Very gently, her husband’s fingers caressed her back, even as her own danced about the serpents on the hilt of the blade—a sword once gifted to Uther Pendragon. Not even her husband could see what she saw—and felt—the faint, but endless writhing of the serpents beneath the pads of her fingers. It was this very sword that once felled the Dragon of the Isle, a formidable king of Briton.
As the story went, when Maelgwn ap Cadwallon reigned over Gwynedd, the Church tasked a Roman warrior by the name of Uther to smite the Dragon Lord. To ensure his victory, they enchanted this sword, Caledfwlch, with a powerful magik so that he who wielded it would never bleed, and he who suffered a scratch by it would perish, if not by violence, by disease. Rather than lose good men in battle, Uther devised a plan. He invited himself to Maelgwn’s court under the pretense of friendship, and he gifted Caledfwlch to this king of Gwynedd, placing the enchanted blade into the man’s upturned hands so that Maelgwn could admire the fine steel. While Maelgwn stood inspecting the sword, Uther drew it ever so slightly across the king’s hands so that the metal stung Maelgwn’s flesh. Soon thereafter, Maelgwn ap Cadwallon perished of the plague, and Uther took his castle, retrieving Caledfwlch for himself and designating himself as the new Pendragon. That sword, lost through the ages, was recently found in the unlikeliest of places: in her husband’s armory. He gifted it to her the night they sealed their vows—a sacrifice only Rosalynde understood to its depths.
Unfortunately, only a Regnant priestess could unlock the full scope of the sword’s magik to serve another, and Rosalynde was no Regnant priestess. Yay, the sword still glowed in the presence of evil, but that was the least of its enchantment. Unless imbued, she would bleed like anyone else.
But, for better or worse, it was hers—and so was this beautiful man, who cherished her by day and by night. They were bound to each other, if not by the King’s Law, then by the laws of Holy Church and the laws of man—wed first by a priest, and later, after returning from Aldergh to Warkworth, they’d exchanged holy words ordained by the Goddess:
Adiuro vos per amorem in perpetuum. Numquam Separari. Semper in fide.
Bound in love, separated never. Always in faith.
She only wished all her sisters could share in her joy; Arwyn in particular. As of yet, only Elspeth knew they were wed, and they’d spent so little time at Aldergh after their ceremony, because they’d had such important matters to attend at home—namely the restoration of Warkworth. Months later, the fortress was now walled, with two sturdy towers guarding the gate to their bailey. The keep itself was well underway, and as a testament to the influence her husband wielded, they had more than two-years’ worth of rations stored in case of a siege. But this was where Rosalynde must rise to the occasion, because if Stephen came calling with his armies, and Giles was not in residence, it would be up to Rosalynde to lead the garrison. With only days remaining before Giles was scheduled to depart, she was ill prepared for him to go, and she knew it. Merely because she was possessed of a renowned sword did not mean she was prepared to wield it.
Sensing her mood, Giles cupped her chin in a hand, lifting her face, forcing her to look him in the eyes—warm dark eyes that made Rosalynde’s heart squeeze painfully.
“What troubles you, wife?”
“I miss my sisters,” she said, without hesitation. Because it was true—and particularly today, she missed Arwyn more than words could say.
“I know,” he said with a sigh. “I know. Fear not, my love. My brother will find them, and bring them home. I promise we’ll find a way to recover Rhiannon as well.”
But, nay. Infiltrating Blackwood was a fool’s mission, and she knew it. Giles had never seen their ancestral estate and couldn’t possibly understand how great a feat that must be. She doubted anyone could scale Blackwood’s walls. Cael d’Lucy was bound to have mended any disrepair, and he had the land itself as his ally. If Rhiannon, with all her magik, couldn’t escape the fortress, a thousand men in all their glory couldn’t penetrate the bulwark to rescue her. Even so, she nodded, if only for Giles’s sake. Her husband loved her truly, and his beautiful dark eyes were like a mirror, reflecting her joy and her sorrow as well.
“You’ve won my brother’s affection,” Giles persisted. “I vow he’ll move mountains to keep his promise to you.”
Rosalynde nodded, and this time, she said, with conviction, “I know.” And she smiled, warmed by the truth of her husband’s words and the unswerving loyalty of the gentle giant that was his bastard brother.
At first meeting, Wilhelm had been a curmudgeon. He’d scowled more than the Queen herself, but after their ordeal with that Shadow Beast, he’d come to respect Rosalynde. And then, when she gave all her gold marks for alms for Lady Ayleth’s soul, he’d come to love her as well. She had no doubt that he would bring home her sisters, or he would die trying. But that was the crux of it all: It was entirely possible he would die, and Wilhelm hadn’t any true notion how very dangerous her mother could be, even despite their tangle with that Shadow Beast. Alas, it was only a small taste of what Morwen was capable of.
Allowing her thoughts to wander, she considered the night she and her sisters had spent at Darkwood and shuddered. A full year later, it still gave her night terrors.
“Let us be done” said Giles, turning her about and putting an arm around her waist, gently leading her back to the marquee. “’Tis long past time to celebrate and I have a small gift to give you.”
“Another?” Rosalynde asked glibly, stretching her hand back and plucking her sword from the ground to take it with her.
“Aye,” he said. “Another. But this one will tickle your tongue and then later, I will tickle you with mine.”
Rosalynde giggled. “You are such an unrepentant lecher,” she said, jesting, but she reveled in the promise. For all that her husband was a servant of his Church, he was as lusty a lover as ever was born, and she was discovering day by day how to please him in return. If she kept it up, soon he might give up all resolve to leave her, and she would lock him away in their chamber, to tempt him day and night. The thought lifted her mood, but her joy turned to dust in her mouth. Without warning she felt as though she might swoon. The world wrenched itself from beneath her feet and her stomach heaved violently. It was a feeling unlike any she’d ever experienced before, but she understood what it was, because she’d feared this moment nearly every second of every minute of her life. And now… she knew… she knew precisely what it felt like to lose one of her sisters, and the feeling was… debilitating.
Clutching her breast, she fell to her knees. The pain was so intense that for an interminable moment she lied to herself, assuring herself it couldn’t be true.
But, yes, it was… she felt the loss acutely, like her very heart was being carved from her breast.
Fire turned to raining ash before her eyes, and just that swiftly Arwyn was… gone.
“Arwyn,” she cried, and she would have spilled into a hapless puddle on the ground, but Giles swept her up into his arms. Her eyes stung as she blinked away tears and peered into her husband’s worried gaze. “Arwyn,” she said softly. “My sister… she is dead.”