A Winter’s Rose Read online

  At the moment, there wasn’t much she wasn’t prepared to believe—after all, Giles himself was a Paladin.

  A Paladin.

  A Huntsman for the Church.

  A slayer of witches.

  Oh, yeah, she’d heard of the inquisitions, and she’d understood there was a danger in revealing herself as a dewine, but after all, there was naught larger than life about a man with an axe. Executioners need not be huntsmen, and the employment of an entire company of highly trained assassins assigned to ferreting out and exterminating enemies to the Church had seemed… well, farfetched… until now. By the cauldron, how much her perception of the world had changed since leaving Llanthony, where her gravest concern had been to slip past Ersinius’s guards, only to win herself a moment to forage in the woods. Only now, with all that had transpired, did she truly comprehend why her sister Elspeth had been so afraid. Rosalynde was afraid now too, and the simple fact that her escorts were so silent and brooding gave her every indication they were as troubled as she was.

  Giles adjusted his arms about her, and Rosalynde sighed, burrowing into the safety of his embrace, wondering again about that bonding spell…

  But if she doubted the words she’d heard, she must also doubt the council she’d been given in the glade… to bind that beast with words she’d never heard spoken in all her life.

  It was as though the Goddess herself provided her the rites to bind the creature into solid form. Only then could Giles have had any chance to slay it. Because no matter how many times Wilhelm had swung his sword, it never once found purchase. And if she needed proof it was not all a dream, she had the reliquary tucked away with the grimoire in Giles’s satchel. And if not, she but needed to look at Wilhelm, with his ravaged face, because even after seeing what she was capable of, he had refused to allow her to heal him, distrusting her magik, if not so much Rosalynde herself. His bloodstains were gone, but his once handsome face now bore the marks of the creature’s talons, scars that were healing slowly on their own, but as dark as her own puncture wounds remained, despite her healing magik.

  Alas, Mordecai was not her mother’s only servant, only her most loyal, and, when he did not return, she would go searching for him, and if she came herself… Goddess help them.

  “Do you think the creature is dead?” Asked Wilhelm, perhaps sensing the dark turn of Rosalynde’s thoughts.

  Instinctively, Giles pulled her close when she stiffened over the question. “Aye,” he said, and his breath was hot against the back of her neck as he whispered, “It’s gone, Rose.”

  “It must be,” she said. “But…”

  She couldn’t finish, even as a caveat, because it seemed too incredible. And still, she worried about the reliquary in Giles’s satchel.

  Could Mordecai’s spirit have retreated into that unholy relic, waiting to be summoned again by her mother?

  The feeling it had given her as she’d held it was… indescribable… like darkness and terror bound together. And then, when Wilhelm returned the trinket after she’d thrown it away, she’d had a sudden vision of her kindred—a hundred dewine souls—all cowering in the bowels of the earth, whilst outside the earthen bower… lurked an indefinable and present evil. The image made her shudder, and in response, Giles leaned close again, resting his chin on her shoulder. “Don’t think of it,” he commanded. “I will protect you.”

  Chapter 23

  Immediately after spending alms for Lady Ayleth’s soul, Wilhelm was preparing again to travel. Grateful for the donation, and perhaps feeling aggrieved for all his troubles and fresh scars, the nuns provided him a sack full of victuals, with profuse thanks he endured with flushed cheeks.

  Giles perhaps would have provided him the alms, but Rosalynde had stepped forward to offer her own—all five gold marks she’d sewn into the hem of her gown. It was the least she could do for the service these brothers were providing, and she had every faith Elspeth would provide for her once Giles delivered her to Aldergh.

  When both men had looked at her with a question in her eyes, she’d merely shrugged. “I did tell you I had five gold marks, did I not?”

  And yet, clearly, her heartfelt gesture moved Wilhelm, because a twinkle appeared in the warrior’s dark eyes. “Thank you… Lady Rosalynde,” he said. The title came diffidently to his lips for the first time since meeting him, and the bear of a man stepped forward to offer one more heartfelt embrace. Rosalynde hugged him fiercely, even as she cast a glance at his brother.

  * * *

  There was no way around it; Wilhelm must return to Warkworth to welcome the supply ships. As important as it was to deliver Rosalynde and her grimoire, that was Giles’s primary objective, and Wilhelm was the only man he trusted.

  Rather than procure another mount, he and Rosalynde would travel together. Greedy perhaps, but he wanted her as close to him as possible, even if it slowed their pace.

  She glanced at him now, and his heart squeezed.

  She was afraid, he sensed. So, too, was Wilhelm. So was Giles, if the truth be known. And yet, it wouldn’t serve anyone to confess the truth. He must keep his wits about him… and what was more, he must keep his sanity. If, ever, his faith had failed him, he must find a way to renew it, because God alone could help them now.

  Although his past works had more than oft crippled his faith, he saw the madness behind the Guard’s methods. Evil could not be vanquished by might alone, nor could it be won by honor and justice. Indeed, God worked in mysterious ways. And yet, he had few illusions. He was but a lone man, and it would take every means available to defeat this rising evil.

  So much depended upon his duty to the Guard—and now, to Rosalynde—that his shoulders felt heavy with the burden. But now Wilhelm understood so much without having to be given explanations, and he and his brother had found a new accord. Mounted now, and ready to ride, Wilhelm sought his gaze, and Giles could see the uncertainty nestled in his dark eyes. His elder brother and self-appointed guardian would never willingly abandon his side. “Art certain, Giles?”

  Giles nodded. “Now that you… know… I trust you most to see to what must be done. Rosalynde and I will continue together.” There was great meaning in the words that followed. “I need you, my brother.” And one day, when he could, he would reward his loyalty.

  His brother’s face was pinched, worried, and Giles could tell that he was reluctant to go. But, for all that they’d endured, and all the discord that had passed between them, Giles trusted now that he would heed his commands, down to the letter. Their relationship, too, had changed—as thoroughly as with Rosalynde—even despite that they had yet to speak of it.

  Later, when they had a moment alone, once the mission was complete, he would explain everything to Wilhelm in far greater detail. And, once the evil in this land was banished, he and Rosalynde—he gazed warmly at the woman standing beside him—would tell stories of this for years to come. Somehow, though he didn’t know why he knew it, he knew it to be true. He felt a bond with her that he couldn’t explain, nor did he believe for an instant that God had put them together without purpose. And yet… his heart writhed with anguish, because he had a duty to uphold, and so much as he felt in his heart that Rosalynde was destined to be the mother of his babes, he also now understood with a clarity borne of circumstance, how important it was to strengthen his dominion in the north—not merely for the sake of vengeance, but for England.

  Wilhelm’s knuckles whitened as he gripped his reins. His eyes said everything his mouth daren’t utter. “Have care, my brother,” he said.

  “Worry not,” said Giles. “I am capable.”

  And to that, the brothers shared the gravest of looks. “Only too well do I know it,” said Wilhelm, as he held the courser’s reins. “I have been blind, Giles. Fear blinded me to what my eyes should have understood from the moment you returned.” And simply so as not to leave words unsaid, his brother offered apologies. “I am sorry,” he said.

  “Think no more of it,” Giles said with
a rueful smile.

  Wilhelm inclined his head, then, his lips curved ever so slightly. “Mayhap some day you will teach me some of your… tricks?”

  Giles lifted his brows. “Tricks?”

  Wilhelm’s lips turned into a wide, devious grin, and now, more than ever, he looked the part of a butcher, with a glint in his eyes that matched the glint of his steel, and a set to his shoulders that widened his substantial girth. His scars alone were enough to make a grown man piss himself, if only because to have survived such an ordeal, his strength was unquestionable.

  “Godspeed,” offered Giles, with a nod.

  * * *

  “Wait!” Rosalynde said, rushing forward when Wilhelm turned to leave. She had been silent, watching these two brothers—loving their devotion. Whatever discord had once existed between them was gone. She had no doubt they would die for one another, and perhaps they still might. “May I… give a blessing?” she dared ask.

  For a long moment, Wilhelm merely looked at her, frowning, and despite his growing fondness for Rosalynde, she thought he might turn her away, just as he’d refused her healing. Clearly, he still didn’t trust her magik. But he gave her a nod, and said, “I suspect I shall need all the help I can get.”

  She gave Giles a wary glance to gauge his reaction, but he, too, nodded and Rosalynde swept forward, laying a hand on Wilhelm’s courser, silently entreating a blessing from the Goddess. “Godspeed,” she said, when she was through.

  “And to you, my lady,” said Wilhelm, giving her a nod, and then another to his lord brother before bolting away.

  “Do you think he will fare well alone?”

  Giles stood behind her, silent for a moment as the two of them watched War-in go. “My brother is as capable as any,” he said, at long last.

  It was so much easier to speak her mind with her back to him. “Then perhaps you should say so… he longs for your validation.” There was more she longed to say—so much more—but her lips suddenly would not part.

  He met her counsel with silence, and the feeling was intensely awkward. And then, after a moment, she started at the feel of a hand gripping her elbow. He drew her back and turned her around to look her into her eyes. “I would rest the night here,” he told her.

  Rosalynde nodded.

  His dark eyes held a silent message. “We have a long journey ahead, and we need rest, but… I prefer not to let you out of my sight.”

  Rosalynde nodded again, understanding.

  “I would explain to Mother Helewys that you are my lady wife.”

  One last time, Rosalynde nodded, though her knees felt weak, and her heart beat painfully as she peered up, meeting his deep, dark eyes.

  For a long, long moment, they merely stared at one another… and then, he moved closer, and lifted a hand to her cheek, then bent to press a small kiss to her forehead… then another over the bridge of her nose… and there… he allowed his lips to linger, warm and pliant against her already fevered skin.

  At last, would they speak of the bonding? Was it possible that he, too, had heard the Goddess?

  Rosalynde dared to hope.

  After an excruciating moment, he slid a hand to her chin, lifting her face to his gaze… and he gave her one more, firm but chaste brush of his lips… upon the lips, and sweet though it might be, it held a certain promise in its tenderness.

  “Can you stand by my side and give credence to my words, Rose?”

  She loved the way he said her name—so intimately, and she would do anything he asked of her and more, but she realized it was one thing to stand by whilst Wilhelm offered the ladies of Neasham a handful of glittering gold, and yet another to stand before them in full view of their scrutiny, and answer as his wife.

  “Of course,” she said, though she worried.

  What would happen if the prioress should happen to note her stolen habit? She didn’t want to hide anymore—not with any glamour. But despite that the woolen material wasn’t very fine, the needlework was very distinct, with the sisters’ signature embroidery on the sleeves and hem. And still, Rosalynde hadn’t the heart to confess as much to Giles. She didn’t want him to know the depths of her deceptions, justified though they might be.

  Her Welsh grandmother had had a saying for times like these… for times when fate lay beyond the control of mere mortals.

  Beth fydd.

  Whatever would be, would be.

  Chapter 24

  Rosalynde stood meekly by Giles’s side whilst he bargained with the prioress, concealing her sleeves and too-short hem beneath her borrowed cloak. Only now she wondered… what might have happened if she’d never stolen the habit?

  Would Seren be wed to Giles? Would her sister have returned with him to Warkworth?

  As life happened, nothing occurred without consequence—at least that’s what Rhi so oft claimed. And here was a perfect example: The nuns at Neasham were world-renowned seamstresses. They sold their services to support their work at the priory, where they hosted an almonry as well as a hospital. Even to the most discerning eye, their needlework was superior, and the Queen Consort oft commissioned their services. And, of course, whatever the Queen had one of her mother must keep twenty. Pride in excess was Morwen’s weakness, and she was not immune to vainglory. Therefore, merely so she wouldn’t feel humiliated by the poor state of her daughters’ dress, she had commissioned three new gowns, one for each. After all, it wouldn’t be seemly to allow Henry’s offspring—illegitimate though they might be—to be dressed so meanly whilst at court.

  And yet, it must also be noted that not once during their years at Llanthony had Morwen ever provided them a single dress—not for twelve long years, even as they’d doubled in height and formed a woman’s curves. Rather, the sisters had fashioned their own gowns from cast-off robes. And if, indeed, they had arrived at Westminster in tatters, they had been proud enough to be wearing the fruits of their own labors. But this, of course, was neither here nor there.

  Knowing Seren would be paraded before the court during her presentation to the lord of Warkworth, Morwen had commissioned a second dress for Seren. That was when Rosalynde acquired the nun’s habit. Having accompanied her sister to the fitting, she’d spied the habit folded in a chair, and when Sister Emma handed Rosalynde their finished stack of gowns, she’d very nonchalantly laid them atop the habit, and when they’d quit her chamber, Rosalynde took the habit as well. After all, it could so easily have been a mistake—or so she would have claimed if someone caught her. But no one did. Essentially, that stolen gown led to her escape, and having fled when she did, she stole the very horse of the very man her sister had been intended to wed.

  And this was the ysbryd y byd her sister Rhiannon sometimes spoke of. According to Rhi, life was so much like a spider’s web, everything integrally connected. Free will was a gift, but all divergent paths led to a shared end—a boundary not unlike the verge of the spider’s web, a delicate filament to be plucked like a harp, in tune to a song inspired by the hearts of men. Only whether that song be good or bad, happy or sad, depended on the spirit of the age, the ysbryd y byd.

  Now what would happen if Mother Helewys happened to note her stolen habit? Would she realize it was Sister Emma’s? Would she insist upon knowing the circumstances? Would she glean the truth, then tell Morwen?

  To make matters worse, it was only then as she endeavored to hide her stolen garb that she considered the utter humiliation of arriving at Aldergh dressed in her current state—now, in truth, she was in tatters. Her poor sister would fear she’d been assaulted—and, well, so she had, but not under the circumstances Elspeth and her husband might think. But, as luck would have it, she worried for naught. Apparently, the five gold marks they’d offered for Lady Ayleth’s soul, plus whatever Giles paid for the room, was more than enough impetus for the prioress to accept his money without question. In fact, she invited them to sup in their hall, though thankfully, Giles declined, with the excuse that they’d been traveling too long, and his wife had an
ague in her bones. If the prioress had any reservations at all, it was only when Giles ordered the bath. She gave Rose a narrow-eyed glance, though before she could say aught, Giles handed the woman another sterling, and off she went, happily, to do his bidding.

  Perhaps she’d feared, as Rosalynde feared, that Giles meant for them to trollop together in the sanctity of her priory, but that too was a needless concern. When the bath arrived, Giles offered her a smile that put a twinkle in his dark eyes, and he left as in marched a procession of nuns, carrying a small tub, buckets, soap, towels, and the last in line held a stack of folded gowns.

  “Oh, nay! There must be some mistake,” Rose said, peering out the door, but Giles was already gone.

  The woman smiled serenely. “Oh, nay, Lady Rosalynde. Your husband procured them.” She glanced at the cloak Rose had pinched so jealously, perhaps wondering what lay beneath. “My lord of Warkworth informed us that you met some trouble on the road. For this we are heartily aggrieved.” The corners of the nun’s eyes crinkled. “For all your generosity, Mother Helewys has also provided her own small gift for your troubles.”

  Guilt gnawed at Rosalynde’s belly.

  The woman shook her head sadly. “We’ve not been able to take our wagons through Darkwood for years now.” With a tilt of her head, she thrust out the stack, insisting that Rosalynde take it. “Rife with thieves and cutthroats, and I dare not say what more.”

  “Thank you,” said Rose, shamefaced. And yet it was only after the nun departed that she understood the true generosity of the gifts... There was not one, but two gowns amidst the lot. One of them rivaled the gown her sister had worn to the King’s Hall. The first layer was a gold-threaded camlet, fine as the finest silk chainse. The surcoat was a thick azure color made of a lovely corded fabric, soft as velvet. The color reminded Rosalynde of bellflowers. There was also a cloak to match in a darker shade of blue, generously trimmed with soft ermine.