by Mia West
Their luck dribbled through his fingers as the woman’s eyebrows rose at Bedwyr. “Lord Uthyr’s son?”
Fuck.
“Yes,” Bed said, and Arthur knew the hiss at the end was for him.
Elain gave Bedwyr an appraising once-over. “Well met.”
Bed grumbled a response, scowling at the path ahead.
Gods’ blood, one of them needed to be friendly. “Well met,” Arthur said. “We were patrolling. Don’t see many women traveling alone.”
“Not many do.”
He waited, but she didn’t elaborate. “Lord Rhys must have particular confidence in you.”
She batted her eyelashes once and smiled. “I’m very good with a dagger.”
It lay under her belt, blade glinting as if she honed and polished it regularly. “Is that so?”
“Mmm.”
He straightened as if to scan their surroundings but eased half a step away, just in case.
“How far to walk?”
He couldn’t tell if Bedwyr was listening, but he was definitely walking more briskly now than on their way to the tomb. “Little over half an hour.”
She wasn’t forthcoming after that, offering one- and two-word responses outdone only by Bedwyr’s complete silence. By the time they neared the village, Arthur’s belly felt like a nest of snakes.
Bedwyr led them directly to his father’s house. Lord Uthyr stood before it, being greeted by their neighbors. Arthur nodded, wishing him welcome. As the warlord’s sharp eyes studied him, he wondered too late if his hair showed signs of his tumble on the ground. Just as he felt the urge to back away, in case his shirt sprouted grass stalks like a hedgehog’s spines, Bedwyr drew his father’s attention to Elain.
Arthur took the opportunity to escape.
His ears were buzzing so loudly when he got home, he didn’t hear his mother at first. When her voice registered, he looked up from his pack.
“I asked if you would fetch some water. Are you all right?” she asked, looking at him closely.
Too closely. Did he have bruises on his neck? Was he flushed? Did he look as guilty as he felt, because if anyone could see it on his face… He grabbed both water pails. “I’ll get it.”
He glanced toward Lord Uthyr’s house as he walked to the well, but they’d all gone inside already.
He was curious who the woman was and what her message was for the warlord. But the more important thing was that she’d seen him with Bedwyr. Him, naked and moaning, and Bed with his mouth full of cock, sucking as if his life depended on it.
And she spoke Cymrish perfectly well. Would Lord Uthyr get a second message?
Arthur managed to get the water back to their family’s house without slopping too much on the ground. His mother gave him another concerned look when he set the pails by the hearth, but then Cai was there, slapping him on the back.
“Hullo, little brother.”
“’Lo, Cai.”
Cai kissed their mother on the cheek.
She accepted the kiss, then rightly turned her scrutiny on Cai. “What are you up to?”
“I can’t give my mother a kiss?” He snagged a bannock, hot from the hearthstone, and tossed it back and forth between his hands to cool it.
“Those are for supper,” their mother warned.
He popped it into his mouth, and she pointed at him.
“One less for you, then.”
He shrugged and turned to Arthur. “Find anything interesting on patrol?”
“A woman.”
Cai’s eyebrows rose. He was interested in all persons womanly. “And?”
“She said she had a message for Lord Uthyr, so Bedwyr took her to him.”
“Is she pretty?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? You didn’t look?”
He gave Cai’s shrug back to him. “Comely enough, I guess.”
“I’ll say this for you, cub: you’ll have no trouble finding a wife with those standards.”
Arthur knocked Cai’s patting hand from his shoulder. “I’m not looking for a wife. And I’m not a cub.” Cai used the old nickname to get a rise from him. So did Bedwyr, but for a better sort of rise. His face heated at the thought.
His mother mistook the blush and gave him a sympathetic glance before turning back to Cai. “You never said what’s gotten into you.”
Whatever Cai might have said next was interrupted by Mora, their younger sister. At twelve, she was apprenticed to the Myrddin. Old Mother Mabyn lived just beyond the edge of the village. Her tiny house was too small to sleep Mora as well, even on a pallet by the hearth. Or else Mabyn didn’t care to have Mora in her business all day and all night, which Arthur could understand.
Cai kissed her on the head. “How’s the old bird?”
Their mother turned from the hearth with a warning. “Cai.”
Mora grinned. “As strange as ever.”
Cai patted his knee, and she sat. “Have you figured out that love potion yet?”
“Love potion?” Arthur said.
Mora ignored him. “Not yet.”
Arthur looked at his brother. “Why would you want a love potion?”
“Why?” Cai said. “Good gods, maybe you need one too.”
“He doesn’t,” Mora said, and the sly look she gave him put him instantly on a blade’s edge. His parents knew about Bedwyr, but Cai didn’t. And he hadn’t thought Mora did, either. But then she said, “Gwen’s already got him ’round her finger.”
Cai’s smile slipped as he turned to Arthur. “Does she?”
He waved them both off. “We’re friends.”
“Friends who whisper,” Mora said.
Usually about Gwen’s older brother. “Tell us, Mama,” Arthur said to distract them all, “did you and Papa do a lot of whispering to each other?”
His mother chuckled. “No.”
Arthur chucked Mora under the chin. “See? Means nothing.”
Mora rolled her eyes. “Mama and Papa do not an example make.”
“An example of what?”
Their father ducked under the lintel and set his case of remedies against the wall by the door.
“Of young love,” Mora drawled as if the idea were ridiculous.
Matthias smiled and walked to the hearth, where he set a kiss to their mother’s temple. “No, you all missed that part,” he said. “Thankfully.”
Mora brushed off whatever that meant and began to chatter to Cai about her day. Arthur had to hand it to his brother; Cai was more patient with her than he was.
As he cleared the table for supper, Arthur watched his parents. Matthias stood close to Britte, side by side, really, with one arm around her waist. They spoke in low tones, the same ones they always used with each other. They rarely argued. Arthur supposed that was a product of having known each other from their third year of life—what was left to argue about? His father was perhaps forty now, his mother one year older. Arthur wondered if that was why his father’s memories of their courtship were embarrassing. He sometimes felt a fool around Bedwyr, who had a good four years on him. He couldn’t imagine his calm, quiet father making a fool of himself, or his mother being silly. They were two of the most practical people he knew. They’d probably just looked at each other one day and said, “Let’s be married. It only makes sense.”
Supper began, and his family talked about Lord Uthyr’s return. He’d taken Master Philip with him, and Papa was eager to talk to the cleric about any news. To anyone else, that would have meant political events, but his father was always most interested in new medical treatments Philip learned of on the diplomatic trips he made with the warlord. Arthur’s mother was anticipating, in her matter-of-fact way, the supply of iron and steel Lord Uthyr usually brought back from such journeys for her smithy.
As they ate, Arthur’s mind drifted to the messenger at Lord Uthyr’s house. As if reading Arthur’s mind, Cai brought up the woman’s arrival to their father. Arthur had nothing to add, but that didn’t k
eep his father from drawing him into the back garden after supper.
“You were to the northeast?” he asked quietly.
Northwest, but his father didn’t need to know that. “Yes.”
“Did you see anyone else?”
“No. Neither coming nor going.”
“Are you two being careful?”
“Well, we patrol with light arms.”
His father touched his arm with a fingertip until Arthur met his gaze. “That’s not what I meant.”
Arthur felt the color rise in his cheeks, but there was no use in denying it. “That’s why we walked as far as we did.”
His father drew a deep breath and sighed. “I wish you could live more openly, as your grandfathers did. But Lord Uthyr barely tolerates Philip and Tiro. Did she see anything?”
Arthur’s ears grew hot. “Yes.”
“What did she see?”
Arthur looked at his feet. “Bedwyr was clothed.” Then the window, lit by lamplight, then the moon. “I wasn’t.”
His father snorted softly and shook his head. “Take care, Arthur.”
“I will.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.” He met his father’s eyes. “We’ll be fine as long as she doesn’t say anything.”
“Oh, Ar-thur,” Mora sang from the back doorway.
When he turned, she grinned. “Gwenhwyfar’s here for you.”
He found Gwen talking to his mother. Cai sat at the table, listening, and Arthur wondered what interest his brother could have in women’s conversation. Arthur searched Gwen’s face for clues, but she was as adept as her father at hiding her thoughts. “What is it?”
“Ta wants to see you tomorrow morning.”
His belly went cold, but then she added, “You and Cai, both.”
Cai straightened. “Why?”
She tipped her head. “Didn’t say. Just be at the house after you break your fast.”
She left, and Arthur tried not to slump with relief. If Lord Uthyr had summoned Cai too, it wouldn’t have anything to do with Bedwyr.
Still…might be a good thing to learn what he could about Elain at the coming story fire.
~ ~ ~
Bedwyr sat at the table, waiting.
When they’d arrived at the house, he’d welcomed his father home and introduced the messenger. Uthyr’s demeanor had changed at once. He’d regarded the woman with blank caution before greeting her politely and inviting her to share their supper table. They’d eaten the evening meal quietly, and then Uthyr and this Elain person had gone to the armory to speak.
Eira was going about the after-supper cleaning with jerky movements and a snappish tone. Gwen sent him a wide-eyed look behind Eira’s back, but he only shrugged. How was he to know what had crawled up Eira’s skirts? And gods be damned before he’d try to discover it—he had enough to worry about, thank you. Finally, Uthyr returned and, after sending Gwen on an errand, announced it was time for the story fire.
The clamor of the meeting hall was a small relief from the tension pervading the house. Uthyr insisted the messenger sit on his left; Eira clung to his right side. Bedwyr settled on the bench beside Elain, scanning the hall for a familiar red queue, but Arthur hadn’t shown yet. He could feel the curiosity of the woman next to him as she too surveyed the crowd. He caught a stern nod from his father, a cue to engage Elain in conversation, but every time he tried to think of something to say, he wanted only to blurt, “Don’t tell.” Lucky for him, Gwen arrived soon after, depositing herself between their father and Elain, and fell immediately into the small talk expected of a host. Bedwyr let go another breath.
It caught when Arthur sat down beside him, jostling him. “Shieldmate.”
Arthur’s long thigh felt warm where it pressed against his. Bedwyr shifted his leg.
The cub didn’t take the hint and scooted closer. Then he leaned across Bedwyr and nodded to the stranger. “Mistress Elain.”
She gave back his nod with an easy courtesy. “Arthur.”
“Glad to reach your destination?”
“Very much so. Thank you for escorting me.” She looked up at Bedwyr and smiled. “I was lucky to stumble upon you both.”
Heat flashed up Bedwyr’s neck. So much for the errant hope that she might forget what she’d seen.
Arthur seemed unaffected. “Deliver your message?”
“I have.”
“Was it well received?”
She studied Arthur’s face for a moment before nodding again. “Lord Uthyr was grateful.”
Good gods, what did that mean?
“And gracious,” she continued, heading off what was probably the cub’s next probing query. “He’s invited me to stay a few days and enjoy the hospitality of your people.” She gave them both a benign smile before turning back to Gwen.
He leaned forward, setting his elbows on his knees. As he’d known it would, Arthur’s shoulder nudged his as he did the same.
“What’s our plan?” murmured his shieldmate, as if they waited in a forest to attack a band of invaders.
Perhaps they did, in a way. “We wait.”
Arthur shifted. “I don’t wait well.”
“You waited eighteen years.”
He felt Arthur glance sharply at him. “To fight, or—”
“And I waited twenty-two years,” he said quietly. He looked at Arthur, watched for understanding. When Arthur inclined his head slightly, Bedwyr turned to face the fire pit again. “A few days should be nothing.”
A nice thought, and it seemed to placate Arthur, but it did nothing for the sense Bedwyr endured while Tiro told his nightly tale—that the woman next to him might stand at any moment and whisper his secret into his father’s ear.
When they returned home, Gwen made up a pallet by the hearth for the messenger. Bedwyr sat with them at the table after his father went to bed, trying to send the woman a silent plea not to reveal what she’d seen. But then Uthyr started to fuck Eira, and her shouts through the bedchamber door were louder than usual. Bedwyr’s nerves had had enough. He retired for the night.
Sometime later, when she did the same, Gwen peeked around the heavy rug that separated their sleeping areas. “Bed?”
“Yes?”
“Ta sent me to Arthur’s house earlier. He wants to see him tomorrow morning.”
Bedwyr sat up and stared at her.
“And Cai,” she added.
He nearly threw a bolster at her head. “Why?”
“I don’t know. Just thought you’d want to know.”
He lay awake, staring at the rafters, wondering what the dawn would bring.
~
After a sleepless night, the cock’s crow outside was a welcome sound. Bedwyr rose and dressed, then left his curtained sleeping space to find the women—all three of them now—bustling about the hearth.
He wasn’t the only one keeping an eye on the stranger this morning. His father’s sharp gaze studied her now and then, measuring. Eira glared at her, and Bedwyr wondered if it was because Elain looked to be about a decade younger than Eira was. Even Gwen watched the woman, though there was no malice or mistrust in her eyes, only curiosity.
Just as they finished eating, a knock sounded on the door. Uthyr called them in.
They had the restless look of men who’d been summoned. Both greeted Uthyr, but only Arthur looked at Bedwyr. Bedwyr gave him a slight shake of his head—she hadn’t said anything. Arthur visibly relaxed, though he covered it quickly with a shift of his feet.
Uthyr crossed his arms and regarded each man in turn. “You both had a good summer,” he said finally. “Did well when we faced raiding parties. Executed your patrols without fault.”
The brothers’ ruddy coloring made the proud flushes on their cheeks obvious. Arthur’s extended to the tops of his ears, and Bedwyr wanted to brush his lips over them to see if they were as warm as they appeared.
“But activity at our borders has settled for the season, and I know what sorts of shenanigans yo
ung men get up to when they’re bored.”
Cai chuckled. Arthur joined in but with a much guiltier cast to his expression.
“I’ve decided to set you a challenge,” Uthyr said. “One of strategy. The Saxons are wily and persistent. We have the advantage of knowing these mountains, but we must outthink them. Your challenge is to come up with a strategy to deal them what they deserve.” He gave each brother a hard look. “Your grandfather fought for Rome. When he arrived here, we had many arguments over how to handle our Saxon problem. We went with my scheme. But the Roman had a keen mind for strategy. Your challenge, lads, is to show me which of you is the rightful heir of Marcus Roman. Whoever proves this to me will receive my house.”
Cai’s mouth fell open.
“Where will you live?” Arthur blurted.
Where will I live? Bedwyr thought, indignantly. Gwen, at the hearth, wore much the same expression.
Uthyr smiled. “I’ll be building myself a grander house, of course.”
Arthur grinned at that, then turned to Cai. They shared a look of disbelief at their fortune.
“One thing more: you’ll each choose a mentor from among the people of the village.” He looked at Arthur expectantly.
“Master Philip,” Arthur said.
Was it unreasonable to be disappointed Arthur hadn’t chosen him? Not that he knew as much as Master Philip.
Cai grinned. “Master Tiro, then.”
“Then?” Uthyr asked.
“No one knows Philip’s mind as Tiro does,” Cai said.
Uthyr barked a laugh. “Very strategic.”
Cai gave his brother a condescending expression even Bedwyr wanted to smack from his face.
“You’ll share your schemes at the evening story fire two weeks from now,” Uthyr said. “Until then, you’ll speak only to your mentors. And your parents, of course. Questions?” When neither spoke, he waved them away. “Off you go. Impress me.”
Arthur followed Cai out but not before glancing at Bedwyr with wide eyes.
He turned to his father. “New house?”
Uthyr nodded. “Getting a bit cramped with you and Gwen grown.”
Gwen would probably be married soon. Bedwyr had no such prospects or plans. He’d stayed in his father’s house because it required no thought. Maybe he should have been thinking of building his own place. “Where?”
