by Gwen Rowley
He shrugged his cloak back off his shoulders and motioned for his soldiers to follow behind him, instead of remaining outside the village as they’d done in their travels up until now. Perhaps soldiers couldn’t combat magic, but Geraint wouldn’t take a chance.
They rode down the lane between houses, and although the occasional head peered out from behind a door or shuttered window, no one came to greet them except one lone man, who waited for them near a large tree on the village green. Sheep grazed around him, ignoring everyone. The man wore a long tunic, but carried no obvious weapons. Geraint could not believe that only one man would greet an entire mounted troop.
“Geraint,” Enid said warningly.
He glanced back at her, but she, too, was staring at the lone man.
“He is the source of the magic.”
Geraint rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, but did not draw it. He was not unfamiliar with the consequences of magic, having ridden the kingdom for King Arthur. The high king’s own sisters were sorceresses. But so often it was a matter of luck, to be able to defeat someone with skills one could not match—or even imagine.
The man spread his arms wide. “Welcome, visitors! Welcome, prince of Cornwall. We greet you in peace.”
“He already knows we mean him no harm,” Enid said. “The magic must have found us for that purpose.”
After signaling his soldiers to remain as they were, Geraint removed his helmet and looked at Enid. “You remain with me.”
They rode forward alone, and the man waited for them, a peaceful smile on his face. He was in his middle years, his beard beginning to go gray, but his eyes were alight with intelligence.
Geraint reined his horse to a stop, but did not dismount. Coldly, he said, “Who are you, and why did you use magic against us?”
The man bowed. “I am Ossian of Tregarian, the healer of this village. And I did not use magic against you, as your wife can attest.”
“Do not play with your words,” Geraint said. “You used magic, when a simple party of greeting would have told you all you needed to know.”
“And you might have killed them, if you were of a mind,” Ossian said in a gentle voice. “Each man here is like a child to me. You resent the way I contacted you, but there are many who are frightened of mounted soldiers. So come, Prince Geraint, accept my apologies for our first contact, and my hospitality for you and your men.”
Geraint glanced once more at Enid, whose face remained neutral. Reluctantly he dismounted, then helped her from the saddle.
“You are at peace with this?” he asked softly against her ear, knowing that the wizard could probably hear everything they said.
She frowned. “He means us no harm, my husband. But his purpose eludes me.”
As if the wizard had given a signal they could not see, the village houses opened up as women and children poured out, carrying dishes of meat and fruit. Geraint had never seen such a small village willingly feed a troop of hungry soldiers without first asking for payment. He frowned at Ossian, but the wizard turned away and directed the few men not out fishing to set up trestle tables to bear the food.
Ossian walked to the milling soldiers and invited them to feast. When the young women shyly offered their help, Geraint could see that his men were already looking forward to a fine afternoon.
Ossian returned to him and bowed. “My lord, my lady, would you care to dine in my home?”
There were things to be said in private, Geraint surmised ruefully. He accepted the invitation, then turned to give instructions to Ainsley. He and Enid followed Ossian across the village green to a humble home. Inside they found but two simple rooms: a living area, and a curtained-off bedchamber. Ossian bade them sit and brought forth wine.
The wizard smiled at Enid as he poured it. “Since you sensed my goodwill earlier, you know that I am serving you only the best wine.”
She tilted her head and smiled. “It would seem purposeless to poison your prince, when the king’s wrath would be great. No magic is involved in that simple deduction.”
Geraint hid his smile behind a sip of wine.
“And your village seems far too cozy for you to want to abandon it,” she continued.
Ossian sat down across the table from them. “But you have been under attack more than once on your journey. You do not consider it to be under my orders?”
“Nay,” Geraint said shortly. “But I seek to play no more games. Why do you live among these simple villagers?”
“It has always been my home, my lord. I did travel to study and perfect the arts I was born with, but I returned here many years ago to find peace. And I have it. And in exchange, I grant the villagers—many my own family—the security of my healing, the location of fish, good harvest for poor soil, the birth of healthy calves and lambs—and warning about the purpose of intruders.”
“Quite indispensable, aren’t you,” Geraint said dryly.
With a modest bow of his head, Ossian said, “I try to be.”
“Then tell me what you know of these attacks on my company.”
Ossian considered his wine. “I know they happened leagues from here, my lord, and outside the humble scope of my powers.”
“Then how did you know they happened at all?”
“Because I could sense your worry that it was about to happen again.”
“You can read my thoughts?” Geraint demanded.
“Not quite.” He frowned. “I do have a small gift of information for you, in hopes it will keep me at peace with the future king of Cornwall.”
Geraint studied him. “Then tell me.”
“There is a man of magic stalking you.”
“We have seen no one but the mercenaries, who did not use magic.”
“It is a small gift of magic this man bears, and it has not been used against you. But it will be. There is nothing you can do to avoid him, but I suggest he be dealt with to avoid future heartache.”
“So we’re going to meet an enemy with magic, and we’re supposed to kill him.” Geraint spoke dubiously.
“I cannot predict your actions, my lord, or what the correct path is. I only know what I know because I receive impressions of emotions.” He glanced at Enid. “Impressions of power.”
Geraint watched her stiffen.
“Then your gifts fail you, Ossian,” Enid said. “I have no great power.”
“Not great, no, but some small abilities. You are more—and less—than you seem.”
Enid set down her wine.
Geraint stiffened and said, “Your riddles do not amuse me, Ossian.”
“I intend no amusement, my lord. I only wish to help heal a marriage. Now let me bring you nourishment.”
Geraint watched his wife, but she looked absently at the hearth instead of at him. That fact that she had secrets was no secret to him, but hearing a stranger verify that embarrassed and dismayed him.
“We will talk tonight,” he said softly, for her ears alone.
She bowed her head and nodded.
Chapter 14
OSSIAN bade them make camp on the hillside above the village, where he assured them there would be plenty of grass for their horses and plenty of wood for their fires. Enid stood on the hill overlooking the harbor and the village, the encampment at her back. There had been no battle, and she was weak with relief. Geraint was a man who could be reasoned with.
Yet when Ossian had offered the hospitality of the village to her and Geraint, her husband had declined. He wanted her alone when he interrogated her.
She shivered in the breeze and drew her cloak tighter. What would she tell him? She could not betray her father, her people, or her mission. But how would she answer the charge of being “more and less” than she seemed? Wasn’t that a riddle that all could claim for themselves at times, regardless of any magical gifts?
Fryda brought her back to their fire when the freshly caught fish—a gift from the villagers—were roasting. They feasted for the second time that day, and she kn
ew that the soldiers were enjoying themselves. But Geraint sat across from the fire and just watched her. Surely he was sorting through his questions even now.
When he was finished eating, he rose to his feet. “Fryda, your mistress and I need privacy for an hour or so, so she won’t need you tonight. Lovell will amuse you until we’re finished talking, and then you can find your pallet.”
Enid blushed as her husband’s twin soldiers elbowed each other and grinned. There would be no pleasure for her in that pavilion. But she led her husband there, ducked inside the opening, and watched as he followed her inside. He had stopped to light a candle from the torch outside, and set that meager light before her pallet.
She had a morose urge to moan as if in pleasure for the benefit of the whole camp just to spite him. Gods, she was becoming so childish in her sadness.
“You can sit,” he said.
So now she needed his permission? But she sank down amidst her blankets and waited for what seemed like a death sentence. Surely not the death of her marriage.
He knelt across from her. “If you would have told me of your magic, you could have helped us.”
She winced. “As I said, it is little magic, and the moment I was able to use it—today—I told you. I would not allow harm to come to us or any of our people if I could help it.”
“Is this another gift that separates your people from mine?”
“Only some are granted it, Geraint,” she said earnestly, “and I was not so blessed until I was setting off alone into the world outside our village. My father wanted me protected.”
His face was so unreadable, even the stillness of his body closed to her. She almost wished for more magic, so that she could understand his heart, and see if she’d lost it forever. But she only had a woman’s intuition for that, and it was proving useless.
Geraint tiredly ran his hand down his face. “You have so many secrets, Enid.”
As do you, she thought, thinking of the mysterious purpose of this mission ordered by King Erbin. There was no point in asking, because he wouldn’t betray his father’s confidence—and she wouldn’t betray hers. They were at an impasse, as far as missions were concerned.
“Do you have other gifts of magic that I should know of?”
She hesitated, but he had chosen the correct question, because at least this she could answer—somewhat. “Before my journey, I was given several small, temporary gifts of magic to aid me. I was trained by the Lady of the Lake.”
Geraint betrayed surprise. “Sir Lancelot, one of King Arthur’s knights, was raised there. Did you know him?”
She shook her head. “I only lived there for half a year before I met you. To help me outwit my enemies, since I would be traveling alone, she taught me to cloak myself in shadows, so that others cannot see me.”
“That is how you moved freely at Camelot when you wanted to train,” he said, his face and voice once again impassive.
Nodding, she let all her wistful feelings of regret echo in her voice. “I did not want to draw attention to myself—nor the censure of kings down on you.”
He looked away. “Is there more?”
“Aye. Though the battle skills are all mine, I was given the strength of ten men to aid me. You have no reason to risk your men in worry for my safety.”
In a low voice, he said, “But I worry, Enid. I am your husband.”
Once again, she was close to tears. “And your care for me moves me, Geraint. Before you, no man had ever treated me as anything but a warrior. I have not always been this beautiful,” she added hesitantly. “I think that’s what Ossian meant when he said I’m less than I appear.”
“These sorcerers changed your very features?” His expression was aghast.
“Nay, nothing like that, but another way they protected me was making me more appealing to men. It is not my magic, but theirs.”
To her surprise, he traced the features of her face.
“Is this your nose?”
She bit her lip. “Aye.”
“And these are your cheeks?”
“Aye.”
“And the brilliant blue of your eyes is yours?”
She could only nod.
His thumb brushed across her mouth, hesitating as if he would dip inside her. She closed her eyes and shivered.
He whispered, “And these are your lips, that work such magic?”
Oh, she wanted his kiss. She was about to kiss him first, when he said, “Then perhaps what they gave you was confidence in yourself, in your womanliness. You have told me you were only treated as a warrior. Mayhap they gave you the ability to see that you are more than that.”
She pulled her head back and stared at him in surprise. As a warrior woman, she’d been able to give men the confidence they needed. Had the Lady of the Lake done the same thing for her? Was it truly her own beauty shining through?
“Geraint, can you accept that I have meager powers that aid me?”
After several moments, he said, “I cannot say that I am unfamiliar with magic. It is a two-edged sword and can be used as easily for evil as for good. At the high king’s court, I have seen Merlin aid the king with magic, and all benefited. But the king’s sister Morgause, queen of Lothian, uses her gifts only for great evil, and many live in sorrow because of it.”
To her surprise, he reached for her hand, and seemed to absently rub her fingers as he thought. She stared wide-eyed, grateful for his beloved touch.
He met her gaze solemnly. “I do not believe you mean harm, Enid. And I am grateful for what you’ve told me tonight.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I wish you could tell me more.”
The first tears fell from her eyes and she did not try to hide them. “I wish you could tell me more. But we cannot break vows to the other people we love.”
Geraint saw heartbreak on Enid’s face, and the last of his anger toward her faded away. They were both caught in situations not of their making, and the trust that they wanted to share was yet so elusive.
He wanted to prove to his father that he had chosen right, that Enid was a good wife—and would make a good queen. And if he could get her to soften toward him, maybe she would finally reveal the rest of the secrets that kept them apart.
He looked down at their joined hands and thought of the strength in her fingers, the strength in every part of her being. Her bravery could not be feigned. She was a lone woman given gifts to help her battle a dangerous world.
He met her eyes once more and saw her longing. He sighed.
“Fryda is waiting for her pallet,” he said softly.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth. “Aye,” she whispered.
He leaned forward and kissed her gently, once, twice. “Until the morrow.”
For the first time, he sensed hopeful possibilities.
EARLY the next afternoon they toured a seaside village that owed its prosperity to the mining of tin. The people lacked an abundance of good farmland, but were able to barter for what they needed. They treated Geraint and Enid to a feast, and sent rations to their encampment for the soldiers. Enid walked among the women, listening to them point with pride to their meager vegetable gardens. She admired their skills with the needle.
One woman plucked Enid’s sleeve, desperation evident in her eyes. Enid allowed herself to be drawn a little away from the group. “Aye, mistress?”
“Milady, ye must come see me loom. ’Twill be the pride of the village, but none will believe me. If ye look upon it and say ’tis fit, the rest will believe.”
Enid didn’t have the will to resist such heartfelt pleading. She followed the woman to her home, on the edge of the village farthest inland. Inside, there were only two windows, and although the shutters were closed, there were enough cracks for her to see the gloomy clutter of the place. Crates were piled high on either side of the door, and the place smelled strongly of fish. Where was the loom?
A tingle crawled up her spine, so faintly that she did not recognize it until the door suddenly slammed shut
behind her, and a loop of rope dropped down over her head and shoulders from behind one set of crates. Now that the rope was touching her she sensed its magic, tightening around her like a snake. She tried to lift her arms, and they wouldn’t move. She turned toward her attacker, only to feel another length of rope twined her about the knees. Now even her legs were frozen. Was this the magic that the wizard had warned them of?
“Who are you?” she demanded, turning her head side to side trying to see into the shadows behind the stacked crates. “You do yourselves and your village great harm by attacking the future queen of Cornwall.”
On her right, a man stepped out from behind the crate. As he walked in front of her, he moved in and out of beams of sunlight. He was bearded and long-haired and wore a rough tunic and wool hose. He had no magic of his own; it was in the rope.
“I be offended, girl,” he said mockingly. “Do I reek of fish? I be not of this village.”
He came closer to her, and she saw the spiked club he walked with, using it almost as a cane, though he did not limp.
“Milady, I be here for you,” he said, twirling the club absently on the earthen floor.
The other man scuttled out of the shadows and almost hid behind his partner. He was shorter, thinner, but dressed much the same. “We should leave, Hartun,” he whispered, cocking his head at the shuttered windows as if he could see between the slats.
“Aye, Bureig,” said Hartun. “Ye take her feet, I’ll take her shoulders.”
Bureig held back. “She has strong magic.”
“The rope has tamed her.”
“Where did you get such a thing?” Enid asked, trying to stall for time. Surely Geraint would miss her soon and come roaring after her, thinking she’d left on her own again.
Hartun smiled, revealing several brown teeth. “I had a fight with a troll. I won.”
