by Gwen Rowley
She gave him a sad stare, though she did not cover herself. “I will not have you like this, on a moment’s whim when you have forgotten your mistrust of me and only care about your body’s demands.”
He felt himself redden with anger, but especially embarrassment. “You do not care that I still desire you?”
She arched a slim brow. “Still? As if you should not?”
“You know that is not what I meant.”
She waded around him and stepped onto dry ground. She pulled on her smock and gown and then faced him. “Geraint, I would never deny you. I am your wife. But I think it is too easy to hide our problems if all we care about is our desire.”
“You know ’tis not all I care about—and do you think I would force myself on you if you are unwilling?”
She lowered her eyes on a sigh. “You know I am not unwilling, Geraint. I cannot forget my feelings for you. But it is too easy for you to forget yours for me.”
Before he could protest, she turned and walked back between the trees, toward her squire. And Geraint thought seriously about dunking himself in the cold water to chill his passion—and his anger.
THE next afternoon, Enid’s already low spirits sank even farther as the welcome she received at the next village was less than gracious. Rather than greeting her warmly, the women sent her sidelong glances that marked her as foreign and not to be trusted. She was offered no babies to hold, for which she should have been grateful. While the men talked, the women simply waited, staring at her. Finally, she said she would walk about the village, and escaped the scrutiny.
She knew Geraint would not appreciate her leaving without at least Lovell as a guard, but she had Fryda with her, and the dagger in her boot for defense.
The village green was more brown than green. Sheep and chickens roamed at will, and their thinness bore testimony to the scarcity of food. The village was several leagues inland, and perhaps the villagers didn’t have easy access to fishing boats.
While she thought, she walked, little realizing she’d left the small village behind until Fryda tugged on her sleeve.
“Milady?” the girl whispered, staring at the rugged rocks lining the lane. “Could we turn back?”
Enid walked several more paces, feeling reluctant to return to such an unhappy place. But if Fryda was frightened—
She heard a rider galloping down the lane, and turned to see Geraint bearing down on her, wearing an angry expression. He was impressive in his traveling armor, and he wore his shield on his arm instead of hung from the saddle behind him, as if he expected to do battle over her. Lovell rode behind him. Her squire looked red-faced, and she hoped he was not the recipient of Geraint’s anger for losing her.
To her surprise, Geraint rode straight at her, then leaned over, caught her by the waist and hauled her up to sit across his lap. When she had to grab his arms to steady herself, she stared up at him.
He looked back over his shoulder. “Lovell, bring Fryda with you.”
Enid leaned back to see behind Geraint, trusting him to hold on to her—and he did, with his solid arm behind her back. Lovell was atop his horse, reaching down to Fryda. They were obviously arguing, although Enid couldn’t hear them. Finally Fryda took Lovell’s hand, and he lifted until she could reach the stirrup and swing her leg up behind him to sit astride. Lovell said something, then firmly placed the girl’s arm around him, as if she would have let herself fall off before touching him more than she had to.
Enid tried to hide her smile, and found Geraint watching her impassively.
“Did they find common ground?” he asked.
“Barely.”
“They are jealous of each other over you.”
He made it sound like he couldn’t understand it, and she found her response to his nearness cooling. She would not think about his hard thighs beneath hers, or his broad chest pressed to her shoulder.
“They should not be jealous,” she said. “I make time for them both.”
“Like they are your children?”
When she didn’t answer, he tipped her chin up until she met his gaze. “Surely you understand that as a princess, you cannot wander off alone anymore—and do not say you were with Fryda,” he added sternly. “Even Lovell is not enough protection for a princess.”
“I’ve been careful. I’ve only seen farmers in this village, and they cannot harm me.”
“Nay, but your beauty could give a farmer ideas that could get him killed, were he foolhardy.”
“My supposed ‘beauty’ would never make men do such things.”
He shook his head. “Do you not think I feel bewitched by your face at times?”
That saddened her, because he did not mean it as a compliment. And she could not refute his statement, because she’d been given the ability to be more appealing to men to help her complete her mission.
To her surprise, he lifted her hand in his. In the first days of their marriage, they’d held hands almost constantly. Now she wished she could still relax into the comfort of his touch.
But he had other intentions, as he lifted her hand palm up and frowned at the web of small scars, some newer than others. What must he think? How could she explain?
“Your skills with the dagger are not what I would have thought,” he said.
She bit her lip, but didn’t try to pull away.
“Your work with Lovell is not helping you, can you not see that?”
“It is helping him,” she said.
“Every time you go off on your own, trouble follows you. Mayhap I arrived in time to prevent some today.”
“Last night you were the trouble.” Her simmering anger began to rise.
He dropped her hand. “Regardless, you must remain with my soldiers at all times.”
“I am allowed no woman’s privacy?” she demanded, angry more at herself. If she’d just stayed in the village, he would not be issuing ultimatums.
“Not if I deem it unsafe.”
She clenched her teeth and remained silent, knowing childishly that what she did not promise, she would not keep.
Another stone went up in the wall between them, and her throat tightened with sadness. She wanted to be a true wife to him, but her beauty was false and her instincts to protect herself were overpowering. Was she deluding herself that she could somehow fit into his world?
Chapter 13
THIS time, the mercenaries attacked before dawn, and Geraint was prepared for it. His men reacted like the trained soldiers they were. He’d assigned his four men-at-arms to guard Enid’s pavilion with Lovell, and the rest defended the encampment.
The shouting and the clash of arms were deafening, and in the distance, he could see the hobbled horses panicking. But the assigned soldiers soothed them. Geraint joined in the melee, determined to discover who was provoking these attacks, because again, it seemed foolish for these mercenaries to battle a troop of trained soldiers.
This time their attackers were the ones mounted, and Geraint found himself jumping sideways to avoid being run down by a frothing horse. He swung his shield at the horse and caught it in the flank startling it so much that it threw its rider. Geraint killed the brigand with a blow to the head and moved on to his next opponent. Within minutes, the attackers were unseated and fighting on the ground, where they were swiftly outnumbered and outmatched. Some ran, some died, but Geraint knocked one unconscious and kept him alive.
This time, one of his own men had died. The rest of the soldiers, looking for vengeance, gathered angrily around the captive as Geraint tossed water on him. The man sputtered as he awoke, then gaped at the murderous faces all around him.
The man pulled a knife from within his tunic. Geraint lifted his sword and realized too late his intention. The captive stabbed himself in the throat and slumped back to die. The information Geraint had hoped to gather died with him.
Angrily, he ordered the dead buried, while the rest of the soldiers were to prepare to march. Looking toward Enid’s pavilion, he saw her
standing just outside it, Fryda hugging herself at her mistress’s side. He glimpsed a dagger in Enid’s hand, but when he came closer, she was standing serenely waiting for him, her hands empty. At least he knew she could defend herself on this dangerous journey, he admitted reluctantly.
She studied him. “The brigand died before he could tell you anything?”
Geraint nodded.
“Their coordination betrays them,” she said.
He glanced at her, not surprised that she understood what was happening.
“Do you have any idea who would deliberately organize attacks on the prince of Cornwall?” she asked.
“So far the attacks have been from Britons, not Saxons.”
“Hired mercenaries?”
“I suspect so, aye.”
“Is there anyone with a motive for hiring soldiers?”
“Anyone who wishes to topple the kingdom of Cornwall.”
A corner of her mouth turned up. “And such men could be legion?”
He just shrugged and glanced once more at Enid’s trembling maidservant. “Did your guard protect you?” he asked in a softer voice.
Enid nodded. “Your men are brave and well trained. Fryda has never been away from the castle, let alone on a long journey. She is handling herself admirably.”
Geraint saw the grateful look on the girl’s tear-stained face—and Lovell’s dramatic eye rolling.
WITHIN an hour’s march, Enid began to suspect that there was more than just a band of mercenaries after them.
They were traveling down a steep road leading toward the sea, which was yet a few leagues’ distant. A stiff, salty wind was blowing directly at them, growing colder by the minute. She wrapped her cloak more tightly about her, even as she fought to keep her seat riding sidesaddle on such a steep slope. How could women be thought of as fragile if they could master this?
The first flakes of snow caught her by surprise. Her home was not so distant from here, and she had seen snow but once or twice in her lifetime, and that was during a rare storm in the dead of winter after the New Year.
At her side, Geraint raised a hand to call a halt as he studied the ever-darkening sky. His horse danced beneath him on the dangerous path. “This does not seem right.”
She was about to agree with him when she felt the first seeking tendril of magic rise up off the ground around them. Catching her breath, she froze. She wanted to use the gift of sensing magic given to her by the Lady of the Lake to determine if good or evil was at work here, but she could not tell. She was frustrated by her lack of skill with the magical arts, for she’d only been taught just what she needed to complete her mission. She continued to concentrate, but the chimera of magic was elusive.
“Enid, what are you about?” Geraint demanded.
Opening her eyes, she found him frowning at her uneasily. Then she gasped as the sight of the clouds above them going black and unleashing a heavy fall of snow. The wind drove it into their faces, and Geraint turned away from her to issue orders.
“We cannot halt here!” he told Ainsley, his captain, shouting above the rising moan of the wind. “We are too exposed on the side of the cliff. We aren’t far from the village. Tell the men we press on.”
Enid wondered if he could sense the magic that seemed so obvious to her. She promised to tell him the moment they were safe from the storm. Pulling the hood of her cloak low over her face, she felt her bare hands gradually going numb as she held the reins and fought her horse down the path.
Behind her Fryda shrieked, and Enid whirled in her saddle to see the girl’s horse sliding uncontrolled toward Enid herself. Geraint was suddenly there, plucking the girl from the back of the horse and almost tossing her to sit behind his saddle. As she clutched him, burying her sobbing face in his back, he caught the reins of the frightened horse and guided it toward temporarily level ground.
The snow struck Enid’s face in stinging pricks of cold, but she gave Geraint a grateful smile.
“Can you yet ride?” he shouted at her, his hair covered in flakes.
She nodded and guided her horse ever downward. It took all her concentration. Wet snow clung to her face and froze her skin. She had to squint to see through the fury of the snow as it swirled about her. She wouldn’t even have noticed that the terrain had flattened out, if Geraint had not ridden back to her side. Fryda was no longer with him, but she saw the girl clinging to Lovell’s back.
“Follow Ainsley while I see to the rest of the troop!” he called. “The village is just around the bend.”
The magic seemed to crawl up her horse, wrapping about her legs, winding like a vine even up to her throat. She gasped, sensing no menace, but she could no longer afford to wait.
“Geraint!” she cried, grateful when he rode back toward her. “Do you sense it?”
He frowned, snow clinging to his lashes and eyebrows. “It is a snowstorm. What is there to sense except nature’s fury?”
“But ’tis not a natural storm, not for Cornwall. Can you not sense the magic?”
She did not think his frown could have grown darker, but it was suddenly menacing, even though not directed at her.
“Magic?” he demanded. “Explain yourself!”
She shivered and huddled in her cloak, blinking at the snow as the wind drove it into her eyes. “I can sense magic. It drives the very storm itself.”
“It is an attack?” he demanded, unsheathing his sword. But he stared at her as if he’d never seen her before.
She was frightened of the implications of that look, for she would have to answer to it later. Right now she wanted to tell him that a sword was no weapon against magic, but he was King Arthur’s knight, and it was how he fought all his battles.
“I sense no malice,” she said hesitantly. “I think the storm is but . . . a distraction. Nay, that is not right.”
She closed her eyes, at last giving herself over to the magic itself. As it seemed to sense her surrender, it intensified, but still it was not an evil thing. Its very intensity allowed her to comprehend even more, and she saw a presence behind the storm itself.
And in that moment, the howling wind ceased, and the snowfall lessened, finally fading into stillness. Enid opened her eyes to find Geraint staring at her in astonishment. Lovell was seated on his horse at Geraint’s side, and the boy almost looked frightened—of her?
“I swear I did not cause the storm to subside,” she said, flinging off her hood so that Geraint could see the truth in her face. “I have no such magic. But I gave myself over to experience it, to sense what was behind it, and it just . . . stopped.”
“And what did you sense?” he asked skeptically.
She preferred that emotion to fear, although he studied her as if she were something new he needed to comprehend.
“Someone, something guiding the storm, delaying us for a time, but not with any evil intent.” She shrugged. “That is all I know.”
“Then we go forward and confront this . . . thing,” he said, whirling his horse about.
Her trepidation didn’t ease as she watched him move among his troops, easing their fears. He would not be telling them about the magic, of that much she was certain. Soldiers solemnly donned their helmets and drew their swords. Would Geraint lead an attack against what he didn’t understand?
Lovell watched her without speaking, and Enid didn’t know what to say to him. Since their first meeting when she’d laid hands on him, he had known that she was not a normal woman—could he yet be surprised when unusual things happened to her?
Fryda, back on her own horse, rode up beside Enid. “Milady, why is Lovell givin’ ye such a rude look? Shall I box his ears for ye?”
Enid blinked and looked away from her squire to smile at the maidservant. “ ’Tis not rudeness, Fryda. He is curious about the snowstorm, as we all are.”
“My lady,” Lovell said formally, “might I have a private word with you?”
Fryda scowled, but guided her horse away, glaring back over her shoul
der.
Enid waited calmly for him to speak, but inside she panicked and prepared persuasive reasons why he should remain her squire.
He bowed his head. “My lady, this . . . gift you have . . .” Then he looked up at her with shining eyes, his adoration restored. “’Tis wondrous! Your ability with magic can only help the prince!”
She smiled with relief. “Please, Lovell, do not assume any usefulness from such a meager gift. Sensing magic is not the same as combating it.”
Geraint had returned. “It needs combating?” he said dourly.
“Nay, not this time, I think. I was simply explaining to Lovell that what good is sensing magic, when you do not know how to fight it?” She leaned over and put a hand on Geraint’s arm. “But there is no need for battle, not this time.”
“Why am I not relieved,” he said, raising a hand to signal the march of their troop. “But my men will remain alert. Ride behind me.” And then he slid home the visor of his helmet.
Enid prayed that he would at least speak with the village elders before he attacked.
Though the snow had ceased falling, and the air was beginning to warm, there were still dangerous drifts of snow that forced the march to move slowly. Geraint was almost glad for the distraction, because it was difficult to think about this newly revealed dimension of his wife.
She could sense magic.
What else did she know about such things? And how could he have been stupid enough not to realize that she might have something more than other women—besides her sword fighting skills?
Telling his father such a thing would not be easy, not unless he could find a way to know the exact extent of Enid’s abilities. Discovering that would mean finding the correct questions, because she didn’t seem to know what to reveal voluntarily.
The wisdom of his quick marriage grew ever dimmer, he thought, holding back a sigh. But whenever he looked at her, remembered their moments alone, he didn’t remember hastiness, only need.
The seaside village came into view, and it was surely the most prosperous one they’d seen yet—and miraculously free of snow. Dozens of homes and buildings, decorated with flowers, lined the harbor. As he watched, the last of the clouds dissipated, and the sun shone down with a dazzling warmth, reflecting off the waves and the shining paint of the well-cared-for fishing boats. He used his own senses now—senses honed in battle—but there seemed to be no danger, not in this peaceful place.
