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

by Sullivan, Phoenix

  “It’s as if God made them just for us.” Brangien laughed delightedly at her words, making light of them, though I knew the very real hopes she harbored for Des.

  I smiled too at her little joke because I loved her as dearly as any sister.

  “Cormac!” I called to one of my father’s young cup bearers. “Do me a service, please.” I gave both favors into his safekeeping and watched him go off to find the men who would wear them. Then we settled in to watch the competition.

  For the sword contests, the field was first divided into ten smaller lists. In those, one hundred contestant knights became fifty, then twenty-four, then twelve. Those twelve paired off in six of the lists, and when those contests were done, Drustan, Des and the Orkney brothers once again held the top positions.

  If any had thought Des and Drustan’s showing yesterday quirk or luck, today’s contests proved the legitimacy of their previous wins. Des danced with his sword, all fluid grace and style with an undercut of power that made his swordplay mesmerizing to watch. Drustan dominated through power refined by agility and dexterity. His sword flowed from right hand to left and back again seamlessly as his shield followed where the sword had been. That gave him the advantage he needed to counter the disadvantage of his still mending shoulder.

  The last six knights fought each of their matches separately for the pleasure of the crowd. What was not to love watching such skill and prowess on display? Whatever political and personal differences we had with Orkney, there was no denying King Lot’s sons deserved the acclaim they had won by right of arms. Precise, ruthless, powerful, each was magnificent on the field before an appreciative crowd, seeming to take strength and motivation from the world around them.

  Only a handful of knights between Ireland’s blue oceans and the sands of Egypt’s deserts could best the brothers at their peaks in a game of swords. Sirs Lancelot and Tristan came first to mind. And today I could add two more—Sirs Palomides and Drustan.

  At day’s end, in the long shadows of the setting sun, only three remained matchless this day—Gawain of Orkney, Drustan and Des.

  By the drawing of lots, Gawain and Des would fight first while Drustan was granted the small advantage of resting out the match before going up against its winner.

  It was a different Des who fought Gawain. Perhaps the Orkney champion’s style demanded it. Gone was much of Des’ grace and artistry. Not that every stroke wasn’t precise and calculated and masterful still, but there was an air of impatience to Des I hadn’t seen in his other rounds. A desire to end the match quickly despite the crowd so obviously ready for it to go on. Playing to them, Gawain tried to drag the fight out, delaying its end with useless circling and posturing tactics. Des, however, beat him back time after time, driving to an end that came far more quickly than the crowd was ready for.

  A final blow from Des’ shield and a smashing from his sword staggered Gawain. A courteous act, though not required by the rules of this field, would have been to allow Gawain a moment to recover. Instead, pressing the advantage, Des inelegantly hooked a leg behind Gawain’s knees and toppled him, ripping the sword from his hand as he fell.

  With a glower, the dark-haired visiting champion who’d been bested picked himself up and stalked off the field.

  As the Orkney supporters grumbled and the rest of the throng cheered, the list marshal met Des in the middle of the field, obviously offering Des a few minutes to rest. Des shook his head, pointing to the fast-setting sun. Then he brushed the marshal brusquely away and waved Drustan to the list.

  From the first swings exchanged it was clear how evenly matched these two very different knights were. I nudged Brangien proudly when, for a moment in the red light of the dying sun, their swords crossed high, pendant and ribbon dangling from their cross-guards.

  This match, perhaps even more than the last, the crowd would have loved to see go on, the two champions battling like gods of old, their swords flaming in the sun’s last light.

  Then, where before Des had seemed merely distracted and impatient, his strokes became frantic. I saw no change to Tris’ stance or his advantage, but clearly Des was worried. Perhaps he was flagging more swiftly than he anticipated. Perhaps he should have accepted the time to rest offered in courtesy and fairness.

  Only a sliver of sun limned the western hills when Des, in a gesture of acknowledged defeat and respect, saluted Drustan the moment before they engaged one final time, shield pressing shield, swords wrapped behind one another as they wrestled for dominance. It was a foolish position for Des to allow himself in. Drustan had the advantage in size and weight. Though in the end it almost seemed Des wasn’t dragged down by Drustan but collapsed on his own. Even Drustan seemed startled by its suddenness. And from where I stood in the shadows at the edge of the pavilion, I could see the question in Drustan’s helmeted eyes as he clasped Des’ hand and raised him from the mud.

  Briefly, Des covered Drustan’s hand with his other and they tipped their helms together, a touching acknowledgement, as intimate as brothers. My heart stirred at the sight.

  Then the moment was gone as Des broke gently but firmly away, gathered his sword and shield, and nearly loped from the list, shrugging off congratulations from the knights and ladies swarming the field as he went.

  Had he been wounded? Was he ill? “Cormac!” I called again to my father’s cupbearer. “Find Palomides and see if he’s well. Let him know I’ll come to him if he’s not.” I slipped a small ring into the boy’s hand for his pains.

  “Thank you!” There was a note of relief in Brangien’s anxious eyes as the boy ran off. I let her believe I’d sent after Des for her, but in fact, Brangien’s concern hadn’t even crossed my mind till then.

  Not long later the belling of the Gabriel Hound welcomed the falling twilight. By then I had made my way to Drustan, offering him a smile and a blood ruby for the day’s performance. At sound of the hound, his eyes brightened, my own a match to his as we reveled in our shared secret.

  Cormac tugged at my sleeve. “I’m sorry, my Lady, Sir Palomides cannot be found. No one saw where he went, but none I asked saw any hurt upon him before he left.” He held out the ring I’d given him.

  An honest lad. I waved it back to him.

  In the distance, the hound howled again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  YSEULT

  The showers that had plagued the sword rounds on Friday disappeared on Saturday. My jaw was tight from smiling inanely the evening before at the nobles whom I was forced to sup with and who drank the evening away. Many of their questions about my impending wedding were nearly too painful to bear. But my mother was a queen, my father a king—and I endured.

  At the first moment that had presented a graceful opportunity to retire with my regrets, I took it. Cormac waited for me outside the Hall. How long he’d been waiting, I didn’t know, but I was touched when he said, “He’s been found, my Lady. Sir Palomides. No hurts that I could see. Nor did he seem ill. He was drinking with Drustan—Sir Drustan—and when I mentioned your concern… My Lady, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a smile like that before. It was how I imagined an angel might look. He and Sir Drustan both send their assurance all is well.”

  I favored Cormac with my own smile, however disappointing it might be compared to an angel’s. “Your diligence and honesty will take you far. I will commend you to the king tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, my Lady. I—” he scuffed a toe, suddenly looking very abashed. How old was he? Twelve? “I’m sorry you’ll be going soon.”

  “So am I, Cormac,” I sighed. “So am I.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Stepping around the muddy puddles left by yesterday’s rain, I found my way back to the dry pavilion mid-morning with Brangien in tow. By now, many of the camps and pavilions had been up a week and the breeze that wafted through carried not the fresh tang of meadows after a late spring rain but the decided stench of hundreds of visitors in too close quarters. Not only the men and women but their stallions and p
alfreys too. A week’s worth of food waste and cast-offs from daily life littered grounds that a week ago had been meticulously groomed.

  Left to its devices, life was a dirty and smelly sport.

  Today’s melees, though, would distract from all the ugliness about, which in fairness, my own dour mood likely amplified tenfold. Only two more days before I would leave this land, the shore, these hills altogether. Painting them ugly helped to defend against the pain of losing them.

  “My Lady.” The deep male voice startled me from my reverie and self-pity. Sight of Drustan and Des standing under the pavilion, helms in hands but not yet armored, startled me even more.

  “You’re early come to the contest today,” Des said. “We looked out for you, hoping to spare your boy the trouble of finding us again. Or at least give us time to beg favors elsewhere if need be.” I loved how his eyes dazzled when his mood was good.

  “You presume much,” I teased, hiding my smile. “Besides, it’s Brangien who appears to have the luck for favoring the day’s winners. Why either of you might beg a favor from me… Still, today I hoped to even the odds. I brought pendants for you both.” I tilted up my head, exposing my throat and lifting my chest. Just above the ribbon of light blue that piped the darker blue of my gown and resting on the crest of my bosom lay two matching opals hung on chains of gold.

  “Enchanting,” Des breathed, his eyes on the mounds and valley below the gems.

  “Exquisite,” Drustan agreed, stepping closer to better see.

  Des bent his head low. “Happy, happy jewels.”

  “One for each of us, did you say?” I well knew Drustan didn’t mean the opals.

  Under their open stares I felt heat gather, rushing up in a blush that fairly shouted I was far from indifferent to their appreciation of all my favors.

  “Will you have them?” I asked.

  Their breaths came long and slow. I studied their matchless faces, memorizing this moment, from the playful lust in their earth-brown and emerald eyes to the easy smiles with full and sensuous lips that held the taste of forbidden honey.

  “At my Lady’s command,” Des whispered, giving me the power of the next move in this sensuous game.

  “Take them, if you have the courage of champions today.” I lifted my chest higher yet.

  With a moan, Des’ large yet slender hands covered the slopes of skin exposed above the piping that snugged my breasts within. I inhaled—deeply—for his pleasure and mine, half-closing my eyes in response to the stirrings his hand upon me ignited.

  A daring finger slid briefly into the valley before joining the rest to lift one of the pendants from its bed. Before I could help him, his other hand abandoned the helm it held to sweep the hair from my neck and lift the chain over my head. Tipping his forehead to mine, he smoothly maneuvered the necklace from my chest to his.

  His eyes, no more than a couple of fingerwidths away, clearly begged for more. The searing heat where his flesh touched mine begged as well.

  With great reluctance, I shook my head, once only, but it was enough. My heart suffered to see the hope that glimmered in those amazing emerald eyes snuffed out. With a most gentle smile, he withdrew, cradling the opal as though he could still feel me against it.

  Drustan moved close then, his helm already abandoned, lifting a deliberately clumsy hand that brushed a peak across his palm before settling right at piping’s edge, his thumb dipping in and out of the valley between. With both hands, I lifted the hair that had tumbled back to my neck, stretching my elbows wide. A wanton display had I not been merely helping him to remove the favor. His free hand snaked around to my neck, engulfing the soft, burning flesh as it crept around till his fingers slipped beneath the loops of the chain and caressed the naked flesh they found right above my spine.

  I shuddered.

  Reluctantly he returned his attention to the chain, and as he raised it over my hair I dropped my arms back to my sides, my own clumsy hands brushing the bulge of his upper arms as they fell. The hand at my chest took one last liberty before it fled.

  When the chain was free, he held it out to me. “Honor me,” he bade.

  Obeying, I took the chain. An imp in his eyes, he stood at attention, drawn to his full height, towering more than a handspan above me. Forcing me close to him, so close I had to press against him and stretch to reach my hands high enough to circle his head with the chain.

  As I stepped away, he said, “To keep it safe in battle, it should be near my heart.” For this he bowed to me, giving me access so I could tuck the pendant between the vee at the neck of his tunic. There I splayed my hand across the firm muscles of his chest to ensure the gem was properly placed.

  “Does it feel safe?” I asked.

  “As only you can make it,” he agreed. With a wink, he flexed the muscles beneath my palm. I gasped as I felt him harden where my fingers touched. My hand trembled as I pulled it away from his heart.

  With a sigh for yet another opportunity missed, I backed away… right into Brangien. Unshed tears brimmed her eyes, shaming me. Never should I have teased so with Des in front of her—and now I’d done so twice. What demon possessed me to hurt my best friend so? Each time I had acted completely without thought for her. It didn’t matter whether Des returned her affections or not, her fragile heart still cared for him.

  I squeezed her hands in mine and kissed her forehead, whispering, “I’m so sorry.”

  She glared back at me, not yet ready to forgive.

  Drustan was first to comprehend. I’m not sure he understood the depth of Brangien’s infatuation with Des, but he did guess she felt hurt and slighted over the necklaces they’d accepted.

  “What, no favor offered from the beautiful handmaid with eyes as soft and deep as a doe’s? Do you no longer bear us affection or wish us God speed?”

  “I-I, no, I—”

  “When Des bore your favor, he won the day. When I carried your ribbon, I won. Whom did you favor today to win, my Lady, if not one of us?”

  “Lady? I’m not—” Brangien blushed at the title, realizing Drustan used it not out of ignorance, for he knew her status full well, but courtesy.

  “I thought—you both accepted Yseult’s gifts. I only brought a single plain ribbon.” It was her turn to look ashamed. To hand the ribbon now to Des when Drustan was being so kind to her…

  Drustan took the ribbon from her, examining it closely. “There is nothing here that is plain,” he told Des, holding it up for the other knight to see. “Sun and moon, stag and hart. Look at the detail even in the meadow grass. It is a favor worthy of any man. I’m no Solomon, but I do believe in learning wisdom from the wise. Who better? Will you indulge me, my Lady?”

  “I—of course.” Brangien’s embarrassment grew. Had I not still clung to one of her hands, I think she might have fled.

  With a deft cut of his dagger, Drustan split the ribbon in two. “Sun and stag for me. Moon and hart for Des.”

  Des’ gaze was full on me as he accepted the proffered half of ribbon. For a moment my world was only the smoke in his eyes and the passion in his heart.

  For that moment, I couldn’t breathe.

  Then his gaze slid easily to Brangien. She basked in the radiance of the smile that dawned across his face, but to her there was no smoke, no adoration. It didn’t matter. Des had smiled upon her. That was enough.

  Helms of our day were meant to be adorned. A clever screw at the back held plumes or ribbons in place. Short as these ribbons now were and drenched in stitches there was little chance they would wave gaily behind. But that didn’t matter to Brangien either. So long as Des carried a piece of her, that was enough.

  “God grant you both glory today,” I told the men.

  Drustan and Des exchanged a look, passing a message clear to them but unfathomable to me. Their response of, “Glory isn’t the prize we seek,” held no enlightenment.

  Together they headed for the melee field.

  From the hundred knights who had competed ove
r the past two days, the tourney marshals had selected the forty best for the melee. They ranged themselves in loose associations, vows passed between to solidify alliances that would last only till one party fell or till none were left but they.

  Honor above all was rewarded on the melee field. How one conducted himself with his allies was prized as much as how many foes a single knight could best. If any combatant faltered in his honor, victory would go to another.

  It was these small deeds and helps to one another in the midst of battle that I most enjoyed. A hand out to help up a fallen ally. Two men braced back-to-back to face a horde. A knight falling in sacrifice so another might prevail. This for me was the face of battle, the lie so eloquently embodied in tourney.

  I had no delusions that true battle held much similarity to the mock sport being played before me. Real battle was something I never hoped to see. Real battle was burying my uncle. Real war was burying brothers, fathers, friends. Real war had only one prize worth winning: life.

  I preferred the fantasy instead.

  Not that the fantasy was always kind. Not that men weren’t maimed and killed on the melee field as well. Not that many here wouldn’t have been avid spectators at the bloodbaths held by Roman gladiators. Blood called to each of us in different ways. As a healer, I preferred my blood in its original vessels.

  Beside me, Brangien seemed to forgive me more as the day drew on, especially as Drustan and Des proved themselves over and over. Horsed, Calannog made them incredibly easy to spot from afar, his clean white coat shimmering like a beacon in the sun. Unhorsed, they could be found by looking for the knot of battle where the fighting was heaviest.

  “Why hasn’t anyone seen our knights before?” Brangien asked sometime after noon. Inwardly I smiled at her proprietary use of our. “Servants I’ve spoken to all say the same—that even the other nobles don’t know who they are.”

  “Do you doubt them?”

  The shock on Brangien’s face was as genuine as I knew it would be. I baited her to pass the time, nothing more.