The Beast of Caer Baddan

by Rebecca Vaughn

  “Gratianna is happy here,” Leola replied. “You are a wonderful father to her.”

  Owain gave her a gentle smile. “You are a wonderful mother to her,” he said.

  “Thank you, Owain.”

  “Thank you.”

  Leola laid her head on his chest and breathed a long sigh.

  Owain had removed his armor and bathed, and was now dressed in a soft robe like the one he had worn the day he took her out of the mead hall.

  Leola was glad to be back in his strong arms and listening to the slow even rhythm of his heart. She smelled the fragrance of lavender on his hair.

  Just hold me forever.

  “Tired?” he asked.

  “Very,” she murmured.

  She felt him pulling back just a step, and his left arm wrapping around her thighs. She let out a gasp of surprise, as he scooped her up and sailed out of the nursery room.

  “No!” she whispered, panicked.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he said, puzzled by her reaction.

  He nudged the door to the nursery closed and laid her down in her bed.

  “No!” she said, more frantic then before. “I can't! I gave birth!”

  Owain seemed surprised, as if he had not realized that mattered.

  “Then,” he said, “I shall not enter you.”

  He bent over her, and she felt his hard chest rub against her nipples beneath her dress.

  “But that does not mean that you can't enjoy yourself,” he whispered in her hair.

  Then Owain lifted himself up, and she could see his face once more.

  “Well, Beauty?” he said, as if he waited for her agreement.

  She nodded.

  “Good,” he said, with a smile.

  In the morning, Owain was surprised to find that both Leola and Ambrosius were gone. He went outside to do his exercises and found her standing before a bonfire, the baby lying sleepily on her shoulder.

  “What are you doing, Beauty?” Owain asked her.

  “I’m sunning Ambrosius,” she replied, still facing the sun and not opening her eyes.

  Owain gazed down on the baby’s bare back.

  “The fire is to keep him warm,” she said.

  “I see that,” he said, with a confused smile. “But why are you sunning him?”

  “He was sick a few days after they were born,” she replied. “I thought and thought, what would my aunt, Redburga, do for a sick baby? And then I remembered. She would hold them to the morning sun.”

  Owain thought how very odd that sounded, yet he was sure he had heard much stranger things purported in the name of health.

  “And it worked?” he asked.

  “Yea,” she replied. “It did. See how healthy he looks now? And he eats a lot too. My big boy.”

  Owain laughed and gave her a tender kiss on the forehead.

  “You have a very wise aunt then,” he said.

  “Yea.”

  Owain thought of how his little girl had bragged the day after his return.

  “But Gratianna thinks it is her wishing stone that has cured him,” he said.

  “Yea,” Leola replied. “Do not tell her it is not.”

  He laughed again.

  King Irael did not return to the castle until that afternoon. The king expressed his pride over his son’s newest victory, and to Owain’s astonishment, gave Gratianna and both of the babies tentative kisses. Somehow, Owain was sure that this conquest was the work of Leola and marveled at it.

  “It seems you have made quite the impression on the people, my boy,” King Irael said, when Owain and he were alone.

  “I'm glad that they are so easily impressed,” Owain replied, amused.

  His father laughed. “Not the city of Corin,” he said. “They are the most unimpressed group I’ve ever known. And yet all they do is cheer your name. They adore you, my son.”

  Owain was pleased but it no longer mattered to him whether they did or not.

  His father leaned close to him and gazed into his eyes with a long green stare.

  “I was thinking,” he said. “You are stronger now, and the people love you and fear you, and I am getting so old. Perhaps I should abdicate and make you king.”

  “Abdicate?” Owain said, horrified.

  Whatever it was that he had thought King Irael might say, Owain had not fathomed this. The idea of his father giving up his title to him had never entered his mind.

  “Are you really that ill, Da?” Owain asked, in astonishment.

  “Not now,” the king said, casually. “But I was so determined to live until the boys are grown. Now that you have returned, I do not need to fear for them or for Gratianna-”

  “Do not leave me, Da, I beg you,” Owain said.

  He had always thought of his father as an immovable rock that steadied him in even the most turbulent of times. Now with the thought of the king dying, Owain felt that his world was crumbling around him and that he might sink into some abyss.

  The king laughed again.

  “Do you not see, Son?” he said. “It is you who are invincible, not I. Not your ailing old father.”

  Owain thought on this.

  He had expected to be king one day. But to take the throne when his father was still alive, breathing, and healthy, he could not do.

  “But I do not require you to be invincible, Da,” Owain replied. “Only to rule as you always have. Justly, fairly, righteously. I am too much a warrior yet to be in one kingdom long. I thought I was done, but Leola showed me that I was not.”

  “Ah,” the king replied, thoughtfully. “She has a knack for revealing things. What did she do?”

  “She said I was a prince and that I did what is right for the people.”

  “Well, there is truth in that,” the king replied. “No one has fought as many battles and won as you have. I suppose the island still needs all your time. You could hardly pay attention to the particular daily working in one kingdom. Very well, then. I shall be king until I die.”

  And he laughed merrily, and Owain shook his head at such grim words.

  “Thank you, Da,” Owain said. “God willing, that shall not be for a very long time.”

  The feast came, and both Swale and Britu returned to the castle at Baddan.

  Leola was glad that she was not expected to greet anyone at this occasion. She was still far from comfortable with her command of Latin to give speeches. Thus she ate quietly, with her eyes cast down, and let Annon talk over her to Owain who sat at her left.

  “Do you know what people are calling you now?” Annon asked Owain.

  He leaned far over the table to see around Leola, whom was seated between them at the head table.

  “Oh? And what are they calling me?” Owain said to Annon.

  “Owain Finddu,” the boy replied.

  “Owain of the Black Lips,” Owain mused, his scarred lips forming a sarcastic smile. “Better then ‘Owain of the Burnt Face’ I suppose.”

  Annon laughed. “They say not even the grave can conquer you.”

  “He is Owain the Unconquered then,” King Irael said. “Not even by death.”

  “To Owain!” Swale said, raising his cup.

  The whole hall rang with cheers.

  “To Owain!” they yelled and drank.

  “And now, Britu, my nephew,” King Irael said, “where did you disappear to? Swale has justified himself, and now must you. You thought I would not notice your absence.”

  “I was hoping you would not,” Britu replied, with a laugh.

  “Well out with it, Man,” Swale said.

  “I was attending a wedding feast,” Britu said.

  “Oh?” the king said. “Anyone we know?”

  “I believe not,” Britu replied. “It was for Aluca King of the Gewissae.”

  Aluca Aetheling of Tiwton! He is cyning now and has married!

  “And whom did he wed?” the king asked.

  “Some girl named Ardith,” Britu said.

  “You have made peace
then, with the Gewissae?” Swale asked. “That is good news.”

  Leola heard from the prince's voice that he too was impressed by the change in Britu.

  “To King Aluca and his new bride, Ardith,” the king said, raising his own cup.

  The company was so engrossed in feasting that they cheered and drank to a couple whom they did not know, but Leola’s ears perked at the name.

  “Ardith,” she gasped.

  “What is it?” Owain asked, in Saxon.

  “It is nothing,” she said, with a smile.

  Nothing and everything.

  She was relieved to hear that after the war, fear, and bloodshed, Ardith had not only escaped and found her way to Tiwton but had married the aetheling after all. Leola felt the flutter of satisfaction within her heart, that the words she had spoken to Britu may have had some positive affect on his behavior.

  God is good.

  Lord Meirchion approached the head table.

  “A hundred thousand welcomes, Lord Meirchion,” King Irael said.

  “Long life to you, King Irael,” Lord Meirchion said. “And to you, Dominae, as well as victory over all of your enemies.”

  “And to you, Lord Meirchion,” Owain replied.

  “I was most grateful for your safe return to us,” the lord said. “And it is a blessing and a comfort to have your princess with us always.”

  “Thank you, Lord Meirchion,” Owain replied.

  The lord bowed to them and returned to his seat.

  Leola felt Owain's forefinger and thumb gently stroke her bare elbow.

  “You are a blessing,” he whispered.

  Leola smiled in return.

  God is very good.

  Chapter Fifty One: Spring Time

  Owain lay in the bed with his arm around Leola. His hand moved up under her head and slipped beneath her pillow. His fingers touched something sharp.

  “What?” he said, in surprise.

  “Hmm?” she said, not asleep but apparently too comfortable to move.

  “What is this?” he said.

  He slid a sharp blade out from under her pillow and looked on it in the dim fire light. His eyes recognized the form, design, and inscription.

  “My missing knife,” Owain said, bewildered. “So you have had it all this time?”

  “Yea,” she muttered.

  Leola rolled over and glanced up at him, a sweet smile playing on her tiny lips.

  “And why did you take it?” he asked, his own grin brushing her check.

  “I like it,” she replied. “It has your trees on it. The rowan, the oak, the alder, the hazel, the willow, the ash.”

  His jaw dropped in amazement. He had not realized that she remembered the words he had spoken almost a year before in his tent in Gewisland. He had not thought that she would find them of any significance.

  “What is it?” she said.

  Owain did not answer but instead bent down and sucked on her little lips. He heard her faint sigh as he released them.

  “Well, you can’t keep it under your pillow,” he said. “You’ll cut yourself in your sleep.”

  “I’ve always carried a knife,” she replied, “and I have never cut myself.”

  “Carried, yea, I’m sure, but not slept with one I hope,” Owain said.

  “You never know when it shall be useful.”

  Owain's thoughts went to the Dobunni assassin that Lord Eisu had sent to murder her. His hands tightened, as he felt the man's head within his grasp.

  “Yea. I know that well,” he said aloud. “But keep it here in the frame.”

  He reached over her again and stuck the blade down between the wooden bed frame and the cushioned mattress.

  “Very well,” she replied.

  Owain felt her little mouth nibbling on his neck as he leaned over her. He liked feeling her on his skin. He ran his fingers through her hair and messaged the back of her neck.

  “Useful then?” he said, teasingly. “So, who was he?”

  “He who?” Leola asked, her face showing her confusion.

  “Who was the man that you stabbed?” Owain whispered.

  Her eyes became wide and the color drained from her checks. For a moment the breath in her lungs would not escape. He read the horror written across her face.

  “Shh,” he said, trying to sooth her.

  “How did you know…” she gasped.

  “Oh, Beauty, Owain said, trying not to laugh at her naivite. “Your clothes were covered in blood. So was the knife you had kept in your apron. Your forehead had blood smeared across it where you must have wiped your face with your sleeve. And not a drop of it was your own. So tell me, who was it you stabbed?”

  Leola still seemed shocked that he knew.

  “Raynar,” she said, blankly.

  “What did this Raynar do?” Owain asked.

  “He was just a stupid man,” she said. “Forget him.”

  “Ah,” Owain replied, teasing still. “He jilted you. And you repaid him for it.”

  “What?” she said.

  Then she let out a long laugh that Owain thought sounded like a bowed string instrument.

  “You are as bad as my aunt!” she cried. “Why does everyone think that Raynar was my lover?”

  Owain had to laugh as well.

  “Very well,” he replied. “Why did you stab him?”

  “He was Ardith’s lover, or wanted to be,” she said, at last.

  He thought on that strange name and knew that he had heard it somewhere.

  “Is that the girl that Britu said Aluca Cyning has just married?” he asked.

  “Yea,” she said. “Raynar blamed me for her rejection of him and tried to strangle me for it.”

  “I see,” Owain replied. “Then this Raynar is dead?”

  “No. He is alive in Anlofton. And I choose not to think of him.”

  Owain's mind filled with his duties that would soon take him to that little town. Perhaps he should find this villain Raynar as well. A man who would strangle a girl was hardly worth letting live.

  “I beg you will not kill him!” Leola cried, her revealing her anguish.

  Owain was surprised by her words, that she should seem to understand his thoughts and that she should now protect a man who had tried to murder her.

  “And why not?” he asked, annoyed but holding his anger back. His fury was not for her and thus he did not wish her to see it.

  She squirmed beneath him, as if trying to arrange some confusing thoughts.

  “Drudi, my friend in Anlofton,” she said. “I think she has married him. The girl has suffered far more than anyone should endure. I do not want her widowed at sixteen.”

  “She can always marry a real man,” Owain said, with a casual shrug.

  “But there aren't any more men in Anlofton,” Leola replied.

  Her face showed the sorrow and pain of her heart, as her eyes pleaded with him to surrender.

  “Very well, Beauty,” he said, surrendering. “I shall let him live. Although he does not deserve it.”

  Owain really could not refuse her but resolved to look on the welfare of this girl, Drudi, when he arrived in Anlofton.

  “Thank you,” Leola whispered.

  “Shh,” he replied. “Think on them no more.”

  She turned back over onto her side, snuggled backwards up against his body, and was soon asleep.

  The melting of the snow hailed an early spring, and Leola was glad to be able to take the children out into the garden once more. Euginius loved the outside, and Leola soon found that with coaxing, he would push his head and shoulders up off of the blanket and pull himself forward. Ambrosius, however, was content to just lay back and stare at her face with his large green eyes. Gratianna found friends in both of her brothers and was pleased to find some strange unknown objects from deep within the garden and bring it back to them to put in their mouths.

  Leola continued to sunbathe Ambrosius every morning, and Owain began to join them once he after his morning exe
rcises.

  After she laid the baby down in the cradle in the sitting room, Leola nuzzled into Owain's chest. He liked feeling her face up against his linen tunic and wrapping his arms around her to hold her tightly.

  “I'm glad now that Raynar tried to kill me,” she mused.

  “What?” he cried, horrified that she should think such a thing. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because,” she said, and her voice rang as she spoke, “if he had not, then I would not have hurt my ankle, and then I might not have been in the mead hall, or more probably, you would not have picked me. For that is why you did choose me, because I could not run away from you.”

  “That was one of the reasons, Beauty,” he replied. “That and your soft cheeks and glorious hair.”

  Leola giggled.

  “Owain?” she said.

  “Yea, Beauty,” he replied.

  “Do you remember when I tried to knife you?”

  Owain laughed. Of all the things to recall now, he could not help but marvel that her sorry attempt at killing him had come to her mind.

  “Of course,” he replied.

  “Do you remember what you said to me?” she asked.

  Owain had had so many pressing matters weighing on his mind that fateful day that he did not recall saying anything to her about attempting to stab him.

  “No,” he admitted. “What did I say?”

  “You said that was not the way to kill an aetheling,” and she turned over once more and stared up into his eyes. “What did you mean?”

  Owain had to laugh again and shook his head.

  He took her right hand and placed her fingers together in a point as if their were a knife blade.

  “If you try to stab an aetheling from above, he will block your attack,” he said. “He is taught to do that from five-years-old.

  His own right arm lifted up between himself and her own arm, pushing that hand away, off to the side.

  “If you wish to kill an aetheling,” Owain said, with a playful grin, “you must stab from below.”

  He turned her arm down so that the tips of her fingers touched his abdomen.

  “You do it patiently,” he said, “getting very close, and not letting him know you have a knife, or he will still stop you. You then strike quickly, in and up as deep as the weapon will go.”