by Lisa Cach
“I don’t believe Fenwig,” he said.
I sniffled and wiped my nose with the back of my hand. “I’ve never known him to lie.”
“He may be telling the truth as he knows it. But Clovis? You can’t trust any offer he makes. He’s telling you what you want to hear, which is never exactly what he ends up giving you.”
“I know,” I said, gurgling, not sounding like I did know.
Terix scowled. “He knows how to control you, Nimia. He knows what you want, and he dangles it before you. He’ll never give it to you, though, not for any longer than it takes to get what he wants.”
“I know. I know! But it hurts to think of saying no to a chance to be with Theo. How could I live with myself?”
“Then don’t say no.”
“Go back to Clovis?” I gaped at him. It was the last thing I would ever expect to hear from Terix.
“Not right now. Later, after you’ve learned all you can from Maerlin about the Phanne and about your mother, you can go back if you still want to. You don’t have to say no, Nimia. You can say ‘not yet.’ ”
“You think I’ll change my mind about returning.”
“Whether you do or don’t, Theo will be better off with a mother who is more than the puppet of his father. What would Basina tell you to do?”
Clovis’s terrifying, murdering mother was not a good example of maternal perfection, yet I did admire her strength. And her harsh honesty, even about her beloved son. I set my jaw. “She’d tell me to hone my powers so I could return and take my child, whether Clovis liked it or not.”
“Well?”
I tried to think logically about it, tried to step back from the raw wound that had opened up when Fenwig told me of the offer to be with my son. Then I thought of Maerlin’s secretive smile and his reaction when he’d heard my mother’s name. There was so much yet to learn. “Maybe I can live with ‘not yet.’ ” At least it felt better than jumping to Clovis’s bait, hook be damned, and abandoning my quest.
I put my arms around Terix’s waist and leaned my forehead against his chest. “When did you get so wise?”
He stroked my hair, and I felt his lips on the top of my head. “I know you, is all. As I always have, better than anyone.”
In this moment, I wished I could feel sexual attraction to him—his body was strong and pleasing, and gods knew I had enjoyed the one time we’d lain together—but wishing would not make it so. That close familiarity we shared was too close. He was such a part of me that I could feel no tension of male-to-female, of the unknown, of excitement over what he might be feeling about me or I for him. I craved strength in a man, beyond the physical. Confidence. Power. Command. That was what set my blood to pumping. I wasn’t willing to let go of the thrill of being taken by such a man in exchange for the sweet, unchallenging comfort of Terix’s arms.
And I regretted it.
We drew apart and continued our wandering of the town, poking our noses into ruins. We came to the baths, which still had some walls, and went inside to explore.
One pool held water, fed by the rain and the runoff from the portions of roof that sloped toward the pool. We came to the edge and looked down and saw a long, pale shape swimming through the murky green depths. I clutched Terix’s arm, a chill running up my back.
“What in Hades’s name is that?”
“Gods know,” Terix said, gaping with me.
The shape bent in upon itself, then uncoiled and shot to the surface, breaking through the scattered dead leaves floating there and sending a wave sloshing against the pool’s side. I screeched, and Terix jumped back.
A hideous, contorted face with a gaping mouth rushed toward us, and even as the scream was forming in my throat, I realized it was just a stone carving, held by a man whose hands were wrapped around the edges of the face.
He saw us, smiled, and kicked to the side of the pool, where he set the limestone face on the flagstones at our feet. “I’m not sure that was worth retrieving,” he said in Latin.
I looked from the algae-stained stone face to the clean-shaven, strong-jawed one still smiling at us, his warm sky-blue eyes set off by black lashes. His arms were folded casually on the lip of the pool, his chin resting on the backs of his hands. I suddenly felt self-conscious, aware of the stains on my gown and that a good third of my hair had slipped out of its braid. “I suppose it depends what you want it for,” I said.
“Oh, it’s not for me. It’s a gift.”
“Then I think you’d be best served by putting it back where it came from.”
He laughed and pulled himself out of the pool. Terix and I stepped back as his broad shoulders and sculpted torso rose from the water. He had a dusting of black hair on his chest, tapering to a single line down his belly to . . . He turned at the last moment to sit, his sleek back to us. The old scars of battle wounds formed white and pink slashes across his body. I reached down to pluck a leaf from his skin, acting before I could think.
He looked at me over his shoulder, eyebrow cocked. I held up the leaf in mute explanation, embarrassed that I couldn’t keep my hands to myself. Terix muttered something resignedly under his breath.
“If you’ll excuse me,” the man said, nodding toward a pile of clothes at the other end of the pool.
I crossed my arms over my waist and turned away to give him some privacy, feeling graceless and tongue-tied. I heard the small splash of his feet coming out of the water and wondered what his buttocks looked like. Tight, with muscled indentations on the sides, I was sure.
“All is safe for maiden eyes,” he said.
I turned back around. It was on the tip of my tongue to say my eyes were far from maiden, but I was afraid he’d take it wrong. Or take it right, for that matter. Which wasn’t particularly a fear, but I didn’t want him to think me eager for his bed.
Even if I was.
No, no, no! I was not going to let a handsome man distract me from my goals.
His crucial bits were covered now, alas, although I did get one more glimpse of his chest as he pulled a dark blue and green tunic over his head. His clothes were an unusual mix of Brittonic and Roman; the tunic was Roman in cut, but the cloth was a sedate plaid. He wore long breeches, but instead of leather strips around his calves, he pulled on finely made Roman-style leather shoes that laced up the front. The belt he strapped around his trim hips was also Roman. Odd though the clothes appeared at first glance, they suited him well, emphasizing the V shape of hips and shoulders, the dark colors contrasting dramatically with his light skin.
I caught Terix glaring at me, hands on his hips, his brows lowered and his lips flat. He knew what was going through my head.
I held up my hands, to say I wasn’t going to touch the man.
Terix’s squint said he didn’t believe me.
I pursed my mouth into a no, but then my gaze slid back to the man, unable to resist.
Terix rolled his eyes.
Fully clothed now, the man returned to us. He was taller than Terix and moved with a graceful confidence that had nothing to prove. “You’re Nimia and Terix, yes? Maerlin pointed you out to me. I’m his brother, Arthur.”
“The bear,” I said on an outward breath. Excitement mixed with worry and dismay. Excitement to see who the bear was, worry for what lay in his future, dismay because he was here to seek Wynnetha as a wife. That meant I had to keep my hands off.
Which I would have done anyway, of course.
Liar.
He grinned. “Better the bear than the badger, or the hedgehog, I’ve always thought, even though bears have a powerful stench.” He sniffed his arm and made a face. “Swimming in that swamp didn’t help.”
I giggled and heard Terix chuckle. I could feel him relaxing. He, too, liked this man. It was impossible not to.
I nudged the carved stone face with my toe. “Is it a gift for Wynnetha?”
&nb
sp; “I don’t think rubble from her own village would make a welcome gift, do you? It’s for my great-uncle, Ambrosius Aurelianus. He collects what he can of Roman works.” He squatted down and wiped some of the green from the crevices of the ugly face. “Though I think some things are better left in the past. Still, I suffered through that muck to get it,” he said, tilting his head at the pool, “so old Ambrosius is going to have to pretend to like it.” He hoisted the stone onto his shoulder and stood. He tilted his head toward the entrance, and we went out together and started walking back to the great hall.
“How did Fenwig come to be in your and Maerlin’s company?” I asked. “And how did they know I would be here?”
“He’s a good soldier, is Fenwig. I quite like the man.”
I nodded. Though Fenwig kept to himself, I had no bad words to say about him. It was not his fault that I had nearly died while under his protection.
“How did he come to you?” Terix pressed.
“About three weeks ago, he appeared in Corinium, asking for Maerlin. He then told us that a woman of Maerlin’s mother’s tribe, the Phanne, would likely soon appear and asked if he could wait for her with us. He said that she—that, of course, would be you, my lady Nimia—was the concubine of the king of the Franks and needed both protection and an escort home.” Arthur raised a brow at me. “Did he speak the truth?”
“Former concubine,” I muttered, disliking the word. I had wanted to be so much more. I was reluctantly impressed that Clovis had known me well enough to guess where I would go; the mistake would be to confuse his sharp perception with caring and affection.
“Fenwig said you were the mother of Clovis’s heir.”
I bit my lip and nodded.
“You hardly look old enough to be a mother.” His eyes skimmed down me.
I stiffened, aware of the petite size of my breasts and the slenderness verging on boyishness of my figure. “You still haven’t explained how Maerlin knew I would be here, in Calleva, with Mordred. Did Maerlin sense it somehow? Did he have a vision?”
Arthur laughed. “You’ve been listening to the rumors about him, haven’t you? No, we knew you’d be here because Mordred sent a messenger to Corinium saying that ‘Nimia of the Phanne’ was looking for Maerlin and Mordred would take her to meet him in Calleva.”
Terix and I stopped walking. Terix said, “Why would he do that, and why not tell us of it?”
Arthur stopped and turned toward us. “That is the question, isn’t it?” There was still a lightness to his tone and expression, but in his eyes were deeper thoughts and deeper questions. Even, I sensed, a certain level of suspicion about us.
No wonder, given the unexpected arrival of Fenwig, and now we had Mordred sending mysterious messages. “We are at as much of a loss as you,” I said.
“How came you to be in Mordred’s company?”
Terix explained, telling the story much better than I ever could. He even told Arthur about Daella and Marri’s plan to give her a chance at a better life. “So,” Terix finished up, “we are as anxious as you about Mordred’s plans. More so, perhaps, since we are not in our homeland, have no one but ourselves to rely on, and have taken on responsibility for a fourteen-year-old girl.”
Arthur did not offer his protection. Not that I’d expected him to, but it would have been a relief if he had. Instead, I saw consideration in his eyes as he looked from Terix to me. He was not quite the easygoing man he appeared on the surface. “I’ll speak with Maerlin. He can piece together the truth where simpler minds like mine often fail.”
I doubted that Arthur’s was a simple mind.
I nodded anyway, and we resumed walking. “How go the marriage negotiations?” I asked.
“Well enough, so far. That is Maerlin’s realm more than mine, but Horsa seems to be looking favorably upon us, so far.”
“Horsa? What of Wynnetha’s opinion?”
“She’s a beautiful woman whom any man would be proud to call wife.”
It was said with formal politeness, utterly devoid of passion. “And does she find you equally . . . agreeable?”
He shrugged. “Her preferences have little to do with this.” Unspoken but heard was the addition, and neither do mine.
“Of course not,” I muttered. That was the way of political marriages, as well I knew. Neither bride nor groom would find happiness with their chosen mate, and if their hearts had been spoken for elsewhere, then those other lovers, too, would suffer. And all this for alliances that lasted only until greed or anger overrode the supposedly unbreakable bond of families joined by marriage. I resolved to find out which of her suitors Wynnetha wanted. If there was anything I could do to help her get the one she preferred, I would do it. I saw too much of my own situation with Clovis to let her suffer heartbreak without trying to help.
Even though that surely meant I could never lay my greedy hands on the man who strolled beside me. Having met both Arthur and Mordred, it was beyond my powers to imagine Wynnetha could ever prefer the latter.
It wasn’t until the following day that I had the chance to meet Wynnetha, the golden-haired princess of this sorry outpost of Saxon life, and she was the one who sought me out. Most of the men had gone hunting, Maerlin had disappeared, Terix was performing silly tricks for the children—with Daella shyly watching from the back of his audience—and I was sitting on the front step of the great hall, cithara in one arm, plucking the strings. The doors had been propped open, for it was a rare sunny day.
“What is that?” Wynnetha said in the Saxon tongue, standing before me and pointing. She was startlingly beautiful, with clear skin touched with pink in her cheeks and lips, gray eyes, and long flaxen hair that fell in waves to her knees. The front portion had been plaited and wrapped over her head in a crown. She looked to be my age, though her body was much more womanly than my own.
“A cithara,” I said, and continued in Frankish. “It is much beloved by the Romans.”
“You sound so funny, but if I try, I can understand you.” She switched to stilted, formal Latin. “I can speak in this manner, if you so wish.” My surprise must have been clear, for she added, “My father commanded me to learn. I was taught by a Christian priest and had not a moment’s joy in my lessons.”
“Then let us speak a happier language,” I said in Frankish. I held out the cithara to her. “Do you want to try it?”
She grinned and sat down beside me, and I showed her how to hold the instrument and pluck the strings. They twanged under her touch, the sound discordant, and she laughed. “It is not so easy as it looks.”
She played with it a little longer, then handed it back to me. “I am no musician, but I do love to listen. Music is so rare here. A singer visited two winters ago, and I wept when he left. The hall seemed so dark and empty without him.”
I smiled. She sounded as if she had been seduced by music, something Terix and I had seen in Sygarius’s villa. Nothing roused the passions of a noblewoman like a man with a glorious voice.
“I’m Nimia,” I said.
“And you and your husband come from Gaul,” Wynnetha said, nodding. She leaned forward, her eyes glowing with excitement. “I’ve been trying to find you alone; I want to hear all about life there.”
It took me a moment to realize that she hadn’t heard the truth about me and Terix; likely no one but Arthur, Maerlin, and Fenwig knew it. Of course, Mordred would have repeated what we had told him, that Terix and I were traveling entertainers. And it was far better that way. What might Mordred plot if he knew that he held such a bargaining chip as the mother of the heir to the Frankish kingdom?
I answered her eager questions about the towns and ways of life, both Roman and Frankish, and found myself liking her. She was energetic and had a sense of humor. It occurred to me that she and I might both be going to live in Aurelianus’s town, Corinium, and that, if so, we might have the chance to become
friends. I said as much.
“Corinium? Oh, no, I won’t be living there.”
“You won’t be marrying Arthur?”
She bent her head low, so as not to be overheard. “I hope not!”
“You favor Mordred, then?” I asked in disbelief.
“Oh, yes. He is much more interesting than Arthur. Arthur is so serious. So boring.”
Were we even talking about the same man? “But Mordred is older . . .”
“And has his own fortress—several fortresses. He is a wealthy man. Did you see the gifts he brought that will be mine if it is agreed that I am to become his wife? And this he gave me, whether we marry or not,” she said, lifting from a cord on her waist a crystal sphere encased in a setting of gold. “He said it was not half so beautiful as me.” Her big gray eyes blinked as if dazzled by the romantic light of Mordred. “To be surrounded by such beautiful things, rather than . . .” She gestured behind her at the dark, smoky hall. “I am told that Mordred has a large house only for himself, that he does not live as we do, all together.”
I nodded. “Though he does have everyone come to his house for feasts.”
She barely seemed to have heard, her mind already filled with the fantasy of life with Mordred. “I am never alone. Most of the time, I think nothing of it, but sometimes it makes me want to scream. To have a home I shared only with my husband—and our servants, of course—sounds to me like perfect bliss.”
“Perhaps Corinium would be as pleasant a place to live.”
She emerged from her fog to stare at me. “But I wouldn’t be living there. My father likes Arthur because he has no lands, and so he would come to live here. He would become my father’s heir, and I would be stuck here with him. I would not get to go anywhere.”
“You don’t like your home?” I asked carefully, not wanting to offend her.
She sighed. “I wish I could have a life like yours, traveling from town to town, province to province, kingdom to kingdom. You have seen so much. And I have seen . . .” She held her hand out toward the village. “This. My life here is so small.”