Abduction of Guenivere (Once and Future Hearts Book 7)

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  This time, the taking was slower, and to Tegan’s mind, far sweeter. This time, she cried out her own pleasure as Gawain’s body strained against hers.

  “Gods…” he muttered, when he caught his breath. “You are the sweetest of mulled wines, the rare ones that catch a man by surprise with their unexpected flavor.” And he drew her to him again.

  Tegan could not help but agree. While they spoke only with their hands and mouths and bodies, there was no disagreement, no hurt feelings. Nothing shadowed the pleasure.

  Sometime in that long night, she drifted toward sleep, only to be woken once more by Gawain’s body against hers, his mouth on her flesh, his hands stroking and stirring her to wakefulness.

  And afterward, the delightful release.

  But when the day had come and the sun was broad through the window, Tegan turned to find she was alone in the bed. Gawain had gone. Not even his armor or heavy war cloak remained.

  This time, she had no reason to hide her disappointment. If the speed at which a new husband sought the marriage chamber was a measure of how successful the marriage would be in the future, was the speed at which he left the chamber a measure, too?

  Tegan hoped fervently it was not so.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tegan did not place a great deal of faith in signs and portents, for they were wrong as often as they were right, but everyone in Camelot seemed determined to consult the oracles, both the human seers and the messages found in the fall of stones and the lay of leaves, the shapes of clouds and the movements of the stars in the night sky.

  After the moon had disappeared, everyone spoke of bad tidings to come. After the wedding, though, good luck seemed to take up residence in Camelot, making everyone smile.

  The weather turned hot, with enough rain to make the sweet new grasses flourish. Crops were planted in record time and sprouted evenly—another sign, they said.

  Guenivere recovered from her ailment and glowed with good spirits and energy. Her recovery seemed to infect Arthur with an unusual good humor, too. Tegan noticed him smile more often than usual, too.

  The preparations for the visit of the ambassador to the Roman emperor went well, although Tegan suspected they went so smoothly because Guenivere had the strength to work harder than three women put together, not because the gods had forgiven Camelot for its past sins.

  Nor did Tegan consider her marriage to Gawain to have been the event the gods approved of and rewarded with their good fortune, for while everyone else enjoyed their early summer, she did not. The knowledge that the marriage was blighted and had been from the start burned in her chest, unspoken.

  Gawain had agreed to try to find a way to make the marriage palatable for her, but that had been before the wedding. After that first night of surprising pleasure, he seemed to revert back to his old ways. He lingered in the hall at night, drinking with whatever senior officer would sit with him.

  The only time he spoke to Tegan was during the supper meal, for Guenivere insisted Tegan sit at the Lothian table with her husband, instead of by Guenivere’s side. As Guenivere was clearly quite well, Tegan took her place on the other side of the table from Agravaine and Gareth, while Gaheris and Gawain sat at the heads of the table.

  As her father would be left alone at the Dunoding table, Gaheris insisted Bricius sit with them, too. He took the remaining chair on Tegan’s side of the table. The first time they had sat at the table, the night after the wedding, Gawain had glared at them.

  Her father stayed on his feet, hesitating. “Gaheris requested that I join your table.” Her father used a diffident tone a king shouldn’t have to use with anyone. Only, Gawain face had flushed red, reminding both of them about the royal family’s infamous temper.

  Gawain shifted his shoulders, as if he was shrugging off the moment. “Sit and be welcome,” he said, his voice gruff. He had barely spoken for the rest of the meal.

  The next night he was just as brusque, but as night followed night and meal followed meal, he no longer glared at them when they took their seats, and sometimes filled Tegan’s cup with wine before the servants did.

  It was a tiny hope the pouring of a cup of wine generated, but Tegan clung to it, for it was the only sign Gawain gave that anything had changed, that he even cared to try to adjust to being married to a woman he didn’t like, as he had promised he would.

  Tegan didn’t know whose idea it had been, but the night after the wedding, Cai had shown her to a small apartment inside the palace and pronounced it as hers and Gawain’s. “You cannot stay in your father’s house,” Cai added, while Tegan tried to find words of thanks. “And there is not room in the Lothian house, with all those brothers and their servants. This way, you’ll be near the Queen should she need you, and Gawain will be within reach of Arthur, too.”

  So, each night after the strained supper at the Lothian table, Tegan would leave Gawain drinking at the table and trudge to the apartment that was nominally theirs to while away the night hours until she was tired enough to sleep.

  Sometimes she stirred when Gawain climbed into the big bed. Most often, though, she would wake to find herself still alone. She began to wonder if Gawain used the bed at all. Perhaps he had found another, more congenial bed to use each night.

  Only, his scent lingered upon the bedclothes and the covers of the cushions. And his possessions and clothes were moved about. Gawain was an untidy man, leaving things where he placed them, which was vastly reassuring to Tegan, for it told her he had been in the room.

  And there were the nights when Gawain woke her, his body up against hers, his hands shifting over her, his mouth hot and hungry. They would wordlessly come together, the pleasure mutual and intense.

  Yet the next morning would proceed as all the others did, as if the previous night had not happened at all.

  Things might have continued on that way forever, except that shortly before mid-summer, Idris, King of Strathclyde arrived at Camelot with his household, including his wife, Rhiannon…the woman Gawain had once wanted for himself.

  Tegan had forgotten how large Idris was. He was as tall as Cai but bigger in the shoulders—and Tegan had not thought anyone could be thicker in the shoulders than Cai.

  Idris presented himself and his family to Arthur just before the evening meal, when the entire court was present and waiting to sit. The Lothian table was located on Arthur’s side of the hall, so Tegan did not have to turn to look at the slave king, as he moved along the wide aisle and paused before the High King’s table.

  Tegan could also watch Gawain from the corner of her eye as he watched the family following Idris. Was it her imagination, or was Gawain following Rhiannon with his gaze, and ignoring Idris?

  Her heart thudded unhappily.

  Idris and Rhiannon and their three small children bowed and curtsied, while Arthur looked on, not smiling, and formally welcomed them to Camelot, and thanked them for attending the mid-summer festivities.

  Idris replied in his deep, growling voice, with the same sort of pleasantries and promises.

  “Sit at my table,” Arthur directed them. “I insist. For tonight at least.”

  Cai waved frantically and servants scurried to find an extra table to add to the end of Arthur’s, and extra stools and chairs, while the court waited silently.

  Tegan found her gaze pulled to Rhiannon. She examined the woman from head to foot.

  What was it about her that drew Gawain to her? Rhiannon was a warrior, too—at least, she had been in the Cohort shortly before Tegan had been given a place, and she was a fierce fighter, Queen Lowri had said.

  Yet there was nothing of the fighter about Rhiannon now. She was a lovely woman—dark of hair and with pale, pure skin. Her eyes were dark, too, and her chin strong. She was tall and slender, and dressed in a luxurious green gown with many layers, and a fine green veil that trailed down her back to end where her hair ended. There were green jewels in her hair under the veil, catching the light of the lamps.

  Rhiannon s
tood with a smile tugging at her full mouth, as she watched the servants fuss with the table. Then she turned her gaze up…and up to the highest rafters of the hall, which so many people who were strangers to Camelot did when they first spied the immense size of the hall and the height of the roof.

  Her gaze shifted around the hall, then, not lingering…not until she saw Gawain.

  Tegan’s heart squeezed as Rhiannon’s smile grew full and warm with delight. Worse, Gawain was smiling back at her, silently laughing in the old way. They could not speak or move, not until Arthur signaled the meal should begin, but their pleasure at seeing one another was plain.

  An invisible hand caught at Tegan’s throat and squeezed. Sickness coiled in her belly and did not go away even when Rhiannon’s gaze moved on and she smiled at Gaheris at the other end of the table, then found other friends and familiar faces among those in the hall, and acknowledged them with a warm smile, too, until Arthur sat in his tall chair and everyone was free to sit, too.

  Gawain did not pour wine for Tegan that night. The omission burned in her chest and mind. She found herself tracking the direction of his gaze. Did he look too often toward Arthur’s table, where Rhiannon sat? Was he more curt than usual with Tegan and with everyone at the table?

  “We should drink with Idris tonight, brother,” Gaheris said, during the meal. He seemed pleased with the idea.

  “Idris does not hold your father’s treatment of him against you, then?” Bricius asked, his tone polite. He glanced from Gaheris to Gawain. “A lesser man might.”

  “Thankfully, Idris is the great king our father never was,” Gaheris said. “We drink with him to put those times behind us.”

  “Idris is a great king because of the queen he married,” Gawain added, tearing a slice of meat apart with a stabbing motion of his dagger. “Strathclyde bent their knee to him because of her.”

  “Because she was of the north,” Gaheris added, as Tegan stared at Gawain, horror building in her chest and throat.

  Bricius rubbed his jaw. “I had not realized the extent of her influence.”

  “It helped that she is also the High King’s sister in all but blood.”

  Gawain gave a short laugh and took a deep swallow of wine. “I forget that when I look at her.”

  “She is…bemusing,” Bricius admitted and returned to his meal.

  Tegan could not eat. Not a single additional bite. The few mouthfuls of bread she had taken sat in her gullet like a rock. She was forced to sit at the table, though, until the meal had ended. She watched Gawain stare at the High King’s sister, while Rhiannon spoke quietly to Guenivere, and laughed and talked with the others at the King’s table, unaware of the potent gaze lingering upon her.

  The formal end of the meal was signaled by the refilling of Arthur’s big wine cup. Then, everyone was free to move about, or even leave if they wished. As Arthur pushed the chair back and reached for the renewed cup of wine, Tegan gathered her gown in hand, preparing to rise to her feet and leave.

  Gawain stood before she could. His gaze was firmly upon the top table and he wove through the tables that stood between he and the king’s without once looking down at where he was going.

  When he reached the king’s table, Rhiannon gave a little cry of pleasure and leapt to her feet, her arms out.

  Gawain pulled her against him and they stood, holding each other for a moment that to Tegan, seemed to last for a long, cold winter.

  Then they let go and stepped away from the table, both talking fast and low. Gawain looked happier than Tegan had seen him look in months.

  The sickness gripped her throat and squeezed. Her eyes ached. She lurched to her feet and moved to the postern door which gave her access to the interior apartments, including the one that was nominally hers and Gawain’s.

  It was impossible to relax once she returned to the room. Tegan walked in a tight circle in the cleared area between the bed and the chairs pulled up to the fireplace. No one had ever sat in the chairs, for Gawain was never here and it was nearing mid-summer and too hot for a fire, even in this stone chamber without a window.

  Instead, lamps provided light, but tonight she only lit one, enough to not trip over anything, including her own hems, for the gown was one of the new style ones with the trailing hems and extraordinarily long sleeves.

  If she walked in a circle for long enough, she would become tired enough to sleep.

  She had only walked for a while, her heart still hammering heavily, when the door slammed open and Gawain stalked into the room. “Why are you here?” he demanded. His cheeks were flushed, warning Tegan of a building temper.

  “There is somewhere else to be?” she shot back, despite her caution.

  He came toward her, his blue eyes crackling with energy and his jaw working. “You should be by my side. You are my wife.”

  “One you’ve never cared to have by your side before.”

  He drew back, his eyes widening. Then his growing anger narrowed them once more. “I wanted to present you to Idris and Rhiannon.”

  “They know who I am.”

  “At this moment, I do not know you at all,” Gawain muttered. “Rhiannon and Idris are friends. True and great friends. How dare you leave me standing alone like that!”

  “Because I could not stand another moment of watching you drool over her!” Tegan snapped, the sickness in her belly and the tightness in her chest circumventing any good sense.

  Gawain grew still. “I do not,” he said, but his voice was remote. Distant.

  Tegan laughed. “You were making a fool out of me, out there in the hall! Everyone can see you love her. You’ve always loved her.”

  Gawain threw out his hand. “As a friend, yes! Rhiannon and Idris…their lives are twined deeply with my family’s.”

  “You lie!” Tegan cried. “I saw you, Gawain. I heard you. Fifteen years ago, after the Battle of Coria. You stood upon a track in the trees and stared after her and told Gaheris you wanted to make her yours.”

  Gawain’s lips parted. Then he caught them back together. “You were watching?”

  “I saw it all,” she raged, every skerrick of good sense scattered and her tongue running freely. “You wanted to marry her. Or are you going to tell me that is another day you do not remember?”

  “Oh, aye, I remember it well enough,” Gawain said. “That was a long time ago, and she was already committed to Idris then, anyway. You cannot have been more than a child.”

  “I was ten. Old enough to know what I wanted.” At last caution gripped her. She managed to shut down the final, far too revealing words before they spilled from her. I was old enough to know I wanted you. They would expose her true feelings and give Gawain even more advantage over her.

  Gawain’s eyes were narrowed once more, but not in anger this time. He approached her with one slow step after another. “You’ve been watching me since,” he breathed.

  “I didn’t give a damn about you. I watched Rhiannon!” It wasn’t a complete lie. She had studied Rhiannon. “I wanted to be just like her.”

  His jaw shifted again. “Is that why you trained and joined the Cohort? Because of her?”

  Tegan swallowed, unable to confirm the truth. It was too damning.

  Gawain nodded, as if she had said yes, anyway. “That explains much,” he said softly. “Come back out to the hall again. Come and speak to her. Rhiannon is a good woman. You will like her and I suspect she would like you and I would have you be friends.”

  “No.” She shook her head. She could not bring herself to speak to Rhiannon at all. Her resentment and the anger swirling in her middle would rise and smother her thoughts and make her say things she should not—just as she had done a moment ago.

  Gawain scowled once more. She could see his temper had barely diminished. He had been controlling it, before. “Do I have to drag you there?” he asked, his voice low with menace. “For I warn you, Tegan, I will not let you make me a public fool.”

  “The gods know you’ve hum
iliated me enough!” Tegan cried. “How can I look at the woman, knowing you love her and have lied to me all these years?”

  “I told you—” Gawain began and stopped, his brows coming together, while Tegan pressed her lips together and railed at herself for her lack of control. “How have I lied to you for years?” he demanded. “We’ve barely spoken since Badon.”

  “And certainly we have not exchanged more words after we were wed than before.”

  Gawain ignored it. He came closer as if peering into her face would provide answers. “In what way have I lied? Tell me.”

  Tegan whirled away from him, hiding her face and her shame. Perhaps there was some way to avoid this. What if she simply refused to answer?

  Gawain dealt with her avoidance directly. He gripped her shoulders and turned her so she was facing him. He kept hold of her and gave her a little shake. “I am here and will remain here until you tell me what this is about,” he said, his voice low. “As your husband, it is my right to demand you stand by my side when I wish it so, but we agreed that we would find common ground, a way to make this marriage livable, so I will not. Instead, I demand that you speak to me.”

  “As you have spoken to me these last months?” Tegan said bitterly.

  Something shifted in his eyes. “You give off an air of intolerance, madam. It is easier to stay away.”

  Tegan’s lips parted.

  Gawain nodded, as he noted her surprised. “It works both ways, Tegan. We must both compromise. So I stand here and insist you speak. Tell me how I have lied to you for years.” And he dropped his hands, releasing her shoulders. He stood watching her.

  Tegan’s heart hammered, making her throat and her temples ache. Could she really say the words aloud? Could she really reveal the depths of her foolishness? To Gawain of all people?

  “Speak now,” Gawain said, his temper stirring once more. “Or I will turn and leave this room and never return, for I will know you have no intention of abiding by our agreement.”