Betrothal (6 page)

 I squeezed my eyes shut, then reopened them. In the place where I thought I had seen the fish, a gold trinket lay at the bottom of the pool. Had I imagined the fish? Confused, I hiked up my sleeve and reached down. Since this side of the pool contained steps for entering the water, I only had to reach to my elbow in order to retrieve the gold piece.

As my fingers touched the metal, a flashback bloomed in my mind.  

"The triquetra," my mother said, holding an identical trinket out for me to see. The gold piece depicted three intertwining shapes all connected with a circle. "Love, honor and protection." She moved her fingers over each point of the object. "It represents the three realms of this world: the land, the sea, and the sky. The three cannot be broken. They are forever entwined—a connection that can never be severed."

The memory of her presence dazzled me as her form took shape in my head. Her skin glowed white while her oak-brown hair fanned around her face. She wore an indigo robe mostly hidden by a generous fall of hair. Her sleeves, waist and hems bore swirling embroidery.

I smiled at the recollection, realizing though I did not resemble my father in the least, I bore every mark of my mother, from her pale skin, her brown hair, her blue-gray eyes, her lithe form to the soft melody of her voice. Before, when I had thought of my mother, I only hit blackness, but now a full blown image held me spellbound.

"Do you know who you are, Guinevere?" she had asked.

I must have been about five or six in the memory, and my young mind could not comprehend her question. A patient smile spread across her face in response—like my own, bow shaped lips stretched over a small row of teeth.

"Queenship is a sacred duty. The queen is the land, the sea, and the sky. It is through her that the world flourishes. But in order to access the ancient knowledge, you must first know yourself."

I remembered nodding, but not understanding. The gentleness of her smile sent warmth into the cool blue-gray of her eyes as she resumed her instruction.

"There is that which you see with your eyes and that which you see with your heart. The druid path is to learn to see past what we think is real and open the eyes of your heart."

"But father says the magic is wicked," I had replied.

Her smile spread without a trace of anger at my rebuttal, but with a sweetness that melted her features.

"That is because your father never learned to see with his heart."

"I knew I would find you here!" Elibel's voice sounded from the entryway, and I jumped at her intrusion and turned toward her.

"Uncle asked that I check on you. He grows impatient."

I spun back around to the pool, but the memory of my mother had vanished. With my back to my cousin, I affixed the triquetra to the chain around my neck that held my father's Christian cross and tucked the bulk of both down the front of my dress, annoyed that Elibel had interrupted the first and only recollection of my mother.

The soft patter of Elibel's footsteps approached until she stood over me.

"I'm sorry I told Arthur about your plan to meet with Melwas, Guin. I was just so afraid…"

I shrugged, unwilling to release the thoughts of my mother's memory from my head.

"Forgive me?" Her voice sounded small.

I caressed the front of my dress, feeling the triquetra beneath, tracing my fingers along the lines of swirls that formed the circles through the fabric of my gown. What had my mother said? Love, honor and protection? Yet father had said love and honor do not always go hand in hand. My brow furrowed at the conflicting philosophies.

"Guinevere," Elibel pleaded, "please talk to me."

She sunk down next to me.

When I didn't respond, she added, "I can sit here all night."

My anger for Elibel's admission to Arthur returned as I stuffed away my mother's memory. I did not want to share the vision with Elibel, so I said, "Men died because of me today, Elibel."

"They died out of greed and duty and a host of other male-driven wants, Guin, not because of you."

"I could have stopped it."

"A tide of warriors?" She shook her head. "You're a woman, Guinevere. You do not possess such power."

"Women had power, once." I thought of how my mother had held both the crown of Camelaird and the key to an ancient knowledge.

A heavy sigh escaped my cousin. "Those days are gone, Guin."

We sat, silent for long moments, as the torchlight flickered.

"What did you and the knight speak of?" I asked.

Elibel turned her colossal eyes on me, searching my face. "It's dangerous to love him, Guin."

"What do you mean?"

"Sir Lancelot. You cannot allow yourself to love him."

I shook my head at the implication. "Love? I don't—"

"You do."

I turned and stared back at her. Could love be the inexplicable feeling I had for him? "How can you tell?"

"The looks you pass between one another. The emotion is palpable."

I considered her statement. "Do you think he feels—"

"Hush, Guin. Let it go. It will only do you ill to think of him in such a way. You are betrothed to Arthur."

An unappealing snort escaped me at the thought. Arthur.

"Arthur is not so terrible, Guin. He's handsome—blindingly so. He's intelligent, powerful, witty and courageous." She sighed. "Marriage to such a man would be like living in the Land of the Blessed, cousin."

Her statement clicked into realization. All of the times we spoke of marriage, and I had not noticed how smitten she was with the idea.  

"Elibel, do you wish to marry?"

My cousin remained silent, but the downward cast of her eyes told of her truth.

"I'm sorry, cousin. I didn't know. Why haven't you ever spoken of your desire?"

"I am your lady. My loyalty goes to you. When your father appointed me, I was honored at the position. I still am." Though her speech rose in passion, she still avoided my gaze.

"I can release you from my service and you will be free to seek love."

"You could no more release me from my station than I could release you from yours."

"But as queen, I could ask for the favor."

Elibel turned her eyes upon me. They shone as if wetness slicked the surface. "If you were Arthur's queen, it would not matter."

Her emphasis on Arthur's name set off another light in my brain. Why hadn't I seen it before?

"You wish to marry Arthur?"

A tear escaped from Elibel's huge eye, flowing down over her cheek. She pressed her delicate fingers over her lips to suppress another eruption.

"Oh, Elibel—"

"Oh, Guin." Her eyes rounded on me. Pools welled in the corners. "I've heard of Arthur's valor for years, and all that time, I fantasized about what such a man would be like. It seemed an innocent preoccupation until he arrived and exceeded every expectation I had and more." Her shoulders quaked as she continued, "Then when your father announced…"

Elibel took in a breath unable to continue. A whimper escaped with another inhale and she started again, "When I saw the look between you and Sir Lancelot, I knew my duty was to remove him before anyone else noticed your attraction, but the truth was that I had to leave the chamber as I could not bear to stay, knowing you and Arthur were betrothed. I needed time before I could face you. I shouldn't have even told you, but—"

"You removed Lancelot because of me?"

"Of course. What did you think?"

"That you—" I couldn't continue out of shame for my narrow thoughts towards my cousin's intentions.

"You thought I sought his attention?" Her sniff contained a skeptical laugh.

I nodded and cast my head downward.

"Oh, Guin. I would never betray you. I love you too much."

I reached over and snuggled my arms around my cousin. She stiffened at first, then gave way to my embrace and wept in the crook of my neck as I smoothed my hand down the length of her hair.

"Our unfortunate lots have been cast, Guin," she said between sobs. "It seems our stations provide a prison for us both."

"My Lady."

The deep voice startled us both. We separated and turned in unison.

Sir Lancelot stood silhouetted by the entryway to the frigidarium room where we conversed. How long had he watched us? What had he heard?

My heartbeat quickened at the memory of our conversation. I fought the urge to squeeze my eyes shut from embarrassment when Elibel cut in.

"What do you require, sir?" Her tone leveled, nullifying any of her previous emotion with an expertise only Elibel could accomplish.

Though the knight's face remained in shadow, his stance seemed tense—urgent even. He shifted his weight, and bent a measure at his knees as if ready to unsheathe his sword and strike an unknown foe at any moment.

"A pressing matter requires your attendance. I beseech you My Lady, you must hasten along with me without pause."

Chapter 9

"What matter do you speak of?" I asked Sir Lancelot as we hurried through the annexed rooms of the bathhouse.

The chambers grew dimmer as we rushed. Lancelot grabbed for a torch set within a wall sconce to brighten our path, wrapping his hand around the stump of the handle. I noted that hand—remembering the strength and gentleness it provided.

"It is my duty to deliver you, My Lady. No more and no less," he replied.

My insides wobbled at the formality of his statement; I sought to keep the conversation going, if only to hear the low resonance of his voice.

"I wanted to offer my gratitude for today. You risked much to see me returned unharmed."

"Your safekeeping is my duty, My Lady."

His duty? Is that what I am to him? Does he not experience the same passions I do? Or had he indeed overheard our conversation and sought to set me back on a righteous path toward Arthur? I mentally scrambled to recall the words Elibel and I exchanged and if they informed on my true feelings for the knight while my mouth, unattended by my mind, ran off on its own accord.

"Just your duty?" I blurted.

Elibel nudged me with her elbow. I shot her a warning look, but she returned my glance with a cautionary glare of her own.

"Yes, My Lady." Lancelot's expression remained unreadable.

Even though I spoke out of turn, my heart sunk at the implication his cold response provided. Had our encounter been one-sided? Had I been a fool to believe he felt anything at all? I remembered Elibel's warning and resolved to let it go as she advised, but my attempt failed and my chest pinched with tightness.

Lancelot's angular features betrayed no emotion as he directed Elibel and me toward the doorway. His hand sought the small of my back, guiding me through the exit. A rush of warmth washed my skin underneath my gown; I fought back the desire that rose at his touch.

His pace quickened as we emerged into the street. He pressed me along with a firm hand, and I imagined how tender his touch would be if his hands sought to wrap around my waist, as they had been around Elibel's earlier in the day.

Suddenly, my fantasy broke by the dimming of the torchlight—as if the flames struggled for air. Elibel started, her breath catching as she peered skyward. An unnatural darkness descended, annihilating the portion of night-sky that stretched over the northern watchtowers of Camelaird.

An eerie stillness pervaded the streets as if no one moved—as if neither animal, bird, nor bug scurried, flit or crawled. Lights from Camelaird's buildings seemed no more than candles set in window frames as we hurried in the direction of the blackness.

Lancelot's hand drifted from my back to his hilt. A chill spread over me from the absence of his touch. He gripped the handle of his sword, his knuckles whitening.

"What's happening?" Elibel's question resounded in the stillness, magnifying the quaver of her voice.

But no one answered.

We quickened as the darkness rolled toward us like storm clouds brewing thunderheads until we reached the north gate and ascended the watchtower.

My father and Arthur awaited us at the top, staring out over the ramparts as the blackness washed toward us. Never in my life had I seen such an unnatural gloom.

"What is it? What's going on?" Elibel begged for an answer again, her voice trembling.

"Druid magic," Arthur replied. "Seems Melwas has sought reinforcements."

 I reached up to feel the triquetra beneath my dress, but found my father's Christian cross entwined with the triquetra instead. I fumbled to separate the two through the satiny fabric without success as the blackness roiled toward us. The speed of the mass increased and in moments the bulk of it drew down the fields of Camelaird, squashing them from my view. I could not reconcile the bright memory of my mother with the ominous nature of this dark magic.

"The bulk of my army is either defeated in that blackness, or, by the mercy of Jesu, on the northern side of this monstrosity and will not be able to penetrate to aid us," said Arthur.

"What of Merlin?" asked Lancelot.

Arthur shook his head. "The magician will not appear. He made his point clear. Since he does not approve of my marriage to Guinevere, he refuses his aid."

Does not approve of me?

My father nodded his head as if he understood, but the statement lingered in my mind. Why would a magician—a druid, an old one—disapprove of me? And why, for that matter, would Arthur, a Christian, employ such a man?

"How many of your men did you retain?" asked my father.

"Two dozen bowmen are stationed here, on the north wall. A couple dozen more with swords and spears surround us."

"My men guard the east, west and south gates and are positioned on each watchtower as well as the wall. As my successor, they are yours to command, Arthur."

Arthur nodded his acknowledgment. He turned, directing his speech to Lancelot. "Take the women to the king's hall and guard them there."

The knight nodded, but before he could direct us further, I interrupted, "No! I will not flee and cower while Camelaird is in danger. I will stay and help direct the fight."

"Daughter!" yelled my father, but Arthur cut in.