by Caro Carson
The knight got to his feet. “It is God’s truth that I pried that letter from a dead man’s hand.”
Gone. They were all gone. Merlin. Sir Kay. Soon, Arthur—and with him, her future. Kayna’s knees buckled, but the queen’s grip held her upright.
“And how fared your king when you left the camp?”
“Still alive, your majesty. But...but I would not wish for you to doubt Sir Kay’s letter. The king cannot last long.”
That meant Kayna’s whole world, and all the hopes and dreams for her future, would not last long. She was to share a widow’s fate, but she’d never had the widow’s youthful joy. She would never know love, not like Guinevere had been loved. You’ll never have a husband...
“If he lives, then we shall continue to pray,” the well-loved Guinevere said resolutely, “day and night.”
Day and night on her knees in the cold chapel? Kayna’s imprisonment was going to start this minute.
“No.” The word burst from her without thought. “We need to do more. We cannot let the king die. We must take action.”
Agravain drew his sword, and Kayna realized she had dropped the letter to clutch the queen beseechingly.
Her foster-aunt and future abbess patted her hand, smoothing over Kayna’s offense to her royal personage. “Hush, Kayna. We must accept God’s will—”
“But Arthur is not dead yet,” Kayna cried. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the knight cross himself, as if he’d witnessed a sin.
“You are dismissed, Sir Agravain. You’ll find the men in the chapel.” The moment the door closed, the queen turned to Kayna and tucked a loose tendril into her braid, as she had when Kayna had first been brought to her as a precocious child with an uncanny ear for languages. “It is hard to imagine a world without Arthur in it, dear child, but I always knew this time would come.”
Kayna was wild with the urge to move, to throw something, to do anything. “He’s not dead yet. I beg you, do not give up.”
Guinevere stiffened. “I’m not giving up. I’m returning to the chapel to pray for his life. You shall pray with me. There is nothing for you to fear, for no matter what happens, I will keep you by my side. Forever.” With a pat on Kayna’s cheek, Guinevere headed for the door.
For once, Kayna did not follow in her wake. A gray stone altar, hard wooden floors—she hadn’t chosen that way of life; Guinevere had. The queen had lived through enough adventures to fill books. The queen had shared an epic love with Arthur. She did not dread spending her final years with her memories, but Kayna would be locked away without having made any.
You’ll never have a husband...
The queen turned back and frowned at her, but Kayna could only stare at her, panicked, feeling her throat closing so tightly that she could not even sob.
Guinevere returned and took her hands in hers. “You are truly distraught. I did not realize you were close to Sir Kay.”
A sob escaped, but not for Sir Kay. If Kayna had only married, she would not have to accept this fate. She’d been too content to wait for Merlin’s return or Sir Kay’s attention or Arthur’s decree to marry. Since none of the available men had appealed to her, neither in the chaste passion of chivalry nor in the earthly passion of the marriage bed, she’d been in no hurry to have a groom chosen for her.
Now, marriage to any man seemed preferable to a life spent on her knees on a cold chapel floor, wondering what, exactly, she was missing as an eternal virgin.
Oh, such terribly unholy thoughts she was having! No wonder she could not speak; she deserved to have the air choked from her throat.
“Take comfort, Kayna. Sir Kay was a Saxon and crude, but he had a good and loyal heart. I feel sure the Lord will welcome him in His heaven.” The queen continued to hold her hands. “Come. I will allow you to kneel next to me at the altar. You may pray for your father’s soul until Vespers, then join me in praying for our king.”
Words finally burst from Kayna’s throat. “I cannot.”
“You cannot pray?” The queen squeezed her hands, hard. “Is there an evil on your soul? Confess it, child.”
“No evil,” Kayna croaked and gulped in some air. She’d done nothing to deserve being imprisoned for life, nothing except desire to be desired. The most pious queen on earth had been desired. It couldn’t be evil to want the same for herself.
Guinevere was looking at her with true concern, despite the overriding worry and anguish she must be feeling for her husband. In a moment of clarity, Kayna realized no one was getting what they deserved. Arthur had done nothing to deserve a death blow from Mordred’s sword. Guinevere had done nothing to deserve her impending widowhood. Even Sir Agravain had done nothing to deserve the miserable task of delivering a message of doom to an anxious wife.
Kayna forced herself to take a deep breath. “I am sorry, your majesty. I do not mean to add to your strain. I only wish there was something I could do to prevent it in the first place. I wish I could help the king.” She lowered her voice to a whisper as she had when she’d been a child, a silver thread from a sewing box in her small fist, confessing the sin of theft. “I prayed for magic, your majesty.”
“Magic?” The queen dropped her hands.
Kayna clasped her suddenly empty hands together self-consciously. “The kind we were blessed with when Merlin was here. God-given magic.”
“It would not be enough. Magic is not greater than God.” The queen turned to pace away a step. “Not even Merlin could make one of God’s creatures live or die.”
“No, but he could turn a man into a toad for a day or two.” Kayna knew she sounded like a petulant child.
To her surprise, the queen chuckled, just a little.
Kayna dug the soft toe of her boot into the hard floor. “I was thinking of something more like a sleeping spell. If Merlin were still here, he could cast one. That would make it easier for God to heal Arthur.”
The queen froze once more, pale and poised. “A sleeping spell,” she murmured. “A sleeping spell.”
Then suddenly, she crossed the room briskly while yanking at the belt of her long tunic. On it were the silver keys that symbolized her authority over the many fortresses of Camelot.
Kayna feared this was a different kind of shock. “Your majesty, perhaps you should sit down now.”
“You sit down, Kayna. Use that strange skill of yours and memorize my words.” The queen climbed on her bed and stood—stood!—on the mattress to push aside the thick curtains behind the headboard. “I want this message to be delivered exactly as I say it. ‘Arthur, the lover of my body and the love of my heart, you will sleep now.’”
Kayna sank slowly onto the chair she hadn’t been able to budge earlier. Concern for the queen’s sudden change of behavior had to be pushed aside so she could memorize this message to Arthur.
Guinevere continued to speak as she revealed a small door in the timbered wall. The keys which Kayna had always believed to be symbolic actually worked—or at least one of them did. The door opened.
“I long to share our bed once more, to press my naked skin against your warmth as I drift off to sleep satisfied, slipping my legs between your stronger ones and feeling safe from the world.”
Mercy. Kayna would be blushing when she wrote these words down, but for now, she had to concentrate. Words stuck in her brain. They always had, but she had to consciously keep them in the right order. The queen continued talking to Arthur, telling him how she loved and missed him, as she pulled out a small box. Another silver key was used to open it.
“So sleep now, my husband, with Merlin’s help and my love. Then you will return to sleep with me in the flesh instead of in your dreams. Godspeed as you return to the arms of your most loving wife and loyal queen.” She rifled through the box. “Do you have that message, Kayna?”
Kayna repeated back every one of the queen’s words. Guinevere held up a large ruby, so large only royalty could possess it. The red gem was shot through with white streaks that branched out like a stag�
��s horns.
“Merlin,” Kayna whispered. Merlin had appeared in Caesar’s Roman court as a stag to interpret the emperor’s dreams. The stone was exactly the kind of item Merlin would enchant.
“This is the last of Merlin’s magic. My husband needs it more than Tintagel ever did.” Guinevere handed it to Kayna. “Without Arthur, there will be no fortress, anyway.”
The ruby felt warm and heavy in Kayna’s palm. “What does it do?”
“It will bring my husband sleep. Peaceful sleep.”
“It has been helping us all sleep in the fortress?”
“I don’t think it can charm an entire fortress, nor even the hall, but it charmed us in this bed. It’s more than sleep. It brings peace. Prosperity. Passion.” A ghost of her beautiful smile touched her face. Kayna had not seen the queen truly smile since Arthur had left her bed for a battlefield months ago. “It will also stop nightmares.”
“Our lord Arthur will sleep.” Kayna felt the warmth in her palm spread to her heart. It was hope, a spark of hope.
“If we can get it to him in time,” Guinevere said.
Kayna stood, glad to have something to do. “I will write your message as fast as humanly possible. Before your fastest knight has the fastest horse saddled, it shall be ready.”
“There is no time for you to write. The message is already in your mind, Kayna. Now go deliver it with the ruby.”
Kayna went absolutely blank for a moment. “Me? I cannot.”
“You must stop saying that.”
“But I am a lady.” She said it as almost a question. Had the queen gone mad? Ladies could not ride across the country alone. They were to sit. They were to wait and pray and kneel on cold floors in eternal patience.
Guinevere waved away her words. “Being a lady is immaterial. I have been abducted three times. Do you think I escaped in a cushioned litter with four attendants to carry me along? You will take a horse and ride, and you will be faster than a knight, for no armor or weapons shall weigh you down.”
Kayna supposed the horse would appreciate the lack of armor, but the weapons were necessary, weren’t they? Before she could voice her objection, Guinevere pushed her to her knees and loomed over her.
“My child, you wanted action. This was your idea, your wish, your prayer. You will give Arthur my message and the ruby. Then maybe, just maybe, I can delay taking over that abbey for a few more years.”
The weight of the queen’s hand pressed on the crown of Kayna’s head. Although there was no audience, her foster-aunt spoke with all her royal authority.
“You who kneel before me, the last of Merlin’s favorites, you must deliver Merlin’s magic. Kayna of Tintagel, I give you a quest. Wilt thou accept my charge?”
Kayna’s future, for once, was in her own hands. She might die in the attempt, but she had to try. She spoke the words she’d heard only knights speak.
“Let my quest begin.”
Chapter Two
The waters of the Bristol Channel, 1742
His quest was nearly over.
Griffin Dennehay—now Captain Griffin Dennehay—was going to get married.
It was about damned time.
He kicked back in his chair and tossed a ruby as large as an egg into the air. Caught it. Tossed it again, relaxing in all the luxurious trappings of his cabin aboard his ship—privileges he’d earned on his way to earning his bride, the beautiful Lady Vivien.
Three years ago, the Lady Vivien had rejected his offer of marriage. She would dance with him and kiss him and allow him rather generous access to the most curvaceous parts of her body, but she would not marry him. It was nothing against his person, she’d said with tears in her eyes. She simply could not marry a man who was inferior to her father in material wealth.
Griffin shook his head at the memory, then tossed the ruby once more.
Since Vivien had failed to specify how she expected an honest seaman to become rich, he’d abandoned the British navy to turn pirate, avoided death on several occasions, and returned to England after two years with enough gold for them to live as lavishly as his lady’s heart desired.
Vivien had refused to marry him again.
He caught the ruby and held it in his fist. After a moment, the pain from that memory faded.
She would not leave her father’s money to marry his, not when there was a chance he might swing at the gallows for piracy. If he were hanged, the crown would seize all he possessed, and she would be ruined forever, tarnished by marriage to a pirate. The lady had a valid point, but it had taken a few rum-soaked months back aboard the pirate ship Redemption before Griffin would admit it to himself.
His quest then became one to clear his name. He’d thought of it that way, as a quest. He’d read Le Morte D’Artur as a schoolfellow, and rather fancied the idea. As if he were a Knight of the Round Table from the legends of old, his lady had asked of him the impossible. It was the kind of quest which no man could achieve, not unless Merlin deemed him worthy of assistance. But those were fairy tales; Griffin lived in the real world. There’d been no way to accomplish his impossible task.
Until something even more impossible had happened.
The crew had been unloading their latest treasure, the contents of a Spanish merchant vessel, storing it in a cave near Savannah, on the coast of His Majesty’s new colony of Georgia. As if by magic, a woman had walked out of the cave. She’d spoken English with an accent he’d never heard in any port, and her clothing had been unlike any he’d ever seen. Perhaps just as impossible, the captain of the Redemption, the infamous Jonas Black, had fallen in love with her that first day.
On the second day, after a battle with a British man o’ war, the woman had disappeared in the same cave—this time, taking the captain with her.
Half the crew was afraid to ask how two people could disappear without a trace. Witchcraft was the Devil’s work, and it was best not to tempt the Devil with curiosity.
The other half suspected Griffin of murder.
He tossed the ruby in the air. Being suspected of murder had its advantages on a pirate ship. Not one man had challenged him when he’d assumed command of the Redemption. Not one pirate had complained when he’d sailed them directly to South Carolina and dropped anchor in the middle of the port alongside ships of the British navy.
His brazen move had garnered the attention he’d wanted. The royal governor had granted him an audience. It had been child’s play from there. Griffin had only to point out that the Redemption had never attacked a British merchant. Capturing the Spanish, the French, the Portuguese—in short, all the enemies of England—had made the Redemption quite rich. And he, Captain Griffin Dennehay, had come to South Carolina to demonstrate his loyalty to the king by sharing his gold with the royal governor.
In exchange for letters of marque, of course.
There’d been a bit of a misunderstanding between the Redemption and a British man o’ war off the coast of Savannah, Griffin had explained. With letters of marque, the Redemption would proudly fly the British flag and avoid any problems in the future. They would continue to relieve his majesty’s enemies of their wealth, a generous portion of which would be shared with the crown.
With a flourish of the governor’s quill, the documents had been signed, and the pirates had become privateers, honest men who served the king.
Captain Griffin Dennehay had achieved the impossible. He was an honest, law-abiding citizen of the realm, returning from his quest as a man who toyed with gems that could grace the crown jewels. He was a favorite of a royal governor. He was a man who could have any woman he wanted.
He had wanted the Lady Vivien for three years, and by God, he would have her.
He caught the ruby and picked up its silver setting from his desk. A gem this unique had a setting that was unique as well, nothing as mundane as a ring or necklace. Instead, the ruby had been set into the antlers of a stag entwined with his doe.
Entwined. Griffin glanced at his cabin bed. The stag and doe
’s noses touched, such wholesome imagery to symbolize passionate love. The entwining of bodies was an easy thing, too easy, a meaningless thing between men and women at ports around the world. When Griffin gave Vivien this ruby, when she became his bride, then he’d finally know true passion, the entwining of hearts and souls as well as bodies.
Wouldn’t he?
He frowned at his bed, lavishly covered in the furs he’d stolen from a French ship leaving Canada. He’d intended them as a sensual surprise for his bride, but it was hard to imagine Vivien in his bed. He’d kissed her lips on a ballroom balcony. He’d cupped her breasts in his hands in a dark garden. It should be easy to imagine her in that bed.
It was not.
He clenched the ruby in his fist. It had been three years, that was why. Three long years he’d worked and waited for Vivien, but now the quest was coming to an end.
With his letters of marque, he’d delivered some cargo for the governor to the port of Bristol in Wales. Now he had only to sail his ship through the Bristol Channel back to the Celtic Sea, round the point of Land’s End, navigate the British Channel, and sail up the Thames to London. Then he could finally have his bride, damn it. Perhaps in two weeks’ time. Perhaps less, if more speed could be coaxed from the Redemption.
Impatiently, Griffin clipped the ruby into its place among the stag’s horns, shut it in the desk drawer, and left his cabin. He’d been a sailing master longer than he’d been a captain. He would personally trim those sails for all speed.
Kayna slowed the horse, but she did not stop.
Her quest would end in failure if she stopped to rest, but she could not ride forever. She was only human.
She’d been given the ruby, the swiftest horse, the hastiest of blessings from the priest, and sent on her way. She’d ridden without stopping. When she encountered other people, she slowed only enough to shout “Arthur?” in both question and command.
Peasants, bowing down, struck mute by the richness of her horse and cloak, had pointed inland. Foot soldiers carrying spears, trudging wearily home, had gestured from whence they’d come, sending her farther down the trails which their once mighty army had carved in the countryside.