by Signe Pike
His blue eyes pinned mine. “Your son is tutored by priests. Have you, Languoreth, so soon forgotten the Old Ways? Emrys is dead. I am the Dragon of the Isle. I have long sworn my oaths. My fealty is to the goddess of my land. I have bedded her. I have bled for her. And in return she has given me and my men her protection. I will not forsake her. We have carved out our own kingdom; we have made our own fortunes. I owe fealty and tribute to no one. Do you not see, little sister? If Uther Pendragon kneels before Strathclyde, I will not be the disappointment of a generation. I will be the coward of an era. The last Pendragon, the one who turned belly-up at the royal table.”
“And what choice have you?” I asked.
Gwenddolau let his eyes drift closed as if he did not hear me. “I am not afraid of death. I feel that it comes. When the time comes, Maelgwn will succeed me. He will take the oath and become the third Pendragon. He is more than ready.”
I reached for his hand. “Brother, please. You must listen to me now. Your men may be the fiercest of warriors, but your enemies are too many! Would you send your men to their deaths in payment for their loyalty? What of our own brother? What of Maelgwn, your most loyal friend?”
Gwenddolau yanked his fist from me and pounded it on the coverlet. “I will not trust a man who keeps the company of priests!” he shouted.
“If this is what it comes to, then you are a fool.” My voice broke. For a moment I thought he would command me to leave. But he only closed his eyes and sank back against the pillows.
“I do not wish to fight,” he said.
“Nor do I. But you must know that Rhydderch is a fair man; he is no zealot like his father. He married me, a princess of Cadzow and a daughter of the Old Way, did he not?”
“Who is to say that Rhydderch would aid me even if I should disgrace my legacy and swear him my fealty?” Gwenddolau said. “Rhydderch will not be named tanist if he displeases the king. And Tutgual is no friend of mine. He shelters my enemies, Languoreth. How many times have you seen my ‘cousins’ come to court? No. Gwrgi and Peredur are in the pocket of Strathclyde. Even if I did see fit to pledge Rhydderch my fealty, he would never make war against his own father.”
I wanted to protest, but Gwenddolau was right. Tutgual was still far too powerful, and Rhydderch could not risk losing the Council’s appointment of tanist. In Tutgual’s eyes, and likely in the eyes of the other lords of Strathclyde, the Pendragons were an unruly threat that needed to be tamed, while lords like Gwrgi and Peredur bowed and simpered. Tutgual had long given preference to the lords of the east. I looked at Gwenddolau, his body gone slack against the pillows, and I could see how our conversation had taxed him.
“I am sorry,” I said. “You must rest.”
Gwenddolau’s shoulders eased and I took his hand once more. “I will make you an elixir. It will help fight the festering and keep your cough at bay. But it cannot do its work if you exert yourself. You must stay another few days at least. I will speak to my husband. Tell him you’ve merely fallen ill. Rhydderch will make no demands on you.”
Gwenddolau nodded, wary. “He is your kin, and I do not wish to insult him. He has been a most generous host. But we must leave on the morrow. My people are in jeopardy even now. I left strong men but took with me my general.”
My heart sank but I nodded. “Of course. I understand.”
A knock sounded at the door and Gwenddolau looked up. “Come,” he said.
Maelgwn entered, looking between the two of us. “How are you, brother?”
“Hale as ever.” Gwenddolau did not smile. “Languoreth is going to heal me up.”
“Then you are in good hands,” Maelgwn said, then looked away. “The servants have come with food. Shall I have them attend you here?”
“No. We cannot risk it. Have them leave my fixings by the main hearth.”
“Very well.” Maelgwn leaned out the door and said something beyond hearing. One of his men grunted and I heard the warrior address my servants. Gwenddolau was taken by a sudden fit of coughing and Maelgwn moved swiftly to conceal the sound by shutting the door.
I stood and smoothed my skirts. “I should see if the rain has let up. I must fix you that remedy and will need to gather some plants.”
Gwenddolau nodded, but Maelgwn shifted his feet. “I will come with you,” he said.
“I can assure you there’s no need.”
“I am sorry, but I must insist,” Maelgwn said. “Sister or no, if you intend to make a remedy for Uther Pendragon, it will be under my watch.”
“So be it,” I said. I was too spent to be insulted, and besides, it had been just such a “remedy” that had caused the death of Lord Emrys. I could not blame the Dragon Warriors for being careful.
Gwenddolau smiled. For a moment the candlelight chased the shadows from beneath his eyes and I saw for the first time in too long the face of the brother I once knew.
“I am sorry I raised my voice,” he said. “You must know how much I care for you.”
I swallowed the lump that rose in my throat. “Yes. I know. I’m sorry, too.”
“Well, then,” he said. “I am eager to take your elixir when it is ready.”
Gwenddolau bowed his head in thanks as Maelgwn held the door for me. In the main room he pulled his cloak from a hook on the wall as I turned to our servants who were laying out the midday meal.
“I’m going to gather some supplies. I’ll be quite safe, but General Maelgwn has insisted on accompanying me. Tell Aela when you see her.”
They bowed and I ducked outside into the wet.
“What will you need, then?” Maelgwn asked. We walked side by side past the stables and the apple trees growing heavy with green fruit, beyond the patch of grass where the elm had sprouted and into the wood.
“I need some oxeye. It’s a certain type of daisy that may aid with his cough. I’ll need to mix it with elderberry and some other remedies for the tincture, but I’ve plenty of all that.”
The sky was still misting. Rain whispered against the leaves of the forest in a thousand tiny fingers, but the afternoon didn’t yet carry the chill of autumn. Rather than look at Maelgwn, I tried to listen to what the rain might say. But the rain spoke of forgiveness, and the heart that thudded in my chest was far too wounded from years of silence to heed its urging.
I could feel my bitterness even now, leaking into the pit of my stomach. I stepped over a rain-drenched root that resembled an adder.
“You know Gwenddolau cannot fight this festering, don’t you?” I asked.
Maelgwn bowed his head. “If you mean to say Gwenddolau is dying, then, aye, I’m aware that’s the case.”
“This tonic, it may help him for a few weeks. Into autumn, even. But it can only help a body that wishes to heal.”
“You think he is used up, then?”
I did not have to look to know Maelgwn was studying the contours of my face.
“Yes.”
“If that is so, I reckon any strength you can offer him will be a boon,” he said. “He’ll have to travel again soon to collect our rents. The people will want to see him.”
I thought of my foster brother suffering in his bed. “It pains me to see how his destiny has used him.”
Maelgwn looked at me. “Do not pity your brother. Gwenddolau knew the demands; we all did. He would do the same again if given the chance.”
“And what of you?” I trained my eyes on the wet ground before me. “Are you prepared to take his place?”
Maelgwn’s answer was swift. “Aye. I’ll do what must be done.”
We spoke of such matters, but all I could feel was his nearness. I cursed my own stupidity, my insides pitching like a ship tossed at sea. I knew well enough where the bank of oxeye had sprouted; I did not have to fetch it myself. Maelgwn could have just as easily accompanied one of my servants to collect it. I should turn and hurry back to the hall before the fissures running through me cracked and all I knew I could not say rushed out.
But I could not turn back
.
How could he have hurt me so? The air between us was piled thick with the weight of years gone by and too much left unsaid. No matter the danger, no matter the price, I could not leave. I deserved an answer, did I not? But I could not begin it. I could only walk, eyes fixed on the forest thickets. Just as I thought I would surely explode, Maelgwn stopped suddenly under the shelter of a silver birch.
“I know that I should be worrying for Gwenddolau, and I am,” he said. “But my thinking’s gone sideways being here with you. It has been impossible to find a moment to speak with you alone. And you have been too full of fury to even look upon me.”
I turned to look upon him as he bade but said nothing. Maelgwn ran a hand over the shadow of stubble on his face. “So that is all? You will stand here with me and say nothing?”
“What would you have me say?” I asked, determined he should not see my hurt.
“Languoreth, if you only knew how long I’ve waited to see you once more, you wouldn’t have the heart to behave like this. Please.” He held out his hands and I stepped back as if he’d doused me in cold water.
“Do not touch me. Don’t you dare. Seventeen years without a word. Seventeen years in which you broke my heart over and over with each passing day, and now you say such things?”
Maelgwn dropped his hands to his sides as if stunned.
“Have you truly thought all this time I didn’t love you? Sweet Gods, Languoreth. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for the love of you.”
“Love?” I exclaimed. “What you have done to me is not love. You left me to live a life I did not choose without even the slightest message of hope from the one man I believed my heart was made for. If you only knew how many nights I lay awake and wept, and still I heard nothing. To think I once thought you the bravest man I’d ever known. Well. I am glad I know now. You have shown me you are nothing more than a coward.”
Maelgwn blinked, as if he had suddenly stepped from shadow into blazing sun.
“You think me . . . a coward.”
I swallowed the tears that rose in my throat and stood there trembling, my breath shallow with anger. “And what else would I think? You knew your words were safe with my brother, and yet you chose to remain silent. Cowardice or lack of love—what does it matter? You should have had heart enough to spare me from such misery. Instead you did nothing. Said nothing. You abandoned me to seventeen years of silence and I was left with nothing but the ache of you. To love me in spite of the distance, to love me as I loved you. That, to me, would have been truly brave.”
Maelgwn wiped the rain from his dark lashes, his eyes fixed on the ground.
“Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I have been a coward.”
He shook his head as if thinking aloud. “That morning we parted at the foot of the mountain, I thought nothing could tarnish my love for you. I used to throw myself into battle with little care for my safety. Suddenly each battle took on a new urgency, because I knew that I must find my way back to you. What did it matter if you were wed to another when I knew, in truth, your heart was wed to me? The messages you sent were a balm, and I sent you the ring as a symbol of our promise. With each night that fell, it was as if I could sense you lying in the coming dark, thinking of me across the distance. But what good were messages of love when they could never be realized? To feel you but never again be with you? To think of you, but never again touch you? I thought I could handle such witchery, but I was wrong.”
Maelgwn looked up, his eyes kindling with hurt and with anger. “You say I left you to live a life you did not choose. But you made your choice, that day in the wood. You chose a life apart from me. And as the days became weeks, and the weeks became the turning of a year, the words that once sustained me began to burn like a poison. Each missive I received was a reminder of all that could not be. I told myself I was doing what I must in remaining silent. I knew at first it would wound you. But I was certain that as time passed, it would save you from the suffering I felt. That you might at least find some happiness, if not with me, then with a man who might be king. But I see now that I was wrong.”
He stopped, his face wet with a sheen of mist, looking at me as if I were some sort of earthbound goddess.
“Yes,” I said. “You were wrong. So very wrong.”
He reached to take my face between his hands as I stood, motionless, unable to break the spell.
“Look what I have done.” He traced his thumb over my cheek. “Look how we have wounded ourselves. I told myself that this was the best way for you, but now I realize I did not do it for you. I did it for me. I failed you, my love. But I swear to you now, I will never fail you again.”
My chest heaved with the sob I had been holding in the pit of my heart for too many years. I thought surely, if released, it would break me.
But then Maelgwn drew my face to his and kissed me.
I had forgotten what it was like, to say so much without speaking. Our lips spoke in volumes as my fingers roamed his rain-slicked hair, his sturdy jaw, the velvety lobe of his ear, his stubbled cheek. His breath was hot against my cheek and he tasted of spice and the sweet ferment of ale. It could not even occur to me that I was blind to the danger of discovery, my head so consumed in this fog of urgent desire. The only thing that mattered was that I taste Maelgwn and be tasted, that our bodies, which had been withering each day from being split apart, could meld together once more.
Maelgwn gripped my bottom roughly and I gasped as he pulled me into him, his hands roaming as if they could not fill themselves with enough of my flesh, his mouth hungry for the feel of my skin. I shivered a little from the rain as he pushed aside the fabric of my cloak and pulled at the lacing of my bodice. My dress was down around my shoulders and he broke away, his lips almost touching mine.
“Stop me now or I swear I will take you right here.”
“I cannot stop you. I will not.”
I reached for his face hungrily and drew his lips back to my own. It was all the assent he needed. He lifted me up, carrying me over the wet ground until my back was bolstered against the solid trunk of an oak. There were brambles that scratched at my flesh, but we were sheltered as he slid my skirts up around my waist and pushed inside me.
“I love you,” I whispered, my forehead pressed to his. “I love you.”
“I am sick with love of you.” His voice was hoarse as he thrust against me. I cried out, my body erupting in pleasure, and my mind went empty. My body squeezed his in a hot and frenzied fury, my hair catching on tree bark as he pounded into me until I came to pieces again and again, his deep voice in my ear.
“Come for me, my love. Come for me again.”
It was over too quickly. And as our chests heaved to recover in silent time with each other, Maelgwn lifted his head and scanned the forest protectively, as if it had just dawned upon him how risky our lovemaking had been.
“I do not want to move,” he said, our bodies still locked together. He shifted inside me and I gasped again. Maelgwn closed his eyes as if tucking the moment away in his memory and then moved to withdraw from me. I felt the loss of him instantly and pulled him back.
“No, no. Not yet.”
“I don’t care who should see us,” he said, smoothing back my hair. “But you. You stand to lose everything.”
“Shh.” I covered his mouth with mine. I could not speak of it. Only one moment ago I had felt so whole, and now each word, each small span of distance, felt like a chisel chipping at my spirit.
At last he sensed I was ready and drew reluctantly away. His spear-hardened fingers were tender as they brought my dress up around my shoulders. The hem of my skirts fell back to the forest floor, the only memory of our coupling the quieting throb of my heart and the lingering wetness between my legs.
I looked at him and he nodded slowly, reaching for my hands. “Come. We must find that flower. We need not think of parting just yet.”
His strong hand pulsed in mine, giving me strength. “It’s this way.”
/> Maelgwn followed me through the brambles and back onto the path, but a sharp rustle in the undergrowth made me stop and hold up my arm, stopping him in his tracks.
“Look,” I whispered. “It’s a stag.”
Its chestnut fur was giving way in small patches to the darker hair of the coming winter, the velvet on his newly formed antlers all but gone. Maelgwn froze with the practice of a hunter and we stood in silence, watching as the young buck bounded gracefully over a great rotted log and disappeared into the greenery beyond.
“Beautiful.” Maelgwn’s deep voice was full of reverence. “Surely that’s a good omen, aye?”
“Surely,” I echoed. But as my eyes followed the buck’s movement I could not ignore the deepening pit in my stomach. He was bounding south, toward the lands of Uther Pendragon and the Borderlands. Yes, he was fleeing south and east, toward the Wall.
CHAPTER 43
* * *
Moon daisy, Ariane had called it. The thin, velvety petals glittered with rain as I drew out my knife and harvested what I needed. The rain had given way to murky skies by the time we reached the green sloping bank dotted white with oxeye. It was late in the season, but there were plants enough, and I turned to Maelgwn as I shook the water from the stems, tucking them gently into a piece of cloth. “This is what we seek, though you wouldn’t know a toxin if you saw one.”
“Did you think I was truly worried?” he laughed. “How else was I to get you alone?”
“You’re a terribly good bluffer.”
“I wouldn’t be much use as a general if I wasn’t.” He smiled and folded his arms across his broad chest. It was the same self-satisfied expression our son Rhys wore when he’d told a good joke or bested Rhydderch in gaming.