Gawain did not smile as a visitor would. He glanced over her shoulder at the table where her father sat and held out another flask. “This will help him, too.”
Tegan pressed her lips together. Silently, she took the flask and put it on the table with the other two.
Gawain merely stepped through the door and stopped. He did not remove his cloak, which was furled around his shoulders, for the evening was not exceptionally cold.
Tegan raised her brow at him. “I suppose I should thank you.”
“Walk with me, then.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
He still did not smile. “It is time you and I spoke frankly.” His eyes seemed even bluer this evening and his gaze did not shift away from her. “Leave your father to his misery,” he said, his voice dropping. “Walk with me to the arena, where there are blades you can use to gut me, if the mood strikes you.”
“For what possible reason would I do that?”
“Gut me? Is it not an ambition of yours?”
Tegan rolled her eyes. “Why should I walk with you? You are only going to press upon me once more how good a match you and I would be.”
“Press upon you? No, I will not do that,” Gawain said. He paused. “Tell me something. How many people have in the last few days told you that marrying me is the best thing for everyone?”
“My father, Lancelot, even Guenivere…” Tegan began.
Gawain nodded. “This morning, Arthur insisted upon it. He was within a thumb’s width of ordering me to it.”
“Oh.” Tegan considered him. “I had not realized…”
Gawain nodded. “So, walk with me to the arena, which will be utterly empty, and where there is not a single chance of being overheard by anyone, or interrupted by anyone, either. Let us sort this out, once and for all time after.”
Tegan examined his face again. He was not smiling. He was not in his usual jovial mood, the one which made Tegan think he was silently laughing at everyone. She did not think she had ever seen Gawain quite so…sober.
She reached for her cloak on the hook beside the door. Gawain opened the door once more. They stepped out into the night and moved along the side streets to the high street, then down to the arena.
Gawain was correct; the arena was deserted. Yet instead of moving onto the hard, compacted earth in the center of it, he led her to the stone tiers rising around it and indicated she sit upon the bottom one.
He put his back to the barrier between the tier and the arena itself and crossed his arms. There were no lamps to illuminate his face, but there was starlight. Soon, the full moon would rise again—or perhaps it would fail to rise and doom them all, as the superstitious in the city had been whispering all day.
The deep twilight outlined the width of Gawain’s shoulders beneath the furled cloak.
Tegan pressed her hands between her knees to stop herself from nervous picking. “Well, then…”
“Indeed,” Gawain said softly. “At this point, everyone in Camelot would expect me to summon my energies and woo you into an agreement.”
“Yet you do not,” Tegan pointed out, even as her heart gave a little flutter of expectation.
“You would see through such effort.”
“As I have once already,” she reminded him.
“And for which you now despise me. Yes, I remember,” he said heavily. He lifted a hand. “For a moment, let us put all that aside and resolve this dilemma which vexes us both. Everyone but we two considers a match between us to be a most satisfying and useful union.”
“With reason,” Tegan admitted ruefully. “Politically…”
“Yes,” Gawain said heavily. “I have heard all the reasons many times already.”
Tegan considered his silhouette. “Too many times, already,” she guessed.
Gawain let out a breath. “So, let us ignore those reasons for now, too. Let me ask you something, instead. What would make the marriage palatable for you? What would change your mind?”
Tegan closed her eyes. “What would change my mind could never happen,” she assured him. “It is too late for such a miracle.”
“A miracle, hmm? But this is Camelot, where miracles happen daily, have you not heard?”
Tegan snorted. “Only people who do not live here say that.”
“Tell me,” Gawain coaxed. “What would change your mind?”
She shook her head. “You seek to find a way to force me to this.”
“Force? No. But I would find a way for you to feel you can agree to it.”
“Why? Why?” She bounced to her feet.
“Because Gaheris wants it and it will serve my family,” Gawain said evenly. “Because your father, Lancelot, even the Queen—your friend—wants it. But mostly, because Arthur needs the alliance to help stabilize the kingdoms and because I gave my allegiance to him.” He spoke not with passion, but with the flat voice of utter conviction.
Tegan pummeled the top of the barrier with the side of her fist. “So you will bring me to it, no matter what, because it is your duty.”
“Yes,” he said flatly.
Tegan sighed. “That is the heart of it, isn’t it?” she said softly.
He turned so he was looking out upon the arena just as she was. “It does not have to be all of it. I would do what I can to ease your way into it. Only, I do not know what would do that.”
“As I am not a gentle and charming woman whom you can easily understand,” she added.
“No, you are far from easy to fathom.”
Tegan lifted her face up to the stars and let the night air bathe her heated face. Her heart was throwing itself against her chest in protest over this predicament, but she could not find a way beyond it. Gawain’s relentlessness had built an unscalable barrier, locking her into it.
Gawain swayed closer to her and said softly, “Tell me…what is it you most desire out of life, Tegan?”
“Why? Will you get it for me?”
“If I can, yes.”
“If I marry you.”
He hesitated. “Or perhaps I will get it for you simply to erase this hatred you bear for me. Even the densest clod grows weary of disdain, eventually.”
“You are neither dense nor a clod.”
“Exactly.”
The laugh rose unexpectedly, making her mouth curve up. She held it back, but the unexpected lightness allowed her to reply in an equally light tone: “Then find for me the man who killed Cadoc…and find out why he was killed, for today, that is my deepest desire.”
Gawain grew still. “You are agreeing to marry me?” Surprise colored his voice.
Tegan hesitated. “I suppose I must be,” she said. “You will hound me until I agree, so I can see no way forward but to stipulate conditions that might make it tolerable.”
“And learning the truth of your brother’s fate will make it tolerable?” Disbelief was thick in his voice.
“I doubt anything will truly make it tolerable,” Tegan said truthfully. “But it will reassure me that you intend to try to make the arrangement workable, instead of marrying me and forgetting my name the next morning.”
He did not reply for many long moments. Then he stirred. “One day, you will stop flaying me with that misjudgment.”
“One day, you will change. Perhaps.”
He blew out a breath. “We must both work at this,” he said heavily. “For I have never come across a pair more mismatched than we.” He glanced at her and in the starlight, she saw his brow lift in query.
“I will do what I can to help make it work,” she said, as evenly as she could. “For as long as you do so,” she added.
“Agreed,” he said.
Tegan trembled. It was done. She would marry the man.
The gods help her.
Chapter Twelve
Gawain went straight to the King’s hall at dawn the next morning, to tell Arthur that he had secured Tegan’s agreement to marry.
He had spent the day wondering how he might convince her,
discarding arguments and inducements. He still had not arrived upon a strategy which would work with the recalcitrant woman when he knocked upon her door that night.
In the end, blunt truth had won her over. Gawain grudgingly admired her for her capitulation in the face of reason.
The lesser hall was in another uproar, an event which was not as unusual as the common folk of Camelot might suppose. The servants scurried about with worried expressions, the dogs were restless and scratching at the doors, and Merlin strode in his great circle as usual.
Cai stood at the door to the kitchens, listening to Merlin and also putting his head through the door to bellow at the cooks to hurry breakfast along.
Guenivere was not present, but Lancelot lounged upon a bench. Also, to Gawain’s surprise, King Mark and his heir and nephew, Tristan, were sitting upright at the table, looking uncomfortable. They were not used to the chaos of Arthur’s domestic household.
Merlin held a letter spread open in his hands. The ends were carved wood, elaborately finished and gleaming. The parchment was thick and pale. A good quality, Gawain judged.
He slid onto the bench beside Lancelot, which was the farthest from Arthur, who scowled as he listened to Merlin.
Lancelot shifted along the bench to make room, picked up a pitcher and poured a mugful of watered wine and put it in front of Gawain.
Merlin was still reading aloud. He spoke slowly. Gawain realized he was translating as he read, for he was speaking in the common tongue of Britain, in which letters were seldom written. “…therefore seek an audience with his most esteemed majesty upon the kalends of Augustus.” Merlin paused. “That is the month of August,” he added, and lifted the roll again. “Whereupon and heretofore, such relationships as deemed desirable shall, by the gods in their heavens, come to pass. On this day of the five hundredth year of Our Lord, I bid you good will and glad tidings. Yours in God, Julius Flavinius Metella.” Merlin lowered the roll to look at Arthur. “He has signed as The Emperor of Rome’s Ambassador to Britain,” he added, his voice dry.
“August,” Cai said. “That gives us three months to prepare.”
“Two,” Merlin said. “Rome—Eastern Rome, that is—does not recognize May as a month. It is already June there, and they have issue with Juno, too.”
“He said Rome,” Cai pointed out. “Not Constantinople.”
Merlin waved the scroll. “His cognate is Flavinius, Cai. That is one of the oldest and greatest families of old Rome, a city which barely breathes any more. He would cling to the old name for Constantinople, which was New Rome, but I guarantee he was sitting in Constantinople when he had this letter written. The Latin is florid, just like Byzantines speak it.”
Arthur got to his feet and moved over to the fire and peered into it. “Rome seeks to treat with us. With Britain.” The satisfaction in his voice was deep.
“I would not leap to that conclusion so swiftly,” Merlin said. “Rome—even the new Rome—has always considered Britain theirs.”
“Then why send an ambassador?” Arthur demanded. “Why not a clerk or a secretary, or even a general?” He shook his head. “They pursue a treaty. With us.”
King Mark cleared his throat. “Not that I seek to diminish this moment, Arthur, but do we want to treaty with Rome? Either Rome? They kept Britain under their military heel for hundreds of years, then left us to fend for ourselves when the barbarians crossed the seas. We’ve just spent twenty years ridding Britain of Saxons…should we now open our arms and invite the old oppressors back onto our lands?”
Tristan, a fierce-looking lad with silver rings holding back his unkempt hair and a growing reputation for his fighting abilities, looked as unhappy as King Mark did. Kernow had suffered at the hands of the Saxon army, for Mark’s lands laid alongside the old borders of the South Saxon Shore. After their defeat, the Saxons had taken out their revenge with petty raids across the border, until Arthur’s patrols had driven them back onto their boats and back across the sea.
“There is no need to decide right now,” Merlin said quickly.
“But we will welcome the Ambassador to Rome and show him every grace and luxury Camelot has to offer,” Arthur declared. He turned his back upon the fire, spread his legs and crossed his arms. The stance made him a formidable figure. “We will send him back to his Emperor to report upon the prosperity of the land they abandoned. Any treaty they wish to make after that will be all the sweeter.” He looked very pleased. “Cai, you must round up the old officer corp. This will be planned down to the last detail. I want the man impressed.”
“You must shine brighter than Constantinople, the richest jewel of Europe, if you wish to do that,” Merlin said flatly.
“Then that is what we will do,” Arthur replied.
“Your father would have spit upon them, not welcomed them.” The edge in Merlin’s voice made Gawain lower his cup, surprised. Lancelot’s gaze slid to Gawain and his brow lifted. He was surprised, too. Merlin was constantly exasperated by the stupidity of men, but he was never truly angry.
Arthur’s eyes widened slightly, as he considered his mentor.
“My father would have met them on the beach with his sword in hand,” Merlin added. His voice was harsh.
Arthur visibly hesitated. Then he shook his head. “We will welcome Rome, then we will see the lay of the land and decide.” He turned to the table. “Mark, you and yours, who have such long memories, will stand at my side and take the measure of this ambassador.”
King Mark nodded. “As you wish, Arthur, so it shall be.”
Cai rolled his eyes. “Gods! Two months to shine like a jewel! We can barely arrange to get breakfast upon the table on time!” The last he turned and bellowed through the door to the kitchens.
An answering shout and the patter of feet preceded kitchen staff carrying trays of food. Everyone gathered around the big table where Gawain and Lancelot sat.
Arthur lifted his brow when he spotted Gawain. “I was not expecting you this morning, Gawain. Do you need to speak to me?”
Gawain grimaced. His news seemed utterly unremarkable compared to the visit of an Ambassador of Rome and he was tempted to pass the moment off and tell Arthur later. Only, Arthur’s brows were together. Confronting Merlin had roused his temper, and he had not yet eaten.
Gawain had a temper of his own. It was a family thing, he supposed, for his hair was nearly as deeply red as Arthur’s and they were second cousins. But Arthur’s temper ran hotter and quicker than any man’s Gawain had ever met, including his own. And Arthur was his king.
Gawain chose his words carefully. “I did what you asked, Arthur. The Lady Tegan of Dunoding has agreed to a joining of our families.”
Arthur’s smile was quick and hot. Pleased, he nodded and sat in the big chair and reached for the wine pitcher. “Then we have much to celebrate.” He lifted the pitcher. “Bring wine!” he called. “Something proper to toast with, not this watered-down offence to the tongue.”
The other men at the table murmured their congratulations and patted Gawain’s shoulder or gripped his arm. He suspected they were as eager to change the subject as Arthur was.
Lancelot leaned toward him as the servants fussed about the table, swapping out the pitchers and bringing fresh cups to drink the toasts with, and said quietly, beneath the others, “When you have breath to spare, you must tell me what you did to change Tegan’s mind. I have never once in my life managed to shift her opinion, once it was made. I would know the secret of it.”
Gawain looked at the man, startled. Lancelot returned his gaze steadily.
“Truth,” Gawain said at last. “I used the truth.”
“A dangerous weapon it takes courage to wield,” Lancelot replied. He lifted his cup toward Gawain and drank.
Guenivere rested her hand upon the wall while Mary tied her other shoe. She had never fully adjusted to being dressed by others, but today, she was glad of the custom, for she wasn’t sure she could have managed it herself. Just standing was taxing.<
br />
She was glad, now, she had not called for any of her ladies when she had pulled herself to the edge of the bed. Tegan and Cara were both too sharp-eyed and frank of speech and would have criticized her. The other ladies followed those two women’s lead.
Anwen came into, carrying Guenivere’s jewelry chest. “Lord Lancelot is outside and asking to speak to you, my lady.” She put the chest on the table.
“Tell him I am asleep,” Guenivere said shortly. “Send him away.” She ignored the little leap of her pulse.
“Yes, my lady.” Anwen went away.
“You’ve tied them slip fashion, Mary?” Guenivere asked, looking down and lifting the hem of her gown to see properly. “I won’t have time to stop and retie them constantly today. There is much to be done.”
“Guenivere,” Lancelot said from the door.
Mary gasped and scrambled backward on her hands and feet, farther from the door.
Guenivere looked up, shocked. “You dare enter without my permission?”
Lancelot glanced at Anwen, who slid past him and over to Guenivere. “Your lady brought your jewelry box to you. You do not need necklaces when you are asleep, my lady. Tell your women to leave us.”
“That would be inappropriate,” Guenivere replied, even as she recalled the feel of her cheek upon his shoulder and the warm of him against her. Her voice trembled, betraying her, but he might mistake it for temper.
Lancelot’s eyes narrowed. “Then shall I speak frankly in front of them?”
Guenivere pressed her lips together. Then she nodded at Anwen. “Leave us.”
Anwen glanced from Guenivere to Lancelot and back, as Mary got to her feet. “Are you sure?”
“No, but I do know Lancelot intends me no harm.”
“Stay within shouting distance, if it eases your conscience,” Lancelot added. “But do not approach too closely to the door. I will know if you are there.”
Anwen swallowed and nodded. She gripped Mary’s arm and pulled the woman out of the room and shut the door.
Abduction of Guenivere (Once and Future Hearts Book 7) Page 13