Ilsa touched the tangle of knots and curls self-consciously. “I believe so, yes.”
“Perhaps you might consider using it each morning.” His gaze took in her soiled robe. “Stilicho will have your clothes taken to the fullers, too.”
After he had left and because there was nothing else to do, Ilsa dug the comb out of the bottom of the chest. Slowly and painstakingly she combed out the knots. She braided her hair and tied it with rags, for there were no thongs.
She stripped the grubby garments she had been wearing for too many days and selected new ones. Before she could bring herself to put them on, she washed.
Arawn made no comment about her appearance when he arrived at noon. Stilicho arrived shortly after Arawn had left. He collected her dirty garments without comment. They were returned a day later, clean and folded and smelling of lavender.
Arawn stayed longer in the evenings, even though Ilsa gave him no encouragement to do so. She rarely asked questions or spoke. Her silence did not seem to discourage him, either.
They would eat, for Ilsa had learned that refusing to eat gained her nothing. After, Arawn would lean back with a cup in his hands and tell her about his day, much as he had once done after supper in the triclinium.
Now, though, there was no immediate need for them to couple and his conversations extended, instead. He shared with her more than the news. It wasn’t until he told her about Uther’s campaign against Claudas, that Ilsa realized how much more of his thoughts and feelings Arawn was giving her.
The facts about Claudas were simple enough. Ilsa had been there when Ambrosius ordered Uther to take his men to Claudas’ kingdom and teach the man a lesson in humility which would discourage him from further invasion attempts.
The campaign had been viciously successful. Uther called it a good warning, while others said Uther and his men had laid waste to Claudas’ kingdom. The destruction they delivered, using fire and force and salt to sterilize the soil itself, would keep the kingdom destitute for a generation.
“Uther didn’t kill Claudas, which is a minor miracle, they say,” Arawn added.
“Ambrosius told him not to,” Ilsa said.
Arawn raised his brow. “Did he? Uther has shown more control than I realized. The message he sent was brutal and even though I am appalled at the degree, there is a part of me which agrees with the necessity. Nothing would have stopped Claudas from harassing our western borders until he got what he wanted, except for this. Now he will not have the resources to mount more campaigns for many harvests to come. If he fears retribution of this scale, he may lose his taste for conquest altogether.”
“Would it not have been easier to kill Claudas, instead of making his people suffer this way?” Ilsa asked.
“Claudas’ sons will have learned at their father’s knee. Remove Claudas and they would take his place and carry on his plundering ways. No, Ambrosius was right. This was the only way.” Arawn frowned. “If Claudas has any care for his people at all, he will learn from this.”
Uther’s campaign was so thorough everyone in the three western kingdoms called Claudas’ kingdom “The Land Laid Waste.”
“It gives Bors and Ban peace for a time,” Arawn told her, on another occasion. “They can settle the land, instead of waging war. They can raise families.” He smiled. “Ban has written to me. He wants to discuss a secondary liaison of our kingdoms and families.”
“Elaine…!” Ilsa breathed, delight touching her. “Will you consider it?”
“He is not a king,” Arawn said slowly. “Through Evaine, we already have a formal alliance with Guannes.”
“Ban is the son of a great king and a large kingdom,” Ilsa pressed.
“The second son,” Arawn replied.
“The first is already a king. If Ambrosius wins back Britain, Benoic will be in need of a king once more,” Ilsa pointed out.
Arawn raised his brow. His eyes widened. “A good point. I will think on it.”
Ilsa realized with surprise that Arawn had not thought of the future in that way, until now, when she had said it.
Some days later, Arawn shared the outcome. “I have told Ban to petition Ambrosius. If Ambrosius promises Benoic will be Ban’s when Britain is returned to us, I will agree to the marriage.”
Ilsa wished she could see Elaine’s face when Arawn shared the news with her. She would not learn what Elaine’s reaction had been for many more days, though, for the next morning it was established beyond doubt she was with child.
Chapter Nineteen
Arawn arrived with breakfast the same as usual, stirring Ilsa from her slumber and forcing her to rise and face another day in the stifling confines of the chamber. She shifted to the side of the bed and reached for her robe.
The room tilted and swung around her. Ilsa clutched at the bed and moaned. Her throat worked and copper-tasting spit filled her mouth. Her belly lurched.
There was no time to do more than lean forward to clear her feet. The contents of her stomach belched upon the rug Arawn had put there and she continued to heave afterwards, her throat straining.
Before she was finished, hands lifted her hair out of the way and soothed her back.
Ilsa sat back and wiped her mouth with a shaking hand. Stilicho stood beside her, wrinkling his nose with disgust while keeping her hair out of the way. Arawn gripped his chin with one big hand. His expression was a wild mix of emotions—hope, pleasure and panic.
“Get rid of the mess,” Arawn told Stilicho. He moved to the bed and helped Ilsa to her feet and moved her to the chair, in front of the breakfast bowls.
She moaned. “No, I’ll be sick again.”
“Food will help,” Arawn told her. “Trust me. Not the fish, though. Here.” He handed her a piece of still-warm bread. “Dip it in the oil. Go on.”
Behind them, Stilicho was moaning and rolling up the spoiled rug. Then, with more muttering, he left, holding the offending rug out in front of him.
Even though it was the last thing she wanted to do, Ilsa took a bite of the bread.
Arawn sat in the other chair, his hands gripped together. “There are no women here to ask you, so I must. Besides,” he added, his mouth turning down, “I know the signs well enough. Do your breasts hurt to touch them? Are they swollen?”
Ilsa lowered the bread, looking at him. She had not noticed until this moment, although now she realized they were heavier. She put her hand to her belly, as if she might feel the child there already.
Arawn nodded. “Yes, you are with child,” he said, as if she had spoken. He threw himself to his feet and walked in a tight circle, then dropped in front of her and looked up at her face. “We must be more careful now than ever before,” he said, his voice low. Then, shockingly, he reached out and tucked her hair back behind her shoulder and cupped her jaw. “I will have no harm come to you,” he whispered.
Abruptly, tears she had not known were building spilled down her cheeks.
Arawn frowned and brushed them away. “I know you’re frightened—”
She shook her head. “No, I’m not.”
“You’re not?” Surprise colored his voice and lifted his brows. “Then, why do you cry?”
“It’s just…” She dashed away more tears as they fell. “I cannot stand staying in this room another day, let alone the time it takes to carry a child! I’m going mad, Arawn! I want to see trees! I want to breathe the air outside and listen to the birds and…and I want to bathe. I want…” She dropped the bread back on the tray and covered her face. “I want to be out in the world, not here,” she said into her hands.
Arawn rose. The swiftness of his movement made Ilsa drop her hands and look up at him. He stared at her, his face working. She could see anger in his eyes. Fear, too. Something else burned there she could not fathom, though.
Silently, he turned and left.
The door was barred behind him.
Ilsa put her head in her hands once more and wept.
Arawn did not return at midday as
usual, although Ilsa did not go hungry, for all the food from breakfast was still there. She had no appetite for it, although she forced herself to eat the bread. It did settle her stomach.
The nausea did not linger into the afternoon. Ilsa remembered women of the village sitting with their heads together discussing such matters, which she had disdained in favor of hunting—much to their combined disgust.
Now she strained to remember everything she had ever heard. The sickness which accompanied pregnancy most often came only in the morning—she remembered that much. Her knowledge was all too sketchy, otherwise. It was sobering to realize that Arawn knew more about such womanly matters than she.
Her ignorance sat like a hot stone in the middle of her chest. Not knowing what was to come, now she was with child, left space for fear to grow.
As the sun was setting, sending bright square beams across the room through the high window, Arawn arrived.
Stilicho was not behind him, nor were the slaves.
“I see you have washed and changed. Good. Pick up your cloak, Ilsa.”
Ilsa’s heart lurched. “Cloak?”
“Do you want to leave this room, or not?” Arawn growled.
She sucked in a quick, startled breath and pawed through the chest. The heavy cloak was at the bottom and she pulled it out without regard for the other folded items. She was leaving the room!
Arawn stood at the open door and she moved toward it, her pace slowing. “You really mean it?”
Arawn moved through the door and stood on the other side, looking at her. “Notice there are no guards,” he added.
Her heart running harder than it should, Ilsa put on her cloak and stepped through the door. She drew in another trembling breath, looking around her. The wide corridor was empty. The door to Arawn’s antechamber stood open and she could see the big desk, with its piles of wax slates, books and letters. The room was empty of people. Whenever she had seen the antechamber in the past, there had always been dozens of officers and officials standing about, waiting to speak to Arawn.
The other end of the corridor opened onto the king’s hall. No guards were stationed there, either.
“Come along, then,” Arawn said, turning and walking toward the end of the corridor.
Her heart beat madly as Ilsa followed him down the corridor. Her legs felt stiff and uncooperative. She had not used them for extended exercise in days.
They moved out into the great hall and Ilsa stopped to sniff the fresh air and breathe deeply. It was November. The air was crisp and the wind from the sea carried the smell of salt and weed and sand.
The big fire-pit at the front of the hall crackled. Just beyond the fire was a row of guards. As Ilsa spotted them, they turned aside a slave, pointing the slave toward the eastern wing of the house and shaking their heads when the slave protested.
Arawn moved up alongside her. “I cannot let you go out among the trees. I will not risk you slipping and falling in the bath house. This is the best I can do, Ilsa. This is more than I should do. Here, though, you can breathe fresh air and feel the wind in your face.”
He caught her arm and drew her toward the back of the hall, where the big chair sat which Arawn used for public hearings. In front of the chair was laid a rug, more pillows and trays with food. She had not noticed them until now.
“We can eat our supper while you watch the sun go down,” Arawn told her. He sat on the rug as she once had, folding his legs in front of him. “Will this help?”
“Yes,” Ilsa said, her voice strained. “It will help.” She realized her cheeks were wet once more. She wiped them. “I keep doing this,” she whispered and sat on the rug beside the meal.
“It is the babe who does that to you,” Arawn said, pouring two cups of wine from the flask. He put one in front of her.
“It is?” Ilsa frowned and reached for the olives. She normally did not like olives—they were too salty for her taste. Now her mouth watered at the prospect of eating one. “There is much I have to learn about matters which most women take for granted. I am an ignorant fool, Arawn. Only now am I discovering how little I know of the world. How Stilicho must laugh at me.”
Arawn’s expression was startled. He sat with his mug half-raised, as if he had been struck by a great thought. Then he finished lifting the mug to his mouth and drank. “Then we are both fools, are we not?” he asked. “I only know what I have experienced for myself, too.” Then he shook his head, dismissing the notion and told her about his day, instead.
At the end of the meal, Ilsa lifted her chin, closed her eyes and breathed in the cold air. She warded off her disappointment that the meal was over and her time outside at an end. Instead, she got to her feet and moved to where Arawn waited at the entrance to the king’s quarters.
“We can do this again tomorrow,” Arawn said, as if he guessed her thoughts.
“Can we?” She did not bother to hide her pleasure at the idea.
“Until it is too cold to bear being outside at all,” Arawn told her. “It is not pleasant out here when the ground is iron hard and white with frost, no matter how high the fire.”
“I suppose we should stay inside then,” Ilsa admitted, although she had never limited herself to staying inside before, regardless of the weather.
Arawn smiled, as if he could hear her thoughts. He moved down the corridor toward the pair of doors facing each other.
Ilsa followed with slow steps and moved into the chamber she now hated with a passion.
“Where are you going?” Arawn asked, behind her.
Ilsa turned. “Where should I be going?” she asked, for he stood between the two rooms, still.
“In here,” Arawn said, moving into the antechamber.
Ilsa’s heart gave another unsteady flutter. She crossed the corridor and stepped into the big, airy antechamber and looked about. “Here? What is here?” she asked. “Apart from a great many objects which might suddenly spring to life and try to harm me,” she added.
Arawn shook his head. “If I am here, then I can keep you safe even from objects which spring to life.”
“I don’t understand.”
Arawn crossed his arms and even though the pose was casual, she could see his fingers digging into his arms. “I cannot spend my days tending you and ensuring you eat. Neither will I leave you free to wander the land where unhappy accidents lie in wait for you. Also…” he drew in a breath. “I grow tired of having to explain my days to you in every detail. It occurred to me it would be much easier if you learned of the developments for yourself.”
“You want me to stay here? During the day?”
“In there,” Arawn said, lifting a finger to point toward the inner bedchamber. The curtain over the archway was pulled aside. “I can conduct my business here as usual, and you would be privy to everything which happens here. The curtain can hide you from view if you wish it and no one, not even Stilicho, will be allowed to step through the archway. I can better protect you here than I can by locking you in your own room.”
Ilsa realized she had crossed her own arms, matching him. She was gripping her elbows just as tightly. She looked around the room. It was large, yes, although it was not a forest. How soon would she tire even of this room and its distractions, and the talk of men to listen to and analyze?
Arawn turned and moved toward the desk, with its piles of slates and books. “I have been thinking about what you said, about ignorance and how it hampers one. I don’t think I had considered it in that light before.” He picked up a slate and sat on the edge of the desk. “You and I should learn to read and write. Stilicho can teach us.”
Ilsa drew in another shuddering breath. “Read?”
Arawn hefted the tablet, then rested his hand lightly on the rolls of books. “Then we can learn for ourselves, without having to experience painful lessons or rely on other people to provide the knowledge.”
“Women don’t read.”
“They don’t hunt, either, yet you do.” Arawn lifted a brow.
“At the very least, learning your letters would give you something to do until the babe is born.”
“Something inside and safe,” she shot back.
Arawn’s smile was small, tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It is the only way I can think of to contain you. You are a wild wind of a different sort, Ilsa.”
Ilsa moved over to the desk and studied the channels and lines in the wax on the top slate. It meant nothing to her, yet knowledge was held within the lines. Knowledge she could not access.
“Yes,” she breathed. “I want to learn to read.” She turned and threw her arms around Arawn’s neck. “Yes, yes, yes,” she breathed against his neck.
His arms came around her and held her and she realized she was crying yet again. She laughed and wiped her face. “I know. It’s the child I carry,” she assured him.
Arawn’s smile was small. “Not this time, I suspect.”
As only the small chest of Ilsa’s garments needed transferring to Arawn’s bed chamber, the move took place that night. Once she was settled in the bed chamber, Arawn allowed the antechamber to be opened to the usual business affairs.
The guards took up their normal positions in the corridor and at the end where the quarters began.
Few people called at that time of night. Ilsa contented herself with sitting upon the bench on the other side of the screen from the big bed and listening to the two visitors discuss patrols on the northern borders of the kingdom and the dispersal of the water-making equipment and seawater for villagers to boil down into fresh water.
She smiled to herself when one officer reported that Brandérion had set up their equipment and had successfully produced a barrel of fresh water.
“I think they got drunk upon it,” the officer said ruefully. “I’ve never seen such celebration over the tapping of a wine barrel.”
“To do something for oneself and not depend upon others, can often generate wild reactions,” Arawn said blandly. Isla wondered if he was thinking of her.
Once and Future Hearts Box One Page 34