by Rowley, Gwen
When the door was shut behind them, the sudden silence was rather overwhelming. Even though Enid had shared a room with her husband for many nights, she still felt awkward and even a little guilty. He was a man, and she was his wife—those village women below would say she owed him her submission, regardless of whether he deserved it or not.
Her body longed for intimacy with Geraint as much as her mind did, and she shivered, wondering how much longer it would be before she could no longer control her need for his kiss. She was shameless in her wanting of him.
But she said nothing, simply strolled to where her bag had been laid across the bed. As she searched for her night rail, Geraint moved about behind her. He crossed to the fireplace, and she surreptitiously watched him lay extra logs on the fire to last the night. She appreciated even the width of his back, and the way his muscles flowed with his movement.
Someone knocked on the door, and Enid was startled from her reverie. Geraint opened it to reveal Fryda. The shy maidservant could not meet Geraint’s eyes, as Enid followed her behind the changing screen.
“Do ye need me help bathing, milady?” she whispered, her shoulders hunched.
Enid wondered why the queen had sent the girl on a mission with so many men, if she was this shy. “Nay, Fryda, I shall be fine. Do you have a place to sleep?”
“A pallet in the kitchen with the other maids, milady.” She smiled. “’Tis warm there, and the maids have been kind to me.”
“Then go seek your rest.”
They stepped out from behind the screen, and to their surprise, Ainsley was in the room, unbuckling Geraint’s brigandine with his gnarled hands. Fryda gasped and threw herself before Enid, as if Ainsley had never seen a woman in a night rail before.
Ainsley was already turning away. “Milady, forgive me, we thought ye heard me come in.”
Geraint started to apologize, but Enid waved it away.
“Please finish,” she said. “I’ll remain behind the screen.”
When the door closed behind the two servants, Enid peered out, but this time she and Geraint were alone. He still wore a shirt and hose. His arms were braced against the mantel as he stared into the fire, but when he looked up and saw her, he straightened. And his gaze moved slowly down her body, setting her aflame.
Chapter 12
GERAINT looked upon the beautiful form of his wife, and was once again overwhelmed with an aching need for her. The night rail she wore hid much, but draped thinly over her curves. Her golden hair hung to her waist in undulating waves. She had a soft beauty about her that called to him, made him want to forget all of the anger between them.
And she waited, silent, as if she would welcome him.
Or would she be welcoming the distraction? Did she mean to keep the focus on the physical rather than their problems of trust?
He stiffened, determined not to give in. She lowered her head, and he thought he detected a soft sigh as she turned away to climb into the narrow bed. He eyed the low-slung piece of furniture dubiously. Two such large people were not going to easily fit in there.
He sat down before the fire and leaned his head back. He heard her moving about, as if trying to get comfortable. Then they both sighed together, and he shook his head in bemusement.
Glancing at the bed, he found Enid lying on her side, watching him. “You did not seem comfortable with the women today,” he said.
She frowned, but he quickly raised a hand.
“I am not starting an argument. I know you were doing your best. Only I noticed your unease.”
“Maybe because you know me well?” she asked dryly.
He groaned and turned away.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I mean to start no arguments either. But aye, I am not used to being among large groups of women. Surely you noticed that at Camelot.”
“But why? You have sisters, a mother.” He could not sleep, so this seemed the perfect opportunity to learn some things he should have asked at the beginning of their brief courtship. “In my foolishness I did not ask before, but tell me about them.”
She sat up, fluffed a cushion against the headboard, and leaned back. “I am the eldest. My sister Olwen is a year younger than I, and my sister Cinnia is three years younger. My brother, Dermot, has fourteen years, and will eventually become chieftain after my father.”
“You must have been around women as a youngster; you yourself told me that women are not so very different in your tribe.”
“They are not, but I am. My destiny was foretold before my birth, that I would be a warrior woman.”
“You had no choice?”
“It was not a matter of choosing. I knew from an early age that the intricacies of defense were something I understood. Where my sisters wanted cloth dolls to play with, I begged for my own dagger. When we discussed boys, they talked about handsome features, where I wanted to hear about his fighting skills.”
“So you accepted this destiny,” he said, trying to imagine a little girl fitting into a warrior’s world. It seemed very lonely.
“I never questioned it. I wanted to make my parents proud of me and play my part. Make no mistake, my sisters each had their own calling. Olwen is a gifted healer like our mother, and Cinnia possesses such a rare beauty that she will be able to make a fine match for the tribe’s benefit. But from an early age, I spent time with other women warriors, where I commenced my training.”
“You were fostered away from your family?” he asked, knowing that most children experienced that, including himself.
“Nay, but I was only with my family in the evening.” She hesitated, looking away from him with a distant gaze. “I always tried to sew with them and listen to them talk. But they didn’t understand what was important to me, and their growing impatience with my discussions of weapons and battle gradually pushed me toward my father. He was proud of me and encouraged my eagerness.”
“Your mother was not proud of you?” he asked. “My own mother did not live to know me.”
Her gaze met his earnestly. “My mother told me of her pride and love every day of my life. But I did not have much time to learn the ways of women, and I think she missed experiencing that with me. Luckily I was not her only daughter.”
“More than once,” he said softly, “someone would say that it was lucky I was not born a girl, who would know a deeper grief over a mother’s death.”
“You did not believe that!”
She sounded so defensive on his behalf that he almost smiled.
“Nay,” he said. “I saw my father’s grief, and it did not unman him.”
She nodded as if in relief, and still he could not stop studying her, wondering about all the things he didn’t know. Would they ever discover the deeper parts of each other?
“When that woman asked you to hold her child,” he said, “I thought you looked . . .”
“Frightened? You would be correct. My sister Olwen is married, and just last year gave birth to a babe, a little girl. My niece looked so fragile that I didn’t want to hold her, but Cinnia goaded me into it, then screamed to Olwen that I nearly dropped the babe. And the way little Bretta’s head bobbled on my arm, maybe I almost did.”
“Cinnia does not sound like she’ll be my favorite sister,” he said with disapproval.
Enid’s eyes sparkled in the firelight. “Ah, that would be a clash worth viewing!”
For a moment he wanted to share her grin, to bask in the ease they had experienced from their first meeting. But their smiles both died as their troubled lives intruded on the fantasy.
Geraint turned back to the fire, and the awkward silence rose between them again.
Softly, she said, “You are not going to sleep in a chair, are you? You need your rest.”
“Aye, discussing fishing with villagers is taxing.”
He winced at the bitterness he revealed.
“You did not want this mission from your father? Did you only agree because of me?”
He didn’t bother to ans
wer. He just stripped down to his braies, slid into bed at her side, but kept his tense back to her. The blankets were warm from her body, and he was so very aware of her inches away from him. Surely he would get more sleep in the chair.
THE following day, they journeyed through a pouring rain that depressed the spirits of even Wilton. Enid rode hunched over her horse, her hood incapable of keeping the rain off her face. The sea breeze snatched at their clothing, and the smell of brine and dead fish rose up the cliffs. Two horses at a time, they followed a path overlooking the ocean. The care that had to be taken to ensure everyone’s safety left them all on edge. A fight broke out between two soldiers at the midday meal, and by late afternoon, when they were looking for the best place to make camp, Geraint was obviously in a foul mood. He shouted rather than spoke, and his dark frown kept everyone out of his way.
Yet Enid hesitated to disturb him. They had dealt peacefully with each other all day, as if talk of their childhoods the night before had built a fragile bridge between them.
But somehow she had to be sure they were near a forest pond that night. Tiny streams would carry away her droplets of blood. Though she had never tried to use seawater to rejuvenate her powers, she sensed it would not be the same. She felt no calling deep in her bones for the sea, as she did near fresh water.
When Geraint talked with Ainsley about making their encampment on the cliffs, where a stream rushed over toward the sea, Enid interrupted.
“My husband, if we move into the woods, would we not have a break from the wind?”
He frowned; she had not once made a suggestion on this journey for fear he would assume she questioned his leadership. But her previous silence must have held her in good stead, because he nodded and had Ainsley send several men to look for a clearing in the woods.
Before she lost the light completely, Enid bade Lovell prepare for training. She would have to use the session to hide her true purpose.
He gaped at her, then looked around in guilt. “My lady, are you certain Sir Geraint would approve?”
She rolled her eyes, feeling itchy in her skin as she did on every third night. “He allowed me to take you as my squire, and he did not forbid our training on our earlier journey. We will just slip away alone where the other soldiers cannot see us.”
When he opened his mouth, she interrupted him. “I will inform my husband. I would not do him the discourtesy of making him worry about me.”
Lovell nodded. “Very well, my lady. What armor shall I bring for you?”
“Just my sword.”
Lovell blanched.
“There will be no daylight left if I take the time to change.”
“But my lady, what if I . . . hurt you?”
She smiled. “You will not. While you are building faith in yourself, you can have faith in me.”
He returned her smile, but he still looked nervous.
Enid walked through camp, searching for her husband. She found him overseeing a group of soldiers who were doing some sword fighting of their own. She wished she could stay to listen to his instructions. By the gods, she wished he would take up a sword himself. The muscular line of his arm always made her feel—
She stopped her wayward thoughts in disgust. “My husband?” she called from where she stopped several feet away.
He walked toward her, his gaze still on his men. “Aye?”
“I am going for a walk with Lovell.”
He frowned and looked across the clearing, where Lovell could be seen carrying something heavy. Fryda was glaring at him.
Before Geraint could speak, she said, “Aye, I will train with him. It is a duty you allowed me to accept. We will remain hidden from your men.”
She could see his indecision. If he forbade her, what would she do?
But in the end he only nodded gruffly. “Do not venture far. Do you want the aid of another soldier?” Then he glanced at her. “I imagine not.”
She grinned. “Lovell and I can handle anything we find in the woods. And I promise to remain within calling distance.”
When Geraint nodded, she hastily left before he could change his mind. She gathered several torches, lit one at the fire, and caught up with Lovell.
Fryda approached them, looking confused. “Milady, they are preparin’ our pavilion. Will ye not need my help to retire?”
“Thank you, Fryda,” she said. “Wait for me there.”
Lovell frowned as he glanced at the torches and fell into step beside Enid. “Are we going to be gone so long, my lady?”
She smiled grimly. “You never know what might happen.”
By insisting that she was looking for just the right spot, she managed to get a good look at the surrounding forest. She found a small pond behind a thick copse of trees. It would hide her well.
While Lovell removed their swords and shields from his sack, she pulled the back hemline of her gown up through her legs and tucked it into the girdle at her waist. The squire looked up, blushing at the sight of her bare legs.
She shook her head. “Now, Lovell, when I wear my jerkin, surely this much is exposed.”
“But . . . this is a gown, my lady.”
Giving an exaggerated sigh, she withdrew her sword from its scabbard, glad for the weight of it in her hand. It gleamed in the setting sun when she swung it, and she complimented Lovell on the care he took polishing it.
And then she attacked. He was forced to back up until he ran into a tree, knocking the wind out of him. As he gasped for breath, she grinned, putting the point of her sword into the ground and leaning on the hilt.
“Do not let an opponent catch you by surprise,” she said. “Never assume he will follow the same rules you’ve been taught.”
He nodded as he hung his head and began to climb to his feet. She attacked again, although this time he fared better.
“Never assume your opponent will wait like a gentle knight.”
He swung at her while she still spoke, and she laughed as she parried his sword away.
Geraint walked softly through the forest, not wanting to alert Enid to his presence. Though he knew her skill with a sword, he was uncomfortable leaving her alone away from the encampment.
He heard their laughter before he saw them, and at the last moment he ducked behind a tree instead of alerting them to his presence. Lovell held his sword with determination, although his cheek shown with a glimmer of blood in the growing dark. Enid faced the boy, her gown hiked to reveal her slim, muscular legs. Geraint paid no attention to her instruction, just watched her move.
The same fascination for the mystery of her warrior training still held sway over him. When a man attacked, Geraint judged his form, his skill; when Enid lunged at Lovell, driving him back, Geraint noticed none of this, because it was such a part of her. He saw the movement of her muscles, the grace of her straight back, the proud tilt of her head.
And her face alight with laughter, something he seldom saw anymore. They had made each other so unhappy. He felt . . . helpless, caught between his pride and his obsession with Enid.
She worked Lovell as hard as any knight would, and for the first time, it occurred to Geraint to wonder why she stayed in this marriage when she could survive easily on her own, and perhaps find someone who could make her happier than he did. She was not a woman trapped by her femininity, as so many others were.
Darkness finally settled all around them, and only two torches kept it at bay.
Enid lowered her sword and stepped back. “Enough for tonight, Lovell. You have done well.”
Geraint couldn’t see the boy’s face, but he held himself as if full of pride.
Suddenly Enid turned her head. “Did you see them, Lovell?” she asked, pointing into the darkness.
Geraint stiffened, his every sense alert.
Lovell lifted his sword. “My lady?”
“Rabbits!” she said. “At least a half dozen. Go chase them toward our encampment. The soldiers always set up snares. I have such a taste for rabbit.”
He grabbed up a torch at her bidding, took a few steps, then looked back. “I cannot leave you, my lady!”
“I need a bit of privacy, Lovell. Surely you understand.”
Geraint watched the boy nod and hurry off. Thank God he himself was there to wait for Enid. Even a knight should not linger in a dark, unfamiliar forest.
Enid took the other torch and stepped behind some trees. Geraint waited, but she didn’t reappear in a normal amount of time. Was she ill?
Suddenly, he felt an unusual tension in the night air. The hair on his arms rose; he thought he heard a static sound. And then a bolt of lightning shot from the sky behind the trees where his wife had disappeared.
Just like what had happened on the eve of their wedding.
Full of fear, Geraint vaulted over a bush, ran between the trees, and slid to a stop where the woods ended in a clearing. A waning moon peered out from behind dark clouds. Enid, nude and thigh-deep in a small pond, was already striding from the water.
“Did you see the lightning?” she cried when she saw him.
For a moment, she seemed to glow under the moonlight, and he forgot his fear for her, the lightning, everything but how he’d missed her touch.
“Enid.” His voice was hoarse with need as he came toward her.
He splashed a step into the water, and their bodies met and merged with a fierce kiss. He lost himself in the taste of her, even as his hands explored her body as if it had never been his. Her skin was moist and hot, and her nipples pressed hard into his hands. As she moaned, he answered her in kind.
“My lady?”
As they heard Lovell’s voice, they broke their kiss, but Geraint continued to shield her with his body. He looked down into her wide eyes, saw the wetness of her parted lips. Maybe if they were quiet, he’d just go away.
“My lady, where are you?”
Geraint was about to send the boy back, when Enid pushed at his chest. He released her.
“Lovell, I am with my husband,” she called, and her voice shook. “We shall be with you in a moment.”
