Between Two Fires (34 page)

Afterward, Artagan falls fast asleep, his chest rising and falling in his slumber beside me. Spooning beside him, I watch over him in the moonlight. Crickets chirp outside our window in the warm summer air. Exhausted, he looks peaceful as a cherub in his sleep. Caressing his brow, I plant a kiss on his cheek. How long can this bliss last? Finally having found the right husband, my former husband still hunts for me. In another two moons I'll be eighteen. God, that these evenings together might last forever. I almost don't want morning to come.

When I awake, the covers beside me feel cold. Sitting up, my heart begins to race. Artagan has gone. A rooster crows from the courtyard as the first rays of light pierce my tower window. Wrapping a shawl about my shoulders, I pad barefoot across the chamber. The cool morning air chills my skin. Rowena and Una enter my chamber, toting basketfuls of fresh bread. Splashing my face in the washbasin, I turn to Rowena for a towel.

“Where is my husband?”

“King Artagan's in the yard, m'lady. Inspecting his knights.”

“Knights?”

“Yes, Your Grace. He gave his best warriors knighthoods today, Sir Emryus and Sir Keenan.”

Rowena smiles. Her lover, Keenan, has risen in the world. A knighthood! I suppose as a king, Artagan has the right to grant titles of nobility as much as the next monarch. Una pours my bathwater in a large vat, steam clouding her face.

“And Sir Ahern,” Una adds. “The King has made him seneschal of the castle.”

“My brother, Ahern? Knight and seneschal of Aranrhod?”

Una nods. My dutiful half brother, although born on the wrong side of the blanket, has risen to the rank of a knight and seneschal of a castle. I smile to myself. He will make a superb castellan. It's quite an honor for Artagan to put my kinsman in charge of the castle guards and the bastion's defenses. Artagan did not even tell me. Perhaps he meant it as a surprise. I will do my best to feign happy shock when he breaks the news to me. It's not every day a woman's brother becomes both a knight and a majordomo. I furrow my brow, questioning my serving girls.

“Who will be my personal guard then I wonder?”

Both girls exchange looks before Rowena answers.

“Enid the Spear-wife, m'lady.”

I grimace before they both look away. Perhaps it's time I learn to better wield my bow. Enid hasn't voluntarily guarded me since before I wed Artagan. I slip into the hot waters of my tub, barely noticing the heat seeping into my flesh. My mind churns. Time enough I learn to properly defend myself.

After my bath, I dress in a tight-fitting doeskin tunic and boots. Upon opening my chamber door, I find Enid already at her post. She has her back to me as she guards the turret stairs. Stringing my birch wood longbow, I nod politely toward her before marching down the stairwell. She trails after me without a word, both Rowena and Una accompanying us as we exit the castle gates.

Una and Rowena set up a target on the greens beneath the western wall. Setting my quiver down, I take my time notching my arrow to the bowstring. No need to rush. Wouldn't want to miss too terribly, what with the spear-wife herself watching. I suppose some pressure is good. I certainly didn't feel calm when the Saxons besieged our walls. My bow shot missed one barbarian, and if not for Enid, I probably would have had my head split in twain. Next time, I may not be so lucky.

My arrow lands on the edge of the leather target with a thud. Rowena and Una offer encouragement as I string another arrow. The steady thump of my feathery darts hits the calfskin. Enid keeps her gaze to the woods, saying nothing. My last bow shot veers astray, glancing off the stone ramparts.

Enid flashes a half-grin. I must seem quite the novice to a veteran like her. Retrieving my arrow shafts, I begin again. I inwardly vow to practice until my fingers blister. Let Enid see that I'm not just some pincushion queen.
Thump, thump, thump
. I loose my arrows faster, drawing the string back as far as I can. My shots dig deep into the calfskin target. Grunting with effort, I shoot arrows hard enough to pierce armor.

After working up a sweat all morning at my bow work, we return to my tower solar. Enid remains on watch outside the stairwell while my ladies-in-waiting busy about their chores in my bedchamber. I put down my longbow, my fingertips already sore and starting to callous over, yet the pain in my hand fills me with pride. Another few weeks and my hand should toughen enough so that I won't even feel the sting of the drawstring.

Rowena and Una look up from behind the table, sweeping the floors and cleaning crockery. They exchange grins. My temples throb. I hold a hand to my head before I snap at them.

“What could you two possibly find so amusing?”

“Can you not guess, m'lady?” Rowena replies.

“You're a touch moody of late, your ladyship,” Una smiles. “Far more cross of late than usual.”

“Am I?”

I did not realize I was more testy than usual. Is it so obvious that I want to impress Enid, yet am frustrated by her long silences? Una and Rowena snicker like village girls. Rowena in particular fights to control her bubbling giggles.

“When did you last have your courses, Your Grace?”

I blanch from head to foot, my eyes widening. Looking down, I flatten the wrinkles out of my tunic, resting my palms along my abdomen. Both girls stifle their chuckles. How many moons has it been? At least three. By the Virgin! I thought I was simply going to fat. Rowena and Una put their arms around me, congratulating me and patting my stomach. Me, a mother? Suddenly recalling my own mother, my eyes begin to water. Smiling through my tears, I touch each girl on the cheek.

“Tell no one, just yet. I want to break the news to Artagan myself.”

Caressing my belly as though I might feel something, I chide myself for such impatience. Not even starting to show yet. Come little one, ripen and see the home that awaits you here.

A dark cloud looms in the back of my mind, thinking of my last pregnancy. With a different man in a different place. Perhaps this time, the result will be different too. Once Rowena and Una have left me alone in my room, I sink to my knees and pray.

Clasping my fingers together until they turn white, it takes me a moment to gather my thoughts. Counting the months back, I realize that I must have conceived on our wedding night. If all goes well, our child should come to us by late winter or early spring at the latest.
When
all goes well,
when
. Not
if
. Please, Heavenly Father, let the child be healthy and whole. So much death and destruction have beset us these past few seasons. Let the world fill with love and life once more.

Pacing my chamber, I cannot concentrate the rest of the day. Distracted by thoughts of motherhood, I leave my sewing half-finished beside the spinning wheel. On a settee by the window, I laugh to myself. Imagine Artagan as a father to my children! Gallivanting about with a boy or girl on his back. Despite having several years on me, he is still such a child himself. Our son or daughter will doubtlessly love him more, I contemplate with a playful smile. Just as everyone else does. But no matter. No one will ever love this babe as much as I. No one.

When a knock comes at the door, I frown, half-expecting Enid. Instead, Ahern enters. Resplendent in his new green tunic and golden brooch, he looks every bit the part of a castle seneschal. My old guardsman nods, not quite risking a smile as he clutches his spear and shield at attention. Ever the honorable soldier. I embrace him heartily, his eyebrows rising at such unusual closeness.

“I've something to tell you, kinsman. Something wonderful!”

“And I you, your ladyship. I've word of a merchant caravan on the west road.”

“That's your news?”

“A rider told me they carry a strange bird for sale. A Merlin purchased from Caerwent.”

“Caerwent? My falcon, Vivian! But how?”

“The Hammer King must have sold it, perhaps it reminded him too much of you. These merchants have it now. Free Cantref folk from the western coasts, I think.”

After tossing on my boots and shawl, I make for the door.

“Have we any coin, Ahern? I must rescue her, if it's my old Vivian.”

“I'll buy her for you myself, Your Grace. But you said you had something to tell me as well.”

I pinch his bearded cheek, whispering low.

“I'm with child, brother. Two or three moons along already!”

Ahern turns pale. For a warrior recently knighted, Sir Ahern seems about as terrified of babes as ever I've seen a man. He struggles to congratulate me, his stutters low and incomprehensible. Protective as ever, he insists on escorting me to see the caravan. I happily consent. Enid trails us to the gates as Ahern and I gallop westward on horseback.

“No need for you to tag along,” he shouts back at her. “I can manage the job just fine.”

Enid folds her arms and halts, glaring at the new seneschal with a face fit to curdle milk. But he is officially in charge of the castle defenses now, so she does not contradict him.

Ignoring their tiny power struggle, I refuse to let anything dampen my mood today. Riding hard with the scent of wildflowers filling the meadows, we follow the western trail into the foothills. Aranrhod shrinks to the size of a miniature model in the vale below. I sigh with pleasure, my pony slick with sweat as we slow to a trot. Can this day be any better? A child quickens in my womb, sired by the man I love. And now, my long-lost falcon has returned. Once I get better with my bow, I shall teach our newborn to hunt and hawk like me. Well, once he or she reaches several years of age at least. Feeling my saddle, I realize that in my haste I left my bow behind in my room. No matter. I can always take up target practice again tomorrow.

The silhouette of a small caravan looms along a gap in the western mountains. Just a handful of wagons. Their mounts draw water from a mountainside spring. Ahern halts behind me as I dismount before the travelers' tents. None seem to be afoot just yet, perhaps napping after a long journey. Ahern motions toward the nearest canvas dwelling. I hope he brought enough silver. I'd trade my weight in bullion to get my falcon back. Brushing aside the tent flaps, I stalk inside.

The tent seems empty. An odor of fish and wet wood smoke makes me wrinkle my nose. Nothing but a few trinkets and horse blankets litter the grass inside. What manner of traveling merchants are these?

Hands reach out from the shadows, grabbing my wrists and covering my mouth. Struggling against hempen bonds, my muffled cries sound like no more than a whimpering mouse. A strong fist backhands me across the jaw. Staggering backward, I feel my hands knotted tight behind my back. A figure steps forward with a long spear in hand.

“Do you not recognize your own kin, Princess?”

Squinting at the swarthy youth, my eyes suddenly narrow.

“Owen?”

“
Sir
Owen now, herald and knight of King Vortigen of Dyfed. Father wants you home, Branwen.”

He speaks with such malice. His wicked smile makes my flesh run cold. Bastard-born of my father, this Owen has no more brotherly feelings for me than he would a hound. King Cadwallon wanted to hack off this blackguard's head all those months ago, but I of all people spared him. I suddenly wish I had not been so generous.

A dozen Dyfed spearmen fasten my bonds tight, but forget to gag my mouth. I crush one warrior's foot with my heel, stumbling out the tent flaps and shouting at the top of my voice. My lips bleed.

“Ahern! Ahern, to arms! To arms!”

My guardsman stands aloof. He neither draws his weapon, nor shoulders his shield. He grimaces, his gray eyes welling with tears.

“I'm sorry, my lady. Dear Branwen, I'm so very sorry.”

All breath seems to leave my lungs. Owen's heartless cackle rings in my ears before something heavy cracks against my skull. The world turns dark as I collapse at Ahern's feet. Why, brother? Why?

 

16

Horse hooves clack in the darkness. The floor of the wagon bed rolls like the deck of a ship. I lie prostrate in a nest of hay, my wrists chafing under the coarse ropes that bind my fists to my feet. Hog-tied like a piece of livestock. Lifting my pounding head from the straw, an all-encompassing blackness pervades the night. Crickets chirp while the cart bounces along the rough trail. We must be heading west toward Father's kingdom. The roads in Dyfed have never been good ones.

Worming my way out of the leather bag atop my head, I gasp for breath, careful not to draw the attention of my captors. At least a dozen riders trot alongside the wagon. Far too many for me to overcome or escape, even if my limbs were free and we didn't travel on a near-moonless night. Sir Owen's raspy voice murmurs through the dark as he gives orders to his confederates. My muscles cringe.

To think I spared this bastardly herald when King Cadwallon would have lopped off his head. I felt duty-bound to protect my blood kin, no matter how distant. A folly that a girl may indulge in, but not a queen. Now Owen has me in his clutches, taking me back to the father who first sold me in marriage to the Hammer King. But it's the memory of Ahern's contorted face that cuts me to the core. How could you, brother? What could have induced my loyal guardsman, of all people, to betray me into the hands of mine enemies? Has he been the spy, the traitor in my midst all this time? I sob without tears or sound, my limbs too spent and my eyes run dry.

None of the riders have Ahern's broad build. He does not number amongst my captors. Perhaps he simply took his thirty pieces of silver and went on his way. But Ahern never wanted for coin or honor or anything else whilst in my service. Time and again he spared me from Saxons, even helping me escape King Morgan's castle. He could have betrayed me then or any number of times thereafter. Why now? What has changed? My fists shake. Whatever the reason, the truth remains the same. My kinsman has sold me into slavery.

Artagan will not rest until he finds me. He and his men will cross hell and high water to get me back. My lips tremble. But how will my husband even know of my capture? He made Ahern seneschal of the castle. No one will even raise the alarm. No one saw the villains take me, and Ahern could invent any excuse regarding my whereabouts. Even now, my beloved Artagan may not know of my peril. Sitting with his socks by the fire, he may think me on some local errand to aid a woman in labor and no more. None will suspect me missing for hours, even days. Long after Father has me in a prison cell atop the crags of Dyfed.