by Gwen Rowley
Lovell ran to her, his expression full of concern. “Are we still leaving, my lady?”
“Nay. I am sorry to abandon a task that I ordered you to work on.”
He shrugged sheepishly. “I thought it might be a lover’s quarrel, and since you love each other, you would make up rather than leave.”
Did this boy really think that she and Geraint loved each other? Even she didn’t know anymore.
She gave him a tired smile. “So you did not pack supplies?”
“Nay, my lady.”
“Would you mind finding my clothing and my weapons?”
He frowned. “But you said—”
“Nay, I’m not leaving. But I am finished pretending to be what I am not. My own garments are more comfortable, so I will travel in them from now on.”
Her husband must have been mulling over their discussion, because by the time he returned, Enid was dressed in her shirt and leather jerkin, with her own boots laced up her calves. Her sword was back on her hip, and she felt . . . no, not whole. Not when she saw the bleak look in Geraint’s eyes before he masked it with impassivity. And there was a growing bruise on his jaw.
He stood before her, and every soldier remained silent, deliberately looking away as they prepared to leave.
He gestured at her clothing. “Are you making a statement?”
“Only that my own garments are easier to travel in. This is who I am, Geraint. I do not need to prove anything to a bloodthirsty king.”
He narrowed his eyes. “My father is a good ruler.”
“That remains to be seen.”
She turned away from him and met Lovell, who was leading her horse. She mounted as a man would, saw them all stare.
“Have none of you ever seen a woman’s knees before?” she demanded.
She regretted her childish outburst immediately. She looked at Geraint, but all he did was shake his head and turn away.
As they set out, she felt very alone near the front of the column, as Geraint made his way back to talk to his men. The twins, Tyler and Toland, fell into place on either side of her. Wilton rode up next to Lovell at her back. Even Ainsley stayed just before her guiding them all north. In the land of the Britons, these men were her first companions beside her husband; they had known what she was from the beginning. She tried to relax.
Wilton called from behind her, “So milady, are ye going to train with us again now, too?”
The twins laughed, and Enid felt some of her terrible tension dissipating as she turned in her saddle to face Wilton.
“Do you have a wish to meet me across swords?” she asked sweetly.
“Not in the mood ye’re in today, milady.”
She saw Lovell’s troubled look, and she found herself wanting to reassure them all. “It is just a quarrel, boys. Do not worry yourselves.”
But no one was convinced, least of all herself.
FOR several days, they traveled to the northern coast, then turned east, stopping at villages along the way. Enid found herself stared at, but the villagers were always gracious, and some even impressed that a woman dared display a sword.
She watched Geraint carefully, and as usual he impressed her with his ability to relate to the villagers, to be a help to them rather than simply a ruler. Once or twice someone belligerently voiced a complaint, but always he was able to handle the situation, to leave people feeling helped rather than ignored.
On the night of the new moon, Geraint silently followed her to a small pond away from the cliffs at seaside, watching her back as she renewed herself, though she had not asked him for assistance. Without moonlight it was dark, but the moon was only asleep, waiting for her, and still her energy was fed by it.
The following morning, they had not ridden far when one of the troop’s scurriers returned from his advance scouting and drew up beside Geraint.
“Milord,” the soldier said, “we’re seein’ signs of an encampment where a mounted party stayed but a night or two ago.”
Geraint looked at Ainsley. “We have heard nothing from the villagers about such a thing.”
Ainsley shook his head, looking dour. “Nay, milord. They might o’ come from the south or east, and are now headin’ away from us.”
“Are they afraid we’ll see them?” Geraint mused, his brow furrowed.
Enid leaned on her pommel and simply watched, needing to see how her husband handled this situation. She had to be able to predict his every action before they reached the land of the Donella.
Geraint looked back at his scurrier. “Range farther today. Look for signs of them, even get close enough to discover their identity. Remember, they will have men looking for us, too.”
The scurrier grinned. “No one sees me ’less I wants ’em to, milord.”
After that, the mood was sober, quiet, as if all were waiting to hear something in the distance. But it wasn’t until the evening that the scurrier returned with news.
Enid was eating with Fryda, Geraint, and several men around the fire at twilight, when the scurrier found them.
“Milord, their camp is but two leagues’ distant,” he said, breathing heavily. “They be well armed and well mounted, but not knights.”
“How did an entire army get this far west?” Geraint demanded of no one in particular.
“Oh, ’tis not an army, milord,” the scurrier said. “Just a small party—six men at most.”
Geraint nodded. “But they are on Cornish land. And since this is the western edge of England, no one can just be passing through. We have to determine their mission. Ainsley,” he said to his captain of the guard, “I need ten stealthy men. We are going to say hello to our temporary neighbors.”
Enid put down her meat and started to walk toward her horse.
Geraint followed her. “You should not come.”
She turned around and faced him. “I want to. If this is the beginning of your feared Saxon invasion, I need to know. I do not need a guard.”
“These are not Saxons.” He sighed. “I will not forbid you. But you will obey me in all things, as if you were one of my soldiers.”
“As long as you do not indiscriminately kill these men.”
He clenched his jaw, and a sudden sensation of guilt made her feel ashamed.
“That was unworthy of me,” she said softly. “You would not kill a man for no reason.”
He arched a dark brow. “That is almost a declaration of trust, coming from you.”
They rode off in the dark, with only a crescent moon to see by. Enid found herself behind Geraint, and it was almost amusing that he thought he was protecting her, when she was guarding his back.
Within a league of the campsite, they left their horses behind and crept through the forest, glad the enemy had left the openness of the cliffs above the sea. For the last hundred yards, they moved from tree to tree, until they could see the flickering of a small campfire and hear the murmur of men’s voices. Through the trees, Enid saw the men lounging by their fire, with no guard to watch for intruders. Their clothes were ragged and stained, as if they’d been traveling a long time.
Geraint gestured for half of the men, including Enid, to circle the encampment, while he and the other soldiers confronted the intruders. She obeyed his command, moving until she had a good viewing position on the far side of the campfire. Toland, Tyler, Wilton, and Lovell remained close to her, and she accepted it grudgingly.
Geraint suddenly stood up, along with five of his men, appearing as if from nowhere. The intruders scrambled to reach their weapons, but Geraint and his men swept forward, their own swords raised.
“Please remain still,” Geraint said pleasantly, as if he wasn’t a large, well-armed, threatening knight.
Five of the six obeyed, so one of the Cornish soldiers hit the sixth man over the head with the hilt of his sword.
When all was quiet, Geraint’s smile grew even more relaxed. “And who is your leader?”
That man stood up, arms raised to show he carried no weapon
. “Milord Geraint,” the man said, bowing.
Geraint frowned, and then his puzzled expression turned to disbelief. “Redley?”
Enid exchanged looks with Lovell, who stared at her wide-eyed.
“Aye, ’tis me, milord,” Redley said.
“Were you not stationed with my father’s army?”
“We be on ’signment,” he said.
Enid saw the way the travelers gave each other frightened looks, and she knew the truth immediately—deserters. Such men, cowards and traitors that they were, usually deserved death.
But Geraint did nothing but frown. “Do not insult me, Redley. The king knows that I am in this part of the country. He would not send you. And certainly he would have sent you better provisioned than this.”
“But we were to bring ye a message—”
“I received my father’s messenger just a few days ago. You are not he. You have deserted the army.”
Several of the prisoners had a restless look about them, as if even now they thought they could escape. But their fate was sealed, Enid knew. Even among the Donella, deserters were not tolerated.
But Geraint continued to stare at Redley. “Do you want to return?” he asked softly.
Enid withheld a gasp. Would all Geraint’s talk of negotiating rather than fighting matter even in these circumstances? Was he truly so different than his father?
Chapter 18
GERAINT looked at Redley, desperation evident in the man’s face, and didn’t see a deserter, but his childhood friend, the boy with whom he’d fished, chased chickens, and stole tarts from the kitchen. Geraint had to give him a chance.
Redley’s mouth sagged open. “Return to Castle Cornwall? But—”
Geraint saw the other deserters looking about them, could see them calculating the odds of getting away from what they thought were only six men. But Redley only looked sad and resigned, as if he’d made a terrible mistake he now regretted.
“My father deals harshly with deserters,” Geraint said, “but if you repent, perhaps I could speak—”
And then everything went to hell. Redley’s hopeful expression turned to despair as his own men began to fight the soldiers all around him. One of the deserters cried out to Redley and tossed him a sword. For just a moment, Geraint and Redley faced each other across the clearing, but then a soldier attacked Redley, who turned to defend himself.
Geraint fought back earnestly against another man whose face he recognized. Had he trained this one himself years before?
And then he saw Enid, a warrior woman lit by flickering firelight, her hair bright as the flame itself, her sword moving with a speed and precision that didn’t seem of this world.
From behind, Geraint was caught around the waist, and the gleaming edge of a sword appeared at his neck.
Another man beside him cried, “If we hold him captive, they’ll have to let us go.”
They might as well have dug their own graves. Geraint would not allow such a thing to happen. He was about to deal with his captors when something flew through the air before his eyes, striking the two.
It was a dagger, used with such force that it went through one deserter’s throat and imbedded itself in the chest of the other. Wide-eyed, they both fell to their deaths.
Geraint looked around to see that his soldiers were already victorious. All six deserters lay dead, Redley included. Geraint stared at his old friend’s body, feeling guilt that he knew he shouldn’t feel.
Enid appeared at his side. “Had you fought beside this man before?”
“Nay,” he said in a low voice, “but we spent our boyhood together. His mother was a dairymaid at Castle Cornwall.”
She hesitated, then put a hand on his arm. “It is a waste.”
He turned away. He didn’t know what to make of her kindness, not when she’d been so angry with him only hours before.
From behind him, she said, “You claim to be a man who gives thought after battle to what he could have done differently. What are your conclusions?”
He turned to find her studying him gravely, as if he needed to pass some sort of test to determine his worth in her eyes. Shouldn’t it be the other way around, after how she’d been able to use him to spy on King Arthur’s men? He grimaced and closed his eyes. He was the one who’d pushed for marriage, not her. But perhaps she could have accomplished the same goals without marrying him. He could question himself forever like this. They had both made mistakes.
Somehow he had to let it go.
“Diplomacy did not work with deserters afraid of a death sentence,” he told Enid, “but I do not regret the effort. I had to take the chance to save him—them.”
She nodded and walked away.
He ordered the bodies to be grouped together and covered with rocks. While his soldiers worked, to his surprise they kept stealing glances at Enid. She was gathering up any useful weapons and supplies, nothing out of the ordinary.
Then he remembered that she’d been battling alongside him. And that thrown dagger—who else had the strength to kill two men with one blow?
Back at the encampment, word of her prowess in battle circled among the men before the sun had even risen the next day.
As Geraint huddled in his cloak against the cold morning dew and broke his fast with dried beef, Ainsley came to him.
“Milord, the men are curious about yer wife. What should I tell ’em?”
Geraint debated letting the captain handle everything, but wouldn’t that look as if Geraint couldn’t be bothered to offer them some sort of explanation?
Geraint sighed. “Gather them together, Ainsley. I shall speak with them.”
Enid was off for a woman’s privacy, and it seemed the perfect time to Geraint to look out over the sea of expectant faces and try to explain it all. But . . . what to say?
“Half of you saw my wife in battle last night,” he began slowly, “and the other half heard about it. She is of a tribe where some women are trained as warriors. Her skills are as great as those of any man I’ve trained—”
“Better!” yelled Manning, looking about at his fellow soldiers. “I saw her put a dagger through two enemies! Killed them both with one stroke.”
The men murmured, and as Geraint waited for condemnation of her talents, he prepared what he’d say to protect her.
But instead, all the soldiers were intrigued. He heard more than one young man laughingly talk about challenging her when next they trained together.
“That is enough,” Geraint said sternly, capturing their attention once again. “Lady Enid is your future queen, not a sparring partner. We will accept her assistance when she gives it, but we will also treat her as a noble-woman whom we are escorting.”
At that moment, he saw Enid emerging from behind a jumble of high rocks. She came up short when she saw everyone gathered together, her expression wary. As she approached, the men gave her curious looks, and she glanced at Geraint in confusion.
When she came to his side, he said, “The men were quite impressed with your abilities. I was explaining to them that although you are a trained warrior, you are also their princess.”
“I understand.”
One soldier called out, “Are you in hiding, my lady? Is this a silence you need of us?”
Geraint watched her but said nothing.
Enid took a deep breath. “Although I am proud of my skills, I do not regularly display them. There are those who would not appreciate how different I am from your women.” She hesitated. “But I wish to live in peace with you.”
She wished to live in peace with them, Geraint thought darkly, knowing she’d tried to leave them all just last night. She could have started a war. Now she believed that she was the only one who could stop one—as if he wasn’t capable of it.
“But I will not ask for your complete silence,” she continued. “Mayhap your . . . discretion.”
A rumble of laughter and approval swept through the men, and they all dispersed to load up for the day’s marc
h.
TWO days later a scurrier again returned with news—accompanied by a stranger. As Geraint continued to ride toward them, he studied the newcomer even as he fought the wind generated from the sea. The man couldn’t be many years out of boyhood, and he wore a simple traveling tunic that bore no indication of where he came from.
Geraint didn’t notice Enid’s reaction until she reached across and put a hand on his arm. He glanced at her and found her expression full of shock and worry.
“Do you know this man?” he asked.
She nodded. “He is Druce, one of my people.”
Geraint frowned, then lifted a hand to halt the column until the two men could approach. He noticed that Druce was watching Enid. The man wore a look of pleasure and expectancy, but no fear. Geraint tried to tell himself to relax, but something just felt . . . wrong.
Enid dismounted and walked forward, and Geraint did the same out of concern for her. What if her tribe considered her a traitor now that she’d married the son of their enemy?
Druce grinned, but prudently looked to the scurrier for a nod of approval before he vaulted to the ground.
To Geraint’s shock, Druce embraced Enid, holding her so tight that her toes only brushed the dirt. Apparently not all thought she was a traitor.
“Enid,” Druce said with satisfaction and relief when he finally stepped back. He looked her up and down. “You appear well.”
Geraint cared little for the informality with which this man addressed his wife. He moved to Enid’s side and arched a brow at her. She grinned, wearing a look of relaxation he had not been privileged to see much of lately.
“Allow me to introduce Druce, a member of the Donella tribe. Druce, my husband, Prince Geraint of Cornwall.”
Druce’s smile was wiped away in an instant, replaced by shock. “When I saw you traveling with these men of Cornwall, I thought—” He broke off, looking to Geraint hesitantly.
