“Yes, Lord,” she answered and now there was no mockery in her tone.
She turned and crossed the cabin slowly. She pushed open the inner door and then halted, her hand on the doorpost, and he saw an expression of loathing come into her face.
“Why do you hesitate?” he asked.
“The place still reeks of the serpent taint,” she said. “I had rather sleep on deck.”
“Those are strange words, Ywain. S’San was your counselor, your friend. I was forced to slay him to save the barbarian’s life—but surely Ywain of Sark has no dislike of her allies!”
“Not my allies—Garach’s.” She turned and faced him and he saw that her anger over her discomfiture had made her forget caution.
“Rhiannon or no Rhiannon,” she cried, “I will say what has been in my mind to say all these years. I hate your crawling pupils of Caer Dhu! I loathe them utterly—and now you may slay me if you will!”
And she strode out onto the deck, letting the door slam shut behind her.
Carse sat still behind the table. He was trembling all over with nervous strain and presently he would pour wine to aid him. But just now he was amazed to find how happy it could make him to know that Ywain too hated Caer Dhu.
The wind had dropped by midnight and for hours the galley forged on under oars, moving at far less than her normal speed because they were short-handed in the rowers’ pit, having lost the Khonds that made up the full number.