by Signe Pike
“You bore it well, my son.”
Lail glanced up at the half-burned ceiling and looked at my father incredulously. “We’ll leave that. And what is she doing here?” He nodded to me, jaw clenched against the pain.
“You are truly unbelievable,” I said. “You’re lucky I came.”
Our eyes met, and I read Lail’s question.
You felt it?
I gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“And in your condition . . .” His eyes traveled to my belly.
“Don’t be foolish. It wasn’t your fault.”
Lail sank back and closed his eyes. A tear escaped, slipping down the pale skin of his cheek.
“They are dead, Lailoken, the men who did this to you,” I said. “Brant saw to that.”
“No. Not all of them,” Lail said. “Not yet.”
I bit my lip. Of course. It was not only my brother’s face that had been wounded. There was also his pride. He strained and pressed himself up.
“Lailoken! You cannot yet move. You’ve lost so much blood. You could have—” The words lodged in my throat. “Please, I beg you. Lie still. There’s a cart outside. You’ll go home to Buckthorn. All will be well.”
“Lailoken,” Father said. “You must regain your strength.” My brother said nothing but eased back down, staring at the scorched thatching overhead. I reached to knit my fingers in his. He did not draw away, but his hand was limp, lifeless as a corpse.
“You must go, Languoreth,” Lail said. “You should never have come. You have endangered yourself. And your babe.”
“And I would do so again,” I said. “Do not worry for me. Just rest, please, so that you might heal. I’ve seen to Thoma and he’s even now readying a cart. He’ll know what to do.”
At the thought of my departure, the consequences I’d set aside since feeling the searing pain of Lailoken’s wound upon my own face resurfaced. I would have to answer to Tutgual. I was a disobedient hound who had slipped her leash. My husband would have woken by now and found me absent. Rhydderch would be fuming. Furious. And anxious for my return.
News would have reached them by now of Mungo’s raid. I thought of the missive left open upon Rhydderch’s table, and a fresh surge of anger rocked through me. Had Rhydderch anticipated this, he should have warned me. He should have warned my family.
“Languoreth, your brother is right. We must see you back to Clyde Rock, and quickly.” Father helped me stand. “Brodyn,” he called. “Ready her boat.”
Three granaries smoldered in the dawn. Smoke stung my eyes as Father walked me to the river’s edge. Men from town had come in droves to help extinguish the flames, and many of them sat now atop empty buckets, shoulders sagging and faces solemn as they took in the devastation. What the thieves could not abscond with they had burned. We were in the midst of winter now. If Father could not recover his grain, it was our people now who would face starvation.
“There is still the granary and mill at Cadzow,” Father reassured me as if reading my thoughts. “Look for me soon. Tutgual will call a meeting. Then I will deal with Mungo. I will recover my vessel and my grain. Until then, you must take care.” His dark eyes were tender. “I nearly lost my son today. I do not need to tell you that carrying a child is a dangerous endeavor.”
“I will take care, Father. I promise.”
“Keep to yourself. Be clever. You are your mother’s daughter.”
“Perhaps,” I allowed. “But it seems I also carry my father’s stout spirit.”
He touched a callused hand to my face. “Then I pray it serves you as it has served me. May the Gods keep you, my daughter.”
“And you.”
I took Brodyn’s hand and stepped aboard the boat as Father lifted his arm in farewell. “I will see you at court.”
I took my seat, my swollen feet pulsing in my boots. Yes, news of the raid would have spread by now, and with it word of my brother’s disfigurement. My father was much beloved as a king, and the men of our tenant garrison had watched Lailoken playing at swords as a boy; their loyalty to our family ran deep. Now the grain they’d given their sweat and blood for had been plundered. The son of their king disgraced. Father had doubled the guard as a precaution—but how could he have conceived of such an attack so close to the capital’s own walls?
My heart sank as I thought of returning to Clyde Rock. I belonged with my father. With my brother. As we took the first bend in the river, I turned to look back one last time.
Father stood at the water’s edge wrapped in furs against the cold, the wealth of his kingdom smoldering behind him.
The muscles that carried the growing weight of my belly throbbed with a dull pain, and I closed my eyes to it, letting the sound of the waves against the hull lull me. Desdemona woke me what felt like a moment later, the fear in her voice making me sit up too quickly, leaving my head spinning.
“You’ll want t’ wake now, m’lady.” Her eyes were fixed on the shore beyond.
I blinked and rubbed a hand against my head. “What is it?”
I looked downriver. Clyde Rock loomed, its dragon-backed summits covered in snow. And standing upon the docks at the great island’s feet were Tutgual’s soldiers, clad in scarlet, their faces hard as they waited for the woman who had dared disobey their king.
“Don’t be frightened, Desdemona. It isn’t you they want.”
I scanned their cloaked forms and nearly swayed in relief as I spotted Rhydderch standing among them, his own sealskin cloak thrown hastily over his shoulders and dark shadows beneath his eyes. Breg stood only one step behind, his sharp jaw set with purpose.
Brodyn placed his hand protectively on my shoulder. “Give me the word and I will strike.”
“No, Brodyn. We mustn’t let it come to that. Lord Rhydderch will not harm me.”
“It is not Lord Rhydderch I worry about.”
Tutgual, of course.
My cousin’s mouth formed a thin line as Tutgual’s men came forth and yanked our boat into the dock.
I had been ordered to confine myself to Clyde Rock. Wives had been thrown into pits for lesser displays of disobedience. But to disobey the high king? I could only thank the Gods I was with child; surely there was protection in that.
Rhydderch’s eyes burned into mine as Brodyn stepped onto the docking, offering me his hand. I’d been Rhydderch’s wife for six moons, and still his stony gaze was unreadable. He gave a curt bow of his head and took my hand from Brodyn a little too firmly.
“I can only assume you absconded to Partick,” he said.
“I did.”
“And your brother?”
I met his eyes. “He would have died if not for me.”
Rhydderch exhaled. For the first time, I saw the strange look of fear flicker behind my husband’s eyes as he ushered me toward the ramparts, the dock planks trembling beneath our feet.
“In leaving the fortress, you have disobeyed the king,” he said. “I cannot protect you now.”
CHAPTER 34
* * *
Four soldiers suddenly closed in, and Rhydderch stepped before me. These men were not the soldiers I sometimes chatted with, the ones who manned the lookout near the sloping boulder where I often perched to gaze out to sea. These men were bred with no room for niceties.
“She carries my babe, Breg,” Rhydderch reminded him.
The captain of Tutgual’s guard gave Rhydderch a hard stare. “Aye,” he said. “A fact she might have considered before taking her leave of the fort. We will escort her now.”
Rhydderch planted his feet, his eyes stony with warning, but I knew he must step aside.
“Come, my lady.”
I set my jaw and followed Breg uphill. They pushed me up the slick stone steps until my breath came in gasps and my legs nearly gave way.
“Let her rest.” Brodyn’s angry voice came from below. “The woman’s with child!”
I held up one hand to silence him. I did not want to test them.
By the ti
me we reached the peak of the hill, I had stripped off my fur cloak and my dress clung to my back with sweat. I struggled to catch my breath as we moved into the entryway of Tutgual’s hall, the hot blast of hearth air stifling my lungs. I heard the buzz of voices as Tutgual’s men hurried me onward toward the great room. It was to be public, then, my shaming. The king would chastise me in front of his court.
So be it.
I steadied my chin and moved as gracefully as I was able toward the imposing doors. As the hinges swung open, the room fell silent. Morcant and his warriors. Elufed, standing beside the king. I could feel their eagerness as they perched like ravens on a battlefield, their eyes greedy for a corpse.
“How dare you,” a woman whispered as I passed.
And then, to my horror, I spotted Crowan pressed between the iron-armed grips of two of Tutgual’s men. Her gray hair was disheveled; she had been pulled from bed in her nightdress and brought before court, her thin legs visible beneath the worn fabric. My face must have crumpled, because she shook her head, her hazel eyes grim with determination. I could not let them harm her. I would not let it come to that.
I trained my eyes upon the floor as my feet plodded toward the heavy wooden throne where Tutgual sat. I dared not look up, but I could almost feel him cock his birdlike head. I knew his eyes upon me were as sharp as any dagger.
“My king.” I dipped my head low.
“My king,” he echoed thoughtfully. “Am I? Am I your king?”
“Father—” Rhydderch spoke up, but Tutgual silenced him.
“I am speaking to your wife,” his voice boomed. “Now. Look at me.”
I lifted my head. Tutgual’s face was hard but his blue eyes flickered with something that neared excitement. Beside him, Elufed’s pretty face was a mask of pity.
“Who knew of your plan, this plan to defy me?”
Tutgual’s eyes scanned my retinue, shifting from Desdemona to Brodyn. Settling on Crowan. “Bring forth her maid.”
“No!” I shouted as the soldiers lifted Crowan by her fragile arms, dragging her feet. Tears of panic clouded my vision. “No, please! She knew nothing. It was my doing. Mine alone!”
Tutgual considered me a moment. Then snorted derisively and gestured to Crowan. “Beat her,” he commanded.
Crowan stiffened her little body like a rod, her mouth firm as the warrior lifted his arm to strike.
“No, please!” I sobbed, falling to my knees. “Please don’t hurt her!”
Tutgual lifted a finger, and the soldier looked to the king, pausing. The high king shifted his vulturish eyes to me.
“Don’t hurt her? We shall see. Come,” he said.
I scrambled to my feet. Fixed my eyes on the embroidery of his winter robe as I moved to stand before him. Tutgual took a slow sip of ale from a nearby cup and handed it to a servant, wiping his mouth on the edge of his sleeve.
“Lady Languoreth. You have arrived back to Clyde Rock. And how was your journey?”
I summoned my strength. “My journey was not a happy one, my king.”
“Was it not?”
“No.”
“Go on.”
“I arrived in Partick at dawn to find my brother nearly bled to death inside my father’s granary.” I swallowed my fury, forcing my voice even. “Surely you received word of the raid on my father’s stores of grain.”
Tutgual steepled his fingers, peering at me with curiosity. “We were informed of the raid only hours ago. And you have been gone since before first light. Tell me: How could this be? Who could be your messengers, that they could bring news to you, unbeknownst to us, with such inconceivable speed, for I would have such lightning men carry news for myself.”
Laughter rippled from court, and Tutgual raised his hand amusedly to silence them.
“I had no messengers, my king.”
“You had no messengers,” he echoed. “What am I to think of a young princess, so newly wed to my son, who flees from my court under the cover of darkness without my permission? What am I to suppose, other than that you disobeyed our orders? That you had run away?”
I faltered, my eyes fixed on the ground.
“Speak!” he boomed.
“I did leave word with my husband. I would never flee, my lord.”
“I will ask you again: How did you know that this raid had taken place?”
I lifted my eyes to meet his, defiant. “I knew nothing of the raid, my king. I only knew my brother was in danger, and from no source of messenger save a sister’s love of her twin. I woke in the dark from a pain not my own. I did not seek to discover the reason. I knew only that I must go at once, before it was too late!”
There was a long moment of silence as the king weighed my answer.
And then.
I had not realized how close I stood to the high king until my body slammed into stone. The blow knocked me from my feet, sending me prostrate on the floor. My face against the shale, I blinked as my vision blurred, pain exploding across my cheek.
Tutgual’s voice was calm. “Stand,” he commanded.
Swallowing my tears, I reached instinctively to touch my face. Never before had I been struck. My cheek stung as though I’d been slapped with a fist full of needles, and my wrist ached as if it might have been fractured from bracing my fall.
“Stand,” Tutgual demanded once more.
I blinked and pushed myself up on trembling arms, my hair falling around my face. The crowd in the hall stood silent at my back. No one came to my aid, not even my own husband. I took a breath, bracing to be struck again, my arms shielding the life in my stomach. But no further blow came.
At last Tutgual sniffed.
“Handle your wife,” he said to Rhydderch. “You would do well to teach her who her true family is now.”
Rhydderch came forward. I wavered, reaching out for him to steady me, but he pulled his arm away, nodding toward the door.
“Go,” he said.
My face burned with fury. Go? I wanted to run. I wanted to race from this horrid hall and out onto the hill where I could sob beside the wintry shadow of the boulder and fix my eyes on the sea. If I could feel my brother’s pain, could not my own lover then feel the roiling emotions that pulsed within me?
Come to me, Maelgwn. Save me, I pleaded.
But only Brodyn came to walk with me. I held my head erect, kept my footsteps measured as I made my way through the crowd. As I reached the door, rather than open it and release me from the endless shame and humiliation, two of Tutgual’s men stood, unyielding. Brodyn cast them a look that could splinter stone and they stepped aside at last, the door closing behind us. My fingers found Brodyn’s sleeve and I fell against him, my tears silent and shuddering.
“It’s over now, it’s done.” My cousin’s voice was thick as he wrapped his arm around me.
I moved my feet blindly as Brodyn guided me out into the cold, then into the warmth of my hut, where I fell upon the bed and wept. The door opened and shut. Brodyn reappeared with a linen knotted around a thick mound of snow.
“Here, little cousin. Put this against your face. It will help ease the swelling.”
“I hate him,” I seethed. “I hate him. That tyrant! That—”
“No, Languoreth, you mustn’t,” Brodyn clutched me. “There are men all around.”
I pressed the snowpack to my cheek. It was some time before I could breathe evenly again.
Even as exhaustion took over, even as I slept, my cheek swollen and my bed linens damp with tears, I kept the embers of my hatred for Tutgual close, where my breath could fuel them, fan them, keep them from extinguishing. He may beat me but he could not rid himself of me. Rhydderch must only be named tanist. I would stay at Clyde Rock and Tutgual would die. Someday I would rule.
I was still cradling my anger when a knock came at my door.
So Rhydderch had finally come. I pulled myself to a sitting position, but it was Elufed, not my husband, who stood framed by the door.
She raised a delicate ey
ebrow in concern. “How is the babe? I trust you have rested?”
The queen took my silence as agreement and nodded at Brodyn to close the door. Her pale hair was twisted into sweeping coils, her long, straight nose and proud cheekbones conveying her high breeding even where fine jewelry and lavish dresses could not. It was her clear gray eyes Rhydderch had been born with, so difficult to measure, ancient and impenetrable as slate. Elufed gave a practiced smile as she came to stand beside the bed and reached to touch my face, gently tilting it to the light.
“He has a skilled hand,” she said, dropping her fingers. “It won’t leave a mark.”
“Even Tutgual King, then, abides by the law,” I said.
“Indeed.” Elufed smoothed her robes to avoid creasing before sitting at the edge of the bed. “The laws of the Britons declare a man might strike a woman so long as it does not leave a mark. But where I hail from, if a man strikes a woman, they cut off his hand.”
I looked at her in surprise. Elufed rolled her eyes. “Do you know nothing of the Picts?”
“I know a little,” I said.
I did not care for a lesson on Picts. I only wanted her to leave so I might be alone. Elufed seemed too at ease in my room, as if she belonged there, just as she—with her regal bearing and heavy-lidded eyes—seemed to belong so naturally at court. Hosting feasts, standing in deference at the elbow of such a despicable king. She made me feel feeble-legged and gawky, like a newborn foal. I still had my anger, though, and fixed my eyes on the coverlet, my fingers picking at a loose thread.
“That blanket was embroidered by my mother’s hands,” Elufed said.
My fingers ceased.
“You cannot take much with you when you leave home. But you know that.” She smiled and waved a hand, as if her husband had not just slammed me to the ground before all of his court. As if my father’s granaries had not just been raided by force, my brother’s face not just butchered like a side of beef.
“She was a Pictish queen, my mother,” Elufed continued. “This is why I was married to Tutgual, of course. The Pictish people honor the mother’s line, not the father’s. Rhydderch and Morcant, my daughter Gwenfron—they may be Britons, but they will always be Picts because they are mine.” She sought to catch my eyes. “My mother and father sought peace with Strathclyde and so I became their holy token. Just as you are ours.”
