by Gwen Rowley
Lovell continued to dote on Enid, but soon everyone had been served, and he was forced to retire, still bowing as he backed away from her. The voices died down as the guests concentrated on the meal, and although the minstrels still played, Geraint was able to speak to Enid.
“So what did you do to so impress a squire?” he asked lightly.
Her smile was strained. “I spent the afternoon watching the knights train.”
He frowned, but said nothing.
“Another squire was taking unfair advantage of Lovell, and after knocking the boy’s sword away, he was about to strike a blow to his back—”
“With a blunted sword?”
She sighed. “Aye, I know no grave injury would have resulted. But he was using all the force he could, and before I knew it, I had picked up his sword and blocked the blow.”
He tensed, wondering who in the great hall already knew that his wife had demonstrated her warrior training. For the first time, he thought of what his father, King Erbin, would say—that once again Geraint had made a rash decision marrying so quickly.
Enid was watching him with resignation. He took her hand, and her shoulders sagged with relief. It wasn’t her fault that she was not of his people. But he’d asked for discretion, and she hadn’t been able to give it today. It was one thing for him to accept that there were secrets about her past that she would reveal in time; it was another thing to be disregarded as if his wishes didn’t matter.
He sighed. “Is there anything more I should know?”
“The boy’s sword broke at the hilt when I countered. It caused . . . quite a stir.”
“You are a strong woman, Enid.”
She shrugged and looked away. “I overheard Sir Blakemore call me a sorceress.”
Geraint stiffened, and he searched the hall with his gaze until he found the man—standing at King Arthur’s side and whispering. At that moment, both the high king and the knight looked right at Geraint. He knew damn well what they were discussing.
He had thought he’d known Blakemore well, but for the man to go to the king instead of talking to Geraint directly . . . it could only mean he’d been searching for a way to discredit Geraint and had finally found one. He was a coward, to use Enid in such a way.
She was watching Blakemore, too, and she turned back to Geraint with worry darkening her fair eyes. “Forgive me, my husband. I am so used to protecting the new warriors amongst my people that I never even hesitated to interfere.”
God’s Teeth, did she have to protect boys in her tribe? “Are the men so useless?” he finally asked with disgust.
“You misunderstand me, Geraint.” She hesitated, as if weighing what she could reveal. “That is my position in my tribe. I am a warrior woman. Like my ancestors before me, I am of the elite women who initiate young men into the arts of battle. When their training is through, they join the men who guard our borders. We give them confidence and the courage to succeed. I could not stand there this afternoon and watch such mistreatment amongst fellow soldiers.”
“You train the men,” he said slowly, trying to comprehend such a place. “You were not . . . forced to learn to protect yourself, because the men did not provide it?”
She looked puzzled. “Of course not. Most of the women of my tribe do what you would expect of women. Although I admit,” she said, looking around at the various people near them, “our women are expected to contribute more to the society of our tribe, and are given equal consideration when decisions are made. Here, unless they are servants, the women are required to do nothing except sew and be beautiful.”
Geraint rubbed his hand down his face. “Ah, Enid, a high king’s court is not the same as a castle in the countryside. When men are gone long, women are left to run great households. Most do not sit and wait for a man to worship them.”
She looked relieved. “That is good. I fear I would not be able to accept adoration.”
Some of the tension between them eased. “You do not want me groveling at your feet?”
“Well, that is different, of course. Where else should a husband be?”
“A little higher up, mayhap.”
Once again, an exquisite blush swept her cheeks. He studied her and imagined her on a tiltyard, training soldiers. The force of command such a thing required seemed so very foreign to her. She was his wife, the soft place he would return to each night for the rest of his life.
But although he kept telling himself that it didn’t matter, some dark part of him wondered at the man who’d reached her first. He doubted now that it had been rape, not if she lived and worked with men.
And would she understand that she could not continue training men when they returned to his father’s castle in Cornwall? “Enid, you have to—”
But he was interrupted by Lovell again.
“Sir Geraint,” the squire said with excitement, “the high king spoke to me—me!—and asked me to relay the message that he wishes to meet with you and your bride in his private solar when the feast is through.”
“Inform the king that I will do as he commands.”
Lovell seemed to think this a great honor, but Geraint knew what Blakemore had told King Arthur. Enid met his gaze, worry evident in hers.
“Everything will be fine,” he said.
Or was he reassuring himself?
FOR once, Enid was glad to be clothed as the other women of Camelot. She walked down the torchlit corridors of the castle, her hand on Geraint’s raised forearm. She wanted to be a part of these people, to not call any more attention to herself than she already had.
She could still see the shock on Geraint’s face when she had told him about her warrior woman status among her tribe. He’d obviously thought that she’d learned to fight because she had no one else to defend her. She was almost affronted for her father—but she was beginning to understand the world her husband resided in. Dread seeped into her at the thought of everything else she had yet to reveal. But if she was lucky, her mission would be long finished before she had to explain it.
But right now, nothing was more important than this meeting with the high king.
Two armed soldiers guarded the entrance to the solar, but let Enid and Geraint pass without questioning their identities. Obviously her husband’s reputation as the future ruler of Cornwall did him in good stead.
They stepped through the double doors into a large room, where tapestries covered every wall to keep out drafts. There was a throne on a dais at one end of the room, but King Arthur was not in it. He sat at a table, dictating to his clerk. Gone were the crown and robes of state. He was but a man in a fine doublet and hose, surrounded by men who waited to serve him.
He looked up and saw Geraint and Enid. Though there were circles of fatigue beneath his eyes, his gaze was calm, full of a rare intelligence and perception that made Enid feel laid bare. Her nervousness began to skirt outright fear. She wasn’t used to feeling afraid, but this man held their fate in his hands.
“I am finished here,” King Arthur said to the roomful of people. “Please leave us.”
The clerk, several counselors, and soldiers all dutifully filed from the room. Enid felt their curious stares, but no one dared question the king.
When the room was silent, King Arthur gave them a considering look. “I was pleased that you chose to celebrate your marriage at Camelot, Sir Geraint. I hope your father approves of your bride.”
Enid tried not to take that personally.
“He has yet to meet her, sire,” Geraint said. “He trusts my decisions.”
But she was beginning to read the subtle, hidden expressions on her husband’s face, and she could not help wondering if that was true. A king was usually consulted on who would rule at his son’s side.
“Then you are brave,” King Arthur said mildly, “for King Erbin is a man in control of his kingdom.”
“Well I know it, sire.”
The king turned his penetrating eyes on her. “So where did you meet your husband, L
ady Enid?”
She laced her hands before her. “In a clearing in a woods a day’s journey from here, sire.”
The king arched an elegant brow. “You were just . . . waiting for him?”
Enid glanced at her husband, not knowing how much of the truth she should tell.
Geraint smiled at her. “My wife is concerned that I might be embarrassed by her, but I am not. Lady Enid is a warrior among her people, sire, and she was defending herself against a ruffian when I first saw her.”
She let out the breath she’d been holding.
“Then you must be quite the swordswoman to impress Sir Geraint,” the king said, sitting back and folding his arms across his chest.
“She trains the young men of her tribe,” Geraint said.
“Skilled enough to instruct.” The king nodded slowly. “Where is this tribe that puts such important training in the hands of women?”
She had left home prepared for this question and what would be necessary to protect her people. Her husband watched her curiously, and she promised herself that she would tell him the truth—later.
“I am from many leagues south of here, sire, where two rivers form a boundary around marshland.”
“Your tribe resides in a marsh?” the king asked skeptically.
She gave him a secretive smile. “There is much hidden within.”
“I see. And you do not wish to share the exact location.”
“Nay, sire. I have my people to protect.”
She waited for the king to refuse such secrecy, but he only nodded.
“I understand, Lady Enid. Does your land yield many women such as yourself?”
“I know not what you mean, sire.”
“Women with the strength to cause a sword to break in two?”
“It was a blunt sword. Perhaps it was not well made.”
“My captain of the guards assures me that it was. Yet the strength of your parry cleaved it asunder.”
“I can say nothing about the sword, sire, but I can answer your question about women warriors. We are rare even among my tribe, and only train the men. We do not normally fight at their side.”
The king nodded, and then said softly, “In regard to the incident today, one of my knights claims sorcery.”
“The man who claims such a thing is only envious of her skill,” Geraint said harshly. “Let Blakemore come to me with his complaints.”
“And how did you know it was Sir Blakemore?”
“I saw the manner in which he spoke with you at supper, sire, and yesterday he uttered a slur against my wife.”
“Such behavior will not be given credence, Sir Geraint, but he also claims that you have been neglecting your duties.”
“I am a newly married man.”
“With an important assignment yet to come.”
“Did I not serve you well today?”
There was an edge to Geraint’s voice that the king could certainly not miss.
King Arthur rose to his feet. “You did, Sir Geraint, and We are grateful,” he said formally. “But you must not lose the trust of your men. You may retire now. A good evening to you, Lady Enid.”
He nodded to her, and she nodded back.
“Rest well, sire,” Geraint said.
He presented Enid with his arm, she rested her hand upon it, and they left the king’s solar. Geraint said nothing as they walked through endless corridors until they reached their own bedchamber. When they were alone, she helped him remove the fine robe he’d worn to supper, and when he was in shirt and hose, he paced their room silently.
She knew that this argument was not over between Sir Blakemore and Geraint.
“You lied to the king,” he said suddenly.
“Aye.”
“You do not live in a marshland to the south.”
“Nay.”
“King Arthur is an honorable man.”
“Not everyone among his court can be.”
“What about me?”
There was a terrible pause, and the tension rose between them until it was almost unbearable.
“I trust you, my husband,” she whispered.
“But not enough to tell me where you’re from.”
She felt the sting of tears that had not threatened since her childhood. She looked brokenly at Geraint. “If you insist, I will tell you. But you promised I could tell my secrets at my own pace. And I swore a vow to my father to protect our tribe.”
“And you would break this vow for me?”
She closed her eyes, feeling the foolish tears trickle down her cheeks.
Suddenly, he was there, his arms around her, kissing away her tears.
“I trust you, my sweet. I will not ask you to break your vow.”
“Oh Geraint,” she whispered, returning his kisses until their fierce passion overwhelmed them both again.
But afterward, when he lay asleep, naked beside her, she considered the wedding vow she was breaking. She had used wine in their lovemaking, drinking much of it, splashing it against their bodies. But she had done so deliberately so that he would sleep.
She had dallied long enough, enjoying her marriage and avoiding her purpose. It was time for her to regain her own confidence. She could not allow her people to suffer. She had to finish this promise to her tribe quickly, so that she could create new vows for her life with Geraint. Tonight she would replenish her powers—and she would begin to practice the new skills she’d used today. She could train next to the pond, using the shadows to hide what she did.
She had not known how difficult it was going to be to keep separate the promises she’d made to both her father and her husband. She had tried to explain before their marriage about her secrets, but the reality of it seemed worse to Geraint now. She had to finish it all quickly, so that she could devote herself to being his wife.
Enid stood at the window naked, the shutters thrown back, feeling the pull of the moon strongly now. Her very flesh vibrated with it. She bound her hair back and dressed in her own garments—a sleeveless leather jerkin that fell to mid-thigh and tall boots that left only her knees bare. After strapping on her scabbard and sword, she gave one last glance at her husband asleep in their wedding bed, cloaked herself with shadows, and then slipped out into the corridor.
Chapter 6
SEVERAL hours before dawn, Geraint suddenly opened his eyes. He lay still, feeling in his bones that something wasn’t right. Enid was not lying curled against him, as was her wont. He couldn’t hear her breathing. He sat up, and by firelight he could tell that the chamber was empty. He was alone.
His head was still thick with the wine he’d consumed, and he tried to remember if she’d drunk the same amount, but he could not.
Why had she left him? And had she deliberately encouraged the wine drinking?
He wondered how soon he would regret the bargain he had made with her before their marriage. Had he been so anxious to bed her that he would have accepted any secret?
Even the night before their marriage, he had caught her roaming the castle when she should have been asleep.
Suddenly he heard the door open and close. He could see nothing in the shadows at that end of the chamber. But Enid stepped into the firelight and looked at him as her wet hair dripped a dark line down her leather bodice.
She was dressed as he’d first seen her, like the warrior woman she was, a sword belted at her waist. Geraint suddenly felt ridiculous sitting naked before her, exposed, when she’d covered herself. He wrapped a sheet about his waist as he came to his feet and stood before her.
Her shoulders slumped as she removed her scabbard and set it in the corner.
“Where did you go?” he asked. “Or will you lie to me as you lied to our king?”
“I do not willingly lie to you, my husband. And he is your king,” she added.
“Then where did you go?”
“I needed to train, and you would not allow me to display my skills before your knights.”
“Why would you
need to train, unless you planned to use your skills?”
“So by not training, do your skills disappear even as we speak?”
Stung by her words, he glared at her.
She put her face in her hands and sighed. “Geraint, I did not mean that the way it sounded. Like King Arthur, I, too, have heard the knights talk. You need to return to them, to assuage their discontent, to prove yourself their leader.”
The anger he used to live with so often now crowded back into his mind. “So this has become about me, and how you think I’m a coward?” he said softly.
Her eyes went wide, and she raised her hands beseechingly to him. “I never said that, nor do I believe it!” she cried.
“Keep your voice lower, or the entire castle will know what you think of me. Or do they already know, because they have seen you sneak from my bed? Twice—that I know of—you’ve wandered the corridors at night.”
“No one saw me, Geraint. And I did not sneak—I left to train, because you did not want to permit me what is my right.”
“And who did you train with?” He heard the jealousy, knew his hurt was causing it, but he could not seem to stop himself. “Is there another man whose cowardice is not in question?”
“I do not believe you a coward!” she insisted.
When she approached, he walked away toward the fire.
“And there was no one else,” she added. “I vow I went alone.”
“I’m not sure what your vows mean, Enid. Maybe I never knew.”
“Geraint!” Her voice was broken, sad. “You cannot believe such things of me. I love you!”
“But do you love your secrets more?”
“You said that you understood.”
“I thought I could. I thought nothing mattered but our being happy together. But your behavior tonight, this afternoon on the tiltyard—even the night before our wedding!—proves my trust has been misplaced. I thought your secrecy was about how your family treated you.”
She shook her head.
“I should not have accepted such a bargain.”