by test
“But I never mentioned anything about Camelot,” Molly stuttered, not fully comprehending one word that Merlin spoke.
“You might not have, but I did. “ Morganna couldn’t seem to meet Merlin’s eyes. Her face filled with shame and her voice wobbled. “Oh, what have I done!” she wailed, her face blanching considerably.
“It will be as it once was, hold no fear, dearest Morganna,” Merlin murmured soothingly, resting his crystal blue eyes on Collin and Lachlan. “I have need of the two of you, as well.
Come, we must make haste. Molly, I will be transporting you and Morganna to a pivotal place in time,” Merlin began, ushering them all into a circle.
He stared at Molly and smiled fondly.
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“Daughter of my dearest Mildred and of my greatest friend, how good it is to see you well,” he murmured, gently caressing the side of Molly’s face.
“I’m not as well as I’d like to be,” Molly admitted.
Merlin bid them to clasp hands. Molly’s one hand grasped Merlin’s slim strong one, while her other hand grasped Collin’s large brawny one.
“Don’t we get to vote?” Collin asked in desperation, casting a confused glance toward Merlin.
“Do not worry, son, all will soon be well,” Merlin said reassuringly.
Streaks of brilliant light began to engulf the room. Molly had to close her eyes against it.
“That’s easy for you to say, but I was born in the 20th century, I won’t know what to do in the 6th century,” Collin called.
In an instant, they were engulfed by Merlin’s magic, and Collin’s protestation faded away.
The next moment, Molly’s world changed. No longer could she sense Collin. In fact, she could only sense Morganna; Lachlan and Merlin were nowhere to be found as well. The scent of battle clung to the air.
Molly could feel a warm steed beneath her bottom and her feet were planted firmly in the Elvin made stirrups. She swallowed thickly, and stared at the raging battle around her. Arthur and Morganna flanked her, and her eyes immediately fell on Adria, who was in the full heat of battle.
Her contemporary clothing had been replaced by her battle dress. She wore a long crimson colored cloak to keep her warm against the harsh winds from the sea, and her long cream colored dress was designed to not hamper her riding astride. Her legs itched as she felt the tight leggings she wore to protect not only her legs but to also keep her dignity in check while riding astride. Above her heart rested her father’s crest of the red dragon. A sign of his strength and a sign that she belonged to the legendary Pendragon bloodline. Her hair was tightly braided and hung out of her way on her back.
Her mouth went dry, memories of the past washed over in almost suffocating waves.
Tears welled in her eyes. She was so distracted, that she momentarily forgot that she too was embroiled in the battle against the forces from the East.
It was the Battle of Mount Badon, and if she remembered correctly, she was just about to be attacked by a dark rider.
She swung Anwyn, but in her mind-numbing confusion, she was a stroke late. She gasped in pain, as the dark rider’s poisoned blade plunged into her side. Damn chain mail, didn’t even take the brunt of the blow.
She heard someone’s animalistic cry, but her vision grew blurry, and she slumped forward onto Wind Spirit.
Even though searing agony clouded her concentration, she managed to sheathe Anwyn, as her father’s grief-stricken cry tore through the battle to reach her ears. Staring down at herself, through her haze of pain, she saw her own crimson blood gushing across her cream colored gown.
Her blood matched the Welsh Red Dragon that was emblazoned on her dress above her heart. The weight of the Celtic Cross she wore on her neck suddenly felt overwhelming. She moaned, and her head lolled against Wind Spirit’s white mane, as her faithful horse let out a worried neigh.
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She had failed Merlin. As she remembered the Battle of Mount Badon, she’d saved her father and his knights, and ridden with her father and her own Lady Knights unscathed back to Camelot.
It had been a victory march, but now, she feared she would never see it as it was meant to be. She had muddled it all up.
She’d failed Merlin, and in doing so, her worst fear had come to pass. Blood continued to gush from the deep wound, as she let out a helpless moan. She was fighting falling unconscious, but she was so weary. She felt as weak as she’d ever been.
“Mama,” she whispered plaintively, as her eyelids began drooping.
The last sight she saw, before she gave in to the darkness was a blade arcing toward her.
But strangely enough, she didn’t feel any fear, only a soothing contentment, as she was lulled to sleep by an ancient lullaby that her mother had sung to her when she was little.
Besides, she wasn’t mortally wounded, she wasn’t going to die, because if she did, everything would change, and she wasn’t sure if it would be for the better. She was bound and determined to fight the Angel of Death, and she’d win, because well, she always did.
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Chapter Four
Molly fought her way to the surface. It was a struggle the likes of which she’d never faced. Her entire body felt heavy. To make matters worse, she felt as if someone was sitting on her head. She had never been this gravely injured before, and she couldn’t say that she cared for the resulting effects. Her chest caved. With one shuddering breath, she gasped for more air.
Sweat beaded across her forehead in tiny driblets. Pain edged through her entire body.
Sleepiness tugged at her, but she knew almost instinctively that if she gave into the drugged sensation she would never awaken. Perspiration soaked through her clothes coupled with her hot sticky blood. Tiredness continued clawing at her. She wanted a hot bath, and then a cup of soothing hot tea. After that, the only thing she wanted was her bed and Collin in it.
Startled by such a naughty thought, her eyelids fluttered open and jolting realization ran through her, as she met her father’s anxious bluish-grey gaze. It had not been a nightmare. It was real. Merlin had transported them to the past, and she had screwed up the timeline. What would happen now that she’d fallen at the hands of a Dark Rider?
A cry formed in her throat but she strangled it as she met her father’s tortured gaze. She had to hold on. The future depended upon it.
Hoofbeats thundered around her and she knew then, that the rocking sensation she felt was her father’s horse Llamrai, as it carried them across the rough-hewn landscape. The sun was rising, and she could feel the heat of it on her war-painted cheeks.
The wetness she felt was her own sweat, and blood. She felt confused, as she continued to burn up, and she wondered if she was losing her grasp on reality. Images flashed through her mind. The ability to distinguish between all of them made her heartsick. She knew she was back in her father’s golden age. Knew it. Now all she had to do was hold on to that thought before she lost all sense of her self.
“Take me to hospital,” she muttered. Her mouth had become terribly dry, and she felt as if her tongue had been switched with a strip of sandpaper. Her father frowned down at her. His eyes flickered with fear. Fear? Her father couldn’t be afraid. Everyone knew he was a fearless man.
“I’m taking you back to Tintagel. “ His voice was raw with emotion. She swallowed.
He took one gloved hand and smoothed her soaking hair off of her forehead. A shiver tore through her at the sensation of his gentle touch. She’d almost forgotten the way her father’s touch felt. Feeling it again was bittersweet. Someone had taken her battle helmet off and her hair hung in a thick plait down her back. She tightened her grasp around her father’s midsection. Violent tremors rocked through her body. What was happening to her? Her vision faltered. Closing her eyes, she opened them again expecting to be met with a cold darkness.
Instead, her eyes once again found her father’s. Tea
rs welled in his eyes. Heartburn raged through her chest. Her heart drummed against her ribcage.
“Collin. “ Her voice trailed off. She gasped against another wave of pain. The pain seemed to engulf all of her senses. Arthur ripped off his glove, and pressed his bare hand to Molly’s forehead.
“She’s raging with fever,” he gasped, as Morganna brought her horse up beside Arthur’s.
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“Damn you, Merlin,” Morganna cried, shaking her fist up at the dawn. “Allow me to use my magic, and take her to Avalon,” Morganna offered. At her suggestion, Arthur’s eyes flashed angrily. A chord snapped within Molly. In one blinding flash, she had detached her spirit form from her body. She let out a rush of air, as the shroud of pain still gripped at her. This could only mean one thing. Her heart still beat within her chest. Morganna’s eyes fluttered to where Molly’s astral form fluttered above her father. Pressing her fingers to her lips, she saw Morganna nod her head in silent understanding.
If Morganna told Arthur that her spirit was drifting then he would become even more alarmed. Why upset him further when Molly still had a chance to live? It didn’t make sense, and Molly couldn’t serve that cruel of a blow to her father. If she did die…well…he’d have to survive that.
“Nay. She shall be healed at Tintagel,” he insisted. They rode with such abandoned fury that sweat drenched Llamrai’s flanks.
“Tintagel is too far, brother,” Morganna, argued, scowling furiously at Arthur. “Do not think your healers shall be able to heal Mary. It will not happen. In this day in age, wounds as severe as hers do not heal. Your healers will merely stitch her up, but they will have nothing to combat the vicious poison that has ebbed into her system. That is what is making her waste away. You must listen to me, Arthur. Do not risk Molly’s life by putting her in their barbaric hands!” Warmth surged through Molly’s heart at the sincere emotion she heard in Morganna’s voice. Morganna and she rarely saw eye-to-eye but the way that Morganna campaigned for her in her time of need, proved that deep down she cared for Molly.
They finally approached the fortification of Tintagel Castle, and Arthur let out a long rush of relieved air. The stonewall that the Roman’s had erected long ago, still stood along the border of Tintagel. Inside, there lived a vast assortment of people: baseborn and highborn were all included into Arthur’s grand kingdom. Even now, the watch guard had spotted Arthur’s troop, and in particular, Arthur himself.
Cries of, “The king approaches,” echoed throughout the kingdom and carried out to Molly on the wind. She stared at the glowing lifeline that tethered her to her own body. Biting her lip, she could only pray that her father would heed Morganna’s well-placed advice.
* * * *
Arthur clutched Molly’s now limp body against his chest and briefly glanced down into her glorious brown eyes that mirrored Queen Mildred’s. Mildred was his true love, and though he held a certain fondness for Queen Gwen, his heart would never cease in its fervent and true love for Molly’s mother. Many men and women alike speculated that he had scads of bastards spread out across Cornwall, Lothian, Wales and Lyonesse, but they were all wrong. The only woman that he had ever cared for was Mildred, and she and Gwen were the only two women that had ever shared his bed. No matter what the ballads said about him, passion ran through his blood. Passion for the women that shared his bed, passion for a sense of honor and justice and most of all, the chaste passion he held concerning his only child. Come what may, he would not let Molly die. No matter what, he would protect and love her until his dying breath. Never had he felt such an all-consuming pain than when he had seen her struck by that blasted dark rider.
Time had almost stood still. His heart had skipped several beats, and then in a blur of motion he and Morganna had reached Molly’s side. She would not die. He had enough strength in him to take on any enemy, and if need be, he would fight the Angel of Death when he came for Molly.
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Long ago, his half sister, Queen Morgause of Orkneys and Lothian had tried to say that her son Prince Mordred was Arthur’s. Arthur knew Mordred could not belong to him since he would never have slept with Morgause but some fools had believed her falsehood. Once Molly had blossomed into a lovely young woman, Morgause retracted her claim and told the truth—
Mordred belonged to her husband, King Lot. After which, Mordred had started to advance on Molly like he wanted her as his next conquest. Arthur would never allow Mordred to have that desire come to fruition. Over his dead body would Molly ever have to bear Mordred touching her. But Morgause’s initial lie still rankled Arthur. Arthur could never understand why Morgause held such venom toward him. But then, he could never understand the way that Morgause put thoughts together in her head. She was continually plotting against him. For some reason she truly believed that one day in the not-so-far-off future, her child would sit on Arthur’s throne.
Sir Tristan pulled up beside him, and Arthur inclined his head to the side, as they rode up to the grand front entrance of Tintagel. Pages and squires scurried around the knights. In short order, a wide path had been made for Arthur and his knights. Arthur stared to the side, and noticed with trepidation that the mystical Lady Knights of the Round Table were in deep discussion. He could not stand it if they sided against him. Did they not know that he already walked a precarious line when it came to the magic he allowed them to practice? Even now, the Church of Rome was sliding its tentacles around his kingdom. Soon, the old pagan ways would be no more. He couldn’t say that he would be sad to see them disappear into the fabric of time.
His mother had been taken by the old ways, and in the end, her belief had robbed her of her own life.
Adria was now the head of the Order until Molly was well again. Suddenly, as if Adria could sense that Arthur watched her, she looked up catching Arthur’s gaze with her penetrating green one. A tingling sensation rushed through him as he heard Adria’s voice in his head. He raised his hand but his gesture of protestation did nothing to deter her. It was quite apparent that she was resolved in her decision. So much so, that she was willing to go against her own code of ethical magical behavior by penetrating his mind without his consent.
‘We shall take Molly to the Isle of Avalon,’ Adria said confidently. Her words had barely entered his mind when the Order began moving toward Arthur.
Molly moaned, shifting in Arthur’s arms. Arthur frowned. He could not allow them to take her, and yet, what power did he wield to stop them?
Sir Tristan jumped off his gallant steed, lifting his arms for Molly to be placed into them.
Adria and Morganna were nearly upon him, and Arthur quickly slid off of Llamrai, and reached out to take back Molly. She was safer in his arms than in Tristan’s. Tristan could be swayed by the lady knights’ magical charms. Arthur on the other hand was more resistant to their mind probes.
“Merlin,” Molly gasped. Pain continued to contort her features. Mirrored pain entered Arthur’s heart. The Order of Merlin’s Light Bearers were upon him and they quickly circled him, as Adria stared at him stern-faced, an implacable expression molded across her usually easygoing countenance. Power buffeted against him. It buffeted against him in waves. The Light Bearers’ magic danced in the air.
“Merlin would not want this,” Adria declared, deliberately blocking his way. Arthur, as the undisputed High King of Britain, was not accustomed to such a display of outright disobedience, and since he was holding his beloved daughter in his arms with her blood seeping across his own tabard, he was not in the mood to humor Adria and her ladies. Could they not see LADY PENDRAGON MARLEY MATHEWS 34
that they were delaying Molly’s treatment? Precious time was being wasted. With each moment that passed, Molly slid closer to The Angel of Death.
Queen Gwenhwyfar and her ladies in waiting rushed out of Tintagel, with their long skirts hiked up nearly past their ankles. Gwen’s shocked half-scream, half-shout seemed to cause everyone to waver in their
resolve. Her somewhat grating voice always did have a way of piercing even the most steadfast warrior.
“What has happened?” Gwen cried fearfully, pushing her way past Morganna and Adria.
Blotchy redness covered Gwen’s normally milky white complexion. Fear skipped in her eyes.
“Molly has been struck by a black rider’s blade,” Arthur bit off, his voice cracked with emotion. He could not will himself to say anything further without cracking beneath the strain.