by Signe Pike
The babe kicked and let out a wail and Elufed looked at him, the flush of red fading from her cheeks. She turned her gray eyes to the window, her voice so faint I could scarcely hear.
“In my dreams I see visions of fire,” she said. “A fire so hot it melts even rock.”
I covered the baby’s head to shoo her words away, as my mother used to spit and chase off a curse. I could not think of it. I could not bear to.
“Is this your secret? You are a seer, then?” I did not mask the bitterness in my voice.
She lifted a hand to silence me. Striding across the room, she shut the door before returning to sit uninvited beside me. Her eyes did not leave mine as she bent her head, sweeping aside her hair to expose a symbol I had never seen before, a symbol she had kept so fastidiously covered. Etched into her skin with blue ink, a horse raced for eternity against the fragile bones of her neck.
“You will not know this mark,” she said. “It is the mark of a priestess. I am a daughter of Cailleach Bheur, just like my mother, and her mother before her. Our line stretches back to the very first circle, the rocks that stand on the Twilight Isle, deep in the north. What I know, I learnt from watching her.” Her voice hardened. “I had only just performed my rites when Tutgual caught sight of me. A girl of eleven. He took what he wanted.”
“I did not know.”
“Of course not.” She frowned. “No one knows, save that I am Pictish and a royal by birth. That much is true. Many of us carry markings. But there are yet secrets among my people. We Picts are not like the Britons, who give away their power. We keep our secrets close. And we keep our enemies closer.”
The king, she meant, but would not say.
“And what of me?” I asked. “Am I your enemy?”
“No,” she said. “Not unless you grow careless with my secret. For my husband does not know its meaning and I will not have my husband fear me. Tutgual kills what he fears. Anyway”—she waved her hand—“the truth of the matter is that you are my ally, and together we will bring about what must come to pass in ways only women can. I knew when I saw you. You were nothing more than a girl, but I knew. You were to marry my son. Your people and mine—we were both put here to protect the Old Ways.”
I met her eyes. “Then I will keep your secret safe. I swear it.”
“I believe you.” She stood. “And I will advise you most plainly now, so it cannot escape you: you must deal with Desdemona. No more softness. Or it will be the death of you.”
Just then a knock sounded at the door, rankling my nerves like a chain.
“Come,” I called. It was none other than my chamber woman herself, dipping her dark head as she entered, clay pitcher in hand.
“Water, m’lady?”
Instinct flared and I pulled my baby closer to my breast.
“I’m sorry, m’lady. I didn’a mean to startle you.” Desdemona’s puzzlement was so earnest I blinked, struggling to believe she could have caused all this bloodshed. But then her smile flickered, and behind her eyes I saw fear.
I needed nothing more.
“I will take my leave now.” Elufed slipped through the open door.
Outside, Brodyn stood guard in the corridor. Though his strong back was to me, he shifted his weight in a way that let me know he was listening. Could he suspect her role in this?
“Here, you must take some drink,” Desdemona said, reaching to fill my wooden cup.
Three silver coins for the death of a slave girl. That was the penalty, the price by law. I would gladly empty our coffers into the Clyde if only to watch a blade come down upon her neck. I looked up. “Summon my husband, please.”
“Lord Rhydderch was only waitin’ for the departure o’ the queen.” Desdemona set the pitcher down. I could feel her unease mounting.
“Just bring him,” I snapped. “Bring him to me now.”
Brodyn turned at the sound of the edge in my voice, dark eyes questioning.
“Aye, m’lady, I’ll fetch ’im, o’ course.” Desdemona turned and I locked eyes with my cousin, shifting my gaze meaningfully to the back of Desdemona’s head.
Traitor, my look said.
I saw the blood beast that lived within Brodyn quicken as Desdemona brushed by, hurrying down the hall.
“Let me,” he said.
Revenge. He was hungry for it.
“No,” I said. “Do nothing yet. Follow her; make certain she does not flee. I must first speak with Rhydderch. There is much we must discuss.”
“As you will it.” Brodyn turned on his heel. I heard him offer his congratulations to my husband as they met in the corridor. A shuffle in the doorway a moment later announced Rhydderch. I looked up to find his dark hair tousled and his eyes rimmed pink with exhaustion. It struck me then what I had put him through. Still Rhydderch smiled at the sight of me, transfixed by the babe wriggling in my arms.
“A son.”
He closed the distance between us, shutting the chamber door behind him.
“Already he is nursing,” I said.
He reached to stroke the child’s cheek. “Aye? That’s good luck.”
Rhydderch’s voice was tender but full of weariness. He looked away from me as if he, too, had only just remembered all the events that had come between us.
“And what would you call him?” he asked.
I studied the babe’s face, but I already knew. “Rhys, if it please you. In echo of Rhydderch. And Emrys, to honor the Britons’ great hero.”
Something flickered behind his eyes but he bowed his head. “A fine name.”
Then without looking up, he asked me, “What were you doing in the wood?”
We had come to it, then. I opened my mouth to speak, but Rhydderch silenced me.
“It does not matter. Already Morcant is calling for me to set you aside. He saw you preparing to leave. You have betrayed my trust. Your head of guard attacked my men. Women have been beaten and returned to their fathers for far less. Tutgual will soon know of it. You have made me a fool.”
“And for this I cannot even ask for forgiveness,” I said.
Silence fell between us. I closed my eyes against the weight of it. Regret. Grief. Exhaustion. Guilt. Even then, from a fluttering fold of my heart, came the image of a sail snapping in the wind as a ship set its course across an open sea.
I could be cast away, only let me take my son. In the midst of everything, I held the sweet, sleeping bundle made of Maelgwn and me and felt a shameful stirring of hope that his father and I might be together at last.
“You are within your rights to do what you must,” I said. “You will hear no complaint from me.”
“No complaint.” Rhydderch nodded as if to himself. “Right. Are you so unhappy, then, that you would rather return to Cadzow in shame and utter disgrace than to state your argument to the contrary and have a hope to stay with me?”
His gray eyes flashed with anger, with hurt.
“I meant only that I will bear whatever punishment you find just,” I said, but there was no eagerness to please, nor quickness to quell the question I now saw stirring round his brain.
“You do not love me,” he said. A statement, not a question.
“And do you love me?” I replied, unable to turn back. “For if you said so, I would be startled to hear it. You show me tenderness and respect. You treat me as your ally and your equal. But do you burn from the nearness of me when I am lying beside you? Does your heart drum faster at the thought of my touch? Kindness alone is not love, husband. There are times I have wondered if you are even capable of it—”
“Stop.” I was silenced by the sudden ferocity of his kiss before he pulled away just as quickly. “Do not say any more, for I will never be able to put it from my mind.”
I drew back, startled by the pain in his voice.
“You ask if I love you,” Rhydderch said. “I love you as any man has loved a woman, Languoreth. I love your wit and your beauty, your fire. And, damn you, even your stubborn will. But I cannot change
the elements of my being. I am not like you, composed of passions. I am built of steadfastness. Logic and solidity. I . . . suppose I struggle in expressing such things. But have I not provided for you in every way a man can? I have given you jewels and fine clothing. I treat you with consideration and with kindness. I have gotten you with child.”
Unable to hide my guilt, I looked away. For once his keen eyes did not see.
“You have wronged me, hidden secrets from me,” he said. “You have broken your word. But I love you still.” Rhydderch blinked a moment, stiffening as he continued.
“I know that I love you because I cannot bear to set you aside. If you consent to it, I will offer Morcant a payment. The king will hear nothing of your role in this matter. My brother may be coarse, but in this I believe he will keep his word. If nothing less, it will give him some power over me. I hope he shall not have occasion to use it.”
Rhydderch looked up and my heart twisted in my chest as he said the last of it.
“But I will not do this until you tell me this is what you wish. And I will have the truth as to why you have brought this tragedy raging to our door.”
Never had my husband’s eyes been left so unguarded, so naked to me. A tear slipped down my cheek. I did love him. Perhaps it was not the smoldering, desperate sort of love I felt for Maelgwn, but wasn’t this love, this feeling of warmth overcoming me?
Perhaps love was made up of more than just passion. Rhydderch offered me kindness and constancy. Loyalty. His heart. And passion was a cruel master—I had learned as much so far. I reached for his hand.
“I did not wish to betray you. Please. I want to stay.”
Rhydderch’s tall shoulders slumped in relief. “Very well,” he said. “Then tell me. I am listening.”
CHAPTER 40
* * *
Rhydderch sat beside me as I told him of Cathan’s vision and my deceit of Morcant, my escape into the woods. I told him of the men, the oak, the crows. Of cutting the rope and the way Cathan’s body had plummeted to the forest floor like a child’s broken puppet.
He sat quiet a long moment after I’d finished, then gestured for our son. Rhys was so very light. A bundle of feathers as I eased him into Rhydderch’s arms. As he studied the babe, a shadow crossed his face. At last he spoke.
“We cannot raise this child in a cage. He is a boy, and the first of my name. If the kingship falls to him, he must be able to claim it. If war threatens our borders, he must be able to fight. I will do everything I can to ensure that when that day should come, he will be ready. I will protect this child with my dying breath. This I swear to you. But we can do nothing more.”
“Surely he would make a fine king,” I began, unable to keep the desperation from my voice. “But should he choose to enter the Keeperdom, or even the priesthood—”
“Languoreth. If death is to be his fate as Cathan foresaw it, who is to say it will not find him wherever he travels? King or Keeper, bishop or priest, we cannot say what the outcome will be. You cannot send a boy out into this world without knowledge of a sword. I can offer him fighting men, a warrior’s training. He will have the might of Strathclyde at his back.”
I looked at the infant nestled in the crook of Rhydderch’s arm and realized the futility. My heart would now be coursing rivers of blood in a body outside my own forever. No matter how much I wanted to wrap my child in swaddling from the world, Rhydderch was right. He would be better armed against his fate as a fighter than not armed at all.
“Here . . .” Rhydderch settled the babe gently against my chest. “He belongs with his mother.”
My body relaxed as I took him, and the baby slept on.
“We have said so much,” I began. “And I am so very tired. But now I must speak to you of something even more urgent.” I paused. “The men in the woods. This murder was carried out by Mungo’s hired men. Cathan said as much, and they did not refute it.”
Rhydderch rubbed his jaw. “Aye. And now it is my turn to tell you what has come to pass.”
He reached into the pocket of his tunic and drew out my knife, dropping it on the bed beside me. “There are so few golden knives such as yours.”
He had cleaned it of blood, but I could not bring myself to pick it up.
“The moment I saw you safe, I rode out with my men. We scoured the woods and villages, piercing hay piles and knocking down each door between here and the Molendinar Burn.”
“Are they dead, then?”
“Some are dead. A few are yet hiding, but we will root them out.” His eyes found mine. “The bishop waits at my father’s hall. He will be exiled on the morrow, of this I assure you.”
I sat up. “Exiled?” My mouth went metal with disgust. “He is a murderer, an assassin! He must pay for what he has done! He hunted down the head Keeper of Strathclyde and had him strung up like butchered meat. The people will never forgive this. My family will never forgive this!”
Crowan stuck her head into our chamber, her thin lips in a scowl. “What is all this shouting? If you’ve got rotten things to discuss, give me the babe. He deserves a little peace after his journey. And you”—she pointed a finger at me—“with the fever that nearly done you in! You’re to be resting now, not shouting!”
“You’re right, then, Crowan. Take him. I promise I will rest, and soon.”
Rhydderch stood as she departed, shaking his head. “Languoreth, I will only tell you what is true: Tutgual will not kill him. Not whilst he may yet be of use. Mungo has powerful connections to the merchants, to the townsfolk, and now also to Rome. Tutgual will send him away. His exile must be the end of it.”
“My father will not stand for it. Mungo has murdered his counsellor. Morken’s retribution will be swift and without mercy, I am sure of it.”
“If Morken values his lands and his own life, he will not lift his sword against the order of the king. Tutgual will deal in this matter. Morken must abide by his decision, as must any other king or Keeper, and so must you. You are no longer only the daughter of Morken, a man of the Old Way. You are also a princess of Strathclyde. Whether they follow the old gods or the new, these are all your people now. Christians are mothers and babies, too. Mothers and babies on both sides, homes burning, their bodies impaled on ends of pikes. This is what war looks like, Languoreth. I have seen it, and I tell you, there are horrors you cannot imagine. Think of that and tell me once more you’d see Mungo hang.”
“I would see Mungo hang.”
I had only just handed away my own child, bird-boned and defenseless. But my grief was a wild and stricken thing; it cried out for blood. “But if I cannot yet reach him, there is another who must pay.”
I told him of Desdemona’s suspected betrayal.
“And, sweet Gods”—I remembered—“it was Desdemona serving wine the afternoon Brother Telleyr visited Buckthorn. She knew Telleyr rode out to warn the king.”
Rhydderch’s gray eyes went hard. “If it was she, Desdemona has brought about the murder of two good men and nearly caused the death of my wife. She endangered the life of my son. If all this is so, we have suffered too much bloodshed by the hands of your servant . . .” He stopped. “You are pale. You must drink something, Languoreth. This has all been too much.”
He handed me the cup and I drank greedily, the wound on my neck burning like fire when I swallowed. My body still throbbed with pain from the birthing. Rhydderch’s worried eyes took in all of me as I lay there, spent.
“I will handle this,” he said.
“No,” I insisted. “I must hear for myself why Desdemona has done what she’s done.”
“Very well. Then I will fetch her.”
Rhydderch leaned out the chamber door and a moment later a shriek sounded from the hall. Brodyn appeared, gripping Desdemona’s wrist as if he might crush the bone.
“Your lady would see you,” he said.
He released her too roughly and she stumbled into the chamber, her dark hair hanging limp about her face. Seeing her handled in such a
way, I was struck with such pity, I nearly told Brodyn to stop. But how many more would betray me if they knew the true nature of my heart? There could be no more softness.
“Desdemona,” I began. “We know what you have done. Unburden yourself now, for this is the only chance you shall have.”
Her mouth twitched uncertainly a moment before her face fell and she erupted into tears. “It weren’t as they said, m’lady, please! They weren’t to touch you. They promised me you wouldn’a be harmed . . .”
“I would not be harmed? And what of Cathan? He was meant to be harmed, wasn’t he?”
I drew myself up with some effort and swung my feet onto the floor. “How could you? Cathan was kind to you. And you repaid that kindness by setting his murderers upon him! You have betrayed me and my father, the very family that took you in.”
I went to her and bent with some effort so that she must look me in the eye.
“You have taken the lives of two good men with your treachery. You will pay the price.”
“Nay, m’lady, I beg you!”
“Beg? You do not get to beg. You will tell me what you have done and I will decide what’s to become of you. For you are my servant. It is I who decides your fate. Speak, now. Or shall I have Brodyn aid you?”
Her eyes darted between Brodyn and me like a lamb cornered for slaughter.
“She’s not speaking,” Brodyn said. In a flash he’d gripped a fistful of Desdemona’s dark hair, yanking back her head to expose the pulsing artery of her neck. I winced as she cried out, looking at me. But where there had been fear, there was now a flicker of expectation.
“M’lady, you must hear me. I’d ne’er forget what you’ve done! I told ’em you were not to be harmed!”
She did not think I would do it.
She did not think me capable of taking her life.
Rhydderch shifted his weight to remind me of his presence should I need it.
“I commanded you to speak.” I nodded to Brodyn.
With a jerk of his arm, Desdemona’s neck was strained as if it might snap, her arms pinned against the small of her back.