Betrothal

by Mande Matthews

  QUEEN'S HONOR

  Tales of Lady Guinevere

  Book I: Betrothal

  By

  Mande Matthews

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Guardian Tree Press

  Queens Honor: Book I - Betrothal

  Copyright 2012 by Mande Matthews

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  Books by Mande Matthews

  Queen's Honor – Book I: Betrothal – Available Now!

  Queen's Honor – Book II: Quest – Available Now!

  The Light Keepers – a ShadowLight Saga Prequel – Available for Free!

  Bonded – Book One of the ShadowLight Saga – Available Now!

  Broken – Book Two of the ShadowLight Saga – Coming Soon!

  Dedication

  I remember the first moment I saw you;

  Like a magnetic pull from across the room,

  My eyes lifted to meet yours,

  And I was both lost and found

  In you forever…

  Inspired by my very own Sir Lancelot,

  I am always and eternally yours.

  QUEEN'S HONOR

  Tales of Lady Guinevere

  Book I: Betrothal

  A Note

  As I sit cloistered behind these stone walls, I have many regrets—regrets of Arthur, of not seeing him clearly, of words left unspoken, of time lost—but most of all, I regret I did not recognize I possessed the power to change it all.

  - Guinevere, Queen of Camelot

  The 6th day of November in the year of our Lord 536

  Written from the abbey at Amesbury

  Chapter 1

  - The 15th day of May in the year of our Lord 533

  I missed the warning signs: the smoke on the horizon, the absence of chittering birds as I snuck down the ramparts with my falcon on my wrist and Elibel on my heels and the meadow's hum underfoot as I raced for the freedom of the forest. None of these sensations signaled me to stop and return to the safety of Camelaird.

  Once I reached the woods, I ran with my arms outstretched, catching the air against my skin as my feet pounded over the tangled forest floor beneath me. The scent of pine replaced the smell of smoke, and my heart thumped harder to keep pace. Aethelwine flapped his good wing, gripping his sharp claws against the leather glove strapped to my forearm. I curled my fingers tighter around his talons, steadying him so he wouldn't fall. His silver-blue feathers ruffled in the breeze as he stretched his neck out to meet the wind. He cried out—a long, sharp call—as excited as I was for our escape.

  "Guin!" called Elibel from behind me. Her footfalls sounded softer than mine, and slower. "Guinevere! I cannot keep up!"

  "You wanted to come!" I yelled back at my cousin.

  The material of my gown bunched between my legs as I sprinted, threatening to trip me, but I had grown used to carrying the extra weight of a maiden's attire over the past few seasons and kept flying along at a quickened stride.

  "You said you were taking Aethelwine for a stroll, not a race!"

  Elibel's breath labored behind me and a pang of guilt over her frailty swelled in my chest. My limbs slowed, though they remained reluctant to come to a complete stop.

  "Besides, your father would not be pleased in knowing you ventured this far from Camelaird without a proper escort."

  I swiveled to face my cousin, with Aethelwine still riding atop my hand. The falcon twisted his head toward me, and blinked, questioning our pause.

  My cousin stopped and bent at her waist, heaving for air. The shiny braid of her hair fell in front of her, reaching down past her knees in her stooped condition. Waves of black escaped around her forehead and neck like trailing ivy. Her emerald dress splayed over the ground, while a secondary skirt peeked from beneath it, matching the silver threads of her overdress. She glanced up at me, huffing, yet hiding her annoyance behind round eyes that overpowered the rest of her features; her mouth and nose looked tiny in comparison. I fancied her a fey in that moment, with the kind of beauty an otherworldly being possessed. And yet, it was my attractiveness—unjustly concocted—that the bards proclaimed to every Briton. In truth, next to my cousin, I appeared awkward and pale. My skin nearly glowed with its whiteness and my bark brown hair seemed dull compared to the satiny darkness of Elibel's.

  "It's unfair to keep Aethelwine cooped up in that dreary fortress, forced to sit on a perch all day long."

  "He's lame, Guin. He'll never fly. Why worry yourself so?" Elibel squeezed out between breaths.

  "Just because one is broken in youth, does not mean they should give up on life," I said with annoyance as I turned from Elibel.

  A stream babbled in the distance and I picked my way over fallen branches, toward the water. The noonday sun filtered through the treetops, streaming yellow beams through the pines as if lighting a path to the creek.

  "Are you sure this is regarding Aethelwine?" Elibel called at my back. "And not the suitor who was in your father's court this morning?"

  I shrugged, intent on reaching the brook, but her comment sent uncomfortable shivers up my spine.

  Clear water pooled over rocks, creating a miniature waterfall. The stream collected in a pond a few paces down from where I walked. I hopped from stone to stone, balancing with my arms out as Aethelwine bobbed his head with each jump I made. The rush of the stream calmed my racing heart as I settled on a spot low enough to reach the pool without wetting my skirts—not because I feared a little dampness, but because I could do without the reproach from my father when I returned and he wondered what unladylike adventures I had indulged in. Not to mention, if a soiled dress betrayed my escape, he would double my guard.

  Elibel caught up and settled next to me, arranging her own dress as if sitting for a painter. I lowered my hand; Aethelwine hopped down, and began pecking for bugs in the moss that glossed over the stones.

  "Rumor says it was King Melwas who arrived to seek your hand this morn."

  I shrugged again, staring into the murky depths of the pool.

  "They say he's a handsome man—strong of build and tall of frame, with a comely face and his reign stretches across all of the Summer Lands."

  A shaft of light shimmered on the surface of the pond. For a moment, the rocks beneath lit and I spotted a whirl of movement—three golden fish swished in and out of view.

  "Did you see that?" I pointed to where they had vanished.

  Elibel followed my line of sight, shaking her head. "Marriage would not be so terrible, Guin."

  "In the pool," I said again, "three gold colored fish."

  "Goldfish?" Elibel's eyes softened and she smiled. "There are only trout in these creeks, Guin. And, minnows."

  Another wriggle. A flash darted through the murk. "There! See!"

  Elibel searched the pond then shook her head again. "No, Guin. I don't see. But perhaps…"

  "What?"

  "I cannot say."

  "Say what, Elibel?"

  Elibel lowered he
r voice. "Your father has forbidden anyone to speak of it."

  "You mean, of my mother?"

  She nodded. Thick lashes swept downward, shading her enormous eyes from my view.

  "You are my most beloved friend, Elibel. You can confide anything in me."

  Rumors abound of the late Queen of Camelaird, her heritage, her hatred of my father, and mostly, of the circumstances of her disappearance from Camelaird eleven seasons passed. Of course these whispers were kept from my ears, spoken in low tones in dark corridors, or when my back was turned. I heard them anyway, though no one would speak directly to me on the subject.

  Elibel's eyes darted with nervousness as if fearing we would be overheard. She whispered, "You have your mother's blood."

  "Well, clearly!" I blurted and laughed.

  Startled at my misplaced humor, and most likely reasoning that this was no light matter, Elibel's voice strengthened and her eyes steadied. "I mean the blood of the old ones runs through you, Guin. Maybe your ability to see fish that I cannot see means you…" She hesitated then added, "Such talk is blasphemous."

  "You think seeing the fish means something?"

  She shrugged.

  "An omen, perhaps?"

  Her shoulders hunched again, indicating her unwillingness to acknowledge the subject any further.

  "Was my mother a druid?" The question had lingered on my tongue for years, though I never dared to speak it; now the words raced ahead of me before I could rein them back into my mouth. I am not sure that I even wanted to know the answer. If it were true, my father's protestations to the Church of Jesu and his strict adherence that I follow a righteous path made more sense; he feared immorality lurked within me. "I hear whispers, Elibel, that she descended directly from the House of Don. Was she a sorceress?"

  "You don't remember her at all?"

  Tightness formed in my chest as my memories hit blackness. "But you do, don't you, cousin?"

  Elibel nodded.

  "And you will not speak of her?"

  She sought my face with her giant eyes, and I knew I could not press her any further. I would not be the cause of pain or punishment for her, or for anyone else for that matter.

  Reaching down, I smoothed my hand across Aethelwine's feathers. He fluffed at my show of affection and softly pecked my hand with his beak in return.

  "If it were up to me, I would never wed," I announced, changing the subject for my cousin's benefit.

  "I fear it is not your choice, cousin." Elibel's tone weakened. "Why do you think marriage is such a dire fate?"

  "If I were not a prize to be traded and sold for the price of kingship, or if marriage were based on the love of two souls then perhaps it wouldn't be. But I do not possess such liberties."

  "You do not believe that love can grow from such an arrangement?"

  Aethelwine released my fingers and switched his head side to side with a quick jerk and blinked, the centers of his eyes pinning. He let out a short cry.

  "I speak of true love, Elibel—the undying passion the bards sing of, the kind of tenderness that gives without want. How would I ever know if I were loved without end or merely tolerated for my crown? Indeed, how would I even know if I were worthy of such affection?"

  "If I were a man, I would care nothing for your status. I would love you because you are tender and caring." Mischief flashed across Elibel's eyes. "And a wee pigheaded," she added with a smile.

  "Oh, I see. You love me because I am as stubborn as a pig?"

  "No, because you are as filthy as one." She pointed to my skirts, which, regardless of my careful positioning, had fallen into the pool and bore a watermark stain above the hem.

  "You love me despite myself, because I am your cousin! See! Even your love is conditional!" I laughed again, falling to one side and pressing into Elibel's shoulder. I reached around her and squeezed her as punishment for her banter. She returned a rigid hug, but I knew her aloof manner did not concern me. She was never comfortable with personal affection, so I hugged her all the harder.

  Her limbs tightened at my touch.

  "It's a hug, Elibel. Not a bite." I reinforced my statement by pulling her close.

  Her lips spread into a thin line as her eyes widened with discomfort—so wide, I thought they would fill her entire face.

  I giggled at her unease and stood, pulling my cousin along with me when Aethelwine let out a round of panicked screeches.

  "What is it my friend?" As I stretched my gloved arm down, Aethelwine latched onto my hand with his beak and crawled up my sleeve to perch on my shoulder. A boom sounded in the distance as Aethelwine stared back in the direction of my father's fortress and released another rapid fire round of calls.

  Elibel and I exchanged a worried glance, then gathered our skirts and raced toward Camelaird. The spiral of smoke I had ignored earlier that morn reappeared on the horizon as we broke through the edge of the forest. The scent of burnt oak assaulted my nostrils.

  Every detail I had dismissed converged to make sense. Over several thousand paces ahead of us, an army stretched before the fortress walls. Warriors, their faces smudged blue with woad and their hair limed into spikes, ran up the ramparts to form a line below Camelaird's walls. Footmen with pikes, swords, axes and spears, beat their weapons against their shields, producing a thunderous clamor. A projectile whizzed through the air, splintering against my father's fortress on impact, creating another ear-splitting bang. Flagmen peppered the cavalry line; banners waved in the breeze bearing emblems of a shield and white hart.

  Elibel's voice trembled. "It appears your suitor, King Melwas, lays siege to Camelaird."

  Chapter 2

  "Father!" I yelled and attempted to proceed toward the attackers.

  Elibel grabbed my sleeve, holding me back. With the ruckus ahead of us, and our position at the edge of the treeline, we had not been spotted and Elibel edged us backwards into a more concealed position. But a flurry of screeches emitted from Aethelwine again, his head craning backwards, and we spun around at his warning.

  Over a dozen horsemen approached from the opposite direction. The beat of hooves increased, deafening as they grew nearer. All wore armor and bore shields enameled with a gold cross overlaid with a crimson dragon. But unlike the warriors that lay siege to Camelaird, their attire bore the progressive influence the Romans left in their wake after they retreated from our lands, signaling these riders as a different army—whether allied with Melwas' force or against, I did not know.

  Reaching for Elibel, I pulled her close, positioning her behind me. This time she allowed my protective grip without as much as a flinch.

  Their leader skidded to a stop in front of us, his black steed prancing under his command. His gold trimmed helmet shone in the sunlight while the matching plume danced along with his mount's movement. An iron breastplate, also detailed in gold, was held in place by elaborate shoulder clasps and a belt buckle that was molded into dragon scales. Chain mail stuck out from underneath the protective plate, which covered the man's arms down to his iron gauntlets. The hilt of a finely wrought sword, crafted with swirling, ancient designs, peered over an ornate scabbard that was fastened across his back. He hoisted his helmet off his head, revealing ringlets of golden hair. The spirals caught the sun's rays and glimmered as vibrantly as his helmet had moments ago. Elibel released an intake of breath behind me; I thought she would swoon at the beauty of him.

  The man's azure-colored eyes brightened with recognition as he scrutinized me, making me twinge with discomfort since I could not identify him. His smile flashed as sharply as his eyes. The warrior had an air about him—of one who knows he is good looking, and uses that fact to his advantage.

  The others in his retinue followed suit, removing their headgear as their leader had done, all except one, who remained obscured by his helmet. The mysterious knight pulled back on his reins, forcing his dapple gray destrier backwards until he stood at the end of the group. Unlike the others who donned breastplates, he wore lamellar; it c
overed his chest, shoulders and arms. His armor shone, as if just polished, and caught the sun's beams, casting a golden glow around him. For some unfathomable reason, I could not tear my eyes away from the knight. I examined him with curiosity, wondering why he hid his face, until their leader spoke and recaptured my attention.

  "King Melwas brought insurance incase King Leodegrance refused his offer of betrothal to your Ladyship." The leader's voice boomed as if he was used to directing crowds of men.

  His confidence caught me off guard and I choked on my words, unable to reply.

  Elibel aided me by asking, "What do you mean, sir?"

  She added a flurry of batted lashes as she spoke, which somehow managed to enhance her beauty and draw attention to the largeness of her eyes. If I tried such an obvious act of flirting, I'd look as if I had some unsightly spec stuck beneath my lid.

  Their leader's smile broadened at Elibel, inspiring another wave of my cousin's coy glimpses. His glance sped over her curves as if attempting to hide his obvious examination and subsequent appreciation of my cousin's figure, yet he directed his statement towards me. "Since Lady Guinevere's father did not honorably give King Melwas her hand in wedlock, he seeks to take it by force."

  How could that be?

  I squeezed my eyes shut, knowing well my title held the key to kingship in these lands. Though my father had given way to Christianity long before my birth, Britons in this area still honored the matrilineal rights of nobility. Since I had no brothers or cousins to contest the rules of the old ways, my position assured any man who married me the right to rule Camelaird. If not traded for the privilege by my father, conquered and forced would work just as well. Though one never spoke of such things, when the Romans had occupied our lands, the Druids and their brethren had gone into hiding for fear of abolishment from their oppressors. After the Romans left, our men grew emboldened by the new thought that kingship could be obtained in battle and passed from father to son, as their Roman occupiers had taught them before abandoning their posts, and King Melwas seemed no exception. Melwas' position on the subject confused me, though, since the Summer Lands had ancient connections to the old ways. I had assumed King Melwas honored those traditions.