If it went where he thought it went, which was Swansea, Llanelli or Laugharne, then it might be his ride back across the channel to Silures. Swansea, even after a week had passed, would be the most dangerous of the ports for him to land in. The other two would be a little less risk. Regardless, he had to get back to his side of the channel and his people where he no longer had to fear being turned over to the Romans if he was discovered.
Oswain made his way around the headland and found himself overlooking a harbor and a small village next to it, just as the sun was dipping into the Celtic Sea. From his vantage point, well hidden on the headland’s point, the following day, he watched the barge being loaded for its trip across the channel the following morning. Under the cover of darkness, he slipped down to the harbor and stowed away so that he might cross the channel the following morning.
He slept little through the night and didn’t dare fall asleep the following day as the barge painstakingly lumbered across the channel. Hidden as he was, he had no idea which harbor was its destination, but he was certain that if he was discovered, he would no longer be a free man. His plan was to wait until the dock crews were busy unloading the barge, and then slip off into the water and swim into the shore away from the dock. It was the only part of his plan that left him exposed and vulnerable.
Owain felt the barge slow and come to a stop with a heavy jolt against the dock. He could hear the sounds of the different accents of the same language, one of them that of his own people, being passed back and forth among the dock and barge crews. He listened carefully for the sound of Latin and was thankful that it was absent. He prepared to slip out from his cover and into the water of the harbor, but before he could, someone jerked back the heavy cover he’d been hiding under.
For a long tense moment, the two stared at each other. Owain was certain that the other would call out and he’d quickly be discovered, but then he saw recognition come into the man’s eyes. The man put his finger to his lips, returned the cover and came back a few moments later with a cloak and a hat that matched his own.
“Put these on, grab that crate and follow me,” he whispered. “Once you put the crate on the cart, continue straight down the street until you come to another crossing it; go to the left. That street will take you out of Llanelli and into the countryside. Godspeed, sir.”
Owain did as the man said. In less than half an hour, he was in the countryside of his own land and among his own people.
Chapter Six
Though it was a tiny window in the loft of the cottage, it faced the eastern horizon and brought light spilling across the worn, wool blanket on a feather bed that hadn’t been newly filled in quite some time. As dawn became fuller the light spread out wider, slowly creeping toward the smooth, pale skin of a girl that was sleeping soundly with her disheveled, golden hair covering half of her face. The first tiny ray brushed across her pink lips with a warm kiss and then spread across the rest of her face until it caused the sleeping girl to stir.
Within moments after those first rays crept into her bed, the girl’s eyes fluttered and opened to reveal the pale blue that had been hidden for behind her delicate lids. She greeted her bright warm visitor with a smile. Though she was usually happy when she awakened, she was even happier on that particular morning, because she’d had a dream. Not just any dream, but her dream; the dream about the rugged man with the black curly locks and the bright green eyes.
She sighed heavily as she remembered how they’d walked along the gurgling stream, listened to birds in a bright serenade and inhaled the sweet scent of the wildflowers. She closed her eyes and felt the brush of his lips on hers and…
“Arthes, are you awake?” her mother’s tired voice called to her from the bottom of the ladder that led up to the loft.
“I’m awake,” she sighed. A few more minutes with the man of her dreams would have been nice, but she knew that her mother wouldn’t be pleased if she didn’t hear her feet hit the floor of the loft. She tossed back the covers and slipped her feet into the slippers beside her bed. Their soft lining, made from the fur of a hare were much better than the bracing cold of the wooden floor. She quickly straightened her bed, dressed and then started down the ladder, humming a romantic tune that was stuck in her head.
“Arthes, your father came in during the night and we’re a little short on eggs this morning…”
“Daddy’s home?” she interrupted, hurrying to the floor of the room below.
“Yes, but he arrived very late and you need to let him sleep a few minutes longer,” her mother replied, stopping her from rushing in to greet him. Even though she was grown and beginning to be noticed by the older boys in the village, she still doted on her father, who was often on the road for long stretches of time. “If you’ll go fetch some eggs, so I can get our breakfast made, maybe he’ll be up when you come back in.”
It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. It mean that she had to climb the ladder again to change her shoes. She sighed and raised her foot to the lowest rung to start her climb when she noticed her father’s boots by the chair in the corner where he always took them off and left them for the night. Returning to the tune that she’d began, she went to the chair, sat, took off her slippers and slipped them into the large, heavy boots.
“Oh child,” her mother chuckled, shaking her head as she handed her a basket for gathering the eggs. “I fear you’ve missed your chance at growing up and you’ll be a little girl forever.”
“Not forever,” she chirped. “I had my dream again and I’ll be meeting my prince soon.”
“You’ll be meeting the bear that’s in there snoring when he wakes with an empty stomach and no eggs if you don’t run along,” her mother replied, turning back to the stove where she had just placed a skillet with a dab of lard in it.
Arthes flipped the latch on the door, pulled it open and stepped out into the fresh morning air. The blackbirds were especially in tune with her mood as she strolled to the barn and opened the door to the hen house. Nothing was going to ruin her morning. She reached for the latch to the henhouse and paused a moment, noting that it wasn’t latched. In the same instant, she heard the hens cluttering and scampering about inside.
“Oh, no, I left the door unlatched and that weasel is back!” she exclaimed tugging the door the rest of the way open and then catching her breath as she froze.
Her heart began to throb in her chest and she was finding it very hard to breathe. She considered a scream, but without air…
The darkness began to clear from her and she felt herself being lowered onto the ground and leaned against the door. The strong arms that held her were careful not to let her sit too hard. It took a moment for her to get her bearings. When she did, her eyes snapped open with a start and she was looking into a pair of bright green eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asked in a quiet tone.
Again, she was considering a scream.
“Please don’t be startled,” he said. “I won’t hurt you.”
“But you were in the… you’re stealing!”
“Shhh,” he said. “Please, I’m hungry and I just needed a few eggs.”
Her eyes still wide, she worked at controlling her panic. “My father will come and…” She wasn’t sure what her father would do.
“I’m sorry,” he replied and started to turn away. “I’ll put back what I took.”
“No, wait,” she said, stopping him. She remembered what the friar had said in the services the previous Sunday. “We can spare a few if you’re truly in need.”
“I would be grateful and I will repay your kindness when I am able,” he replied.
Regaining control of herself after her start and her fainting, she was suddenly aware that she’d seen him before. The green eyes, the black, curly hair, the rugged features… it was impossible. “Who are you?” she asked.
“I really shouldn’t tell you. I don’t want your family to be in danger,” he replied.
“Why would my family be in danger
for knowing who you are?”
“Please. I can’t be seen by anyone.”
“Are you an outlaw?” Arthes asked.
“Not to our people, just to the Romans,” he replied. “I can’t stay. I must go.”
“No. Don’t go. I’ll hide you.”
“You can’t hide me.”
“I can and I will. Follow the path into the wood when you reach the blue stone, turn to the right and go into the brambles. There’s a shallow cave. I’ll bring you a better breakfast in a little while.”
“But…”
“Just do it,” she said, slipping into the henhouse to gather eggs and place them in the basket, when she came out again, he was gone.
Chapter Seven
Following the path into the woods, Owain came to the blue stone, just like the girl had said. He turned to his right and fought his way through the tangle of brambles and into a small clearing. There was a stone wall with boards atop it leaning into the stone rise and behind them as he stepped behind peeped around the corner was, indeed, a shallow cave that sank back into the hill. He slipped inside and examined the contents.
There was a worn out mat back inside the cave, which had once served someone as a comfortable bed. A small ring of stones with a metal grate over it was under the lean to. There was an empty shelf with a much-used pan and skillet hanging below it. A spoon, fork and knife were resting in the soil beside the fire ring. Owain plunked them from the ground, wiped them off on his trousers and placed them on the shelf. Opposite the fire ring was a small stack of wood kept dry from the elements. It wasn’t much, but it was a place to hide.
With his stomach growling, he stretched out on the thin, lumpy mat and waited. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, bed of evergreen boughs would have been much better, but it worked for the moment. He laced his fingers behind his head and considered the girl.
The soft delicate features of her face with its bright pink lips, button nose and wide, startled eyes of a pale shade of blue had been framed by golden hair that was as brilliant as the sunlight itself. When she’d fainted in his arms, it had felt as though a wool blanket had collapsed over his arm. She couldn’t have weighed more than a blackbird.
The way she had looked into his eyes haunted him. At first, there was terror there. It was to be expected after receiving such a startling surprise. They had changed, however, and in them was a sparkle of recognition; the sort a person has when they look into the eyes of someone they have known throughout their lifetime. How could she have recognized him?
He stomach growled again, reminding him that he still hadn’t had his breakfast. He considered his situation for a moment. He was being hunted by the Romans. He’d already heard of how they had tortured their captives in an attempt to get information out of them. They had also dealt harshly with any who the suspected of helping those who had involved in the rebellion. Their cruelty had worked against them and his Silurians had become even more set against their rule.
Their cruelty would be even worse for the girl and her family if the Romans discovered that they had kept him hidden and given him aid. Determined to leave at once and not bring such an end to the sweet girl and her family, Owain pushed himself up from the mat and started toward the opening in one end of the lean to. Before he could quit the shelter, however, the girl was standing before him looking up at him with her wide, innocent eyes.
“Where are you going?”
“I can’t bring cruelty onto your family,” he said. “I must go before they discover that you helped me.”
“I thought you said you were hungry?” she grinned.
His stomach growled again, just at the mention of eating. He couldn’t deny it, especially when it was so loud that the girl heard it to.
“Sit down,” she ordered, taking charge in spite of her youth. “A bit of breakfast and you can be on your way, if that’s what you really want.”
“I’ve given up on wants and replaced them with needs,” he replied, doing as he was told and sitting down upon the lumpy mat.
“Now, before I cook breakfast for a stranger,” she said, taking the grate from the fire ring and placing tender into it to begin her work. “How about you tell me your name?”
“It would be better if you didn’t know,” he said. “Much safer for you and your family.”
“It is not proper to not know a person’s name if you’re going to serve him his breakfast,” she retorted.
“Perhaps you should tell me yours,” he grinned.
“I’ve no reason to be ashamed of my name.”
“I’ve no reason to be ashamed of mine either,” he countered.
“Then what is it?”
She’d wasn’t nearly as innocent as she first appeared, in fact, the girl was quite clever. “Fine. My name is Egbert.”
“A Saxon name?” she laughed. “You’re not a clever liar at all. There is no mistaking that you are Silurian in blood, manner and speech. However, if you want to play this game, then my name is Ethel.”
“You hardly have the look of an Ethel,” he laughed.
“Perhaps we should start over with giving our names then,” she smiled, turning away from the fire that she had got going in the ring.
Owain sighed heavily as he looked into her sparkling pale eyes. He truly wanted her to know his name, but he feared what it might bring to her. Nevertheless, he gave in. “I am Owain.”
“I am pleased to meet you, Owain,” she smiled, extending her hand to him. “I am Arthes.”
He waited for recognition of his name to sweep over her, but she was either a good actor or had no knowledge of who he was. She continued the preparation of his breakfast, offering him a small hunk of bread to tide him over while he waited. He watched her in silence, listening to the sounds she was making, the rustling of her clothing, his own breathing and the songs of the blackbirds in the trees outside. It was all in perfect harmony.
It wasn’t long before she was passing the skillet with meat, eggs, bread and cheese over to him. “I’ll bring you a bit of milk later on, but…”
“What is this place?” he asked, interrupting her and waving a hand to indicate the shelter. He was going to leave as soon as he had eaten, but he didn’t want to enter into that discussion again, so he decided to distract her.
She narrowed her eyes, well aware of the trick that he was trying to play on her, but answered his question anyway. “There was a goatherd that used to use this some years back whenever he grazed his goats through these woods. I come here often to just sit and dream.”
Chapter Eight
Two weeks had passed since Owain had first startled Arthes in the henhouse and he still hadn’t left the goatherd’s shack. Though he’d made his attempts to go, Arthes always seemed to be able to get him to stay one more day, one more night or one more meal. The truth, however, was that for all the danger that he knew his staying brought Arthes and her family, his heart simply wouldn’t let him leave.
He’d cut more wood for the shelter, though he did it well away from where he might be seen or heard near the lean to. He’d cut some evergreen boughs to lay under the worn mat and worked out its lumps and he’d spent plenty of time lying upon that mat dreaming. The two of them would stroll into the forest looking for mushrooms and wild honey. Sometimes, they’d sit in the shade of a giant tree with wildflowers all around them and tell each other their dreams and wishes for the future.
“I dreamt of you before,” she said quietly one day as they were strolling beside a gurgling stream.
“Of me specifically?” he teased. “Or of some handsome prince who just happened to look like me?”
“Of you,” she answered simply.
“How do you know it was me?” he asked.
“Because in my dream, you and I walked alongside this stream, just like we are right now,” she answered.
“When did you have this dream?” he asked.
“I’ve had it lots of times, but the last time that I had it was the night before I found
you in the henhouse. I haven’t had it since.”
Owain was silent. It was rather odd that she’d had the dreams and then those dreams had ceased when he’d came along. There were those who practiced the ancient art who would put a great deal of store by something like that. He wasn’t sure how much he believed about dreams and the meanings behind them. He’d had dreams of her as well, though he’d had them after they’d met, but not before.
“I know who you are,” she said, breaking the silence.
He stopped and looked at her, suddenly remembering the danger that he was inviting to her family. “What do you know?” he whispered.
“I know that you are the royal line of the Silurians and that you have begun a rebellion to free our people from Roman rule.”
“Where did you hear these things?”
“My father spoke of them last night. It seems the entire countryside is sitting by and watching with great delight as the Romans do their very best to find you and have had no luck.” There was a touch of mischief in her eyes as she stopped and looked up at him. “My father tells me that a certain Legionnaire has offered an enormous reward if you are found, but no Silurian would ever collect such a bribe for his wagging tongue.”
“Then you also know that my rebellion has failed,” he muttered, gazing down at his feet.
“To the contrary, my love,” she giggled.
“What?” he asked, not sure that he’d heard the words that had just come out of her mouth.
“I said, to the contrary. Your rebellion hasn’t failed…”
“Not that,” he replied. “The other part.”
“My love?” she smiled.
“Yes, that.” He returned her smile.
“Does it bother you for me to call you that?”
“No, it’s just the first time I’ve heard you say it.”
The Dragon (Sons of Camelot Book 3) Page 3