Eastra recalled how aroused she’d been, how desperate to have Rhun make love to her. She had been so wanton and eager, holding nothing back. She shivered. Morguese’s magic had worked very well. She touched her stomach. Could there really be a child growing inside her? She didn’t feel any different. So far, she’d experienced only the vaguest fatigue, and she had thought that was because she wasn’t sleeping well because she was so worried about Rhun.
She glanced sharply at Rhiannon. “Does anyone else know? Maelgwn? Beli?”
Rhiannon shook her head.
“Good. I don’t want anyone to know.”
Rhiannon quirked a brow. “In time, it will be obvious enough.”
What was she to do? If Rhun found out about the babe before she could talk to him, he would think she had been trying to trap him, to force him to wed her, or least bind him to her so he could not escape. He would be disgusted by her manipulations. But if she could speak to him and explain about Morguese’s spell, then maybe he wouldn’t blame her so much.
But when would she see him? What if he went off to war without her ever having a chance to talk to him? She remembered her Seeing and the agonized expression on his face. Did that have something to do with the babe?
Rhiannon reached out and stroked her shoulder. “I understand. You don’t want anyone to know until you tell the father. Well, you won’t have to wait too long. He’s on his way here.”
Eastra stared in amazement at the woman beside her. Rhiannon’s violet blue eyes had a distant, misty look, and her mouth curved into a tender smile.
* * *
“Damned mist,” Rhun muttered. He jerked his horse to a halt, then reached up with his free hand and pulled up the hood on his heavy woolen mantle.
Bridei rode up beside him. “We’ll have to wait it out. This mountain country is treacherous enough when a man can see where he’s going. It would be suicide to try to ride in this stuff.”
“I know we’ll have to stop,” Rhun grumbled. “I’m trying to find some sort of shelter so the waiting isn’t so miserable.” He dismounted and squinted into the mist, waiting for the white haze to shift. When it did, he spied a tumble of rocks about knee high. It would afford them a dry place to sit, at least. “There’s some rocks about ten paces to your right,” he said. “Won’t keep us dry, but it’s better than nothing.”
In seconds, the mist was on them again, but they managed to stagger blindly over to the rocks. No need to tether the horses, Rhun thought as he let loose of the reins. The beasts knew better than to wander off. He crouched down, feeling for the rocks, then sat down when he found one flat enough to sit on. He could barely make out Bridei no more than two paces away, finding his own resting spot.
“Llud, that was fast,” Bridei said. “One minute it was clear. The next we were swallowed up in the dragon’s breath.”
“I hardly think it’s any sort of enchantment. Just the cursed weather up here in the hills.”
“Well, it was your idea to go this way instead of keeping to the coast road. You were so sure it would be faster.”
Rhun adjusted his cloak more tightly around his body. The mist chilled his face, but at least it was summer. They would not freeze to death.
Frustration churned inside him. Whatever had possessed him to decide to go this way? Bridei was right. The old Roman roadway, overgrown and crumbling as it was, would still have been faster. And now, with the mist, they might lose a whole day. There was the distinct possibility it would keep them penned in until nightfall. What an uncomfortable, godforsaken place this would be to spend the night!
As if having the same thoughts, Bridei said, “Do you think we should get out our gear before the horses wander too far?”
“I suppose so. Stay here and keep talking. If I get turned around, the only way I’ll be able to find this spot is to head toward the sound of your voice.”
“Well, brother, if there’s one thing I can do, it’s keep talking. Or maybe I should sing.” With that, Bridei broke into song. It was some sort of lament, Rhun noted as he inched his way forward with his hands out, feeling for warm, solid horseflesh among the shifting whiteness. Cadal nickered when he found him. Rhun spoke soothingly to the stallion and groped in the saddlebag. Behind him, he heard Bridei, his rich, well-trained voice sounding so clear and close, he might have been standing next to Rhun. Although he tried to concentrate on what they would need for the night, Rhun found himself responding to poignant sadness of the melody. “By the saints! Can’t you sing something more cheerful?” he exclaimed.
Bridei stopped and called out, “It’s an old, old song about a beautiful maiden who gets stolen by the fairies and taken to the underworld. She dwells there for three lifetimes, then finally convinces them to release her. When she returns to the mortal realm, her earthly lover is long gone, dead and buried. So she roams the hills looking for a fair-faced, handsome youth to be her new paramour.”
Having found food, blankets, and his leather pouch with flintstone and tinder, Rhun made his way back to Bridei. Fortunately, the mist thinned momentarily and he could almost see where he was going. “I hate those ancient, traditional songs,” he said, as he dumped their provisions among the rocks. “They’re always so gloomy and mournful.”
“But appropriate. Who knows but that we will wake in the morning to find the mist cleared, but also that three lifetimes have passed?”
Rhun sighed heavily. He’d been so anxious to see Eastra, he’d tried to take the shortest route. Now it appeared they would be delayed for nearly a full day.
Bridei said, “You know, I’m having a hard time understanding this. You left Urien’s stronghold over a fortnight ago. Plenty of time to make your report to Arthur, then return and rescue Eastra. But instead you moped around Camlann for days, then suddenly decided the night before last that you had to see her. What’s changed? Have you made some sort of decision regarding our lovely Saxon hostage? Are you finally going to admit you’re in love with her and ask her to be your wife?”
Rhun felt the familiar weight descend upon him. “Don’t you see—I can’t marry her! She’s a Saxon, and our hostage. It’s impossible!”
“Then what are you going to say to her? She’s going to want some sort of commitment from you, some assurance that if she gets with child, you aren’t going to abandon her.”
Rhun sucked in his breath. “I had not thought about a babe.” What would he do if Eastra were carrying his child?
“Well, you should, foolish brother of mine. It only takes one time, and I know you’ve been intimate with her more than once.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Losing their maidenhood changes a woman, makes them bolder. I saw every sign of that soon after we were taken captive by Urien. And then, one night before you left Caer Louarn, Morguese worked a spell. If Eastra didn’t let you love her that night, Morguese is not the sorceress I think she is.”
With a rush of feeling Rhun remembered making love to Eastra in his underground prison. The experience had been so intense, so overwhelming. He’d thought that was love, but what if it was merely one of Morguese’s charms, binding him to Eastra against his will? “Damn that meddling witch,” he muttered. “Why couldn’t she leave well enough alone?”
“I don’t know, but she was adamant about it being that night. She said the spell wouldn’t work the same any other time.”
Rhun turned to face his brother, although he couldn’t see him in the mist. “You were a part of it? You helped her?”
“By the Light,” Bridei said angrily, “I thought it was what you wanted! It was certainly what Eastra wanted! I didn’t see the point in arguing with Morguese. I figured she was giving you both your heart’s desire!”
Rhun reached out and grabbed his brother’s arm. He was furious. He’d known Morguese was trouble, but he’d never guessed he would be the target of her loathsome magic. “What does Morguese want from us? From me? Does she have some sort of scheme in mind? Or was she just amusing hers
elf at my expense?”
“I don’t know! Morguese doesn’t trust men. She’d never tell me what she was up to. The only reason I knew anything about the spell was that I was part of it.”
Rhun clutched his brother tighter, fingers digging into flesh. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Relax, brother. I didn’t have to drink your blood or anything too gruesome. All she asked me to do was make love to her little apprentice, Nevyn. I guess she put a spell on us, too, so that our ardor and passion transferred to you and Eastra. It was simple enough. Nevyn was half mad for it anyway. Hard to imagine such a tiny, quiet wench could be so passionate. I vow I still have the scars on my back from her fingernails.”
“That’s appalling!” Rhun shouted. “She’s barely more than a girl!”
Bridei pulled away. “She was a maid aye, but not too young. Most men wed off their daughters at that age, and as I’ve told you, she was more than eager.”
“But to use her in some repulsive rite!”
“I didn’t use her; Morguese did. And I have every reason to believe Nevyn knew exactly what she was about. ‘Sex magic’ she called it. The woman I bedded was no quivering, blushing maiden, but an acolyte of the Great Mother herself.”
Rhun tried to calm his breathing, to overcome the helpless rage Bridei’s revelation had aroused. Although he despised Morguese’s manipulations, he had to get past his anger and discover her motivations. What did Morguese want with him and Eastra?
“I don’t see why that changes anything,” Bridei said. “You’ve been infatuated with Eastra since you set eyes on her in Cerdic’s hall, and she with you. Maybe all Morguese wanted to do was get you together and force you to admit your feelings for each other.”
Rhun snorted. “I hardly see Morguese as a matchmaker. Nay, you can be certain she had some devious purpose in mind. But what was it?”
“Maybe Eastra knows, or at least can shed some light on the matter. The two of you need to talk, that’s for certain.”
Rhun sat down heavily. Eastra. How had things gotten so contused and muddled between the two of them? As if their situation wasn’t bad enough, now Morguese had complicated things even more. How could he be certain what he felt for Eastra was real and not some sort of enchantment?
Oh, it was real, he decided. And Bridei was right. He’d been in love with Eastra since that day in the longhouse. Or maybe even since the day he defied his commander and saved her life. But all this aching longing inside him didn’t change the fact she was a Saxon princess. Because of that, he could offer her nothing but passion and dreams and in the end heartbreak.
“Oh, God” he groaned. “Why am I even doing this? I should leave her alone, never see her again, like I’d planned.”
“So you don’t think you can wed her,” Bridei said thoughtfully. “You’re probably right. Arthur wouldn’t allow it. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t see her. At least while she’s a hostage, you might as well enjoy her company. Grab what moments of happiness you can. That’s what I would do, brother, if I were ever dense-witted enough to fall in love. And maybe somehow it will work out. If Cerdic breaks the truce and you go to war and Arthur wins, as the victor you could petition Cerdic for the right to marry his niece. For that matter, if Cerdic were dead, there would be no obstacle to the marriage. If I were you, I would be thinking of ways to be rid of Cerdic”
“You want me to commit murder? What noble plans you have for me! If I did something like that I would not be worthy of Eastra, nor any other woman!”
“Not murder. But you are involved in a war with Eastra’s kin. I’m merely saying it might be to your benefit if Cerdic broke the truce. Then you could kill him on the battlefield and have no compunction about it.”
“If Cerdic breaks this truce and we go to war, I will probably end up dead myself,” Rhun said flatly.
“Arthur thinks things are that hopeless?”
“Aye. The word is that the Picts have joined forces with Cerdic, and maybe some of the Irish as well. We can’t fight on three fronts—not when half of our countrymen refuse to join our cause.”
“Can you blame them, under the circumstances? Why should they sacrifice their lives for Arthur? Why should you?”
“For a dream, a dream of a united Britain. And because if they don’t fight now, they’ll end up fighting for the rest of their lives anyway. The ravens are circling, brother. The barbarians mean to crush us between them.”
“But the Picts aren’t much different than the Cymry. And even the Irish—father has told you the tale of our great-grandfather Cunedag, hasn’t he? He was Irish, but he settled the wild lands of Gwynedd and Manua Gotodin and became as British as the rest of them. And the Romans, they supposedly conquered Britain. For centuries they dwelled here, but do you see any sign of them now? All that’s left is a bunch of ruined buildings and fools like Aurelius.”
“But the Romans changed Britain, made it something different. Taught us to fight wars with strategy and skill. They improved trade, introduced us to many civilized comforts, brought a kind of peace and order to the land it hasn’t seen before or since.”
“And the Saxons will change Britain, too, but it might not be all bad, either. From what I’ve seen, they are not so different than us, except they are better farmers.” Bridei thought a moment. “And deep down I believe they are less warlike, less hotheaded and impulsive. That might be good for Britain. In fact, it might accomplish exactly what you wish for. Arthur—or any British chieftain—will never unite the people of this island, but the Saxons might be able to.”
“But they will never win over the Picts,” Rhun said. “Nor the Cymry, either. Neither of them will ever join forces with the Saxons. They are too stubborn, too fierce and independent, like our father.” He grimaced.
“Our father.” Bridei’s voice dripped scorn. “He’s from another time, another world. A time when, to hear him tell, warriors were much more valiant than they are now, their deeds greater and more heroic. He lives in the glorious past, the realm of the bards, where everything is brighter and more vivid than the present. I dabble in that world, too, so I suppose I can’t blame him for being seduced by it. The imagination always colors things the way you wish it had been. I remember when I was a boy and he would be talking to me, but his gaze looked past me, seeing another time, all the memories crowding his thoughts. I wonder how my mother endures it—to know a part of him dwells forever in the past with his beloved Aurora.”
For all the sarcasm in Bridei’s voice, there was a kind of wistfulness there as well. Rhun understood that. The tale of Maelgwn and his first wife was touching enough to inspire a dozen laments. To think that out of grief over losing Aurora in childbirth, his father had actually given up his kingdom for over five years and dwelt in a priory. Knowing how impatient and contemptuous Maelgwn was of the clergy, it seemed even more remarkable. But if Eastra died Rhun knew he would feel the same, as if a part of his soul had been cut out. That was why he was going to see her, against all his better sense and reason.
He grabbed up his saddle pack and began to rummage in it for something to eat. As soon as the fog lifted they would set out. They were not far, just a few valleys over from a long vale that led down to Deganwy. At the thought, his body tightened with expectation and yearning. Eastra would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life. He wondered if the same were true for her. If he died, would she mourn for him for years? He didn’t want that. It grieved him to think of her being unhappy. Another reason to be careful what he said to her. He could make no promises. If war came, he might be dead in a fortnight.
He sighed. It seemed cruel to bind her to him even more closely, to make her hope for a future that could never be. But he knew he would not be able to help himself. His feelings for her were too intense, too overwhelming. And if he were really going to die, why should he not know some happiness in the brief time left to him? He’d cursed himself for becoming like Bridei, for forgetting his duty and seizing pleasure and satisfaction in
the moment. But right now it seemed like the only thing to do.
He wondered if some of Morguese’s love spell still clung to him. Or maybe it was this place, this ancient, haunted land of mountains and mist. Time did not seem to matter here, and the goals and dreams of one man’s lifetime seemed as inconsequential as one small stone skittering down the hillside.
“Hand me the wineskin,” Bridei said. “And I’ll sing you a song to cheer you up.”
Rhun nodded. For once, he was willing to listen to his brother’s advice and drown his sorrows in wine and music.
Chapter 15
“Let me carry the basket!” Mabon cried.
“Let me! Let me!” echoed Gwydion. “I’m the eldest.”
“By a few heartbeats only,” Mabon returned. “We’re the same age in truth. Mama said so!”
“Come now, don’t squabble,” Elen, their older sister, said with a laugh. “If you’re going to walk with us, you have to behave. What do you say we let one of you carry the basket there, and the other the way back?”
“It will be full on the way back,” Mabon said. “I’m the strongest, so I’ll carry it then.”
“Nay, I’m the strongest.”
“Are not!”
“Hush, children,” Rhiannon said softly. “If you’re too noisy, I won’t show you the fox den on the way to the berry patch. You’ll have to be quiet if you want to see the kits playing.”
The twins immediately went silent. Eastra glanced at Rhiannon, amused by her ploy to distract her youngest children from their fighting. She hadn’t raised her voice or threatened them with any sort of discipline, but the quarrelsome, rambunctious five-year-olds obeyed their mother instantly. Rhiannon had a gift, Eastra thought, of bringing calm and peace where ever she went. But then, for someone with such lively children, such a skill was probably necessary for survival.
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