Silver Silence Read Online Free Page B

the wretchedness of his body, rather than the wretchedness of his soul. For that small distraction, he was grateful.
    Silence spread like a woolen blanket over Avalon. Far off, a raptor screeched. Perhaps it was Hefin, hunting. The village, however, slept. Rhys had tried to do the same, on the spare pallet in Trevor’s roundhouse. He was as tired as he could ever remember—exhausted in soul as well as body. But sleep would not come.
    Sleep never came to him easily, here on Avalon.
    Aye, he could drop off at a moment’s notice camped by the road, under trees and sky. He slept effortlessly in vermin-ridden haylofts, or wrapped in a thin blanket in front of some stranger’s hearth. And he’d slumbered soundly in any number of beds belonging to widows and whores.
    But here in Avalon, surrounded by the people he loved, and who loved him in return, he could not sleep. His loneliness was too profound, his hurt too deep.
    He wanted what he could not have. Desperately.
    Gwen had scolded him soundly for staying away so long. He was sorry to have frightened his twin. Once they had been so close, they had shared nearly every thought, but now Gwen’s husband was first in her heart, and her connection with her twin had faded. Still, his sister loved him deeply, even if she understood him less well. He wondered if she suspected that Breena was the reason Rhys had stayed away so long.
    Now that he could no longer tell himself she was too young to give herself to a man, he could not look at her without wanting her beneath him. Or on her knees, her red lips parting eagerly. Or bent over a bed, or chair, or even a log, as he slaked his lust like a rutting beast. Or with her wrists bound—
    He broke that sickening thought with a shudder of raw guilt.
    Marcus would kill him for even imagining such things about Breena. But Rhys couldn’t help it. He might travel to Hibernia, or the far northern isles…hemight warm the beds of a thousand whores…he might drink himself to oblivion, or walk until he dropped…And still he would not be able to wipe Breena from his mind.
    The worst of his torment, perhaps, came from the knowledge that had he truly belonged to Avalon, he would have been able to have her. If his grandfather had not condemned him to a life of homelessness. Even though Cyric was dead, Rhys did not for one moment imagine he could give up his wandering on Avalon’s behalf. He’d seen, through Cyric’s magic, the terrible future Britain would face if Rhys abandoned his search for Druid magic. Only by bringing the most powerful Druids to Avalon, to be trained in the Light, could he ensure that darkness would not overtake his land and his people.
    Aye, Cyric’s vision of Britain’s precarious future meant that happiness was a blessing Rhys would never know. Perhaps there might have been hope, had Breena been raised in poverty, as Rhys had been. Until four years ago, Breena’s home had been a prosperous Roman estate. She’d been born to luxuries Rhys hadn’t even known to dream of during his own childhood. The comfort and security of the Celtic settlement of Avalon was a primitive life for her. The hard life of a wandering minstrel’s wife? He almost laughed. Unthinkable.
    He stared into the fog and the darkness. He should not have come. Visiting Avalon, far from comforting him, had only driven loneliness and hopelessness deeper into his cold heart.
    “Rhys?”
    He would have known her voice at a hundred paces. As it was, she spoke from only a few steps behind his back. He dropped his head and pressed his forehead to his bent knees. He could not face her. Not now. Perhaps if he gave no answer, she would simply leave.
    He should have known better. Even as a small lass, Breena had been too stubborn for her own good.
    “Rhys, what are you doing here all alone? Are you…all right? You’re not ill, are you?”
    He admitted defeat by lifting his head. “Nay.”
    He didn’t look back as she approached. His body tightened as she