A Winter’s Rose Page 18

  The man replied, “These are lawless days, lord. I hear Warkworth lies in ruins—its lord murdered. Could be you took the cloak from his dead body.”

  Up on the ramparts, the sound of men nocking their bows reached their ears, and Rosalynde peered up to see that there were fifty men or more, ready to loose arrows.

  “Have you more proof, lord? If not, I am compelled to keep my lord’s command. As you have probably surmised, the safety of my lady is my burden.”

  “I am Giles de Vere,” he countered, prepared to argue his case. “Earl of Warkworth—”

  “Wait,” Rosalynde bade him. She lifted a hand to Giles and then her head to the guardsman and smiled.

  She heard the frown in his voice as Giles whispered in her ear. “My dear, as beauteous as your smile may be, I cannot think it will persuade the man. He sounds like a dungeon master I knew.”

  “Just you wait,” she advised.

  Mindspeaking was not something she did so well with anyone but her sisters, but she had no doubt Elspeth could hear her now that she was in proximity. Despite the lord of Warkworth’s acceptance of her dewinity, she was careful not to overburden him. So, of course, she didn’t tell him what she was doing, and for a long, long moment, there was no answer—none at all. And suddenly, when Rose feared they might be turned away after all, she heard a voice shouting behind the gates and a smile broke on her face from ear to ear. Elspeth. No matter how long since she’d last heard her eldest sister’s voice, Rosalynde would always recognize it. It was the voice of the one person in this world who’d sung to her as a babe… who’d scrubbed her ears and brushed her hair.

  “Open the gates!” Elspeth demanded. “Open the gates!” And, without argument, the heavy portcullis began to rise, straining against its ancient chains.

  Rosalynde turned to Giles. “See what you can do with a little kindness, my lord?”

  Chapter 27

  Never in her life could Rosalynde have guessed that halloos could be as heart-rending as good-byes, but now she knew, as she stood clutching her eldest sister, her throat tight and hot tears burning her eyes.

  It had been far too long—ten long, long months to be precise, and in the meantime, so much had transpired.

  Elspeth, too, seemed overcome—the moisture pooling in her eyes dampening the crook of Rosalynde’s neck.

  Forsooth, she had somehow forgotten how diminutive Elspeth was, and lest she be mistaken, there was a bit more flesh on her bones as well. She squeezed her sister desperately. And then, finally, after the two had stood so long that their audience began to look about awkwardly, they wrenched themselves apart, to look into one another’s red-rimmed eyes. “I cannot believe tis you,” exclaimed Elspeth, her violet-blue eyes twinkling with joy.

  Rosalynde swallowed a lump that rose in her throat. “Yeah, tis me,” she said, overjoyed. “And wedlock has clearly been good to you, Elspeth.”

  Elspeth’s lips curled into a secret grin. “Aye, well, as to that… I have something to show you.” And she took Rosalynde by the hand, pulling her toward the donjon, abandoning everyone else in the yard.

  Rosalynde went, only because Giles tipped her a nod when she turned to seek his gaze. He stood, smiling as he tugged off his gauntlets, encouraging Rosalynde to go. Her very last glimpse of the man who’d risked so much to escort her to safety was of him standing, with his cloak turned over his arm, beneath a swirl of snow and surrounded by Aldergh’s men at arms. She wanted desperately to stop Elspeth and go back, but her sister was insistent—and far stronger than she remembered.

  Inside the castle, Aldergh was not so elaborate in design as Westminster Palace, and in so many ways, not so fine as Llanthony’s chapel, but the northern stronghold was sturdy and well fitted. There were tapestries hanging on most of the walls, and fresh rushes on the floors, the rooms clean as a bone after Will got through with one. In this place, there appeared to be nothing her sister was lacking—not even a proper cauldron as she discovered in the lady’s solar. Snuggled in a great hearth there, the pot sat very prominently displayed, with an ever-ready fire burning beneath its belly. And this, she assumed, must be the thing her sister wanted to show her—but nay, they had no sooner laid eyes upon the cauldron, when Elspeth dragged her back out of the room, whisking her through the halls.

  There were stone and bronze effigies throughout, many in nooks, and a brazier burning in every room. Servants bustled to and fro, carrying on the household chores, but it was Elspeth who commanded them, with her heavy ring of chatelaine’s keys dangling at her belt.

  “I can’t wait to show you my garden,” she said, gushing. “Sadly, there isn’t much in it right now, for all the snow.”

  “I can’t wait to see it,” said Rosalynde, feeling bewildered, because her sister was the same as she’d always been, but so very different. The Elspeth she had lived with in Llanthony had not been so much a wilting flower, but she had not been so confident either. How could she be? She had lived her entire life afeared for the consequences of her actions—and not only for her own sake.

  Here, she called out commands as she passed. “Please make certain the guest quarters are tended,” she told one servant as they passed, and the lady nodded and rushed away to do her bidding.

  She passed another and said. “Ellyn, please go see that the kitchen has been apprised of our guests.”

  “Yeah, m’lady!” said the young woman, and she too, flew away in a rush.

  “That is Cora’s daughter,” Elspeth explained, scarcely aware that her every word was met with reverence. In such short time, her sister had created for herself a haven.

  “Cora?”

  Elspeth smiled. “The steward’s wife. She is my housekeeper and my dearest friend. I do not know what I would do without her. Alas, we’ve only just returned, and the house has been in disarray for months in our absence. We spent the winter in Chreagach Mhor, you see.” She cast a glance over her shoulder to be sure Rosalynde was listening.

  “Chreagach Mhor?”

  “Scotia—near the foothills, where my lord was born.”

  Rosalynde could scarce take her eyes off the rich, colorful tapestries placed high on the walls, depicting terrible battles. Some of the figures wore a Scot’s manner of dress, others wore armor. Still others were depictions of swarthy strangers from faraway lands.

  Elspeth smiled, noting the direction of her gaze. “Lovely, to be sure, but, alas, they serve more than to please the eye. This part of the castle was built during the Roman days, much like Blackwood. The walls are not always so sound as they should be to weather the winters. If you listen closely—particularly in my solar—you can hear the howl of the wind through stone and mortar.”

  “Not so much unlike our cottage at Llanthony, eh? Sometimes I miss those days,” said Rosalynde, sadly. “As poor as we were, life was simpler then.”

  And even as pleased as she was for her sister’s good fortune, tears pricked at her eyes, and she planted her heels to recover her emotions. Elspeth spun to face her, her sweet blue eyes full of concern. It took Rosalynde a long moment to find her voice. “As you must know, I am not come for pleasure.”

  “Of course, I suspected,” Elspeth said, and with a sigh, she took Rosalynde’s hands in hers, warming them. It was a familiar gesture that Rosalynde had sorely missed. Only Elspeth had ever lavished motherly affection on her this way—loving her, reassuringly.

  God forbid Morwen should ever do so. “Our mother is a demon,” Rose said, in case Elspeth did not realize.

  “I know. Believe me, I know.”

  Rosalynde felt her throat thickening, again. Only when she could, there, in the hall, she explained all about the grimoire… and the perilous journey she had embarked upon. She told her sister about the Shadow Beast that bore Mordecai’s face. She told her about having stolen Giles’s horse in London, and Seren’s betrothal to the lord of Warkworth. Skipping over the night at Neasham she told her about the night of Morwen’s arrival at Llanthony and the atrocities their moth
er committed at Darkwood.

  “She swept into our cottage like a cold, bitter wind, put us on our knees and railed at us for being ingrates. All the while, Ersinius stood smirking as we knelt, choking on our tears. Once she was through, the windbag sent in two guards to escort Rhiannon out the door.”

  Elspeth’s brow furrowed. “Did they perchance take her to Blackwood?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Malcom spoke to her.”

  “When?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Elspeth said, patting Rosalynde’s hand, and whatever joy she’d had twinkling in her familiar eyes, it was gone now, at least for the moment.

  “We cannot allow Morwen to retrieve the book,” Rosalynde said, and she brought a hand to her breast. “In my heart of hearts, I know that book is crucial, and I am as certain of that fact as Rhi was the day she bade you leave us at the priory.”

  Fat tears swelled in her sister’s eyes; one slid past her lashes, then rolled down her cheek. “I am so… so… sorry,” she said, taking both of Rosalynde’s hands, and folding them together, covering them with her own. “I would have returned if I could… and yet… I did send Malcom to find you.” She peered down at her blue-slippered feet. “You were gone.”

  Rosalynde nodded. “We were gone by first light. Ersinius, for all his pandering to the Church, is her willing servant. He does her bidding no matter what cost. I dare not imagine what treachery they have planned together. But, alas, she has agents across the realm, including the Count of Mortain, and that stupid fool burned Warkworth by her behest—burned it to the ground.”

  Elspeth’s eyes grew round with ill-conceived horror. “Is that not the lord you traveled with?”

  Rosalynde nodded.

  “Does he know you are Morwen’s daughter?”

  Rosalynde nodded again and squeezed her sister’s hand. “Eustace must not be confirmed, Elspeth, and if you have any way to send word to Matilda, you must warn her. He is a villain, no less than our mother, and you were right… we must not turn blind eyes to the truth.”

  “I have dealt with that man; well I know it.”

  “So we heard. And yet mother would endeavor to convince everyone you are not here of your own free will.”

  Elspeth’s face flushed. “Rest assured, my sweet sister. So much as I loathe being apart from you, there is nowhere in this world I would rather be. Malcom is…” She inhaled deeply. “Blood of my blood, bone of my bone. He is The One the Goddess ordained for me, and I love him to the depths of my soul.” But then, Elspeth looked momentarily away, as though she feared the answer to her next question. “Pray tell, how are Seren and Arwyn?”

  Rosalynde shook her head sadly. “I do not know. They were well enough when I left London, but Morwen…”

  “Say no more.” Elspeth patted Rosalynde’s hand again. “We must not fear the worst,” she said. “Our sisters are as savvy as you, Rose, else I’d not be here today, and you… you, my dear sister, you would never have found me.” She shook her head with a look that betrayed both grief and wonder. “And to think you endured so much. I must thank Giles for taking such great care of my littlest sister, and I will be sure the kitchen prepares him something special.”

  Now it was Rosalynde’s turn to blush, and she did so fiercely, even as she lifted a thumb to her lips in dismay. “Aye well, as to that… there is something else you should know.” And then she told Elspeth all about their bonding… about Rhiannon… about the night they spent at Neasham.

  “I see,” said Elspeth, but if Rosalynde had expected her sister’s censure, it wasn’t forthcoming. Elspeth gave Rose a sly smile. “I should be the first to say virtue is prized far too highly. You must follow your heart, Rose, and the Goddess will bless you for it. Our sister will doubtless forgive you.” And then her smile returned, even brighter. “Come,” she demanded again, taking one of Rosalynde’s hands and pulling her again down the hall. “I will show you the rest of my home later, but now I really need to show you something…”

  Chapter 28

  The something Elspeth needed to show her wasn’t a cauldron at all—and now that she stood gazing upon the marvel, she understood why her sister had dragged her away so hastily and insistently…

  Two small babes lay swaddled in a crib, both fast asleep. One had the look of their mother, with pale coppery hair. The other had hair so fair that it could have been spun silver. Both their cheeks were round and high with color as they lay sleeping near a brazier. The woman who’d been tending them moved away to give her mistress privacy, and Rosalynde’s heart swelled with joy as she gazed down at the sleeping pair. “Yours?” she asked with wonder.

  “Born on the Solstice… whilst in Scotia. They came early, though it did not seem so. I was quite ready to be done.”

  It was clear by the look in her sister’s eyes that she was content—more content than Rosalynde had ever imagined.

  “We went to celebrate the Yule with my husband’s family, and, that night, I went into labor. This was two months ago.”

  “Twins,” Rosalynde said with wonder, as she studied the babes, shocked that both had come from her sister’s womb. Instinctively, she put a hand to her own belly… Twins were a Pendragon blessing—or curse, so their mother would have them believe, for she, herself bore two sets of twin girls: Of course, Arwyn and Rosalynde, but before them, she had carried another, but only one of those girls lived. That babe was Rhiannon.

  “Such beautiful girls,” Rosalynde whispered.

  Elspeth burst into laughter. She put a finger to her lips, stifling her mirth. “Never say such a thing in their father’s presence. He would cut out your tongue!”

  Rosalynde tilted her sister a questioning look. “They are not girls?” The blessing was nearly always girls.

  Elspeth shook her head, grinning behind her finger. “Boys, to my husband’s delight—and, you my dear, should have seen his father when those lads arrived. Sweet Goddess save me! Never in my life did I hear such a whoop and holler in a house.”

  Rosalynde giggled. “Well, I suppose it would be a matter of pride to father boys—and not one, but two.” She reached down to touch the air before the redhead’s nose, afraid to disturb either one. They were sleeping so blissfully, without a care in the world.

  “Broc and Lachlan,” Elspeth provided. “The fair one is named for a beloved uncle—a man called Broc Ceannfhionn. Alas, though, I did not meet this man whilst in Chreagach Mhor, but I have been promised a visit.”

  With a look of perfect rapture on her face, she reached down to smooth her hand across the sleeping babe’s cheek. “The name, I am told, means Broc the blonde… and he should be so fortunate if he receives the blessings of his namesake.” Elspeth turned to face Rosalynde. “He is lord of Dunloppe.”

  “I don’t know Dunloppe,” said Rosalynde, but it didn’t matter. Whilst she stood, gazing down at her sweet nephews, she felt in her heart that all things would end as they should end. No matter how much terror lived in this world, the Goddess would not bring such perfect little beings into this realm without hope—sweet fates, she was an aunt and Elspeth a mother!

  In the midst of so much heartache and peril, there was still so much joy to be found!

  Both babes were so astonishingly beautiful, and whilst the red-haired child’s face so much resembled his mother’s, the other one… the fairest child… seemed to glow. His countenance was precisely how Rosalynde always imagined the radiance of Taliesin to be. The babe’s skin was translucent, his nose perfect, his lips so rosy in color, his brows tipped with a gold so pale… She stared at the boys, comparing them, as it would be natural to do. After all, she herself was a twin, and she knew how different twins could grow to be… and yet, how much alike. At the instant, she missed Arwyn more than words alone could say.

  “He looks to be the image of Emrys,” Elspeth said.

  “Emrys?”

  “Our uncle, who died before Rhi was born. I never met him, though Grandmamau described him just so.”
>
  “Emrys,” Rosalynde said again, whispering the name as she tried harder to remember. But, alas, there was no memory for her to draw upon, because her grandmamau had been long dead done by the time Rose and Arwyn were born—murdered by huntsmen, though she mustn’t think of that right now… not now, when the man she loved carried the same serpentine sword as those men who’d arrested Morgan Pendragon to death… not when she had hopes to bear his children, even knowing what he was…

  Alas, that was something she had yet to tell Elspeth, and she dreaded the moment, because, so much as she could never keep such a thing from her sister, she also knew how much Elspeth had loved their grandmamau. It was bound to color her feelings about Giles.

  Giles!

  Peering up at the window to gauge the time, she realized with a start that they had left Giles waiting so long. She should return to him now, introduce him to Elspeth. She wanted desperately for them to know each other, before she dared to tell Elspeth what he was.

  Her heart longed for him, even now—even as she wallowed in the joy of her reunion with her sister.

  Her sister hadn’t any notion of the turmoil that raged in Rosalynde’s heart. “It occurred to me, Rose… according to Grandmamau, Emrys was a dewine,” she said, her voice soft and sweet as she petted her boys in turn. “Evidently, not only did Emrys look like the prophet Taliesin, he was blessed with his dewine gifts as well.”

  There were very few dewine males in the world—very, very few. Normally, these gifts were passed to girls, and even then—as was the case with Arwyn, sometimes the gift was not strong. However, when a dewine male was born, it was prodigious… Suddenly, noting the boy’s shimmer, Rosalynde blinked, as she looked up to ask, “Elspeth… do you think…”

  Elspeth smiled radiantly, though she still didn’t look at Rose. At the moment, her eyes were for her boys alone. “That he has our gifts?”

  Rosalynde nodded, and her sister shrugged, unconcerned one way or another. “Only time will tell,” she said, and then reached across the crib to cup Lachlan’s sweet cheek, her violet-blue eyes radiant with love. “Every time I think of our mother,” she said, with no enmity at all. “I turn my eyes to my babes, and they give me such faith. After all, how could there not be hope for all when I know the miracle of my sweet boys?”