The Midsummer Wife (The Heirs to Camelot Book 1) Read online

  “Did she say how we’re to defeat a 1500-year-old angry priestess?” Harper said, clearly exasperated.

  “She said that you and I together were probably strong enough to defeat her.”

  “Probably?” he demanded.

  “I noted the qualification and asked her about it. My sense is, there’s a large possibility we will fail.” Ava had another sip of Scotch. No, the well-aged booze wasn’t helping, but the buzz it was giving her was somewhat reassuring.

  Ron and Harper stared at each other, open-mouthed. Ron said, “What happens if she defeats us?”

  “The Goddess says She has a plan that may work, but wouldn’t tell me, for fear Morgaine would take the details from my mind.”

  “Um, you didn’t actually say what happens if you don’t succeed,” Falke observed.

  Ava looked at the boy and sighed. “If we fail, Morgaine will rule Britain. How she will accomplish this, I don’t know.” Ava sank onto the bench beside her, rubbery knees too weak to support her anymore. She was so tired and frightened. She wanted to go home and dig in the garden and wrestle with that damned invasive vine or the root gnats she had been combating for two years. Or even deal with administrative duties and complaining delegates and supply issues.

  Anything besides face what the Goddess explained.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dinner at Drunemeton was a surprisingly delicious meal of trout and various salad greens, all from the grounds and greenhouses. Ava ate every bite. The conversation was pleasant and friendly, but they carefully avoided the events of the day or what Ava had told them.

  Ava barely spoke. Her mind was a whirl with what she had learned that day. What does it mean to me? What does it mean to the Goddess’ plan?

  Afterward, Ron and Ava drove back to Steadbye in Ron’s nineties-era Range Rover. Ron held her hand the whole time, but didn’t say anything. His mind seemed to be just as much in an uproar as Ava’s.

  The lights of Drunemeton Chapel appeared just ahead. Dozens of old cars were parked along the edge of the road. “Let’s stop here.”

  “Here? Okay,” Ron said, and pulled to the side of the road. He got out and opened her door, helping her out to join him under the big umbrella. Ava felt as if she was in an enclosed bubble with him. The agoraphobia was a dim echo in the back of her mind. They walked toward the entrance, and she could hear singing.

  “I’ve seldom gone into the chapel,” he said.

  “I was just here a couple of days ago. The original was built by Mother Anya shortly after King Arthur was killed.”

  “Really? Why didn’t I know that?” he wondered aloud.

  Ava pushed open the heavy green door. The place was filled to overflowing. Every pew was stuffed with people, many stood lining the walls. There was a little space for them just at the entrance. The chapel was unpleasantly warm and stuffy with so many bodies. Since there was no electricity, few had hot water, and the refugees had limited access to clean clothes. There was a distinct smell of old sweat socks and despair in the room.

  There were dozens of candles up at the altar and along the walls, but Ava didn’t know if that was usual or from the lack of electricity. The flickering light made a strange shivering shadow on the ceiling through the rafters, as if they were on a storm-tossed ship.

  In the center of the circle, at the lectern, stood Priestess McKnight in a robe of leaf-green. A handmade, multi-color stole showing the Goddess and Creation adorned her front. Her long, unbound white hair tumbled down her back like a river of snow. She wore a large Tree of Life medallion that was twice the size she wore when Ava first met her. Her golden eyes locked on Ava’s, and she nodded hello.

  The priestess studied Ron. Then she inclined her head looking out on her flock as if telling Ava: See? This is what I meant when we spoke the other day.

  Ava listened to the song, but it was not anything she recognized. The way the congregants were singing, it was more like a dirge. No matter how the pianist hammered the bass note on the old upright to try and bring the crowd on to the beat, they lagged behind. The tune sounded dull and lifeless.

  A woman at the front started to cry, then the man behind her. The weeping seemed to spread through the chapel. Not all at once, but in fits and starts.

  The woman beside Ron started to cry loudly, overcome by grief. Her knees gave way, and Ron caught her before she collapsed. The man beside her seemed unable to do more than hold her hand. Ava spotted a folding chair behind some coats in the vestibule and deployed it beneath the woman’s ample behind. Ron lowered her into it. The man leaned over, holding her, then started to wail himself. Ron straightened and looked at Ava, shock in his eyes. She stepped behind the pair and put her arms around their heaving shoulders, sending them calming, healing energy. The song ended, as did their weeping.

  Ava let go of them and stepped back beside Ron. He frowned as he scanned the room, observing the people around him

  Priestess McKnight indicated everyone who could find a seat should be seated. She placed her hand on her heart and the other on her brow. Then, she placed her right index finger into a beautifully carved maple bowl on the lectern. Instantly, a violet and white flame sprang to life. “Blessed be the followers of the Goddess,” she intoned, her voice carrying perfectly throughout the chapel without the need for amplification. The podium started to spin slowly, and Ava realized it wasn’t powered by electricity.

  The priestess spread out a sheaf of papers but said nothing for a long moment. The congregation waited with a dull patience, occasionally coughing or sniffling. Then she seemed to make up her mind, scooped up the pages, and turned them over. Priestess McKnight held on to the top of the lectern as if anchoring herself. “Sisters and Brothers,” she said, “tonight I want to share with you a dream, perhaps a vision, that I had.”

  The people shifted subtly. Some leaned forward, as if to make sure they could hear properly.

  The lectern made one revolution, and the priestess was directly across from Ava. She watched the elder priestess, wondering what she would do next and if she and Ron should make a hasty retreat.

  Priestess McKnight saw her look, then turned her gaze back to the congregants. “In my vision, all was dark. There was no hope, no joy, no future.”

  Many nodded. Several sniffled.

  “And then a ray of light from the heavens shone down. I saw a bright and beautiful land—our land! The sun was bright, and it was a new day. I heard a voice say, ‘Do not give in. Help is coming!’”

  People looked at each other, then at the priestess. The restlessness disappeared. Not a sound was uttered. They wanted to believe.

  The priestess continued: “I asked the voice, ‘When will it come? When will Britain be healed?’”

  Even though her back was to Ava, she could feel that Priestess McKnight wanted her to step forth, take that moment, and declare for the Goddess. But that was not Ava’s purpose in that moment. She shook her head ever so slightly.

  Priestess McKnight took a deep breath. “The voice said, ‘The Goddess sees the people’s pain. She is always watching them with love and compassion. All things—even the bad things—end. So shall this terrible time.’”

  Several people sat back, foreheads rumpled. There was a general breath out, as if the whole group felt let down by the lack of reassurance.

  The priestess was facing Ava again. She raised a brow at Ava. Please, Lady. Speak to these, your people.

  Ava closed her mind, hard, against her.

  With a slight frown, Priestess McKnight continued: “I know you good folk want to be assured that somehow, Britain will emerge from these days of sorrow. I wished it, too. I awoke from this dream or vision, and I had hope for the first time since The Day. But I’m a woman of faith, so I’m expected to keep belief for renewal in my heart, aren’t I?”

  Some nodded. The sniffles and coughs started up again.

  “But it was hard. As I saw many of you coming in to services, I realized just how shattered we, as a people, are. An
d I started to lose faith again.

  “Then, the day before yesterday, I received a sign.” The priestess looked out at their faces. “I can’t tell you what it was. But since then, I have come to believe that the day is swiftly coming when the Goddess will act. I know it. It’s not something I’m imagining. This was as real as you or you,” she said, pointing around the congregation. “The Goddess has given me a sign that She is about to intervene for us, to bring us back to the Light.” She paused, staring down at her clasped hands.

  There wasn’t a sound.

  “But it will not be easy. The task for her agents―mortals she will use to accomplish this―will be daunting. They’re humans, just like you. They have doubts and fears, even though they know they act for the Goddess. Sisters and Brothers, I want you to pray with me, right now, for them to be strong. For them to put away their fears. To walk with the Goddess. To accept our positive energy. That we believe in them, as the Goddess’ tools, to do Her will upon this land. To save Britain.”

  Priestess McKnight stretched forth her hands, palms outward. The crowd bowed their heads in prayer. Ava grasped Ron’s hand tightly and closed her eyes. She could feel how the priestess was taking the energy of the congregants and pairing it with the latent power of the chapel. Throbbing, the psychic force rose up through Ava’s feet and shook her bones. Ava wrapped herself in it, taking it gratefully. She would need it for what was to come. Then she fed energy back to the congregants, sending love and healing and hope back to those who needed it so badly.

  Finally, Priestess McKnight intoned, “Blessed be the followers of the Goddess.”

  There was a collective sigh from the crowd, as if they just woke from a bad dream.

  “I leave you with one final thought, dear ones,” Priestess McKnight said. “It is easy to give in to despair—especially with this rain!”

  There was a rustle as the people barely chuckled.

  “But we are British! We will survive, as we survived the Blitz, political upheaval, and terrorist attacks. Hold on to your strength. Know that the Goddess brings a resolution.”

  “When?” shouted a woman in a voice strangled with tears. Murmurs echoed her cry.

  The priestess smiled ruefully. “Soon. That’s all I know. We must be patient.” There were expressions of disappointment around the room. “Yes, I know. You want a date and time. We all do. But that’s not how it works with deities. Meanwhile, keep hope in your hearts and be good to each other. We are all suffering in one way or another. Good night.” She stepped off the podium and was thronged by those in the front.

  Ron gave Ava a look, and she followed him out the door, into the soggy night. They got in the car and headed down the lane. Rain hammered on the steel roof. Ron’s forehead was furrowed, but he said nothing for some time.

  “She was talking about you,” Ron said finally.

  “Yes.”

  “The priestess wanted you to speak up.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “That’s not my purpose here. It’s not the time or place for me to declare who and what I am, as I did with you and the Drunemetons.”

  “You couldn’t give them a hint?”

  Ava smiled sadly. “Everything must take its own time. I told the priestess the other day that I couldn’t bring assurances from the Goddess to her or her flock. But her vision somehow involved me.” She hoped he wouldn’t ask about the dream.

  “I felt something, during the prayer. It was like when we kiss, but less about us than about...the world. And then, well, it’s hard to describe, but I felt power coming out of you, as well.”

  Ava opened her hands, palms up. “Priestess McKnight combined the psychic force from the people’s prayers with the energy within the chapel. Mother Anya and her priest, Cedric, imbued the church with powerful spells when it was first built. That force has only gathered strength in the intervening time. I took as much as I could of this, as I know I’ll need it for what’s to come. But I also gave some back to them. I tried to send reassurance that things will resolve, that hope remains. I’m sorry I didn’t think to take my hand from yours. That must have been an odd feeling!”

  “It was strange, but I’m beginning to find that normal when I’m with you,” he said with a little laugh.

  “If we succeed—and that’s a big if—then you’ll be the king for these people. They’re in a lot of pain, mentally and physically.”

  He shook his head. “You’re not from Britain, so it’s hard for me to make clear to you how disturbing that was. I’ve never seen a man weep like that in public. It’s rare enough to see a woman do so!”

  “At least those in your economic class,” Ava reminded him.

  “I suppose,” he admitted.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Hours later, frustrated and tired, Ava joined Ron in Steadbye Place’s gorgeous two-story library. He was fast asleep over his book, a history of Britain in the pre-William the Conqueror era. She kissed his nose.

  Sleepily, he blinked up at her. “Hi,” he said, and kissed her. “You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever woken up to!”

  Anything Ava was thinking evaporated. “Sorry to be so long.”

  “Not at all,” he said, closing the book and putting it on the table. He reached out and indicated she should sit in his lap. Ava snuggled in, enjoying the pleasure of being in his arms in front of a fire. “Now, what’s going on?”

  Ava blew out a breath, in a flash as irritated as when she came in. “Oh, it’s fine. I got our invitation to meet with the government.”

  “Really? That’s excellent!” he exclaimed.

  “Yes, day after tomorrow.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said, watching her. “But…”

  “But nothing. We get our meeting and we’ll show the relics to support our claim of who and what we are.”

  “And there’s more to it,” he said.

  “Just, I thought I was stubborn!”

  Ron asked, “The person you’re in contact with didn’t believe you?”

  “Not at all. Despite the fact that her mother called beforehand and set it up. Vera’s entirely suspicious and really didn’t want to agree to this.”

  “It does sound crazy,” he admitted.

  “I quite understand that. I wasn’t expecting it to be easy. But this woman is unbelievably suspicious. She disconnected me twice!”

  “That seems excessive,” he said.

  “Anyway, that’s done.”

  He kissed her. It was hard to be irritated with that Vera Whatshername when Ron’s tongue was in her mouth. But as badly as she wanted to drag him off to bed, she could feel questions pressing in his mind. She had to deal with his concerns first. “Ask what you want answered.” She slid off his lap and sat beside him.

  Ron sat back, a frown edging his lips. “You’re reading my thoughts?”

  “As Anya wrote that she said to Arthur: ‘Your thoughts should be your own. It’s rude to enter into someone’s mind without permission.’ But I can feel your concerns. You won’t be happy until they’re answered. So ask, and I’ll try to tell you what you want to know.”

  He took her hand in his. “I don’t feel like a 1,500-year-old king,” he said. “I feel very much like a confused twenty-first century ordinary man.”

  “Well, not so ordinary, by any measure. But I know what you mean. I don’t exactly have a strong sense that I was some Nordic healer. I’m reasonably certain the Goddess wouldn’t lie, though.”

  Ron looked away and didn’t speak for a long while.

  As the seconds ticked by, Ava became more worried.

  Finally he said, “Forgive me for saying this: The Goddess may not lie, but Ava does.”

  And this is why all our carefully constructed stories were a very bad idea, Ava thought at the mental journal. “Harper pointed out today I don’t do it very well, either. Look, I’m sorry. As I said last night, I couldn’t just swoop in and dump all this on you and Harper. I had to feed you bit
s and pieces when I felt you were ready to accept them. Revealing them too early would have made you frightened of me and what we need to accomplish.”

  “The men in my family have what we call truthsense,” Ron said. “I try not to use it—I’ve learned to bury it, more or less. It’s, as you said about reading thoughts, rude. And it’s damned inconvenient when you’re a barrister.”

  “I imagine that would be difficult to deal with,” Ava said.

  “So, I’ve known you weren’t telling me the straight truth all along,” he said. “Still, I felt that you were trustworthy, if that contradiction makes any sense.”

  “I appreciate that you gave me the benefit of the doubt, and again, I apologize for not being entirely truthful,” Ava said.

  “Tell me, then. Why do I have the feeling you weren’t expecting us?”

  It took every bit of Ava’s courage to say, “The Leadership Council of the Daughters of Arianrhod wished me to seduce and mate with Harper.”

  He nodded. “Now we come to it. Explain why that choice was made.”

  Ava hated the tone of his voice at that moment. It had to be what he sounded like when he was practicing law: analytical, weighing everything he heard. His eyes were a cold blue. The only thing that kept Ava from despair was that he was still holding her. She took a deep breath. There can’t be any further lies between us now, no matter if it means he’ll push me away. “He’s the male power-user. Linked together, he and I might create humans better able to access their latent psi talents. Also, together we would be strong enough for whatever happens—although we had no idea about this possible attack from Morgaine or the Cult of Hela.”

  “Then what was the Sisterhood planning?” he asked, sitting back from her.

  Ava felt very suddenly and unpleasantly naked in a spotlight of his judgment.

  Staycalmstaycalmstaycalm.

  “Two things: The first is whatever happens that we create the Healing from. I’m still not sure what that is. But it was always anticipated that Harper and I would work together to make that happen.