by Mia West
The village lay quiet as he walked back to his father’s house. When he neared it, he began to discern voices—two, pitched low—and it didn’t take long to identify them as Elain’s and Uthyr’s. His few minutes in the pitch of night allowed him to see them outside the house, where Uthyr stood over Elain, crowding her against the structure, one hand gripping her upper arm.
“—told you. What do you have for me?”
“I don’t—”
Elain’s head jerked toward Bedwyr half a second before his father’s. Uthyr’s hand fell away from her.
Bedwyr’s fingernails dug into his palm. He should have known. If he were honest with himself, he’d admit he had known that eventually Uthyr would try to coerce Elain into his bed. Maybe that had been his objective all along in inviting her to stay in his house. Had Eira reached the end of her term as Uthyr’s latest woman?
Perhaps. But Elain wouldn’t be the next.
Bedwyr stopped in front of her. “You sleep with me tonight.”
Her eyes, wide in the moonlight, flicked between him and his father.
“Come,” he said again, trying to give his voice an edge of warning.
She swallowed and looked at his father. “Lord Uthyr.” She pronounced his name with no inflection, such that Uthyr could take it as either acknowledgment or request for leave, and Bedwyr wondered where she had learned to do such a thing.
It worked. Uthyr stepped back. “Good night, then.”
Bedwyr thought he detected a grudging respect in his father’s reply but was too keen to maintain his upper hand to hang about thinking it over. He nodded to his father and followed Elain through the door.
Once they stepped through the rugs that partitioned off his sleeping space, he let the heavy cloth fall shut behind him and beckoned to her. Setting his hand on her shoulder, he leaned close to her ear. “You don’t have to go with him. Not if you’re with me.”
He drew back to look her in the eye. The lamps from the main room cast a dim light here, but it was enough to see that Elain had focused on him. He tightened his grip slightly. “You’re safe.”
He moved away and undressed, grateful to his gods that he’d had enough practice not to embarrass himself. Arthur tried to help him now and then, and now and then he let him if it felt like a game, but mostly he insisted on doing the task himself. As he hung his clothes on their pegs, he could hear the rustle of fabric that said Elain was shedding clothes too. Once he was naked, he turned to find her wearing her shift. She planned to keep it on, apparently, as she stood still again, waiting.
He drew back the blankets and sank onto his bed. She knelt and slipped under the bedding, and Bedwyr covered her. “Good night,” he murmured, then lay back and closed his eyes. Arthur and Cai were to finish their challenge two days hence. Maybe everything would go back to normal then. He prayed for sleep.
It didn’t come. For one thing, Elain was too quiet, almost preternaturally so. He looked at her.
She was staring at him. Frowning, she leaned in to speak in his ear. “Do you need me to…do anything?”
He pushed her back a bit so she could see him and shook his head.
Elain bit her lip.
He lay back again. Cleared his mind of unfinished business. Closed his eyes.
Elain moaned.
They snapped back open.
She was watching him. After a moment, she did it again, the moaning. She drew it out, louder this time, and then added a small, sharp cry at the end that made him flinch. A few seconds later, she did it again.
Gods, she was putting on a show for Uthyr’s sake.
For his sake.
Or maybe for her sake.
As he stared, she settled onto her back and proceeded to moan and whimper and grunt and generally give the household the impression that Bedwyr was fucking her.
Competently, by the sound of it.
In the middle of the performance, she looked sideways at him and nodded.
What?
A fist full of bony knuckles punched him in the hip. He grunted in surprise.
She grinned.
He trapped her hand in his, lest she try it again. She did, with her other hand. He tried to keep quiet, but her blows, while not hard, were swift and well-aimed to elicit startled grunts. Soon he was growling with the effort to contain her wily strikes. All the while, she kept up her various noises, until eventually they rose to a height…and then fell, like a sparrow from the sky.
She lay still—finally—watching the rug and listening.
Bedwyr could hear nothing over the rush of blood in his ears. He felt a tug and realized she was trying to extract her hand from his. He uncurled his fingers.
Other sounds began to push into his awareness: a giggle from Eira, a rumble from his father. His sister’s murmur as she bid them good night. After a moment, the door to his father’s bedchamber scraped shut, and Elain looked at him.
Her teeth flashed in the dim light. “You’re welcome.”
He slumped back into the bedding.
Elain rose on an elbow and pushed at his shoulder. “‘You sleep with me tonight’?” she teased.
“It worked.”
“Are you that bossy with Arthur?”
He looked away, and her laughter was a soft huff on his shoulder.
After a moment, she settled on her side, still facing him. “You’re lucky, you know.”
“How’s that?”
“There are, what, seventy souls in this village, and six of them are open to loving someone of their own sex.”
He looked at her. “Six?” He counted himself, and Arthur. Tiro and Philip. “Four, you mean.”
Her gaze slid away, coy. “There are two others, but if you haven’t found them out, they don’t want discovering.”
“How did you find them out?”
“Sometimes it only takes a fresh pair of eyes to suss a situation.”
That was true enough.
“I propose you’re additionally lucky in that Arthur is young and strong. And so obviously devoted to you.”
Master Matthias had said something similar just before Bedwyr had rejoined the community, but he’d been speaking of friendship. “I don’t know if devoted is the right word.”
Elain scoffed. “It’s in his every move when he’s near you, in everything he says. As in the hall tonight, even before Tiro’s tale, when he was talking to Master Philip. He wants your eye on him.”
“That’s just Arthur. He likes to impress.”
“But he wants to impress you the most.”
Here he knew she was wrong. “No, See-Everything, he wants to impress my father the most. And don’t bother arguing; I’ve known Arthur his entire life.”
“Fine, but there are different ways to catch someone’s eye. You’d agree to that, surely?”
“Of course.”
“He uses what he can to call your father’s attention to him, but it’s a limited armory of weapons, so to speak. Martial skill, courage in the face of an armed opponent, that sort of thing. But for you…” She poked him in the ribs with a fingertip, a gentler echo of her earlier prods. “To impress you, he possesses an arsenal much deeper.”
He felt his ears flush hard and was glad she couldn’t see them. “You haven’t told anyone?”
“Have I been out of your sight, or Gwen’s?”
Relief cooled his skin like a breeze. “I owe you a debt.”
“You don’t.”
“I do. You’re practically my prisoner—”
“And so I have no choice. See? No gratitude necessary.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You have more choice than you say, and you know it.”
The startled glance she gave him then was unexpected, but he couldn’t interpret it before she spoke. “I was only making light. Yes, I could leave, but why not enjoy hot meals and a roof while I can?”
“That’s very practical.”
She shrugged. “Practicality aids survival.”
Survival. G
ods, what must it be like to be a woman alone in the world?
“Are you pitying me? Because if you are, you can stop right now.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“I was wondering how you’ve managed.”
“With my brain and my blade, same as you.”
“But I’m a man.”
“And?”
“People like my father don’t credit women with skill using brains and blades.”
“I know. It’s very useful.”
The grin she gave him then made him laugh. Some fool would fall for that crooked smile one day and count himself lucky.
“But it’s not entirely true, is it, what you said about your father and women? He credits Mistress Britte.”
Bedwyr snorted. “Between you and me, I think he’s scared of Mistress Britte.”
Elain considered him. “Is that what you see?”
“You don’t?”
After a moment, she shrugged. “I suppose she did raise two formidable men.”
“She had help.”
“Master Matthias, you mean?”
“And his fathers.”
She gave him a curious look. “Fathers? More than one?”
“Master Matthias was adopted and raised by two men.”
Elain’s eyebrows rose. “Partners in life, like Masters Tiro and Philip?”
“Just so.”
“Well, that tips the balance in your favor.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that Arthur grew up knowing that that’s possible, and not a fluke if two such couples lived in this village at the same time. You knew them?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know it’s possible too.”
He shook his head. “Both pairs were well established when they arrived. And neither included the son of the Pen y Ddraig.”
She mulled that, and then rose on her elbow again. “You were right when you said men don’t credit women,” she said softly. “But they credit men, and they credit you—I’ve seen it.” When he began to protest, she shook her head. “Stow it. Perhaps you don’t see it. But I bring fresh eyes, remember? Men listen to you.” She glanced toward the rug shielding them from the main room, before pinning him with her bright gaze. “The world is what you make of it. And you could remake it to suit you, Bedwyr. Even with one hand, you could shape a world in which you and Arthur love each other openly. Where you don’t have to limit yourselves to meaningful glances at the story fire or clandestine meetings on far-flung hilltops.”
He looked away from the intensity of her regard. “Who said anything about love?” he said gruffly.
“Ah, Bedwyr.” She laid a hand over his heart and gave him a healthy pat. “Arthur isn’t the only one whose devotion is plain to see.”
He scowled at her to hide his consternation.
“Don’t worry. I’m more observant than most.”
“Hmph.” He hoped that was true. “No more comments that begin ‘even with one hand,’ eh?”
“What are you going to do—strangle me?” At his dismay, she grinned. “It’s only a tactic, you see. Now you’ll remember my words.”
“I’ve already forgotten them.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She kissed his cheek as his sister might have done. “Thank you for sharing your bed. It’s much more comfortable than the pallet.”
Then she rolled over and, after a deep sigh, became part of the sleeping night.
Bedwyr didn’t. Long after Gwen had banked the hearth fire and gone to bed herself, he lay awake, thinking about the notions Elain had planted. That he could remake the world. That he might live with Arthur, in the open. Show his dedication to him, in the open, and see it shining back at him like a second sun. His body felt the possibilities keenly, as if they were sending roots down into his bones.
Chapter 5
If Arthur had thought Cai insufferable before this morning, yesterday’s buck had twisted the screw.
For almost two weeks, Cai had woken with a loud yawn and a teasing exhortation to Arthur to haul his scrawny arse out of bed—if Cai was going to win a house, he wanted it to be a fair contest.
Every evening, he returned in much the same mood. Cocksure and confident. Tiro knew strategy, he said, and they had quite the scheme drawn up.
Then, yesterday evening, he’d come in crowing that he’d brought down a buck. A fourteen-point beast that practically posed itself at the best angle for Cai’s arrow. He was having it prepared for Lord Uthyr.
Meanwhile, Arthur had spent his days looking at maps. Maps and maps and maps until north was south, and the mountains were the sea, and he thought his eyes would cross for good. If he had to look at one more fucking map—
“Two days, little brother,” Cai said. “Don’t forget to bring bread and salt for my hearth gift.”
Arthur trudged into the library. “For the love of your lonely god, Master Philip, no more maps.”
The cleric looked up at him with a smile. “Ah! So you’re ready for the histories!” He crossed toward the shelves. “Let me pull some scrolls—”
“No.”
Philip turned to him, his eyebrows high with surprise and affront.
“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, trying for a penitent tone. “No scrolls, please. Can we just…take a walk?”
They left the library, and then the village itself by way of one of the sheep paths. With the sun rising on their right, they headed in the general direction of the northeastern watch tower.
Arthur breathed deeply and felt his frustration begin to melt away.
“Better?”
He glanced down at Master Philip to discover a quirk of a smile at one side of his mouth. “Yes. What’s funny?”
“Not funny.”
“Why are you smiling?”
“A teacher likes to see his students grow.”
An odd thing to remark on. “Bound to happen. Papa and Mama are both tall.”
“Oh, that’s not what I mean. Yes, I’m happy you’re strong and hale. But I’m more interested in your internal growth. In your mind. I’m happy this morning in particular because you knew what you needed, and you knew it wasn’t more map-gazing.”
Arthur shrugged. “I’m just restless.”
“Yes, I know. You’re a doer, my boy. Not a reader or a planner.”
“I can read.”
“Of course you can read—I taught you myself. I only mean you’re one for action.”
Truer words may never have been spoken. He’d have chosen a sparring round over a philosophy text any day of the year.
“Wolf was the same,” Philip said. “When he was younger, Marcus led the patrols around the stronghold in Gaul. Most were short—only a few days—but some were longer. It wasn’t uncommon to find your other grandfather working all hours in the smithy. He told me once he’d rather make something than think. Rather fix something than worry.”
It gratified Arthur to have this one small thing in common with the old smith. Whenever he learned something like this, it felt as though a piece of him that hadn’t yet settled into place did so with a quiet click. Yet he wasn’t completely quiet inside. “I think Cai will win the challenge.”
“What makes you think that?”
“He’s made a strategy and is ready to present it. And he shot a buck.”
“Fourteen points. So I heard from my beloved.”
Beloved. He couldn’t imagine calling Bedwyr that. They both would blush until they looked bloody.
“You don’t think you’re ready?”
Arthur laughed with disbelief. “I don’t have a scheme.”
“Just because you haven’t written something down doesn’t mean you don’t understand the situation. Arthur, you knew those maps long before these past two weeks. You know the features of Cambria. You know her best defensive points and her weak spots. You know who holds power where. And you know enough to predict Saxon movements for the next five years at least. You’ve been living this your entir
e life.”
“But I haven’t made a plan. I wouldn’t know what to say to Lord Uthyr.”
“Tell me, then, right now. If you had to lead the efforts, what would be your strategy next spring?”
“I’d concentrate patrols to the east and southeast. Set a secondary defensive line a few miles in. Expand the watch to include the western sea.” When Philip said nothing, Arthur looked at him.
The cleric was smirking. “Told you so.”
Arthur waved him off. “Anyone with half their sense would say the same.”
“That’s because strategy is conservative, Arthur. Tactics may vary in the short term, but strategy is a long game. And over the long term, risks are mitigated by our tendency to do what already works.”
“Then why did Lord Uthyr ask?”
“Didn’t he tell you and Cai that he didn’t want you growing restless with nothing to do?”
He had.
“Perhaps he was merely hoping to occupy you. What better prize than the chance to fly from a nest you’ve both outgrown?”
“Oh, I wasn’t—” He cut himself off and looked toward the hills in the distance. Maybe Philip hadn’t heard him.
No such luck. “You weren’t…?”
Arthur stopped walking. “I wasn’t going to keep the house.”
“No? Did you plan to give it to Cai all along?”
“Not Cai.”
Morning mist was rising from the surrounding hilltops. They stood for a long while, taking it in.
“Arthur.”
“Yes?”
“I’m going to share a couple of things with you because I think the time has come.”
“I know where babes come from.”
Philip chuckled. “Not that, fool. Things you’ll actually need to know.”
Arthur looked down at him surprised.
“Yes, I know. But let’s start with the other one first because it may be discouraging.”
“All right.” He braced his feet.
Philip turned to face him fully. “The Saxons are going to keep coming. Their homeland is crowded, and they seek farmland. They wish to settle, to keep farming. The forefront of movements like those is always violent, as two peoples fight to occupy the same patch of ground. Behind the front is a multitude of peaceful settlements, occupied by relative newcomers.”
