War Duke of Britain

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “No, nothing,” Rhiannon said. “Everything about Emrys was just Emrys. A quick temper, a heavy thinker and a formidable fighter. He soaked up knowledge—well, we all did, except Cai didn’t think much of the Greek philosophers.” She smiled fondly.

  The pair of them stared at her, then looked at each other. “Very different,” Gaheris said, as if he was agreeing to something which Gawain had said.

  “He is a thinker, you said?” Gawain asked.

  “Emrys used to argue the most with Myrddin.”

  “Is he a good man?” Gaheris said abruptly, as if he was pushing the question out with some reticence.

  “Yes,” Rhiannon replied instantly. “Good and fair and honest…except about the size of the fish which he didn’t catch.”

  Gawain laughed. “Or the size of the deer he didn’t catch. Aye, well, he sounds like any other man.”

  The tone of judgment startled her. With another little shock, she realized they were judging Emrys. He would one day be their King.

  She paused at that astonishing thought.

  Emrys would be the High King…

  And these two were measuring his worth.

  Uneasy, Rhiannon stirred and reached for the jug. “You should decide for yourselves. Why don’t you talk to him, instead of me?”

  They looked at each other. “That would be the sensible thing, wouldn’t it?” Gaheris said, sounding abashed.

  Gawain grinned. “When has our family ever done the sensible thing?”

  “Why don’t you start today?” Rhiannon asked them. “Begin a new tradition.”

  Gawain took the jug back. “That is a mighty fine idea you have there, my lady.”

  She shook her head. “Just Rhiannon.”

  “Then you’re not a lady at all?” came a third voice.

  They all looked up. The boy walking toward them was on the edge of manhood. His hair was far more red than either Gawain or Gaheris, and thick and wavy. He had muddy green eyes which took in the three as he approached across the glade.

  “Ah...and the day was going so well,” Gawain said, his tone sour.

  “Agravaine, you were told not to leave the Lothian encampment,” Gaheris said.

  “You were told to seduce the woman,” Agravaine shot back. “This is not the way to do it.” His gaze took in Rhiannon, as she relaxed back on one hand.

  Gawain bounced to his feet, grabbed Agravaine’s face and shook him. “This is Rhiannon of Galleva, not ‘the woman’, ye hear?”

  Agravaine cringed and tried to push Gawain from him. “I hear, I hear!” he muttered.

  Gawain cuffed him and let him go. “Now apologize.”

  Agravaine’s face tightened. His skin flushed. “What?”

  “You heard me,” Gawain said, gripping the hilt of his knife, in his belt. “Apologize. Properly,” he added in warning.

  Agravaine drew in a deep breath, resentment building. Gawain didn’t move.

  The boy turned to her and bowed from the waist. “I apologize most sincerely for impugning you.”

  Rhiannon nodded her acceptance. Troubled, she got to her feet. “It is late. I should return.” She hesitated. “Would any of you know where Idris might be? I would like to speak to him and he was not by his fire under the tree when I went past earlier.”

  Gaheris froze in the act of reaching for the jug. Gawain’s gaze dropped to the grass at his feet.

  Agravaine smiled, as if he was happy to impart the news. “Didn’t you know? Father had him beaten and chained, for daring to rise above his station.” He snorted. “Took ten men to hold him down while they did it, but Father got his way. He always does.”

  RHIANNON REMEMBERED NOTHING OF THE return journey to the camp. Her heart ached, her pulse throbbed unsteadily. She tripped over roots and stones, for her vision was blurred—not because of tears, but because she couldn’t tear her mind away from Agravaine’s happy recital.

  Ten men held Idris down…

  She could smell good cooking smells and wood smoke. Voices filtered through the trees as she grew closer. She still could not rid herself of the horror which gripped her throat and squeezed her breath from her. She was shaking with it.

  “Rhiannon!” Emrys called from somewhere to her right. She could see the Galleva tent now, only a few dozen paces away.

  Rhiannon kept moving. She couldn’t talk to Emrys now. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. No, she wanted to talk to her father, to lay all this before him and see what he thought she could do. Her father would know. He advised the King.

  Emrys caught her arm and turned her, making her halt. His face was pale above the beard. “Didn’t you hear me?”

  Rhiannon swallowed. “This is not the time, Emrys. There is something—”

  “There is no time left,” he said, overriding her. “It must be now.”

  His urgent tone registered. Rhiannon stopped resisting his grip. “What has happened?”

  “What has happened?” Emrys choked. “You have to ask that?”

  “I mean…has something else happened?”

  “More than this?” he asked flatly.

  Rhiannon reluctantly put aside her worry about Idris. Emrys needed her. Only it felt as if she was releasing one set of heavy armor, only to don another. “Emrys, I’m sorry—this has been an awful day for you, hasn’t it?”

  His hands on her shoulders gripped tighter. “No, that’s not it,” he said, his voice low. “It is, but that’s not why I…” He made himself halt and draw in a breath. His blue eyes met hers. “I’ve left this long enough and now it is nearly too late.”

  “What is?”

  He kissed her.

  Rhiannon drew in a sharp, shocked breath. As his lips pressed against hers, her mind chattered in an inane stream. She should have been braced for this. The kiss he had given her before the battle at Vedra should have prepared her. Emrys loves you. Her father had warned her.

  Like Emrys, she had left this long enough and now she knew why. She had hoped she would not have to deal with this. She had hoped silently and in the far back of her mind that the thorny problem would go away, that the signs and the hints she had gathered over the last few years were products of her imagination.

  They had not been, and now she must break Emrys’ heart.

  Rhiannon pushed herself away from him, her eyes glittering with hard tears. “Don’t,” she whispered.

  “I have to,” he ground out. “You know what is about to happen. What will happen to me. Before it does, I must be sure. I love you, Rhiannon. You know that. I know you do. We’ve always known it. Even Cai does. It’s just…it has always been there.”

  Her tears fell. Each drop tore a piece from her heart. She made herself say the words. “I love you, Emrys, but I do not love you that way.”

  He shook his head, reaching for her once more. “You just haven’t thought about me that way, that’s all. You need time to adjust. If you think about it, you’ll see how much sense it makes.”

  “That is why we cannot!” she cried. “Love shouldn’t make sense. It should be wild and unexpected and steal your breath away with the power of it. Love should come out of the dark like an arrow—”

  To render her speechless and terrified when the man she loved was in pain…

  Rhiannon moaned, closing her eyes.

  Emrys let her go. “It is him, isn’t it? Idris.”

  Rhiannon held up her hand in pleading. She didn’t want to hurt Emrys, too. Yet the truth would cut him deeply. What else could she do, though? “Lot is beating him, Emrys,” she whispered. “For loving me. For letting me love him.”

  His throat worked. “You love him more than me.”

  “Don’t do this, Emrys, please…” she begged.

  He shook his head. “How can you say that? This is inevitable. We are meant to be together.”

  Rhiannon wiped her cheeks with shaking hands. “That is what you want to believe, what you are clinging to. I am nobody, Emrys. I am the daughter of a blind man and a common woman. Wh
en you thought you were a no-account bastard, then perhaps we might have come to an understanding one day, despite being brother and sister in all but name.”

  Emrys closed his eyes. “Say no more.”

  “We know the truth now,” Rhiannon continued. “You are Arthur, the High King’s heir. Even if I loved you that way, I could not be with you, because I am still a commoner of no account.”

  “Not to me,” he whispered.

  The pain in his voice made her tears flow afresh. “You are destined for great things, Emrys. Arthur.”

  He grimaced.

  “I am not the woman for you,” she added gently.

  Emrys straightened. His shoulders squared. “You are the only woman for me. If I cannot have you, I will have no one else.”

  Alarm touched her. “You mustn’t say such things! You are the High King’s son. It is your duty to produce an heir!”

  Emrys’s face drained of color, suddenly.

  Rhiannon understood then that until this moment, Emrys had refused to accept who he really was. He had been clinging to this last remaining hope that he could hold onto even a little of the life he wanted to keep.

  “No,” Emrys said, but it was a bodiless denial.

  “Yes,” Rhiannon insisted, as gently as she could.

  Emrys’s chest lifted as he breathed heavily. “Then I am too late.” He turned and walked away through the trees.

  Rhiannon watched his stiff shoulders move away from her, until she could see no more.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Not too much, sister,” Morgan said, as Morguase slathered the ointment on her forehead. “It is a powerful compound. Only a little is needed.”

  “The witches in Orkney insist their potions be spread thickly, to work properly,” Morguase replied.

  “And to bring you back to them within the month with coins for more,” Morgan pointed out. She winced.

  “Sorry,” Morguase murmured. “What about the bruise over your eye?”

  “Around the top and bottom, perhaps. I cannot risk getting it in my eye. There is sulfur in it.”

  “Whatever that is.” Morguase dabbed under her eye.

  Morgan lifted her gaze to the roof of the wagon, to give her sister better access to the swollen flesh there.

  Urien’s fists had grown heavier over the years, as he came to suspect she was not the helpless wife he preferred. Frequently, she was able to drop a powder into his evening ale which put him into a sleep so deep he could not express his frustration with her ways. While on campaign, though, he drank with the other officers at the High King’s fire pit, then staggered to the tent more than ready to find fault with her.

  “Did you ever think we might end up this way, when we were girls and learning Latin, Morgan?” Morguase asked.

  “What way would that be?”

  Morguase hesitated, her fingers pausing over Morgan’s cheek. “Look at you.”

  Morgan shrugged and took the pot of ointment back from Morguase and tied the linen cover back over it. “I look this way because I failed to properly plan.”

  “You look that way, sister, because the High King and our mother do not care about us.”

  Morgan looked up at her older sister. Morguase was thirty-two yet appeared to be a much younger, fresh-faced maiden, thanks to unceasing attention to her appearance and a steady application of potions. “Neither of us is helpless,” she reminded Morguase. “We put up with our husbands because they provide opportunities for both of us which we would not have had, were we married to southern kings.”

  “Urien would do more than this to you if he knew,” Morguase pointed out. She sighed. “I sometimes wish life was not quite so…challenging.”

  Morgan would have laughed at her childish wish, only the door to the wagon swung shut with a slow creak of wood. It was balanced to remain closed even if the latch was not dropped. Morgan insisted it be dogged open when she was in it, even when they were traveling.

  The daylight cut out, all except a single beam from either side of the wagon, coming through the slits for windows.

  Morgan caught her breath as the darkness plunged around them. Her hand jerked and the pot of potion leapt and smashed on the floor. “Open the door,” she croaked, as an invisible hand grabbed her throat and squeezed. Silvered salt acid poured through her, making her sick and dizzy. “Open it! Now!”

  “Shush, sister. Someone will hear you,” Morgause said placidly.

  Morgan heard Morguase walk the length of the wagon. She did not move fast enough to suit Morgan. Despite the twin beams of light coming through the apertures, in Morgan’s mind, the dark was complete. She could hear the plink of dripping water. Deep cold enfolded her. The echo of far distant sounds against the stone walls, whispering to her of people far away, going about their affairs while she shivered in this tiny cell…

  Morgan threw herself to her feet and staggered blindly forward, her hand outthrust so she could find the door and push it open.

  “Wait, Morgan,” Morgause said impatiently.

  Morgan felt for the door and found her sister’s soft hand on it. She shoved against both, her breath expelling in a heavy gasp of effort.

  The door opened and light blazed. Morgan leaned against the doorframe, breathing hard, facing the lowering sun.

  Morguase gripped her arm, studying her.

  Morgan shook her head. “It is nothing. It is passing.”

  Morgause’s pretty eyes narrowed. “If you insist.”

  “I do.”

  The Lothian encampment was to the south of the King’s command tent, as it had been at Vedra. The trees provided shade and shelter and privacy for the fighters, which was welcome on this day of rest. Most of the camp snored merrily, although there were fighters moving through the trees. The sentries strolled to keep themselves awake, even though the advanced scouts would warn of approaching enemies long before they reached this place.

  One man walked faster than the others. Morgan watched Arthur move through the trees, his head down, the burnished dark red hair gleaming.

  Morguase raised her brow. “After all these years, he is not just a story.” She smiled. “Is he what Uther looked like, once, do you think?”

  “They say so,” Morgan said, considering the man’s broad shoulders. This was the man who would be High King. This was the creature made by her mother and Uther…the man whose existence had pushed her into a cold nunnery, away from her sister and everyone she loved.

  Fury flushed the last of the cold sickness from her. “You should seduce him, sister,” Morgan said.

  “Me?” Morguase laughed.

  “He will be the next king,” Morgan said. “Think of the power it would give you over him.”

  Morgause hesitated. “Then you should do it.”

  Morgan touched her cheek, where the worst bruise began. “I cannot. Besides, there are more powerful and interesting things in the world, than the power a woman has over a man.”

  Morguase rolled her eyes. “Magic! You’re as bad as Merlin—it is all nonsense. The true magic is being able to move a man to do what you want him to do.”

  “That is your magic,” Morgan said. She turned to face the interior of the wagon and held out her hand, so it was hidden from anyone passing by. With a soft mental command, she made fire.

  The flames danced on her palm, rising and falling as she mentally stroked them.

  Morgause gasped, a note of horror mixed with her awe.

  “This is my magic,” Morgan whispered.

  Morguase turned and ran.

  THE WOMAN RAMMED INTO HIM, almost taking Emrys off his feet. He caught her shoulders, steadying both of them. “Easy, easy…”

  The woman was tall, slender and curved. Emrys couldn’t help comparing her womanly figure, displayed in a pretty green gown with delicate embroidery at the hem and neck and sleeves, with Rhiannon’s lean length, beneath armor and tunics. This woman’s cloak was fur trimmed, neat and an agreeable golden brown. She glanced up at Emrys, startled. She
was young and lovely.

  He gripped her shoulders. Her dark eyes were swimming with tears. “What ails you?” he asked, his gut tightening at the sight of her tears. Someone had upset her.

  She shook her head and smiled tremulously at him. “Nothing you can help me with, kind sir.” Her chin quivered and she plucked at his tunic with a helpless gesture. “Unless…”

  “Yes?”

  “Would you mind…” She glanced over her shoulder. “Would you be so kind as to let me stay in your company, just for a while?”

  It was as clear as script on parchment that she feared someone within her household. “Where are you from? Which house?” Emrys demanded.

  Her fear grew. “I would rather not say.” Her tone was hesitant, uncertain.

  Whoever the brute was, he had her utterly cowed. She would not betray him even now.

  Emrys looked over her head, at the trees from where she had come. “Are you with the Lothian company?” he demanded.

  “I am companion to the Lady Morguase. Please…just until he goes to his supper, my lord?” She plucked at his cloak. “Then I will impose no more upon your time, I promise.”

  Lothian was at the root of many of the troubles which plagued him. Emrys glared over her head. Barely formed, an image of Idris came to him. Idris, and a dark, tall, slender woman with her arms around him. He thrust the image from him before it could settle into his heart.

  “Come with me,” he told the woman. He turned and walked back into the forest. There would be a lonely tree, somewhere where they could wait out the remainder of the day. Perhaps the peace would soothe them both.

  The woman caught up with him, one hand lifting her gown. The other slid into his, startling him. “My name is Alice, my lord.”

  “Emrys,” he growled. And I am no lord. The words rose. He choked them off, for they were not true. Clearly, she had no idea who he was, just as he did not know her. He had not seen her before. Lothian kept his household isolated from everyone else.

  “Do you think…perhaps we could make a fire, lord Emrys?” Alice said, her tone hopeful.