Lynette understood. Cadfael was a straight-forward man. Secrets and hidden purpose did not suit him.
Cadfael gave Mars one last pat and dropped his hand. “The idea came to me as we rode this way,” he said. “There are pockets of Roman Britons all through the north, right under Vortigern’s nose. They are overlooked, tucked away in the mountains and the wilds. Only, I know those mountains. I am familiar with every by-way and secret road. I know the people there, for they are mine. I want to return there and gather them, with no subterfuge and hypocrisy. When we met, we speak openly of Ambrosius and his ambitions and swear publicly to serve him. When Ambrosius is ready, the north can rise up to support him.”
Lynette considered the idea. “It is a good plan,” she said. “I think even Ambrosius would approve.”
“Then you will write and tell him that?” Cadfael asked.
“I will teach you to read and write and then you may tell Ambrosius yourself.”
Cadfael’s smile was warm. His eyes were heated, with more than lust. “Let me take you home, Lynette. Back to the mountains…back to where you belong.”
Chapter Sixteen
Ynys Gybi (The Holy Isle), Gwynedd. Three years later.
The abbot refused to direct them, until Cadfael lowered his hood and told him who he was. Cadfael’s name was known in the north. While most knew him as Vortigern’s former battle commander, there were more people every day who were privy to his true allegiance to Ambrosius.
Abbot Ifan was one of the latter, for his smile was small and knowing. “Your work is known to God, my son. The lady you seek is walking on the promontory.” The abbot bowed toward Lynette. “Go with God, my lady.”
She nodded in return.
They made their way through the monastery, passing monks and lay craftsmen rebuilding the damaged sections. This island and the monastery had been invaded and destroyed by every enemy known to Britain, more than once. Yet the monks clung to the island, for it was considered a holy place. A powerful place. The more enemies fought to have it, the more powerful it became.
Right at the tip of the island where the sea smashed against the cliffs with a thunder that smothered the cries of the gulls hovering hopefully over the rocks, they found her.
“Go to her,” Cadfael said and gave Lynette a gentle push.
She squeezed his hand. “Thank you for this.”
His smile was warm.
Lynette walked right up to her, her footsteps masked by the waves. She reached out and squeezed Vivian’s arm.
Vivian whirled. Her eyes widened. Then they filled with tears and she pulled Lynette against her and held her tightly. “I knew you could not be dead! I wondered if I was merely wishing, but in my heart, I knew!” She let her go and glanced at Cadfael, who bowed briefly. “He came for you…”
“He saved me,” Lynette said. “If not for him, Mervyn would have cut me into small pieces to learn who fathered your child.”
“Then you are wed. Praise be.”
“And I am a mother,” Lynette added. “A boy.” She pressed her hand to her belly. “And perhaps a girl, at the winter solstice.”
“You work openly for Ambrosius now?” Vivian asked. “How did you manage that and not have Vortigern descend upon you with his blade drawn?”
Lynette thought of the terrifying days she had spent in Cadfael’s house, waiting for his return from Deva. “Cadfael confronted Vortigern and told him what he knew about the deal Vortigern made with Hengist. One town and ten villages. In return for Cadfael’s silence, Vortigern released him from service. Cadfael let him believe he was returning to the land of his youth, to be a farmer. And he does farm. Sometimes.”
Vivian laughed.
“Your baby, Vivian…”
“Myrddin Emrys,” Vivian replied. “He grows like a weed. He is his father in every way, Lynette. Oh, if you could only see him. Only, even the Abbott’s tolerance would not extend to hosting a bastard. My coins extended his good will to me alone.”
“One of the brothers who writes to Cadfael about Vortigern’s movements mentioned you were expected, that you would be staying a while. A retreat, he called it.” Lynette raised her brow. “You were never committed to the Christian god. Has something changed?”
“I think I am the one who changed,” Vivian replied. “There is a comfort in praying for a world of peace for all men.” She hesitated. “My Sight has gone, Lynette. I have been blind since Myrddin was made.” Her smile was weak. “It is as if I was given the gift long enough to bring him into the world, then it was taken back.”
“The gods gave you the future, though. You know what is to happen—you have not forgotten what you told me?”
“I have forgotten nothing of what I was permitted to see,” Vivian said gently. “Including the role you and Cadfael will play. You have been put on that path already. Now, the wheel turns by itself, with no need for a guiding hand. The pieces are in place.”
“Pieces? You mean, Cadfael?”
“And Myrddin.”
“Your son? He is only a few years old. What could he possibly do?”
“You forget. The future I have seen stretches from this moment out to all possible moments to come. I have seen the death of kings, the rise and fall of kingdoms and the end of civilizations. I have walked upon shores that are not yet known to man.” Vivian’s gaze turned inward, not with the featureless other-driven stare that Lynette remembered, but because she was recalling the memory of visions, not the visions themselves.
Her voice, though, rang with the conviction of someone utterly sure of themselves.
“Myrddin will become one of the greatest men to walk this earth, in this time and all others,” Vivian said. “He is already known as the one born of no man. His Sight will see farther than mine ever did. He will not be a king. He can never be that. Instead, he will be a maker of kings. The most powerful king of this age will be his to command. He will teach, advise and shape Britain so that generations will know peace and prosperity.”
Lynette shivered, from more than the frigid wind blowing off the sea.
Vivian smiled. It was the smile of a mother. “The world will call him Merlin and say he is a powerful magician. I will go to my grave thinking of him only as my son and be proud of what I made.”
The sea roared next to them while Lynette absorbed the power of Vivian’s prophecy.
Then Vivian looked around her with a frown. “It is dreadfully cold out here. Let’s go inside and talk. I would like to get to know the man you saved. Come along.”
“The man who saved me,” Lynette corrected her, taking her arm.
“If you insist.”
DRAGON KIN
About Dragon Kin
Will she become the cursed king’s fifth dead wife?
In Lesser Britain, drought grips the land, forcing Arawn, King of Brocéliande, to take a fifth wife, hoping she will be the mother of his firstborn, whom the prophecy says will break the curse and save his people.
Ilsa, daughter of a wood cutter, is brought to Lorient to wed the cold, distant Arawn, terrified she will become the king’s next dead wife. There she learns about the true High King of Britain, Ambrosius, and his brother Uther, who build an army to take back Britain from the Saxons and Vortigern the Usurper.
Can Arawn find a way to save his people and the land that supports the future Pendragon? Will Ilsa break the curse?
This novel is part of the ancient historical romance series, Once and Future Hearts, set in Britain during the time of King Arthur.
1.0 Born of No Man
2.0 Dragon Kin
3.0 Pendragon Rises
4.0 War Duke of Britain
5.0 High King of Britain
6.0 Battle of Mount Badon
7.0 Abduction of Guenivere
8.0 Downfall of Cornwall
9.0 Vengeance of Arthur
10.0 Grace of Lancelot
11.0 The Grail and Glory
12.0 Camlann
Readers have described
Tracy Cooper-Posey as “a superb story teller” and her ancient historical romances as “written art”. Get your copy of Dragon Kin today!
Praise for Dragon Kin
I've read so many books about King Arthur, from Morte d'Arthur to scholarly theses on the true origin of King Arthur. This series is without a doubt the BEST!!!
Every book I read by Tracy Cooper-Posey is like an intricate puzzle piece. It’s beautiful and unique on its own, but when you study it from different angles you find out it’s just a piece of the bigger picture and this author gets the pieces to click into place in the most interesting and unpredictable ways.
I love that I learn new things from reading one of Cooper-Posey’s books while at the same time experience action, adventure and romance...and not that stupid love-at-first-sight-everything-works-out-the-way-we-want romance, either. She writes earthy, emotionally charged, realistic love stories.
ABSOLUTELY beautiful story! The characters are so well written, you feel like you are in the middle of their world, interacting with them on a personal level!
OMG. I love this story, it's a grand classic of historical romance. Oh how I'd love to see this as a movie.
Tracy just nailed it once again.
I loved this one so much! I spent the entire book telling myself to slow down and savor the tale and also not being able to put the book down.
What a great book! It’s not a short book, but reads like one. The dialogue moves the plot, the action moves the plot, even the narrative does not waste a single word. I read the book twice because I liked it so much.
This is a wonderful book! OMG, I didn’t want this one to end (3000 pages might’ve been enough). I haven’t stopped thinking about this book since i finished it last week-wondering what else might have gone on in their lives.
Any time my husband was trying to get my attention while reading this novel I told him, "I can't help it. I'm over a 1,000 years away falling in love with a king and making friends with the Lady of the Lake!"
This series puts Tracy Cooper Posey up there with the great Arthurian writers like Stewart and Bradley. Her vivid descriptions and historical snippets add so much to an already great story that I could not put it down.
What Am I To Do With Him?
The planning of Dragon Kin forced me to deal with a vexing story question.
Dragon Kin was always intended to be a glimpse of Merlin’s early years, when he met and got to know his father, Ambrosius, and his uncle, the mighty warrior Uther. In this respect, I went with Mary Stewart’s supposition that Ambrosius and his brother fled to Lesser Britain (modern day Brittany) to grow to adulthood and prepare to take back Britain from the self-absorbed Vortigern.
I was researching heavily the entire time I wrote the books and also in between the books. Even as I was preparing to write this book, I struggled with a quandary.
Should I have Lancelot in the series or not?
From the outset I determined to keep the series as factually accurate as possible, which included setting the stories in the fifth century C.E….but did that also mean I should exclude all the stories and characters which were introduced in the medieval period, when the Arthurian mythology resurged to new popularity?
Those stories and characters include Lancelot du Lac and his infamous love affair with Guenivere. If I was to remain faithful to the very few known facts of the fifth century, Lancelot would not be part of the tale.
In the end I decided that Lancelot should be included, because a retelling of King Arthur wouldn’t be complete without him. Even readers who have never read a single Arthurian rendition have heard of Lancelot.
However, I determined that as much as posssible, I needed to make Arthur’s greatest knight a man of the fifth century, which meant including a personal history and family ties…and making him a Celtic warrior, not a noble knight.
That was yet another problem, for Lancelot has a mixed heritage. Many of the details are conflicting--he’s from France; no, he’s from the Perilous Forest; no, he’s from Benoic (an ancient form of Benwick, which is in Britain); his mother was Elaine; he was raised by the Lady of the Lake; and so on.
My researched unearthed an interesting idea: The Perilous Forest of Arthurian legend might in fact be the forest of Brocéliande in Brittany, which is a real place and still exists—plug the name into Google Image search and see what a marvellously creepy and mysterious land it is.
It was one of those fortuitous coincidences which sometimes happens when planning and writing books. There have been so many over the years that I sometimes wonder if they are coincidences at all. This one I didn’t question. I grasped it and ran.
Even though Lancelot himself was not due to appear for a few books yet, I rolled up my sleeves and planned out how to account for all the conflicting details about Lancelot, which must be set up in this book, while introducing Merlin himself, and Uther…who would dominate the next few books.
Even though Merlin ran away from his family at a very young age and found himself in Lesser Britain with no less than the true High King of Britain, his family connections there were convoluted and complicated.
I echoed that complexity with the central romance. Ilsa appears to be a simple woodcutter’s daughter living on the edges of the great forest, but in the end, it’s not nearly that straighforward, as the King of Brocéliande, Arawn, swiftly learns…
Maps
Available at
https://tracycooperposey.com/once-and-future-hearts-series-maps/
Chapter One
Brocéliande, Lesser Britain (Brittany), 453 CE
If he was a less thoughtful man, Arawn might have assigned blame for the unwelcome outcome upon the day’s misadventures. Only, he did prefer to properly consider things. He could trace the makings of the disaster back more than twelve years. This day had been fated since he took his first wife—the gods bless Bethan’s resting soul.
He had married Bethan with good intentions and a pure heart. Everything he had done since then had been with the purpose of serving his people. Yet between intention and result, the gods had twisted things, over and over again. Perhaps his people were right. Perhaps he was, in truth, the cursed king they called him.
The day had started simply enough. Ambrosius had asked Arawn to take his younger brother, Uther, off his hands for a few days. Uther was a brilliant soldier although young and easily bored, especially with the life the poor kingdoms of Lesser Britain offered. Ambrosius and Uther lived within King Budic’s lands, which marched beside Arawn’s kingdom.
Arawn could offer no better quality distraction than Budic. All the kingdoms of Brittany were staggering through the third year of drought and facing the same deprivations. However, Brocéliande had the forest, which Budic’s coastal lands did not.
Ambrosius’ request coincided with Arawn’s expedition into the heart of the forest. As a favor to his closest friend, Arawn invited Uther to join him on his search for the mystical spring which might break the curse upon him.
Uther had laughed at the idea. “Magic and myth! Searching for a lake that has not dried out would be a more effective use of your time.”
“That is a search we make daily,” Arawn replied. “Just as Budic does and Guannes does. My people want to believe I am doing everything I can to help them. The spring might well be a myth, though I will not ignore the chance that splashing water from the spring upon the surrounding stones will bring rain. Come, or do not, Uther. Your company is welcome. I go in search of the spring, regardless.”
“Oh, I will come,” Uther said, his smile lingering. “I would see your enchanted forest for myself, at least.”
The party of twenty soldiers, officers, hunters and Arawn and Uther had set out shortly before dawn. Their breath blew foggy and the bits and harnesses of the horses jingling with crisp clinks in the still air. The horses pranced restlessly in the cold, for winter was on its way. Despite the departure of summer there had still been no rain and the ground beneath the horses’ hooves wa
s a baked, hard clay that rang with each step. No weeds or sweet grasses muffled the horses’ steps. All verdure had dried and blown away, weeks ago.
At the same time the big group set out, other carts and mules began their daily expedition for water. Each cart carried empty barrels and flat, dry water skins, ever hopeful of returning with a full and heavy load.
The metal-banded oak town gates shut behind them with a decisive thud. Arawn refused to consider the heavy boom a portent.
By sunrise they were among the shadows of oaks and firs, beeches and willows, pushing along the worn and dusty road to Paimpont. The riders stayed muffled beneath their cloaks and hoods for the chill had not yet lifted.
The hunter, Winoc, who had come to Arawn with the scrap of rumor about the location of the spring, led them off the road and along a winding north-east wood cutters’ track. Heavy vines and undergrowth thrust up higher than the shoulders of the horses and leaned in upon the track.
Then even the track petered from view and they pushed through unmarked forest. Heavy tree trunks reached up to the sky, each wearing thick green coats of moss, which clung to life despite the lack of rain. The dense canopies of the trees tangled and hid the sun from the riders. Leaves had not yet fallen, although they were changing color. In a week, perhaps less, there would be little but bare branches.
For now, though, the riders moved through deep shade, their horses making little sound on the soft soil. Usually ferns and grasses were a blanket across the earth. Now only leaf litter and twigs showed between spare tufts of hardy heather.
The day grew warmer as the still-strong sun rose, unseen by anyone. Men emerged from their cloaks and traded quips and wine skins, the last of the summer fruit and butter biscuits. Overhead, thrushes marked their passing with warbles and the occasional woodpecker knocked acknowledgment.
Once and Future Hearts Box One Page 15