The Dawn Stag: Book Two of the Dalriada Trilogy by Jules Watson Page A

such a man for me, brother druid.’ Rhiann smiled sweetly and, to her satisfaction, the muscle in Gelert’s flaccid cheek jumped. ‘You have given me more than I ever hoped for – how could any man win the hearts of the Epidii so quickly, so completely, as Eremon? Such a man has not been seen for generations.’
    Gelert’s thin mouth worked in what passed for a smile. ‘He’s won nothing so completely, girl.’ His glance dropped again to her flat belly. ‘Neither have you, I see.’
    So insolent, as if he owned her. Hot anger rose in her throat. ‘And yet a child of the Erin blood, of my blood, does indeed already quicken, as you well know. He will sit in this Hall when you are no more than ashes on the wind.’
    Gelert blinked. ‘Ah, yes, the other whelp breeds, does she not? Interesting.’ He spoke of Caitlin as if she were a dog.
    Rhiann’s bold spurt of anger quickly died. She crossed her arms again. Under her fingers, bumps had risen on her skin. ‘Conaire and Eremon, indeed all the men, have taken this child to their hearts, though he is not yet born.’ She didn’t know why she said it, for her voice was strained, and Gelert’s gaze came back from the distant sky and sharpened on her face.
    ‘Indeed? Then I hope that the child comes safely in these uncertain times.’
    At those words the chill sank through Rhiann’s skin. Then Gelert’s eyes slid to one side, as a cough and shuffling of feet came from behind her.
    Rhiann glanced back. It was Didius, standing there with a determined look on his face, his dark eyes wavering only slightly as he stared somewhere towards Gelert’s knees. Rhiann nearly laughed aloud with relief. Didius had once vowed to be her personal guard, and he certainly had an uncanny knack of knowing when he was needed.
    ‘Curious,’ Gelert observed, ‘how you and your man strive against our dreaded enemy and yet keep one of them here as your hound at heel. Anyone would think you had something different in mind than mere defence.’
    ‘They are our enemies, and remain so,’ Rhiann replied coolly, turning back to him. ‘Didius is a prisoner, as you well know.’ She was belatedly conscious that Didius was also best away from Gelert’s attention.
    Gelert eyed Didius’s unbound wrists and legs with the same derision with which he’d studied her belly. ‘A prisoner, or an envoy? It is remarkable how such things can be easily mistaken.’ He glided away towards the shrine, his pale robe blending with the mist.
    Rhiann held her tongue for a moment, breathing steadily through her nose. Then she smiled wanly down at Didius. ‘I am sorry.’
    Didius was looking after Gelert like a stiff-backed hound, his body trembling, and Rhiann laid her hand on his shoulder. ‘Keep away from him,’ she murmured. ‘Do not let his eye fall on you for any reason. He bears me no love, and extends the same to those I care for.’
    A flush of surprised pleasure warmed Didius’s cheeks, and he dropped his eyes to his feet.
    Rhiann smiled. ‘You are part of my household now – I extend that care to you.’
    The kettle was steaming when Rhiann and Didius went back inside the Hall. Rhiann poured tea for both of them and took hers back to bed. Eremon stirred when she eased under the covers, flinging an arm out over her thighs, but he did not fully awaken.
    Rhiann held the cup to warm her fingers, gazing up at the hanging on the wall by the bed, seeing with her eyes only dark shapes against light, yet knowing every thread of it better than she knew her own face. Her mother had woven it before Rhiann was born, and it depicted the goddess Rhiannon on her White Mare. The mare’s sides were so pure they shone almost silver, and Rhiannon’s blue cloak trailed stars. The scene glowed with power, the power of woman and the Goddess, the Great Mother. And Rhiann had not only been named after this Goddess, but was also She incarnate, the Mother of the Land for her people.
    So how can I let myself fear Gelert