by Mary Yarde
“People are dying,” Annis hissed angrily at Bors as they crouched in the shadows of a roundhouse. “Was that part of your plan as well?”
Bors scoffed. “You ask for my help and then you condemn my actions. This is nothing compared to what happened in your husband’s kingdom. Those who died today were not meant to. I did not target anyone. Unlike your father, who thinks the only good native is a dead one.”
“And that makes it somehow all right?”
“No,” Bors admitted. “But I want your husband to live. He must get to Brittany. Budic must bring his army here and liberate us. Those who sacrificed their lives today would have done so for the greater good.”
“I am sure they feel so much happier knowing that,” Annis snapped back.
Bors sat back on his heels and studied her.
“What?” she asked when she grew uncomfortable under his gaze. When he remained silent, she shuffled closer to Alden, seeking his protection.
Bors saw her actions and looked away. Women — they were always so vocal of their opinions when they had a powerful man in their corner to back them up. And you couldn’t get more powerful than a du Lac. He closed his eyes briefly as another battle, a bloodier battle, clouded his vision. The air was thick with sea fog and tasted of salt. He could still taste the salt because he had left a part of himself there, in front of Benwick Castle, the home of the mighty du Lacs. So many friends had died that day. He looked around the familiar battleground. He had seen it many times before, at night when he closed his eyes and in the day. Sometimes the horrors would leap out at him unexpectedly. He tried to keep this terror to himself, for he did not want to appear weak, but it was a curse. He allowed the images to come, for he knew there was nothing he could do to stop them. The ground was littered with the dead. He turned his head and saw Arthur with a sword held to his throat. Alden’s father knelt on the floor, holding his youngest brother’s body in his arms. And then, the King of Orkney’s troops closed in around the two most powerful men in the kingdom and Bors could see no more. But he knew one thing. The Battle of Benwick was not lost, because no man had won that day.
“Be loyal, be brave.” Bors muttered the four words of the knight’s motto. They had all been brave, yet Arthur and Lancelot seemed incapable of being loyal to each other. If they had been, Cerdic would never have taken Wessex.
Alden tilted his head as he heard Bors’ whispered words. “Are you loyal and brave?” He turned to look at Bors.
“I only follow men with a certain pedigree,” Bors stated, coming out of his trance. He barely flinched as another loud explosion threw debris over the villagers and soldiers. One man’s tunic caught the flames and he ran, screaming until one of the soldiers tackled him to the ground, smothering the flames.
“The Pendragon line has come to an end,” Alden said. “What am I?’
“Not a Wessex.”
“You must have a bitter taste in your mouth, Bors. Are you sure you want to help a du Lac?’
“Not really, no. I was loyal to Arthur, but Arthur is dead.”
“What do you mean by that?” Alden asked, narrowing his eyes. “Are you going to betray me?”
“Betray a du Lac? Hell, no. I learnt my lesson the last time,” Bors said. “Come on, it’s time to go.”
Alden frowned and followed him.
It had felt like they had been running forever. Annis’s legs shook, her stomach cramped painfully and she had trouble breathing, but Alden allowed no rest. They followed Bors, who for an old man was very nimble, through the forest, keeping off the roads, of course. When Bors came to a stop, Annis sank to the ground and started to heave. She felt Alden’s hand squeeze her shoulder and she was sick.
“Are you all right?” he asked, lifting her head so she had to look at him.
She just about managed to nod before lying down on the damp, cold forest ground. She listened as Alden and Bors spoke to each other. They kept their voices low and spoke in Briton, but what they said Annis did not know and at this moment in time, she really couldn’t have cared.
Alden had come back to her and helped her to her feet. His eyes showed concern. “The pace for the next few hours is going to be fast. You don’t have to come. Bors can hide you and get you out of Wessex later.”
“You think I will slow you down?” she asked.
Bors snorted in amusement. Of course she would.
“I won’t let you,” Alden answered.
“I can keep up,” she promised, although she saw the look of doubt on his face. She straightened, squared her shoulders and raised her head. If Alden could do it, injured as he was, then she could. It would not be forever; she would not be running for the rest of her life. She could keep up with a trained warrior. She saw humour replace the doubt on Alden’s face. He was laughing at her — again.
“I was hoping you were going to say that,” Alden said, smiling in spite of the situation, at Annis’s spirit and determination, “because I have no intention of leaving you behind.”
Bors had left them when they reached a gorge and headed back to the village. The cliff was steep, and it made Annis feel dizzy just to peer over the edge.
“I hate heights,” Annis stated, backing away carefully from the edge, never realising she did until this moment.
“Learn to love them,” Alden advised, taking her hand and bringing her back to the edge again. “Look.” He pointed to a wild goat with shaggy brown hair and large curly horns, as it nimbly ran down the slope. “We will follow the goat’s path. If he can do it, then so can we.”
“He has four legs, we have two.” Annis complained. Alden had predictably ignored her.
It was a day of frightful new experiences. Once they had reached the bottom of the gorge, Annis had looked up. She had lived in Wessex all her life, but she was like a foreigner in her own country. This place was like another world; the majestic splendour of the wilderness was here, waiting for her to see it, to marvel at it. Yet she had never known such a place existed.
They had walked well into the early hours of the morning. Alden had allowed only a brief rest under the protection of a hazel tree, a tree that was reputed to ward off evil spirits. She prayed its mystical powers were strong.
She had watched as Alden cut and manipulated the branches until they lay at an angle. Then he had gathered frozen leaves and used the knife, kindly loaned by Bors, to scrape moss from the bottom of the trees, and laid both the leaves and the moss over the branches, making a sort of thatch. She stood and watched, feeling helpless.
“Try and sleep. I know it is cold, but we can’t risk a fire.”
“Where are you going?”
He gave a very boyish shrug. “I’m hungry. I’m going find us something to eat. Don’t look like that,” he said when he saw the fear in her eyes, “I am not abandoning you. I will be back, I promise. Take this opportunity to rest. I have run you hard and we have not finished running yet.”
He gave her a reassuring smile and then, without saying another word, he left. She watched him until the thickness of the trees took him from her sight. Rest, he had said, she reminded herself. She turned and frowned at the shelter and all of a sudden she felt sick. Not the kind of sick she had felt when she was running away from Hordon, but a sickness caused by the fear of abandonment. Alden had just walked away and left her in the middle of a forest all on her own. There could be wild boars or worse still, wolves. Maybe even her father’s men. She began to walk in the direction that Alden had taken and then she stopped, telling herself she was being foolish. Alden was right, they needed to eat, and she needed to calm down. She made herself walk back to the shelter and she started to pace, then she realised the stupidity of doing that, for it would only make her more tired. She made herself crawl into the shelter. She curled up on the forest floor and closed her eyes. With her eyes closed she became more conscious of her body. Her feet ached, her legs ached
and the small of her back was agony. The floor was cold; the moss and the leaves smelt musty and damp. She sniffed, for her nose was running, and the tops of her ears were throbbing painfully. She curled her legs up as tightly to her body as she could and she rested her face on her arms. Now she was lying down she wondered if she would ever be able to make her body get back up again. Maybe she would die here. She pulled her cloak as tightly around her as she could, but the material was damp and did little to offer any warmth or comfort.
She was tired, really ridiculously tired, which was why she thought her thoughts were so melancholy. She heard a scratching just outside the shelter and she raised her head and watched as a small mouse stood on its hind legs and twitched its whiskers at her. She moved her foot and the mouse scampered away. She made herself shut her eyes again, but every little noise made her jump in fear. She wished Alden were with her. She wished she had his body lying next to her, that she was in his arms. He would banish the cold. He was good at doing that. She thought about him, about her feelings for him. She was falling deeply in love with him, she was sure of that. She allowed herself to daydream about a future with him, and it wasn’t long before exhaustion overtook her and sleep claimed her.
7
She dreamed of a room, with a fire dancing merrily in the hearth. The room had a pleasant fragrance to it, lavender or rosemary, she could not tell which, and there was a bed, a large bed with thick fur covers, and beside the bed was a cradle. She smiled; this dream she liked. She would happily stay asleep forever if her dreams were like this. Then the dream shifted, changed, and she found herself on the edge of a cliff-face, surrounded by a fog that obscured her view of the valley before. She felt a hand touch her arm and turn her around. She thought it was Alden and she smiled in welcome, but when she looked up, she was staring into the cold blue eyes of her father. She tried to curtsey, but her father was having none of it, his hold tightening painfully on her arm.
“You betrayed me, daughter.” He spat on the ground. “My own blood.” He glared at her with hatred. “Come.”
Annis struggled against his hold and somehow managed to pull herself free. She took a step back and then another.
“Come with me, daughter, you are to be a bride. Natanleod is waiting. Your precious Alden du Lac is dead.” He held out his hand to her. She shook her head in disbelief.
“You lie,” she said. “You lie.” She glanced behind her. The fog had lifted and she saw the sheer drop to the ground below. Would it hurt if she jumped? Would death hurt?
“Annis.” Her father reached for her, but she knew that she would never go back with him. She had left that life.
“I loved him,” she heard herself say and then she fell. She heard her father call her name, but all she could think of was Alden. She cried his name, screamed it.
“Sshh. It is all right. You’re all right.”
“Alden,” she whimpered and sat up, collapsing into his welcoming arms. “I dreamt of my father, he…he said you were dead.”
“Sshh. I am not dead. It was just a dream.” Dear Lord, when he heard her scream he had feared the worst and had raced to where he had left her, heedless to any danger he was putting himself in.
She clung to him, shaking. It had felt so real; it took a few moments for her to gather her wits. He was alive, he was holding her, and there was nothing to fear but her own fanciful imagination.
“You are so cold.” He rubbed his hands down her arms. “I wish I could light a fire for you.”
“You are my fire,” she mumbled.
Alden cursed. When she said things like that to him, he did not know how to respond. There was sincerity in her voice and she was clinging to him in such a way that — he ran his fingers down the softness of her cheeks and gently raised her face to look at him. Slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered his face to hers. He had to know if one kiss would end his preoccupation with her. Her eyes widened for a moment and she glanced down at his lips and then back to his eyes. Their breaths mingled and he watched as she closed her eyes in acceptance of what he was about to do. A smile pulled at his lips as he lowered his mouth to hers. It was a gentle kiss, almost an offering, and it shook him to his very soul. A small sigh escaped her and he raised his head.
“Look at me.” He spoke quietly.
Reluctantly she opened her eyes and he saw desire, need and another emotion that he did not dare name. No one had ever looked at him as Annis did now.
“Are we going to die?” It was an unexpected question.
“One day,” he answered as he wondered what was going on in that pretty head of hers.
“Today?” Annis asked.
“I hope not. I just caught us a hare for our dinner.” He bent, with one arm still around her for he was reluctant to break the physical closeness, and picked up the dead animal. “Have you got any leeks to go with this? I know how much you like them.” He tried for humour, for he did not know what she was thinking. The kiss had probably been the most chaste one he had ever given, but it had meant everything to him. He felt relief when Annis giggled at his attempt at a joke.
Why was her happiness so important to him? It was ridiculous. He should not have kissed her. He knew that now. It was just going to make it all the harder to leave her behind. He could not take her to Brittany. It was dangerous enough in Wessex, but Brittany was a whole different kingdom and his brother was something else.
He backed out of the shelter and Annis followed him. He felt her eyes on him as he dismantled the shelter and tried to hide all evidence that they had been there. He did not speak; he could not think of anything to say and for the sake of his sanity he tried his damnable best not to look at her. He knew she followed him so there was no need to turn around and check.
The relentlessness of the snow made the going harder. As the evening sky turned a murky grey, he led them to a spot in a small natural valley, which was sheltered by large, weathered oak trees.
“Stay here,” Alden told her and began to walk deeper into the woods. He heard her behind him and stopped, turned around and glowered at her.
“I am looking for wood for a fire,” Alden stated.
“Have I done something wrong?” Annis asked. She looked vulnerable, unsure.
There had been no encouraging words from him as they travelled away from the spot where he had kissed her. As he led her away from that magic place, Annis had glanced backwards, determined to remember this place and this moment forever. But as his silence had stretched on, she had become fearful that he regretted his impulsive action. He had said he had wanted to make love to her. Maybe now that he had kissed her, he had changed his mind. She had been unsure what to do when his mouth touched hers, having never been kissed before. It had been an amazing experience, a pleasure like she had never even dreamed existed.
“You haven’t done anything wrong.” He dared to glance at her. Her eyes shone with hurt and he silently berated himself for being a selfish sod and keeping silent. She must be as confused by what happened between them as he was. “Sweetheart.” He had not meant to utter and endearment, but as he did so he saw desire replace the look of hurt. He closed his eyes and threw his head back, groaning. By God, he could not take much more of this. He opened his eyes and straightened his head. “Are you hungry?” he asked. “For food,” he added dryly when he saw the confusion in her face.
“You are going to risk a fire?” Annis asked, raising her eyebrows, and he found himself laughing. She looked as if he was about to suggest they take on Cerdic and his army.
“Unless you like to eat your meat raw,” he jested back.
The fire had taken some time to catch hold, but Alden did not lose his temper as some men might. He just continued to persist until the small shavings caught, which in turn caught the logs. He had left her in charge of the spit that he had made out of thin but strong branches, and had said he wanted to make sure they were not being followed.
Annis had poked at the hare, trying to turn it so that it would cook evenly. Alas, the damn thing fell into the fire and had cremated quite spectacularly by the time she managed to rescue it.
Alden had returned and glowered at the burnt meat, but like before, with the pottage, he said nothing.
She watched as he placed a piece of charcoaled meat into his mouth, pretending indifference, but failing miserably. Annis could not help herself; she laughed.
Alden cursed her softly, the corners of his lips lifting in a smile. He shook his head in disbelief. “Your father should have just let you cook for me; it is torture enough!”
Annis could not remember a time that she had laughed so hard. She covered her mouth with her hand to try to stop the noise, but then he cut the charcoaled hare in half, only to discover it was still raw inside.
“How?” he asked, a bemused expression on his face. “You have a skill the likes of which I have never seen.”
Annis shook her head and started laughing again, her eyes watering.
He smiled at her in an indulgent way. “I think I should be in charge of the cooking. Give me your meat. Dear Lord,” he shook his head, “you are unbelievable.”
They had wasted several hours by the fire, eating and warming themselves, but Alden had become restless and she knew that he wanted to move on and it would be another long night trying to find their way through a forest that seemed never-ending.
The sun had only just risen and it had turned the sky a blood red. It was unnaturally light because of the snow that had fallen throughout the night. Every so often Alden would stop, leave her alone, and backtrack to make sure they were not being followed. She hated him leaving her alone, but could see the reason for doing so. He had been gone longer this time than he had on the previous occasions. She slumped against a tree, wishing she could just fall down on to her knees and close her eyes. No hope of that, though. It was too cold and the snow made an uninviting bed. Her hands were pink; she blew on them, trying to warm them with her breath. It did not work.