Geraint

by Gwen Rowley

  “I am not attacking anyone.”

  But it was too late; she had heard the truth. “My father was right. There is a greedy king.”

  The confusion in his expression turned into dawning surprise. He looked between her and the wide-eyed messenger, then with a growl of frustration turned to speak to the messenger.

  She ran back to her horse. She had to escape, to warn her father that what they’d feared was about to come true.

  Instead of some nameless tyrant deciding to gobble up their land, it was her own husband and his soldiers, these men she now knew by name.

  She’d let her guard down at Castle Cornwall; she’d seen a king newly married, with another child on the way, and thought he was a man of peace. And she’d foolishly waited, telling herself she would discover what the king was up to. But all along, she was more concerned about earning her husband’s love, instead of returning at once to warn her people.

  She almost wished for the release of tears, but she felt dry and barren. Her fury now consumed every other emotion.

  All along, she had been traveling with the invading army, and they were soon to join with another one. It would not take so many men to slaughter her small tribe, especially since she had not returned in time to train them. She had selfishly put her marriage before their lives; she had failed them.

  “Enid!”

  When she heard Geraint’s shout, she began to run. She was still wearing a ridiculous gown, but she refused to ride sidesaddle. Grabbing up a soldier’s saddle, she threw it onto the back of her own horse.

  Lovell was suddenly there, helping her straighten the saddle. “My lady? Tell me what has happened!”

  Geraint’s hand gripped her arm a moment before he turned her to face him. It hurt too much to look at him. She shoved him hard, and he landed in the dirt. Lovell gaped between them. She no longer cared who saw what she truly was.

  “Do not try to stop me, Geraint!” she said, turning back to finish saddling her horse.

  She heard him get to his feet.

  “Enid, do you want listen to what I have to say, or do you wish to run off without the whole story?”

  When he would have touched her, she jumped away, startling the horse, who pranced between them, separating them farther.

  “Lovell, I’ll need supplies for a week’s journey,” she commanded.

  To her relief, the boy did not question her; he ran off to do her bidding.

  “You are not going anywhere,” Geraint said firmly. “We shall discuss this.”

  “What is there to discuss?” she demanded, facing him defiantly. Maybe the hurt would go away, and she would see him for what he was. “Your father sent you on a mission so terrible that you had to keep it a secret.”

  “You have been a part of every step of this mission,” he said, his face reddening with anger. “I was to meet with my people, as my father does on a regular basis.”

  “And then invade a land that is not yours?”

  “Your land, you mean? With that little bit you just overheard, how would you know what I am charged with doing?”

  “We may be a small tribe, but my father is no fool,” she said, pointing into Geraint’s chest. “He received word that a greedy king wanted our land.”

  He wiped a hand down his face. “My father is not greedy, and he does not want your land.”

  “We have been circling each other for weeks, each concerned with protecting our own people,” she said. “I was ignorant of the truth, but did you know all along that your father meant to invade the Donella?”

  “Enid, I had no idea which tribe you are from, because you would not tell me. Only now, seeing the betrayed expression on your face, do I know the truth.”

  “And do I not have a right to feel betrayed?”

  He took her arm again. “Let me tell you everything, but not here in front of the men.”

  “You don’t wish them to see you bested in a fight?” she cried heatedly.

  He looked down at her, the eyes she thought she loved now cold and impassive.

  “It has come to battle between us?” he said softly. “When we know not the full truth of each other?”

  She could barely fight the ache in her chest or hold back her tears. Where had her fury gone? All she was left with was a terrible sorrow. She tried to imagine lifting a weapon against him, bloodying the flesh she’d just kissed last night, and the image was too terrible to contemplate.

  “We shall talk,” she said heavily.

  He nodded and motioned her away from the soldiers, who were watching silently, warily. The moorland they traversed was barren except for piles of rock in tall, uneven formations. She marched around one to put it between them and his men. With her hands on her hips, she faced him and waited.

  Geraint sighed. “My father heard rumors that the Donella tribe—your tribe, you now inform me—is beginning to use great magic.”

  She rolled her eyes. “We are doing nothing more than we’ve normally done.”

  “Giving warriors unearthly strength is normal for your people?” he said sarcastically.

  “Of course not! The Lady does not bestow her power indiscriminately. I was one of the rare chosen, and only for this great mission.”

  “This mission you keep mentioning but not explaining.”

  She glared at him. “You first, since your mission is full of bloodshed.”

  “Have you seen any blood spilled that we were not forced to shed?”

  “Not yet, but you are not finished, according to your father.”

  “My father has always dealt peacefully with your tribe, but now we have a constant threat of invasion from the Saxons to the east. There is talk that your father will side against us.”

  “We are a peaceful people! We would not go to war against Cornwall—unless attacked first. Make no mistake, when you attack, the soldiers I trained will be ready for you.” She kept her face impassive, but inside she was wailing over her inability to finish her assignment. Her people would be slaughtered by Geraint’s mounted, armored soldiers.

  “My intention is not to attack, but to talk.”

  “And that is why your father wants to send an army.”

  For the first time he looked hesitant, and she knew true fear.

  “The king has put me in command. He worries for our people, the distraction of a second battlefront. If your tribe cannot be reasoned with, I am to do what’s necessary. But Enid, I refuse to let it come to that! I will not allow this to happen again.”

  “Again?” she echoed, wondering how many innocent people her husband had gone against in battle. She had thought him the gentlest of men, and now he was revealed as a stranger.

  “Enid, your expression—” He faltered, looking bereft. “I thought by now you knew me, trusted me.”

  She looked away. “I had thought so, too, but this—” She broke off, angry that she’d begun to cry.

  “Let me explain to you why I do not rush headlong into battle, why my every instinct cries out for negotiation, for a peaceful communication. Will you listen and not interrupt with questions until I’m done?”

  Mutely, she nodded.

  He sat down on a rock and looked up at her expectantly, but she didn’t join him.

  He sighed. “Several years ago, when I was first awarded the honor of serving as a knight to King Arthur, there was a tribe far in the north constantly attacking, as a flea attacked a dog. They were little skirmishes, and we were ordered to put them down as they happened, but not to bother with diplomacy. They were barbarians, so I was told, and not worth negotiating with. I was young, and ever the good knight, thought it my duty to obey my superiors in everything, though my instincts told me otherwise. The skirmishes went on for months, and eventually this northern tribe broke their pattern, organized into one large group, and set a trap. We went in with confidence, because we’d always defeated them easily before.”

  He looked away, and she saw the sorrow he didn’t bother to hide. And her traitorous heart bega
n to soften for him. Using all her willpower, she shored it up.

  “Most of my men were slaughtered,” he continued. “And I blamed myself, although no one else did. But from the beginning I would have talked before fighting. It is far too easy to underestimate an opponent. They might have wanted something as simple as water rights. In my report to King Arthur, I explained my position, my failings, and what we should have done.” A corner of his mouth turned up, but not with amusement. “The king was convinced I had learned from it, and began to include me in his diplomatic missions.”

  “I am glad you profited from the misery of others,” she said.

  He frowned at her. “Profited? My friends died! I learned the hard way that talk is more important than foolhardy bravery. And I told my father this, and I intend to keep my word. My father can send all the armies he wants—he’s only proving to me that he still does not trust my judgment. He thinks I act in too hasty a fashion, but doesn’t see that in this instance, he is the one not thinking clearly. And whom could I consult, who would not think I was setting myself against the king? But I cannot go against my conscience. There will be no battle, because I will not begin one. I sent the messenger back with that exact message.” With tired eyes he stared at her. “But if your father attacks, I cannot guarantee what will happen.”

  “Then I will warn him.”

  “So he will attack?”

  Geraint rose to his feet and stared down at her, one of the few men who could.

  “Do you want a battle between our people, Enid?” he asked softly. “Because by rashly riding off, you will start one.”

  She couldn’t look at him anymore, so she turned and stared off across the moor, where the horizon seemed to last forever.

  What should she do? Leave her father ignorant, risk that her people would be unprepared?

  Or remain with the invading army, hoping to stop a war before it starts? She wanted to despise herself for feeling compassion for Geraint because of the way his father treated him.

  “I have told you everything,” he said. “Is it not time you told me why you left your home?”

  If he knew the truth, maybe he would believe the peaceful nature of her people. She faced him, her chin raised in the air defiantly. “You will listen and believe me?”

  “I have never thought you a liar, Enid,” he said quietly. “But you have held on to your secrets.”

  She stared into his face—it was the same as just last night, when she’d made love to him, when she’d thought they’d finally found trust in each other. Could she risk everything by telling all the truth? Would her father understand if she broke her vow of silence? Regardless of what she believed about the king of Cornwall, she could not imagine her husband as a man who would indiscriminately slaughter a helpless tribe. If he knew everything, could he stop his father? Or could she?

  Chapter 17

  THEIR entire marriage rested on these few minutes. Geraint knew a panic that he’d only ever experienced in battle. He loved her; he wanted back the fragile trust they’d begun to rebuild last night.

  With reluctance in her voice, she finally said, “I told you that my father sent me on a mission, and saw that I was given gifts to aid me.”

  “You were chosen instead of a man because you are a warrior woman?”

  “Aye. And since I do not regularly defend our villages, I could be spared. And it was I who proposed this mission, I who most wanted to see it done. I was to master the fighting techniques of the Britons and bring them back to train our people.”

  He clenched his jaw. “For battle?”

  “Nay! To promote peace. If we are strong, no one will dare give challenge, because we could finally defend ourselves.”

  “Of course these skills you would train your soldiers in could also be used against Cornwall.”

  “My father is chieftain, and he is nothing like your father.”

  He told himself not to react; she was so angry that she wasn’t thinking clearly. Yet he found himself taking an aggressive step toward her, as if she were already the enemy. “And what do you mean by that?”

  “He wants peace!” she cried, pacing away from him as if she would explode by remaining still. “We want to live our lives as always, to marry, and to raise our children free of fear.”

  He thought of marriage—their marriage, and a sudden sick feeling swept through him. Their wedding night had revealed more than just mutual passion. “You were no virgin when you came to me. Was part of your mission to find a gullible man to marry?”

  Her eyes went wide. “Nay!”

  He grabbed her upper arms, shaking her though he had had no intention of doing so. “Was I just a pawn in your mission, to be used to get into Camelot, to help you spy on my high king?”

  “Geraint, what are you saying?” she cried, fisting her hands in his garments. “I did not seek you out—you sought me! You romanced me, insisting that we wed. I could have refused your courtship and remained at Camelot studying the training of your knights. I didn’t need you for that.”

  “But you admitted that they gave you powers to make you appeal to men. Was I bewitched?” He’d thought himself so in love with her, so quickly, that he had ignored everything else—his duty, his honor, his destiny.

  Tears flowed freely down her face. “Nay, never, Geraint, my husband. I loved you.”

  “Loved? Is all we shared gone now, even after last night?”

  When she closed her eyes, sagging in his grip, he let her go.

  “I thought we had begun anew last night,” she whispered. “You had heard of my powers, seen my renewal, and you accepted it, accepted me. I knew there were secrets yet between us, but I thought we were almost ready to share them. And this is the result, isn’t it?” she said bitterly. “But you have to believe that I did not mean to use you. I only wanted to learn, and to be with you. I have changed myself for you, but nothing I do seems to matter. You could not tell me of your father’s intentions; I could not tell you of mine.”

  There was a chasm between them, and until their respective people met, nothing could be decided. Could he believe his own accusation of spying? Where had their trust gone?

  She met his gaze. “You mentioned our wedding night now in anger. You wanted nothing of my past when I came to you, no explanations. Do you want them now?”

  He didn’t know how to answer, torn between wanting to know and afraid to find out.

  She took his silence for assent, because she said, “I am a warrior woman, Geraint. I give young men the confidence to succeed in life. I train them, not only in battle, but in the intimacies between men and women.”

  He could barely stop his mouth from sagging open like a gaping fool. “You’ve been giving yourself to men?”

  Her eyes flashed. “Did you not listen to me? I have been taught to bring young men into adulthood. Warrior women are revered as teachers, as the guardians of the future of our tribe. And if you must know, I am yet young in my profession, and have only trained three men in the art of love.”

  He choked on a bitter laugh. “Profession? You mean that of a whore?”

  Instead of the slap he had expected, she punched him hard in the jaw. He slammed into the earth, and for a moment he saw flashes of light instead of the sky as he rolled onto his back.

  She stood above him, nursing the hand she’d hit him with, righteous and beautiful in her fury. “I do not sell my body for money! When a young man has eighteen years, he is deemed ready for his first woman. Rather than have him ignorantly take the virginity of his future bride, we guide and teach him. The men trust us, because we have been their instructors for four years already. Should not we be the ones who teach men how to treat a woman? The women of our tribe are grateful that we teach their men gentleness and pleasure. Can you say that all of your knights treat their women like that?”

  He knew they did not, had heard of more than one young bride traumatized by the ignorance of her groom on their wedding night. But just because he could understand th
e function of that sort of teacher did not mean he could easily accept his wife as one. He lay on his back, looking at the sky, feeling dazed.

  “What say you, Geraint?” she asked coldly. “You wanted to know nothing of me in courtship, now you might believe you know too much.”

  He sat up slowly, rubbing his jaw, and thankfully the world did not spin around him. “You’ve almost made sure I cannot speak.”

  “You deserved it.”

  “I did.”

  “You know nothing of my tribe’s ways, yet you deem yourself judge—” She broke off as if it took her a moment to hear his response.

  He rose to his feet. “I apologize for my crudeness. You are right, I do not know your tribe. In some ways I do not know you.”

  She winced, but said nothing.

  “What will you do now?” he asked. “I stopped you from leaving earlier.”

  “You are not forbidding me to leave?”

  “I think leaving is ill-advised, especially after all the danger we have encountered. I am going to speak to your father. You could travel safely with me.”

  She looked him in the eyes for several minutes. He wondered if she had no faith in him at all—if she thought he’d use her as a hostage. Geraint wasn’t capable of that, but maybe she no longer knew what to believe of him. How could he expect to make diplomacy and compromise work with her father, if he couldn’t succeed with her?

  Finally she nodded. “I will remain with you. For now.”

  Geraint watched as she walked back toward his men. He thought of his father’s insistence that Enid prove her loyalty to her husband; instead she was more worried about her people.

  But was he any different? This might be his only chance to prove to his father that his own instincts were right. Diplomacy should be the rule before battle.

  Yet in his mind lingered the worry that Enid had used him for her own gain.

  WHEN Enid returned to the resting soldiers, they regarded her with curiosity and even wariness—after all, she had knocked their beloved prince onto his ass.

  She stood in their midst, feeling restless and frightened and confused—and so sad, that everything she’d worked so hard to accomplish in her marriage over the last few days had fallen apart. She had tried to become what she wasn’t for Geraint—or maybe for his father, a king who used battle to subjugate, regardless of who was in his way. King Erbin did not deserve her attempts to honor him.