Rhiannon didn’t know what to say.
There was naught in the fathomless depths of his eyes that called him a liar, and yet, she couldn’t speak those words herself. She would not choose him over all, nor risk her sisters’ lives for him. “Thank you,” she said, at a loss. And then, her husband did, what she sorely hoped he might do: He ceased with more words, lowering his mouth to hers, and thoroughly kissed her—not with the fervor of his first kiss, but tenderly, and full of promise, coaxing love words from her lips, as urgently as his hands held her.
Still she could not say them, though she didn’t know why. The need to speak aloud what was heartfelt was nearly as potent as the burn of magik through her veins.
And still, she refrained…
“Time to go, lovers,” shouted Marcella.
Cael ended the kiss abruptly, smiling down at her.
Rhiannon felt the separation like the rending of a limb. “Little does she realize,” she quipped, scarcely aware that it sounded like a lament.
He winked at her. “We’ll remedy that,” he said, and Rhiannon shivered over the promise in his eyes.
She wanted to say that it wasn’t what she’d meant, but wasn’t it? Even now, her body thrummed where he’d touched her and… more. Deep down in her womb, she felt a desperate need to be filled. Sweet fates, her desire was as potent as Marcella’s philters.
26
A rising 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 at the moment, 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, she 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 be in agreement 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 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 nevertheless, 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 as 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. However, 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?