, his tongue lapping and tracing, like an artist rendering.
Cael, she tried to say.
No words emerged through the tightness of her throat. The only sound to escape was a desperate moan. But why in the name of the Goddess, would she deign to reconsider?
Why, indeed?
For a tumble in his bed?
For another kiss like this?
What new demon had possessed her?
Cael d’Lucy was his name.
Only, now that freedom was so close at hand, the last thing Rhiannon needed—or wanted—was to find a reason to stay when she really needed to go.
Rosalynde needs me, she reminded herself.
Elspeth needs me.
Seren needs me.
Go! a small voice commanded.
Flee!
Goddess, alive! There must be a reason he was releasing her now. Clearly, he feared what would happen to her more than he feared her mother’s wrath. Still, this did not mean he loved her.
Nor did it mean he would continue in this vein—kissing her so passionately, whispering love words into her ear.
’Tis a sham, she told herself.
At long last, he tore his lips away from her mouth and Rhiannon felt the separation acutely. “I lied,” he said, reaching for her face one last time, caressing her so tenderly. “I’ve loved you from the moment you opened your mouth, Rhiannon Pendragon… disheveled and lovely, proud and fierce!”
“Cael,” she cried, because now it was impossible to deny she felt the same—only how could it be?
“Take good care,” he said soberly, and then he turned, and pulled the portal closed, shutting her out, and Rhiannon was left mute, with her hands fumbling in midair, feeling for the lingering warmth of his body like a specter.
“Rhiannon!” Marcella called out. “Time to go!”
She couldn’t tear her gaze away from the portal. “What will he do?”
“Whatever he must,” said his cousin. “And you must believe his warning. He will do what he must if he catches you again.”
Rhiannon swallowed convulsively.
Her mother would see her dead.
Only now, it wasn’t only Rhiannon who would suffer Morwen’s wrath if she woke to find them lingering.
Swallowing again, Rhiannon conceded, though she gave the portal one final beleaguered glance, her hand begging to test its weight. Some part of her longed to shove the door and run after Cael… beg him to understand: Her mother would kill him if she suspected.
“Do. Not. Test. Him,” Marcella warned. “You stupid, stupid girl. Count yourself fortunate that he loves you enough to betray himself… if only this once.”
Already, Rhiannon’s magik was strengthening. She was free—free, at last! All she had to do was turn and walk away. Accept the gift her husband had offered her.
I lied, he’d said. I’ve loved you from the moment you opened your mouth, Rhiannon Pendragon…
Goddess only knew, there was one reason to stay… and too many to flee… Three very, very important reasons awaited her in England.
Resolved to do what she must, knowing in her heart that it was the right thing to do, Rhiannon turned her back on Blackwood’s portal, making her way down the narrow path after Marcella. “Take these,” Marcella said, turning to hand Rhiannon a pile of clothing. “Tunic and breeches,” she explained. “Leave your gown.” Then, before Rhiannon could object, Marcella’s hands were disrobing her in the woods.