He made a soft noise and pulled her against him. His mouth was hard against hers. His arms were unbreakable bands around her. He kissed her until she was dizzy and in need of air, but she made no protest. Her body hummed and throbbed and his was tense and taut against her.
She gave a soft sound of protest when he let her go.
He picked up her hand. “Are you sure?” he breathed.
“I have been sure since Vedra,” she whispered back.
He led her away.
AS HE HAD AT VEDRA, Idris had found the most out-of-the-way corner to sleep, which was only vaguely attached to the Lothian camp. Lothian fires flickered between the trees, although little sound reached them. Everyone moving about the fires was indistinct with distance.
The mighty yew tree he had chosen was bigger about the trunk than most of the rooms in the farmhouse at Galleva. Only a tree this old and big had branches growing at a height which wouldn’t knock Idris on the head. He could walk beneath the branches without bending.
The ground beneath the tree was soft and dry. No grass grew there, because the tree cast too much shade.
In the middle of the dry earth were the remains of a fire inside a circle of stones. Idris’s packs and saddle cloth were spread between the fire and the tree.
A pattering sound came from behind them.
“Nudd, no!” Idris called.
Rhiannon spun on her feet to face the wolf, startled. She turned just in time for Nudd’s forepaws to land on her shoulders. She wasn’t braced for it and fell backward with an impact which jarred her hips and her shoulders.
Nudd stood over her, his paws on her shoulders. He whined and licked her cheek.
Rhiannon worked to get her breath back as Idris grabbed the wolf by the ruff and tried to haul him off Rhiannon.
“I’m fine,” she tried to say. It came out breathy and weak.
Idris picked her up and put her on her feet and brushed at her clothes, to remove the dirt.
She caught his hand and held it and waited for his gaze to return to her. “They’ll end up back on the ground, anyway.”
His eyes narrowed…not in suspicion, but with heat and wanting. He drew her to him. “Those are words a man finds hard to resist.”
“Good.” She pressed her lips to his.
HE WAS A CONSIDERATE LOVER. A gentle one. She sensed he still held something from her, yet what he shared was more than enough to make her writhe and cry out her own good, heated pleasure.
In between the sweet moments, they laid on the blanket, his big cloak over them, and kissed and stroked…and talked.
Their talk was the most surprising part of the lazy, pleasure-hazed afternoon and evening. Even though Idris kept something from her, it seemed as though in every other respect, Idris lowered his guard.
He told her the simple story of his life. “I have fought the Saxons since I could hold a sword.” His voice rumbled against her cheek, for she rested her head on the warm flesh of his shoulder and ran her fingers over his arm and flank and thigh, and all the places in between. “There is nothing else to me but this—fighting the enemy. It is all which lies before me, too.”
His deep and consuming hatred for Saxons reverberated in the way he spoke their name. No one else had ever injected such glowing fury into a single word. Rhiannon wanted to ask him why his hatred was so much deeper than any other man in the High King’s army, only it might be connected to the part of him he was hiding from her, so she didn’t ask.
“I know there is more to you than that,” she told him. “Your accent is southern. You have not always lived in the north, then.”
He glanced at her, his colorless eyes widening. “Yes, I was born in the south,” he admitted slowly. “I have forgotten nearly everything of that time, though. I have spent more of my time in the far north, where the land stops, the sea starts and the sky never ends.”
She trailed her fingers down the taut plain of his stomach and the muscles rippled in response. “You like it there, don’t you?”
“A man doesn’t have to watch over his shoulder, there.”
“And you really live outside?” she whispered.
He stirred and caught her wrist as her hand wandered farther. “You shouldn’t tease, unless you mean it.”
“I mean it,” she breathed, as he turned her onto her back and settled over her.
MUCH LATER, AS THE SUN disappeared, the cold settled around them. Still gloriously and unselfconsciously naked, his loose hair streaming down his shoulders, Idris stirred the embers to life and built it to a roaring fire which warmed them from head to foot. Then he returned to her, beneath the cloak.
“Sleep, if you want,” he told her, taking her in his arms once more.
“I can sleep later,” she said, then yawned hard, her eyes widening in surprise.
He chuckled, his body shaking against hers. “Of course, you can.” He pressed his lips to hers.
She only realized he was right when she came to soft wakefulness, after. It was late, she judged, although not too late, for the fires still burned between the trees and silhouettes moved around them.
Her head was pillowed on Idris’s arm, her back to his body. His hand was tucked over her.
Was there a nicer way to wake? She couldn’t think of one right then. “Idris?”
“Hmm?” His lips pressed against the back of her shoulder.
“Do you read?” She kept her head averted while she waited for his response.
He let out a breath. “In the north, reading is a skill for clerics and eunuchs. Why?”
She shook her head. “I only wondered,” she lied.
DEEP IN THE NIGHT, RHIANNON woke and lay listening.
Their fire had died to soft, glowing coals and the fires through the trees had burned down. The camp had fallen silent.
Then she heard it. Wagons creaking. Horse hooves.
“They’re here,” she breathed, delight filling her.
Idris said nothing. He kissed her, instead, changing the subject that way.
It was morning when she woke again. For the first time in this long day and night, she was cold. Rhiannon blinked until her thoughts came together. Then she saw why she was cold.
Idris was dressed once more and sitting by the fire he had rebuilt. He had one leg bent, the other wrapped around it, and his chin on his knee as he stared into the flames.
Nudd sat on this side of the fire, watching his master hopefully.
Rhiannon reached outside the cloak for her clothes and drew them beneath with her, not because she felt any modesty—not after last night—but to stay as warm as possible until she was dressed. She moved silently, leaving Idris to his thoughts.
She sat up and let the cloak drop around her hips and combed her hair with her fingers, then patiently braided it, to keep it out of the way.
“I know why you asked if I could read,” Idris said.
Rhiannon paused. “It was an idle question.”
“You wanted to know if I could read letters, if you sent them to me.”
Rhiannon finished the braid and tied it, focusing on the task. Her heart was leaping and thudding again.
“Look at me,” he said, his voice so low it seemed he was growling.
Rhiannon got to her feet and moved around the fire. She settled on the ground and sat as he was, one knee against her chest. She made herself meet his eyes, although she already knew what he would say.
“This cannot happen again,” he said softly. “Last night…” He prodded at the fire with the stick. “It was a stolen moment.” His gaze met hers again.
It took all her courage to respond, to beggar herself. “It doesn’t have to be.” She fought to keep her voice even, to remove any hint of pleading.
“I don’t know what will happen, now,” Idris said. “You have foiled Lot’s plans. If he does not yet consider you an enemy, he will watch you at least. It makes you…it means I must keep my distance. Do you understand?”
“No. I do not understand. N
ot at all. Explain it. Last night everyone saw me chose the company of a man of Lothian. Why is that not enough for Lot? He got what he wanted, and he didn’t have to waste his son and heir upon me.”
Idris flinched. He went back to prodding the fire. His arm worked hard as he rammed the solid branch. Sparks flew. The log he attacked fell apart with a hiss. Flames leapt higher. “There are things unsaid—”
“Yes!” Rhiannon cried, slapping the earth beside her hip. “What is it you will not tell me?” Then she held her breath, for if he spoke, if he gave her the truth, she knew it would lift away the blinding veils. She would finally understand everything which had puzzled her, these last few days. The actions of people, their reactions and odd behaviors…it would all fall into place.
Idris’s gaze shifted to her and skittered away again. He dropped the branch and closed his fist tightly. “I cannot speak of it,” he breathed. He closed his eyes and held them shut. His brows drew together as if he was in pain. “For the few moments which remain, I would have you look at me as you did last night.”
Her breath was unsteady. “If you spoke the truth, would I not want to?”
“Yes… No.” His gaze met hers. “I do not know. I lack the courage to learn.”
Rhiannon shifted until her knee was against his hip. She rested her hand against his jaw and stroked his cheek. His flesh really was as soft as it appeared. “Yes, I wanted to know if I could write to you. I want—wanted more than this night, Idris. Much more.” Her eyes stung. “I can only fight what I can see. Invisible enemies are defeating me.”
“You are not the only one defeated, this day.”
She kissed him, taking her time and memorizing the sensation. Then, before her weak tears fell, she got to her feet and walked back to the main camp.
Chapter Fifteen
When she reached the clearing where she had left Cai and Emrys last night, Rhiannon found the Galleva tent raised in the middle. Cooking fires surrounded it and spread out into the trees.
Emrys stood on the edge of the clearing, shifting on his feet. He waved to Rhiannon when he saw her. “Hurry!” he called. “The High King is demanding we attend him.”
“Now?” Her stomach panged emptily.
“Ector and your mother and father have already gone there. Cai, too. They sent me to find you.” Emrys’ gaze slid over her face. “Have you been crying?” His tone was sharp.
“I washed my face at the stream,” she lied. In fact, she had twice made a great circle of the camp, while her heart steadied. She couldn’t return directly from Idris’s side. Her mother and father, Ector, Emrys and Cai…everyone would see her face and demand explanations she didn’t want to give right now.
Emrys didn’t seem convinced by her lie.
“Is there anything I can eat?” she said, adding a plaintive tone to her voice.
Emrys shook his head. “Some nuts—”
“Anything.”
He stalked toward the tent. “Then you must eat them as you walk. The call to attend the King came ages ago.”
He found the bag of nuts and thrust them into her hand. She handed a walnut to him to crush the shell for her as they wove between the trees and around cooking fires, toward the bigger clearing, where the command tent now sat. She could see the white walls of the tent from here. “Do you know why the King wants to see us?” she asked.
Emrys squeezed the walnut, crunching the shell, and dropped the mashed nut into her palm. “About yesterday, I suppose.”
She dropped pieces of shell, separating them from the meat and wolfed them down. Despite her hunger, her heart gave a little tremble. “Idris told me something about that. About Lot.”
Emrys squeezed her wrist in warning.
She looked up. King Lot and his cousin Urien were moving through the trees, heading for the command tent. Idris was two paces behind them.
Rhiannon drew in a gasping breath. Despite her mindless pacing of the camp, at the sight of Idris, the aching bewilderment returned in a swirling hot rush. The yearning to go to him was nearly overwhelming.
There are things unsaid.
All three men looked at them. Lot scowled. Urien always wore a little sneering smile which implied he was laughing at the entire world. The smile grew broader as his gaze fell upon Emrys and Rhiannon.
Idris’s gaze was neutral, saying nothing, yet it had the greatest impact upon her.
Emrys looked at her as the three of them passed by. He lifted a brow, clearly puzzled by Idris’s remote expression, too.
Rhiannon dropped the remains of the walnut and brushed her hands off. “We’d best attend the King.”
Emrys said nothing as she moved ahead of him, following the two northern lords into the command tent. He was biding his time, she knew.
It was only the second time Rhiannon had stepped foot inside a king’s chamber. This was a temporary one. Even so, the comfort, warmth and luxury of the room astonished her. And it was, indeed, a “room” in here, more richly furnished than any room she had ever seen.
The High King sat in a tall, deeply carved chair at the back of the room. Ranged on either side of him stood his senior commanders. King Tristan stood before the High King, only a pace or two away from the chair. He reported on yesterday’s battle, speaking in a slow, even voice. He leaned on a short staff as he spoke, favoring his injured side.
Tristan’s brother, Mark, stood beside the King’s chair. On the High King’s left was Rhiannon’s father.
Rhiannon’s lips parted, revealing her surprise. She had always known her father had once served Uther. She had not realized he was such a trusted officer that even now he took a position of honor beside the High King.
Bevan, King of Calleva and husband to Lowri, Ilsa’s first commander, was there. So, too, was Cador and Hoel of Brittany. Standing behind Hoel’s shoulder was the handsome man called Accolon, who had approved strongly of Idris’ victory, last night. Clearly, he was from Gaul, as he stood with Hoel. Bedrawd, Duke of Corneus was the other lord, to Mark’s right.
Ector stood just to one side of the tent opening, at the back of the room. Ector waved them on with a sharp gesture.
Cai stood before the big chair and the King, and slightly to one side. He turned to wave them toward him. Emrys stepped around Lot and Urien, who had stopped in the center of the rugs, directly before the King.
Rhiannon followed Emrys to where Cai stood. She didn’t intentionally choose to hover by them but found herself standing just in front and between the pair. The three of them were a tight cluster, separated from Lot and Urien by space.
Idris stood separated by as much space from his king. He was close to the chilly entrance, but tall enough to see over the heads of both lords.
For the first time, Rhiannon was only a few paces away from the High King, and not in the heat of battle. She was struck by two impressions. The first was that the King was a vital man. His eyes blazed with energy as he watched the lords arrange themselves in front of him. Even from a distance Rhiannon had seen the King was ill and wasting away, so this was not a surprise to her. The way he held the attention of the entire room did surprise her.
The second thing which impressed itself upon her was a disjointed sense of familiarity. Why did she feel she knew Uther? She ran her gaze over his faded brown hair and sunken cheeks, puzzling it out.
Then Tristan bowed and stepped back alongside his brother. Uther stirred. “Thank you, Tristan.” He tapped on the arm of his chair. “Horsa and Aelle have vexed me for years. Now this—supporting each other’s efforts. Is it true Horsa has moved beyond the borders of the south Saxon Shore?”
“Well beyond, my lord,” Tristan said. “He may only be a day’s ride from here.”
Uther nodded. “Then we will continue south to confront the man and push him back behind his ramparts, while we have momentum and fear on our side.”
Tristan drew breath to speak, taking a half step forward at the same time.
Uther glanced at him and held up his hand. �
��I know, Tristan. The men are tired and must recover. I agree. We will stay here for today, but that is all the time we can spare. Horsa will run before us and we can’t linger and let the distance increase.”
Tristan’s jaw worked. Then his face shifted into a neutral expression. “Yes, my lord. I will see to it.”
Mark scowled. So did Hoel.
Rhiannon could see in their faces that they thought Uther’s decision was a bad one.
To her, it seemed to be a sensible one. Horsa was well beyond his borders, living off the land among hostile Britons…he would be weaker than if Uther confronted him on his own lands. And, too, word would have reached Horsa by now that Aelle and his host had been decimated.
What was wrong about any of it?
Uther turned his head, taking in the new arrivals. “A victory which nearly wasn’t. And a brawl to finish the affair. Tell me about the fight which happened yesterday, after the battle.”
“My lord, it was little more than fighters venting pent up energy,” Lot said.
Uther waved his hand for silence. He didn’t show his palm as most men did, but held his hand palm down, the long fingers spread. He cut it sideways in a slashing movement.
Rhiannon caught her breath. She knew that gesture. Emrys used it all the time. She fought to stay facing the King and not insult him by turning her back to stare at Emrys. Her mind raced.
The sense of familiarity, she realized now, was because Emrys looked like Uther. Their eyes were similar. And now, this gesture.
Lot scowled at Uther’s demand for silence.
Uther shifted his gaze to the three of them. “Cai…it is Cai, yes?”
“Yes, my Lord,” Cai said.
“You tell me. Explain yourself.”
The demand, put so sharply, made Cai gasp and stammer. He floundered for words, speaking slowly. Rhiannon didn’t have to look over her shoulder to know that Cai’s face would be red.
Cai described the battle from his perspective, including how Tristan had been overcome and had fallen and how the Saxons used the moment to push forward.
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