I smiled at the memory. “Yes, she was. It was she who taught me the arts.”
“Did she now?” Galen seized my hand, turning it palm up, examining the calluses. “Ah, yes, you have the hands of a fighter.” He traced lightly over each of the darkened patches of skin worn tough by repeated grasping of the sword pommel.
“Lyonesse thinks they are from the work she sometimes makes me do,” I said, feeling the nervous need to explain even though he hadn’t asked.
“She is fond of treating her guests as servants,” he mumbled to himself.
I winced, his words confirming intimacy with Isolde, at least in conversation; they were clearly confidants.
He was still intent upon my hand. “We shall have to have a spar to see if our people are correct that women make equal partners on the battlefield as in the bedroom.”
I froze. “Please, no. It is forbidden. If Pellinor or Lyonesse knew I wielded a weapon within their walls, they would turn me out.”
Galen must have seen the fear in my eyes because he relented. “Your secret is safe with me.” The words were murmured softly in my ear as his arms closed around me for a brief moment, and he lifted me effortlessly over a fallen tree trunk.
It was then that I caught the veiled intention behind his quip. I lost my mind at the touch of his body. It had been so long since I had felt the heat of another that I almost collapsed in his arms.
Whether he failed to notice or was concerned about the maid watching, I knew not, but he righted me very professionally, keeping a light hand on the small of my back as we continued to pace the riverbank.
“To return to my story—or rather yours.” He winked. “Once your grandfather was in Gwynedd, he realized Vortigern’s deal was somewhat of a trick. No land or authority automatically came with this compliance, and what was worse, his title meant nothing in this new country. He could have returned to his family, but Cunedda was still convinced they were safer if he stayed where Vortigern wished and carried out his commands. In a show of sincerity, he went to Vortigern’s court to ask some assistance in setting up a new life. While Vortigern was pleased Cunedda had acquiesced to his demands, he was not one to dole out charity and so sent Cunedda away empty-handed.
“However, several prominent lords had heard him plead his case and took pity on him as a just man. One of them was your father’s father, a man of Roman stock named Lucian. Lucian wished to give Cunedda a title and some holdings in his own territory of Gwynedd, but Cunedda feared this would only anger Vortigern and bring his wrath needlessly upon Lucian’s house. Instead, Cunedda asked not to be treated as Lucian’s equal, though he was, but as any other unlanded soldier seeking his kindness. Lucian admired your grandfather’s honesty and humility, so he took him in and gave him shelter and employment fighting against the Irish invaders.
“Years passed in this arrangement, and Lucian took your grandfather ever deeper into his confidence. He confessed to Cunedda that, unlike Vortigern, he despised the bloodshed caused by the constant fighting among the tribes of the north and the Romans with his own people. One day he came to Cunedda with a proposal. Lucian’s son, Leodgrance—your father—would marry a Votadini of royal lineage, preferably one of Cunedda’s relatives. Both tribes would agree to live in peace, and Lucian would ensure Gwynedd was a place the Votadini could dwell safely under Vortigern’s rule. Seeing the wisdom of this plan, Cunedda offered his only daughter, Corinna, to Leodgrance as act of gratitude for Lucian’s years of protection and kindness.
“When it was announced Leodgrance and Corinna were to be married, there was much rejoicing among the tribes at the peace that would follow. However, Lucian’s overlord, a powerful man named Julian who exercised control over much of the western coast, did not approve of the plan. Julian despised the thought of tainting pure Roman blood with that of our kind, so he ordered Lucian to kill Cunedda, the bride, and her immediate family when they arrived for the wedding, thus eliminating the royal Votadini line and demonstrating power over their tribe. Although Lucian loved Cunedda like his own kin, he was very much afraid of Julian and reluctantly agreed to do as he was commanded.
“But Lady Fortuna was with your family, for Leodgrance found out about the plot. Like his father, he was a man of peace, but he would do what he must to save Corinna and her family. He may not have set eyes on his bride yet, but he was beginning to love her just by her actions. She was risking much to marry him—bravely leaving her home, her title, her people, all to unite with him in a treaty that was ideal in theory but would be difficult to maintain. He couldn’t let her die, especially not as an innocent victim of someone else’s machinations.
“On the night before the wedding, when all of the men were gathered together in celebration, Leodgrance made certain that Lucian and Julian received poisoned cups. They died, but no one ever suspected your father. He and your mother were married, and well, I think you know the rest of the story.” He fell silent, leaving me to absorb the epic that had resulted in my birth.
I halted, suddenly seeing my father in a whole new light. For the first time, I was touched with pity for him. I had always known of his affection for my mother, but I never suspected how deeply his love ran or that he was capable of murdering his own father to save her. Suddenly the broken man, half crazed with grief, I left at Northgallis made much more sense. I still could not fathom what he saw in Father Marius, but at least now I understood the reason for his desperate search for comfort and redemption. He had done unspeakable things to save my mother, and she had been taken from him as violently and as suddenly as if Julian’s plan had been fulfilled so many years before.
Heartache filled me at the thought of what my return so soon after my mother’s death must have done to him. There I was, a younger version of the woman he just lost; I probably appeared to him much like my mother did when she came to Gwynedd to marry him. With a shock, I realized that his coldness had not been meant for me, but as a defense against the pain caused by having to face the ghost of his dead love in my eyes.
Unable to speak, I stared at Galen like a simpleton.
“Have I said something wrong?” His features were etched with genuine worry.
“No, I am fine,” I croaked, trying to recover my voice. “Your story made many things about my family very clear to me, things I never expected and could not possibly explain.” I took a step forward. “Please let us speak of other things. Tell me how you like Elaine. I hardly ever get to see her anymore.”
“Oh, Elaine is a wonderful girl,” Galen said as we resumed our walk, the forced emotion in his voice making me wonder how he really felt about her. “She is very beautiful. I’ve never seen hair quite like hers before—golden, yet woven with strands of red, like silk stitched with gold thread. And her eyes are so pure, so innocent.” His voice softened as he searched for an apt metaphor. “In so many ways, she is like a young doe. Her eyes hold such wonder about the world, about me, about everything. Unlike most people, she sees the good, or at least the potential for good, in everyone. I am so afraid of letting her down.”
His confession caught me off guard. Did Galen really have feelings for Elaine?
“Why would you let her down?”
“I am not who she thinks I am, Guinevere.”
I hadn’t expected him to admit this so candidly. “What?”
The tenderness in Galen’s smile was almost heartbreaking. “No one is. She sees everyone as she thinks they should be. She has in her mind this false image of me—the embodiment of her fantasies of a man who is pure, who will be her savior and her one true love. I am human. I have made mistakes—grave ones—and I will continue to do so. It is in my nature to be a bit of a knave, not a saint. I cannot possibly live up to her expectations of me.”
He really did love her—that much was clear. But I doubted he loved her with the fire of a paramour or the romance of a fated soul. Galen’s love for Elaine was that of a protector
; he abhorred the idea of shattering her innocence, but knew, just in the course of living, that he would have to. Still, she could do worse than being paired with a man who held her in such high esteem. She need never fear abuse or cruelty by his hand or any other he could control.
“So you intend to marry her then?”
His brow creased, and he regarded me quizzically. “Of course. Why else would I be here?”
I wanted to ask him when, if he loved Elaine so much, he planned to evict Isolde from his bed—although I still had no proof of that—and stop dallying with me in the forest.
I took a deep breath. “Galen, I do not understand you. Why come all this way to court Elaine when there are plenty of noble women in your own country or in other kingdoms? Yes, Dyfed is a rich land, but it will offer you little but trouble, by way of the Irish, especially when Isolde becomes queen. Why risk that fate? You have admitted you cannot possibly be the spotless knight Pellinor expects to wed his daughter. What is in it for you? What are you really after?”
His eyes flashed with anger, and he turned on me. “Why do you suspect me at every turn? You barely know me, yet you accuse me of dishonesty. From whence does this mistrust spring? I have done nothing to wrong you, nothing to offend you, yet you insist on treating me like a criminal.” He snapped his fingers. “Ah, I know what it is. You are jealous. A man who is not paying attention to you is much like a toy you want but cannot have. Do you honestly believe that simply because you are daughter of the king of Gwynedd, all men will fall at your feet? You have too much virtue to be taken as a whore, but little better probability of being chosen as a wife. Your attitude will be your downfall; no man wants a haughty, distrusting wife, no matter how beautiful.”
His words stung me into silence. Perhaps my inquires had gone a little too far.
But Galen was so engrossed in his own anger he barely registered my lack of rebuttal.
“Did it ever once occur to you that your questioning may offend me?” he demanded. “What exactly were your intentions when you agreed to come riding with me today? Am I to cast aside your friend and choose you instead? If you were trying to entice me or hoping I would seduce you, you not only lack understanding of what is attractive to men, but sound judgment as well. You lost any chance at winning my heart the moment you berated me with your questions. You are worse than a fishwife!”
We had reached the horses now and the maid was watching us with open curiosity, but I cared not who heard us. I felt bound to defend myself.
“I accept no blame for you being threatened by an intelligent woman. You should be used to my kind by now—no doubt you were reared by one. I was raised according to the traditions of your homeland, which bid me speak when I suspect a liar. You may be able to charm and dazzle everyone else in this household, but you have not fooled me. I may not know exactly what you are playing at, but I know you to be untrue. Good thing you will find no resistance from Elaine, as she was raised to be the docile woman you seem to so desire. I wish you both well, but I pray we never cross paths again.”
Before he could recover from my rebuttal, I grabbed the reins of my horse and mounted. The startled maid quickly followed suit. I knew those roads well but gambled that, as a foreigner, he did not. He would be dependent on me to find his way back to the castle.
“Use your charm to get you home—see how far that gets you,” I called over my shoulder as we galloped off. “I have no need of you, but I doubt you can say the same.”
Chapter Nineteen
Summer 496
Someone had been caught, but I was not sure who.
When I retired the following night, Lyonesse locked Isolde and me into our room, promising to liberate us after they returned from Mass at dawn. For a few moments after the bolt slipped into place, we stared at each other in silent shock. I had thought we were in the clear; Lyonesse seemed pleased that Galen and I refused to exchange more words than politeness required, and he gave no indication that our tryst had ever taken place. Had the maid spilled our secret? Worse yet, had Galen told them everything? After I pushed him so far, he would have little to lose, especially if he implicated both Isolde and me while remaining an innocent victim in their eyes, a deception I had no doubt he could accomplish. Horrible as that seemed, it would explain Lyonesse’s desire to keep us both under lock and key.
“What does she know?” I asked quietly.
Isolde shook her head slowly, contemplating the options. “I’m not sure.”
I sank down on the bed. “We could be ruined.”
“We?” Isolde scoffed. “What have you to account for? Lust within your heart is not a punishable offense, and it most certainly will not get you turned out into the street.”
Isolde was rarely cross with me; her jab at my lack of success with Galen was a clear sign of how worried she really was. I turned down the bedclothes and slipped beneath them.
“And you? What have you to fear?” I asked.
Isolde blew out the candle on the bedside table. “Guinevere, you are a perceptive woman. I believe you can guess without my telling you.”
“So that is where you were each night.” I stared up at the shadows on the ceiling, my stomach twisting as my suspicions were confirmed. “But you have not left our room in nearly a month.”
“He has rejected me.” Her voice was small, frail.
I had been watching the life drain out of Isolde for some time now. Here in the darkness, it seemed as though she had given up completely. Sick with guilt, I wondered how much of her present pain was due to my allegations. Surely Galen had told her what had happened, what I had said. If I saw through him, it would stand to reason he would fear others would soon come to the same conclusion. Better to leave her now than be caught in a sin he could not deny.
“Isolde, I am so sorry.”
“You did nothing. I knew what I was getting into when I warmed his bed. A lovers’ tryst is built to destroy itself; they all end in time.” She was trying to remain strong, but her voice was wavering.
“Did you love him?”
She shifted in the darkness. She was on her side, facing me, silent tears caught by the pale moonlight. “I could never fall in love. My heart is not here; it is at home with the radiant roses and emerald hills. It is chasing the deer and embracing the sweet smell of the meadows. My life here is not my own, but I take happiness where and from whom I can get it. Will you condemn me for that?”
I had no answer for her. I had done enough damage already; I was the reason she lay here in pain, imprisoned in what should have been her home. I could only assure her of my love and hold her as she cried herself to sleep.
Our confinement lasted only a few more weeks, during which time Isolde displayed a surprising skill at being able to pick locks and move about the castle unseen so that we could continue our scheduled meetings with Guildford and Liam.
“This is not the first time they have kept me under guard. You learn what you must to survive,” Isolde explained while deftly jiggling the back side of the lock on our bedroom door, which could be opened from both sides if one knew how. “This one is at least a challenge; I had a duplicate key to my former room.” Her impish smile was back.
Once the danger of Beltane had passed—a night full of grief at lost love for the both of us—Isolde seemed to rally, showing incredible resilience and strength. At the same time, Pellinor began “forgetting” to lock us in until it became clear he would not do so again if we would pretend nothing had changed.
One morning, Isolde and I were playing a game of Holy Stones with a set she had brought from her homeland when Lyonesse and Elaine entered the castle below after Mass. I could not tell what she was saying, but Lyonesse was angry, honking at Elaine like a goose.
As Lyonesse chased Elaine up the stairs, their voices became clearer. Apparently Elaine’s crime was to return Galen’s gaze during Mass when he smiled at her.
Lyonesse was still hitting Elaine with her veil when they barreled into the room.
“How dare you, you little strumpet! During holy Mass, your eyes should only be on one of two men: the priest or God. And as I do not think you can see God—you can’t, can you?” Lyonesse’s tone was tinged with curiosity and hope.
Elaine shook her head, incredulous at the question.
“Blessed be God for those whose daughters can,” she muttered, casting a holy glance skyward before continuing exactly where she left off. “Your actions are sure to cause scandal among the whole village.”
Isolde rolled her eyes and stifled a snicker, but not in time.
“You dare mock me, you ungrateful little wretch?” Lyonesse wheeled on her, unleashing the remainder of her fury. “‘Tis no wonder Elaine is showing signs of immodesty with you around. I will be dead and buried before we find a Briton willing to marry one as ill-mannered and unrepentant as you.”
In the time I had been here, I had seen Isolde undeservedly bear the brunt of Lyonesse’s anger many times. But she had been laying into Isolde as often as she could lately, no doubt out of frustration that she had yet to see Elaine married.
I could stand it no longer. I rose to my feet, advancing on Lyonesse in defense of my friend. “Have you no comprehension of the law? Who she marries matters not. Isolde will be Queen of Ireland one day, and that means she could destroy your whole kingdom and everyone in it.” I gestured to Elaine without breaking my hold on Lyonesse’s eyes. “If she put her mind to it.”
“Guinevere, please. I do not need you to defend me.” Isolde raised her palm in a gesture of peace and turned her attention to Lyonesse. “Lyonesse, I apologize for my lack of respect. But what Guinevere says is quite true.” She held Lyonesse’s gaze, daring her to continue.
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