Knights of the Round Table: Geraint

by Rowley, Gwen

This time he slid his fingers inside of her. “Here it is,” he said, as if he were proud of his accomplishments.

  She turned her face into his shoulder and tried not to giggle. He began to kiss her again, and her arms wrapped around him. His fingers teased and tormented, his mouth found her breasts, and soon she convulsed against him, swept away by the passion she’d only ever shared with him. When he slid on top of her, she opened her thighs to him, and he settled himself in between, the hard length of him teasing her already sensitive flesh.

  “Remind the woman to bend her knees,” she said raggedly. “It helps the first time. Then you should gently press into her until—”

  With a single thrust he was inside her, and she was almost overwhelmed by pleasure again.

  “Aye, yes, that’s right,” she cried.

  “I told you I had found it. Now what should I do?” His voice was hoarse with strain.

  “Oh, Geraint—”

  She moved against him desperately, but he didn’t respond, although his muscles trembled, and his breathing was loud.

  “I wish not to pound into her and hurt her,” he said between gritted teeth.

  “Nay, not the first time, although later she will enjoy more enthusiasm.” The details were starting to elude her. “But she might be sore the first time, so you should move slowly in and out, and teach her the rhythm of lovemaking.”

  Against her mouth, he murmured, “Teach me the rhythm.”

  She moved against him, her hips rising and falling, taking the length of him and then releasing him. She thrust up harder and harder, and he met her ever more boldly. When he shuddered and found his own release, she held him close, her legs wrapped around him, wishing she need never let him go. There could still be so much danger ahead.

  Geraint lifted himself up by the arms, their hips still mated, and stared down at her. “I forgot myself, teacher. Did I hurt you?”

  She shook her head, trying not to cry with the emotions he inspired in her. She’d turned into a fountain of tears since her marriage, she who had once had the fierce impassivity of a warrior.

  He leaned down and nipped her lips with his. “Will I be allowed to do it again?”

  “Probably not the first time,” she said, laughing. “And you should never immediately leave your mate either. Hold her, talk to her, even as you fall asleep. Show her that she means more to you than a sexual release.”

  He rolled her to her side and came down behind her, pulling her back against him. He dragged his shirt over the two of them as a blanket.

  Caressing her hair gently, he asked, “Did I pass?”

  “You met my every expectation.” She rolled onto her back and stared up at him. “Geraint, know that when I did this in truth, I never exchanged such banter with my students. They did not talk but for the occasional serious question. They listened and did as I bid. And never—never did I allow them to bring me true pleasure. I instructed them in it, but did not demonstrate.”

  “Surely such mating could not have been comfortable.”

  “There are certain oils,” she whispered, smiling. Then she stared at him, hoping the love showed in her eyes. “Only with you do I give myself over to the feelings we share.”

  He kissed her gently, then lay his head down on his arm. “Thank you.”

  Chapter 25

  BY the next evening, they’d ridden the raft through the next hill—luckily smaller than the last—and beached it before the waterfall, as the troll had instructed them. It was a short journey down a final hillside to the water’s edge, where they found the stone bridge, several hundred years old, that spanned it. Geraint limped to favor his right leg and kept assuring Enid that he was fine. But inside he felt relieved and anxious and worried all at the same time. Had the Saxons already invaded? Was his father even now in battle?

  He pointed to the southwest. “Cornwall lies there, only a few leagues’ distance.”

  She stared up at him. “And you know that the Donella tribe lies between us and Cornwall.”

  “Are you ready to introduce me to your father?”

  Her eyes widened. “We have time? Should we not go to your father? The Saxons—”

  “But I have need of one of my most important allies. He will surely want to supply us with horses to finish our journey.”

  “Of course.”

  Her excitement was contagious, and he told himself to put aside his cares. His father was well prepared, and their reunion could wait another day. Enid had been a long time without her family.

  For the rest of the morning she walked and he limped, heading away from the river and deeper into the forest. If there were paths other than animal tracks, he could see none, but his wife moved with purpose. At last she paused and cocked her head. Glancing back, she gave him a grin just as two men jumped out of the trees and landed before her. They were clothed in leather tunics, and both carried bows in their hands as if they were about to use them.

  Geraint and both men froze, uncertain and tense. But Enid only laughed.

  “Quin and Teague,” she said, “you don’t look as if you remember who I am.”

  They both bowed to her, and she smiled and clapped them on their shoulders.

  Quin looked at Geraint again. “Enid, you come with a stranger. We worried you were his prisoner.”

  Geraint rolled his eyes. “As if she would ever allow me to do that.”

  Enid took his arm. “Allow me to present my husband, Prince Geraint of Cornwall.”

  Teague looked skeptical. “Druce told us all that you had taken a mate not of our tribe. Your father found it difficult to believe.”

  “That is only because he does not know my husband,” she said primly. “Lead on and we shall follow you into the village.”

  Geraint’s optimism faded as he followed his wife through the forest. Would her father not give his approval of their marriage? Could it be the final reason that the Donella tribe turned against Cornwall?

  But Enid seemed confident and fearless. As the forest expanded into small meadows where thatched houses were scattered, she called greetings to all. Children ran to hug her, women left their kitchen gardens to smile at her and stare at him.

  When they were walking again, she said, “This is one of the many small villages that make up our tribe. We farm as needed, but mostly we hunt our food. My father’s home is just beyond the next ridge of land.” She smiled. “It is not so impressive as a castle, but it serves us.”

  When they crested the ridge and looked down, Geraint saw Enid’s pride as he took in her chieftain’s home. Built of wood, it sprawled through the trees, making the forest part of the house itself. Lined before it were dozens of warriors, outfitted with swords, yet wearing bows on their backs. And in the center was a gathering of people dressed in draping tunics.

  Though several women started to come forward, one man lifted a hand to stop them, then strode toward them himself, followed by a boy nearly grown into his height. The chieftain was tall and blond and beardless, though his hair was beginning to fade to white. But he had Enid’s proud bearing, and even her nose.

  Enid ran to hug him. “Father, it is so good to see you!”

  “You have been gone many months, daughter. We have missed you.”

  The man’s voice was soft with love, but his gaze was for his new son by marriage. Those eyes assessed Geraint thoroughly, and he waited for judgment, not at all certain what it would be. Even the boy—Enid’s brother?—watched him with suspicion.

  Enid turned back to Geraint, and wearing a nervous smile, drew him forward. “Father, this is my husband, Prince Geraint of Cornwall. Geraint, meet my father, Chieftain Calder of the Donella tribe.”

  The boy shot her a scowl.

  “And my brother, Dermot,” she added quickly.

  Geraint bowed. “My father, King Erbin of Cornwall, sends his greetings.”

  “And he sends you as his ambassador?” the chieftain asked, one eyebrow raised. “On foot and alone but for my daughter? And you look a
s if you walked through the deepest swamp to get here.”

  “My father did send me, my lord, although the reason we are without retainers and horses and dressed as poorly as we are is a long story. In fact, my father might believe us dead, so we cannot delay our journey long. Even now the Saxons might be moving ashore in Cornwall.”

  “So Druce informed me,” the chieftain said. “Come into my home and explain yourself, while Enid reassures her mother and sisters.”

  Geraint turned to his wife. She quickly kissed his cheek, then went running to fling herself into the arms of three women, who laughed and cried and held her.

  ON one side of the great hall, Enid peered between the trees, which towered up through the thatched roof. Her husband and her father were talking, facing one another across a table. Their faces remained so serious, and she could not tell whether they spoke easily—or whether they might like each other. Her brother, Dermot, slumped in a chair near the men. It was obvious that although Dermot listened with interest, sometimes his mind wandered off, as usual.

  Her sister Olwen tugged on her arm. “Leave them be, Enid. To them, there are dangers in the world more important than your marriage. But not to us!”

  Enid laughed and turned back to her family, seating herself on a cushion in the circle they formed. Her mother, Moira, still could not stop the occasional tear from falling down her cheek. She knew her mother was happy with Enid’s happiness. But from now on their separations would be for months, not hours or days, and the reality was sobering.

  Olwen seemed much the same, soft and plump again with child. In her eyes, as well as their mother’s, was the wisdom of women, of healing and understanding. Cinnia, the beauty of the family, seemed more mature, as if she bore a new knowledge, now that she was truly a woman grown.

  And all of them watched Enid with caution, not bothering to hide their concern.

  She took her mother’s hands. “Do not worry so, Mama. Geraint is a wonderful man, who loves me as I love him. We married quickly, that is true, but we understand and trust each other now.”

  “And he knows everything?” Cinnia asked sharply.

  “Aye, he does.”

  Olwen sighed. “Then he is the reason you have given up the gifts bestowed by the Lady of the Lake.”

  Enid shot her a startled look. “Their absence is so evident, then?”

  “Of course, especially to us, your sisters.”

  Their mother sighed. “Why would you risk such a thing, when your mission is not yet complete?”

  “But it is, Mama,” Enid said. “My mission was to learn the fighting techniques of the British knights. I have done so. After the Saxons are defeated, I will return to teach our warriors. Geraint understands this, and although at first it stood between us, he trusts me now.”

  Her mother touched her cheek. “But why deny the powers that made you strong, that kept you safe?”

  “Because I had no need of them anymore. I want to be one with Geraint and our people, and I cannot do that when I’m forever different. The Lady gave me the gifts as a temporary thing, did she not?”

  Olwen looked at her with understanding. “He is part of your family now.”

  Enid clutched her hand. “Aye, he is, and I no longer wanted to be a worry to him, someone whose behavior he would constantly have to explain to his father. Please worry not. I am so happy.”

  While Cinnia consoled their mother, Olwen spoke softly for Enid’s ears alone. “You have not told your husband of your decision to relinquish the powers.”

  Enid stiffened. “It only happened recently. But he will be relieved.”

  “Then why do you not tell him immediately?” Olwen asked, eyes narrowed.

  It had not occurred to Enid that she was again holding something back from her husband. But surely when she told him he would agree that this news was good. “I will find the right moment, I promise you.”

  Dermot came running to bring them back into the great hall, and Enid saw Geraint and her father holding tankards of ale, more relaxed as they spoke to one another.

  Geraint grinned when he saw her.

  Cinnia tugged at her arm and whispered, “My, how did you find such a handsome man!”

  Enid smiled. “It was all because of my skill with a sword.”

  “But I want the real story!” Cinnia called.

  In the great hall, Chieftain Calder spoke solemnly, but Enid could tell that he was pleased.

  “We have renewed the bonds of friendship between us and the people of Cornwall,” he said to the courtiers and family members who gathered around him. “Misunderstandings are relics of the past. But we must support each other, if there is to be a future. Even now an enemy approaches.”

  Enid slid her arm into Geraint’s and whispered, “It is true? The Saxons have arrived?”

  Geraint nodded. “Your father has had word from his scurriers. The Saxons have disembarked from their ships in Cornwall itself. King Arthur is leading an army, but it may not arrive in time. But my father will stand strong, and your father is sending soldiers.”

  “We will go, too, of course,” she said.

  He smiled. “Of course. In the morning, we will depart.”

  Her mother came to the chieftain’s side. “Calder, should our daughter, Enid, not remain with us, away from such danger?”

  Enid stared in surprise.

  Then her father took her mother’s hand. “Enid is a warrior woman, dearling. She is the match of any man on that field.”

  Olwen stared hard at Enid, and she knew that the time was now.

  “Father,” Enid said, “Mama only worries because she knows that I have given up the Lady’s powers.”

  Geraint turned her to him, and Enid stared up at him, part hopeful, part afraid.

  “We were in the caves,” he said, his face drawn with worry. “You were not able to find the moon. I am so sorry, Enid.”

  She sighed. “Nay, it was afterward, when you were recovering from your wounds.”

  “Afterward?” he said with a frown. “You gave them up willingly?”

  “I have no need of them anymore, Geraint. I only had them to complete my mission, and that is now guaranteed by Cornwall’s alliance with the Donella.”

  He searched her face, and what she saw in the softening of his eyes told her of his understanding.

  He spoke softly into her ear. “You would have remained my wife no matter what. My father would have accepted that.”

  “Perhaps. But I am your wife, Geraint, a princess of Cornwall. That is my present and my future. Those magical gifts were my past, and only temporary.” She hesitated. “I am still a warrior woman. I can accompany you and give you my sword, my arm.”

  He met her eyes. “And I value them. I could not be parted from you, not now.”

  She smiled and came into his arms, and saw Olwen nodding her approval.

  GERAINT and Enid left the next morning with fresh horses, thirty mounted archers, and the promise of more to follow. Geraint knew that the Donella did not yet have the skills to fight armored, mounted warriors, but if Enid was any indication, they would learn quickly.

  He thought again of her skill and could not help worrying for her. Now that he knew she was as vulnerable as any other soldier, he found himself dreading the battle ahead. He could not forbid her from it; it would damage their marriage all over again.

  But she’d given up everything she’d trained for out of love for him. Though she dismissed it as no sacrifice at all, he knew otherwise.

  The Donella had been keeping watch over the brewing confrontation on the moors of Cornwall, and the chieftain had been able to tell Geraint that his small troop had already joined with King Erbin’s army. They were not far from where Geraint had left them. He knew his father’s scurriers would observe the arrival of mounted warriors, and he made sure to put himself and Enid visibly in the lead.

  They were hailed with great joy some leagues’ distant from the encampment, and Geraint was told about the despondent glo
om that had settled over King Erbin and his army at the thought of his heir’s death. As they rode the final approach, a thousand men greeted their arrival with a cheer.

  He saw the disbelief and joy in his father’s face, and when he dismounted, was greeted with a hug so furious he couldn’t breathe.

  “Father,” he gasped.

  The king released him from the embrace, only to hold his arms and stare at his face in wonder. “When the scurriers told me about your miraculous reappearance—Geraint, you cannot know how it made me feel.”

  The king cleared his throat and glanced at Enid, and although he seemed embarrassed at his emotional display, there was also something that he kept hidden. Geraint’s happiness dimmed.

  Enid was swept into a hug by her squire, Lovell, and Geraint’s men-at-arms each took their turn celebrating with her. When they finally remembered to congratulate him on his escape, they seemed apologetic about their exuberance for Enid. Geraint just shook his head.

  “Come have supper at my fire and tell me everything that has happened,” the king said, leading Geraint and Enid between brightly colored pavilions scattered across the moor. As he saw his son’s limp, he frowned, but Geraint reassured him that he was on the mend.

  After several hours of good food, explanations, and gratitude at the renewal of old alliances, Geraint watched Enid retire to their pavilion, and he turned to find his father watching her as well, wearing an inscrutable expression.

  “You said little to my wife, Father,” Geraint said as they stood beside the fire, tankards of mulled wine warming them. “When we last met, you seemed willing to accept her.”

  “I was—for you.” King Erbin frowned. “But I have heard things since then, revelations that perhaps you should have known before your marriage.”

  “I admit to haste,” Geraint said evenly, “but it has all turned out for the best. I will not be parted from her.”

  His father opened his mouth to answer, when suddenly a young soldier ran toward them.

  The young man gasped and attempted to speak.

  “Slow down, boy,” the king said.

  “Forgive me . . . sire,” the soldier said, breathing heavily. “I-I have come to report that we can see the fires of our enemy in the distance. They are massed in a long line not many leagues south of here.”