lip, and drew blood. She reached for Merlin’s colorful wizard’s robes and pulled him down to her eye level, then she whispered her question before her father could reach her side.
“Where is Collin and Lachlan?” She instantly realized that she didn’t have to be concerned about the Leprechaun King, but somehow Lachlan had wormed his way into her heart, and as much as she hated to admit it, she did worry about his welfare. After all, she didn’t want to see him dead; she just wanted to see him squirm in his boots for a while. But Collin would be out of his element. Arthurian England differed greatly from the England of the 21st Century.
LADY PENDRAGON MARLEY MATHEWS 44
“They are both on Avalon,” Merlin muttered, staring down at her in irritation. He wrinkled his eyebrows together. “Molly, dear girl, you have blood on your hands, you shall stain my robes,” he pointed out, as he pried her fingers off of the expensive Faerie silk that his robes were made of. Though Molly had many gowns made in the fine silk from the East, the Faerie silk that Merlin wore was like spun gold beneath her fingertips. Rubbing the material between her fingers, she gave him a shit happy grin.
“I don’t give a fig about your blasted robes,” she muttered. She lost her breath as another wave of pain exploded in her side. It seemed to be some form of phantom pain. Even though Beatrice had healed her wound it still pained her deeply. Would it ever fade away? Being hurt by a black rider’s blade could haunt a person for their entire life. The darkness seeped into your wound and poisoned your system. Beatrice had pushed out most of the poison but still…Molly shook her head against her morbid thoughts. She had to stop dwelling on the past. The future stretched out before her. Come what may, Molly had to keep herself focused. She dragged in a large breath of air. Merlin’s eyes flickered with something unidentifiable. It almost seemed as if he had read her thoughts. His wrinkled visage softened as Mildred gently pulled her away from him.
“Cease your constant struggling, Molly. You need to rest. You need to get your strength back. I’m frightened for you; now just sit back against the pillows and relax,” Mildred instructed firmly, using her best motherly tone with Molly, as she eased her back onto the thick mattress.
Mildred began removing Molly’s gown, and armor, leaving Molly in her plain white linen shift.
Mildred pulled off her knee length leather boots, and then tore off the leggings that Molly wore to keep her legs protected during battle. Nicks and scratches still covered Molly. They had probably been caused by the thicket of trees they’d rode through on their way to Mount Badon, rather than the battle itself. She grimaced when she saw them and one larger scar, which testified that her wound had been severe. Beatrice had to be resting in her room. Healing Molly after such a terrible wound must have nearly drained all of her energy. Normally, when someone was healed by an Elf or Faerie, all of their wounds were taken care of as well. Sometimes, older battle scars even faded after the healing process.
Mildred noticed the nicks and scar at the same time as Molly did. Pure fear shone in Mildred’s eyes for the briefest of seconds, before she smiled and covered her near panic with shining love.
Mildred moved quickly over to one of Gwen’s great oak chests and flung it open as she searched for a nightgown. She pulled out one of Gwen’s white flowing ones and brought it back to Molly.
“I can’t wear that. Take me back to my own chambers. I won’t fit into it; Gwen is much smaller than I. She is more delicate than me,” she muttered, as she began rising from the bed once again.
“My dearest daughter, must I remind you that you are no larger than Gwen? You are only eighteen years old. “
Molly arched her eyebrow at the tone of her mother’s voice. Did she know? Her mother did speak the truth. In the
“Where is Collin and Lachlan?” She instantly realized that she didn’t have to be concerned about the Leprechaun King, but somehow Lachlan had wormed his way into her heart, and as much as she hated to admit it, she did worry about his welfare. After all, she didn’t want to see him dead; she just wanted to see him squirm in his boots for a while. But Collin would be out of his element. Arthurian England differed greatly from the England of the 21st Century.
LADY PENDRAGON MARLEY MATHEWS 44
“They are both on Avalon,” Merlin muttered, staring down at her in irritation. He wrinkled his eyebrows together. “Molly, dear girl, you have blood on your hands, you shall stain my robes,” he pointed out, as he pried her fingers off of the expensive Faerie silk that his robes were made of. Though Molly had many gowns made in the fine silk from the East, the Faerie silk that Merlin wore was like spun gold beneath her fingertips. Rubbing the material between her fingers, she gave him a shit happy grin.
“I don’t give a fig about your blasted robes,” she muttered. She lost her breath as another wave of pain exploded in her side. It seemed to be some form of phantom pain. Even though Beatrice had healed her wound it still pained her deeply. Would it ever fade away? Being hurt by a black rider’s blade could haunt a person for their entire life. The darkness seeped into your wound and poisoned your system. Beatrice had pushed out most of the poison but still…Molly shook her head against her morbid thoughts. She had to stop dwelling on the past. The future stretched out before her. Come what may, Molly had to keep herself focused. She dragged in a large breath of air. Merlin’s eyes flickered with something unidentifiable. It almost seemed as if he had read her thoughts. His wrinkled visage softened as Mildred gently pulled her away from him.
“Cease your constant struggling, Molly. You need to rest. You need to get your strength back. I’m frightened for you; now just sit back against the pillows and relax,” Mildred instructed firmly, using her best motherly tone with Molly, as she eased her back onto the thick mattress.
Mildred began removing Molly’s gown, and armor, leaving Molly in her plain white linen shift.
Mildred pulled off her knee length leather boots, and then tore off the leggings that Molly wore to keep her legs protected during battle. Nicks and scratches still covered Molly. They had probably been caused by the thicket of trees they’d rode through on their way to Mount Badon, rather than the battle itself. She grimaced when she saw them and one larger scar, which testified that her wound had been severe. Beatrice had to be resting in her room. Healing Molly after such a terrible wound must have nearly drained all of her energy. Normally, when someone was healed by an Elf or Faerie, all of their wounds were taken care of as well. Sometimes, older battle scars even faded after the healing process.
Mildred noticed the nicks and scar at the same time as Molly did. Pure fear shone in Mildred’s eyes for the briefest of seconds, before she smiled and covered her near panic with shining love.
Mildred moved quickly over to one of Gwen’s great oak chests and flung it open as she searched for a nightgown. She pulled out one of Gwen’s white flowing ones and brought it back to Molly.
“I can’t wear that. Take me back to my own chambers. I won’t fit into it; Gwen is much smaller than I. She is more delicate than me,” she muttered, as she began rising from the bed once again.
“My dearest daughter, must I remind you that you are no larger than Gwen? You are only eighteen years old. “
Molly arched her eyebrow at the tone of her mother’s voice. Did she know? Her mother did speak the truth. In the
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