by Gwen Rowley
Geraint watched Enid, feeling resigned rather than angry. He approached the two soldiers and his wife, and to his surprise, she couldn’t get to her feet quickly. He took her elbow, and she lifted her grateful gaze to him.
“Enid?”
Earnestly, Lovell said, “My lord, she but helped Severin.”
“And why did he need help?”
Lovell’s gaze was stark with worry and hesitation.
“I don’t need to know,” Geraint said, sighing. He looked down at Enid. “This is the trait of warrior women you told me about?”
She nodded and spoke in a husky voice. “It has been a part of me since girlhood.”
“I understand.”
Even speaking made her seem paler by the moment, and he found his concern growing.
“Does it tire you so much?” he asked in a soft voice.
“I shall be fine in an hour or so,” she said. “But I fear until then I might be useless to you.”
“Not so invincible in battle right now?” He hoped he didn’t sound sarcastic.
She answered seriously. “I know not. If called upon, I could defend myself, Geraint. But I would not trust myself to guard your back.”
Ainsley called that all was ready, and Geraint found himself torn. Was his wife truly so defenseless?
“I will stay with her, my lord,” Lovell said. “We will hide with Fryda.”
Though Enid was a fool for making herself weak, he knew that she was a selfless woman who would do anything to help another.
Even marry the enemy? a dark part of him whispered.
He watched her until she was truly hidden with her maidservant and Lovell, and then he and his men remounted to make another charge.
They faced even less men than he’d surmised, and he realized that many of their enemy were beginning to slip away in the face of defeat. The battle was over almost before it had been renewed.
At last he stood victorious on the battlefield, watching the last six men of the enemy flee, some on foot, others on horse. Several of his soldiers gave chase, and the rest began to deal with the dead and wounded.
Wilton came running to him. “Milord, someone has slit the throat of each of the enemy casualties. There is no one left for us to question.”
Geraint stared after the twins, who were racing down the moor in pursuit. “They certainly want to remain a mystery. Or perhaps the person who hired them insists upon it.” He turned back to Wilton. “Search the bodies, and not just for weapons.”
Geraint went to see to his own casualties, and grimly stared at two dead soldiers. Both of them had served with him for many years. The waste of it all infuriated him, and he longed to have someone to punish.
Enid approached him and stared at the bodies as Ainsley closed their sightless eyes.
“Oh, Geraint,” she whispered. “I broke my fast just this morn with Addis. He was going to be married when we returned home.”
Geraint put his arm around her, and he was surprised to find her trembling. Surely only her magical exertions earlier made her seem so frail.
“Milord!”
Both Geraint and Enid turned at the sound of Wilton’s voice.
“Milord, we’ve found Saxon gold on several of ’em.”
Enid stared up at Geraint, and he gritted his teeth.
“Now we know who has been hiring the mercenaries for these attacks,” he said, then looked directly into her eyes. “These assaults must be a precursor to a Saxon invasion. They could be landing here in the west to surprise the high king on two fronts.”
“If the prince of Cornwall and his company are killed,” Enid said, “the king of Cornwall will not only be distracted by grief, but will have lost some of his best knights, and might be of little use to King Arthur.”
He nodded. “This changes everything, Enid. We can no longer afford to stop in villages just to meet with my father’s subjects. We’ll send word to King Arthur and my father to prepare for an invasion. On our way to rejoin my father, we will visit your tribe and make sure that the border of Cornwall is secure.”
The tension between them rose again, as each remembered their argument.
Solemnly she said, “Trust me when I say that my father is Cornwall’s ally against the Saxons. If you treat them fairly, he will do all he can for you. And he’ll offer help.”
Geraint hoped she was right.
It took him the rest of the morning to oversee burying the corpses of men and horses alike, and to reorganize the troop. One horse pulled a litter for an injured soldier, but they were still short a mount.
“Fryda is the lightest among us,” Enid said as she stood beside her horse. “I will take her up behind me.”
“Of course, milady,” Fryda said, coming to stand beside her mistress.
Lovell, always at Enid’s side as if she might yet faint from her ordeal, said, “My lady needs to recover. The maidservant will ride with me.”
Geraint realized how much Lovell had matured in Enid’s service during the several weeks that Geraint had known him. And he knew it had probably begun when Enid had “helped” Lovell fend off a bully at Camelot. Surely the boy had been the first Cornish recipient of her warrior woman gift.
Fryda’s expression was comical as she fought to withhold her protest to Lovell’s offer of a ride. Several of the soldiers chuckled, and Geraint was grateful for the moment of levity.
Finally the maidservant stamped her little foot. “Milady, ’tis certain am I that Manning will allow me to ride with him.”
Lovell rolled his eyes. “Manning is too old for you.”
“And now ye’re me brother?” she shot back.
“You must not have had one, and that’s the problem.”
“Enough,” Geraint said, no longer hiding his laughter. “If my lady Enid will consent, she can ride in my arms and sleep. Fryda, for now you can ride alone, but later I’ll pair you with Lovell, where obviously your innocence will be safe.”
Enid’s eyes widened, and in that frozen moment between them, he wondered if she would refuse his offer. They were heading for her tribe, where the fate of their marriage would be decided once and for all.
But she gave a weary nod. “I accept, my husband.”
It was difficult for her to find a comfortable position, and there was far too much squirming in Geraint’s lap for his own peace of mind, but in the end Enid lay across his thighs facing him, curled against his chest, and fell asleep almost immediately.
AFTER the previous day’s battle and march, Geraint knew that his men needed a day to recover. The tedious journey on horseback gave a man too much time to think about the dead left behind.
They had made camp near a stream, so most took the opportunity to wash garments and lay them out over rocks to dry. At first men dozed in the sun, or played dice games, but eventually some began to spar.
Enid and Fryda spent the morning together, and whenever Geraint’s gaze strayed that way, he saw Fryda patiently teaching her mistress the art of embroidery. It was amusing to see the delicate maidservant and the tall warrior woman with their heads together over cloth and thread.
Geraint walked among his men, talking, encouraging, and listening. The sun arched in the sky and began the slow fall on its way to evening.
Manning, the soldier Fryda had befriended, was a mountain of a man, but when he talked about women, he pulled his cap from his head and twisted it between his fingers. Geraint saw the telltale signs and wondered what the man would say about Fryda.
“Milord Geraint,” Manning finally said, “’twas generous of ye to allow yer wife to bless us.”
Taken aback, Geraint frowned. “Bless us with her presence?”
“Nay, bless us with the gift of her magic.”
Geraint closed his eyes for a moment, then looked about for Enid. She was still sitting beside Fryda, but now two young soldiers were squatting nearby, talking to her. Geraint couldn’t help wondering if his God-fearing father would think this a pagan ritual to be condemned�
��especially coming from a future queen.
Lovell approached Geraint and Manning, gesturing toward Enid. “She is a popular lady today, my lord.”
“So Manning tells me.”
Manning’s eyes widened, and he hastily left.
“Are they bothering her?” Geraint asked. “Those men have enough foolhardy courage to start their own war. They do not need her kind of help. Surely she’ll exhaust herself.”
“She knows that, my lord, and she tells them so. But they just . . . feel better with her simple blessing. Shall I take her away, so it doesn’t look like you disapprove?”
Geraint smiled at the squire. “You become more intelligent every day, Lovell.” As Lovell started away, Geraint caught his shoulder. “And I do not disapprove. I only worry for my wife.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Geraint looked at Enid, and his voice became soft as he said, “I need to protect her, boy, even though she doesn’t need that from me.”
“She might not need it, my lord, but mayhap she wants it.”
Geraint glanced at him in surprise, but Lovell walked away and went to Enid. Geraint couldn’t hear what was said, but he saw Enid smile and get to her feet. When she strapped her scabbard about her waist, Geraint’s own smile faded. Training wasn’t the way to get Enid away from the soldiers. They’d only be curious enough to—
“Train with us, milady,” Wilton called. “Now that we all know yer talents, there be no reason to hide.”
Geraint narrowed his eyes, saying nothing.
Enid glanced at him, but to the gathered soldiers she said, “Very well. There seem to be no large rocks to hide my training behind.”
“And if there were,” Wilton called, “there might be Saxons hiding behind ’em!”
Several of the men banged their swords to their shields menacingly, and everyone displayed grim smiles.
“Let them try to get near us,” Toland called. “We ’ave our princess to give us warnin’.”
A cheer went up, Enid blushed, and Geraint told himself to relax. How could his father not approve of Enid earning the loyalty of hardened, cynical soldiers? Maybe Geraint could downplay the part about her giving blessings . . .
He moved among the sparring soldiers, answering questions, giving advice. But more and more, men took to watching Enid rather than training. A keg of ale was tapped, and torches were lit to extend the performance as dusk fell.
She was as graceful as a dancer, but lethal; watching her was like seeing the beauty of a war tapestry come to life. Yet in her eyes burned the intelligence of a warrior, and more than once Lovell found himself on his ass. Soon the boy was so winded he staggered when he tried to stand.
Wilton stepped between the squire and his master. “’Tis enough, Lovell. Ye’ll be useless to us if ye hurt yerself. But the lady is hardly winded.”
Enid set the point of her sword in the earth. “Oh, nay, I’m finished.”
“Nonsense, milady. Among us poor soldiers, there be only one man who can challenge ye—in bed and out.”
There was a great roar of laughter as Enid blushed, but when she met his eyes, Geraint felt the usual spark of awareness, of power, between them. He had never imagined raising his sword against a woman, even in practice. But the thought of meeting her strength with his own, straining against her . . . well, it spoke of thing better left to the bedchamber. And perhaps she didn’t wish such intimacies now, not when she didn’t trust him.
She lifted her chin. “Afraid of a dare, my husband?”
This was met with hoots and cheers, and Geraint felt relieved at her playfulness even as all eyes focused on him. Could this be the beginning of a new start for them?
He boldly looked her up and down, from the tips of her toes to her crown of hair, burnished gold by torchlight.
Then he withdrew his sword from its scabbard and held it high. “I accept your challenge, my wife.”
Chapter 20
GNID watched the challenge in her husband’s eyes, saw the way he flourished his sword, and felt a thrill of hunger that spoke more of a bed than a battlefield. In all of her years training young men, she’d never felt like this—eager and thrilled and aware that this man was her equal in every way. Once they could get past the meeting with her father, things would be better. She had not hoped that he would be able to tease her like this, so soon after hearing every detail of her past.
By the gods, she hadn’t thought she wanted to be teased like this again. But even when she was angry with him, he had a physical power over her that drew her to him. She found herself remembering the waterfall and the rock and the way she’d held him to it. When had the thought of a battle made her think about lovemaking?
Since Geraint had made her his. She lifted her sword and shield. The shield was still unfamiliar on her arm, but she’d been practicing with it.
The soldiers began to call out wagers, but Geraint held up a hand for their attention. “This is a friendly sparring match, not the subject of gambling. Would you gamble on your princess?”
Money pouches were put away sheepishly, but Enid had to withhold a smile as the men began to whisper, as if she didn’t know what was going on.
Then she concentrated on her husband, who began to slowly circle her. She did the same, keeping away from him. The torches cast uneven shadows that flickered in the night as they moved.
“Any rules?” she asked sweetly.
“Just that you don’t hurt me,” Geraint replied.
The men guffawed as she grinned.
“I shall try not to hurt you—but I know not my own strength.”
“I do,” he said softly, his voice deeper, rougher.
Though inside she shivered with delight, when he stepped closer, she raised her sword and kept it between them.
“You are trying to distract me,” she said.
“Is it working?”
“Nay.”
But she wondered if he was distracted in another way. He kept circling her as if looking for an opening, but he never struck at her. Even though he knew of her powers and her skill, perhaps it was not easy for a man to aim a blow at his wife.
She would have to break him of that. She lifted her sword and slashed at him. He easily parried away the stroke.
She grinned. “Better?”
He cocked his head, but said nothing. He began to advance, swinging cautious blows that she met time and again.
When they stepped away from each other, she shook her head regretfully. “You are not trying very hard.”
“Neither are you.”
He came at her unexpectedly, swinging low at her legs so that she had to jump over his sword. She used the leverage of his shoulder to vault over him, and were he an enemy, she could have killed him.
Instead she let herself stumble, so that he had time to face her again. In that moment, she knew that although she could defeat him—and he knew it, too—she could not do so in front of his men. They needed a leader, not a man who was bested in battle by his wife.
Distracted, she almost missed Geraint’s shield, aimed at her face. She ducked and twisted, and as she fell, she swept his legs out from beneath him.
She delayed her reaction enough so that he was upon her, his sword near her throat.
His teeth gleamed as he grinned. “You’re finished.”
“I am?”
He hauled her up and tossed her over his shoulder to the cheers of his men. “If you will excuse us, men. What needs to be done next is not for innocent eyes!”
Enid laughed along with his men, even though she wasn’t quite sure they should forget all of their problems by making love. But for effect she pounded on his back and kicked at his chest. He slapped her rump playfully, picked up a torch, and began to stride into the darkness.
As the firelight faded behind them, Geraint lay her down on the ground. He propped the torch between rocks before it could start a grass fire. He loomed over her, and suddenly they paused, their hunger rising.
“We shouldn’t do this,” she whispered. He’d only just met Druce, was still coming to terms with the men she’d known before him. “And the men are so near.”
“They won’t listen. And I shall be very quiet.”
On his hands and knees he crawled over her, and she waited, breathless, uncertain.
There was a sudden rush of air, and something hit Geraint in the head so hard he was flung off her. Before she could even move, it struck her, bringing blinding pain and the sudden darkness of unconsciousness.
GERAINT came awake to the pounding gait of a horse beneath him. But he wasn’t sitting—he was thrown across the saddle, facedown, his legs and arms tied in place. He couldn’t move. He could barely breathe because his ribs screamed with pain.
Geraint gasped and tried to lift his head, but the world was upside down to him. It was daylight—how many hours had he been held captive?
As the nausea receded, he twisted his head left and right, and he could make out another horse galloping next to his. There was a person tied to the other horse just as he was, and it took his befuddled mind a moment to realize that those legs belonged to his wife. Was she alive?
The pain brought another wave of sickness that made lights sparkle behind his closed eyelids. But he still retained enough awareness to know that there was a sharper pain in his thigh. He was wounded.
How badly wounded was his wife? He tried to turn his head to see her again, but then he lost his battle for consciousness.
WHEN Geraint next awoke, he was lying on the ground, still bound, but mercifully still. Every muscle in his body ached, and taking a deep breath proved impossible for his abused chest and stomach. He panted and forced his eyes to slowly open.
Night had come again; a fire burned in the center of a clearing. Beyond the trees he could see the swell of hills.
Two men were seated on the ground nearby, eating noisily. They were shadows in the night, unrecognizable.
Where was Enid?
Panic and fright warred inside Geraint as he lifted his head. But he saw her not ten feet away, bound as he still was and lying motionless. Her eyes were closed, but she was breathing.