Cadfael unhitched Mars and turned him to mount. “I have everything I need.”
Lynette drew in a shuddering breath as he settled himself on Mars’ back.
Behind her sounded tramping feet. She whirled to see Mabon and Gwilym step out from the main hall. Mabon was dressed for the road. Gwilym was not. He was too old to ride to war.
Maela was beside Mabon and also dressed for riding, only she did not have her hair in the usual braids. As she stepped down to the earth and crossed to where a groom held her horse for her, Lynette saw she had indeed braided her hair for riding. It was a single thick, long plait down the center of her back.
Maela’s gaze found Lynette on the verandah. She smiled and nodded.
Lynette nodded back, her heart squeezing. She turned to face Cadfael once more. His place was at the top of the column, by the king, although he had not moved Mars toward the file of soldiers forming behind Mabon and Mervyn. He studied her, instead.
“You must go,” she urged him, even though she longed for him to stay.
He gripped the reins, squeezing them.
“Move on!” Folant bellowed.
Horses snorted as they stepped into motion. The cart carrying the water and food creaked as it rolled forward.
“Cadfael!” Mabon called, as the head of the column reached the gates.
Cadfael kicked Mars into a trot. He was leaving.
Lynette clutched the post, shaking with the power of everything she had not said.
It was a shared night. That was all. She gripped the post, holding herself up. Remember it for what it was.
Mars reached the gates as Mabon and Mervyn moved through…and halted.
Cadfael turned him around. “Lynette!” He held out his hand.
She pushed herself into motion, running across the courtyard and gripped his hand. Cadfael lifted her up into the air and onto the saddle pad in front of him. He dropped the reins and gathered her in his arms. His blue eyes were heated, filled with unspoken words.
He kissed her long and deep. When he released her, Lynette gripped the folds of his cloak, fighting not to burden him with her heart. “I should have repaired your tunic,” she said, instead.
He touched his lips to hers, lightly. “I have more reason now to hate Saxons, than ever before.”
“Then you must go and fight them.”
“Yes.”
She smoothed his cloak and rearranged the folds. “Don’t get any more holes in the tunic.” Her eyes ached with impending tears and she blinked, pushing them away.
“I’ll try not to. Lynette…”
“No.” She shook her head. “Don’t say goodbye.” She kissed him, her arms around him, ruining the set of his cloak once more. Then she forced herself to slide to the earth and step away.
His gaze met hers. “Until we meet again, then.”
“Yes. Until then,” Lynette lied, knowing no such time would come.
The last of the cavalry passed through the gate while the household that remained stood on the verandah watching them go. Cadfael turned Mars and slipped between the last horses and the groaning cart, then galloped up the length of the line to the top and moved into place.
Once the cart was beyond the gate, Lynette moved through them and stood just beyond to watch the company move down the hill to the river, then along the river path to the old Roman road. There, they picked up speed. As the hills hid them from view, they galloped, their two-day ride begun.
Chapter Thirteen
Ten weeks later.
Vivian sank back onto the stool she had risen from and gasped heavily.
Lynette lifted her head, alerted by the sound. Vivian’s face, normally a fine white color, now was almost translucent. Sweat dotted her temples.
The women in the workroom looked up at the sound she had made, curious and puzzled.
Lynette dropped her sewing and gripped Vivian’s arm. “Come with me,” she said and hauled her to her feet. “Breathe,” she whispered as she pulled her over to the storage room. She pushed Vivian into the little space and snapped the curtain shut behind them, then reached over the sagging woman to grab the wooden bowl they used for mixing herbs and thrust it under Vivian’s head.
Vivian gripped the bowl and retched into it.
Lynette winced, for the noise would travel out into the workroom. Everyone woman out there would recognize the sound of another woman vomiting for no apparent reason. They would know the truth because of it.
When she was done, Vivian put the bowl on the worktable and sank onto the stool next to it with a tired sigh. She put her hand on her belly and looked up at Lynette. “You know, then.”
“Sooner than anyone,” Lynette told her. “You have missed two cycles and now you are sick. Your dresses are tight across the breast, too.” She reached for the dried lavender on the shelf, crushed a handful in her palm and dropped it into the bowl. It would mask the smell a little. “I have told no one, although everyone out in the workroom knows, now.”
Vivian nodded. “I would have been discovered eventually.”
Lynette hesitated, then said; “There are ways to deal with it. Herbs and other compounds can interrupt—”
“No,” Vivian said flatly. Her fingers spread across her stomach as if she protected the babe inside.
“You only pay lip-service to the Christian god,” Lynette pointed out.
“It is not the Christian god who concerns me. No, Lynette. This child must be born.”
“Then send a letter to Brittany,” Lynette said, dropping her voice low. “He will marry you, if he knows.” She didn’t have to speak Ambrosius’ name. They both knew who she meant.
Vivian shook her head. “He must do his work undistracted. There is nothing more important than that.”
“Not even you?”
Vivian’s smile was small. “I am a tiny speck on a spoke of a great wheel. I am nothing.” She frowned. “Do not think to go behind me and write to him yourself, Lynette. I forbid it.”
Lynette gasped, for Vivian had never before given such an intractable order. “I don’t understand,” she whispered angrily. “You know what your father will do to you when he finds out. The whole matter can be resolved happily with a single ship to Amorica…”
Vivian’s smile was understanding. “Then what?” she asked. “He comes tearing across the channel, before his plans are finished, before the time is ripe. To force him to commit before he is ready will ensure his defeat.”
“You could go to him,” Lynette said. “Even if your father does not agree to it, there are free ships that would carry you across and you have money…”
Vivian shook her head again. “Word will reach Vortigern that I am there. It will tell Vortigern where my father’s loyalties truly lie. The High King will attack and my father will perish, or he will come to his rescue, before he is ready.”
Lynette considered her. “You are not even going to try to reach him, are you?”
“No.”
“Not even for the sake of your happiness?”
“I am happy,” Vivian said, sounding surprised.
“Don’t you…miss him?” Lynette asked, driven to the question by her own aching heart, which had not eased in the long weeks since Cadfael had left.
Three weeks after the company had dashed to Calleva to counter the Saxon siege, Mervyn and his brother and their men returned. They were injured and weakened but they held their chins up, for victory had been carved from almost certain defeat.
“The Saxons outnumbered us three to one,” Padrig told everyone at dinner the night of their return, his voice ringing with pride. “We beat them back, step by step, until finally, they broke and ran.”
At Mabon’s request, Mervyn and his soldiers had lingered in Calleva, combing through the countryside surrounding the town for remnants of the Saxon horde. They patrolled through the villages that lay even closer to the Saxon border, their presence visible and constant.
They returned to Maridunum when it was clear
the Saxons would not try to press the issue again.
Mervyn had got his taste of war. He had a scar on his cheek to prove it. He was a quieter man after his return, although he still drank as heavily as ever and was inclined to quick and unreasonable anger over small matters.
Lynette listened carefully to any description of the battle and the aftermath, searching for news of Cadfael. She did not need to ask after him, for even Mervyn’s soldiers spoke of Mabon’s most senior officer with admiration.
Padrig, on the first night back, had glanced around to check his older brother was not within hearing distance, then dropped his voice. “If not for Cadfael and his determination, the men would have broken and fled, at the end of that first day. He stirred them to drive against the Saxons one last time when there was no glimmer of hope. I think the Saxons knew that, too, for they relaxed and that was how we caught them off guard, just after the sun had set.”
Further news about Mabon’s commander did not emerge, until Lynette happened to hear Folant chatting with Gwilym by the fire one night. “…headed out to patrol up and down the borders after we left. Even if the Saxons thought to try something after we left, they would think twice about taking on Vortigern’s black one.”
Then Cadfael had not lingered in Calleva. He was on the road, moving from village to vulnerable village.
As far as Lynette knew, he patrolled still. No word reached her from Cadfael directly. Even if he was of a mind to, he could not write to her.
She tried to put him out of her thoughts. Dalliances of this nature were naturally short. She told herself that with time, his memory would fade. Only, the memories did not fade. They grew stale from mental fingering yet stayed firmly lodged in her mind, to intrude when she was not concentrating.
Lynette busied herself with work. There was always more of it than a soul could do. She drove herself to complete more and more. It was the height of summer and vegetable crops were ripening. Harvesting and preserving took the efforts of the entire household and the mild summer days made the outdoor work pleasant. Everyone acquired tans.
There was always more than enough sewing to do and Lynette kept herself occupied after sundown with needle and thread.
In bed at night, though, she had nothing to distract herself from the memories. There were so few of them to begin. How could she be attached to a man she knew so little about?
Only, she did know him. She knew his heart and soul and mind. Yes, there had been few days, but there was a rich depth to every moment she had shared with him.
That was why she knew he would not come for her. His ambition lay to the east and the Saxon Shore. Fighting Saxons was his life and there was room in it for nothing else.
The bleakness of her summer days flickered through her mind as Lynette studied Vivian, waiting for her answer.
“Do I miss him?” Vivian repeated. She laughed. “Does it matter? It isn’t my fate to be wed and settled.”
“As usual, I cannot gainsay you,” Lynette said, with a sigh. “I am just a woman. The matters you deal with are not for me.”
“Be thankful,” Vivian said, her smile fading. “The Sight is a perilous gift…if it is a gift at all.” She stirred. “The wheel is turning as it should, Lynette. Let this play out.”
Lynette unhappily agreed. She opened the curtain and the two of them stepped out into the big room. Lynette spotted the pile of unattended linen on the end of the big table. “Where is Elaine?” she demanded.
Everyone looked around, surprised.
Olwen stirred. “She left, as soon as we heard…” She pressed her lips together, glancing at the storage room.
Lynette met Vivian’s glance.
“The wheel turns,” Vivian said.
* * * * *
It did not take Elaine long to spread the word. Shortly before the noon meal was announced, Gwilym’s man servant, Ban, stepped into the workroom and told Vivian the king expected her to attend him at once.
Vivian put down her embroidery and went with him, while everyone else tried to settle into their work once more, Lynette in particular.
After a while, Mabyn said softly, “I wish they’d call the meal. I’m starving!”
With a start, Lynette realized the hour was growing longer. The sun had already moved away from the narrow window. She had no appetite though.
Murmurs and low conversations were building up, out on the verandah. People were coming in from the fields and gathering on the verandah, waiting for the meal to begin.
The workroom door opened and Ban stepped in once more, looking about the room. He was a short man with silver hair and colorless eyes that stared. “Lady Lynette, the king wants you.”
Chapter Fourteen
Lynette jumped. “Me?” she asked Ban.
Ban didn’t nod or speak. He simply waited.
Lynette put her sewing down and brushed down her dress and checked her hair. Then she nodded at Ban. He turned and moved to the door and pulled it open. Unlike with Vivian, he did not wait for Lynette to go through. He stepped through first, forcing her to follow.
Her heart pattering, Lynette trailed after the little man. There were many people on the verandah. Most of the household, in fact. They all turned to watch her walk behind Ban.
Murmurs passed through them as they followed her progress to the main hall door.
The big doors stood open, yet no one attempted to step inside. Ban, though, did not hesitate. As everyone separated to make room, he moved through them and turned into the room.
Lynette paused just inside the door, adjusting to the light and taking stock of the room. The tables had not yet been put up, not even the king’s high table. Gwilym sat in his big chair at the end of the room, with the family’s trusted officers and advisors spread around the edges. Even Ninian was there, although she did not sit in the chair next to the king. She sat on a bench someone had pulled out from under the tables, by the windows. Her face was strained.
Folant was there. Mervyn and Padrig, too.
Elaine stood by the king’s chair, a proud expression on her face.
The middle of the room was empty except for Vivian, who stood in the center of the clear space, the focus of everyone there. Her chin was up.
Ban pushed viciously at Lynette’s back, making her stumble into the middle of the room.
Vivian didn’t look around.
Gwilym stirred. “Folant,” he said shortly.
Folant didn’t smile as he moved toward her. “Lady Lynette, you are the princess’ favored companion. I am sure you can supply us with the answer Vivian will not give. Tell us the name of her bastard child’s father.”
Lynette tried to stand as tall as Vivian did and keep her chin up, although her knees shook. “I don’t know.”
Folant’s eyes narrowed. “You understand, I am sure, the delicacy of this matter?”
“Delicacy?” she repeated, puzzled.
“Who the father is will determine how the king proceeds.” Folant moved around her. Lynette turned to keep him in view. She didn’t like him being behind her.
As she turned, she saw that everyone outside the room was pressing up against both open doors, watching avidly.
“If the man is a poor beggar,” Folant continued, “then the matter is merely a hiccup. We find him and…well, deal with him. He is no threat to the king. Do you see?”
“I suppose, yes.”
“On the other hand,” Folant continued, still circling about her, “If the man is some nameless warrior, the concern shifts to whom he owes his allegiance. Perhaps a marriage can be arranged. It would be a poor match for a daughter of Gwilym, although it would solidify a relationship with the father’s lord, if the lord is of appropriate affiliations.”
He meant if the lord was not too deeply in Vortigern’s pouch, Lynette interpreted for herself. A lord of Roman stock.
“Then there is the possibility that the father is a king or a duke himself.” Folant smiled. It was a strained expression that didn’t reach his
eyes. “A far better match for the princess, assuming he is suitable. If he is not—if he is, say, an ambitious man, there is a good chance that when he learns of the child, he will come to claim a dowry. That would not be good.”
“But…Mervyn is the heir…” Lynette whispered. Her mouth was dry and her throat clicked.
“Quite apart from the insult apparent in that any man managed to bed the princess while none of us noticed,” Folant growled, ignoring her murmur. “She is surrounded by women, day and night. That brings into question the quality of her companionship.”
Lynette couldn’t swallow. It hurt too much. So did her heart. “I don’t know who the father is,” she said, straining her voice to lift it higher than a whisper. “She did not tell me. I only learned she was with child this morning…”
“Then you are ignorant of her dalliance?”
“She has had no dalliance. I swear it,” Lynette said.
“Cleary, she had at least one,” Folant shot back. “I know you have the name, Lynette. Tell me and this will all go much easier.”
She trembled. Gwilym was watching her with narrowed eyes. Mervyn looked angry. “I don’t know,” Lynette whispered. It was no good—she could not get her voice to rise above the whisper. It hurt too much.
Mervyn swore. “This is taking too much time,” he said, striding out into the open space. He unbuckled his belt and flexed it, standing before Vivian.
Folant sighed. “Mervyn, I am dealing with this. That is not necessary.”
“Tell us who it is, sister,” Mervyn demanded.
Vivian didn’t even turn her head to look at him. She kept her gaze ahead.
Mervyn swung his arm. The belt whistled and snapped against Vivian’s leg. She gasped, but gave no other reaction.
Her mother, though, jumped to her feet. “Gwilym, order him to stop!”
Gwilym waved her away. He watched Mervyn with narrowed eyes. He was an old king, although he was not soft. He would risk damnation of his soul to get his answer.
Mervyn smiled, recognizing that he had implicit permission to continue. He swung the belt again, this time connecting with Vivian’s other thigh. She gave a soft hiss.
Once and Future Hearts Box One Page 12