Queen's Heart: An Arthurian Paranormal Romance (Arthurian Hearts Book 2)

by Sullivan, Phoenix

  But was it truly so? Would she die for me and I for her the same as these two knights would for me? I prayed God our bonds would never be so tested.

  For now, all I was asking was for an errant knight to bide a while and to participate in a festive tourney. An invitation I would extend to any wandering noble out of courtesy. It was mere gratuity that this one happened to excite the eye as well.

  Smiling at the young and earnest knight, I said,” Then I insist you stay. Some of the best knights will come from Cornwall, France and Wales. Even the new high king may send one of his champions along. What better opportunity for an untested knight to acquit himself?”

  “My Lady is kind to assume my abilities might shine in such company.”

  The leap to such a conclusion was not a far one as I drank in sight of him. “Let us just say I have an eye for talent such as yours. And I would very much like to see my assumptions proved.”

  Palomides’ smile was the sun itself. “As you wish.” But as the radiance of his smile disappeared beneath the sweeping bow he made over his horse’s withers, my stomach suddenly knotted. I was no oracle to see the future, only a simple hedgewitch who understood herbs and potions. Why then did a dark foreboding clutch at me, and why did the refrain “I’d die for them and they for me” ring not with the uplifting promise of an everlasting bond but with the vow of doom and prophecy in my ears?

  CHAPTER SIX

  PALOMIDES

  Even in those first moments of meeting, Yseult could have asked anything of me and I would have agreed. As we rode, I leaned toward her, desperate to catch the scent of her. I could smell leather and horse and the occasional nearby blossoms when I concentrated. Of her, nothing. The curse had left my world much duller, devoid of the vibrant senses I remembered but couldn’t recapture.

  Not so dulled, though, that I couldn’t sense the duplicity in the harper whose nimble fingers so convincingly released melody after haunting melody from his harp’s strings. No mere bard was he, however. Every hooded glance, every move fairly howled pack leader. The reason he would try to keep such birth a secret intrigued me, and I seized on it as a way to distract myself from the mesmerizing spell Yseult had cast upon me.

  “Will my Lord Drustan also be on the list fields at the tourney?” I baited.

  A moment’s hesitance and the slight reset of his jaw assured me the next words from him would be, if not a lie, at least a prevarication. “I am a harper, Sir. Do you mistake me for something else?”

  “No mistake, I think.”

  His body tensed as though on guard against… what?

  “Do you know me then, Sir Palomides? Have we met before?”

  I suppressed a smile. Words and tone both were a challenge, peer to peer. No servant uttered them. Even Yseult knew. From the corners of my eyes I saw her lovely face intent on every word. Did she merely suspect his secret or was she privy to it?

  “And where might we have met? On a list field? In a noble’s hall?” Not that I had frequented either, of course.

  “I have played in a court or two.”

  “Name them for me, bard, and when, and I will tell you if I was there too.”

  “Of recent, Camelot and Tintagel and Joyous Garde. Feats and tourneys both are crowded affairs. You’ll forgive me if I don’t recall having seen you among the guests.”

  The harper’s barb found its mark. The castles named were among the most prestigious. He had been to them and I had not. Still, I felt closer to the truth. “I am not your enemy,” I said softly.

  “Neither are you a friend.”

  I bowed my head in concession. “You are correct. Both are stations that must be earned. Just as favors from women whose pale beauty shines like moonlight on still waters must be earned.” I faced Yseult with my best impish grin. “Or might such favors be free for the asking?”

  Yseult blushed as I expected. What I did not expect was the way Drustan bristled.

  “Curb your foul tongue.” Drustan’s tone was low and measured, commanding as no harper’s should be among his betters. “You have not yet earned the right to speak so to my Lady.”

  Feigning innocence—for I truly meant the double-entendre as implied, I said, “You over-reach your authority, harper. I was asking my Lady what I must do to carry her favor in the tourney, nothing more.”

  Yseult stole a glance at Drustan who glowered still before returning her gaze to me and quirking a brow. “Nothing more?”

  “It is all I ask. Though I am willing to accept all you have to give.”

  Her blush deepened, rosing her cheeks in a way that delighted my heart. While she appeared to take no offense at my innuendo, Drustan’s horse suddenly found its way between us. Yseult took its bridle in her hand, ensuring Drustan remained calm or risk unseating her. “If my favors were to be so freely given, they would lose value—both in my eyes and in the eyes of any knight upon whom I might bestow such a gift. My favor, in any form, must be won, by any man.”

  She slipped her gaze aside to include Drustan too, just that easily taking command of this field where two suitors warred for her attention. A sudden weight in my chest drove breath from my lungs. Had she and Drustan already exchanged favors? I had caught them laughing beside a stream, alone and far away from condemning eyes. Had they tarried by that stream before? Did my arrival interrupt one of many trysts between them?

  It was not enough that I was smitten by her beauty and charm. If I were to gain back all that I was before, I had to win her. Seeing her, I could not doubt Fate guided her here. Fate who gave me a target in plain and easy sight then deliberately fouled my aim by placing Drustan between. Besmirching Drustan in any way would not win me any bouts with Yseult. My dearest Brinn had lessoned me in that when I so foolishly challenged her lovers to a duel. All I had accomplished was to drive her further from me.

  With Yseult, I would not make such mistakes. I had been fae and would be fae again—a race who lived a thousand years. Time was on my side.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  TRISTAN

  Even the best of lies requires continued diligence to avoid the two great traps of prevarication.

  First is forgetting some detail of the lie, whether in its creation or in some aspect of its growth—and grow it will, hour by hour and day by day, gaining life as it wraps its tentacles around the truth, entwining lie and truth, squeezing until extrication of the lie complete becomes an impossible feat.

  The second trap is succumbing to the lie, allowing yourself to forget—or possibly simply to ignore—the truth in favor of the lie. To live the lie to its extreme.

  Of the two, the latter trap is the more insidious, for the greater the lie the more probability it will eat away at self and soul.

  I lied to stay alive. At first. Or so I told myself. Certain it was that the knights of Whitehaven would not grant me safe harbor within its walls if they knew it was I who slew their queen’s brother. But I was mending quickly now. The skiff I had arrived in would as well return me to Tintagel in Cornwall where my own uncle would welcome me as The Prodigal Son. I no longer needed the lie to live. Yet letting go of it would mean letting go of Whitehaven—and, more importantly, letting go of Yseult.

  But now a complication had ridden in on a great white horse. The song in my heart died a little to see Yseult’s head so easily turned by this stranger knight who so boldly asked her favor.

  My only redemption was the gauntlet Yseult threw between us: her favor to be won.

  My lie provided only harp and voice as weapons. Palomides offered sword and valor—and an otherworldly beauty that neither sex could deny. To compete meant stripping away the first layer of my lie without uncovering the darker secret deep within. If that happened, my life would still be forfeit here in Whitehaven. The mourning cloth that covered Yseult’s skirts and worn by half the House was proof of that. My kin and hers were enemies. The Morholt’s death only solidified the ugly hate between our Houses, though I was hard pressed to name the thing that had turned one agains
t the other.

  Yseult’s father was a cordial king, her mother full of kindness. The knights were loud with quick tempers and lewd manners who bickered and fought no differently from how my uncle’s men commanded themselves. In short, there was little difference between us save for the small breadth of sea that divided us.

  If I could win Yseult’s heart, perhaps I could also win a peace between Tintagel and Whitehaven. A bond forged in blood and tempered by the eternal flames of love.

  But the first step to winning her heart was to win her favor.

  And to do that, I would have to put aside the harp and take up the sword. On the tourney field there were none better than I save for the knights of legend.

  I could—almost—feel sorry for Palomides.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  YSEULT

  When we arrived back at Whitehaven, Brangien was beside herself, meeting us breathlessly moments after we turned our mounts over to the horse master to stable.

  “My Lady! I’ve been waiting for you! There’s news from—” Mouth and eyes went wide at sight of Palomides as she caught up to us. I hoped I hadn’t looked quite so ridiculous as she when I first laid eyes on him. In other circumstances I would have laughed and needled her as best friends will. But the word ‘news’ only made me anxious to hear what she had to say, and being struck speechless was less endearing than irritating right now.

  “Brangien! You were saying—?”

  Blushing almost as deep a red as the strands of hair that framed her pretty face, she swallowed hard. “News from Cornwall. A messenger from Tintagel. Your father commands you to dine with him this evening, and invited all the House to do the same. He ordered a roast pig.”

  Drustan grabbed Brangien’s upper arm and I could plainly see the control he exerted to not bruise her in his haste. “Tintagel? You’re sure?”

  She nodded, eyes wide as twin moons against a pale sky.

  “Do you know what news?”

  She shook her head. “Only that King Anguish seemed pleased. After that business with The Morholt—begging your pardon for bringing up his memory, my Lady—I thought for sure we’d see war. But the king’s mood is… light.” She turned back to me. “Not so much your mother’s, though. But she seemed more angry at the king.”

  Angry? I could feel my forehead crease. Mother was the indulgent and easy-going sort. That she could be brought to anger—especially toward her husband whom she adored—only piqued my interest in the news from Cornwall.

  “Sir?” Brangien squirmed under Drustan’ hard grip. He blinked, and as his distant stare returned to the handmaid I was certain he had quite forgotten she was there. Releasing her, he retreated into himself, as if somehow this news were personal to him. Had he guessed something I had not? Something sinister that Brangien too had missed? I looked to Palomides to see if he had the same reaction, only to find him staring at Drustan with a brow as furrowed as mine.

  Whatever the issue, it would have to wait as the sun was sinking fast to the west and Father would be expecting me soon. “Drustan, see that Sir Palomides finds a place at the table this evening. Brangien, come help me change.”

  I nudged the handmaid to get her attention as Drustan led Palomides off to acquaint him with the House. For a breathspace, I had seen the look of a hunted deer in Drustan’ eyes. Then that flash of panic passed to be replaced by a haunted expression so uncharacteristic of him I blinked to see if I had mis-seen. Whatever he’d reacted to, however, would need wait now till morning at the earliest before I could question him about it.

  “Who is he?” Brangien asked as we made our way to the wing of private chambers and the small room I called my own.

  “Sir Palomides? An errant knight out to prove himself, so he says.”

  “He’s breathtaking, isn’t he?”

  “Is he? I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Hadn’t—?” She caught my grin and ducked her head. “Apologies, my Lady. I forget myself.”

  “Nonsense. You have eyes. He’s made to be appreciated. Him and Drustan both. Having them both around could be quite taxing on a girl’s… senses.”

  “Ah, to be so taxed, day in, day out, day in…”

  It was my turn to blush.

  She took my hand as we walked. “If you were to choose between them, which would it be?”

  The earnest pressure on my fingers told me this was not idle chat. Until now I honestly hadn’t considered that my dreams of freedom and choice to love who and where I wanted might be equally shared by Brangien, born into a position of servitude. Dalliance was the best she could hope to attain if she insisted on aiming above her station. Or in giving herself to someone who could never give back both heart and soul. Only heartbreak could come of that.

  “In truth, I would hate to choose. By looks, Palomides has the face of an angel, so far beyond mortal beauty it is.”

  “Very like an angel,” Brangien agreed, but she bit her lower lip, nervous that I might express a preference for the errant knight.

  “In body and character, I would say Drustan has strength of both. In fairness, though, I’ve only known Palomides a few hours and Drustan a few days. I really don’t know them well enough to judge them against each other.”

  Brangien pouted, clearly unhappy with my non-answer. Maybe it was simply a game to her and I’d disappointed her by not playing along. Or maybe she was pretending it was a game to avoid facing the truth of the situation. If the former, I could happily giggle and size the men against each other with her. If the latter, then nothing good could come from my indulging her.

  I chose to believe the latter, thinking only to protect the feelings of a friend dear to me. But I was young still, though twenty winters seemed an eternity then. How arrogant to offer advice where one has never walked.

  How much more prideful to later ignore that same advice myself.

  “You do understand Palomides is beyond your reach? That even if you bed him, naught could ever come of it?” My lecture tone was gentle; even so, Brangien dropped her teasing and her pout became a deep frown, nearly a scowl I would have said if I didn’t know her as I did. “Better you forget about him.”

  “Better for whom, my Lady?” Why had her voice turned so cold when I was merely trying to help now to keep her from making a mistake later? “Better for him who needn’t be bothered by a silly handmaid? Or better for you so you can play the two men against each other until you decide which of them better suits your fancy?”

  We had come to the antechamber where Brangien slept and she pushed the door open with extra bile. Once I passed through, she followed and slammed it shut again. “So you can always have everything and I can have nothing? Not even dreams? I am no more a fool than you. I know what is beyond my grasp. But sometimes just the reaching is enough. Yet you would take that away as well.”

  “I only meant there is no future—”

  “And if I don’t care about the future? If one night of bedding would be enough to satisfy?”

  “If you’re smitten, one night will never be enough. Your heart will hope and hope and die with the hoping for something that can never be.”

  “At least it can hope—and be happy for as long as that flame may stay kindled. But you would deny me even that. Can you truly be so cruel?” Her eyes went wide when she realized what she’d just said, and to whom. “Your pardon, my Lady! I over-stepped myself.”

  “Which precisely proves my point. I’m not so cruel as to punish you for speaking your mind in the privacy of our chambers. But I am also not a knight with a temper and a sword. Do you see what peril you might place yourself in? You are thinking with your heart, not your head.” I sighed as I pieced through the dresses in my trunks looking for one that would best set off the flecks of blue in my eyes. “I only wish to protect your heart, Brangien, nothing more.”

  Oh, how those words, this entire conversation would return to haunt me.

  “Some things don’t need to be protected like a chick in the nest, my Lady. Some things
need the freedom to fly.”

  She opened a trunk and held up the overdress I had been rummaging for. A blue as clear as the bluebells blooming in the meadows. A damask supple enough to shape itself around my many assets and set off breast and waist and hips. Contrite, I offered, “Choose a dress for yourself too.” She would be at the servants’ table. No reason she shouldn’t look nice as well.

  She knew my wardrobe better than I. She went at once to one of the trunks and pulled out a deep emerald gown that complemented her pretty eyes and would look striking against the red of her hair. “My Lady is generous. If you have no objection…”

  “None at all. It will look splendid on you.”

  “I hope so,” she murmured, almost too low for me to hear, though I’m sure her intent was that I not hear it at all. After all that had been said, she was still trying to catch the eye of Sir Palomides.

  I sight in anticipation of her broken heart. Not even guessing at the heart grief that lay ahead for me.

  ~ ~ ~

  Father and Mother were already both at table when Brangien and I walked into the hall. A half score of his favorite knights as well as a stranger I guessed to be the Cornish messenger sat with Father at the head of the great room near the hearth. Another ten or so knights with their ladies sat at various other tables, along with a score of nobles and their families. With the servants at their long table in the back, the hall was filled to capacity, stuffy and smelling of sweat, rosewater and roasted pig.

  Drustan and Palomides sat near the servants’ table with two minor nobles I knew by sight though not by name. A cluster of handmaids already crowded as close as possible to the men as their table allowed. The wave of disappointment from Brangien was almost tangible. Crafty as she was, though, I had no doubt she’d find a way to Palomides before the night was out.

  Leaving her to her devices, I approached the high table. Smiling wide, Father beckoned me up. We had a good relationship, he and I, but the eagerness he showed at my arrival was beyond the pale. One glance at Mother’s sad and serious eyes only deepened the mystery.