“You’re competing tomorrow, aren’t you?”
I had almost forgotten Brangien was there. I wasn’t ignorant of the adoration in her eyes, and it made me uncomfortable enough I chose to avoid looking at her as much as possible. She was a pretty enough woman and easy company. Save for that intensity that seemed to grip her every time we came together, I would have enjoyed being with her. As it was…
“Lances tomorrow, swords Friday and melees on Saturday,” I said. None here yet knew Tris would be competing too. For now, that gave me yet another edge in Yseult’s eyes.
Only that edge wasn’t what occupied her thoughts right now. “Mass on Sunday,” she added. “And I leave on Monday. Monday! Drustan, please, sing something long and with a happy ending. Do the impossible. Give me hope where there’s none to be had.”
Her plea battered at my own breaking heart. Hope where there was none to be had was what I needed too. I couldn’t give her hope, but I could give her a few minutes of wonderment and a glimpse at the impossible.
I excused myself to go prepare.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
YSEULT
Throughout the afternoon I found myself alternately cursing Des and thanking him. Before, I couldn’t bear how swiftly the time was passing, each minute gone that much closer to my leaving. Now I wished the day would sprint ahead to evenfall.
“Then you believe him too, my Lady?” Brangien asked. There was of course no doubt in her. Were faith and infatuation always so inextricably linked?
And if I didn’t have her faith must that mean I did not truly love? “He’s made me want to believe him, and for now that’s enough.”
Or so I thought, though perhaps not Drustan. He seemed disdainful of Des’ promise. “Are you and he not friends?” I asked. “Have you reason to doubt?”
He looked at me in a most curious way, with hooded eyes that spoke of secrets and untold truths. “We are friends with even more reasons to not be friends. He makes me want to doubt him.”
He didn’t elaborate but instead left me unsatisfied and exasperated. Picking up my mood, he mumbled “My pardon” in a most contrite way, struck up his harp and launched into a song to cheer me.
Later I sent Brangien to my mother. “Entreat the queen to come and witness a wondrous sight.”
When Mother arrived, weary and beat down, but still willing to indulge her daughter her whim and whimsy, I recognized how much love she bore me. My stomach knotted with the fear of leaving the security of love that showered me here each day. What other things that I had taken for easy granted was I about to lose? Impulsively I hugged my mother, for a moment clinging desperately to her as though I were six again and she the one who could shelter me from all wrongs.
With the greatest reluctance I let her go.
“I only have a few moments,” she said. “You may not have noticed but we have guests.”
No wonder she looked so haggard, directing the House and entertaining the swarm of nobles who camped outside our doors. Guilt twinged me. Normally I would have helped not just with the preparations but with the greetings and other niceties.
“You’ll be glad I stole you away,” I promised. I nodded toward her lady-in-waiting lurking patiently in the lengthening shadows. “Dismiss you woman. Have her make excuses if anyone comes looking for your. This marvel is for us alone.” I squeezed her hand in anticipation.
Some of my excitement must have conveyed itself to her. She seemed to rejuvenate, her slumped shoulders straightening, her eyes brightening.
Already Drustan was putting away his harp and strapping on his scabbard. More for ceremony, not that I truly thought we’d be in danger walking the short way from courtyard to glen. These were knights and nobles with a few trusted servants camping on our doorstep, after all, not a field of brigands and beggars to be traversed.
We picked our way between a handful of pavilions—the Orkney contingent I saw by the coats of arms brandished on the shields leaning by the tents and the banners flying on their planted staffs. I recognized none of the score or so men we briefly encountered who merely bowed to the queen and went about their business, clearly unimpressed by their hostess or her guard who kept his head low and his face mostly hidden. Curious behavior to be sure, as he appeared neither shy nor frightened. Wary perhaps. As someone would be who didn’t wish to be discovered.
“King Lot’s court?” I asked Mother.
“Lot is probably drinking with your father. I’m not sure I would recognize all his sons. They’ll be at the feast tonight, of course… Ah, there.” She pointed discreetly toward a well-muscled bearded young man with honey-dark hair in heated conversation with an older, ginger-haired man. “That’s Gawain, the eldest. Where he goes, his brothers won’t be found far behind.”
I nodded. The Orkney brothers were developing a reputation at the tournaments. Not just for feats of arms but for stirring old troubles and instigating fights off field that had nothing to do with honor.
Drustan cast a single surreptitious glance Gawain’s way as if to verify his identity himself before hastily averting his face. To the west, the sun had already dipped below the hills taking the shadows with it.
We hurried on.
Even this late in the season the little glen remained carpeted in shamrocks with scores too of dainty bluebells—fairy bells some called them—nodding over them. It spoke to the abundance of this spring that the deer and rabbits had yet to ravage this little half-acre haven nestled in the hollow of the hills. Unwilling to trample the delicate flowers, we waited at the edge of the clearing as dusk closed in.
Brangien saw it first. She gasped and pointed, and when I followed her stare, there it stood, just as Drustan had described it. At first glance, from a distance, it could look an ordinary dog. Even Mother peered past it, asking, “What?”
I never, of course, expected Drustan or Des to capture it. Or rather, I expected them to maybe tempt in a hungry stray with a bit of bone. We’d have a laugh and gift it to the huntmaster. This moment, this vision, though, would be something I would share through the years.
Grateful for even the privilege of a distant glimpse, I was prepared for it to turn and flee, to disappear into memory. But it did a most unexpected and extraordinary thing. Instead of trotting off into the hills, it trotted toward us, waving its white plume of a tail like a banner behind it.
Taller a wolf, as Drustan had said, leanly muscled and with a fluid gait that spoke of grace and power in every step. I drank in every extra moment of its beauty, expecting it to veer away at any minute, but it kept its track true. As it approached, Drustan stepped with equal grace between it and us and I heard the soft hiss of sword as the blade slithered from his scabbard. Sight of him—shoulders so broad they threatened my view ahead, feet planted apart emphasizing the narrow waist that gave way to the flat flare of his hips in a wary stance that wasn’t so much threatening but protective and expectant—bade me recall cradle tales of The Wild Hunt, whose prey never got off lightly.
I held breath, waiting to see what the hound would do.
It slowed and stopped a lunge-length away from Drustan, regarding us with the green flame of its eyes. Then slowly, regally almost, it stalked around us. Or rather he stalked as it was, I noted, proudly male, no detail lost on me as I memorized everything about him, so I would remember this meeting with perfect clarity forever.
In perfect timing, Drustan turned with him, the intent to protect limned clear in his every move.
“Magnificent,” Brangien breathed.
Her loud whisper didn’t go unnoticed as the hound swiveled its gaze from me to her. He dipped his head, for all the world looking like a bow of thanks.
Brangien stifled her delighted laugh unsuccessfully, bits of it spilling into the gathering dark.
“It seems men aren’t the only ones cursed with the sin of Pride,” Drustan quipped.
The hound growled low, the look he threw Drustan chastising.
“Coincidence,” Drustan muttered, b
ut the slow clenching and unclenching of his swordless hand signaled his discomfort.
“Perhaps not,” I said. “After all, he’s fae.” If Des were to be believed. I raised my voice. “Hound, which way does the sun set?”
He pointed his fine, long nose to the west.
“And where does the Morning Star rise?”
Without hesitation he pointed east above the hills.
Then, ignoring the gasps of disbelief from the others, he approached me. I didn’t even see Drustan start to move, but suddenly he was there between us, sword leveled at the hound who stood his ground without a flinch.
I touched Drustan’ shoulder. “Stand down.” Ever before he’d obliged my requests—taking up the harp, singing, accompanying me on an outing. This, though, was a command—and one that went counter to his instincts. I felt his turmoil briefly in the muscles beneath my hand. In the end he compromised, not lowering the sword but taking a step away.
The hound closed the distance between and to my utter astonishment bent a fore-knee and bowed before me. I reached out the hand that had only a moment before been in Drustan’s keeping. I heard the harper inhale sharply as he reclaimed half the step away he’d taken. He feared for me, but I had no fear. How could I fear a beast who had surrendered himself so to me? I laid my hand on his head, soft fur and hard bone familiar to the touch, but shot through with an otherworldliness that shivered through my outstretched arm from fingertips to heart.
I asked nothing more from him nor he from me. He was proof that mysteries and miracles still abounded in the world. He gave me hope and heartening.
I gave him… for a moment I was lost in the soul-deep pain that haunted his eyes. Pain that shattered, opening the way for an infusion of joy, warring together in an emerald stare wiser than time itself and older than the hollowed hills.
To that world I had no claim.
With deepest regret I withdrew my hand.
The hound retreated then, turning to look back once as star grains salted the sky.
Then he was gone, howling as he ran. Though whether he howled in grief or triumph I could not know.
Maybe it was both.
~ ~ ~
Sometime later Des joined us in the courtyard. Slicked with sweat, he looked as though he’d been running. From that I gathered the hound laired some distance away. Had I not been distracted by the miracle hound, my impending trip and the drone of music and voices from the festivities on the eve of the tourney, I would have questioned more closely how a man new-come to Whitehaven might have come by such intimate knowledge of the lands around.
Then again, maybe a part of me recognized that some miracles should not be examined too closely.
Brangien pounced on the knight first. “It was wondrous, my Lord! A gift beyond measure. I have little to repay you with, but”—she turned suddenly shy, uncertain—“I’ve been stitching this small ribbon for you.” She held out a woven cloth of yellow and gold, intricately embroidered with Whitehaven Castle and the surrounding hills. She drew breath for courage. “Perhaps you’d carry it with you tomorrow?”
“A favor.” He took the strip of cloth from her and ran his hand over the close needlework, seeming to understand it was crafted with more than mere artisanship. That Brangien’s heart had gone into its working as well. “It’s exquisite.” He smiled that smile of his that had the power to melt away all fears. He glanced my way and I tilted my head in a nod. How could I deny my handmaid this simple joy? “I’ll most certainly carry it tomorrow,” he told her. “It will do honor to my humble lance.”
She dropped a curtsy so quickly I thought for a moment she was swooning. Her knees recovered just in time to catch her from falling. “It’s you who do me honor, my Lord.” Her knees, however, didn’t seem recovered enough to lift her out of the deep curtsy she’d fallen into. With grace, Des held out his hand and helped her rise. Blushing, she added, “And I’m quite sure your lance isn’t so very humble.”
“It seems,” I said, stepping in quickly, “to be a night of gifts—and prizes.”
At my reminder of the waiting prize the two men exchanged congenial looks, laced with a mix of rivalry and anticipation. What I didn’t expect was the way Mother watched with such intentness, as though I might run off with either man rather than fulfill my duty to King Mark. Was she watching to see whom I favored most between them? If so, I would disappoint her as much as I had Brangien. There was no choosing.
“I promised a kiss to the one to capture the hound,” I began. “There was no capture but neither was there failing. Once we knew the creature for what it was, none of us would ever see it leashed or caged, would we? How then can I declare a winner between the two of you?”
In other circumstances, their crestfallen expressions would have been as wounds to my heart. Tonight, they delighted me.
“So, if neither of you was bested, that means both of you must have won.” A glance Mother’s way caught her pursing her lips in silent…approval? Disapproval? “Harper, come and collect your prize.”
As Drustan approached, his great broad shoulders shadowing the candlelight, my stomach twisted in sudden panic. I hadn’t though past this moment. Would I kiss his cheek? His forehead? He was taller than me—would he kneel? Simply bow?
Then he was upon me, a breathspace away, lowering his head. King Mark and marriage waited, but was a week or more away. And this… this was but a kiss.
My lips met his, startling him as much as me. A simple brush of lip on lip, I thought at first. Then decided if I’d dared this far… Capturing his upper lip between my own, I met his eyes, granting with them the permission he would not take on his own. His arms circled round me and I gripped the hard muscles of his back through the linen tunic.
At touch of him, a desperate need thrummed through me, frightening in its intensity. Drustan shivered as though my need became his. Our lips crushed together even as our circling arms crushed us ever closer. We didn’t move. For an eternity waves of passion passed from him to me and back again.
Then eternity ended and we parted. Slowly, reluctantly, regretfully. In full awareness this moment would never be again, so savoring every last touch as we pulled away one from the other.
“Ah, my Lady,” he whispered for my ear alone. “what might have been.”
Shaken, not trusting my voice, I could only nod.
After that kiss I was ready to make Brangien a happy woman with my choice. But I had promised the same for Des. Des who had always been more overt in his affection for me. Des who even now waited on my pleasure—and his—with a look of hungry anticipation.
I could gift him no less, of course, but I didn’t have to take more. With a breath to steel myself, I motioned him to me.
Eagerly he sprang to my side. I expected him to ravage himself upon my lips and to be bruised within his arms. In fact, my stomach tingled at the thought. Whatever dread I’d felt, though, melted away instantly in his bright emerald eyes, replaced now with anticipation and willingness to cede this dance to his lead.
He bowed his head toward mine, then took my left hand in his right and brought it up to the space between our lips. Delicately he kissed my fingers, blowing warm breath across my knuckles, then breath upon my lips. As he moved closer he guided my hand back down, releasing it to move his hand to my waist where it rested, butterfly soft, as his lips met mine.
They were full and warm and gentle, reminding me of honey, and I barely noticed, so natural it was, as they encouraged mine to part. The hand at my waist slid to my back and his other hand cupped my neck. As he dipped my head back, he tickled my lips with his tongue, catching me by surprise. Hesitantly, I sparred back. Then he sighed into my mouth and dipped in. I tensed as muscles danced in places I didn’t know I had. Sucking on his tongue, I felt the lightning sparks between us.
For a moment more we indulged ourselves, then with a groan, he recalled his tongue. Our lips slid first together then away. With a soft kiss to the tip of my nose, he whispered, “My sword wi
ll be naked on Friday. Favor it, if you will.”
I rocked back with a sudden shudder, my thoughts on two very naked swords I’d like to favor right then.
I blushed. Of course, Des was talking about the tourney.
“My pleasure, I whispered back, my answer able to serve any meaning for the request, all the while meant only for one. I was pledged to King Mark. There would be no more than these teasing kisses in front of my mother, these kisses between me and them. There could be nothing more, by law nor by God. I was pledged.
The heartbroken look on my mother’s face, though, said otherwise.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BRANGIEN
“Brangien, come, wait upon me.”
The queen’s order was unexpected. Normally she had an entourage of handmaids and ladies-in-waiting to do her bidding. Why didn’t she ask one of them? Sir Palomides would be carrying my favor tomorrow! I wanted—needed—to brag to the world, starting with my friends working and eating in the kitchens during the feast tonight. And if a handful of servants who went about with their noses in the air overheard, all the better.
And there was the hound to tell about too, though I doubted many would believe it to be more than a simple dog. Plus I knew better to than tell which knight had led it there.
But now that would all have to wait until the queen was done with me. I tried to hide my disappointment, but my face was never good at keeping lies. Not that it mattered. No one was paying attention to me anyway. I was a wraith among them until something was needed. Or when Yseult and I were alone and she had no one else to distract her.
The queen took Yseult’s hands in hers and murmured a few words. After that they embraced and the queen swept from the courtyard toward her rooms without another glance at me. Dutifully, I followed.
She led me to her antechamber where Ainsley and Fiona, her two oldest handmaids, greeted her, ready to dress her for the feast. She dismissed them with a wave. “Give me a few moments in private.”
Queen's Heart: An Arthurian Paranormal Romance (Arthurian Hearts Book 2) Page 7