“It is a pleasure to meet you, sir,” I said softly, as a reflex. It was not a pleasure to meet him.
Uriens gave a low grunt of assent, looking me up and down. He did not look pleased to see the blue on my face, or the skinniness of my body or the plainness of my clothes, that were still those I had worn in the abbey. Yet the man who liked those things about me stayed silent. Say something, Kay, I thought. If you say something I won’t have to marry him. Because I knew that was what this was about. Arthur would be angry, but only for a while. I did not think Arthur would deny Kay anything that he truly wanted.
“Uriens, this is my sister, Morgan. Do you assent to the marriage?”
Uriens gave another grunt, and a nod. I don’t assent. Then, I thought, he has not spoken because he does not really want to marry me, he just does not want to offend Arthur, and begin a war, or be forced onto what he thinks will be the losing side. Or he wants Cornwall and the rich castles there, my father’s fortune, which he does not know does not exist because Uther took it all away.
“Then the date is set, as we agreed, for the end of the week,” Arthur said, businesslike. With a curt bow of his head, Uriens left. So, it was that swiftly that I was bought and sold. No, I would not have it. If Kay would not step forward to claim me then I would claim myself.
“Arthur, I will not marry him.”
Arthur, collecting the papers from his table – the maps of Britain, the letters from foreign kings – did not look up to answer.
“Morgan, Lot is poised to squash me like a fly. I need Uriens. Lot has almost all the North, and Carhais and Brittany have gone with him. I have Ban’s sons in France, and I have Cornwall but I need Uriens and I need Gore, and I need North Wales.” He looked up, and suddenly I did not see the eyes of the playful boy I had spent half my childhood with, but the hard grey eyes of a king. Perhaps Arthur was born for this. His voice was different, more commanding, more firm. He had, while I was gone, grown fully into a man. He seemed so much older than Morgawse’s eldest sons, who were of the same age. I supposed when he became King he became the man that he was always destined to be, but I could not say I liked it. “You marry Uriens, or we all die,” he said, in a tone that invited no argument.
He turned back to Kay, who hardly seemed to be listening, and Ector – who had moved around to stand behind his son – then rubbed his face in his hands.
“So, we have Logrys, obviously, and Cornwall and Ireland and North Wales with Uriens. We have France. But Lothian and Orkney are against us, and they are strong, and besides, the knights of Carhais will ride against us from Brittany. Is there any way we can get Carhais on our side? Isn’t there a princess in Carhais? Doesn’t Leodegrance have a daughter? Kay could marry her; wouldn’t that get Brittany on our side?”
Ector sighed thoughtfully and tapped his foot, shaking his head.
“Arthur, Leodegrance’s wife’s sister is married to Lot’s brother. Besides, King Leodegrance can trace back ten generations of Celtic royalty in his blood, including Queen Maev of Cruachan, and the Bretons are proud people.”
“Kay is the brother of a king – isn’t that enough?” Arthur asked, irritated.
“Kay is not your brother by blood. The girl is betrothed to one of her own people, and even if she were not I have heard it said besides that Lot plans to offer marriage with his son Gawain to have her. If you were going to compete in marriage to get Carhais the only offer you could match that with would be yourself.”
“No.” Arthur shook his head, pacing around the table, pushing aside papers until he came again to the map. “A king should not marry until his lands are safe. If Leodegrance will not have Kay for the girl, then we must do without Carhais. What about his sons?”
“Arthur, you are out of sisters. Nothing else will do. You can hardly offer his young sons your lady mother.” Ector’s tone was weary, and I could see that this was a discussion they had had before. Arthur did not have enough female relatives to ensure all the allegiances he wanted. I could see why he was worried; the knights of Carhais were almost as famous as the armies of Lothian, and he was a beardless boy-king with nothing but the prophecy of a sword and a witch by his side. Still, I resented being given for North Wales. Why could I not marry into Carhais? Someone my own age? But it would not be enough. Not if the king there was brother-in-law to Lot himself.
“One of Ban’s sons could marry her.”
“Arthur, we have been through this; we are many and the land my father ruled has been split into little pieces between his sons. Carhais will not bargain away its only princess for less than a realm or less than royal blood.”
Arthur gave a violent sigh of frustration.
“Very well, we fight Carhais as well. Send for Merlin. I want Merlin here before the war begins.” I did not think Arthur would have much success in sending for Merlin. He would come when he was ready. Or perhaps he was already here.
I resented it, I resented being given away, and then them talking marriage and war around me as though I were not there. I resented Kay for refusing to look at me.
“Shall I leave, then?” I demanded, loudly. Arthur looked up at me, confused. He had forgotten I was still there. A thought crossed his face, the thought I knew would come.
“Morgan…” He stepped towards me around the table. Though we were among friends, all of whom knew, he spoke quietly, as though it were too much to say in full voice. “The child, Morgan?”
I nodded. “Safe, healthy. A boy.”
Arthur winced, which I had not expected. Despite its ill-fated conception, the boy was still his. I had thought, in the moment, he would be happy. He was happy enough before he knew that Morgawse was his sister. He rubbed his face. “What day was he born?”
“Mayday,” I replied, confused as to why it would matter, until Arthur spoke again, and his voice chilled me to the bone.
“Ector, send some knights to Lothian in secret, unmarked for this court. All the boys born on Mayday in Lothian. I want it done fast, and in secret.”
“Arthur –” Ector began, his tone both entreating and fearful. I understood this fear. I would never have expected that of Arthur. Arthur held up an authoritative hand.
“See it done, Ector.” He turned to me then. “You may leave now, Morgan.”
I walked back to my room, my head reeling; Kay’s silence, my swift betrothal, Arthur’s quest to murder his little son. When I got back to my room, I wrote two letters. One to my sister, warning her in the clearest terms I dared of what Arthur wanted for their son, and one to Nimue, begging her to come to Camelot before I was married.
The next few days passed in a blur. Arrangements were made around me for a wedding I did not want to happen. It was going to be a showy celebration, Camelot demonstrating that even as war loomed over it, its king could give a rich wedding for his sister and one of his vassal kings. One night at dinner Arthur even ostentatiously declared that he would provide a rich wedding dower, as though his father had not robbed it from mine in the first place. Kay seemed to be largely absent, or very busy with his duties as Seneschal, all of which helped him to avoid me. I felt the hot bristle of anger. He had left me to this fate, and now he was ignoring me. Just a little time alone with him would have been enough to make me feel less trapped, less alone. Lancelot, too, had gone with a band of knights to his castle to prepare for the war. I was glad, however, that he was gone.
Nimue came, two days before my wedding was set. I could have cried with joy to see her ride through the great gates of Camelot. She was dressed in a wonderful dress of sky-blue that was covered from its high neck to its waist in tiny sapphires that sparkled in the early summer sunlight, making her seem iridescent, sparkling in the sun like Avalon’s lake itself. She slipped from her horse when she saw me, and ran into my open arms. I hugged her to me. She was small as a child, and tiny and hard against me, but so comforting.
She came up to my room with me, with her small parcel of things. So, she did not plan to stay long. At least I would
have a friendly face at the wedding. She told me that the Lady of Avalon had died and she had taken her place, and her title as Lady. I felt a spasm of jealousy. I was being sold into marriage, Nimue had earned freedom and honour on Avalon. No one had asked me, and I was many years older than she. Still, I forced myself to be happy for her.
“I have a gift for you,” she whispered, her pretty, childlike face still with seriousness. She pulled from her bag a dress like her own, but black and sewn from its low V-neck to the waist with black jewels, and all down its long sleeves. It was a perfect fit. I thanked her warmly, embracing her again. Nimue climbed on to my bed and sat with her legs crossed and pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them and her chin on her knees. “Marriage, Morgan.”
“Marriage,” I nodded in grim agreement. “He’s an old man.”
Nimue nodded in thoughtful sympathy.
“I suppose all the black magic in the world can’t save you from who you are, Princess Morgan,” Nimue said, after a pause. I felt my heart race a few beats in panic. Nimue was the Lady now. Perhaps it was her task to ban Black Arts. There was no point in denying it in front of Nimue.
“How did you know?” I asked her, in a whisper, still standing, leaning back against my desk.
“I worked it out. Why you were upset that Merlin’s real shape is ugly, what you had been reading in the library, and now you feel different.” She lowered her voice, and leaned towards me, a fierce intensity gathering in her pale eyes, “I want it too, Morgan. Between us we can make Merlin give up his secrets. Give me the book of Macrobius, and I will get the rest from him.”
I was shocked. I had expected her to demand I give it up, or to punish me. But she wanted it. So Avalon would be different now.
I had traded the sword for the book. How would I ever get Excalibur back if I traded the book away? She could see I was hesitating to trust her. I thought I had a right to, considering that my short life had proved to me already that no one could be fully trusted.
“How do I know I can trust you not just to take the book?” I asked, tentatively.
Nimue shrugged. “You don’t. I don’t know that that book isn’t full of rubbish, and that you and Merlin aren’t trying to trick me together. All I have is you, and all you have is me. And we have a common enemy. Merlin. Give me the book, and I will make us both so powerful that we can have whatever we want. Remember, it was I who gave you the sword that Merlin stole from you. I am the only person who can protect you.”
Her face was a hard little mask of ambition, but I could not help but admire her. Who would have known that sweet, demure little Nimue had a hunger in her for power? She was honest, and she was, as she said, the only person who had helped me yet. I got the book from the cupboard and pressed it into her hands. I, too, wanted more.
Chapter Nineteen
The night before my wedding, I wanted to be alone. I did not even want to be with Nimue. I locked my door and sat with my books, looking over everything from the book of potions without reading them. I could not escape this with magic. It would do me no good to change my shape, because they would only look for me. I supposed I could kill Uriens, but he had not yet actually done me any wrong. I could drug myself so that I would want him, but I did not want to use my magic on myself, and live a half-deluded life.
I had seen myself as Queen in my dream at Avalon, so I supposed it had to be. I would go, and be his wife, and bide my time. He might be killed in the war, and then I would be free of him. It was a good life, the life of a widow. I wished, as I had done many times before, that Morgawse would make it safely through the war. Then we might be together again, two happy widows in a house full of my nephews. I thought I would like that.
I heard a soft knock at the door. I thought it might be Nimue, so I ignored it, pretending to be asleep. The knock came firmer, and I heard Kay’s voice call my name. I stood from my seat at the window, and walked over to the door. I lay my hand on the bolt, but I paused there. Kay had not warned me. He had not fought for me. But, tomorrow I would be married to an old man who seemed to find the look of me distasteful. I thought I deserved a last night of proper happiness with a man. As long as that was what Kay had come for.
I slid back the bolt slowly and opened the door. Kay stood there in his black and gold surcoat in the half dark. When he saw me open the door, he jumped through, taking my face in his hands, and kissing me hard. Any resistance, any anger I had in me, drained out in that blissful kiss. He pushed the door shut behind him with his foot, and I felt the excitement spark through me. We were alone together again at last. Kay murmured my name as he kissed me, hard and passionate, as though there was something he was desperate to say, that he could only say with his kisses. I scrabbled for the bolt, drawing it without breaking away from him. His hands ran through my long hair, pulling it loose from the plait, and I felt myself getting lost in his passion. I wanted to forget.
Suddenly, he stopped, still holding my face in his hands. I looked into his lovely brown eyes, full of resignation. My life was not going to end when I got married. I would not let it. I reached forward, to lay a hand against his chest. It rose and fell lightly under my hand. I had so much to say as well, but I could not. Too much of it was too painful, and if I said it, we would have no last lovely night of freedom.
Slowly, I flicked open the buttons of his surcoat with my fingers, and when it fell open, pushed it from his shoulders. He paused for a moment, gazing into my eyes, and I saw the excitement, the desire flash through him, and he pulled me hard against him, kissing me urgently, pulling me towards the bed with him. We fell back on it, me on top of him, and I tore the shirt from him. I knew, since it was the last time, I ought to have savoured it, ought to have been slow and careful to hold on to each moment, but it had been so long, and now he was there alone with me, it was overwhelming, the strength of his desire, and more so when I laid my hands, and then my lips, against his bare chest, smelled the familiar skin, brushed my fingers through the fine hair of his chest, then down his stomach, following the dark, tantalising line of hair down from his navel. Kay groaned softly and closed his eyes as I slid my hand down into his breeches. I felt his hands brush up my thighs under the skirts of my dress. As I pulled my hand away with a teasing smile, Kay sat up beneath me, pulling my dress over my head. He unlaced the underdress carefully, wary, still, I noticed, from when he had torn my underdress in half, and kissed lightly across my breasts as he opened the dress, following the opening down as his fingers pulled the laces free. I felt hot and light-headed, breathing fast already, feeling deliciously hungry for him. I felt his lips, then his tongue, lightly brush against my nipples, and I gasped. With a low murmur of desire, Kay pulled the underdress away and I felt the wonderful freedom of my bare skin against his hands, under his mouth. I heard him kick away his boots. I pushed him back down on to the bed and tore away his breeches. A wonderful smile of contentment and desire spread over his face as he took me firmly by the hips and moved me on to him. When I took him inside me, I felt my body flood with pleasure and relief to be back thus with Kay, to be close with him, to feel the joining of our love, and our bodies and the powers of the Otherworld. I laid my hands against Kay’s chest feeling the heat of his skin, the beating of his heart. I saw the pleasure rise in him, flush the pale skin of his face and his chest, and it brought the hot spark of excitement fast to the centre of me. I did not want it to be over quickly, but my blood was high and my longing strong and I felt the sweet spark of it growing fast at my centre. Kay, seeing me close, grasped hold of me, and turned us over with one powerful movement. He twined his fingers with mine, holding my arms over my head, kissing me dark and deep, as he moved hard and slow within me. But I was already there, and the wave broke over me, filling me with bright heat, and I gasped for Kay, through my desperate breaths. He sighed, too, low and long, and sank down on to me, his grip on my hands falling limp. Neither of us, much as we wanted to, could have held on to it any longer. I slid my arms away to wrap them around
him. He nuzzled his face into my neck and kissed me softly there.
“I love you, Morgan,” he whispered.
I said nothing. I did not want to say it too, not like he said it. He said it like goodbye.
Kay stayed until I fell asleep, holding me in his arms in a silence that was half contentment, half dread, and I laid my head on his chest and closed my eyes. I wanted the moment to last, I wanted to stay awake in Kay’s arms as long as I could, and for the morning and my wedding not to come, but somehow with Kay’s comforting presence beside me, I fell asleep quickly, and when I woke in the morning, he was gone.
Some serving maids came in the morning with a bath for me. I had rarely had baths before. I had always washed in the river, or in Avalon’s great lake. The bath came for me steaming and smelling of rose and lavender oils. So, I was to be a show of Arthur’s fine taste and sophistication as well.
Resentfully, I got into the hot water, sending the women away first. I had not grown up with servants as my sister had, and they made me uncomfortable. The nuns and the ladies of Avalon had done everything for themselves, and having women around helping me felt intrusive. I sank down into the hot water, and rubbed my limbs clean. Through the water, the patterns on my skin looked distorted, as though I was mottled all over in blue like a fish or a lizard. I liked it, though I was sure that my new husband would not. Not all men were like Kay. Most men were not like Kay. I was not sure, actually, if any other man was like Kay. Would every other man be afraid of my blue skin? My knowledge? Because that was really it – no man wanted a wife who knew secrets that he could not even guess at.
I ran my hands through my hair, feeling the clean hotness of the water against my scalp, and while the water cooled around me, wove it into a long four stranded plait, which was the most elaborate way I knew how to dress my hair, and not much better than the usual plait, but I supposed I ought to look different the day I got married.
THE WITCHES OF AVALON: a thrilling Arthurian fantasy (THE MORGAN TRILOGY Book 1) Page 16
