The stranger stepped forward at Lancelot’s glance, then bent from the waist and spread his sword arm wide.
“I present to you, Arthur, the son of Claudas. In the moments after his father’s death, Claudin surrendered his lands and his men to me, and through me, to you. I commend him to you as a fighter of worth and a man of honor.”
“Claudin,” Arthur said, his tone abruptly cooler. “I would bid you welcome in my court, once I know of your intentions.”
“Thank you, King Arthur,” Claudin replied, straightening. “My intentions are simple. I wish nothing more than to be allowed to remain here.” He spoke with an odd inflection that was surely a product of the kingdom in which he had been raised. “My father’s gross ambitions were never mine, even though I followed him and witnessed his ruin at Lancelot’s hands. I have no lands left to my name and no people to lead. I am at your disposal, High King of Britain.”
Arthur considered him. “A pretty speech, Claudin. Here in Camelot, the measure of a man is not in what he says, but in what he does.”
“A fact that Lancelot has made me aware of, my lord,” Claudin replied. “I learned this truth for myself, when I watched my father’s greed outstrip his reach, which led to his undoing. I would spend all the days I have left repairing the ills my father imparted upon your people and demonstrate by my acts that I mean what I say.”
“It is too soon to speak of the far future,” Arthur replied, “although I thank you for your sentiments. Be welcome here, Claudin. Let us get to know each other and when we do, we will decide how you can best fill all the days you have left.”
Claudin gave a small smile and bowed once more. “King Arthur,” he intoned and stepped back, to leave Lancelot alone before the king.
Arthur smiled at his friend. “Tomorrow eve, we will feast in celebration of your great victory over Claudas, Lancelot, once we have bid farewell to your mother in high honor, as befits the great lady we have lost.”
Lancelot’s smile faded once more. “An honor made sweeter for the bitter note that accompanies it. Thank you, Arthur.” He bowed.
The horns gave out their notes once more, signaling the end of the formalities. The entire hall shifted and relaxed. Everyone began to speak in soft tones, clumping into tight circles of concern and chatter.
Lancelot’s shoulders relaxed. He turned on his heel and held out his arms. “Tegan! You look far too ladylike to squeeze, but let me, anyway.”
It was startling to watch Tegan throw herself into Lancelot’s arms with a happy little sound and clutch him tightly. Gawain found himself watching closely, even though he should find Gaheris and the rest of the family or return to the house by the arena.
He was anchored to the spot he stood upon, held there by the little hints and odd notes he’d spotted in the last few minutes, none of them as strange as this moment now. He’d always thought of Tegan as a remote, cold woman incapable of warmer emotions. Her ruthlessness had made her a superior fighter, one of the best in the Cohort, despite her youth.
That was why Gawain always found it so odd to see her in courtly gowns and womanly fripperies. The elegance did not match what he knew of her. Yet Lancelot’s arrival had revealed an unexpected, warmer side of her nature.
As Lancelot gently put Tegan on his left and turned to greet Bricius with gentle words, speaking of his mother in soft tones, Gawain whirled away. He had been standing stock still for far too long. The gossips in the court might notice if he lingered a moment longer. He had already supplied enough fuel for their speculations.
He would return to the house by the arena. Gaheris and the others would find their way there by supper time. Their stomachs would bring them home. Better to eat a badly cooked meal at home than linger in this hall with all its uncomfortable revelations.
No wonder he didn’t like the woman. She was cut from the same perfect warrior cloth as her half-brother, and Lancelot was nigh unbearable.
Everyone pressed in around Lancelot and the Lesser Britain kings, as they stood in a half circle before Arthur, talking and laughing. The crowding had the effect of putting Tegan on the outside of the big circle.
Guenivere, who was also not a part of the circle, moved around its edge and put her hand on Tegan’s arm and drew her to the very back of the hall. Cara was already there, seated on Guenivere’s big chair, looking very tired.
“Are you well, Cara?” Tegan asked her, as Guenivere stopped by the side of the chair.
“It is nothing that staying off her feet won’t remedy,” Guenivere said.
Cara grimaced. “I am too near my time,” she confessed, her hand going to her belly. “Everything takes such effort to do, now.” She glanced at Guenivere. “I’m sorry, my lady, to mention—”
Guenivere shook her head. “There is too much work to do to bog down in regrets and diplomacy. It is as it should be, Cara. You are blessed with yet another child you do not want, while I wish for what I cannot have. We will share our mutual dismay over that another time. I have a funeral feast to arrange inside a single day and I will need your help, Tegan.”
Cara’s cheeks tinged red.
“Cai cannot help you, Jenny?” Tegan asked. Neither of them pretended right now that Cai, as Seneschal, was the person who really organized such events, although Guenivere always made Cai feel as though he was in charge, when she spoke to him about such matters.
Guenivere shrugged. “He will see to the feast itself, as usual. I will speak to him later tonight, if he is sober enough, or tomorrow morning. It is everything else that Cai will not think to take care of that we must, or the feast will be reduced to a plain meal, and that will not do at all. Not when we are marking the passing of your stepmother, Tegan.”
“And Lancelot’s return,” Cara added.
Guenivere hesitated. “Well, yes, that, too.”
Tegan frowned. Did Guenivere not like Lancelot? She had not considered this possibility before now, for she and Guenivere had only really become friendly after Badon, when Lancelot had already left the court to deal with Claudas on the eastern borders of Lesser Britain.
It would not surprise her if Guenivere did dislike Lancelot. Many people did. Lancelot was so utterly sure of himself and his abilities, and the righteousness of his ambitions that most people found him far too wearing to remain in his company for more than a few minutes at a time.
Yet there was a gentle side to Lancelot’s nature. He had vulnerabilities and concerns that he kept very tightly contained and hidden. It was only because of her privileged position as his half-sister that Tegan had got to know him a little better than most people and learn of the weaknesses Lancelot fought to reduce and remove.
He wanted to be perfect for Arthur. Even though Cara’s husband, Bedivere, was known as the Perfect Warrior, from the house of perfect warriors, Lancelot wanted to be even better. Every day he worked to make himself into as flawless a fighter as was possible for a mere man to become, in order to keep Arthur’s peace.
It had not surprised Tegan or anyone in her family, including Elaine, when Lancelot had remained in Lesser Britain for years to complete the charge Arthur had given him to rid Britain of Claudas and his grasping ways. Lancelot would doggedly work to bring that miracle about, no matter how long it took, or what effort was required to achieve it.
Guenivere shifted on her feet, the graceful gown swaying around her. “I have to…I must…Tegan, find me tomorrow at dawn. We will make arrangements then, yes?”
Tegan frowned. “Of course, yes. You do not want to set everything in motion now?”
“Tomorrow will do,” Guenivere said. “I must…” She glanced toward the postern door at the back of the hall that led to Arthur’s private quarters.
“Oh, stars above,” Cara breathed. “Here comes that odious man. Quick, my lady—leave now, before he moves around Arthur and his men.”
Tegan glanced around. She caught a glimpse of Melwaes making his way around the outer edges of the big group of companions and kings standing with
Arthur, still deep in conversation.
Guenivere did not protest as she usually did that such a rudeness was beneath a queen. She spun on her heel, picked up the front hem of her dress and swept across to the door. With effort, she swung the heavy door open and disappeared inside.
Tegan stared at the door as it shut softly, puzzled.
So did Melwaes, she saw. His puzzlement was mixed with hurt, too.
Guenivere put her back against the cold corridor wall just beyond the door into the hall, and pressed her hands over her face, struggling to contain her heart and her breath.
At least no one had noticed her reaction. She had managed to contain it, leaving people merely confused. Poor Tegan was among them, but even with Tegan, Guenivere did not dare reveal the truth. It was simply too dangerous.
Guenivere had stood beside Arthur as the procession of lords and kings, attendants and warriors, captives and servants had made their glittering way toward the throne and the only man she had been able to properly see had been Lancelot.
She had let her gaze rove over him from head to foot, taking in every little detail, hungrily adjusting her memories to match the man before her.
When had she grown so…so fond of him? True, Lancelot had shown her extraordinary compassion from the day they had met. He had escorted her to Arthur’s camp and helped her prepare for her marriage to a king by diminishing her fears that the king would not be a kind man. He had assured her that as a man, Arthur would be a good husband.
All of which was true, more or less. Arthur was kind and good and so very, very strong. He carried the weight of ruling Britain upon his shoulders and she had grown to understand that often meant that in his considerations, the kingdom came before Guenivere.
Yet Arthur was kind when he could be. Lancelot had not been wrong about that. Even though he had never said it, she knew Lancelot hovered to one side, ready to help or provide support or a kind word of his own, if she ever needed it. In the early days of her marriage to Arthur, the reminder that Lancelot was there if she needed to turn to him had sustained her throughout the initial challenges, which had been many.
When Lancelot left for Lesser Britain after the Battle of Mount Badon, Guenivere had barely noticed his departure, for he had slipped out the old gates without announcement. She had noticed his absence, though. It had gnawed at the back of her mind, a constant reminder that the only person in the kingdom who seemed to care about her even a little was gone.
By then, though, Cara had married Bedivere and become a different sort of sturdy support—for her plain speaking and lack of tolerance for silliness helped Guenivere remain focused when the court and the lords became too demanding over petty details.
Just as Tegan’s simple regard propped her up, too. Tegan was a friend in every sense of the word. Guenivere had never had a true friend before. She valued her friendship with Tegan as one of the few true riches in her life.
Guenivere always found it a comforting thought that if ever anyone attempted to harm her, both elegant ladies would easily run them through with their eating blades before the attacker took another step closer.
So the years had passed with Lancelot’s absence a mere echo in the back of her mind. She never forgot that he was not there, but she had found other ways to prop herself up, and there was always more work to do to make Camelot the best and brightest and most wonderful city in the known world.
That was why Lancelot’s appearance had been such a shock to her, she reasoned now. That was why in some ways it had felt like she was staring at a stranger, one she could not bring herself to look away from.
A stranger he had seemed, and yet not. Even as she cataloged the differences, Guenivere had reassured herself that the essentials had not changed. Lancelot was still tall—a thumb’s height taller than Arthur, who always stood higher than other men—and still broad and strong in the shoulders. Still a contained man, hiding his true feelings behind merriment, or sober reflections upon war and fighting.
She had missed him. Now he was here, she hungrily watched him, wishing it was she who could step forward and embrace him.
Shaken, Guenivere had looked away from Arthur and Lancelot, her heart beating far too heavily as she realized that she had been gazing upon Lancelot with longing.
With lust, she had whispered silently to herself and pressed her hands even harder against her face, as if she could wipe the memory from her mind with enough pressure.
With a soft moan, she dropped her hands and straightened from her lean against the wall.
She would forget the moment of madness. She must. There was simply no other choice but to expunge the thought from her mind and pretend it had never happened. She was Guenivere of Britain, Queen to the High King, and an example to all.
And tomorrow, she had a funeral and a feast to arrange and only hours in which to do it all.
Chapter Five
It was unusual for Tegan to break her fast at the palace itself, but she hurried there before dawn the next morning. Guenivere had not specifically invited her to join them at the breakfast table, but Tegan understood how much work was ahead of them this day.
She stepped into the smaller hall which ran off the big one, and into chaos. She was not the only person who had decided to rise before dawn, this day.
The lesser hall was used during winter for smaller gatherings and for breakfast for Arthur and whoever dined with him.
Arthur sat at the long table, scowling at a letter as he ate a bannock and dripped honey onto the platter beneath. His big gold cup stood behind the letter, steam rising from the herbed wine.
Merlin ate neatly and sparingly on his right, his head bent to read Arthur’s letter, too. Bedivere also sat at the table. Cara did not sit beside him as usual.
Arthur’s white hunting dogs nipped each other at the hearth. The fire was lit, for the morning was cool. Cabal, the pack leader, growled and snapped to keep the pack in line and sort out who got closest to the flames beside him.
Caradoc, Bedivere’s oldest child, who was just barely walking, played among the dogs, a bannock in one hand, while the nearest dogs tried to lick honey from the boy’s wrist and arm and face.
Servants scurried from the kitchen door across the hall to the table and back. They also moved through the hall into the great hall beyond.
Tegan peered through the big doors into the great hall. There were even more people there, running about, giving each other orders and tripping over each other.
She moved over to the fireplace and plucked Caradoc out from among the dogs. She carried him and the remains of his bannock over to the table and put him on the bench beside Bedivere. “The dogs are eating more of his bannock than he is,” she told Bedivere.
Bedivere’s smile looked a little guilty. “My attention was stolen by the letter. Thank you.” He tucked Caradoc next to him, picked up a cloth from the table that was apparently there just for that purpose, and wiped off Caradoc’s hands and sticky fingers.
“Cara is not here?” Tegan asked.
“Her pains started early this morning,” Bedivere replied.
So even the small amount of help and direction which Cara might have provided this day would be absent, too.
Tegan leaned over and selected a bannock from the plate sitting in the middle of the table, and bit into it as she moved over to the big doors of the great hall and looked inside.
The tables, benches, stools and chairs had been carried in from the storage room where they were stacked when the hall was cleared. As the tables and chairs were removed and returned many times a year—every seasonal feast required them, just to begin—it seemed to Tegan that the work should proceed without fuss, yet discussion and arguing and rising tempers always accompanied it.
Cai stood by the two big chairs, which were never removed, bellowing his own orders and directions. Tegan wasn’t sure who he was yelling at, for no one looked around or changed direction when he spoke.
Guenivere stood next to Cai, watching the w
ork proceed. As Tegan wound around people shifting tables in minute increments to place them just so, she could see that Guenivere spoke to Cai in a soft voice which no one else would hear unless they stood right beside them and listened hard.
Tegan moved up to the Queen’s side and finished her bannock as she listened.
“…strip the willows down on the flats of some of their new growth to make wreaths to place around the wall sconces. There are no flowers to be had, yet, but there are dried herbs which can be added. As they are warmed by the flames, they will scent the air.”
Cai glanced at Guenivere with a fond, exasperated look. “I don’t know how to go about winding willow strips, my lady,” he said in his gruff voice. “Can your women take care of that?”
“Of course, I would be pleased to help,” Guenivere said, her tone smooth and warm. “Perhaps…might I also suggest…perhaps I can arrange for you to have ribbons added to the table lamps? Nothing too pretty, of course. Only, Elaine did like beautiful things. It would be a nice touch, don’t you think, Cai?”
Cai sighed and scrubbed at his hair, which he still kept very short, as if he expected to don a war helmet at any moment. “Aye, the lady did like prettiness.”
“I can ask the women of the court for any white ribbons they might have, or white cloth,” Tegan said.
“White?” Cai said, sounding puzzled. Then he glanced at Guenivere’s white mourning gown. “Oh, yes, white, of course.” He gave another great sigh. “You should do as you see fit, my lady. I have my hands full making sure there is food to put upon every platter.”
Guenivere put her hand upon Cai’s arm. “Then do not trouble yourself any further, Cai. Take care of the meal. I will look after everything else for you.”
Cai glanced at Tegan, then at Guenivere, a hint of suspicion in his eyes. Guenivere smiled warmly at him and he melted. “You are a savior, my lady,” he told her. “I don’t know what I would do if you were not here. Time was, being Seneschal meant sending out hunters for a deer to put over the fire that night. Now I must worry about scented air and colored ribbons and cushions for rears that once sat on hard earth. How did we come to this?”
Abduction of Guenivere (Once and Future Hearts Book 7) Page 6