by Rowley, Gwen
But what he had revealed seemed enough.
His father studied him thoughtfully. “I always knew that you had a gift for understanding people, my son. Just hearing King Arthur’s praise for your skills of negotiation confirms that. You would not have chosen a wife as blindly as you seem to believe you did.”
Geraint stared at his father in shock—was he being praised? Had the entire world shifted since he’d last been home?
“Yet I am concerned about your doubts,” the king continued. “You must establish the truth your wife hides and make her prove her loyalties. She will be a queen, of great influence on a king. You have to determine if you can trust her.”
“And if I cannot?” he said softly, bleakly.
“Let us not rush to judgment. Your impulsive nature has been tamed, but it is not gone, I see. Your wife brings this out in you.”
Geraint sighed, too ashamed to be annoyed. “You cannot understand how full of sorrow I am that I have brought this strife upon you.”
“Do not be sorry, my son. This gives me the chance to send you on a mission that I would have had to attend to myself. Now I can remain here with my wife in her time of need.”
“I shall do whatever I can for you, Father.”
“I want you to travel about our kingdom and mix freely with our people, hearing their complaints and gathering their opinions.”
Geraint frowned. “Such a mission seems like one for a king’s councillor, rather than a prince.”
“Ah, but you have not allowed me to finish,” he chided.
The patience and diplomacy that Geraint so prided himself on seemed to fade away when he was back to just being his father’s son.
“Lady Enid will believe this is your only mission, but she has not proven herself worthy of hearing the secrets of the kingdom. In truth there is a tribe, the Donella, on our northeast border who has always existed in peace with us. I have begun to hear rumors of their powerful magic, and I need to know if they would turn that against Cornwall. I cannot allow them to be a distraction, what with the rumors of the Saxons far to the east. If a Saxon invasion comes, I need to know that they’re our only enemy.”
“And what if I determine that this tribe is aligning itself against us?” Geraint asked. “Do I have your permission to begin negotiations?”
“After all these years of peace with the Donella, the fact that they might rise against us now convinces me that they have lost that right with Cornwall. You have my permission to annex their tribe and their land, if it keeps the kingdom safe.”
Geraint felt a chill of recognition. This same sort of precarious situation had happened to him before, and with disastrous results. “But . . . is that not a hasty decision, Father? A discussion might clear the air between our peoples.”
“I no longer trust that they would keep their word. If a fight is necessary, do it.”
“I appreciate your trust in my experience, but I have worked hard to dampen my impulsiveness, as you have long requested. You wanted me to learn to think before I made a decision.”
“And that is still what I want,” said the king, rising to his feet.
Geraint remained seated, knowing that at this moment, his father might not appreciate being towered over. “I think before I do battle. Many a fight did I avert for our high king.” He had never told his father about the battle that had changed him into a diplomat rather than just a warrior. It still caused him too much pain. “Give me the chance to do the same for Cornwall.”
The king stared at him, and Geraint waited for his decision. He had risked much by speaking honestly to his father, and now he wanted back the trust he might have jeopardized.
King Erbin stepped back. “I have given you your instructions, Geraint. If they are dangerous, you know what I want done. But I trust you.”
Geraint stood up. “And you know how I appreciate that, Father.”
“And in the meantime, you have to learn if you can trust your wife.”
Chapter 11
WHILE her husband conferred privately with the king, Enid retreated to their room and waited, as if for a sentencing. She paced as long as she could stand it, then opened the shutters and looked out the window on the inner ward. To her surprise, she could see Geraint emerge from the great hall below her, and he disappeared inside the barracks against the far curtain wall. When he appeared minutes later, she could not read his expression, but behind him the building seemed to erupt with commotion. Soldiers stormed in and out, and she could see the stables taken over by the activity, with lines of grooms hauling saddles. Squires emerged from the barracks carrying loaded packs.
Enid watched for several long minutes, until finally the door opened behind her. She turned to see Geraint stride into the room.
He came to a halt and they stared at each other.
“Are you leaving?” she asked softly, when she really wanted to know if he were leaving her. Her throat tightened as if holding back sobs.
“My father is sending me and his soldiers on a quest,” he said.
Blinking back tears, she saw her future stretching out before her, alone here among strangers, with no access to knights to continue her training, no way to complete her mission, yet trapped into remaining because of her love and her marriage.
“You are coming with us,” he said impassively.
Her relief was so great she found herself trembling, but then his true reasons became clear. “You do not trust me to remain here without you,” she said softly.
He shook his head. “Nay, it is my father’s wish that you accompany me as a princess of Cornwall. We will be traveling the kingdom, greeting our subjects. It is a complex thing to keep the loyalty of a people.”
And that was all? she found herself wondering with skepticism. Something darker was being deliberately left unspoken.
As if that was anything new within their marriage of late.
But she would not voice her suspicions, not when she was equally at fault. “I thought your father would be greatly displeased by your choice in wife,” she said.
Geraint sighed. “He does not know you enough to be displeased. But he does want you to fulfill your duties as a future queen.”
“Is this a . . . test?”
One corner of his mouth curved up, but he did not look amused. “Call it what you will. But since you were not raised at court, he wants proof that you can play the part of my wife properly.”
She winced as his words stung. “So it is a part I must play, not me that you want? Must I prove myself to you, too?”
He didn’t answer, only turned his back to begin packing.
Enid went to her own garments, but she folded them away slowly as her mind hummed with thought. For just a moment, she considered going home, completing her mission for her father. Maybe she had enough skill to train her warriors. Then she could return to Cornwall, and she and Geraint could begin again with no secrets between them.
But—why was the king sending his son and a troop of soldiers to wander the kingdom? Surely this small country wasn’t riddled with thievery. If discussions with innocent villagers were the only purpose, such a show of force should be unnecessary. Or perhaps King Erbin was the kind of man who was always prepared for any opportunity to increase his holdings. Could he be the king about whom her father had heard rumors?
Enid’s mission yet remained—to protect her people. She would be vigilant and discover the true purpose of this journey. But was such a strategy on her part compatible with proving her loyalty to her husband?
ENID rode sidesaddle beside her husband at the head of a troop of twenty-five mounted men-at-arms. Far more than was necessary, in her opinion. How ignorant did the king think she was?
But she had to let go of this anger, at least toward her husband, or she’d be no good to herself, to her marriage. Geraint was following his father’s orders, just as she was following her father’s.
Lovell rode behind her, but at her side rode the maidservant Fryda, newly assigned t
o her by the queen. Enid did not think she needed a servant’s help, except in lacing up her gowns. Normally she would have asked Geraint for such assistance, but now that might inspire thoughts that she did not wish for.
So she accepted Fryda’s company, though she silently questioned the queen’s wisdom when she saw how Lovell and Fryda glared at each other. But at least the girl was silent, leaving Enid to her bleak thoughts.
The entire troop was strangely quiet, and she found herself looking back at them in curiosity throughout the day. Were there worries in the kingdom of Cornwall that made them rightfully vigilant? She occasionally studied her husband, but he only looked out over the moorland, his face impassive.
As the sun set and the sky turned to light gray before twilight, the troop headed down from Bodmin Moor toward the valley below. Trees and greenery seemed to swallow them, and suddenly she saw an arrow shoot past her and imbed itself in a tree.
The moment’s surprised silence suddenly became a cacophony of sound as the soldiers called orders, dispersed, and formed a tight circle around her. Enid felt for the sword at her hip, and knew the worst feeling of helplessness when it wasn’t there. She had smuggled her own garments and weapons onto one of the carts, but that wouldn’t help her now.
Tears streamed down Fryda’s face as she fought to control her pony and remain by Enid. Lovell reached out and took the reins, earning the girl’s weak glare, but Enid’s gratitude.
Geraint pulled his mount to a halt at her side, even as the first clash of swords could be heard. “Remain here, Enid. Please.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he was already gone, maneuvering his horse between two of the soldiers’ mounts.
This was little to ask of her—her obedience in a skirmish. Surely there were enough soldiers to counter the attack of one foolish band of brigands. And hadn’t she wanted to feel feminine, to have Geraint treat her like a woman?
But from her position at the center of the melee, she could not see to the outside to determine the enemy’s numbers. Horses wheeled, swords clashed, and men shouted. There was no break in the soldiers circling her, so she didn’t think anyone was terribly wounded, but why were the brigands not fleeing at their obvious failure?
Suddenly a man on foot flung himself between two horses into the small clearing occupied by Enid, Lovell, and Fryda. The girl screamed as Lovell tried to turn his horse about in the circle that was rapidly closing in on them.
In one smooth motion, Enid pulled the dagger from her boot and flung it at their attacker, burying it in his throat beneath his bushy beard. Wide-eyed, he clasped his hands about the hilt and pulled. Blood gushed down his filthy tunic, and he collapsed unmoving onto his face.
As if his death was interpreted as a signal, the rest of the brigands fell back, melting into the trees that had hidden them.
From his place with his men, Geraint turned to look at her, and the harsh lines of his face softened in relief. She just nodded at him, knowing that he didn’t see the dead man in front of her horse. If he didn’t mention it, neither would she. All around them soldiers dismounted, removing the bodies for burial. She was startled when Lovell touched her knee, and then handed over her dagger, now spotlessly clean.
“My lady, you are not hurt?”
She shook her head, sliding the dagger into her boot. Looking back at Geraint, she found that he was no longer watching her. He was in command, sending patrols into the woods in case the brigands lingered, gathering together the few wounded soldiers, and shouting orders to make camp back above on the moor, where they would take advantage of the visibility of the open grassland.
An hour later, as the darkness became complete, Geraint looked about at their small campsite, where fires glowed between several groups of soldiers. He had finished conferring with Ainsley, the captain of the guard, and sent Tyler and Toland out to keep the good spirits going among the rest of the soldiers. The men had easily won their battle, but they could not be fully at ease, knowing that poorly armed brigands had felt they could attack a company of mounted soldiers so close to Cornwall Castle.
Geraint found his wife sharing her fire with Lovell, Fryda, and Wilton. Wilton, the most talkative of any soldier Geraint had ever commanded, was making them laugh with another of his tales. Enid’s lively smile faded when she saw Geraint, and he withheld a sigh. She sat upon a blanket, legs folded demurely beneath her, but she moved aside to make room for him.
Wilton passed around the fox meat when it was finished sizzling over the fire. Geraint ate silently and thought of Enid’s behavior this day. She could easily have demanded to fight at his side, but he’d been relieved she’d acquiesced so easily to his request. He had been able to worry about her less and concentrate on the battle. She was a trained warrior, but these soldiers had to respect her as a princess. Otherwise, rumors that she could not conduct herself as a future queen would get back to King Erbin. Geraint felt like a little boy worried about being tattled on. His father had put him in a depressing predicament.
He watched Enid eat, saw the amusement in her eyes as she listened to Wilton. He wanted to experience the softness of her regard just for himself. Somehow he had to get over the wound to his pride she’d inflicted. But he wasn’t sure he knew how to get past the anger. He was angry with himself for rushing into this marriage, angry with his wife for her secrets and her stubbornness, and lastly, angry that instead of serving King Arthur, he was touring fishing villages.
The wind across the open moor whistled as it wended its way through the clusters of soldiers. He saw Enid shiver and search about her. Her cloak rested in a heap just out of reach. Geraint settled it about her shoulders then moved behind her. She tensed as she looked back at him, but he stayed where he was, blocking the worst of the wind from her.
And when he saw her head droop, he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her back against him. He couldn’t allow his wife to fall headfirst into the fire. She remained stiff, but she allowed the gesture. She was still angry that he hadn’t allowed her to fight. There was always so much anger in their marriage now.
But the smell of her hair against his cheek made him ache for the peacefulness of their earlier relationship. He didn’t know how to get it back, how to move ahead. When Fryda softly said that Enid’s small pavilion was ready, Enid sprang up as if she’d been waiting for a reason to leave him. The two women retreated behind the canvas walls, leaving Geraint surprised to feel alone.
“Such a shame, milord,” Wilton said.
Geraint frowned at the soldier. “What do you mean? We were victorious.”
“Oh, o’ course—as if I had any doubts about that! But nay, I be wonderin’ whose idea it was to bring the maid along.”
Geraint glowered at the fire. “My stepmother’s.”
Wilton laughed. “Too bad ye didn’t bring two servants to keep each other company, while you remained with yer wife.”
THE next afternoon, after a wet, foggy, uneventful morning’s march, they reached the first village on Geraint’s list. Several dozen thatched-roof homes were nestled in the cliffs beside the sea. The fishing boats were out on open water, leaving the harbor strangely bereft. Enid agreed to accompany Geraint and his four men-at-arms into the village as an advance party, rather than frighten the women and children with a whole troop of soldiers. Or did they leave the soldiers on the outskirts of the village to guard against attack, she wondered?
The few men still ashore met them at the village green. Enid played the good little woman and allowed Geraint to help her from the horse. For a moment, she thought amusement had twinkled in his eyes, replacing the anger she always sensed in him now, but it was quickly gone.
After introducing himself, Geraint led her forward by the hand. “And allow me to present my wife, the princess Enid.”
Every village man had to look up at her, and she watched their mouths sag open in surprise. But the dozen women behind them, most carrying babies or with children tugging at their skirts, pushed their men as
ide and gazed at her with eager curiosity.
“Come to the tavern, milady,” said one robust woman, who carried not one but two babes, “I be the best brewer in Cornwall.”
Geraint smiled, unleashing his full charm on the woman, and Enid felt its effect as if the rain had come after a long drought.
“We would be honored, mistress,” he said. “Lead on.”
The crowd surged around them, and though Enid felt a little dazed at being the center of so much attention, she tried to put her tumultuous feelings aside and join in the spirit of the day.
The tavern had low ceiling beams, from which hung dried meat and herbs and the occasional string of vegetables. The women smiled their amusement as Enid and Geraint had to duck or be blindsided. While the men pulled Geraint aside and gathered around him, the women drew Enid into their midst and gave her a seat of honor—the only chair in a room full of benches and stools.
Enid forced a smile as she accepted their stares. The children fingered the material of her gown in awe, and finally one woman rallied her courage.
“Princess—milady—might I touch yer hair?’Tis like having a fine gift, that color.”
Feeling foolish, Enid granted the request, and after rubbing a yellow lock between her fingers, the brave woman retreated and whispered something to the others.
The brewer gave Enid a gap-toothed grin. “ ’Tis time to be tryin’ me beer, milady.”
For several hours, Enid heard stories of village life, of the lean or plentiful fishing years, of babies and the newest weaving pattern. She listened politely, determined to make a good impression as the proper wife, but she only knew the basics of needlework and could not relate to the endless talk of children.
Occasionally she stole a glance at the men on the other side of the room and found herself envying Geraint. They would be discussing the safety of the village, something she could understand.
More men crowded into the tavern as the fishermen came home for the night. Everyone gathered together to share the evening’s supper, and then Geraint and Enid were offered the room above the tavern, the only “inn” in the village.
