War Duke of Britain

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “Because he is on the battlefield all the time,” Rhiannon said. “He is the War Duke now. Even when he’s not fighting, he’s thinking about it.”

  Cai sighed.

  Emrys had moved off to one side of the command tent. Rhiannon recognized the house banner as Kernow’s. The camp was busy packing, although everyone moved quietly, their expressions subdued. They had lost their king yesterday, she reminded herself.

  Emrys moved over to the great fire pit and lowered himself down beside a boy sitting on the cold stones. The boy had dirty blond hair and pale blue eyes. He looked up at Emrys, startled.

  Emrys sat silently for a moment. Rhiannon slowed her steps and she and Cai moved up to the fire.

  “I lost my father yesterday, too,” Emrys told the boy, his tone gentle.

  The boy’s eyes widened.

  This was Tristan, then. King Tristan’s son.

  “Is that why you’re sitting here, staring at the ground?” Emrys asked.

  The boy shook his head. “I sat here because of him, yesterday.”

  “But not today?”

  Again, the firm shake of the head. “We’re going back home. My sister is to be married and they have to see to the wedding and I can’t stay here.” He scowled and hunched over his knees once more.

  “I’m the one who ordered your uncle to return home,” Emrys said. “Kernow needs to settle to their new king. Your sister must be wed, too. Life goes on, you see.”

  “Only, how can I be the world’s best warrior, if I’m not here?” Tristan demanded.

  “Is that what you intend to be?” Emrys asked.

  Tristan’s eyes narrowed. “Yes,” he said, his tone defensive.

  “I believe you,” Emrys replied.

  Tristan grinned.

  “Only,” Emrys said, “you don’t need to be here, to be the best. You can be the best wherever you find yourself.”

  Tristan frowned.

  “Your father’s cousin, King Brandegoris…do you know what he did?”

  Tristan shook his head.

  “Ten years ago, he helped the High King defeat Claudas, in Gaul. He was one of the mightiest of warriors in that battle, and he saved the King of the Magyar’s family, all by himself. Now the King of the Magyars is dead, the King’s wife and son will marry Brandegoris and she is a Roman princess.”

  Tristan looked awed. “I didn’t know about any of that.”

  “You should ask Brandegoris to tell you the tale. He will come to live with your uncle in Kernow after your sister’s wedding. Do you see what I mean? Brandegoris won fame and attention for being one of the best, a long way from here. You can, too.”

  “You did, too, didn’t you?” Tristan said. His eyes shone. “You’re from Galleva, which is far, far in the north, yes?”

  “Well, not quite that far, but yes. I suppose I did, didn’t I?” Emrys smiled. “Why don’t you return to Kernow with your uncle and become one of his very best warriors?”

  Tristan shook his head. “I will be the best,” he declared.

  Emrys laughed and got to his feet. “I believe you,” he said again. “One day, I will remind you of this conversation, Tristan. You will have forgotten, I think, but you will appreciate then what I have told you now.”

  “I won’t ever forget,” Tristan said.

  “We shall see,” Emrys replied. He took Rhiannon’s arm, and Cai’s and turned them around and led them back through the trees. “Sorry. He wore an expression I recognized.”

  They passed through a thicket of trees into a tiny glade. The glade was lit by a single shaft of light beaming through the canopy.

  Emrys turned to look at them. His expression was rueful. “I should apologize for ruining things.”

  “Ruining what?” Rhiannon asked.

  Emrys gave her a small smile. “Has Idris spoken to you yet, Rhiannon?”

  She grimaced. “Like Cai, you have had Idris running all night and all morning.”

  “Bedivere, too. And Cador, and Percival…life will be busy for a good long while yet, I suspect.” Emrys rubbed the back of his neck. “I ruined the life we thought we would all get to lead. All three of us together, helping Cai.”

  Cai snorted. “You’re the High King’s son. That life never really existed.”

  “Except in our hearts and minds, and that is the loss I regret,” Emrys said. He turned to face Rhiannon squarely. “I understand, now, what you tried to explain to me…stars, was it only yesterday?” He shook his head, then picked up her hand. “We three will move along far different paths than we planned.” Emrys met her gaze. “Things will change now.”

  Rhiannon nodded, her heart thudding hard. “They already have.”

  “Despite that, you will always have my heart and soul.” He rested his hand on Cai’s shoulder. “You, too, Cai.”

  Cai looked offended. “I’d rather have your friendship, thank you.”

  Emrys smiled. “Then you will have that, too.”

  “And your best fishing line,” Cai added.

  Rhiannon laughed.

  Emrys did, too. “When you return to Galleva, you can have all of my things.”

  Cai’s face fell. “Because you won’t be coming back. Ever.”

  Rhiannon squeezed his big arm and looked up at him. “Silly. You won’t be going back for a good long while, either.”

  Cai frowned. “I suppose not,” he said slowly. “This scouring of the Saxons…it will take a year or two.”

  “Likely more than that,” Emrys said gravely.

  “And I can stay with you and help?” Cai asked.

  “Always, if you want,” Emrys said easily.

  Cai looked relieved. “Then nothing changes, does it? We’re still together.”

  Rhiannon looked at Emrys and raised her brow.

  He said nothing, and her worry increased.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Shortly after Emrys and Cai walked Rhiannon back to the Galleva encampment, Idris arrived.

  He picked up her hand and kissed it, his gaze steady. “May I speak with you? Please?”

  Anwen smiled and took the pack from Rhiannon’s hands and pushed her toward Idris.

  He looked startled. “Here will do,” he said, as if he didn’t wish to be a bother.

  “Nonsense,” Steffan said. “You don’t need us to listen.”

  Idris glanced at him. “Perhaps you should. There has been far too much damage caused by people off whispering by themselves, pooling in tribes and kingdoms and spitting at their neighbors. Arthur wants to change all that. We should start now, shouldn’t we?”

  Steffan cleared his throat. “It is a laudable ambition, Idris, but you are entitled to privacy while you speak of intimate things. Any free man can demand that right.”

  Idris looked surprised, in his turn. “I kissed your daughter in front of everyone last night and claimed her for myself.”

  Rhiannon smiled. “He didn’t see it,” she reminded Idris.

  “I have heard five different versions, though,” Steffan replied.

  “Then why would I whisper to Rhiannon in private about how much I love her, when I want to tell the world?” Idris replied, with the same calm enquiring tone.

  Rhiannon’s heart leapt. “You do?”

  Idris turned to her. The expression in his eyes grew warm. Soft. He touched his chest. “With every beat of my heart, it sits in here, reminding me. Your strength. Your cleverness. You are the only person with the courage to come closer than the reach of my sword and as a result, you have utterly changed my life. I would spend the rest of mine repaying what you have done for me.”

  Rhiannon reached up and brushed the long locks away from his temple. “You have changed my life, too, Idris.”

  He looked startled. “I have?”

  “Yes, and Arthur’s too.”

  Idris made an impatient sound. “It is why I am here. Arthur sent me. He said if I didn’t speak to you now, he would sell me back to Lot.” He smiled. “He was joking, of course,”
he added hastily.

  “Why did he tell you to speak to me?”

  “Because of the commission.”

  “Commission?”

  Idris nodded. His gaze shifted to her mouth. “War Duke of the northern host, when they are called for—while their kings sit out the battles on the sidelines, under supervision. Companion to the War Duke of Britain at all other times.”

  Rhiannon caught her breath. “You are to stay with Arthur?” she asked.

  “There is no other place for me,” he said. “I have spent my life fighting. First for the Saxons and now, because of them, I will fight against them for the rest of my days. But I will not fight for a lesser lord than Arthur. Not now.”

  “Because of what Lot did to you,” she said softly.

  He shook his head. “Because of what Arthur will do,” he said. “I have seen so many battles, I have lost count. When I saw Arthur take Uther’s sword and lead the men forward, I could see he was a true leader. He will succeed, where Uther and Ambrosius before him did not. Arthur will win peace for Britain, Rhiannon. I know it in my bones and I want to help him do it.”

  He hesitated. “But…I will only stay with Arthur, if you stay, too,” he whispered. “Now I have found you, I cannot bear to lose you again.”

  She stroked his soft cheek. “You could never lose me. Not now. I love you, Idris.”

  He kissed her and the kiss grew heated and her limbs languid. With a shock, she remembered they were standing in the middle of the Galleva encampment and tore her lips from Idris’.

  The clearing was deserted.

  Idris looked around and laughed. “I am a free man and companion to Arthur and I am still scaring everyone into running away from me.”

  “Not me,” Rhiannon whispered.

  “Thank the stars for that,” he replied and kissed her again.

  Epilogue

  The Fortress on the Lake, The Perilous Forrest, Brocéliande, Lesser Britain. 485 C.E.

  Lancelot strode into the common room of the old fortress, bringing with him the smell of early snow. “The outer perimeter is secure for now,” he announced to the room in general, as he unbuckled his sword belt.

  Hector glanced up from his book, then back at the sheet once more.

  Nimue and Vivian sat at the big table, both reading folded letters. As Lancelot glanced at them, Nimue handed a sheet of her letter to Vivian. Lancelot realized they were both reading the same letter at the same time.

  “And I am honored to be of service,” he said, his tone dry. He shook the water drops out of his hair. They had been snow when they landed.

  Lionel came into the room, carrying a jug from which steam rose, and a tray of goblets.

  “Hot wine,” Lancelot said, his throat contracting. “Just the thing a man needs after a day in the saddle.” He moved over to the table where Lionel put the tray and picked up a goblet. “Have they been reading for long?” he asked.

  Lionel nodded. “All afternoon,” he said, his voice quiet. “It’s from Merlin.”

  “News from Britain?” Lancelot said, turning to the two Ladies, the wine forgotten. “What has happened? Tell me! Has another general call gone out?”

  Nimue glanced up from the letter. Her lined eyes creased as she smiled at him. “Hello, Lancelot. I’m sorry, I needed to absorb all the news thoroughly and think about it.”

  “Something has happened,” he guessed. “Please, tell me.” He slid into the chair beside her. “May I read it?”

  “It is in Greek,” Nimue told him.

  Lancelot wrinkled his nose. “Best tell me.” Greek was not one of his better languages. Languages in general were not his forte. Using a sword, though…

  “The summer campaign started early and ended barely ten days later, with both Aelle and Horsa executed, and the Saxons pushed all the way to the coast,” Nimue said.

  Lancelot’s breath evaporated. His heart sank. “Then it is all over…and I never got to fight.” Bitterness touched him.

  “None of us did, Lance,” Hector reminded him, looking up from his book.

  Lionel laughed. “You’ve both forgotten your history.”

  “Lionel is right,” Nimue said, smiling at Lancelot fondly. “The Saxons will return now, in greater numbers than before. They are desperate and desperate men fight harder and longer and more keenly.” Her smile faded. “Also, the High King is dead.”

  Lancelot tried to calm the beat of his heart as his instructors had taught him to do when facing the enemy, but the news was too profound. “Dead? Who is now High King?”

  “No one,” Nimue said. “Uther’s son, Arthur, is War Duke and will lead Britain to victory before he takes the throne.”

  “Arthur. He has emerged, as you said he would,” Lancelot breathed. Rich excitement flooded him.

  Vivian stirred and put down the sheet of the letter she had been reading. “He won’t be able to take the throne without a clear sign he is the true High King. This business with the broken swords will keep the suspicious folk from recognizing him when the time comes.”

  Nimue’s smile softened as she looked at her mate. “You have seen something.”

  Vivian looked surprised. “Did you not? It was clear, like a shout….” She chewed her lip. “You did see it. Tell me you did.”

  Nimue’s smile was gentle as she shook her head. “It was not my vision to see. My time has come and gone. The Matter of Britain is for you to see to.”

  Vivian stared at her. So did Lancelot. He groped for Nimue’s hand and held the frail fingers. “Do you…mind?”

  “That Vivian has surpassed me and will go on to guide the fate of Britain? How could I?” Nimue told him. “I have trained her for this, as I have trained you and Lionel and Hector for your roles in what is to come.”

  “It is time, isn’t it?” Lancelot said, hope rising in him.

  “Yes, it is time, Lancelot du Lac,” Vivian replied.

  Lancelot shook his head. “Lancelot of Britain,” he corrected her.

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  The next book in the Once and Future Hearts series.

  High King of Britain, Book 5.

  All she wants is to fight for Arthur and Britain.

  Lady Mair is a daughter of Corneus—the house of perfect warriors—and wants only to serve Arthur, War Duke of Britain, as her brothers Lucan and Bedivere do. Yet King Alun of Brocéliande wants to make her his queen, which would mean leaving Britain and Arthur’s court.

  Alun’s younger brother and Mair’s best friend, Rawn, sees things as Mair does—nothing is more important than being the best warriors they can be.

  Only Mair is
entangled in the politics of the kings and leaders surrounding Arthur, just as his army prepares to fight two major battles in one summer, and people wonder when Arthur will become High King of Britain.

  Plus, Rawn is hiding secrets of his own, that run counter to Mair’s desparate wish to be free to fight for Britain.

  __

  Praise for the Once And Future Hearts series

  What a great storyteller! I never thought that anyone could tell an Arthurian tale as well as Mary Stewart, but Tracy Cooper Posey has succeeded. I am just in awe of her ability to meld historical detail with legends and turn out a mesmerizing story.

  Buy your copy of High King of Britain now:

  https://tracycooperposey.com/high-king-of-britain/

  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 100 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.

  Other books by Tracy Cooper-Posey