MORGAN: A Gripping Arthurian Fantasy Trilogy

by Lavinia Collins

  “Uriens, what is the meaning of this?” Arthur asked.

  Uriens, his face red with rage, not releasing the tight grip on my arm, shook me slightly, and through his anger, sputtered, “She isn’t a virgin.”

  Arthur’s eyes glanced over to me, but just for a second. He drew himself up, giving Uriens a look of disdain.

  “Uriens, I am not sure what you want from me. Do you want me to congratulate you for taking your wife to bed? If so, dragging my sister to me like this in her underclothes is no suitable way to encourage me to do so.” Behind him, Kay had turned to look, but resting his head still in one hand. I didn’t meet his eye, but I was glad, at least, that he seemed to be safe and well. I didn’t want to give anything away.

  “No, Arthur –”

  “My Lord King Arthur,” Arthur corrected sharply. I saw Uriens bristle. He had come in his anger, thinking himself clearly in the right, and he was fast losing ground, losing ground to the king that he had possibly – as many others had – dismissed as a boy.

  “No, my Lord Arthur. I mean she was not a virgin when we married.”

  Arthur squared up to him then, turned fully to face him. He rubbed a thoughtful hand across his mouth.

  “You have proof of this?” he asked, looking steadily at Uriens.

  “There was no blood.”

  Arthur shrugged. “There is not always blood. Morgan has not been a princess locked in a tower, she has spent her youth riding horses, which has made her strong, but many girls lose their first blood that way and have never known a man.” Arthur turned from him, and began to pace for a moment. Uriens’ hand was so tight around my arm, I was beginning to lose the feeling in my fingers. Kay was watching Arthur, wary. Arthur stopped and turned back to Uriens, his tone thoughtful, but his eyes cold, and hard. “Here is my problem, Uriens. The morning after I honour you by giving you my own dear sister as your wife, you dishonour me by dragging her through my castle in her underclothes accusing her of having known another man. Do you think me an honourable man, Uriens?”

  I glanced at him beside me. His nostrils flared and a vein showed in his forehead, but I could see from his face, from his eyes, that he was the man in the weaker position.

  “Yes, my Lord Arthur.”

  “Well, then you see the difficulty I am in. I tell you she has known no one else, and you dishonour her and me by questioning it. Not to mention this rough treatment you have given her, my own dear sister. I have knights to spare, and power yet that I could easily crush a few small castles in North Wales on my way up to Lothian.” I knew this was not true, but Uriens seemed to believe it, and Arthur spoke it like he believed it. “How can I let this insult pass?”

  Uriens said nothing, flustered, overwhelmed. He had lost control of the situation. I supposed he thought he could drag me before Arthur and have Arthur’s sympathy. I was pleased that Arthur seemed to be defending me, but not pleased enough that I forgot it was he who had sold me into this in the first place, for his own political gain.

  “Well, Uriens. You are fortunate, for as I am an honourable man, I am also a merciful one. If you make the appropriate apologies to my sister then I will let this pass as nothing more than… a small misunderstanding.”

  Slowly, reluctantly, Uriens turned to me. I could see he was not at all sorry, and I feared I would pay for this later. Nothing would happen while we were still in Camelot, but once we were in his kingdom, I feared that his anger would come out. I had before me in my mind my sister with the back of her hand pressed against her lip, as though she had done it a thousand times before. He drew in a breath as though it pained him.

  “My apologies, my Lady,” he said, stiffly.

  Arthur nodded, as though satisfied, and gave a wave of his hand, as though to dismiss us, but when Uriens went to lead with me with him to the door, Arthur spoke again.

  “I think you had better leave my sister with me for now, Uriens. It won’t do to drag her through my castle in her shift once more. But you might send for some women to come here with her clothes.”

  Uriens dropped my arm and nodded. I felt the blood rushing back down to my hand, and my skin throbbing where his fingers had been. I felt myself beginning to shake, just slightly, as he slammed the door when he left. I did not want to ever have to go back to him. I wrapped my arms around myself defensively, and stood back for whatever anger I was sure I would have to face from Arthur now. Behind him, Kay was pressing his forehead into the heels of his hands, still barely moved from where he was.

  Arthur, however, gave a huge sigh as though he had been holding in his breath and shook his head, turning to Kay.

  “Well, I really thought he was just going to hit me, or demand a pitched fight or something. Maybe that would have been easier; I would have won. But…” Arthur shook his head, rubbing his face. Kay looked up at him blearily, his face unreadable. Then Arthur turned back to me, and I was surprised to see he did not look angry, just weary. “Morgan, whoever this man was –”

  I opened my mouth, with a vague intention to protest my innocence, but Arthur carried on speaking.

  “No, I don’t want to hear about it, or hear some excuse. I’m not stupid, Morgan. Whoever it was, or whoever they were…” I thought this was unnecessary from him, as was his tone of censure. Arthur did not seem to be restraining his lust for women at all, and he was scolding me for less than he had done. “Morgan, don’t see him again, don’t speak to him again, don’t write, not even to explain. The laws of this land still allow a king to put his wife to the fire for having another man. It’s barbaric, I know, but it’s the law, and don’t think Uriens isn’t the kind of man to uphold a law like that. Does this other man know you are married now?”

  “Yes,” I answered, sharply. Kay was rubbing his face again, and didn’t look up.

  Arthur nodded. He seemed to consider the matter dealt with. He turned away from me, rubbing his face. Then he looked at Kay, who was rubbing the heels of his hands in to his forehead again, and he laughed. Kay squinted up at him.

  “Kay, what did that girl do to you last night?”

  Kay blinked painfully, as though the light stung his eyes.

  “What girl?”

  Arthur laughed again, louder. Suddenly he was like the boy who just a few years ago had played like a child in the fields around Ector’s house, and thrown off his clothes to jump in the lake.

  Kay, sitting up and leaning back in the chair he was in, groaned.

  “Where is Lancelot?” he asked, holding a hand over his eyes.

  “Still at Joyous Guard,” Arthur answered, sounding a little annoyed. I thought he seemed far more comfortable talking to Kay about some nameless girl than he did about Lancelot. He must worry about them still. “Why?”

  Kay groaned deeper, sinking further back in to the chair. “How much did I drink last night? I could have sworn he was… here.”

  I felt suddenly cold. Merlin.

  “Arthur,” I asked, “have you seen Merlin?”

  Arthur threw up his arms in a gesture of frustration. “I might be King here, but I don’t know where everyone in my kingdom is at any given time. No, I don’t know where Merlin is. I sent for him, but he hasn’t come, and no one can find him. I’m sure he’ll turn up when he’s good and ready.” Then he paused, his eyes fixing on me, widening as the thought struck him. He wrinkled his face together in the same expression of distaste I had seen my sister give me, but though he made the assumption, he did not say anything. He may have been right, but he was wrong about why I was asking for Merlin.

  Arthur pulled on his surcoat and left, dragging Kay with him, as women came in with my dress. I was glad they brought the lovely jewelled dress that Nimue had made for me. At least I felt a little stronger, a little more powerful with it on. I would have to face Uriens again, soon, and I was unwilling to go without any protection.

  When I came down to my room, I hoped to see Nimue, but instead when I opened the door I saw, lounging in my window-seat, one leg dangling, the othe
r drawn up, Merlin the young man. He flashed me a smug smile. He was pleased with himself about something, and I thought I knew what. I shut the door behind me and slid the bolt across. I crossed my arms in front of my chest.

  “What do you want, Merlin?” I asked, sharply.

  “I have a bride gift for you,” he replied with a grin, slipping from the seat and walking over to me. I turned my face up to him, bold and defiant.

  “I don’t want it, Merlin. You know Arthur is looking for you.”

  He ignored me, and reached out to take my hand. I pulled it away. I knew what he had come for. He had come for the book. Well, he didn’t know I had already given it away. Nimue had it somewhere safe, and she was going to get the rest from him. He wasn’t going to get anything else from me. I didn’t have to trade away anything else for his magic.

  He took another step towards me, and I moved back. He shook his head and tutted.

  “Morgan, we could have got more from one another with kindness,” he said, with a tone of mocking sadness. “I don’t like having to resort to threats. I need my book back, and I do come with a gift of my own in return. Do I need to make you understand how powerful I am? What I could do to you, to those you care about?”

  I didn’t say anything, just hung back, my arms still crossed over my chest. He gave a low noise, like a growl, that was both anger and enjoyment. Of course, Merlin would enjoy the prospect of fighting dirty. He didn’t know I had an ally. He jumped forward again, and this time he caught me by surprise, and he had me in his grip. He was stronger than I remembered, stronger than I expected and turned me around roughly, holding one arm hard around my waist, and he clapped his other hand over my eyes. I opened my mouth to shout, for Nimue, for Kay, for anyone, but the voice froze in my throat, and through the darkness of his hand over my eyes I saw an empty room, as though in a dream.

  My body felt suddenly as it would in a dream, weightless, spaceless, fuzzy. My tongue, too, thick and filling my mouth, blocking out my voice. I fought to wake from this dream Merlin had plunged me in to, but I could not. The room was a small, plain bedroom with a simple bed laid out in the corner, a plain wood table and a chair, and on the chair in a messy pile, unmistakable, Kay’s black Otherworld armour. A fire burned low in the fireplace, filling the room with low red light, and a little smoke. I walked over to the table. The two letters I had written Kay were there, weighed down with a smooth stone. It looked to me like the kind of stone that lay around the shores of Avalon. I reached out and laid my fingers against the smooth surface, but through the hazy dream-feeling, I felt nothing of its smoothness or coolness.

  Suddenly the door flew open with a clatter, and Kay and the brown-haired girl stumbled through together, her pushing him back into the room, kissing him hard. He stumbled back, clumsy, drunk. He seemed a little confused, a little resistant. She kicked the door shut behind her, pushing him towards the bed.

  “Wait, wait,” I heard Kay slur, gently pushing her off him, prising her lips off his own. As he did, in his hands the brown-haired girl turned into the young handsome Merlin, the clothes changing with him to men’s clothes. I had not managed that when I had changed. I needed to learn. Kay squinted, surprised at the person he was holding, but he seemed to consider his confusion a function of his own drunkenness, and didn’t question it. Merlin took Kay’s face in his hands and kissed him hard, and I saw Kay step back against the forcefulness of it, and relent for a second, drunkenness and desire getting the better of him, but as Merlin pushed them again towards the bed, Kay pulled away from him again. “I can’t,” he protested, looking down at his feet, his hands on Merlin’s shoulders, as though he were steadying himself.

  Then, while Kay was looking away, I saw Merlin change again and it was as though Lancelot truly stood there before me. It was all the same. The dark, glossy curls, the tall, lightly muscular body. My breath caught, and I clamped a hand over my mouth to hide my gasp, but I didn’t need to.

  “Kay,” he said softly, and it was Lancelot’s voice, low, smooth, tinged with French. He laid a hand against Kay’s cheek, and Kay looked up. The look in his eye changed from surprise, to something far more complex that I had never seen before, a kind of desperate relief, as though some deep wish within him had been suddenly granted, but he ought not to have it. “Kay, it’s alright. It’s me.”

  Kay gave a gasp, taking Lancelot’s – Merlin’s – face in his hands as though to check he was real, and then Kay kissed him fiercely, pulling him close, winding his hands into Lancelot’s – or the man he thought was Lancelot’s – hair. Lancelot pushed him down on to the bed, and Kay fell back obediently, staring up at Lancelot, propped up on his elbows, in rapturous disbelief. Lancelot pulled off his shirt, and the low firelight threw shadows against the curve of his muscles, the lean frame, packed with strength. I had to tell myself it was really Merlin, for I felt the desire rising in me to look at him, and unconsciously I stepped closer. I could see Kay’s chest rising and falling hard with eager anticipation, his eyes locked on Lancelot. He suddenly did not seem so very drunk anymore. I felt a stab of jealousy that I did not think Kay had ever looked at me that way. Lancelot climbed on to Kay, and Kay lay back, running his hands through Lancelot’s hair again, pulling him close in a passionate kiss. I knew I ought to look away, ought to remind myself that it was Merlin, really, and that this was meant to frighten me, but the sight of their mouths locked together in passion, their two bodies pressed close filled me with a wonderful forbidden thrill. Kay’s hands ran slowly down Lancelot’s chest, and when Kay had him by the hips he suddenly threw them both over in a rush of passion, and their kisses became harder, hungrier. Lancelot’s hands rushed at the buttons on Kay’s surcoat, and pushed it off his shoulders. Kay threw it off him, and away. It landed inches from the fire. With the tip of my foot, I pushed it slightly away, out of reach of the sparks. Just like in a dream, it did not move. I looked back, and Lancelot pulled off Kay’s shirt. His hands ran down Kay’s back, then around to the front of Kay’s breeches. Kay gave a low groan, his face creasing with pleasure and desire. Clumsy with wine and urgency, Kay pulled away Lancelot’s breeches, and I heard the fabric tear. Lancelot pushed Kay’s down, and Kay kicked them away. They fell together again, their kisses wild and passionate, and looking at them I saw a tangle of muscular bodies, dark hair, and felt the heat of desire stir deeper in me. That is not really Lancelot, that is Merlin, I reminded myself. But it could be Lancelot, and it had been before.

  That was when Merlin drew his hand away sharply, and I was back in my bedroom with him, my head spinning, disorientated, trying to catch my breath. I could not work out why Merlin had wanted that, and why he had shown it to me. Was it just to prove that he would find a way to take anything or everything from me? Was it to show me how vulnerable Kay was? Did he think that I had never known what had passed, long ago, between the two of them? He could, after all, have killed him then.

  I wheeled around to face him. He was grinning, pleased with himself.

  “You should be grateful, Morgan, that I did not kill him. He has a weak and gentle heart, your Sir Kay. He is a vulnerable man. Next time you think that you do not need me, just remember, last night your lover held me close and told me that he loved me.” Merlin grabbed me by the back of the neck, and around the waist, and pulled me against him. I felt his breath against me, and beneath his physical strength, the dark power of his magic. My hands against his shoulders, I tried to push him off, but he did not budge. He tightened his grip on me, holding me against him. “I will have whatever I desire, Morgan. Your life will be easier if you comply. Now give me the book.”

  He was so close that his lips almost brushed mine as he hissed at me. I pushed at him again. I was sure that he had not been this strong before.

  “I don’t have it,” I hissed back.

  He kissed me hard, and for a moment, still hot with excitement from the sight of Kay and Lancelot together, my lips parted under his in a reflex of desire, and he pulled me tighter against
him. I seized the moment to push him off more forcefully, shaking myself out of it, forcing myself to picture Merlin how he really was, bald with his skull-like grin, stooped under his hunching back. It was harder, too, to remember and be resistant when I would have liked an opportunity to spite my husband after how he had treated me. But the one man I hated more than my new husband was Merlin.

  Merlin drew back from me, a cruel smile on his face.

  “What do you mean you don’t have it?”

  I shrugged. “When I was in Lothian, Lot took it. He burned it. He didn’t want magic books in his kingdom.”

  I could see that Merlin did not believe me, but that he was not sure enough to force the matter. I suspected that he had already checked and found that it was not in the room. He gave me a narrow look, trying to work out how much truth there was in what I said. He moved towards me again, as though he would try to kiss me, but when I moved back he gave a low, cruel laugh and left, disappearing into nothingness before me. I hoped Nimue’s destruction of him would be swift. I hated him, then, more than ever.

  Chapter Twenty One

  I packed my things carefully, hiding my book of healing arts among my clothes. I wondered if I would ever wear the plain wool dresses again. My mother had left in my bedroom some old silk dresses of her own, and some of her jewels. I supposed these were gifts for me now that I was a wife. I remembered her wishing that I would be a happy wife. Too late for that already.

  The silk dresses that she had left were beautiful, well-chosen for me. Midnight blue, one, sewn with silver thread to look like stars. Another a deep blood red, plain, but made from silk that almost shimmered and felt liquid under my touch. Beautiful dresses, dresses for a queen. I was a queen now. A queen under my brother’s vassalage, but a queen nonetheless.

  There was a knock at my door, and before I could answer, Nimue slipped through. I was pleased to see her. She did not ask me how it had been, but she ran into my arms for a tight, desperate embrace.