Betrothal

by Mande Matthews

  A heavy sigh escaped my cousin. "Those days are gone, Guin."

  We sat, silent for long moments, as the torchlight flickered.

  "What did you and the knight speak of?" I asked.

  Elibel turned her colossal eyes on me, searching my face. "It's dangerous to love him, Guin."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Sir Lancelot. You cannot allow yourself to love him."

  I shook my head at the implication. "Love? I don't—"

  "You do."

  I turned and stared back at her. Could love be the inexplicable feeling I had for him? "How can you tell?"

  "The looks you pass between one another. The emotion is palpable."

  I considered her statement. "Do you think he feels—"

  "Hush, Guin. Let it go. It will only do you ill to think of him in such a way. You are betrothed to Arthur."

  An unappealing snort escaped me at the thought. Arthur.

  "Arthur is not so terrible, Guin. He's handsome—blindingly so. He's intelligent, powerful, witty and courageous." She sighed. "Marriage to such a man would be like living in the Land of the Blessed, cousin."

  Her statement clicked into realization. All of the times we spoke of marriage, and I had not noticed how smitten she was with the idea.

  "Elibel, do you wish to marry?"

  My cousin remained silent, but the downward cast of her eyes told of her truth.

  "I'm sorry, cousin. I didn't know. Why haven't you ever spoken of your desire?"

  "I am your lady. My loyalty goes to you. When your father appointed me, I was honored at the position. I still am." Though her speech rose in passion, she still avoided my gaze.

  "I can release you from my service and you will be free to seek love."

  "You could no more release me from my station than I could release you from yours."

  "But as queen, I could ask for the favor."

  Elibel turned her eyes upon me. They shone as if wetness slicked the surface. "If you were Arthur's queen, it would not matter."

  Her emphasis on Arthur's name set off another light in my brain. Why hadn't I seen it before?

  "You wish to marry Arthur?"

  A tear escaped from Elibel's huge eye, flowing down over her cheek. She pressed her delicate fingers over her lips to suppress another eruption.

  "Oh, Elibel—"

  "Oh, Guin." Her eyes rounded on me. Pools welled in the corners. "I've heard of Arthur's valor for years, and all that time, I fantasized about what such a man would be like. It seemed an innocent preoccupation until he arrived and exceeded every expectation I had and more." Her shoulders quaked as she continued, "Then when your father announced…"

  Elibel took in a breath unable to continue. A whimper escaped with another inhale and she started again, "When I saw the look between you and Sir Lancelot, I knew my duty was to remove him before anyone else noticed your attraction, but the truth was that I had to leave the chamber as I could not bear to stay, knowing you and Arthur were betrothed. I needed time before I could face you. I shouldn't have even told you, but—"

  "You removed Lancelot because of me?"

  "Of course. What did you think?"

  "That you—" I couldn't continue out of shame for my narrow thoughts towards my cousin's intentions.

  "You thought I sought his attention?" Her sniff contained a skeptical laugh.

  I nodded and cast my head downward.

  "Oh, Guin. I would never betray you. I love you too much."

  I reached over and snuggled my arms around my cousin. She stiffened at first, then gave way to my embrace and wept in the crook of my neck as I smoothed my hand down the length of her hair.

  "Our unfortunate lots have been cast, Guin," she said between sobs. "It seems our stations provide a prison for us both."

  "My Lady."

  The deep voice startled us both. We separated and turned in unison.

  Sir Lancelot stood silhouetted by the entryway to the frigidarium room where we conversed. How long had he watched us? What had he heard?

  My heartbeat quickened at the memory of our conversation. I fought the urge to squeeze my eyes shut from embarrassment when Elibel cut in.

  "What do you require, sir?" Her tone leveled, nullifying any of her previous emotion with an expertise only Elibel could accomplish.

  Though the knight's face remained in shadow, his stance seemed tense—urgent even. He shifted his weight, and bent a measure at his knees as if ready to unsheathe his sword and strike an unknown foe at any moment.

  "A pressing matter requires your attendance. I beseech you My Lady, you must hasten along with me without pause."

  Chapter 9

  "What matter do you speak of?" I asked Sir Lancelot as we hurried through the annexed rooms of the bathhouse.

  The chambers grew dimmer as we rushed. Lancelot grabbed for a torch set within a wall sconce to brighten our path, wrapping his hand around the stump of the handle. I noted that hand—remembering the strength and gentleness it provided.

  "It is my duty to deliver you, My Lady. No more and no less," he replied.

  My insides wobbled at the formality of his statement; I sought to keep the conversation going, if only to hear the low resonance of his voice.

  "I wanted to offer my gratitude for today. You risked much to see me returned unharmed."

  "Your safekeeping is my duty, My Lady."

  His duty? Is that what I am to him? Does he not experience the same passions I do? Or had he indeed overheard our conversation and sought to set me back on a righteous path toward Arthur? I mentally scrambled to recall the words Elibel and I exchanged and if they informed on my true feelings for the knight while my mouth, unattended by my mind, ran off on its own accord.

  "Just your duty?" I blurted.

  Elibel nudged me with her elbow. I shot her a warning look, but she returned my glance with a cautionary glare of her own.

  "Yes, My Lady." Lancelot's expression remained unreadable.

  Even though I spoke out of turn, my heart sunk at the implication his cold response provided. Had our encounter been one-sided? Had I been a fool to believe he felt anything at all? I remembered Elibel's warning and resolved to let it go as she advised, but my attempt failed and my chest pinched with tightness.

  Lancelot's angular features betrayed no emotion as he directed Elibel and me toward the doorway. His hand sought the small of my back, guiding me through the exit. A rush of warmth washed my skin underneath my gown; I fought back the desire that rose at his touch.

  His pace quickened as we emerged into the street. He pressed me along with a firm hand, and I imagined how tender his touch would be if his hands sought to wrap around my waist, as they had been around Elibel's earlier in the day.

  Suddenly, my fantasy broke by the dimming of the torchlight—as if the flames struggled for air. Elibel started, her breath catching as she peered skyward. An unnatural darkness descended, annihilating the portion of night-sky that stretched over the northern watchtowers of Camelaird.

  An eerie stillness pervaded the streets as if no one moved—as if neither animal, bird, nor bug scurried, flit or crawled. Lights from Camelaird's buildings seemed no more than candles set in window frames as we hurried in the direction of the blackness.

  Lancelot's hand drifted from my back to his hilt. A chill spread over me from the absence of his touch. He gripped the handle of his sword, his knuckles whitening.

  "What's happening?" Elibel's question resounded in the stillness, magnifying the quaver of her voice.

  But no one answered.

  We quickened as the darkness rolled toward us like storm clouds brewing thunderheads until we reached the north gate and ascended the watchtower.

  My father and Arthur awaited us at the top, staring out over the ramparts as the blackness washed toward us. Never in my life had I seen such an unnatural gloom.

  "What is it? What's going on?" Elibel begged for an answer again, her voice trembling.

  "Druid magic," Arthu
r replied. "Seems Melwas has sought reinforcements."

  I reached up to feel the triquetra beneath my dress, but found my father's Christian cross entwined with the triquetra instead. I fumbled to separate the two through the satiny fabric without success as the blackness roiled toward us. The speed of the mass increased and in moments the bulk of it drew down the fields of Camelaird, squashing them from my view. I could not reconcile the bright memory of my mother with the ominous nature of this dark magic.

  "The bulk of my army is either defeated in that blackness, or, by the mercy of Jesu, on the northern side of this monstrosity and will not be able to penetrate to aid us," said Arthur.

  "What of Merlin?" asked Lancelot.

  Arthur shook his head. "The magician will not appear. He made his point clear. Since he does not approve of my marriage to Guinevere, he refuses his aid."

  Does not approve of me?

  My father nodded his head as if he understood, but the statement lingered in my mind. Why would a magician—a druid, an old one—disapprove of me? And why, for that matter, would Arthur, a Christian, employ such a man?

  "How many of your men did you retain?" asked my father.

  "Two dozen bowmen are stationed here, on the north wall. A couple dozen more with swords and spears surround us."

  "My men guard the east, west and south gates and are positioned on each watchtower as well as the wall. As my successor, they are yours to command, Arthur."

  Arthur nodded his acknowledgment. He turned, directing his speech to Lancelot. "Take the women to the king's hall and guard them there."

  The knight nodded, but before he could direct us further, I interrupted, "No! I will not flee and cower while Camelaird is in danger. I will stay and help direct the fight."

  "Daughter!" yelled my father, but Arthur cut in.

  "And just how do you intend to help and not distract?"

  "The right to protect my people is as much mine as it is yours."

  Sir Lancelot pressed in behind me as if to signal my leave. A desire to sink backwards into him overwhelmed me. How easy it would be to allow him to escort me away, then protect me while I remained blinded to the events that would shape my father's future—indeed, the future of Camelaird, and perhaps the whole of Britannia. And how wrong it would be to allow myself that simple escape into the protection of a man I could barely resist.

  Arthur stared wordlessly at me. His halo of bright curls dulled in the darkness, like a mass of ancient vines swirling on top his head. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me close. I started at the electricity of his touch—like lightning striking my skin—a curious opposition to the warmth Lancelot provided. I attempted to pull away, but the sensation of the sparks jolting my nerves held me in place.

  "All I've ever wanted is the safety of all Britons."

  "All you ever wanted was the crown of Camelaird," I slung back.

  "You misunderstand, Guinevere."

  His informal use of my name without the prefix of my title angered me and I fought to refrain from demanding adherence to proper decorum.

  The edges of his mouth turned downward as he considered me. "My father, Uther, had sworn alliance to your father many years ago. They launched a campaign to wipe out the Saxons, so my father was gone for most of my childhood. When those murderous Saxon villains came upon us, my mother was alone. Even our stronghold's walls could not hold them back. I watched them murder her. When they turned their swords upon me, my father and yours finally returned and we escaped. A few seasons more of protecting our borders and my father fell to a Saxon sword; we buried him with my mother. I was eight summers old, but I swore the night I lost him that no Saxon would take another Briton's life when I grew to manhood."

  Arthur released my wrist and grasped my hands in his. My skin buzzed in reply while his intense energy shot up through my palms and wrists. While Lancelot's presence soothed me, Arthur's enlivened me.

  "The only thing I ever wanted was safety for the people of Britannia—so that no child would be left motherless again, so that every Briton could awake, knowing their loved one is still alive and at their side."

  I blinked. Arthur only desires to protect?

  "I will not force you to marry me, Guinevere. If you truly do not desire it, I will honor your position."

  "But you—"

  "Planned this? No. I wished for it. And I hoped you would return my affection and we could come to the arrangement equally, with the care of our people in our hands. I would never force it. What kind of a man would I be to force an alliance that dishonored the desire of my queen?"

  "I…" No more words followed. They froze within my mind, leaving me unable to formulate a response. Had I misjudged him? The rhythm of my breath echoed in my ears and I realized how silent the air around us had become.

  Arthur noted the peculiarity too, and yelled, "Close the gates!" at the same moment the darkness engulfed us.

  Chapter 10

  The air thickened as shadows overtook the fortress of Camelaird. The blackness suffocated the torches and candlelight, as well as quashing the brightness of the moon and stars. Arthur's face dimmed before me, his features imperceptible. The rumble of wheels sounded as the gates slid downward, thudding to the ground. The slick ting of metal against scabbard punctuated the still air as men drew swords, preparing for an unseen foe. The silence of the dark intensified the noise of warriors, as if each muscle of every man tensed and their breaths heaved in the air.

  Elibel whimpered while Arthur thrust me toward Lancelot, yelling, "Protect her with your life."

  The knight shielded both me and my cousin behind him—my vision so impaired I only knew my position by the feel of his back to me and my cousin clinging to my arm.

  "Hold!" yelled Arthur to the rest of his men.

  The tension grew as men's hearts lost courage, causing them to shift in the blackness that pervaded us.

  Arthur commanded, "Relight the torches! Set a bonfire before the north gate! Make haste!"

  But his efforts fell too late; a man yelled out in pain. Then another cried from the darkness, "They are already inside the walls!" but his scream asphyxiated with the gurgling sound of blood upon his lips.

  Scuffling and clanking noises permeated the fortress as warriors scrambled against the invisible invaders. Lancelot circled around us, searching for targets. One hand stayed behind him, upon me, while the other held his sword. As he revolved around Elibel and me, the caress of his fingertips seeking my form heated the skin beneath my dress. My fear for the unknown darkness, and Elibel's frightened grip squeezing into my forearm kept me from giving over to the temptation to return his touch with my own hand.

  A man's grunt sounded near me—the tone familiar. "Father?" I called out.

  "Stay where you are, Guinevere," said my father.

  Father's words strangulated, as if held in check by an arm around his neck. A shiver rose up my spine.

  Footsteps pounded somewhere in the darkness, moving around my back. A scuffling noise, followed by the clang of metal against metal and the grunts of men fighting, resounded around me. Suddenly, a faint flame sparked near the gate as a pile of hay lit on fire. Within moments, the dry grass blazed, casting light through the unnatural darkness.

  The melee came into view around us. Melwas' men had miraculously tripled in size and fought our soldiers three to one, swamping the courtyard with their numbers. I swiveled around to search for my father, running my eyes across every bit of the watchtower platform until I found him. A beefy arm caught Father around his neck, pulling him back against the fortress' wall. A sword point gouged the skin of Father's neck, causing a trail of blood to trickle down his flesh.

  "Father!" I screamed.

  "Stand back, My Lady. No need for you to engage. This argument is between your father and me," said my father's captor.

  I focused on the man's features and recognized him from earlier in the day: King Melwas.

  "This argument involves me, so I dare say I will engage!" I yelled
back, surging forward. I am not sure what I intended to do, but Lancelot caught me, wrapping his arm around my waist, holding me back. Had I not been trembling with a mix of terror and rage, the heat of his touch enveloping my middle would have sent me into a state of rapture. Still, at the moment of his impact, my anger dwindled, washing away with the comfort only he could bring with a touch and calmed me back to my senses.

  "If your father gives you over to Arthur, the land will suffer for it. Mark my words, this arrangement must be stopped."

  Arthur had already maneuvered a few paces in front of Melwas, his sword extended and trained on our attacker. His blade, Excalibur I presumed, caught the firelight and glimmered with an angry orangey-red color, accentuating the extraordinary knot work extending its length.

  "You cannot win this fight Arthur. My men outweigh yours three to one," said Melwas. He jerked his arm tighter around my father's neck, causing Father to groan in response. A triumphant smile spread under the bear-like man's thick moustache.

  I glanced around at our knights, surrounded by Melwas' army, and wondered how his men, so defeated from earlier in the day, had grown in number. Then I realized the figures seemed duplicated—each man baring two replicas of his form, moving in unison with one another.

  "It's an illusion," I said, more to myself than anyone in particular.

  "What?" Arthur asked.

  "The men," I restated, "they are in triplicate. An illusion. They don't all exist."

  In response to my statement, a knight, surrounded by three men, swiped his sword through the middle of the outer soldier. The blade soared clear through the soldier's center. The stricken man's body fluctuated for a moment, then returned to a solid state.

  Arthur laughed, flashing a broad smile at me and hefted his sword over one shoulder like a javelin. In a movement so swift, his action barely discernible, Arthur sent his blade flying towards Melwas' forehead.

  King Melwas' own blade dug into Father's neck, separating his skin further.

  "No!" I screamed, but a rustling drown out my cry.