Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) (67 page)

She continued to walk along the perimeter of the inner ditch next to the ramparts, while her guards paced patiently behind her. As she came around the corner closest to the stable annex, she spied the bard in the open space near the entrance, singing a simple tune for a handful of children.

Taliesin
. So the young man had some of the powers of the Old Race. She smiled; whatever powers he possessed could come in handy in the present situation — if he agreed to help her, that is. She'd sent the serving woman to him three days ago, and nothing had come of it. But perhaps he had not understood?

She reached out her mind to his.
The magic came from you, didn't it, Taliesin?

He continued singing and strumming his harp, showing no sign of having noticed anything unusual. Yseult wandered to the edge of his small audience and halted. Had she been wrong about him? But then who else could have been the source of the magic?

No, you were not wrong, Lady. But one can never be too careful.

A little girl slipped her hand into Yseult's.
You really did predict Maelgwyn's death, didn't you?

I'm afraid so.

Not wise.

No, but predictions are not precisely ruled by wisdom, are they?

Yseult thought of her mother's own "unwise" prediction regarding Yseult's future so many years ago, a prediction they'd all rejected, just as Maelgwyn had rejected that of Taliesin.
That they are not.

Taliesin finished the song with a flourish and began a new sequence of notes.
A pretty young servant recently came to me for assistance.

And will you be able to help?

We are working on a plan.

Yseult tightened her hold on the little girl's hand, and the child squeezed back.

By the way, I was intending on going to the village to buy a horse, even though I know it will run away,
came a fleeting thought to her mind
. We will let you know when it does.

Yseult looked down at the little girl beside her, trying to hide her elation. Perhaps she would still see her daughter again. And Cador. And Kustennin.
I don't know how to thank you.

A sack of gold when this is over might be a start.

Luckily she was able to repress the urge to chuckle.
If I am ever again in possession of a sack of gold, it is yours.

And of course you must see that Cryda is reunited with her son.

So the servant's name was Cryda.
I will do everything in my power.

* * * *

Cryda came to collect the soiled linens again the following day. "The bard is going to town tomorrow," she whispered. "The horse will be waiting for you in a copse of trees to the north. I will help you find it."

"Here is the rest of the laundry," Yseult said, trying to contain her joy.

The next evening, Yseult claimed to be feeling unwell and retired early. Before sundown when the gates of the hill-fort were closed, she cloaked herself in shadow and stole out of Celliwig.

Taliesin must have warned Cryda that Yseult would not be able to show herself; in any case, she wasn't startled when Yseult whispered from the shadows to the young woman taking an evening walk.

Cryda began to sing to herself, but the words were a message. "I will walk with you a ways until we are close enough to see the copse of trees. Then I must return to the hill-fort before the gates close."

"Thank you."

Yseult followed the serving woman until she began singing again. "There, straight north, you will find the mare. I will try to leave with Taliesin in a few days, and he will bring me to Dyn Tagell."

"If I make it there, you will soon have your son again," Yseult whispered.

Once it was full night, Yseult set off from her hiding place. The mare was not swift or neat, reluctant to even change her gait from a walk to a slow canter. Progress was further hampered by the need to keep near the edge of the woods and off the roads — such as they were in this part of Britain. Nonetheless, without baggage or pack animals or carts to slow her down, Yseult guessed it was a little after midnight when Dyn Tagell came into view, jutting imperiously out into the ocean.

Much against her nature, Yseult laughed out loud into the night as she spurred the stubborn mare on.

When she neared the gate of the mainland fortress, a challenge was called out.

Yseult found herself laughing again — twice in one day! "It is I, Yseult, sometime queen of this place."

"Lady Yseult?" came another voice. It was her man-at-arms Ricca.

"Yes, Ricca. I escaped Celliwig with the help of a bard, a laundress, a reluctant mare, and a little magic. But now I am tired. Would you consider opening the gates for me?"

"Of course, Lady!"

Then there was the sound of heavy metal bolts being shot back, and the creak of wood as the doors swung wide. Perhaps infected by Yseult's mood, the mare cantered through with more energy than she had shown during the whole ride from Celliwig. Around her she heard the tidings of her arrival called from one throat to the next. When she reached the Neck, she dismounted with Ricca's help, while the warriors on duty laughed and patted her on the back and touched her arm. Yseult tolerated this casual intimacy; no, welcomed it even.

The guards on the Neck stood aside, and even in the moonlight she could discern their wide smiles. Yseult marched through, thanking each one with a nod and a quick grip of the hand.

Soon she would be with Cador again.

She was halfway across the land bridge when she spied a group approaching the Neck from the island side. Suddenly she felt strangely nervous, afraid to use her power of knowing for fear of what it might tell her.

Yseult continued to stride forward with all the confidence she didn't feel, and was relieved when she heard her son cry out, saw him emerge from the flickering shadows of moonlight and torch and rush up to greet her.

"Mother!"

Kustennin took her in a crushing embrace, and she felt tears start in the corners of her eyes. In her arms he felt taller, more substantial, and he had the distinct smell of a man rather than a youth. It was going on three years since she had seen him last.

She took his face in her hands and examined him in the moonlight. "Kustennin. I am so glad you survived the wars in Gaul, so glad you're back."

He laughed in that way he had that reminded her of Drystan and released her. "As much as I would like to, I cannot have you all to myself. There are too many others who wish to welcome you back to our midst."

And then he stepped away, and Cador was there in front of her. Cador, the friend and husband she had never appreciated enough. The man she had learned to love so slowly, she had no idea when friendship had become something else. She had so much to say to him, she could say nothing.

He began to walk towards her, his step slow, his left hand encased in bandages.

No, she could not worry now whether he would welcome her back into his life. If disappointment there was to be, it could come later. She hurried the rest of the way to him and took his hands, the good as well as the bad. "It is good to see you, Cador. The moonlight may be deceptive, but you look better than you did in the middle of the field north of Celliwig."

He nodded, smiling. "Your cousin has been taking care of me." Then he folded her in his arms. "Ah, Yseult, thank the gods. I was afraid I would never see you again."

She laughed — for the third time in one day! — and drew his face forward to kiss him. To her immense surprise, she noticed that tears were streaming down her cheeks, the salty taste mixing in with the taste of his tongue. He pulled her tight, while around them, their friends and loved ones laughed and cheered.

She was welcome. There would still be much to discuss, but for now, being welcome was enough.

* * * *

Cador stepped back from his wife's embrace, feeling dazed. He had been dozing in a corner of the lower hall while a number of Arthur's companions drank and talked; the shouting at the news of her arrival had woken him. He was stunned by the passion in her kiss, but even more than that, her tears had him doubting whether this was actually happening. Since Drystan's death, some fifteen years ago now, he had not seen her cry, not even at Drystan's funeral.

And now she was crying and laughing at the same time. Laughing. Yseult. The so-called "Ice Queen." Could her reaction truly be for him?

He wiped her tears away with the back of his good hand. "I find myself very curious to learn how you escaped Celliwig, but I think we can save that for another day."

She chuckled. "Did I not tell you I had a better chance of surviving as hostage there than you?"

"That you did. And I am exceedingly relieved that you were right."

He turned towards the men who had accompanied him from the lower hall. "My wife has had a wearing journey. I suspect she would like to retire."

She leaned her head on his shoulder.
She leaned her head on his shoulder?
Yseult, his reluctant wife?

"Oh yes, a bed would be welcome now," she said. "Tomorrow is early enough to tell what I learned in Celliwig."

"Of course it is," Cador assured her.

They returned to the hall, where Brangwyn had prepared a bath in Cador's bedchamber. Yseult stripped and stepped into the hot water, sinking down to her shoulders with a sigh. "Ah, what a relief. My little mare did not have the most gentle gait of those I have ridden."

Cador smiled obediently. Obviously she was trying to ease the inevitable awkwardness of their reunion with a little light-hearted banter. He'd been anticipating this day for months, for years, but now that is was here, he was tired and afraid — and missing half a hand.

Definitely not as he'd imagined.

"By the way," she said, soaping her arms. "We owe Taliesin a sack of gold."

"Who?"

"The young bard Taliesin. He obtained the horse for me that I used to escape."

"Then I will be happy to give him as many sacks of gold as he requires."

She smiled, and then her expression grew serious. "You still have not seen our daughter, have you?"

He shook his head. "She is safe in Dyn Draithou with my mother. I hope."

She looked down briefly at the soapy water and then straight into his eyes. "She is yours, you know. I swear it by all the gods of my tribe. I realize that my history does not vouch for my fidelity, but I never swore such a thing to Marcus. I am honest in my way — and I am honest with you."

Cador took a deep breath. She had hit a weak spot he'd been trying to ignore. Kustennin was a toddler before Cador had found out who the boy's real father was, but he had never blamed Yseult for her infidelity to the man she'd been forced to marry. Nonetheless, the knowledge worried the edge of his consciousness — Kustennin was not his ostensible father's son. Why should Yseult's daughter be any different than her son?

But what mattered was that he wanted to believe her. That would have to be the precept by which he would run his life.

"Could you hand me the towel, please?" Yseult asked, her voice subdued, and he realized he hadn't responded to her oath.

He gave her the towel. "Yseult —"

"I wish there were a way to safely bring Riona here," she said, cutting off whatever he might have said. "Who knows what the battle between Arthur and Medraut will bring."

She began to wipe the water off her wet skin. He watched, grateful for the sight. "I will do my best to survive the coming battles. I have the feeling I will still see Riona before I die."

"And I am less worried than I should be, so perhaps you are right." She gathered the towel in one fist and took his injured hand in the other, inspecting it. "How bad is it?"

"I lost three fingers."

"Ah, Cador." She raised his hand to her lips and kissed the unbandaged knuckle of his thumb. "Better than the whole hand."

He drew in a deep breath, surprised at the effect of such a simple kiss. "And better left than right."

She looked into his eyes. "I hope you can forgive me for running away as I did."

Cador stroked her hair with his good hand. "I fear I have no choice. Besides, I too must ask your forgiveness for sending you away. I was irrationally jealous."

Yseult chuckled. "Queen Medb would no longer have you for sure."

He cocked one eyebrow in a question, unsure what to make of her strange mood.

"Queen Medb of the old legends of Eriu," she explained. "It was said she had three requirements in a man: to be without fear, without meanness, and without jealousy."

"She had only negative requirements?"

"Oh, I'm sure she had some positive requirements as well. She slept with most of the heroes of her day."

Cador smiled. "Then a lack of jealousy truly was an important requirement."

"Very true."

They were standing close, and he was becoming increasingly aware that the only thing between them were her towel and his clothes. "I promise to repress my jealousy in future if you will consider joining a cripple in his bed."