Page 164 of The Daughters of Avalon
After all, how did one comport oneself after the loss of a loved one when there wasn’t time for grief or tears?
Danger lurked in every passing shadow. Any moment Morwen could pounce upon them, and there was little to be done more than persevere.
There was no time for tantrums or tears.
No time for regrets or self-recrimination.
No time at all for suspicions or doubts.
And nay, she didn’t like Wilhelm overmuch—he was brusque and unbending—but at least he seemed dutiful, and she had a sense he was honor-bound to defend her—Jack, as well, if only because she’d begged.
But for all that Seren sensed he was acutely aware of them—every muscle taut and ready to defend—he scarcely looked at her. Betimes he rode ahead, betimes to the rear, but never beside them, always keeping to himself.
In the meantime, she and Jack rode together in companionable silence, near enough that she could, now and again, reach out and take him by the hand. As much as he could be, he was the opposite of their surly protector—as fair as Wilhelm was dark, sweet as Wilhelm was sour, and truly far more considerate.
Even so, the youth she’d walked with only this morn was hardly the same boy she rode with now. Like Seren, he was sorrowful to his soul, and who could blame him. During the course of a single day his entire life was changed.
Late afternoon they slipped into the woods to avoid a small band of bawdy travelers and re-emerged onto the North Road at twilight, when Seren was certain the bells must be ringing for vespers. Presently, they arrived at a rotting signpost, and she stopped to push her hood back and read the plaques—two nailed to the post, one newer, one older, judging by the condition and the paint. The elder sign read Ramsgate, the newest, with letters deeply etched and painted in white, read Canterbury.
“Canter…bry,” said Jack, struggling with his letters.
Arwyn would have been proud. As their trade for passage, the boy’s father had enlisted them to instruct Jack so he could learn how to chart and read the captain’s log. But the job was mostly Arwyn’s, to keep her from growing bored. Seren was content enough to sit and listen.
“Aye,” said Seren, mustering an approving smile.
Wilhelm didn’t bother to stop. Without a by-your-leave, he trotted past as Jack attempted to read the other sign.
“Whereare you going?” she asked in surprise.
“Home,” he said irascibly.
“Nay, my lord—not lest you mean to go by boat, and you’ll not put me on another after what I have witnessed. You would have to bind me, and ’tis not likely I would stand still to allow it.”
“I amnotyour lord,” he said again. “I am no man’s lord.” And he kept riding, without bothering to turn back.
Seren cast Jack a bewildered glance.
The boy shrugged.
It was her habit, she supposed, to call every man of consequence lord. Somehow, it seemed better to give deference, but clearly, Wilhelm did not like it, despite that he behaved like a willful lord, doing whatsoever he pleased, keeping whatever pace he saw fit, and never bothering to ask what Seren would like to do.
Hadn’t he said he was here to help?
“Wait,” she said to Jack, and spurred her mare to catch up with the sour-faced lout. “I do not mean to disparage you,” she confessed. “’Tis only that you seem more a lord to me than most lords do.”
He grunted in answer, but kept going, and Seren frowned. How was she supposed to travel with this man, who seemed so intent upon ignoring her? Since retrieving Jack he hadn’t said much of anything.
“What in the name of St. Afan would you have me call you if not lord?”
“Wilhelm,” he replied. “And since when do Pendragons swear by the name of saints?”
Seren lifted her chin. “I lived most of my life in a priory,” she informed him. And then she leaned over to whisper. “I cannot very well swear by the Goddess, can I? Else Jack would wonder.”
“Well,” he said. “This is your fault. Had you left that boy in Dover you wouldn’t have to pretend you are someone you are not.”
Seren bristled. “Can you, please, stop! Please?” She reined in her horse, peering back at Jack, who was still waiting where she’d left him, far enough away now that he couldn’t overhear their discourse.
“Nay,” he replied, without turning.
