“Is it…would it be legal? Sanctified?”
She threw her head back and laughed. “My poor child, you have soaked up too many of your people’s prejudices. Your concern for legality labels you Roman for all to see.” The woman shook her head and sighed.
“You advocate flouting the law? No wonder your sisterhood is vilified.”
The woman’s smile faded. “We are vilified because we are women and men of little vision fear our power. Fearing us, they react like men, like humans—they hunt us and call us witches.”
“Aren’t you?”
“No more than you, Diana the strong. We, like you, simply choose our own place and willingly pay the price that it demands.”
“I am not like you.”
The woman smiled. “I have traveled from far in the south, a journey of many days, to reach here in time. The hardships have been well worth the opportunity to meet you, my child. I am willing to perform the ceremony.”
It seemed she was bestowing an honor.
Diana frowned. “You have traveled for many days? We only agreed to marry two days ago.”
“Your intentions are merely the tide of fate flowing through you.”
“Fate, visions…you disguise ordinariness with mysticism. Is that the source of your power?”
“You forget,” the lady said gently. “I knew of your marriage before you did.”
Diana remained silent, quenched.
Behind her the door opened again and Diana turned to see a black-cloaked acolyte slip silently into the room and hover near the door.
The lady said, “Marriage is marriage, if two souls are united. You do not need legalities, Diana. You marry Alaric of your own free will?”
“Yes.”
“And you intend that the marriage be true?”
“Yes, of course. We agreed.”
“Then a thousand laws could be written to gainsay your marriage and would fail to remove the knowledge that you have made a marriage pact and in your soul you are, indeed, married.”
“But the law—”
“I assure you the gods will be appeased. Even your god will see into your heart and understand.” The woman looked at her closely. “Have your Roman laws served you so well that you insist on loyalty to them above all else?”
Diana hung her head. “No.” The admission, aloud and to a stranger, took effort.
“Then in this you must find your own place too.”
Diana sighed. The woman spoke truly.
“Go now with Gwendalon. She will help you prepare.” The woman’s voice was kind and warm. “I will see you on the barge.”
The acolyte stepped forward and took Diana’s hand. “This way.” She smiled and the smile was bright and pretty. Normal.
Diana allowed herself to be led from the room, once more into the unknown.
* * * * *
The barge was a wide, flat, low-prowed vessel that carried the Lady and her entourage across the lakes and waters of Britain. Now it carried Diana toward her wedding.
The Lady sat on a platform raised a little above the barge itself, with two senior priestesses to hand. One of them was the woman who had accompanied her on the first leg of her strange journey, for when she spoke the musical lilt of her voice was unmistakable.
Other junior acolytes lined both edges of the barge, standing still and silent. Between them stood a dozen braziers, burning brightly in the still night and between those stood Diana.
Her position was near the prow of the boat. She had been placed there by the attending acolytes and the folds and fall of her dress arranged just so.
A little time before the same acolytes had laughed and joked as they had bathed Diana in a sweet-smelling water and dressed her in a dress styled nothing like the tunics she was accustomed to. It was white, yes and made of wool but the weaving was the finest Diana had ever seen. The cloth was soft, light and smooth against her fingers. The garment held no pleats and was cut across the gain, so that the material stretched and smoothed itself over the curves of the body. It clung to her shoulders, breasts and hips, hugged her waist and then flared out abruptly, so that when she turned, the fullness of the skirt made it spread. Around her waist and hanging low in the front, was a girdle stitched and decorated with symbols and patterns that Diana did not recognize. The threads had a luster that glowed in the firelight.
The hem of the dress just touched the ground at her toes and lengthened a little at the back. The dress might have been made for her but Diana was too unnerved by the Lady’s earlier precognition to ask if the preciseness of the fit was another of her insights, too.
Over the top was draped a cloak of marvelous lightness and warmth. It too, was white. It had no hood and Diana was given no veil. Instead her hair was unbound and combed until it shone and the curls bounced and lifted with a life of their own. Around her hair a gold fillet was placed and over the top of that, a circle of white winter flowers. A bouquet of the same flowers was placed in her hands and she was led from the sanctuary back along the path to the river, where the barge waited.
The acolytes had ceased their chatter when outside the sanctuary. They almost scurried along the secret path to the river, hunched and silent. Their spirits were dampened when they emerged into a world that shunned them. However, now they stood at proud attention as the barge floated down the river into the night.
Ahead of them Diana could make out by starlight and the flames that illuminated the barge where the river they were on merged with another broader and slower water. That was the Derwent, then.
Before the barge reached that junction, though, the four oarsmen dug in their oars and steered the barge toward the shore. They had arrived. But where?
Diana looked toward the shore. In the darkness no details showed except for a shapeless, high hillock that erupted on the very end of the promontory between the two rivers. Its flat-topped silhouette blanked out the stars and it reminded Diana a little of the beacon hill at home, only smaller and less regular. This, then, must be the tor that the lady spoke of.
The barge came to the bank and rested. The acolytes and priestesses filed off, making a double line between which the Lady walked. An acolyte stepped to Diana’s side and indicated that she was to follow the Lady. Diana slipped in between the files.
The procession moved along a well-worn path. This one had not been disguised or hidden. It lay bare to the night and led directly up to the top of the tor, climbing the hillside by a series of steps cut into the rock and earth.
At the top, the earth blazed with light. Hidden by the summit of the Tor, the moon had risen over the land. The huge pale disc hung low over the horizon, bathing everything in a serene, milky light. After the dark of the night, the moonlight was dazzling.
But only for a moment. Diana’s vision quickly adjusted to the welcome light and the sight before her was astonishing. On a flat terrace just below the wide summit of the tor stood a vast assembly of people. Diana saw a tall head above the crowd and recognized Griffin and next to him, Sosia.
Abruptly, Diana was being turned away and led toward where the Lady had taken up a position at the very top of the tor and she saw no more of the people, for she had finally sighted Alaric.
He was staring at her, watching her walk toward him and for a moment Diana found herself staring at Alaric too. He seemed different and she could not fathom why. Then she began to notice details. His clothing was good quality, something that only the very richest of families could afford and nothing like the work-a-day tunics that he wore about the estate. He wore no cloak and although he had a belt, he carried no sword or knife.
There was a circlet around his brow and around his neck hung a strangely shaped necklet, the ends of which curled in on themselves with an interesting symmetry. Diana remembered the significance of the circlet. It was the mark of a Celtic prince.
Prince?
She recalled that Alaric was cousin to Merlin and that Merlin was, among other things, a prince. Verus had told her once, wh
en he had been trying to convince her of Arthur’s credentials before he had run away and taken the choice from her, that Merlin was the bastard son of a royal Roman general and grandson of a Celtic king.
That king would be Alaric’s grandfather too.
She was bewildered. Events were moving too fast. Each successive moment revealed another part of a picture that spread across a canvass far larger than her own petty concerns of the estate and she had no time to absorb the knowledge before another revelation appeared.
The Lady had spoken of her carrying the flame of Arthur’s vision. There was the realization that there were other women in the world who felt as Diana did, who had found their own place. Alaric’s royal status. The hint of Arthur’s future held in that one strange word, Camlann.
Diana dismissed all the fearful speculations and clung to the simple knowledge that she had agreed to marry Alaric. She reminded herself of all the reasons why she had agreed. She tried to invoke the secret pleasure she had enjoy only a few short days before at the idea of being married to this man. She tried and failed.
* * * * *
Alaric stared. He could not help himself. He knew it was Diana coming toward him, flanked by a dozen acolyte attendants, for her diminutive height and the square set of her shoulders told him it was her, but he would have been forgiven for mistaking her, otherwise.
All signs of her Roman heritage had gone. This was a creature of air and light. A wood-sprite, perhaps. She seemed to float along just above the ground. The moonlight bathed her in an aura of light. Her dress and the flowers that bound her hair glowed with a life of their own. The belt around her waist shone strangely too. It was as if the patterns themselves shed light.
It was the first time Alaric had seen more than a hint of Diana’s figure. She hid behind no oversized tunic and trews now. The dress seemed to emphasize each curve and he found he was running his gaze over all of them, astonishment warring with a tightening of his body he had no trouble recognizing.
Her face too, lacked its usual scowl. It was serene. Even beautiful.
Yes, she was exquisite…a delicate, ethereal beauty, he realized, his astonishment growing. Where had this woman been hiding?
She came to a halt a pace away from him. While the attendants arranged themselves to one side, she gazed at him calmly, steadily. Her eyes seemed enormous in the tiny face, surrounded by the glorious abundance of her hair. Her neck seemed too slender to hold that mass and her shoulders too frail. His gaze drifted lower, skimming over the well-rounded breasts to the tiny waist and hips framed nicely by the belt. Such perfect proportions…
The Lady began to speak the words of the ceremony, which Alaric barely heard.
It was a trick of the light, he decided. The moon women had arranged the setting to bedazzle him and awe the people watching below. Nothing more. He did not question the basic flaw of his reasoning—that even the greatest of powers would be unable to change Diana’s body. Instead he dismissed it as an effect, a vision.
But that did not stop his body from responding. His thoughts glided toward the planned end of this night—the wedding bed—and there they hovered like a hawk over prey.
Chapter Eighteen
Traveling alone was insanity itself these days but Alaric risked it for they were not traveling far and the hour was so late potential thieves were probably sleeping off their night’s plunder. Besides, nobody would dare touch the remote creature riding beside him.
Diana was astride the white horse Alaric had given her as a wedding gift. She had barely spoken since the completion of the ceremony and when she did she was reserved.
Her restrained manner seemed entirely appropriate given her new appearance. The moon had lifted high above them now but still bathed her in the milky light that changed her to an apparition. Upon the white horse, with her hair unbound except for the royal filet and streaming out behind her as they rode, Diana would incite panic in any would-be thieves who were still abroad.
Alaric’s gaze continually drew back to her. He found it hard to distinguish the Diana he knew from this stranger beside him, yet it was Diana. That this marvelous woman of light and majesty was the feral kitten and driven leader of his acquaintance was astonishing…and pleasing.
She was his wife.
Unbidden, his gaze drew back to her pleasing figure once more. This was the reason for his haste. Even as he hurried, he silently mocked himself for allowing such a small thing as bedding a woman to drive his actions but the acknowledgment made no difference.
They reached the inn a few hours before dawn. The low thatched building sat next to a grand stone bridge that spanned the canal there, serving an old Roman road that had long since been claimed by time. The broken bricks were scattered but the road still served as an unmistakable guide for travelers not familiar with the area, so the inn managed to survive.
Alaric climbed down from his horse and turned to help Diana down from hers. He had never performed that service for her before and even as he grasped her waist, he knew that she would notice and possibly comment.
He lifted her down. Her weight was nothing and his fingers met over the indentation of her spine, which he could feel through the fine fabric of her dress. His fingertips registered heat and softness…an incredible softness. What would such soft skin feel like, bereft of clothing?
She stepped back out of his hands the moment her feet touched the ground. Her chin lifted. “Thank you,” she said, her voice pitched low.
Alaric knew he deserved no more and had anticipated no less, yet he was still disappointed to loose contact with that marvelous sensation. He turned toward the inn. “They are expecting us—”
“At this hour?” Alaric heard disbelief.
“The innkeeper has been well compensated for his efforts. Besides, he is trading still.” Alaric pointed to the slack-hipped horse tied up at the door and the low murmur and light that came from the single window on this side of the building. He headed for the door.
“We could not have returned home this night?” Diana asked from behind. Her voice was cold.
“We could.” Alaric turned back to face her. “But my bed does not comfortably hold two, you have no bed at all and every other bed on the estate has a prior claimant. Where do you suggest we might spend this night? I would not fit on that chair of yours. I do not have your capacity for curling up like a cat.”
She gazed at him and her face did not reveal a single reaction. Her lack of response riled Alaric into a rare impatience.
“If this is not to your satisfaction, my lady, we can return,” he said sharply. “There are always the stables. The heavens know it is not the first time I have slept upon straw.”
She flinched.
“The heavens prevent me from discommoding you,” she retorted, her voice very low and very even. She picked up her skirt. “Let us go in, then.” She headed for the door.
Alaric sighed and strode to catch up with her.
Inside, the public room was almost empty. A fire still burned in the central hearth and looked as though it had been recently stoked. A man dozed on a bench drawn up to the stone fireplace, while at a small table in a dark corner, three men sprawled around a pitcher and cups. Each appeared well drunk.
The rest of the room was neat and tidy. Each table had been cleaned and the stools settled neatly beneath. The floor was clear of rubbish and spillage.
From a doorway at the back of the room came the aroma of baking bread. The mouth-watering smell jogged Alaric’s memory. “Are you hungry?” he asked Diana.
She shook her head.
The man at the hearth stirred at the sound of Alaric’s voice, stood up with a mighty stretch and crossed to them. “My lord, my lady. Everything is ready. I trust you arrived without incident?”
“Yes, thank you, Ban,” Alaric assured him. “The lady…my wife. Can you show her to the room immediately? It is late.”
“To the hour I can vouch,” Ban agreed. “This way, my lady.” And he lifted a hand tow
ard the door at the back.
Diana looked up at Alaric and a single brow lifted in inquiry.
“I will wait here until you’re ready,” he told her.
She seemed to consider this for a moment, then turned and followed the innkeeper without a word. Alaric watched her cross the room with a mingling of wonder and growing appreciation. She walked with regal grace but nothing could hide the subtle sway of her hips. The distance from hip to floor spoke of proportionately long legs too.
She left the room without a backward glance. The lack of need for a reassuring glance back toward him ruffled him, yet provoked admiration.
He began to pace the floor between the hearth and the nearest table. Three paces back and forth.
After a moment, the innkeeper returned with a new pitcher and two cups. “To celebrate my lord’s marriage,” he explained, pouring.
To stop and sit, to drink and share platitudes and conversation were the last things Alaric wished to do. But the innkeeper had so far provided exemplary service—well above even those high recommendations that had brought Alaric here in the first place. It would be churlish to refuse the man this simple act.
So Alaric accepted the cup and sat to share a dry dialogue with Ban and all the while he found his thoughts were with Diana. What was she doing in that room he would soon go to? At the idea that she might be undressing, beads of sweat formed on his brow and his impatience grew tenfold. The desire to leave tugged at him like a wild horse at tether.
Finally, finally, Ban stood, stretched again and collected the pitcher and cups into his arms. He took the wares out, then returned to show Alaric to the hewn oak door that was the entrance to his room. With a murmured good night, the man left Alaric at the door.
Alaric grasped the latch, lifted it and entered the room.
Diana stood by the window. She was still dressed in the magical white dress but she had removed the filet from her hair. It streamed down either side of her face, spilling across her shoulders and curling around her elbows, shining in the shower of moonlight falling through the windowpane. The light had captured her perfectly in the frame of the window and again lit up her dress with the same wonderful glow as before.
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