by Rowley, Gwen
To her surprise, Geraint approached the tub, and she sank in deeper, glad the soapy bubbles hid much of her body. She didn’t want to tease him. He pulled up a chair facing the fire and sat down, not looking directly at her.
“Enid, I never even asked you whether you will be glad to have children,” he said.
She studied his profile, and he seemed sad, as if his regrets about their marriage were a burden neither of them had anticipated.
“I did not enter into marriage with you lightly,” she said, as she soaped her wet hair. “I gave consideration to the fact that as a prince, you would need an heir. It would be foolish of a woman not to understand that.”
He sighed and slid lower, leaning his head against the back of the chair. “That is good.”
“I am not with child now,” she added. “Any decision you make in regard to me would not have to consider an innocent life.”
He glanced at her, brows lowered. “Any decision I make?”
“You seem so disappointed by the woman that I am.”
“I am disappointed that you do not trust me.”
“You believe my loyalty is in question,” she said, feeling her slumbering anger awaken, “but ’tis not.”
“I had forgotten—’tis my courage that is in question.”
She ground her teeth together and said nothing. She was finished defending herself against such a ridiculous accusation.
“If you were loyal to me,” he said, standing to look down at her, “then you would not have needed me to lie for you about your family.”
She gripped the sides of the tub. “I did not ask you to lie.”
“But you would have lied to my father, the king.”
“Aye, as you would have done for your father, were he to ask it of you. I am sorry that you are so embarrassed by me that you felt the need to deceive him.”
“A king would not understand your need for subterfuge.”
“Obviously neither does a prince.”
She wanted to be done with this conversation, clothed so that she would not feel so vulnerable. She reached for the bucket of clean water next to the tub and lifted it on high to dump over her head.
Geraint took it from her hands. “Stand up,” he said brusquely.
She glared at him.
“Do you want the soap rinsed, or do you want to leave half in your hair?”
She came to her feet, feeling the soap bubbles making their slow way down her skin. Then he began to pour water over her head. She ran her hands through her hair to remove the soap.
He was so close, and she felt like she was thrusting her breasts beneath his very nose. The warm water sluiced down her body, taking away the last of the soap. She met his eyes, and he didn’t relinquish her gaze as he set down the bucket. The very heat in his dark eyes burned as they moved down her body. She would not be embarrassed, because it had not been her idea to so wantonly bare herself before him. She reached for a linen cloth from the nearby table and draped it around herself.
When her husband turned away, the sadness clutched itself even tighter about her heart.
As she stepped out of the tub, he began to remove his garments.
“I shall call for clean water,” she said.
“Nay, do not bother,” he said impassively. “You bathed enough on the journey that you cannot have been that dirty.”
She finished drying herself, not watching as he sat down with a splash in the tub. She had no night rail—she had not needed one in the first days of their marriage—so she donned a clean smock to sleep in. As she was pulling tight the laces gathering her neckline, Geraint suddenly spoke.
“I spent a week without anyone to wash my back. As my wife, you should do it.”
Turning to face him, she found him watching her boldly. She arched an eyebrow, but rolled up her sleeves and approached the tub.
“Where is the cloth?” she asked.
“I know not.”
His defiance was almost childish, and she had to restrain herself from smiling. As if she was going to search the water around him. She picked up a dry one from the table and dipped it in the water. He leaned forward in the tub, and she began to rub him, perhaps a bit too briskly. But he did not rebuke her.
The wide expanse of his back was familiar territory. She had explored it with her fingertips and her lips, and the memories were overpowering and raw. If he thought he was punishing her, he was not. He was only creating tears she had to restrain.
When she was done, she let the cloth fall into the water and stood up to turn away, grateful that he did not call her back. A maidservant had left a pitcher of wine and goblets on a low table, and she poured herself some nervously. When she could hear him stand, she tensed, waiting for him to ask her to rinse him, but he did not. And she found herself disappointed.
Next to the high bed was a little set of stairs that even she had to use to climb on top. It was a large, kingly bed, full of strange carvings on the wooden headboard, with four tall posts carved intricately like vines. She began to release the bedcurtains for warmth, watching as Geraint strode naked to the wine pitcher and poured himself a healthy amount. He looked at her, not hiding his erection, and gulped his wine down like it was an elixir to make him stop wanting her. Because want her he obviously did, and her own body answered, heating, moistening. She couldn’t seem to breathe deeply enough as they stared at each other.
Would he demand his rights as husband in his own bed? She hadn’t refused to wash his back, but this intimacy was surely different. It would be . . . cruel to misuse what had once been so powerful, so loving between them.
He didn’t ask. He just climbed into bed beside her— still naked, she realized, holding back a groan—pulled up the covers, and lay down, turning his back to her. Stiffly, she also lay back, but she faced him, watching warily.
The potion in his wine did not take long. Soon he was snoring, his body more than relaxed.
“Geraint?” She shook him, but he did not stir.
It was time to go. She had to find her water beneath the stars, and since they were sharing the same bed, she knew she could not risk trying to fool him again unassisted. The last time he’d caught her returning in the middle of the night, it had changed their marriage forever.
Even with her magic, she did not want to risk running into too many people, so she forced herself to wait several hours, until the castle was still. She donned her shirt and jerkin quickly, but she did not take her sword. There would be no practice tonight; she didn’t want to risk someone discovering her. Once again she called the shadows to her, and she escaped through the great hall, knowing no other way to leave the castle.
Chapter 10
HOURS later, refreshed and calm, her powers replenished, Enid felt the tension begin to leave her as she cautiously walked down the corridor leading to their bedchamber. Though cloaked in shadows, she did not move carelessly, but still she was surprised when as she passed a large set of double doors, one opened. She froze in shock as Queen Portia leaned out, her brows furrowed, her expression alert. Enid didn’t breathe, didn’t move, since they were but yards apart.
The queen did not retreat; instead she stepped bare-foot into the corridor, her silken night rail fluttering with a draft. She did not seem to feel the cold. Her head was tilted as if she were listening—or sensing.
“I know you are there,” Portia whispered softly.
Enid was feeling faint without air.
“Princess Enid?”
Oh, gods. Whatever fey senses the queen carried could not be deceived. Enid took a deep breath, then let the cloak of shadows fall from her.
Portia did not seem surprised, as if she knew exactly where Enid had been standing. Her expression serious, she murmured, “Enid, why do you disguise what you are? Do such secrets not damage your marriage?”
To Enid’s surprise, her throat tightened with the tears that never seemed far from the surface anymore. “My queen,” she whispered and raised shaking hands to wipe her we
t cheeks.
“Wait here,” Portia said and disappeared back into her bedchamber.
Enid waited in despair for the appearance of the angry king, but to her surprise, Portia emerged alone, wrapped in a dressing gown. She took Enid’s hand and pulled, and Enid had no choice but to follow. Their pace was slow due to the queen’s belly, and Enid’s guilt doubled. Then Portia turned into a room filled with comfortable chairs and rugs and cushions. This must be the queen’s solar. A loom filled one corner, and several pieces of embroidery lay half finished on a table. The remains of a fire still glowed in the hearth, and when Portia reached for the wood beside it, Enid came out of her stupor.
“My lady, allow me,” she said, stepping in front of the pregnant woman to throw several logs onto the fire. She pushed a chair near and motioned for the queen to sit. “Shall I fetch a blanket for your lap?”
Shaking her head, Portia sat down, then looked up at Enid with a smile. “You must sit as well, or I will hurt my neck trying to see you.”
Enid sat opposite her, but she could not meet the knowing eyes of the queen. She rested her forearms on her knees and stared at the floor.
“Enid, I assume that your husband does not know of the magic that you hold.”
Enid shook her head. “I cannot tell him,” she whispered.
“You feel it is better to hurt your marriage with such secrets?”
Enid raised her desperate gaze. “I owe my tribe my loyalty, my lady. How can I turn my back on my family?”
“Yet you have allowed Sir Geraint to become part of your family,” Portia said with gentleness. “Do you not think he will respect the truth?”
“It is not my decision,” Enid admitted brokenly. “You see how I am dressed, the sword I carry at my side. He is embarrassed by my upbringing and wants me to be different than I am. Even if I were permitted to tell him everything—”
She couldn’t go on, could barely control her weeping in the face of the queen’s understanding and pity. And in that moment, she knew she could tell Portia everything, unburden herself to this woman who would understand.
Enid was suddenly shocked by what she contemplated. She had not confided in her own husband, yet she was suddenly willing to place all her trust in a stranger. The queen obviously had power of her own; was she manipulating Enid?
The queen sighed, as if sensing Enid’s withdrawal. “I do not know your husband—but I know his father. They are men who value the truth, and yet are objective enough not to judge it.”
Enid didn’t believe that—she’d already felt Geraint’s judgment. And because of it, her future was at a standstill, waiting for him to decide what to do with her.
But she still had her mission, her purpose. It might be all she ever had, and she would not abandon it. She rose to her feet.
“Queen Portia, thank you for this gift of your time. I will not ask you to keep your silence, because you must do as your conscience dictates—as must I.”
The queen sighed and eased farther back into her chair, obviously feeling the discomfort of her child. “Put your mind at ease, Enid. For now I will say nothing, because I know little to actually say. I have a gift of understanding even the most hidden of hearts, and in yours I sense no malice, only confusion—and love.”
Enid lowered her head. “Aye, I love him, my lady. And if love were all that mattered, the world would be a peaceful place.”
She escaped the solar before the queen could see her break down in despair.
IN the morning, as they broke their fast in the great hall, Geraint studied his pensive wife. Since their arguments had begun, there was always a feeling of awkward tension between them, and it was difficult to pretend nothing was wrong. The queen was watching them a bit too closely, as if looking for something she suspected. And Enid never lifted her gaze, tolerating the scrutiny. He wondered what had happened to eliminate the serenity Enid had displayed the night before. His father looked between them all with a frown, but centered most of his imposing stare on Geraint.
Geraint knew that he and the king would be having a long talk this day.
The only thing that distracted them all was the curious behavior of Lovell the squire. Though he was a guest in Castle Cornwall, he kept taking trays of food from a maidservant named Fryda so that he could serve Enid personally. Geraint sighed as Fryda forcibly pulled back a tray, and half the sauce for the sliced lamb ended up splattered on the girl’s gown.
All of this had his father’s attention. The king said, “Lady Enid, this boy is with you?”
She nodded, glancing at Geraint for but a moment. “He is Lovell, sire, and he is my . . . servant.”
Geraint was not going to be a part of any more lies than were necessary. “Father, in truth, Lovell serves as her squire.”
There was an awkward silence at the head table, although his stepmother wore a satisfied smile. Perhaps she did not like secrets either, and they had more in common than just his father.
The king turned on Enid the forbidding gaze that had haunted Geraint’s childhood.
“Your squire, Lady Enid?” the king asked.
She nodded, her back straight and proud. “I am training him, sire.”
“Surely not in women’s arts,” he said, turning to smile at his wife, then frowning in confusion when Queen Portia only gave him an arch look.
Lovell backed slowly away, then went to help Fryda clean the mess that had begun their discussion.
Geraint felt his wife’s curious stare, and he met it, giving her a shrug. She should explain whatever she wanted to.
“My king,” Enid began, “I am a warrior woman of my people.” And then she told the story he now knew, of her tribe and its unorthodox training methods.
The king remained silent through it all, his frown of concentration evident.
Enid finished her tale. “When Lovell asked to be my squire, he solved my problems of needing a training partner. So I accepted.”
There was silence at the head table, although all around them the king’s subjects continued to enjoy their meals and their conversations, enviably ignorant of the tension.
The king turned to look at Geraint. “And what do you think of your wife’s abilities?”
“When I first saw her, she was wielding a sword, Father. I admit I was . . . intrigued.”
Geraint could not remember blushing like this since his youth. The queen turned her head away, obviously hiding a smile.
“At first, I thought she had been forced to learn to defend herself,” Geraint continued.
“And you wanted to be her protector,” his father said dryly.
Surely Geraint’s skin could not feel any hotter. He said nothing.
The king suddenly rose to his feet. “Come, my son, there is much to discuss about our kingdom.”
And your marriage, were the unspoken words. Enid did not look at him, though she offered a smile to her mortified squire.
THE king’s solar was normally a hive of activity. Geraint remembered coming here as a child just to sit in a corner and watch the running of the kingdom. Ministers and counselors and learned men all gave their opinions to their king, and Geraint had always tried to absorb their knowledge, and emulate the way his father gave everyone equal consideration.
But now the few clerks still writing on scrolls when they arrived were dismissed with a wave of the king’s hand. He sat in a big comfortable chair, but did not offer one to Geraint, who waited with resignation.
“I received another missive from the high king today,” King Erbin began.
Geraint was surprised at the subject, but he welcomed it with relief. “All is going well at Camelot, is it not? Such a missive could not have left much after I did.”
“Nay, it did not. But it details the problems King Arthur noticed after your marriage.”
Geraint stiffened.
“The king is gracious. He feels you are a man newly in love, that your lack of attention to your duties was just an aberration. You have not lost his fav
or, and your counsel will still be eagerly awaited.”
Geraint let his breath out slowly.
“So you did not consult your father or the high king before you made this girl a princess, a future queen of my realm?”
“It is not as if I would ever allow her to rule in my place,” Geraint said, narrowing his eyes. “Do you worry that she has an unnatural hold over me?”
“The hold of love is enough for men to do foolish things.” The king shook his head. “I do not fault you for being struck by her unusual beauty—and the mystery of her background.”
Was he so transparent? Geraint wondered. “She is a good woman, Father. You will see that.”
“And you already know this after but a few days? Then why do you seem so uneasy? Surely it is not just the worry of introducing your bride to her new family. You have not even held her hand in my presence.”
The king was getting right to the heart of his problems. Where once Geraint would have scoffed at the idea of confiding in his distant father, this new man—this new husband—seemed more open to confidences.
Geraint sat down across from him. A flow of words started that he had not expected. “I thought she needed me, Father.”
“Has she said that she has no need of your love?” the king said ominously.
“Nay,’tis not that. She claims to love me, but where I thought I had her trust, I have discovered it is not so. There are things I do not know about her—”
“And you think you should know everything in just a fortnight?”
There was a hint of amusement in his father’s expression that made Geraint feel terribly young again. “Of course not. I thought I was looking forward to a lifetime of learning everything about her. But she is a warrior, Father, and apparently I have disappointed her with my own skills.”
“That cannot be so,” said the king. “No one doubts your training or your talent.”
“She does. I thought I had her loyalty, but she holds the secrets of her family closer than she does me.” He could not bear to reveal that he had caught his wife sneaking from their bed.
