She did not doubt Arawn was telling the truth about a king’s priorities. She had seen Arawn’s own concern for his people override his need for sleep, or to take time to care for himself, or for enjoyment. In these hard times, he worked himself to exhaustion.
Budic and Bors and even Ambrosius did the same for their people. Ambrosius had spent his life preparing for a quest which still laid in the future. Budic would be no different. No one said he was a bad king. They spoke of his ruthlessness, but not with disapproval. It took a hard king to control people and care for them in times like these.
Just as every child had, Ilsa had grown up hearing stories about the peace and prosperity in Britain when the Romans ruled. There had been no wars. The roads were safe for any citizen to use. A woman could ride alone and be sure of reaching her destination.
Crops were bountiful and husbands could stay at home to harvest them, instead of tending to battles.
Because bellies were full and grain stores stuffed, because everyone had shelter and clothing, desperate thieves and robbers did not waylay anyone caught outside their town walls. There were no lone Saxons cut off from their army to kill anyone they came across for fear of being found deep in British territories.
People had time to make music and tell stories. Women could spin and weave cloth which had no other purpose than to look pretty. Craftsmen in their leisure could make jewelry and art. Even their everyday objects were adorned with flourishes and decorations that today’s artisans could not spend the time or resources to add.
Indeed, the water urn used to bring up water from the village well in Brandérion had been a relic from that great age. Ilsa had fingered the urn many times, tracing the wet shapes of grapes and vines and flourishes, before lowering it back down to the water. It had been fascinating, that urn. It hinted at a different life.
Peace. It was the thing every man, woman and child dreamed of and every king worked to achieve. Yet no lands known to man had enjoyed peace for decades—not since the Romans abandoned Britain so the emperor could defend his eastern borders.
Now, even Rome itself was under siege.
These were facts everyone knew. These were the facts which drove Arawn to extraordinary lengths to find solutions to the problems that beset his kingdom. They made him choose to serve his people before he considered anything for himself. He had taken as a fifth wife the first woman of child-bearing age he’d come across only for that reason.
Yet tonight he sought Ilsa out at the first possible moment to ensure she did not feel slighted by Budic’s failure to acknowledge her.
Did it mean Arawn considered Ilsa to be merely another of his subjects to take care of? Or had he put aside his responsibilities and indulged in a personal priority?
Chapter Fifteen
Guannes was a new kingdom, carved from the southern and eastern edges of Budic’s Morbihan. Budic had gifted the land to his kinsman, Bors, when Bors and Ban had lost their father and Budic’s uncle, the king of Benoic, to the Saxon menace. Like Ambrosius and Uther before them, Bors and Ban had fled Greater Britain and found shelter in Brittany.
Unlike Ambrosius, though, Ban had no claim left in Britain. Instead, when he had come of age, Budic had formed Guannes for Bors to rule. The gift, Arawn explained to Ilsa, was not as selfless as it appeared. Budic had lost some land, yes. In return he gained a bulwark against invaders along his south-eastern borders, for Bors defended his new lands with greater eagerness than Budic.
Over the years, as Rome’s hold over its western lands crumbled, trouble from Gaul had increased. Ambitious kings and emperors to the east sought greater territories, perhaps dreaming of establishing their own new Rome.
Guannes was a small kingdom, as poor and embattled as any other in Brittany. The welcome the people gave Arawn and his party, though, and especially Evaine, Bors’ new bride, was warm and thorough. The wedding and the wedding feast were held the day after their arrival. The delay gave the travelers time to rest and recover from their journey before shaking out their wedding finery and attending the new church to witness the wedding.
Evaine wore red, the Roman color for brides, which enhanced her dark features. Bors, only a few years older than Elaine, yet far older in demeanor and temperament, had trouble looking away from his new bride as the priest spoke his bad Latin over them. Bors and his younger brother Ban were of the same Roman stock as Ambrosius and Budic. They had black, curly hair and thin cheeks and were tall and rangy. They wore closely cropped beards which outlined their jaw and mouth. Both, despite their youth, carried themselves like seasoned soldiers. Ban even had a fine white scar running through his beard, by the corner of his jaw. Their swords were worn and gleamed from use, not from burnishing.
The men assembled in the church behind Bors were not courtiers but soldiers, ill at ease with the finery and pomp of the circumstances. They kept one hand on or near the hilt of their swords not because they were threatened, but out of habit. Most of them did not understand the mass and grew restless before the end.
At the wedding feast, most of the talk was about the increasing unrest at the borders of Guannes. Claudas, a Gaulish king of relentless disposition, seemed determined to cut a swathe from his inland kingdom to the sea.
Bors and Ban had only recently returned from the eastern border where they had repelled Claudas’ latest attempt to claim lands which belonged to Bors.
Ban was bitter about the fighting. He sat farther along the simple table which held the bridal party, a cup in his hand. “He has more than enough of his own. What drives a man to take more than he can hold? How do his people fare while he is off, claiming ever more? Even the emperors stay in Rome and take care of their citizens.”
Uther’s eyes narrowed. “Claudas is here? Fighting with his men?”
“Indeed,” Bors said, his deep voice rumbling. “I saw the bastard for myself. A mountain of a man, with an eastern style helmet. He laughed as he swung his hammer.”
Uther’s gaze met Ambrosius’.
Bors remembered where he was and grasped for Evaine’s hand. “Never fear,” he told her. “We contained the man just inside the borders and sent him running. You are quite safe here.”
Evaine held her veil aside as she glanced around the central hall of Bors’ house. It was as simple as the table they sat at, with an absence of decorations or creature comforts. It was, Ilsa concluded, looking about the room herself, a workroom for men concerned about little beyond war.
“I can tell this is a secure home,” Evaine said, her tone approving, with not a hint of dismay at the rough-and-ready appointments.
Bors’ smile was heated and his eyes—which were pale blue and a faint echo of Uther’s and Budic’s sky-painted eyes—roamed over Evaine’s lovely face.
Once the meal was done and toasts made, Ilsa and the other women escorted Evaine to the king’s bedchamber, to prepare her for the night. Evaine was silent and introspective.
Ilsa touched Evaine’s shoulder. “There is nothing to be frightened about. Bors is a good man. He will be gentle.”
Evaine shook her head, frowning, as the women removed her clothes. “I was thinking only that this place needs someone like you, Ilsa.”
“Me?”
“You change things. You make things happen. Look at the way we traveled here. I would never have thought of it. Yet it worked and none of the men were upset about it.”
Ilsa bit her lip. “That was only…well, we had to do something and Arawn was too busy to worry about it.”
“Yes,” Evaine said. “That is what I mean.”
“If you had been presented with the problem, you would have thought of a different way. Maybe a better way. You are clever and inventive, Evaine. Look at the pattern you designed for Elaine’s gown.”
The pattern in question was a border design which Evaine had shown the women how to weave into the cloth itself. The resulting effect of the little squares arranged in staggered rows was intriguing and Elaine had begged Evaine for the yardage. I
n turn, Elaine had given to Ilsa the green gown that Ilsa now wore.
“Oh, that is just weaving,” Evaine said. “I want to do what you did, here in Guannes. I want to change things.”
“You will,” Ilsa assured her, her heart running quickly. “Now you are Guannes’ queen, you will make changes without realizing it. You will make Bors happy, Evaine and I wish you the best.”
“Thank you, Ilsa.”
They left Evaine in the big bed, which was so new the posts still emitted stringent pine aroma, and returned to the hall.
There were few men left sitting at the head table, although Bors and Arawn had their heads together, talking softly.
“Where is Elaine?” Ilsa asked Arawn. As a maiden, Elaine had remained at the table. Now her place on the bench was empty.
Arawn looked around, frowning. “Perhaps she stepped out?” He wore a frown which told Ilsa his thoughts were a long way from this hall.
“I will find her,” she told him and turned away. Arawn returned to his conversation with Bors. There were similar close conversations happening throughout the hall. It was unusual for the heads of so many kingdoms and forces to be in the same place at once. They were taking advantage of the rare moment to speak to each other and shore up alliances and understandings, develop friendships and bind their lands to each other.
Ilsa could see Ambrosius and Budic talking at one of the smaller, empty tables on the other side of the room.
She looked around the far edges of the room for a small woman with a sharp chin and bright eyes, in a blue gown. Among so many roughly dressed soldiers, Elaine should stand out.
When Ilsa did spot her, she realized why she had not seen her at first. Elaine stood tucked into a corner between the wall and one of the large braziers which warmed the corners of the room.
Uther stood in front of her. Rather, he stood over her. Uther was just as tall as his brother and an imposing figure in his dark blue cloak and copper armbands. The flames beside him made his red hair gleam. He rested a splayed hand against the wall near Elaine’s head.
Elaine shrank back into the even more enclosed space behind her. She was in danger of her hair or veil catching the flames, for they licked between the wide iron sides of the brazier beside her.
Ilsa picked up her trailing hems and hurried to intervene. Only, now she wanted to hurry the excessive yardage in the woolen overdress caught at the feet of the stools and odd projections. It snagged on men’s armor and shoulders and the corners of tables.
Soldiers were in the way, forcing her to step around them, or push until she could squeeze past.
Her veil caught and tore, forcing her to turn back and release the edge from the splinter it had hooked upon.
Ilsa gathered up her hems and shoved at the men in front of her, her patience thinned to the point of frustration.
The man barely moved. He shifted just enough for her to step around him and prop herself upon the table to avoid colliding with him. Then she was through and she hurried to the brazier.
Elaine saw her and relief wrote itself on the young girl’s face.
Ilsa did not know how she might push Uther away from her. He was a soldier, a man and far stronger than her. Elaine’s relief pushed Ilsa forward, anyway. She reached out for Uther’s elbow. Before she could touch him another, far larger, hand gripped Uther’s arm and yanked him around.
At the same time, Ban reached between Uther and the brazier and plucked Elaine out of her dangerous corner. Ban pulled her against him and spun, shielding her from the flames and from Uther.
Ambrosius slammed Uther up against the wall and pressed his forearm against Uther’s chest, high under his chin yet not quite against his neck. “Fool!” Ambrosius raged quietly, so no one would hear except Ilsa, who stood beside them. “Will you never learn to contain your base nature, brother? She is royalty—the daughter of a king and sister to our ally and kin.”
Uther scowled. “It was a moment of distraction, brother,” he ground out. “I am not stupid.”
“No, you’re bored…like a child with no toys,” Ambrosius snapped. “It seems I must entertain you still.” He glanced at Ilsa as if he had known she stood there all along. “Is Elaine unharmed?”
Ilsa glanced to where Ban had placed Elaine on an empty bench and stood over her, pressing a wine cup into her hands. “She is,” Ilsa told Ambrosius.
Ambrosius let go of Uther, although he did not step away from him.
Uther straightened his cloak and pulled his tunic back into place. He seemed unrepentant.
“Bors has pleaded for my aid to deal with Claudas,” Ambrosius told Uther. “I cannot spare the time to deal with fractious men. I will send you, instead.”
“Send?” Uther said, his interest caught.
“Bors seeks only to repel Claudas from his borders. I think more is needed. I think Claudas needs to understand the sensation of being invaded. Take your men and go to the heart of his kingdom and give him reason to reconsider next time he wishes for new adventures.”
“I can do that,” Uther said, eagerness shining in his eyes.
Ambrosius held up his finger. “Discourage him, Uther. Do not kill him. We do not need a second war on our flank just when we are about to engage in our own. Hear me?”
Uther scowled. “Dented, not dead. I have it.”
Ambrosius measured him with his gaze, then he nodded. “You can remain behind here in Campbon and help Bors. I will send your men to you when I return to Carnac.”
Uther’s scowl deepened and Ilsa guessed why. Elaine would return with Ambrosius and Arawn, taking her out of Uther’s reach.
Ambrosius turned away from Uther and gave Ilsa a stiff smile. “Come, kinswoman. Let us share a cup of wine and talk of gentler matters.”
Startled, Ilsa followed him back to the head table. Bors had left, most likely to attend his new wife in the bedchamber. Arawn had gone, too. Merlin, though, got to his feet as Ambrosius approached. “My lord…?”
Ambrosius waved at him to sit down again. He called over a pot boy, who filled three of the cups Ambrosius swept together. Ambrosius pushed one in front of Merlin and another toward Ilsa, then sat and drank from the third. He sighed as he put the cup down. “I apologize for my brother, Ilsa. He is young still and although he is a tempered soldier, he is still raw in other aspects.”
Ilsa gripped her cup. “I believe he spoke truly when he said he was distracting himself. I don’t believe Elaine was in danger.”
Ambrosius scowled. “She did not know that, though. Which is why I apologize.”
“I will pass your regrets on to her.”
“Thank you.”
Merlin’s gaze was steady as he peered into the flame of the lamp sitting in the middle of the table, his grip loose about the cup in front of him. “Elaine will not regret the outcome of this night.” His voice was even and distant.
Something prickled the back of Ilsa’s neck, the invisible fingers sliding up to the top of her head. She shuddered. “Why would she not regret it?”
Ambrosius laid his hand on her arm and squeezed. He shook his head.
Ilsa swallowed.
“Tell me,” Ambrosius murmured to Merlin. “What do you see in the flame?”
Merlin didn’t react. It was as if no one was there in the room with him, even though the table was surrounded by men with voices made loud by wine and good food, the crackle of braziers and the clatter of mugs on tables. His black eyes were on the dancing flame of the lamp.
“No one will regret this night,” Merlin said, “except Ilsa the Hunter.”
The fingers danced on her skin once more. Ilsa tightened her grip on her cup. Even if Ambrosius had not warned her, she still would not have been able to speak. She wanted to shake the boy, to make him look at her and explain himself.
“Why will she regret the night?” Ambrosius pressed.
“All brides of the Cursed King regret the night,” Merlin breathed. “The death of the first child will forever damn him.”
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Ilsa shuddered. The cup rocked and spilled its contents in a flood of wine that in the flame of the lamp looked as red as blood.
When Arawn came to her that night in the tiny chamber which had been given to them, Ilsa wanted to speak of Merlin’s prediction and vent her horror and fear upon him. There was no table and no mulled wine to ease them into their duties. Arawn did not speak at all. It was a soulless coupling which left her even more fearful.
It was almost a relief to rise before dawn and dress once more for travel.
Ambrosius turned aside at Vennes to travel to Carnac with his small company of guards. Ambrosius’ reputation and the efficiency of his army had made the interior of Morbihan safer than most lands, although it still wasn’t wise to travel in small parties.
The remainder of the company used the safe-for-now Via Strata which ran north from Budic’s Vennes and through the Perilous Forest. The road skirted the enchanted heart of the place where the Lady’s power was strongest.
Because the road was in good repair, they made excellent time and Nimue parted from them with her two escorts only a day later.
By the time they reached Lorient, Ilsa and the women were more than ready to return to their chambers and workrooms and not ride another horse for a good, long while. Traveling by horseback had consequences none of them had anticipated, giving them aches and pains which lingered for days afterwards.
Yet the journey was completed in record time and Arawn seemed pleased with their speed, although he said nothing to Ilsa.
The tide was high when they reached the pontoon to cross the Blavet. The river lapped at the very top of the dock and the smell of brine was strong.
“The sea comes up this high?” Ilsa asked, startled.
“Higher, sometimes,” Elaine said, for she had remained close by Ilsa’s side throughout the journey and remained as silent as her brother, her thoughts turned inward. “The river has broken its banks more than once, when the tide is high enough.”
Once and Future Hearts Box One Page 31