A Novel

by Signe Pike

  “I am not yet bound, but I must be. This is what I must do—what is best for my people.”

  Maelgwn’s eyes pinned mine. “You ask me to believe you have reconciled yourself so easily to this? You of all people?”

  I opened my mouth but no words would come. Maelgwn shook his head and turned on his heel, beginning to pace.

  “So be it. If you will not speak, I will,” he said. “Since Midsummer night, my head has been full of nothing but you. From the first moment I saw you, I felt I had at long last found my match. And that evening, when we danced beside the blaze of the fire . . .” He trailed off with a swallow. “It cannot be right that we should encounter each other now only to be driven apart. Forgive me if I cannot accept this so easily. Languoreth, you are unlike any other woman I have known. You intoxicate my very senses—”

  “Stop. Please,” I threw up my hands. If he said one word more, I was certain my heart would burst. “I beg you.”

  “Very well.” He looked away, his handsome face setting into stone.

  I despaired, thinking he meant to leave, but he rubbed a hand over the dark stubble of his cheek instead.

  “Very well,” he repeated, his deep voice measured. “I realize it is true—we have not had long to become acquainted. But tell me you do not feel as I do and I will leave you,” he said. “Tell me you do not know me as I feel I know you, and I will leave you this day and you will never see me again. I swear it.”

  The thought seized me with panic. Why did I feel as if we were smelted of the same ore, split between two molds? You do not know him, I told myself. You do not know him at all. And yet, from the first moment I’d set eyes upon him, I’d felt a dizzying kind of relief. As if I had been treading in fathomless waters only to be suddenly washed ashore.

  Maelgwn stood motionless before me, the chiseled lines of his face illuminated by a shaft of light streaming through the stable window. I wanted nothing more than to collapse into his arms, to bury my face against his strong chest and press my eyes closed, willing the world away. In that moment it felt almost possible.

  But it was selfish.

  Selfish.

  I could not wish the world away, and this—he—was not for me. I bit my lip as a hot swell of tears rose and forced the words from my mouth.

  “I am sorry if I misled you. Surely such feelings will pass.”

  I lifted my chin as if to dismiss him, but my breath hitched in my throat, giving me away.

  It was nothing. It was everything.

  Surprise flickered in his eyes before it was replaced by something fiercer. He reached to take my face in his hands, but this time his touch was strong, possessive. And then Maelgwn’s lips molded to mine.

  I had never kissed a man before, and yet it seemed as though my mouth were meant to fit against his—hungry and biting, soft and demanding. I hadn’t known my body had been sleeping until his fingers roamed me and it came so hotly alive. I swayed beneath the force of this wanting, head spinning, finding mooring in the hard planes of his body as his hands swept the low curve of my back, drawing me closer, pushing me almost roughly against the slatted timber wall. I wrapped my slender legs around his, our breath coming in quiet gasps as he threaded his fingers through my hair, claiming.

  I could not touch enough of him.

  The strong curve of his jaw, his powerfully muscled arms, the buttery leather armor that padded his chest. Unable to stop them, I traced my hands along his torso, down to the place where the lacing of his trousers met his linen shirt, until he suddenly went still, letting out a low growl against my mouth. His chest rising hard, Maelgwn pulled away, resting his forehead against mine with his hands firm on my shoulders as if to keep me at bay. I blinked up at him, confused and nearly groggy, as if I had been jerked upright from dreaming.

  Maelgwn bent his head down, so close I could feel his lips brush behind my ear, sending a hot shiver through my body, his voice low and slightly strained.

  “If you are going to wed a man like Rhydderch, you are going to have to learn better how to lie.”

  CHAPTER 23

  * * *

  Footsteps sounded from beyond the stable doors, and I struggled to catch my breath, my head still spinning as Maelgwn moved away, the gap between us widening like a chasm. He held my eyes as Lail called out from the entrance.

  “Languoreth?”

  “Here. I’m here,” I managed.

  Lail rounded the corner, his brows arching in surprise at the sight of us.

  “Maelgwn,” he bowed. “We assumed you had departed.” My brother’s voice was warm but his face protective. I sent him a reassuring look, but his shoulders relaxed only slightly.

  “I’ve overstayed my welcome.” Maelgwn dipped his head in return. “It was not my intent.”

  “It’s only that we found Languoreth gone from her bed.” Lail’s clear blue eyes flickered to mine, missing nothing. “Father sent me to find you.”

  And lucky it was I who found you, not someone else, his look implied.

  “I went for a ride.”

  “Brodyn said as much,” Lail said. “But there is food on the table and a long day ahead. Come, you must eat.”

  “I thank you, brother, but I’m not hungry just now.”

  “No food, then.” Lail shifted uncertainly. “Still, you must have time to ready yourself. To dress.”

  “Of course,” I said. “I’ll be only a moment.”

  A look passed between me and my brother, but he shook his head ever so slightly, planting his feet like a stubborn old mule.

  I turned to Maelgwn. “Well, then.”

  A shadow of vulnerability flickered in his eyes as he waited for me to say something more, but I could only stand there dumbly, lost for words. I watched as Maelgwn’s gaze became hooded.

  “My apologies, Lady Languoreth. It seems we’ve stolen time that is not our own. You must be on your way.”

  The stiffness chaffed at me, but what choice had he?

  “It seems I must.” It was not how I wanted to say good-bye, with so much left unspoken.

  “I—I do hope to see you again,” I offered. Lail’s eyes widened imperceptibly and he reached for my arm.

  “Yes, of course,” Maelgwn said. “Perhaps our paths will cross again.”

  “Good-bye, then. May the Gods keep you safe on your journey home.”

  He dipped his head. “Good-bye, my lady. May the Gods keep you.”

  I watched as Maelgwn swung himself astride his horse. Weaving his fingers into the horse’s braided mane, he gave a polite nod to my brother and fixed his eyes on me one last time.

  “I wish you a safe journey to Clyde Rock.”

  I nodded and turned away, unable to watch him go.

  “Come, let’s go in,” Lail said, breaking the silence and offering his arm. Outside, Macon and the grooms had pulled the cart from the stables and were busy preparing for our journey to the quay, where one of Tutgual’s ships was waiting to carry us to the fortress on the rock.

  Lail turned to me expectantly. “I’ll be only a moment?”

  “It was nothing,” I rubbed my forehead and accepted his outstretched arm. “We were speaking is all.”

  “Speaking.” His eyes flickered to my lips as if they still bore bruises.

  “Don’t look at me so,” I said, my cheeks aflame. “I cannot imagine that you, of all people, would begrudge me a moment’s happiness.”

  “You mistake me, sister. I do not begrudge you. It is only difficult to see you traveling a road that can only bring you heartbreak.”

  My breath came in a huff. “Brother, I thank you, but I do not need your warning. Am I not doing precisely what has been asked of me? Am I not trussing myself up to seduce a man who might someday be king? I will go to my chamber and I will ready myself for Clyde Rock. I will keep my word, no matter the cost.”

  Lail pulled me aside, his voice a low whisper.

  “Languoreth. Do you not think I would rather see you wed to a man like Maelgwn than th
e likes of Rhydderch? That my sister could be kept close, married under the banner of Pendragon . . .” For a moment his eyes looked almost dreamy, but then he shook his head.

  “The Borderlands are no place for you. They are not safe. And whatever Maelgwn desires, he knows this, too. You are the daughter of a king. He is a soldier. What station can he offer you as the wife of a warrior? That he is one of Pendragon’s generals is no comfort. He is a target on the battlefield, and there is certainly no protection in that—neither for him nor for you.”

  “The wife of a warrior? Don’t be foolish,” I said. “I told you, we were only speaking. Besides, every man must fight. Rhydderch is no different. You cannot tell me the son of the high king is less of a beacon. Surely his head is a prize to be won on any field of battle.”

  Lail shook his head. “When Rhydderch rides off to war, it will be at the helm of a host of thousands, all charged to protect that precious neck of his bearing the golden torque. Your soldier Maelgwn rides headfirst into battle with an army of fewer than two hundred. The Brothers Pendragon do what they can, but they live in a world where each man must survive by looking after himself.”

  I lifted my chin, my eyes trailing to the courtyard gate.

  My brother sighed. “I know you better than anyone. Believe me when I tell you: you were not built with the right sort of heart to fall in love with a warrior.”

  “I do not think we can choose whom we love with any more freedom than we can choose whom we might marry,” I said.

  “You mustn’t say such things. You have not yet met the man. Besides”—he straightened—“if Rhydderch has any sense, he may not even like you, much less love you.”

  He meant to elicit a smile, but my heart was yet a pool in the cavity of my chest. Still, as much to cheer myself as my brother, I indulged him.

  “How fine that would be. And tell me, brother, what do you know of love?”

  “What do I know of love?” Lailoken took my arm once more, guiding me toward the servants’ door. “I hope to know nothing of love for a very long time, except that which fair maidens may give me readily. And often, I hope.”

  “Shame!” I muttered, swatting at him.

  “You see?” He grinned. “I can cheer you yet.”

  But I wasn’t cheered. I was still reeling, struggling to make sense of this traitorous racing of my pulse, this heavy pit lodged in the center of my stomach. Maelgwn’s appearance out of the mists seemed a cruel and untimely joke. I closed my eyes a moment, wondering aloud.

  “Why should he appear on this of all mornings when I had so freshly cleaved myself from any desire of my own?” I pressed. “And what was this message from Pendragon? It must have been of some import for Maelgwn to travel all this way, and yet he would not say.”

  Lail turned. “Pendragon? There was no message from Pendragon.”

  “Whatever can you mean?”

  My brother stopped. “I assumed Maelgwn had told you. I assumed back there in the stables—”

  “Told me? Told me what?”

  “You don’t know.” His face went grim. “Fine, then. I’ll say it. For we both know Father would spare you.” He took a breath. “Maelgwn rode to Buckthorn to ask Father for your bride price.”

  I rocked back on my heels as if struck. “Pardon?”

  Lailoken winced. “I’m sorry, sister. I thought surely he told you. Why else would I be speaking of marriage? Maelgwn came to Father in search of your hand. Of course, Maelgwn is no prince, and you are bound for Clyde Rock. You should know that Father was kind in his refusal.”

  My fingers flew to my mouth. I was going to be sick. I was going to break apart.

  “Speak,” Lail begged softly. “Say something.”

  I shook my head, swaying a little as Lailoken glanced about.

  “Come, we cannot let the servants see you. Desdemona will be searching you out within the hour to dress you.”

  Lail gathered me beneath his arm, ushering me through the servants’ door and out of sight of Agnes, who was tidying up the morning’s breakfast. Easing me up the stairs, he helped me into the solitude of my chamber. As the door closed behind us, emotion overtook me. Maelgwn had ridden from the Borderlands in search of my hand. He’d wanted to pay my bride price. And I had been so cold, when there was nothing I had wanted more in the world. I clutched blindly for my coverlet, yanking it to my face to stifle the sound of my sobs.

  “I sent him away! I sent him away . . . ,” I cried. So much was left unsaid. And now I might never see him again.

  “Languoreth . . .” Lail rushed to sit with me. The pain was searing, sickening.

  “I cannot overcome this. I cannot . . .” My voice broke.

  “Tell me what to do,” Lailoken said. He reached to stroke my hair. “I cannot stand to see you weep.”

  “Leave me; there’s nothing for it.” I brushed away his hand. “Bid them stay away. I need them to stay away . . .”

  “I will not leave you. I—”

  “Leave me! Lailoken, please.” I balled my fists against my stomach, curling inward like a salted snail.

  Lailoken was silent a long moment. I felt the bedding shift as he stood.

  “Very well. I will go. But in two hours’ time we will board that boat together. I will be with you,” he said, his voice steady as the sea.

  “You are my twin, Languoreth. Remember our vow. I will always be with you.”

  CHAPTER 24

  * * *

  “I suppose it would have been impolite to refuse an escort,” I said tightly.

  Father gave a solemn nod to the soldiers lining the gangway. “You suppose correctly.”

  I eyed the alabaster sails of Tutgual’s vessel as they flapped restlessly against the mast. “Impatient as the king who owns them, no doubt.”

  Father turned to me. “Would you say as much to the high king himself?”

  I did not answer.

  “No? Then you would be wise not to say it here.” He leaned in, voice low. “I will warn you of this only once, daughter. Nothing you say from this moment forward shall go without regard.”

  I looked away. A lone black-capped gull soared overhead, casting its winged shadow against the ship’s ornately carved prow. Father followed my gaze with a measure of disdain.

  “Gods and heroes of a foreign land,” he muttered. He held out his hand, a peace offering. I did not take it. The scene painted on the prow left little doubt where Tutgual’s allegiance lay. Jupiter in the form of a white bull chased a bare-breasted Europa through a forest. A crimson-haired Diana stood, muscled legs planted firmly apart, bowstring pulled taut against the curve of her cheek. At the bow’s crest, a frothy-haired Neptune rose from cerulean waves, the barbs of his trident gilded in gold. The dark-eyed figures left me cold. Tutgual yet suckled from the pap of Rome.

  “Desdemona, girl,” Father called. “Make haste with that trunk.”

  I shivered in the wind off the water, the aubergine silk of the robe I wore beneath my cloak fluttering at my feet. It came from the Far East, and I knew my father had acquired it at great expense, but it draped and clung to every curve, making me feel as naked as a sylph. I felt the absence of my blade and sturdy leather belt at my waist like a phantom limb and tugged my cloak more tightly about me.

  Father bowed his head as he led me to a bench on the vessel’s leeward side. “I do not wish to speak so harshly. I cannot imagine this to be easy.”

  “Now you would speak of it?” I gave a laugh. “When these many days past you have behaved as if nothing at all were the matter?”

  “Whatever you may think, Languoreth, I do not enter into this arrangement lightly,” he said. “No man wishes to give away his only daughter.”

  I squinted as Brant and Brodyn strode on board behind my brother, stern-faced in the bright summer light.

  “You have spoken with Ariane.” Father’s eyes were fixed on me. “What else would you have me say? That we need this allegiance? You know this. That I am not immortal? You know this,
too. When I am gone, who will protect you? Who will protect your impetuous brother? It falls to you, Languoreth. You know what you must do. You are no longer a child. It does more harm than good to coddle you any longer.”

  His words might have stung, but he spoke to himself more than to me. I had wept until I was nothing but a husk. I was tired of fighting. I swallowed the burn in my throat, tracing the delicate cording of my torque.

  “Let it lie.” I met his eyes. “The time for talking is over.”

  Father’s smile was sad. “You are more like your father than you know.” He reached across my lap to cover my hand with his. This time I took comfort in the strength of it. He was a man of so few weaknesses. I could not be angry that I accounted for one.

  The captain on the quay barked his orders and the vessel’s sails were loosed to the breeze, billowing with a firm snap of sheeting. The oarsmen took their seats and we eased into the wide saltwater channel of the river Clyde that led all the way to the western sea. Lailoken came to stand next to me, his thick green tunic flapping in the wind.

  “The tide is yet high. Sailing will be swift today,” he said.

  I nodded and we fell into silence. We passed low-bellied fishing boats where dead-eyed salmon were heaped, their scales flashing like a hoard of jewels. A woman with a face like creased parchment set down her washing, squinting into the sun as we passed. Soon a thick tapestry of forest stretched into shadow on either side of the river, dotted here and there by clusters of reed-roofed huts where pigs, cattle, and chickens roamed in rough-hewn enclosures. As I watched Partick fall away I realized this was the farthest I had ever been from home.

  And then, at last, I saw it up ahead, rising from the water like a hunchbacked behemoth. From deep within its watchful black crags, the solemn bellow of a horn sounded our arrival.

  “Welcome to Alt Clut, the Rock of the Clyde,” Father said. “The iron fist of the Britons since time out of memory.”

  The pride that filled his eyes told me his allegiance to Tutgual was not the only reason he’d fought to defend it. Two massive dark mounds of rock rose from the water, making the trees that pricked their craggy skin look like river moss on a boulder rather than the forest they were. The seaward mound was steeper, a pointed pap hosting a solitary hut—a barracks and lookout, no doubt—while its eastern twin was more gently rising, the hunch of its spine home to a cluster of dwellings. Beyond the uppermost rampart I could make out a grand hall of timber and stone with gabled windows, a scattering of several huts surrounding it.