CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Although men often were considered the chief strategists and architects of war, they had nothing on the cunning of a determined woman when her heart was on the line. It didn’t take long for us to figure out that although Galen was there for Elaine, Isolde and I also had a chance. Despite his protestations of love, we all knew Galen simply was looking for a well-bred wife. I was the same rank as Elaine, and perhaps more attractive due to our shared Votadini heritage and the dowry of Votadini lands near Stirling I had inherited upon my mother’s death, not to mention the numerous gold mines that dotted my father’s kingdom. Isolde, on the other hand, was heir to the throne of Ireland, making her the highest-ranking of all of us, and therefore, also the most dangerous.
Unfortunately, Lyonesse and Pellinor were perceptive of this as well. They did all they could to keep Elaine and Galen together and away from their less desirable wards. He accompanied the family to Mass—which Isolde and I were oddly no longer required to attend—and at other times indulged him with all manner of sport and entertainment.
The positive outcome was Corbenic was a livelier place than I had ever seen it. However, Isolde and I could do little but watch from the shadows. With the little freedom we had, the two of us angled to spend time with our charming guest. During his first months at Corbenic, I was able to grab a few disparate moments once in a while, but had little luck otherwise. Isolde fared even worse during daylight hours, being fully treated as a servant now, her time taken up with an endless list of chores. To her credit, she fulfilled them with little complaint, but the fury grew behind her eyes. Because she was absent from her bed most nights, I could only speculate that she chose to trade sleep for Galen’s empty hours and perhaps fill his bed in the process.
One morning I awoke to find the castle strangely silent. Guessing the family had gone to Mass, I dressed and ventured down to the kitchen to break my fast with whatever scraps I could find. Lyonesse never allowed her family to eat until after receiving the sacrament, and by the time they returned, she likely would have some diversion for me that would not indulge my aching belly.
I had just emerged from the pantry, arms full of slightly stale bread, hardened cheese, fruit, and a half-empty flagon of wine, when a shadow fell across my path. I recognized its owner just in time to stifle my scream and save my breakfast from being ruined among the greasy rushes.
“Galen!” I gasped. “You startled me. What are you doing here? I thought you would be out with the others.”
He courteously relieved me of my burden, moving it to a low table and keeping one apple for himself, tossing it in the air, a glint in his eyes, only to catch it a moment later. “Pellinor was going to take me hunting—he wanted to show off Lyonesse’s new pair of hounds—but he left in haste to resolve some sort of dispute among two of the northern chieftains. The messenger who summoned him said it was likely to turn deadly soon.”
I sat in silence across the table from him, eating my breakfast, still slightly unnerved at being so unexpectedly alone with him.
The quiet was broken with a crunch as he bit into the apple. “In case you were wondering, Lyonesse and Elaine are in town. They went to meet with the sisters to help with some service to the poor. I offered to join them, but Lyonesse said that the sisters would object to the presence of a man within their walls, so I was not permitted to come. She sent Isolde off to market with a list so long, two servants had to accompany her to bring it all back. I doubt they will return for several hours.”
So we truly were alone then? Well, except for the kitchen maid tending the fire, who seemed greatly amused by the situation, though she pretended not to listen. I knew her well enough to know she could be trusted.
And why would she need be? It was not as though something inappropriate was going on; we were just talking. And eating. Eating was safe, right? So why were my cheeks reddening more each second?
I chanced a glance at Galen. His eyes were sparkling. He smiled when he caught me looking at him. I dropped my gaze, embarrassed. I wished I had left my hair down so that it could hide me from him, like I used to do with Aggrivane.
I cleared my throat nervously. “So how were you planning to spend your day, then?”
“Well, actually, I had hoped to go riding.”
I nodded, stood, and began clearing the table.
Galen grabbed my arm, and I whirled instinctively to confront him, surprised. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the maid wasn’t listening.
“I was hoping you would join me. My horse is already saddled for the hunt.”
My heart leapt into my throat, missing several beats. My mind was suddenly numb. “I—I, cannot,” I stammered. “Lyonesse dislikes me enough already. If it were known I went out alone with you—”
“We needn’t be alone,” he answered smoothly, his hand still on my arm. “Bring your lady’s maid.”
“I haven’t one,” was all I could manage to reply. My mind was beginning to scatter at his nearness. He had a fresh, wild scent like lowland heather.
He flashed a captivating grin at the kitchen maid. “I see here with us a lady who also is a maid. Will she not for a few short hours substitute as a witness that we engaged in no impropriety?” He turned to the maid. “Do you ride?”
“Yes, sire,” she responded, trying to hide her joy at this exciting turn of events.
My stomach lurched. The maid was Isolde’s friend, so I knew she would find out about everything that happened—as would half the household—but Lyonesse trusted her, so she was an asset in that respect. I was taking a risk, but I did not have the strength to turn him down.
“So be it,” I acquiesced.
The early morning sun caressed my skin as we set out. Galen led us east toward the Forrest of Dean and away from town, lest we be spotted by prying eyes. The maid followed discreetly behind us, clearly enjoying a rare day out of doors. All around us life was bursting forth, from the budding trees and blooming flowers to the myriad of woodland creatures who sang in the trees overhead or, frightened by thundering hooves, cleared the path before us.
We slowed to a canter as the path grew narrower, and Galen allowed my horse to fall into step with his. I could not find the courage to look over at him, but I knew he was watching me.
Self-consciously, I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The tension that held fast between us was not the sensual pressure that boiled between lovers, but also not the awkwardness common among strangers; whatever it was, it was driving me mad. Galen, however, appeared at ease. Like Isolde, he always seemed to be playing with his environment, squeezing the most out of every situation—always in control.
The breeze rustled the tender leaves, and the jays called from the treetops. Finally, I could stand the silence between us no longer.
“How did you hear Pellinor was looking for a husband for Elaine?” I blurted out the least dangerous of the questions demanding resolution in my mind.
Galen smiled playfully. “You wound me, my lady. I hoped you would ask about me.”
I glared at him. “Well, I am, in a roundabout way.”
He chuckled. “You would be surprised how fast word of a young virgin bride spreads across this land, especially when she is the daughter of a lord such as Pellinor.” He leaned in closely, as if confiding a secret, lips nearly grazing my ear. “We men have a spy network that runs from one tip of the island to the other, and we can track the scent of an eligible woman like a fox.”
I turned to look at him, to judge his sincerity, and found his face only inches from mine. Though his tone was serious, his eyes told he was teasing. I could not help but smile, although I pulled away a bit, guiding my horse just slightly to the right.
“Forget I asked then.”
“No, seriously, we do,” he insisted. “I was traveling in the south of Rheged, just about to cross into Powys, when I heard about Elaine.”
My skin rose to goose pimples. Something about his story did not seem right. “That w
ould have been, what, just after Candlemas? Is that not fairly early in the season to be so far from home? Were you not worried about late season snows?”
“No. It was a warm winter in that area, and the threat of dangerous weather had long since passed.” His answer was as airy as if I had asked about the trees. “And in case this was going to be your next question, I was in Rheged on an official visit for my father. He has trade relations with many of the officials in that area. They provide coal, and sometimes salt, and we give them wool from our sheep. It is much higher quality than anything than could be sheared from those sorry beasts they raise.” His expression dared me to ask any more questions.
His answers, while precise, seemed a little too rehearsed.
“But if you were so far away, how did you know so much about the three of us when you first arrived? And where did you get those gifts?”
Galen stopped his horse across the track in front of me, forcing me to a halt. “My lady inquisitor has an impressive list of questions,” he observed, his jaw taut with irritation. “I will answer, but you must do the same for me first. I’ll bet my life you pressed that thistle with a cold iron and have it stashed somewhere safe. Am I right?”
I glowered at him.
He gave me a sardonic look, taking my silence for agreement. “As for those gifts, a man’s courtship methods are his own business, and you will get no more from me on the subject. But I will tell you this. It was not difficult to learn all I needed to know about the lot of you. The closer I drew to town, the more I heard. Have you ever slept in the common room of an inn?”
He let a few heartbeats pass, and when I didn’t respond, he grinned at me. “I doubt you have. Well, cheap liquor loosens lips, especially in close quarters. Many rejected suitors stayed the night in town before returning to their homes. At first, they were reluctant to speak of their embarrassing experiences at court, but I made sure the ale flowed without interruption, and as the night wore on, they began to reveal details that eventually painted a very interesting picture. Few had actually seen Elaine, but she was rumored to be beautiful. They all agreed her father was a force to be reckoned with and her family was very religious. Then I began hearing comparisons between the chaste daughter and the amorous Irish houseguest and of their mysterious friend from Gwynedd. It was not difficult for me to determine who was who when I presented myself to Pellinor. You actually aided me by all being in the room at once—removed the guesswork.” He winked.
“And what did you hear about me?” I was terrified of the answer, but vanity compelled me to ask.
He shrugged and pulled his horse around, continuing forward. “Not much really. Only that you had joined the household a few months before at your father’s bidding. Rest assured that many men consider you lovely, but you need not fear for your virtue, not with the Irish one around. Of course, I knew you to be a child of the north as soon as I saw you. No one else on the whole of the island is as fair of skin as we”—he scrutinized me closely—“although you have a deeper complexion than I would have imagined.”
“My father is Roman,” I answered.
“I won’t hold that against him.”
Even the maid laughed. Her giggling filled the air a few paces behind us.
I was interested now. “I wonder if you knew my mother. She was only thirteen when she came to Gwynedd, but her family still lives near the Firth of Forth, not far from Stirling.”
“Ah, so you are a true lowlander, then. My clan is farther west, near Loch Lomond, but still within the jurisdiction of Stirling.” Galen pulled up his sleeve and extended his right arm, revealing his clan tattoo. A falcon in flight, beak open in a silent hunter’s cry, deadly talons at the ready, encircled his arm, just as the dragon marked Aggrivane’s family. “Who ruled your mother’s clan?”
I had to think hard. It had been years since my mother and I had spoken about her family, and my time in Avalon had dulled a lot of memories. “I’m unsure of who holds power now, but when I was young, my mother spoke of a king named Culhwch. He was her half-brother.”
“Culhwch?” Galen was thunderstruck. “That means your mother must have been the woman called Corinna.”
I was not certain if that was a question or a statement. “Yes. Did you know her?” Then another thought sent ice down my spine. “Are we kin?”
His eyes were distant; he was lost in thought but answered anyway. “No. At least, it is not likely. But my mother lived at court in Stirling and spoke often of your mother.”
He stopped both of our horses by putting out his hand. His eyes scrunched up curiously. “Do you know the story of your family?”
I was confused. “I know that my mother married my father as part of a peace treaty.” The similarity to Isolde’s situation suddenly struck me. “I know they loved one another very much, but that is all.”
“Oh, Guinevere, there is so much more. Your parents are spoken about in lore throughout the four lowland tribes.”
My mouth went immediately dry, and my stomach twisted warily. The only way so many diverse people across such a wide area could know the same tale was if the bards sang it, and the bards bestowed only two kinds of fame—heroism and infamy. The only way I was going to know which dogged my lineage was to hear their story for myself.
“Tell me.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Galen insisted we stop and give our mounts rest and water before continuing the story. I had the sense this was simply a ploy to keep me interested, now that he had me on the hook. The maid took charge of the horses, while we walked along the marshy shore of a small river, being certain to stay within her range of sight. Playing the perfect gentleman, Galen had even asked her to point out the farthest thing she could see so that we knew when to turn around.
I knew enough not to trust him, but that amount of precaution was insulting. It was clear no matter how much he flirted, Galen had no intentions of impropriety with me, or at least none he wanted known. I couldn’t help but glower inwardly that Elaine was good enough for his heart and Isolde his bed, but all I warranted was a supervised jaunt to the river and back.
He took no notice of my foul temper as we walked among the tender shoots that would grow with summer heat into reeds and grasses, mud squishing under our boots.
“Your family is quite remarkable. I am surprised you know so little,” he said.
I did not answer. So many lost years, time stolen from us by Avalon and my mother’s early death. How much more would my mother have told me, how much more would I have learned if things had been different? Or would she have said anything at all? At the moment, all I could feel was stinging betrayal that all the tribes of the north knew my family better than I. I took a deep breath and signaled with a slight incline of my head for him to begin.
“Even before the betrayal of the Saxons, old king Vortigern was paranoid and feared any ruler who might entertain the idea of challenging him. So he ordered the men of the northern tribes to come within the boundaries of his kingdom and, hence, within his control. Vortigern used the excuse that he needed their strength and skill to defend against the Irish, which was at least partly true.
“As the story is told, your grandfather, King Cunedda, believed that complying with Vortigern’s wishes would prevent Votadini bloodshed. So he made the agonizing decision to leave his wife and her newborn child—your mother—to settle in northern Gwynedd. He intended to send for them as soon as he was established in his new home. But your grandmother knew what dangers lay ahead for her husband, so she did not expect to be quickly summoned. She contented herself with remaining in her homeland, rearing her child according to the traditions of our tribe. They say she was a fierce warrior—your mother.”
I smiled at the memory. “Yes, she was. It was she who taught me the arts.”
“Did she now?” Galen seized my hand, turning it palm up, examining the calluses. “Ah, yes, you have the hands of a fighter.” He traced lightly over each of the darkened patches of skin worn tough by repeat
ed grasping of the sword pommel.
“Lyonesse thinks they are from the work she sometimes makes me do,” I said, feeling the nervous need to explain even though he hadn’t asked.
“She is fond of treating her guests as servants,” he mumbled to himself.
I winced, his words confirming intimacy with Isolde, at least in conversation; they were clearly confidants.
He was still intent upon my hand. “We shall have to have a spar to see if our people are correct that women make equal partners on the battlefield as in the bedroom.”
I froze. “Please, no. It is forbidden. If Pellinor or Lyonesse knew I wielded a weapon within their walls, they would turn me out.”
Galen must have seen the fear in my eyes because he relented. “Your secret is safe with me.” The words were murmured softly in my ear as his arms closed around me for a brief moment, and he lifted me effortlessly over a fallen tree trunk.
It was then that I caught the veiled intention behind his quip. I lost my mind at the touch of his body. It had been so long since I had felt the heat of another that I almost collapsed in his arms.
Whether he failed to notice or was concerned about the maid watching, I knew not, but he righted me very professionally, keeping a light hand on the small of my back as we continued to pace the riverbank.
“To return to my story—or rather yours.” He winked. “Once your grandfather was in Gwynedd, he realized Vortigern’s deal was somewhat of a trick. No land or authority automatically came with this compliance, and what was worse, his title meant nothing in this new country. He could have returned to his family, but Cunedda was still convinced they were safer if he stayed where Vortigern wished and carried out his commands. In a show of sincerity, he went to Vortigern’s court to ask some assistance in setting up a new life. While Vortigern was pleased Cunedda had acquiesced to his demands, he was not one to dole out charity and so sent Cunedda away empty-handed.
Daughter of Destiny Page 18