Dragon Kin
Page 27
Ilsa clutched at him, her heart stopping. “Truly?” she whispered, the need to fight draining from her limbs, to be replaced by something warmer and more languorous. “You love me? But…the curse…”
He shook his head and kissed her, as an answer.
Ilsa wrapped her arms around his neck, letting him hold her, taking in the pure pleasure of being in his arms.
“Are you so besotted with the woman you can’t even keep your hand off her in the middle of a battle, Arawn?” came the enquiry.
Arawn loosened his grip on her and looked around. Uther stood nearby, cleaning his sword on some rag he must have torn from an enemy cloak. He looked relaxed and calm. He was assessing the bodies lying behind them, his gaze taking in Kaila with her bloody knife and Ilsa’s blade, lying forgotten on the ground at her feet.
“Yes, I am that damned besotted, Uther,” Arawn said. “One day, I hope the gods strike you with this madness, so you may know what it is like.”
“Never!” Uther said and turned away. “We have a siege to attend, if you can spare your attention for a few more hours!” he called over his shoulder.
MANY YEARS LATER, ILSA heard the songs and the stories told about Doward and marveled at the embellishments the poets had added to the truth.
The facts were simple enough. Vortigern sent his waylaying party, knowing they would be slaughtered by the far greater host coming through the valley. It gave him time to withdraw into the keep and shut the fort as tight as a drum.
Ambrosius, who wanted to spare his men and resources to face the Saxons, sent a negotiator to Vortigern. Ambrosius offered him safe passage to a harbor of his choice and a boat to the continent, if he surrendered and laid open the gates of the fort.
The negotiator stumbled back to Ambrosius two hours later, his hands cut off and hanging in a bloody, dripping pouch at his belt. He lived long enough to gasp his message. “It was the queen’s doing!”
Ambrosius grew cold and hard with anger and ordered his army to surround the entire hill and not let anyone through the line. Ilsa sat on her horse beside Arawn. Maela, bandaged and her arm in a sling, was beside Mabon. The queen’s cohort was scattered throughout the circling line, as much a part of the army as any man there.
Arrows wrapped in oil-soaked cloth were distributed to all the archers. Ilsa took one of the arrows, her heart hardening. Arawn said nothing as she nocked the arrow then lowered the point for the boy to hold the torch against it.
She raised it up again, the tip burning hard, and waited for the order.
“Fire!” Ambrosius shouted, giving the order himself.
Ilsa let the arrow loose and watched it trail heat and fire, high into the air where a thousand more flaming arrows joined it, then plummeted down upon Doward.
Arawn picked up her hand and kissed it. He held it while they watched the fortress burn.
Thousands of people surrounded the fortress and not a single person moved or looked away, as the sun set red over the valley and the fortress burned to the ground.
The stories were true about that.
Chapter Twenty-Six
They moved to the open end of the Doward valley after dark and camped there, away from the stench and where the charred, smoking hill could not be seen.
Ambrosius’ officers argued over what Ambrosius should do next. Vortigern’s sons, Vortimer and Catigern, were still somewhere in the western half of the island and free to cause mischief.
The rest of the company set up cooking fires and soon the smell of hot food made Ilsa’s belly rumble.
She retrieved bowls from her pack and from Arawn’s packs which sat beside her sleeping furs. His packs were a bold, wordless statement of how much the world had changed in the last few hours. Arawn might return in time to eat the stew while it was hot, or she could find him among the men sitting around Ambrosius, discussing strategies.
She was at the fire, waiting patiently to dip into the cooking pot, when Stilicho found her.
Ilsa dropped the platters onto the big stone in front of the flames and turned to him. “Stilicho! What are you doing here?” She glanced at the armed sentry who had escorted Stilicho. “Thank you. This man answers to my husband. You can leave him with me.”
“My lady.” The sentry saluted and walked away.
Stilicho’s eyes widened. “He saluted you!”
“There is a lot to tell you,” Ilsa assured him.
“Stilicho! I thought that was your lanky outline!” Arawn moved around the fire, his arm out toward the man.
They gripped arms and Stilicho lowered his dignity enough to smile in delight. “I reached Calleva the day after you left.”
“You traveled here alone?” Arawn said, astonished.
“The land is completely empty,” Stilicho said. “Rumor of Ambrosius’ rage has scattered even the most hardened of criminals. I could have walked openly with a bag of gold and no one would have stopped me.” Stilicho looked about. “Is it true, what they say about Doward?”
“It depends upon what they say,” Arawn said, his smile fading. “Although, not tonight, Stilicho. It is still too near. Tell me why you are here, instead. You who dislikes travel so much?”
Stilicho reached under his cloak and withdrew a flask. “I wanted to bring you this.”
Ilsa stared at it. “Wine, Stilicho?” she asked, confused.
Stilicho rolled his eyes. With an impatient sound, he unstopped the flask, then gripped Arawn’s hand and lifted it. “Keep it there,” he said shortly.
Arawn raised his brow, his jaw rippling.
Stilicho grabbed Ilsa’s wrist and lifted her hand beside Arawn’s. “Now…” He tipped the flask over their hands.
Ilsa flinched as the liquid touched her flesh. It was warm, body-heat warm. It was clear and…
“Water,” Arawn said, turning his wet hand over and back.
“No,” Stilicho said, shaking his head vehemently. “Rain.”
Ilsa caught her breath in a quick inward gasp.
Arawn grew still, staring at Stilicho.
Stilicho smiled again. No, he grinned, all elegance deserting him. “When I boarded the ship for Britain, it had been raining for three days and looked to rain for a good few days more.”
“The drought has broken,” Arawn breathed.
Ilsa clutched at his arm. “It can’t have, Arawn. I haven’t born a child!”
“Then you will bear a child, in the near future.” It was Merlin’s voice, from behind them. They both whirled to face him, and Ilsa gripped Arawn’s arm once more, this time for balance, for Merlin had startled her.
Merlin’s face was shadowed in the firelight, his eyes twin gleaming spots in the dark. “Prophecies cannot be ignored. Neither can they be taken as literally as they are spoken, for once they have been spoken, humans reacting to those prophecies will change them. In your case, Lady Ilsa, the curse has been broken by the impending birth of your first child.”
Isla put her hand to her belly. “Am I with child?”
Merlin rolled his eyes. “I do not dabble in the affairs of women with their herbs and their love potions! My father has a kingdom to win!” He melted back into the shadows as silently as he had arrived.
Arawn drew her to him. “You must be,” he said, cupping her jaw. “And even if you are not, it doesn’t matter. You broke the curse anyway.” His smile was warm and soft and just for her. “You, Ilsa, have saved my life and my kingdom. I thank the gods I was ever cursed in the first place, for I found you because of it.”
Ilsa brought her lips close to Arawn’s ear, stretching up on her toes to do so. “I love you.” She whispered the profound truth, for men laid all around them, eating and listening to every word they said, watching this small domestic drama play out amongst them.
Arawn kissed her, anyway, and didn’t stop even when the men cheered and clapped.
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Once and Future Hearts series.
Pendragon Rises, Book 2.0
She is invisible to everyone but the blind man…
Anwen is the least favored companion to Lady Igraine, the Duchess of Cornwall. No man will marry her, for she is old and plain. Instead, she teaches Igraine’s children to read.
Steffan of Durnovaria was once a celebrated warrior in the Duke of Cornwall’s army, a friend to Prince Uther, the High King’s brother, and destined for greatness, until a Saxon war hammer stole his sight and destroyed his life.
To deflect Steffan’s anger from the warriors around him, Igraine directs him to help Anwen teach her daughters. The assignment brings him no happiness and terrifies Anwen, who has never spoken to a man directly in her life.
When the new High King, Uther, meets Igraine for the first time and becomes obsessed with her, Anwen and Steffan are drawn into a web of lies and deceit that could destroy Britain’s fragile peace.
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About the Author
Tracy Cooper-Posey is a #1 Best Selling Author. She writes romantic suspense, historical, paranormal and science fiction romance. She has published over 95 novels since 1999, been nominated for five CAPAs including Favourite Author, and won the Emma Darcy Award.
She turned to indie publishing in 2011. Her indie titles have been nominated four times for Book Of The Year. Tracy won the award in 2012, and a SFR Galaxy Award in 2016 for “Most Intriguing Philosophical/Social Science Questions in Galaxybuilding” She has been a national magazine editor and for a decade she taught romance writing at MacEwan University.
She is addicted to Irish Breakfast tea and chocolate, sometimes taken together. In her spare time she enjoys history, Sherlock Holmes, science fiction and ignoring her treadmill. An Australian Canadian, she lives in Edmonton, Canada with her husband, a former professional wrestler, where she moved in 1996 after meeting him on-line.
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