“There were three outer walls around the castle, all impenetrable by virtue of their height and thickness and the many warriors who guarded the way in. The first, I had to scale the wall to get inside. There, I found forty knights. I fought all of them and won through. I was able to break through to the next wall, and there were a further ten knights—the most ferocious fighters I’d ever encountered. I defeated them as well. Then I was able to enter the castle, but the Copper Knight had fled!”
“You’ll excuse me for thinking his move sensible when faced with such an adversary,” I remarked.
Lancelot barked a laugh. “Well, he got off to some other mischief. Once I left the castle, the townspeople came and told me about a legend that said a great knight would come and save them, and only he could lift the stone covering an important tomb. So, they led me to the burial grounds. I had to go into a barrow where lay a great stone coffin. I lifted off the cover stone, and there, written underneath, was my name: Lancelot.”
I wondered if Viviene placed it there and why? “Where had the Copper Knight gone?”
“When I came out of the barrow, a man told me the Copper Knight had the king and Sir Gawaine on an island. I borrowed a boat, rowed out there, and did battle with the blackguard, killing him, and freeing my king.”
“Well done!”
Lancelot nodded just once. “The king awarded me the castle for saving him. It seemed prudent to rename it, so I chose Joyous Gard. We rode back to Camelot and I became a Knight of the Round Table.”
Then, as if that is all the conversation he had in him, Lancelot stopped talking for league after league.
It was fine with me. My fear was building, and I was not sure I could hold a prolonged conversation.
After a long while he said, “Look! You can see Camelot’s towers now!”
My stomach churned. I will not to go to Arthur, no matter how much he begs.
That is done.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
For the first week after my return, I lived in fear that one of the pages would come to fetch me in the night. But it did not happen. Perhaps Arthur knew why I fled. I hoped so. I did not want to tell him why I ran.
In many ways, returning to the castle was rather gratifying. Servants and some of the courtiers made much of my “homecoming.” Lavena gave me many hugs and chided me for being away so long.
I had much work to do both preparing the plants I gathered and tending to the herbs grown tall in my part of the garden. Trahern had been kind enough to keep the plants well weeded in my absence. In payment, I made him a little love charm, as I knew he fancied Nara the kitchen maid, but had not the courage to speak to her.
At first, I was on the watch for Morgaine’s agents. But I knew everyone in the kitchens. I could feel their open hearts and minds. They would not seek to drug me and steal me away in the dark. King Arthur’s knights would not do Morgaine’s bidding. Even if she sent her people here to do me ill, they would be watched.
I was, for now, safe.
The crescent of the Rose Moon was on the rise, as I worked in the garden one day. I spied two riders coming up the road. My heart started pounding. It knew who was coming even before my eyes could confirm it. I dropped my hoe and waited at the edge of the castle road. It seemed to take an age before the men came up to me.
“Hello, my dear,” Merlin said, sounding tired.
I bowed. “Welcome back, Lord Merlin, Eoghann.”
“We’ve been too long away,” Merlin said.
“I’ll say,” Eoghann muttered.
Merlin and I exchanged a smile at the remark. “Well, I suppose we’ll go up to the castle,” Merlin said.
“I know you have been missed, my lord. Surely there will be a feast in your honor tonight.”
Merlin sighed, and I knew what was in his heart. “I suppose I shall be kept up late.”
“You are well loved,” I said aloud. I will wait up until your summons, no matter how late the call, I told him in mindspeech.
He smiled and urged his weary horse on. Eoghann passed me, already yawning at the prospect of being kept up all night.
Later, as the moon started her journey back into the sea, Eoghann stopped by my room. If he was yawning during the day, he looked positively ready to drop into sleep where he stood. He seemed surprised to find me working with my herbs at that darksome hour. “Lord Merlin asked if you can attend him, even though it’s late.”
“I will. Why do you not go to your rest, Eoghann? I am sure Lord Merlin can put himself to bed this night. I will beg him to let you sleep.”
“Most kind,” he said, with a small bow. “Shall I lead you to his rooms?”
“I know the way, as does everyone in the castle,” I said with a laugh. In truth, I did not want him to see how eagerly I climbed the stairs to the tower room, nor how my hand shook as I tapped on Merlin’s door.
“Come!” Merlin called out.
I went in, heart hammering so loudly. I was sure he must hear it. Carefully, I closed the door behind me.
Merlin sat at his table, writing tools at hand. His body looked weary, but his eyes were filled with a fierce fire.
I ran and kissed him. “Beloved, I have longed for you!”
“Oh, my dear Anya,” he said, hugging me tightly before settling in for a long, lingering, toe-melting kiss.
Taking his hand, I led him to the big, comfortable bed. At first, he seemed hesitant about who should do what. Slowly, I undressed him, then myself, and lay down with him.
Merlin stared at me as if I was some rare object of great value. I felt humbled and grateful and unworthy, all at once. He took my face in his hands and slowly kissed every bit of it, including the whip scar. “That may have been the longest month of my life!” he said, laughing a little. “It was all I could do not to push the horse to gallop the whole way home. As it was, we only slept a few hours before we started off this morning.”
I kissed his bushy eyebrows, down his nose, to his lips. “You must be exhausted.”
“I am, in truth,” he admitted.
I felt his rod press into my thigh and giggled. “Well, some parts of you are quite wide awake.”
Merlin kissed my neck and held me, chuckling. “He’s tired of me dreaming about you and would rather be with you.”
I placed his hand on my breast. “Well, I think we should give him what he wants.”
He took my nipple between his fingers and caressed it in a way I had seen him fondle the strings of his harp before he settled in to play. Kissing me deeply, our minds flowed together as before. This time, there wasn’t as much chaos. I was aware whose hand was on what.
And I was careful to wall off certain things I would rather he not see.
He was doing the same. Did he wonder, as I did, what was behind there? Or did he assume they were priestess things, as I suspected his secrets were Druid things?
Gently, I directed his hands in ways I found exciting. I saw in his mind what would entice him before he could quite articulate it and did it for him.
I felt his pleasure in both body and mind. But I also felt his fear that he would not be man enough.
I showed him with my heart, my hands, my tongue, my slippery wetness, that he was.
His kisses became more passionate, deeper. His thoughts roiled around inside my mind, and he knew the exact moment to take me. He plunged deeply into me, building upon the melody of our sighs and exclamations. Deep, long strokes in a slow, rising rhythm drove me nearly mad with desire.
And when we at last came together, our minds melted into one, our passion and love fused into an ecstatic song.
He fell asleep almost immediately afterward, spent, body and mind.
I laid awake, holding him for a long while. Could a woman have two lovers who were so un-alike? I gazed upon Merlin’s thin, pale arms, his nearly-bare bony chest with a few gray hairs, his large pot-belly. His legs were bowed from decades of horse riding, and the knees stuck out like knobs. His fingers were gnarled with the
effort of playing his large harp for so many years. He whistled through his teeth in his sleep.
There was no question of playing the how-do-you-taste game with him: he smelled like old boiled chicken.
Arthur was playful and adventurous. Making love to him was like hurtling off a cliff—exciting and dangerous. Merlin was cautious, slow, and thoughtful, to the point of seeming to stop time.
And yet … and yet.
I could not imagine Arthur being as open with me as Merlin was. Given the chance, would Arthur show me his vulnerabilities, be willing to let me lead him in bed, hold me so high in his heart? Expose his deepest feelings?
No. That was not his way.
Arthur was a leader. He must be in control. And while he fancied me and said he loved me, Arthur loved Britain more. He loved his kingship more.
Merlin was thrilled to have me—astounded I wanted him.
Where Arthur avoided the whip scar I received from the Saxon madman—out of respect, caring, or mere physical repulsion—Merlin kissed it, stroked it. He called it my badge of honor.
And then there was our soul connection—it was as if Merlin and I were two halves of a whole, broken asunder and thrown across a map, then re-gathered here, in this place. In Merlin, I felt complete within my soul.
But, there was another thing entirely. It was as if he had re-sparked my priestess power, lain dormant these many Moons.
I felt I was the person I was born to be.
It seemed curious to me. I thought I had to be alone to be whole.
This two-become-one was not that kind of subservient meekness I had heard the Christians tell their women to seek. What I had with Merlin was equal to equal. If we lost each other for some reason—Goddess forbid!—I would stay complete, and he without me.
“My Merlin, my beloved,” I whispered. Kissing him on the forehead, I got up and went to my own room.
Chapter Forty
Each night, after the midnight watch called out, I ran up the tower stairs to my Merlin. Together, we explored the strange territories of each other’s bodies. Plumbed the depths of our mysterious minds. Swam in the ocean of our growing love.
But it took me almost a fortnight until I gathered up the courage to tell him he was a father.
After we made love, I placed his hand on my belly. He smiled at me, thinking I desired more love play. Then his face changed, and he sat up. “What …?”
“Your son, beloved.” In truth, I had not known it was a boy until I spoke. Such was the way of the Sight sometimes.
“My son,” Merlin whispered. He stared at me in wonder and shock. Then he leaned over and kissed the Great Tree tattoo over my womb, which I had received when I was consecrated as the high priestess in Viborg. He looked up at me, and there were tears in his eyes. “This is truly my son?”
“You have the Sight far stronger than I. Can there be any doubt?”
He stared at his hand on my belly. “My son,” he said again. And much to my amazement, he began to weep.
I took him in my arms and held him until he quieted. “What brings these tears, beloved?”
He stroked my hair and kissed me. “I am an old man, Anya. I have walked alone for as long as I’ve been alive. Women have never cared for me, nor have I had very much interest to spare for them. I’ve always been busy serving the Goddess or kings. Long ago, I gave up the idea that I could have a family or someone to care for. I’ve always known I would die alone.”
“Is that why you would not believe me last autumn, when I told you of my feelings?”
He bowed his head for a moment. “I feared I was becoming senile and making things up. And then, when you kissed me, I thought—forgive me—I thought you wanted something from me.”
I had to chuckle. “What would I want from you?”
“Power from the Goddess or the king?”
“The one is not yours to give, and the other I have no use for.”
“My dear one,” he said almost reverently before he kissed me.
We conducted our affair in secret. Merlin preferred no one know of it. He feared it could be used against him to harm the king or cause ridicule. I was fairly certain he was more worried about the opinion of the court—that they would laugh at the old man, bedding a girl less than half his years.
In truth, I was just as happy we told no one. I did not relish Arthur hearing of this. How would he feel? I could not know but did not wish to cause him upset of any kind.
No one seemed to notice I was becoming heavier-set. Well, except for Lavena. She said, “Since you came back from your walk around the country, you have a certain glow to you. Did you meet the King of the Faeries out there?”
“Oh, aye,” I replied with a wink. “And he was most accommodating to a single lass.”
She laughed and laughed at that. I wondered if she would make up a story about it someday.
As the months went by, my days were filled, as they always were, with herb gathering and gardening, potion- and salve-making, and tending to those who needed my Art. When I was not busy, Pwyll, the king’s physic, had me come to the infirmary to show him various techniques and ways to use the healing potions I gave him. From Pwyll, I learned how to set the big bones of the leg and how best to amputate, if a limb could not be saved. Although they were hard to witness, I studied carefully his way, as those things were not taught in any woman healer’s hut.
One day, just as I was leaving, Pwyll took me to the side and whispered, “Lady Anya, are you pregnant?”
“Either that, or I have swallowed a large gourd,” I whispered back. There seemed little use in hiding it from him.
Chuckling, he said, “I would be honored to attend you, when the time comes.”
I stepped back, a little shocked. I had not thought about birthing the baby until that moment. The idea of having Merlin’s son and continuing on in my little herb room seemed absurd. “Thank you, dear friend. Until that time, let us keep this between us.”
He agreed. But our conversation made me start wondering what I should do, how I should arrange my future as my time neared.
I did not discuss it with Merlin.
Harvest that year went well for the surrounding countryside, and Mabon, the autumnal equinox, was a joyous festival. I was much occupied readying the abundance of herbs and plants to dry, macerate, and boil. Sometimes I borrowed Varden from the kitchen to help me lug the heavy pots around the room.
From time to time, Merlin and Eoghann rode out on the king’s business or Druid tasks. But only for a few days. Otherwise, Merlin stayed close to the castle, and I was glad for it.
As long as he was nearby, I feel safe.
But it was during one of those absences that things fall apart.
I was on my way to lie down in my room after a night and a day treating Sir Lucan’s wife for the flux. Just as I crossed the great hall, I heard a woman shout: “There she is!”
Surprised, I turned and saw Queen Guinevere, her face a mask of fury. Her lifeglow showed spikes of fierce red. “Get her now!” she said, pointing at me. Two burly guards rushed forth and grabbed me by each arm. The queen stormed over, her blond hair crackling with static and anger. “I know about you, you little whore. Witch! I will demand justice! Rowena told me you were plotting something.” To the guards, she said, “Put her in the dungeon!”
She knows!
Roughly, the men dragged me down to the lowest level of the castle.
The queen said she will demand justice. That means a trial in which Arthur will be publicly shamed, and my beloved will find out how false I am.
I was so miserable, I did not see or hear anything except the terrible blackness that enveloped my world.
Chapter Forty-One
I opened my eyes in a strange bed, feeling stiff and faintly hungry.
Then I spotted Merlin sitting beside me. His lifeglow was tinged with the red-black of deep, deep wrath. His look of concern barely masked the feelings radiating from him of disappointment, betrayal, and anger.<
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“Arthur says he loves you. Do you feel the same way about him?” Merlin asked, his voice an unfamiliar growl.
I wished I could die on the spot. “I love you!” I gasped, as the tears came. “I have never loved anyone else.”
“And yet, you slept with him.”
“Yes.” I felt cold all over. “I have no defense. I do not know why I … It was as if I were two people. One who wanted only you, and one who wanted to be with Arthur. I almost went mad from it. That is why I ran away. I did not want to come back, either. I tried to stay with the Picts, but when the priestess told me I was pregnant, she made me leave. I tried to escape to some other castle, but that idiot Lancelot found me on the road and brought me back to Camelot.”
“The child. Is it his or mine?” he demanded.
“The Pict priestess said it is the Goddess’s child. We got him on that altar at Beltane. You, yourself, felt he is yours.”
“Obviously I can be fooled,” he snarled.
“What will you have me do to prove that my heart is yours, as well as this baby?”
Merlin’s fierce mood broke. The red of anger was still there, but a terrible gray started to fill his lifeglow as he put his head in his hands. “I love you too much. I should cast you away.”
I felt as if a knife stood in my heart. The one person in the world I would wish no harm or hurt ever come to—and it was I who had caused him pain! With a feeling of emptiness, I accepted my responsibility in this. I knew I would have no home in anyone’s heart because of my duplicity.
“Allow me to have the child,” I whispered. “Once he is born, I will give it to whomever you wish and go. I do not deserve your forbearance.” I sat up, and a wave of dizziness hit me.
I felt his arms around me. “Swear to me, on the Goddess, that you love me.”
The Priestess of Camelot Page 20