Lord of Shadows (Daughters of Avalon Book 5) Read online

  At once, Rhiannon dragged her gaze about the hall…

  10

  The goblet in Morwen’s hand crashed to the floor, spilling its contents. Still, it didn’t faze Morwen, though it startled Rhiannon. For better or worse, the deed was done.

  There was no telling how long they had.

  Cael waited only another moment for good measure, and then, none-too-gently tugged Rhiannon to her feet.

  Already, the draught was taking effect. Most of his guests were following suit, laying down their heads, some in their trenchers, others beside it…

  A few toppled from their benches, and Cael made a mental note to secure his own position once the time arrived so he wouldn’t end up with a knot on his head, although perhaps if he did, it would better serve his cause.

  “You poisoned her?”

  Rhiannon sounded horrified.

  “Not precisely.”

  “What then?”

  “A sleeping draught.”

  “How did you know it would work?”

  “I didn’t,” said Cael.

  “That was your plan?”

  “Aye,” he said. “But don’t worry, Rhiannon, she’ll wake in good time.”

  “Oh, you mistake me!” she countered, and Cael smiled over the rueful tone of her voice. If any daughter had a right to despise her mother, Rhiannon had more cause than most.

  He led her quickly from the dais, dragging her through the hall. “I’ll warrant, she’ll wish she were dead once she wakes, and she may see to it I am.”

  “That is not amusing!” Rhiannon said, hurrying along behind him as they made their way through the guest-littered hall. They were dropping like flies amidst a cloud of smoked camphor. Only a few people remained awake—a handful of men and women he trusted. Everyone else was innocent of his plans, and he meant to make it clear they had no part in his ruse. Once the plan was fully orchestrated, those who’d helped perpetrate it would have to leave Blackwood. Already, they were gathering their numbers to flee.

  By now, even the musicians were drowsed. Together, they sank to their knees, and collapsed, their instruments banging across the rough stone floor. The lute played a hollow note and one of the pipes rolled beneath a table.

  As drogued as everyone was, no one paid any attention to the lord and his lady rushing from the hall. Cael doubted anyone could see further than the tips of their noses.

  “I cannot believe you did this!”

  “Oh, but I did not,” he countered, turning to wink at her. “You did it. I am but the besotted old fool who dared to trust his beautiful bride.”

  “Beautiful?” she repeated dumbly.

  “Infinitely so. And, in the eyes of the world, I am not the first husband to be betrayed, and neither will I be the last.”

  She sounded terrified. “But, Cael… she’ll not believe you.”

  “Too late, Rhiannon. ’Tis done. You’ll be gone ere she wakes, and even if she does suspect me—and she won’t—she needs me. Without me, she has very few allies remaining.”

  “It doesn’t appear this way to me! What of those Welsh lords she brought?”

  “What about them?”

  “Wait!” she protested, and tried to resist.

  Cael wouldn’t allow it. There was no turning back, no matter how many Welsh kings she’d brought. For better or worse, Morwen was now drogued, and come morning, Rhiannon must be gone. Daring to waste no time, he led her out of the hall, through the courtyard, past the cauldron her mother cherished above all else, and straight toward the hidden portal at the back of the chapel. He wondered if Morwen even knew it was there, it was so well hidden.

  Perhaps the child she had been once knew, but he was hoping the creature she’d become had long forgotten.

  “Remove your manacles,” he demanded, releasing Rhiannon’s hand to clear a path through the tangle of underbrush…

  Rhiannon froze, but only for an instant, realizing that, in truth, this was happening exactly as he’d promised. Only now she was terrified to go.

  Why?

  Because… suddenly it mattered more than words could say that her mother wouldn’t wake and punish Cael for deceiving her.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, mistaking her hesitation. “You’ll be safe very soon. I’ve engaged the services of a capable guide.”

  “I am not worried for me,” Rhiannon confessed.

  He was moving too quickly; she daren’t fall behind. Removing the ribbon holding the key from about her neck, she took care not to drop it in the weeds. She called out after him, “How can you be so sure she’ll not suspect you?”

  She heard the levity he tried to impart, but it didn’t ring true. “Because… I, too, will be drooling in a trencher once she wakes, and you will be long gone. Only for good measure, I’ll be wearing your manacles.”

  “Nay!” she exclaimed, and shook her head. “I’ll not leave without them. Anyway, why would I use them on you?” she reasoned. “For anyone but a dewine, the shackles are no more than a pair of bracelets. I beg you! She knows me well enough to know I’d never leave them to be used again—unless you intend to use them on her?”

  “Nay,” he said, stopping if only for a moment. “You take them.” And then he ducked beneath a small tree, forcing Rhiannon to follow.

  “Cael!” she pleaded, using his given name. “Please, come with me!”

  “Nay, Rhiannon, but don’t worry. She’ll not blame me. She’ll blame you.”

  “She’ll blame both of us,” Rhiannon persisted.

  The foolish man couldn’t possibly know what she knew, and perhaps he didn’t understand the danger he was in.

  Alas, he was moving too swiftly through the tangle of brush and she was already out of breath. Having been shut away so long, she hadn’t much stamina, and no strength to continue arguing with such a stubborn, foolhardy man.

  “Be damned!” she said, pausing for breath, and then, as best she could, in the darkness, whilst following, she scratched the small key near the aperture of the lock, and her heart did a wild leap of joy when the key sank into the metal.

  Like a lover waiting to be kissed, she savored the click.

  One manacle fell away, and she immediately felt a surge of energy return to her from the aether.

  Gleefully, hoping her feet would meet even ground as she stumbled through the underbrush, she sank the key into the other manacle, unlocking it as well, and her breath hitched with relief as the second bracelet fell away.

  “At last!” she exclaimed.

  Only now she saw stars swimming before her eyes as the hud returned to her full force—not merely to her limbs. She felt the lift like an inspiration of breath through her lungs, a wellspring of vitality that lifted her feet and gave her the sensation she could fly—she couldn’t of course. She could barely even keep up with Cael. Tripping herself rudely, she followed through the underbrush, her limbs awkward and all her pleas sticking in her throat.

  “Here it is,” he said, somewhere ahead. He grunted, then struggled with something large in front of him.

  Rhiannon could spy the outline in the dark. It grew in clarity as she came closer, her eyes growing accustomed to the night. With a final grunt, he shoved open a portal, and to Rhiannon’s utter shock, she found that woman from the hall on the other side…

  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 unmistak
able 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.

  “Won’t they find it?” Rhiannon protested, feeling oddly sentimental about her wedding gown. It was the loveliest dress she’d ever possessed—a bride’s gift from Cael, though not nearly as precious as the other gift he’d laid in her hand early this afternoon: the key to her shackles. If she lingered now, that gift would be squandered and England itself might be doomed…

  The sound of her gown renting made Rhiannon wince. “That is precisely the point,” said Marcella. “They’ll send out the dogs first and they’ll find the gown with your true scent. The tunic I gave you has been treated with another.”

  Tears scalded Rhiannon’s eyes as she stepped out of her ruined gown, faltering in her step. She was only vaguely aware that Marcella produced a vial and sprinkled the substance over her discarded gown.

  Benumbed, and breeze kissed, Rhiannon donned the sour-smelling tunic, and once it fell over her hips, she stopped to tug on the leather chausses, lacing them quickly, never bothering to step out of her slippers.

  She was dressed none too soon. As they reached a promontory, they found horses waiting, and Rhiannon noted a second companion, presumably her guide. The lad waited with the reins to their horses in his hands. He handed one to Rhiannon, and said, “I am Jack.”

  Marcella wasted no time. She placed Rhiannon’s shackle
s into her own saddlebag—perhaps realizing that even within proximity the bracelets would siphon her magik. “There are boots, as well,” she said, pointing to a dark spot in the grass. “Put them on, toss your slippers into your bag.”

  As soon as that was done, they were away, on foot, leading the horses down a narrow path by a sliver of moon. Only for good measure, Rhiannon whispered a prayer, but it wasn’t for freedom she prayed—she prayed with all her heart that Morwen wouldn’t wake to harm Cael.

  11

  In slumber, her face was… serene.

  The frown lines about her mouth, eased, the creases between her brows, softened. A thousand years may have been erased from her countenance by the curative power of sleep, and in the truest sense, she was, indeed, a sleeping beauty.

  And regardless, Cael was very well aware that, like a viper, she was equally as dangerous. One wrong move and she would sink her fangs into his flesh, and never let go until her venom sucked the life from his veins.

  Very, very gingerly, he eased the witch goddess’s limp form from her chair, to the floor. Somehow, her position in the chair had prevented her fall.

  Once on the floor, he rolled her over to inspect her more thoroughly.

  Clearly, Marcella’s potion was more powerful than she’d anticipated. He had his own vial ready in the palm of his hand, but he paused to assess her face.

  It was true; Morwen did resemble her daughter. As with Taliesin, they had the same almond-shaped eyes, the same full lips. The only differences between them were the coloring of their hair, and the contents of their hearts.

  And still… here and now… it was so easy to see her as the woman she had once been: Nay, not his master, nor his mistress, but his emancipator, and… at one time… she’d been a friend. As shocking as that might be to some, he hadn’t any outrage in his heart for Morwen… only a burgeoning sense of unease for the cancer in her heart—that hatred that consumed her day by day. But she wasn’t always this way…

  In the beginning, there had been moments of reason between her bouts of fury. She’d sat with him on many occasions, baring her heart and woes. Like Cael, she’d returned to this world with a heart full of grief and a drive for vengeance… and, very much like him, she’d also faltered in her mission, every now and again regretting the path that drove her to this end.