In Camelot’s Shadow: Book One of The Paths to Camelot Series (Prologue Fantasy) (29 page)

“My Lord Gawain,” she managed to stammer out his name and remember to curtsey. “I … I’m sorry … I …” she could not think of what to say and fell silent, her cheeks heating up from shame.

Gawain closed the door behind him and bowed low to her. “Lady. Of your courtesy, I would speak with you.”

The blush burned Risa’s cheeks.
You could not wait? You could not give me the whole of the night before you must tell me Arthur has reminded you of your duty and how I must be given to someone of more appropriate rank and station?

Those thoughts must have showed themselves plainly in her face. Gawain looked stunned, as if he had been struck a blow.

“Oh, Risa, no.” He crossed the room swiftly and took her hand, which had gone cold. She could feel the warmth of his skin, the strength of his touch. “Do you think I come with sorrowful news?”

Emotion closed Risa’s throat. When she was finally able to speak, she could only note that at least her weary voice stayed steady and clear. “What else could it be, Gawain? You must take up your duties again. I have no rightful claim to make on you.”

Gawain reached out and with his fingertips traced the line of her cheek down which her tears had fallen. “That is not true. You have the strongest of all claims on me, Lady Risa, for you may lay claim to my heart.”

With those words, he lowered himself onto one knee, holding her hand between both of his. “Will you marry me, Risa? Will you be my second self and the wife of my heart?”

She stared at him, feeling his palm warm and rough against hers. Her mind was suddenly unable to understand what was happening. “Gawain, we cannot marry.”

“Risa.” Gawain’s gaze was steady. The dark amber of his eyes was as warm as all of summer. “Do not think of what can and cannot be. Tell me now, what is the wish of your heart? If you had the whole of the world before you and you could choose your destiny from all of it, what would be your choice?”

The world Gawain spoke of seemed to have gone utterly still. Even the fire fell silent, its flames seeming as steady as sunbeams. Risa reached out. Her fingers brushed Gawain’s cheek and touched, for just a heartbeat, the straight line of his jaw. His eyes closed, as if he wanted to concentrate completely on her touch, and his hand pressed hers, oh-so-gently, but with a warmth that went instantly to Risa’s heart and opened it wide.

“If I could choose?” Now it was her voice that trembled. “Gawain, I would choose to be at your side and never leave you. I would choose to give myself and all I have freely to you, and think nothing of it.”

His eyes opened and they shone with joy. “Then choose that, Risa. Let me be your champion, your lover, your husband for as long as life is in me.”

“Gawain, we cannot be … The king …”

He stood, pulling her hand close to his breast. Her heart hammered hard in the base of her throat. “My uncle Arthur has already given his consent, Risa. There is no bar between us.”

“But Euberacon, my father … what of this curse on me?”

Now Gawain smiled, and his whole attitude filled with the confidence she had seen in him when he stood before Bannain in his hall and issued his orders. “I have slain dragons, remember, Risa? I am the champion of the Round Table and there is no knight here who has not fallen before my spear, not even that braggart Lancelot. Arthur and Merlin are my kin and my brave friends. No sorcerer, no matter if they come from the farthest shores of Hell, can touch you now, for whatever answer you give me, I have sworn you shall not be harmed.

“Risa, my lady, I love you above all others and I shall strive with all my strength to make you happy. It is only the thought you might refuse that makes me weak. I beg of you, give me your answer. Will you be my wife?”

She could not speak, for she could not hear herself think. Her blood was singing too loudly in her ears. She could only stare up at Gawain’s beloved face, at his wide eyes and red mouth. His black hair gleamed in the flickering light of the fire. She had never seen a man so fair. She never would again. But it was not the sight of his fine face that robbed her of her wits. It was the sure and sudden knowledge that all he said, all he had ever said, was true. His love was true. His question was honest, as were his promise and all his gentle words. He loved her. Gawain loved her.

At that same moment, she knew that she had been lying to herself. There would be no other love for her. There could only be Gawain for as long as she drew breath in the world.

With that, all fear left her. Voice and limbs grew strong again, her sight and mind became clear.

“Then, Gawain,” she said, her voice firm with purpose and filled with love. “This is my choice. I choose to marry you. If God so wills, I will stand beside you for the rest of my life.”

He kissed her then. She knew he would, but that knowledge robbed the act of none of its sweetness. His strong arms pulled her close, pressing her against his chest. His mouth opened against hers and drank her in, leaving her dizzy with a passion she had never before known.

He lifted his head at last, giving her just room enough to breathe and the air was filled with his warmth and his scent. Slowly, she became once more aware that there was a world beyond him, a room with a fire and flickering tapers, and that someone was knocking at the door.

Slowly, smiling, his eyes shining with a light that came only from within him, Gawain let go of her and stepped backwards far enough that propriety was observed once more. But he did not take his gaze from her, and his gaze seared.

The knocking continued.

“Come in.” Risa was amazed at how calm she sounded. The air felt chill against her skin now that Gawain’s warmth no longer enveloped her. She could no more look away from him than she could have taken Atlas’s burden from his shoulders.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the door open. Jana stepped into the room.

“My lady,” Jana began, and then she saw Gawain, and stopped. “My lord.” Jana curtsied deeply. Her eyes flickered from Risa to Gawain, and back again. “I came to see what my lady might require.” There was a note in her voice that was offended, as if she was annoyed that she had not been informed of this rendezvous.

“Ah.” Gawain did not move. His gaze did not falter. “Is there anything you require of your servant, Lady Risa?”

He was giving her another choice, she realized. This one too was hers, to accept or reject. His eyes told her what he wished, and what he understood. With one word, she could send him away, and he would go gallantly and wait patiently. With another word though, she could bid him stay.

“No,” she said. “There is nothing I require, Jana. You may go.”

She saw the maid hesitate. Risa watched thoughts of propriety, of her duty to Risa, and to the queen cross through Jana’s mind. The maid had doubtless seen Gawain with other ladies, had perhaps even witnessed such a scene before. Perhaps she even thought to warn Risa — whom she surely saw as an innocent from the outlands — of the reputation of the man who stood in front of her.

The man who filled her heart with such love. The man who would be her champion, her husband, her lover.

Her lover.

“You may go, Jana” she repeated.

Jana reached her own decision. She curtsied and turned away. The door opened and closed again, and Risa was alone with Gawain.

He walked toward her, his smallest movement filled with grace and strength. He stood before her, and once again she could breathe in the scents of earth and smoke, spice and warmth, that hung all about him. She could not move. Her heart fluttered in her breast, torn between wonder and fear. Her whole being was taut as a harp string, waiting for what might come.

Gawain lifted his hands to the sides of her head and gently removed the gold and garnet band that circled her brow. He laid it on the small table beside the chair. One by one, he removed the pearl-and-silver pins that held her veil in place over her hair. He drew the glimmering tissue away, and she stood bareheaded before him, her hair flowing freely down her shoulders. Still she did not move. It seemed to be all she could do to remember to breathe and each breath drew more of Gawain into her blood.

He was smiling and his mouth was wide and perfect. The light in his gaze had grown deep and smoldered within the dark amber of his eyes.

“Risa.”

And she was in his arms, kissing him again, and there was no hesitation, no fear, no sadness in the whole world. There was only Gawain and the love they brought to each other, and that was all there ever would be.

The night the ancient priests named Beltane found Kerra in the depths of the oldest forest the isle had ever grown. The trees towered overhead higher than the arch of any king’s hall, their trunks making crooked pillars three and four times the width of a man’s body.

She had wanted to come alone, but Euberacon was not in a mood to humor such a request. That worried her. If she were straining his trust, things could go badly. There was enough that must be done tonight without having to prove herself over again to the one who thought he was her master.

The trees here were so old that their branches had long ago laced together to form a solid canopy. No moonlight could penetrate to the forest floor. Shadows hung all about them like curtains of sable. The lantern in her hand bobbed like a will o’ the wisp, illuminating an area that was barely large enough to stand in.

It did not matter. It was not her eyes that led her. It was the host of other senses Morgaine had taught her of, it was heart and mind, the pricking of her skin and soul.

Eyes gleamed yellow and green, watching their passage. An owl hooted overhead. In the distance, a wolf howled, and another answered. The wind blew hard and cold, carrying the scents of fresh greening and dew. Old leaves and pine needles rustled beneath their feet. Euberacon drew closer and Kerra smiled to herself. Could it be the mighty eastern sorcerer was afraid of this untamed forest? Perhaps he was not such a fool after all.

In the center of this ancient forest rose a mound, a round hill covered with moss and leaves. No tree grew there, no track of any beast disturbed its skin. A springlet trickled down its side, as bright and clear as a river of moonlight. Kerra’s dry throat itched to drink that pure water, but she knew better. That water might be a gift to the beasts who lived in these woods, but the giver would not take kindly to such as her helping themselves.

“What now?” inquired Euberacon.

“We wait. When the time comes, the master of this place will show himself.”

Euberacon grunted wordlessly. This was not something he understood easily. That did not matter, as long as he stayed, and stayed quiet. Kerra blew out the light.

Darkness descended around them so completely, Kerra could not see the lantern in her hand, let alone the mound before them. Fear, unexpected and distasteful, speeded up her heartbeat.

Patience, patience. It is only darkness
.

Darkness in the wild, where they were the intruders, where wolf or bear might come upon them, and they would be dead with the swiftness of thought, and her companions would feast on her remains and wonder where Kerra had gone. This was not her place. She belonged in the stone halls, huddled by her fire, not in the greenwood, not among the beasts who saw her as nothing more than their prey.

“Old power indeed,” murmured Euberacon. “With very old tricks to call upon.”

Kerra swallowed, and tried not to feel how grateful she was for that reminder.

It seemed the darkness lightened a little. She could make out the curve of the mound, the rough shape of the nearest tree. She wondered if her eyes had finally begun to detect the faintest sliver of moonlight, but no. The master of the Green Temple had arrived.

Where he was, it was daylight. Where he was, it was summer and warm. He was as tall, as strong as the trees that surrounded him. Oak leaves crowned his flowing, green locks. Leaves and vines draped his body, reminding Kerra of her own cloak of feathers. In his hand he held the living branch of a hawthorn tree bright with white blossoms. He looked at them with eyes that were all the shades of green the wildwood could hold, and Kerra felt suddenly as small and fragile as a mayfly.

She knelt. Beside her, reluctantly, Euberacon did the same.

“So. You are come before me, little woman, little man. Come to invoke the ancient laws and beg a boon of Jack-in-the-Green?”

Kerra kept her eyes on the patchwork carpet of leaves spreading at her feet. It did not do to look too long into the eyes of such as stood before her now.

“Not to beg, my lord, but to honor.”

“Honor?” The word sounded over Kerra’s head at once as soft as the rustle of leaves and as loud as thunder. There was humor in it, but there was danger as well. “What honor would you do me?”

Do not look up. Do not seek his eyes. You will lose yourself in a heartbeat if you do
. “The ones who rule this land now have forgotten you, my lord. They disdain the true ways and worship a foreign god. It is a disgrace that all of the true blood must feel. When I am queen in Camelot, you shall have shrines again. Great stone circles will be raised for you and your praise shall again be sung across the land.”

“Do you seek to win my aid by bribery?” The humor and the danger both grew more marked. “Little woman, you will need to find another trick.”

“It does not anger you to see this foreign worship displace you? When your followers are all converted, what will become of you?”

The Green Man laughed. The sound poured over Kerra like a flood, rocking her backwards, almost, almost bringing her head up.

“You believe it concerns me whose name is cried out in prayer?” He laughed again, a wondrous, terrible noise. “Jove came, Mithras came, now the White Christ comes, and the one his followers call Wotan. Let them come, it is of no moment. My place is the stone and the forest, the green grass and the deep places. There is no usurper who can lift me from them, no matter how loudly their priests chant to the heavens. Those whose blood and bones are old and of this earth will always know me, whether they know a name to call me by or not.”

Shaken by the force of the old god’s laughter, Kerra could not find her tongue. It was Euberacon who spoke.

“If you cannot be persuaded, you may yet be forced.”

Silence, as terrible and as disorienting as the laughter had been fell, and for a moment Kerra feared they were both dead.

“Little man, I know you,” said the Green Man softly. “Your summonings crowd the night with their noises. All with you is binding and imprisoning. All your thoughts are vengeance. Beware, lest you look so far to your goal you fail to see the step that takes you into your grave.”

“Angels come to earth at my command. It is you that must beware.”

Kerra closed her eyes, struggling to find her wits again.

“Little man you come close to angering me. Let your woman lead you away. Your doom is closer than you think.”

Kerra touched Euberacon’s arm. Her hand had gone ice cold.
Be quiet, be quiet you fool
. “We have not yet begged our boon,” she said.

Did the growl come from the Green Man or from some wolf drawing near? Was that rustle overhead a raven’s wing, coming not in friendship but in anticipation of a kill?

“It is your right according to the old bargains between your kind and mine. Speak then.”

“There is a man, Gawain. He must bind himself to us, or die without any seeing our hand in his downfall.”

“Must?” The very earth seemed to tremble beneath Kerra’s knees. “You are very free with that word.”

It is your right. It is the law. Do not let go of that
. “That is the boon we seek. You said yourself, lord, that you must hear. Gawain hides behind a shield of tarnished honor. Were his hypocrisy exposed, he would be helpless before it.”

“You say Lot’s son Gawain is a false man?” The humor had returned, and something of curiosity. Kerra began to breathe more easily.

“In his heart he is. I have seen it.”

Does he smile? Does he frown?
Her skin crawled with his nearness and her mind filled with the heady scents of summer, but also with the scent of blood that came with birth, and with death. “Then, woman, you will have an opportunity to prove it. With you, I’ll make a bargain, as you are of this land.” His disdain flickered toward Euberacon, and she heard the uncomfortable rustle of cloth. “I feel your roots deep within, I feel your lust for the powers and the secrets that are this land’s to give. I will bring Gawain to you. If you can prove him in any way false or cowardly, by my hand he will die.”

“And if she cannot?” asked Euberacon. She had known him daring and disrespectful, but she had not known the strength of either aspect until this moment.

“Then Gawain goes his way unhindered, and she,” this time she clearly heard the smile in his words and imagined his emerald teeth shimmering in the light that surrounded him, “Comes to me.”

“Kerra?”

“Gawain will come to me. I am in no danger.”

“I do not like this,” Muttered Euberacon. Kerra glanced at the sorcerer. He too had directed his gaze downward, proving that he was not entirely a fool. His face was tight with anger, and other things she could not put a name to, but fear was most definitely among them. “It is dangerous to bargain thus with spirits. One must bind, or agree to be bound.”

Impatience tightened Kerra’s hands. The presence of the Green Man was a weight on mind and body. She would not be able to bear up beneath it forever. The longer they stayed here, the greater the chance of some fatal mistake. Morgaine had been correct when she warned that the smallest slip could ruin all. “It is a risk. I know that well, but it will be worth it when we win.”

“When we win,” sneered Euberacon. “I am glad that you risk my victory for yours.”

“As you have done to me many times, my lord.” She spoke fast, trying to keep breath and thought under her own control. “Do we play this game, or find another? The barbarians you ordered me to set upon Camelot have failed us. That plan is unveiled. How many days do we have before Arthur and Merlin come for battle and find us alone in your ruin?”

Perhaps he had an answer for that, but she did not give him time to voice it. “It is a bargain, my lord,” she said to the Green Man. “Bring me Gawain and I will show you how easily he breaks faith.”

“What do you give to bind this bargain?”

Without looking up, Kerra drew one of the long pins from her hair. She drove the pin into her finger until a drop of shining red blood welled up. The Green Man held out his hand. The scarlet drop fell onto his palm and his fist curled around it.

“Done,” he said and his smile was wide, and despite all her certainties Kerra felt her heart shudder.

Risa woke with the sun, feeling whole and well for the first time in what seemed an eternity. Gawain had left her awhile ago, with a long kiss that was both promise and reminder. The touch of it lingered with her still.

A loud knock sounded on the door. “My lady?” called Jana’s voice, and that too was louder than necessary.

“Come in.” It occurred to Risa to wonder where the maid had spent the night. It would be usual for her to sleep in the room with Risa … she would have to apologize and arrange for some gift as soon as she was able.

Jana did seem put out, but perhaps not irretrievably so. She went about the tasks of getting Risa presentable with efficiency and care, but with rather more sighs and harumphs than Risa recalled from the previous day, especially when she once again had to comb out Risa’s hair. Risa was to join the hunt for the white hart, the queen had been quite clear on the matter. As it was impossible for Risa to ride with her hair unbound, Jana tied it into a braid, wound and pinned it tight and looped it into a netting trimmed with freshwater pearls. For a gown, Risa wore the last of the queen’s gifts; a dark green dress trimmed and girded with blue in a square pattern favored, it was said, by the ancient Romans. A simple white veil topped with a garland of fresh cherry blossoms — apparently a tradition for this hunt — completed her wardrobe. Her profuse thanks seemed to loosen the tight moue Jana had held her mouth in for most of the morning. She picked up the hooded cloak with which Risa had been supplied in the most likely event that the weather turned foul, and followed along behind without a single audible sigh.

Outside the great hall, the morning was bright with sun and nearly as warm as summer. Riders and horses were already assembling. Despite the crowd, Risa easily made out Gawain speaking to a younger man and holding the reins of a glossy black charger almost as large as Gringolet. He saw her and bowed, acknowledging her presence, but it was Queen Guinevere who came up to her first.

She did not even give Risa time to kneel, but took her hands and gave her the kiss of peace.

“God be with you, this morning, Lady Risa.” She said, her eyes shining, and Risa saw at once that the queen knew all had passed between her and Gawain, and moreover, she approved. “Welcome to our spring rite.”

She was dressed in green, as were most of the others, lords and ladies both garlanded with flowers, and even a few early ferns and leaves. All did seem merry indeed and there was much teasing and laughter, along with exchanges of ribbons and similar tokens for kisses bestowed on hand, or on mouth.

A new pair of figures strode from the hall. The first was the bishop, all in white and gold, an elaborately curling crook in his hand. A priest in plain robes followed, clutching a leather-bound Bible to him that was so large Risa was surprised there was only one man to carry it.

Queen Guinevere sighed. “Forgive me. I must go mollify our bishop. He thinks this all a devilish and pagan ritual and frowns darkly upon it. We needs must all be blessed and sprinkled with holy water.”

The queen breezed away, leaving Risa a bit breathless. She found herself looking around for another familiar face. Gawain was still among the lords and knights, deep in conversation with Kai and another she recognized as his brother Gareth. She did not feel up to facing Kai so held her place. Then she saw a wiry boy back among the ladies’ mounts holding Thetis’s reins. Her mare had been given a new green saddle-blanket and new harness hung with green ribbons. She looked uneasy in the great crowd, and Risa was glad to hurry to her side. The mare whickered in greeting, nuzzled Risa’s face and ears, and began searching her sleeves for treats.

“How thoughtless of me, I’ve brought you nothing, poor neglected animal.” In truth, Thetis looked in excellent health and had been as well groomed by the stable hands as Risa had by the waiting ladies.