In fact, now that she was free from her manacles, there was no telling what powers Rhiannon possessed, but if that was a small inkling…
“Are you listening?”
Marcella’s eyes impugned him.
Cael shook his head. “Apologies,” he said, his gaze returning to the pair of reliquaries in her hand. “The problem is… now that we are no longer in her proximity, there is no way for me to tell which is mine. They are precisely identical, save for that odd glow in her presence.”
“Even the crystals,” Marcella agreed. “The veins are precisely the same.”
“Aye.”
“So, then… what is the worst thing that could happen if we destroyed them both?”
Cael shrugged. “The worst? I haven’t a clue. Perhaps nothing at all? Or, it could be that I would cease to exist. I haven’t any notion how they work. Every time I inquired, Morwen was adamant I not concern myself with specifics. She merely bade me to care for them as though my life depended upon them, because, she said it did.”
“Aye, well, if it is any consolation, I don’t believe you would cease to exist,” Marcella argued, still examining the reliquaries. “If what you say is true, she gave you the means to destroy her, and kept your reliquary, for herself. This tells me that she mustn’t be overly concerned about its destruction.” She placed one crystal between her teeth, and bit down to test its solidity. “Rather, I believe she knew you would keep it safe from others, and she must have presumed you would guard it better than she could amidst so many enemies.”
“We’ve now proven she’s not immune in her mortal form,” Cael said, casting Morwen’s daughter another glance, watching her interactions with Jack.
The man-child was goading him, he was sure of it, but why? He hadn’t any sense the lad was stupid, nor had there ever been any rancor between them. Perhaps it was only to prove a point. He hadn’t missed the lad’s good-natured chuckle, nor Rhiannon’s answering smirk once he’d planted his sword between them. It remained there now, a reminder to both that he was watching them still.
“Cael?”
Cael nodded, then realizing he didn’t hear the last thing she said, he peered back at Marcella. “What?”
“I can see you are too preoccupied for this discussion. Should we remain here tonight, or press on?”
Cael could think of nothing so sweet as to lie with his wife in his arms, but this was not the time nor the place. “Press on,” he said, and suggested, “but mayhap not straight to Macclesfield.”
He lifted up the stick Marcella had been drawing with, and poked it at the etching already made in the soil—a crude map of their intended route and destination.
“’Tis roughly eleven or twelve leagues to Macclesfield. But… I happen to have learned that my cousin recently dispatched the lord of Amdel.”
“Beauchamp?”
“Aye.”
“Dispatched?”
Cael arched a black brow. “Aye, as in… relieved him of, not only his worldly possessions, but his life as well.”
“How does this serve us?”
“Well… I warrant that with Stephen so preoccupied with Duke Henry at Wallingford, Amdel’s disputed parklands are the furthest thing from his mind. I must presume the castle lies empty still.”
“But isn’t your cousin wed to Beauchamp’s sister?”
“’Tis a complicated matter, but aye. Yet, not the brother you presume. Graeham d’Lucy has forsworn his lands; he ceded them all to his brother.”
Marcella’s brows rose. “With the King’s blessing?”
“Indeed. He appealed to Stephen some months ago, right before he left London, and Stephen agreed. Although he might well trust Blaec well enough to give him another parcel, there’s no way Duke Henry will ever concede to the granting of Beauchamp’s lands to a man who already holds a powerful seat, not when he can award them to another of his loyal barons.”
“I ask you again, how does that help us?”
“Because, in the meantime, Amdel remains empty… and unguarded.”
A once, Marcella relieved him of the stick, then poked at her etching, at a location that appeared to be somewhere behind them. “Correct me if I am wrong, but Amdel lies here.” She poked at the drawing again, and again. “We are here, and we must go here.” Then, she poked the stick far to the right and north of her drawing. “This is where we must end.”
Warkworth.
“Aye,” said Cael, relieving her of the stick once more. “So this is what I propose… we backtrack a bit, go here.” And then he drew another small cluster in the dirt. “From Amdel, we travel through Kinver, then pass to Wellington, and through the parklands at Drakewich. From there, we will still end in Macclesfield, although without having to cross the moorlands.”
Marcella sat, silently poring over Cael’s proposal. And then, she asked, “Art certain Amdel lies empty?”
“As certain as I can be. Worst case, we pass by and travel on to Drakewich—another three or four hours thereabouts.”
“I don’t know if she can endure.” Marcella hitched her chin in Rhiannon’s direction. “We’ve been traveling endlessly.”
“She’s strong,” he said with a note of pride. “My guess is she may very well outlast both you and me.”
“Nay,” Marcella said. “You overestimate her. She’s vulnerable. After five years locked away with those manacles, I’m surprised she’s made it this far without so much as a complaint.” There was a note of admiration in the paladin’s voice, though Cael didn’t remark upon it. Finally, Marcella nodded, perhaps beginning to see the wisdom in his plan.
Not only would it circumvent the need to travel so far under open skies, it might further serve to confuse Morwen, because she would, no doubt, anticipate the distance they would travel since leaving Blackwood, and chances were that her birds would be circling that area, waiting.
Ultimately, she must already have discerned their intended destination, and that’s where she would concentrate her search efforts. Nobody could anticipate they would double back—for what reason?
He tossed the stick away, and Marcella leaned forward to brush at the dirt, erasing the proof of their stratagem. “Go on,” she said, following his gaze. “See to your wife. Far be it from me to keep you from your greatest desire.”
Besotted as he was, Cael didn’t need to be told twice.
He stood at once, brushing off his breeches as he considered the woman he was once involved with. It hadn’t lasted overlong, and though neither of them had any true love for the other, he realized Marcella’s feelings ran deeper than his. Alas, though, he had never anticipated that his heart would be free again, or that he could ever love anyone so deeply. He’d told her the truth all those years ago—that his heart belonged to Nesta. It simply was impossible to compel a heart to love anywhere but where it wished. He understood that Marcella must feel tormented by his change of heart, but he’d also never foreseen how Rhiannon’s presence in his life would affect him.
Like her mother, she was an irresistible force.
“I am sorry,” he said, after a moment.