The Pendragon Legacy: Sons Of Camelot Book One

by Sarah Luddington

  “The best,” I said.

  Galahad nodded. A single tear traced down his face. I stepped forward and wiped it away, cupping his jaw briefly. Gods, he was beautiful. “Just say what’s in your heart, not what you think you should say. Let her see the man who saved my life, not the one The Lady filled with lies.”

  He looked mutinous for a moment, as if I had no right to speak about his foster mother in such a way, but he opted to accept my words. We turned, his hand still in mine, and followed Quilliam through an arch, along a short hall graced with objects of beauty and to a finely carved door with wolves chasing through a forest of oak trees. Quilliam knocked on the door and entered.

  “Your son, your Majesty, and the Lord Pendragon,” he said.

  CHAPTER TEN

  We walked past him, Galahad no longer holding my hand like a lifeline, but drawn to a figure lying on a low divan placed in a huge window. It overlooked a simple garden full of colour. Morgana turned and her beauty moved me, as always. Her black hair now contained rivers of silver; her face, though, remained relatively unlined. She didn’t like the thought of age robbing her of beauty so used glamour to hide the ravages of time. All fey did the same thing. Both Lancelot and Arthur had died as they lived, like men of Camelot.

  Neither mother nor son spoke for many moments. They just looked at each other. I guessed Galahad searched his memory for something to hold his life together and Morgana sought the child she’d lost.

  She smiled gently. “Come closer, boys. You are still in shadow.” She held out her hands. They trembled slightly.

  I stepped toward her and took one hand, sitting on the bed. Galahad didn’t move. I felt panic in Morgana’s grasp.

  “Galahad,” I said. “It’s alright.”

  He stepped forward toward me and executed a perfect bow. “Your Majesty, it is good to finally meet you,” he said formally.

  Morgana’s fingers tightened on mine. “It is good to see you too, son. I missed you.” Her voice cracked, the emotions too powerful for her frail condition.

  I opted to interfere. “He’s a hero you know, Morgana. He saved my life. Uncle Tancred sends his love and is sorry he can’t be here with us but hopes you understand.”

  Morgana finally turned her haunted blue eyes on me. “You’ve seen Tancred?”

  I went on to describe our adventure, leaving out the arguments. I felt Galahad beginning to relax as Morgana and I made the effort to be normal with each other. She stroked my knuckles with her thumb constantly, a gesture I’d seen her do with my father when having to deal with something difficult.

  “So, my son not only looks like his father, he’s strong and a fine fighter,” Morgana said with pride. “Thank you for saving our young Holt here.”

  “You are welcome, your Majesty,” Galahad said. He still stood by the bed, with a stiff back.

  “Galahad,” Morgana’s tears suddenly escaped her control. I peeled my hand out of her grasp, took hold of Galahad’s hand and drew him to the bed, blending their fingers together.

  “Mother?” he asked in a cracked whisper as if uncertain of his reality as he sank to the bed.

  Her free hand cupped his jaw. “My beautiful son, how we missed you. My perfect, beautiful son, I wish your father was here.”

  I moved quietly away from the bed as Galahad reached out to touch his mother’s face, a look of mystified wonder on his face. “I remember,” he whispered.

  Morgana frowned and Galahad began to explain about his loss of memory. I slipped from the room and into the arms of a lovely young woman. “Holt, you found him!” cried out Morgan, the eldest of the twins.

  “Little sister,” I said murmured. “I’ve missed you.”

  My own sister, Isabel, and these two young women were equal in my heart. Morgan and Nim were six years younger than Galahad. He’d never met them but they grew up on stories about his yearly years and I replaced him in their hearts. Morgan was slightly taller and more statuesque than her smaller sister, and they were lovely young women. Morgan was the spitting image of her mother but Nim had long blonde hair and looked far more like me. She came toward me and I hugged both girls at the same time. Their own loss was just as profound as mine and something which welded us together closely. I’d do anything to protect them.

  I coaxed both of them into Morgana’s sitting room and we shared a couch. “What’s he like?” Nim asked in her soft voice.

  I considered my options briefly. “In some ways he’s much like your father. He’s strong, the finest warrior I’ve seen, he’s courageous and he saved my life.”

  “But?” Morgan asked. Her blues eyes were penetrating. When Morgana produced her daughters she managed to divide their personalities in two. Nim – beautiful and ethereal, used her sharp mind to see into people’s hearts and convince them to do the right thing through persuasion. Morgan threatened to rip their hearts out if they didn’t conform to her world view and usually saw the dark side of a situation before her softer sister pointed out the light.

  I sighed. “But...”

  “The Lady,” the twins said together.

  “Yes.”

  “Does he know about you?” Morgan asked, hooking a stray lock of her black hair over her ear.

  “Oh, he knows and no, he isn’t pleased but I’ll explain later. Right now I need you to understand that he’s like a spinning top. He doesn’t understand his place in the world and that bloody woman has filled his head with lies so dense he honestly doesn’t know who or what to trust. She wants Camelot wiped from the face of Albion and ordered my death. Galahad, so far, hasn’t attempted to kill me but I’m not convinced he isn’t going to try. We need to be careful with him and don’t hate him for the dumb things he’s likely to say about our fathers. He lashes out when he’s angry,” I explained to them.

  Both women sat still and digested this information in their own ways. I watched that familiar frown crease Morgan’s brow. “You’re telling me to think before speaking, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “It would be wise. At least for the moment. I know it’s going to be hard. With your mother...”

  “Dying,” Morgan said bleakly. “With the threat of the challenge to the throne of Albion and us losing everything because we have to rely on him – yes, Holt, it’s going to be bloody hard when he says something against father.”

  She and Lancelot had been particularly close and his death broke something I feared would never recover. She’d become hard over the last few months, while she’d been watching her mother surrender to the commitments of the love she’d shared with two men.

  The door opened and Galahad walked in, we all rose and he stopped to look at his sisters. He seemed so lost and alone, alienated from his own family and desperately uncertain of his place.

  Nim, her soul pure in intent, spent just a few heartbeats assessing her true older brother. She held out her hands in welcome, crossed the thick rug on the stone floor, and said, “Welcome home, brother.” She took his hands in hers, kissed his cheeks and then threw her arms around his neck.

  Galahad, with a look of utter confusion replacing the lost look of moments before, held Nim’s slim figure tightly. “I’m Nim by the way,” she whispered loudly in his ear before kissing his cheek again. “You look just like father. Goodness, it’s odd.” She turned away slightly with tears in her eyes, trying to hide her sudden wave of pain. Her natural place of safety now Lancelot was gone, was me.

  I held out my arm and Nim tucked herself into my embrace automatically.

  “The Queen... My mother, she’d like to talk to you,” Galahad told me.

  “Are you alright?” I asked.

  “Fine,” he said, but his dark eyes were deeply troubled. I released Nim and walked past him, holding his shoulder for a moment on my way to the door. I heard him begin to be formal with his sisters and Morgan’s typical response. I worried about her, far too much like her father, including his drinking and sexual habits if we didn’t control her.

  I returned to Morgan
a’s room and she smiled in welcome. “Holt, it is so good to see you,” she said.

  I took both her hands and kissed them. “It is good to see you looking so strong,” I said.

  “Charming, just like your father. And a terrible liar,” she said kindly.

  The lump in my throat stopped me from talking. For many years I’d hated her for stealing my father, until I realised life and love was far more complex than I’d been led to believe. Then I’d seen all Morgana gave my father by allowing his love for Lancelot to grow safely. I loved her for that gift alone and she’d taught me so much about myself when I’d confessed my sexual preferences and both my parents decided I was wrong. My adopted family had made my real family see the truth in my heart and helped me understand them.

  “He’s broken,” she said at last.

  “Yes,” I said. “But a fine heart beats under all that hate. The hate he says he feels is just because he doesn’t understand and thought you’d given him away. He’ll recover and be better for it.”

  “I hope so.”

  “I know so, my Queen.”

  She smiled softly and closed her eyes. “I hear them calling me. They are louder now he’s returned. My boys are impatient for my return.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and said huskily, “You never were any good at disappointing them.”

  She laughed and opened her eyes. “Cheeky boy.” She paused for a long time. “He is going to suffer, Holt. I need you to protect him and his sisters. They will need the strength of Camelot.”

  “I will do all I can, you know I will but Camelot is a mouse in Albion, Morgana.”

  “Camelot has a lion at her heart,” she said firmly, gripping my fingers strongly. “You are a lion, Loholt. You are brave and strong and true. Your father loved you, we all love you.” She did this more often, changed tense, placing herself with her dead lovers. It broke all our hearts to hear it but we understood. “You must protect him from her, from The Lady. Do not let her have Albion, Holt.”

  “I won’t, my Queen. I promise you,” I said and kissed her hands.

  “Now, tell me of your new love. I can see it shining in your heart, giving you strength to deal with my difficult son,” she said.

  I talked about Torvec, not the least surprised she’d seen some change in me which told her of my new affection. I tried to convince her it wasn’t love but she wasn’t having any of it, so I gave up in the end and just described my time with him.

  She closed her eyes and began to drift so I spoke more softly still and eventually she slept. I moved to leave but she stirred and said, “Send them in. I want all my children here, Holt. Go to see your lover, but send them to me so I can say goodbye. My boys are waiting.”

  I kissed her brow. “Of course, Morgana.”

  “Arthur, will you always be with me?” she asked suddenly.

  I caught my breath and nodded. “I will always be with you, my love,” I said. “Always with you and always with my Wolf.”

  She smiled. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “You will, goodbye for now, beautiful lady,” I said, repeating words I’d heard my father use around her. I retreated from her side before I broke.

  I stood outside her door and sobbed. Quilliam appeared from nowhere as always and silently handed me a soft clean cloth for me to wipe my tears.

  “She asked for Lancelot this morning when she felt Galahad nearing The City. She insisted he was coming home,” Quilliam said and I heard his own small heart breaking. I knelt by his side and for the first time since we were children, he consented to being touched with honest affection. He allowed himself only a few tears and proved far stronger than me. “They need your strength, now, my Lord,” he said.

  I nodded and stuffed the pain deep into my chest. I returned to the others, gave them their mother’s message, escorted them to her side and fled the palace.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I reached my house in record time, managing to avoid everyone on the way. I tumbled through the door and straight into Torvec’s arms. The tears wouldn’t stop, blinding me to everything but his stoic endurance which kept me safe until the storm passed.

  “I’m sorry,” I eventually mumbled.

  “I am honoured you trust me enough,” Torvec said.

  I sniffed and wiped my face on my sleeve, Torvec pulled a face and I laughed. “You look like a five year old,” he declared.

  I stared around my small house. The fire blazed in the hearth, the wooden floor had been swept and warmth spread through the stone walls. I saw fresh bread, cheese, fruit and meat on the table. A small barrel of ale also sat waiting. Torvec turned the tap and it bubbled out with the waft of hops.

  “This hardly looks like mine,” I said. “It usually takes me days to be this organised.” I took the tankard and drank heavily.

  The sparse furniture had all been dusted.

  “The bed is airing upstairs with a small fire going in the room. Everything is a bit damp but it’ll be fine,” Torvec said. “It’s a lovely house. Your garden could look great with some time and a bit of love.”

  “How did you manage all this?” I asked.

  “Hard work and you gave me your entire purse,” he said, nodding to my small leather bag on the table. “I could see how difficult you were finding your return. I wanted to do something to help.”

  I kissed him. “Thank you. No one has ever done anything like this for me.”

  “It’s nothing, it’s the only way I can help you with such pain and grief,” he said quietly. His luminous eyes were clear and the strange irises wide, making them appear very dark.

  “It’s not ‘nothing’, you’ve done more for me than anyone else,” I said.

  “That’s only because you don’t let people close enough to help you,” he said, moving around me to cut the bread.

  A somewhat damning but accurate statement. I put food together on a wooden plate and sat in one of the comfortable chairs by the fire.

  Torvec folded himself down onto a large cushion on the floor. He looked up at me. “How is she?” he asked at last.

  “Dying,” I said, a lump returning to my throat.

  “Galahad?” he asked.

  “With his family. I’m hoping Morgana manages to stay lucid enough to help him become a reasonable person.” I paused and whispered. “She thought I was my father.”

  Torvec moved instantly, placing his hands on mine where they lay limp in my lap. I tried to blink back the blurring tears, but they fell onto the plate and my bread. “It’s so hard,” I said. “I’ve lost them all in such a short time and now I’m the eldest. I’m the one in charge. Galahad is lost in a web of lies spun by The Lady and I’m supposed to protect him and Camelot. If he turns out to be The Lady’s puppet, it will be war with Camelot and we’ll be wiped out. We can’t stand against the fey.”

  “Stop worrying about things which haven’t happened. He didn’t kill you when he was supposed to – he’s a good man, under all the rhetoric,” Torvec said. “You’ll keep him on the right path.”

  I wished I believed my companion. I feared I didn’t have any influence or power over Galahad. I yawned hugely, my jaw cracking.

  “Bed,” Torvec said. “Now, before anything else happens. You haven’t slept in two days. You’ll be no use to anyone in this state.”

  “You haven’t slept either,” I pointed out.

  “Then I’ll be going to bed with you,” he said, hauling me to my feet.

  Exhaustion washed through me but so did desire. I pulled back on his grasp of my hands and he stumbled into my body. We kissed. Long and deep. It felt wonderful. Torvec tasted of life. My life. Not the life of Albion or Camelot, where nothing but responsibility weighed me down, but the life I lived when I could escape to the road.

  The kiss ended and Torvec smiled shyly. I took his hand and led him upstairs. He’d made the bed and filled the small tub with water.

  “It’s cold,” he said. “Sorry but I didn’t have time to heat it up.”


  “It’s wonderful, don’t worry about it,” I said, squeezing his hand tightly. “You’ve been very kind to me.”

  “It’s nothing compared to what you’ve done for me.”

  “What, letting you be beaten half to death because I was too proud to let you ride with us initially?” I said, untying my clothes with exhausted fingers. Torvec moved in to help.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Holt. You are a difficult man to reach,” he said.

  I frowned. “What does that mean?” I asked.

  He looked at me, his luminous eyes very clear. “You don’t let people close easily. I don’t know why – I think it must have something to do with your father and his suffering because of his love for Lancelot. You keep people at a distance. You are friendly but people don’t get past that wall. Your life and thoughts are very private.”

  “And you’d like to know what’s going on in there?” I asked, attempting to make a joke out of it.

  He looked right into me. “Yes. I very much want to break through that wall.”

  “Well, you are doing a good job,” I said, moving away, uncomfortable with his gaze and his words. “I need to get clean.” I stepped into the cold water and shivered. Torvec left the room, I hoped in search of ale.

  I settled in the cold water and tried to think but my exhaustion meant the thoughts kept slipping away. I just wanted to sleep. I didn’t want to think about Morgana, Galahad, Camelot, The Lady, the consequences of war or the look in Torvec’s eyes.

  Washing in cold water is never fun but the chore ended soon enough and by the time Torvec arrived with ale and my plate of uneaten food, I’d started to dry myself.

  “Now, that’s a sight I like,” he said. “Naked King of Camelot.”

  I laughed. “Get naked yourself and we’ll see if we can make you like a few more things.”

  He handed me the ale and food. I sat in a simple chair by the fire and watched his deft fingers deal with his laces, buckles and belt. The pale skin – slowly revealed to me – seemed to glow slightly, moving smoothly over those long muscles. I sat transfixed by the figure before me, now folding his clothes neatly.