“I have nothing to say to you,” she said coldly as we passed an inn where the revelers were spilling out into the street. “Were it not for you, I would be married now.”
I could hardly believe my ears. “How could this situation possibly be my fault?” Isolde’s? Yes. Galen’s? Certainly. But me? She was mad.
“You were the one who read the document, Guinevere. Why did you not lie and tell my father those men were imposters or that the document said something else? Anything else! I loved him!” She was in a rage again, spewing vitriol as easily as she had shed tears.
“What would you have me do, Elaine? Let this scoundrel take you as his concubine?” I raised my voice in response to hers until we were both yelling. People passing us in the lane were beginning to stare, but I did not care about creating a spectacle. “Where would that leave you three moons from now when he had taken your money and your lands and left you alone and pregnant?”
She turned on me, incensed. “He would do no such thing!”
“Elaine, you heard the men. He has done it two times before, not counting his wife. What makes you any different?”
She had no reply and so lashed out like a child. “You just don’t want me to be happy! You cannot find love, so no one else will either. That is your plan.”
I halted and stared after her, shocked. “How can a heart of so few years be so dark?”
Elaine whirled and took three steps toward me so that her face was only inches from mine, her eyes dark and menacing. “Do you not understand that lack of love can blacken a heart just as quickly as loss of it?”
Her face was strained, pulled tight by the pain in her heart. “I am never allowed to love, never free—a bird trapped in a cage. I would be happier if Father gave me to the cloister. At least then Christ could be my spouse.” She grabbed my forearms with surprising force, fingers digging into my flesh as she spoke, eyes straining to shed tears her body was too weary to produce. “My heart yearns for the love my mind knows exists. Everyone but me is allowed happiness. Isolde was sent here to marry. Even you, who were exiled because of love—you know the joy of its fulfillment. I have nothing.”
My heart was breaking for the poor, innocent girl before me. I pulled her out of the street and into an alleyway to give us some privacy.
“You have your God,” I said, thinking that reminder would bring her comfort.
“What little good He does me,” she muttered.
The bitterness in her voice took me aback.
“I have faith, yes—that His will is truly what is best—but it is cold comfort when all speak of me dying barren and alone. You have no idea of my life, Guinevere.” She spat my name with such hatred, she briefly reminded me of Morgan.
“Who says such things, Elaine? I have heard nothing of the sort.”
She released my arms violently, flinging them away from her. “Of course not. You live in your own little world, you and Isolde, off having your fun while I am trapped in a life not of my own making.”
She turned away, her back toward me as she watched the setting sun.
“Do you really think we would have chosen the lives we live?” I asked her. “I was exiled here, torn away from the only people I ever loved. I have no one here, Elaine. What kind of life is that? Isolde had no say in her placement in your house and, from what I can tell, was never welcome. Your mother treated her as a slave, and she endured it until she was forced to flee.”
Elaine turned back to me, eyes flashing dangerously. “She chose to leave with my intended. Tell me, were they having an affair the entire time, or did the whore have a last-minute flash of inspiration? I cannot make myself feel sorry for her, and I never will. She deserves everything that is coming to her, and so do you.”
So much for making peace with her; it seemed I had gained another enemy.
Chapter Twenty-Two
After my confrontation with Elaine, I was restless, not yet ready to return to that empty room that may as well have been a prison cell. I needed to breathe in the night air, to feel free for however many minutes I could snatch from time’s grasp.
I headed deeper into the village, seeking the open fields beyond the castle walls. I knew not where I was going, but it mattered little. Had my father not been nearby in counsel with the king, I would have run away tonight, to some distant town, back to Avalon, or maybe even boarded a ship to Ireland. Until now, I had not realized how much I missed Isolde, how much I had depended on her joy, her playful outlook on life to give me hope. The last few weeks, trapped with Elaine’s anger and depression, had been horrible. I could almost feel her sadness leaching into my bones, threatening to burn away my soul and turn me into a bitter shell.
As I neared the turrets of the outer wall, I began to consider asking my father to take me back home. It would mean capitulating to Father Marius and admitting guilt I did not feel, but it was an opportunity I would not see again. Once my father returned to Northgallis, I would be stuck here indefinitely. I still had the option of running later if he sentenced me to more time in Pellinor’s house. As I walked, I made my mind up to speak with him in the morning.
As I rounded the corner and turned onto the main road that led away from Corbenic, I froze. Someone was coming toward me. Someone I recognized as if from a long-forgotten dream. As the figure grew nearer, my heart picked up speed. I knew that gait, the sound of those footsteps. It was difficult to make out his features in the shadow of the tower, but I didn’t need eyes to know who approached.
Aggrivane. I did not know if I thought his name or whispered it aloud, but he stopped. He seemed to be regarding me with the same disbelieving awe that emanated from every pore of my skin.
Hesitantly, we each took a step forward. That was enough for a patch of light from the dying sun to fall upon us and confirm the hopes we dared not speak. We rushed into each other’s arms like the reunited lovers of a fairytale.
Arms, hair, lips, clothing all entangled like seaweed at the ocean’s edge. The heat from our breath won out over the cool breeze that swirled around us as we kissed, bodies crushed together, eager hands confirming this was more than a fanciful dream.
Finally, our lips parted.
“I thought you returned to Carlisle with your brothers,” I breathed, staring into the chestnut eyes I thought I would never see again, scarcely able to believe he was here, in my arms.
“I did,” he answered, “but my father called me back a few days ago. I did not know if you were still here—or if you would be able to see me.”
“I am here. And I will not leave your side.” I kissed him gently on the cheek. “But we should take care not to be caught—again. Lyonesse is worse than Evrain could ever dream of being.”
Still locked in each other’s arms, we looked around for some means of escape, a shelter in which we could hide, if only for a few stolen moments. “I know a place. Follow me.” Inspiration had struck when I asked myself what Isolde would have done. The question was not what would she have done, but rather, what did she do?
I took him by the hand and led him through a winding series of side roads to a small building huddled in the shadow of the great main keep. The front door would be securely locked, but with the right encouragement, the side door should give way.
It opened just as I expected, and we slipped inside. In the dim light, I could make out just enough of the floor to get us where we needed to be.
“You brought me to an apothecary?” Aggrivane asked as we passed rows of hanging dried herbs and racks of vials containing multi-hued liquids that glinted with sinister intent in the slats of pale light that slipped through the boards in the shutters.
I laughed. “No, silly. Thanks to Pellinor’s paranoia, nearly everything in the castle is connected. The cellar of this building leads up into the main structure.”
“I call that sound strategic planning, not paranoia.”
; In the dark, I doubted he could see the sardonic look I cast in his direction, but I did it anyway. “You don’t know Pellinor.”
I led Aggrivane by the arm down through a series of winding tunnels beneath the walls of the castle. We had to navigate by touch as neither of us possessed any source of light. It had been much easier the first time I made this journey; Isolde had brought with her a torch when we were forced to sneak out to meet Guildford and Liam. I could still hear her matter-of-fact answer when I asked how she knew such a place existed.
“I had a lot of free time during my first few years here. They did not know enough yet not to trust me.” Her clever smile illuminated my mind’s eye. “They kept Elaine so closely guarded that she was only rarely a playmate to me, so I went exploring. I found more than a dozen passages on my own. The existence of this one, however, was revealed to me by one of the guards—he is dead now—but I will be forever grateful to him. It has saved my hide many times.”
“Does anyone else know this is here?” Aggrivane asked as though reading my mind, his inquiry tinged with apprehension.
I shrugged. “I suppose some of the guards know. Isolde said that Elaine knew about a few of the passages but always was too scared to go into them.”
I wondered from whence Elaine’s fear emanated—the dark, unfamiliar terrain or imaginings of her mother’s reaction if she were caught. Probably a combination of the two.
I was so deep in thought I nearly missed the subtle change in the ground beneath our feet that signaled we were approaching the other end of the tunnel.
“Wait,” I said.
We both stopped walking. I ran my hand along the wall, feeling the cold foundation of the castle. My hand hit upon a wooden support beam. “This is it.” I led Aggrivane a few steps west, fingertips on the low ceiling above us. “Do you feel it?”
“I do,” he whispered as his fingers trailed over the hinges on the door overhead. “Where does it lead?”
“A tiny library tucked away in the southwest corner of the ground floor. Most of the books were smuggled out of Rome generations ago or given to Pellinor as gifts from the more literate parts of the empire. Almost no one uses it anymore, but Lyonesse likes the statement of wealth the collection affords. Although with all the people here, it would not surprise me if someone sneaked away for some peace and quiet. Be careful—the door is covered by a rug, so we will have to push it clear.”
Aggrivane chuckled as we heaved upward on the door. “I think we will be safe. Most of the lords cannot read or write. You and I are fortunate to be Druid-trained, remember? Other than our fathers and the king, I cannot think of another literate man on the council.”
I wanted to remind him that Pellinor’s family was taught by the Christian priests, but I thought better of it as both the door and its covering gave way.
“We are right below a table, so watch your head,” I warned him as quietly as possible.
Once we were on our feet, I brushed a few bits of spider web out of his wavy brown locks. I let him take the lead, as he recognized where we were as soon as we peeked out into the deserted hallway. I held my breath, and within minutes, we had made it to the threshold of the old servants’ quarters in which he was staying.
I let out a sigh as I stepped inside, willing my pounding heart to calm. We were safe.
Aggrivane followed close behind. He swung the door closed, but it was forcefully stopped by someone’s hand before it shut.
Aggrivane motioned for me to retreat farther into the cramped room.
I looked around, searching for some means of concealment or escape. A small table with a basin and water jug stood to my left, a large storage chest just opposite, and the tiny raised bed directly in front of me, one side against the wall. There was nowhere for me to go, not even a closet. Seeing no other alternative, I wedged myself between the bed and the floor, scooting as close to the outer wall as possible.
“Retiring so early, Lothian?” It was Uriens’ son, Accolon. I recognized his voice from the tournament. “I thought you may fancy a late-night gamble.” He shook something that rattled like it contained tiny bones or pebbles of some sort.
“No, thank you, cousin. Another time, perhaps,” Aggrivane responded politely.
“Shame. I was rather hoping to avenge my loss to your house at the tournament.”
I imagined Aggrivane rolling his eyes.
“You do realize that had I won,” Accolon rambled on, clearly pleased with the sound of his own voice, which was dripping bravado, “I would have challenged the king in defense of my father—fought the duel Arthur denied him during Lot’s revolt.”
Aggrivane’s reply was muted from my hiding place, but I was grateful Accolon seemed oblivious to my presence. The hinges on the door squeaked as Aggrivane opened it to let his cousin pass through.
“In quite a hurry to be a-bed tonight, are you not?” Accolon teased. “Do you perhaps have someone waiting for you?”
A footstep too heavy to be Aggrivane’s crossed the threshold in my direction. Though I was facing the wall, Accolon’s presence filled the room now, the pungent oils he used to keep his black hair from hanging in his face strong. His feet shuffled as he turned around, looking for where Aggrivane’s mystery woman could be hiding.
I held my breath, realizing too late that I had inhaled a lung full of dust. It tickled my throat as I fought to stay silent.
I stiffened as a draft of air passed over me. Accolon must have knelt down to get a better look. I closed my eyes, praying that my black hair and brown dress would blend into the shadows.
The moments ticked by in silence. My lungs began to burn as the dust scratched at my throat, nose, and mouth, daring me to cough and divulge my location.
Finally, Accolon’s footsteps retreated and the door clicked shut.
I waited a few moments, and once Aggrivane had barred the door with the storage chest, I slowly began to scoot my way out from under the bed, careful not to hit my head amid hacking coughs.
“Did he see me?” I asked when my coughing fit had ended and I was upright once again.
Aggrivane burst out laughing and brushed a hand across the top of my head, sending a shower of dust flitting to the floor.
“At least I know what you will look like when you are old and gray.” He handed me a small mirror about the size of a brick. “No, I do not think he saw you. I could barely spot you, and I knew you were there.”
I held up the disc of burnished metal in front of me. My hair was indeed gray, and the left side of my face looked like I had been sweeping the chimney. I looked down. The entire front of my dress was covered in dust. I tried to wipe it off, but that only made matters worse.
“Now, this will not do.” Aggrivane clucked his tongue disapprovingly, shaking his head. “I will not have a woman who frequents the dustbin in my bed.” He was trying to repress a smile as he sauntered to the table and poured water into the basin.
I reached for the cloth, but he grasped my hand instead.
“Let me.”
Aggrivane dipped the cloth in the water and slowly drew it across my hair, his eyes never leaving mine as he worked. The musical tinkle of water droplets told me when he submerged it and wrung it out, but I never broke his gaze to look.
Even more gently, he slid the soft, moist surface down my face and neck, smooth like a caress. Each pass was followed by a kiss, and sometimes the warm trail of his tongue, until the cloth was forgotten and we were lost in each other’s arms.
After a few moments, he stopped me by placing a finger on my lips. A single word passed through his. “Tunic.”
I quickly unfastened my copper belt, pulled the dirty fabric up over my head, and let it fall to the floor. I stepped toward him to remove his clothes, but he again placed a fingertip on my lips.
His hand went back into the water. I shivered as he stroked my breasts with t
he cloth. The water was cool, yet somehow invigorating, and I arched my back in pleasure.
Aggrivane’s lips met mine as he continued to bathe my naked body. His beard burned where it grazed my skin, igniting my senses. I dug my fingers into his skin, trying to make us permanently inseparable. He responded with crushing kisses, and I was vaguely aware of a sense of weightlessness as he carried me across the room. Before I knew it, I was intertwined with him on the bed, his tunic and breeches long since abandoned on the floor next to my dress.
Hours later, we lay drowsing in the small bed. He was softly stroking my forehead. I felt so safe in his arms, like the past year had been nothing more than a horrible nightmare from which I had finally been awakened.
“I almost died without you,” I whispered.
“I felt the same way.”
We spent a long while gazing into each other’s eyes. I was not even aware that I was tracing the outlines of the dragon embedded in his right arm with my fingertips until I encountered a smooth, raised line above his elbow. How many other scars had he gained while we were apart?
I propped my head up on my left arm. “What happened after my father separated us?” How did you get this? was what I really wanted to ask.
He made a sarcastic sound. “Which part of the story do you want? It is more complicated than a bard’s tale.”
“Start with yours. Where did you go?”
“Lord Evrain’s men escorted me home. My father was furious, although I daresay it was more aimed at Evrain’s manipulation than at me. To placate Evrain, my father sent me to the Saxon front. I cannot begin to tell you how difficult that was—facing my first real battles against so savage an enemy.” His eyes took on a strange hue at the memory, a mixture of pain and suppressed fear. “I nearly lost my life a thousand times, but there was always someone there to heal me, to take away the pain until I was strong enough to fight again.”
I dropped my eyes to the homespun sheets. “Camp women.”
Guinevere's Tale Page 22
