Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) (28 page)

He wanted to take her hand, give her whatever comfort he could. He imagined that many of those puking warriors, up to and including her brothers, had died in their beds or not far away.

"I'm sorry about your losses," Gawain said.

"Thank you." She rubbed her good eye briefly and continued. "The green warrior has help of some powerful magic somehow, but it is not here; he is calling on it from elsewhere."

It appeared she
did
have some of the powers of the Old Race — unless she was one of those who could recognize magic without being able to cast it herself. "But you cannot identify it?"

She shook her head.

"Have Bertilak's men at least treated you well since they took the fort?" Gawain asked.

Ragnell looked away, and all he could see was the smooth plane of her undamaged cheek, beguiling, alluring. What a beauty she would have been if not for the accident.

"Better than might have been expected, for several reasons." She faced him, gazing directly into his eyes. "How many men would want to rape a monster with this face?"

He held her gaze, not answering immediately. The truth of the matter was, men were not very picky when it came to post-battle rape. Arthur forbade it among his men, but Gawain had seen the victims many times, and the one thing most of them had in common was that they were female.

"Then they left you untouched?" he asked, hoping it was not too intimate a question. But it was she who had begun the talk of rape.

Her lips turned up in a bitter, sad smile. "Not completely. The usurper wanted to stake a claim on me. At least I am not pregnant."

Gawain drew in a deep breath. "I'm sorry." But at the same time it occurred to him that this, much more than her disfigurement, was the reason she had not been raped repeatedly by the men in Bertilak's warband. If their leader claimed her, intending to marry her to legitimize his position as new lord in Caer Camulodon, then she was off limits to the rest of his men.

"I'm not," Ragnell said.

He realized how it must have sounded. "I am sorry for what you have gone through, not that you are not with child."

She chuckled — an astonishing sound, given the topic of their conversation. Gawain shook his head and looked at her, a question in his eyes.

"Oh, I understood what you meant," she said. "It is just that I have a tendency to be perversely literal at times."

To his surprise, he found he liked that about her. There was courage in her that spoke to him, that gave him a feeling of connectedness. It reminded him a little of his aunt Gwenhwyfar, truth be told — Ragnell's dead cousin who had been requested to appear at the wedding.

She began to walk along the perimeter of the earthworks, Gawain beside her. "While we have this opportunity, I want to tell you how honored I am that you have come to my assistance," she said quietly.

Gawain shrugged. "You are kin. And your ancestral seat is important strategically for Britain."

"Yes, it is, isn't it." This time, he couldn't tell if she were bitter or amused. She stopped, lifted a hand to his cheek, and stretched up to kiss him softly on the lips before he even knew what she was about. "You have my thanks anyway."

Then she turned and hurried away in the direction of the kitchens while Gawain stood staring after her, wondering what had just happened.

His lips tingled.

* * * *

"I inspected the defenses and spoke with Ragnell about the battle," Gawain whispered to the others that night in the house they shared. "We need to get word out that the fortifications in the south are weakest."

"It is such a shame about Ragnell," Pabius said. "I hadn't seen her for several years, and I didn't know about the accident. Such a beauty she was."

Gaheris raised one eyebrow. "I thought Christian priests paid no attention to such things?"

Pabius smiled and shook his head. "I am sure there are such men among the priesthood, but those I know are not blind to the charms of an attractive woman. And young Ragnell was certainly that. But the accident would explain why she never married."

Gawain pulled the priest's garb over his head, feeling much more himself as soon as the humble robes were off. He found he had no stomach for talking about Ragnell and her misfortunes with a group of men, even if one of them was a priest. It was coming precariously close to the kind of talk men shared around the campfire, discussing women like a favorite horse or a well-fought battle.

He turned to Gareth and Gaheris. "We can't expect reinforcements from Caer Leon in much less than two weeks, even if they are riding hard. Any suggestions what we can do in the meantime to increase our chances of victory?"

"We would make ourselves suspicious if we tried to weaken the defenses, even at night," Gareth said slowly. "I think our preparations will have to be limited to the village. Assuming the villagers can be trusted?" he added, turning to Pabius.

"I will speak with the priest again, but my first impression was that there is much support for Ragnell in Caer Camulodon."

Gawain laid his bedroll out on the mattress of straw closest to the door. "We should consult with Bertilak about the wedding festivities. That would give us a good excuse to move back and forth between the hill-fort and the village."

"Yes," Pabius agreed, lying down on his own pallet.

Gawain raised the oil lamp. "We will have much to do on the morrow. Good night."

He blew out the flame and lay down, only to be assaulted by the memory of Ragnell's sad, brave smile. He would do everything is his ability to give her back something of what she once had.

And then he realized that his first thought upon seeking his bed had not been of Yseult — perhaps for the first time since she had told him she would be marrying Cador.

Truth be told, he had not thought of Yseult for almost a whole day.

He laced his fingers behind his head and gazed up into the darkness. Was he finally beginning to recover from the most severe bout of disappointed love he'd ever experienced? Or was it simply that beauty, ugliness, mystery, and a hill-fort to be retaken were enough to distract him for a time?

* * * *

Gareth made the most convincing monk among them, Gawain thought, glancing at his youngest brother as he bowed his head over the first course of duck eggs with pine nut sauce at dinner the next day. And he a married man with a steadily increasing family. But there was something innocent about Gareth, always had been.

Ragnell had organized an exceptional meal, if the duck eggs were any indication. The nutty sauce had just the right hint of honey and vinegar to make it interesting without being too sour or too sweet.

"What kind of wedding festivities are you planning once Ragnell's cousin arrives?" Pabius asked Bertilak between bites. The priest had been given the seat of honor next to their "host" — while Gawain sat opposite next to Ragnell, squirming every time the warrior in green took his betrothed's hand possessively. He couldn't forget what she had told him the day before, and he couldn't help wanting to jump up and wring the man's neck.

Especially since Bertilak did his very best to avoid looking at her, despite all his show of possession.

Bertilak tried to hide his surprise at the priest's question, and there was a brief moment of embarrassed silence.

"We have not yet given much thought to festivities," Ragnell said, jumping in for a man who deserved no such defense. But of course it was also embarrassing for
her
that her future husband did not deem their upcoming nuptials worthy of celebration.

Gawain's urge to wring his neck grew stronger.

Next to him, Gaheris laid a hand on his arm. "Is something amiss, brother Gaw?"

"The food is richer than I am used to."

Gaheris nodded knowingly. Then under his breath so that only Gawain could hear he whispered, "Calm down, brother; this is not the place to let your temper get the better of you."

"I can have simpler fare brought if the duck eggs are too rich for you," Ragnell said.

"Perhaps that would be better, Lady." Gawain found the dish excellent, but it seemed necessary to go along with the pretense, seeing as he had already drawn attention to himself with his reaction.

She smiled and motioned a servant to her side, and in that moment, Gawain once again saw her face whole as it must have once been, smooth and pure and framed by soft brown hair glinting in a kaleidoscope of shades in the candlelight.

"Will any of your relatives be coming for the wedding?" Pabius asked.

Bertilak flinched. "The only one left to me is my sister, and she is not fit to travel."

Gawain glanced between Ragnell and the green knight — he could have sworn that she stiffened at the mention of Bertilak's sister. Was that perhaps the source of the magic she had alluded to earlier?

"I am sorry to hear it," Pabius was saying now. "Will you be holding a feast day for the villagers? It would be proper to give them a chance to celebrate such an important event for you and your betrothed."

Bertilak nodded. "An excellent idea."

"Might it be possible to get a silk veil for the ceremony from Eburacum?" Ragnell asked.

"Certainly, my dear," Bertilak said, still not looking at her.

Gaheris touched his arm surreptitiously again before Gawain could react. It was beginning to look like he would be very much in his brother's debt by the end of this particular adventure.

* * * *

Something had woken him, the faintest of scratchings on the door. He pushed himself up, small sword in hand. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dark, and he looked around; to his surprise, none of the other warriors had awoken at the noise. Had he imagined it?

No, there it was again. But the other men continued to snore.

A whisper. "Gawain."

Ragnell.

Gawain slipped out of the door as quietly as possible, clapped a hand over her mouth, and dragged her out of hearing distance behind a nearby storage hut. Only then did he release her.

"Ragnell!" he said in a furious whisper. "What are you doing here? One of my men could have killed you inadvertently."

"But you didn't kill me," she protested.

"I recognized your voice."

"As any of the other men might also have done," she pointed out pragmatically.

She had a point. He returned to his original objection. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to speak with you, alone."

"Could it not have waited until morning?"

"We are more likely to be seen then. For what I wish to ask, I do not want to be seen."

It seemed a strange comment — seeking him out alone was more dangerous at night than during the day. "Surely it is not safe for you to sneak out of the main hall at night. You are risking much in coming to me."

There was a slight pause, and he was almost sure she was smiling into the darkness. Her next words seemed to confirm his suspicions. "Less than you think."

"You are very confident." He was becoming more and more convinced that she had some of the same powers as Yseult. To his irritation, he felt a frisson of fear.

She touched his elbow. "No, I am not confident. Far from it."

He leaned his head back against the stone wall of the hut and waited for her to explain. The night was moonless, cold and clear, with only an occasional cloud whispering across the black sky. Stars littered the heavens like jewels scattered carelessly on a dark carpet.

Then he felt her lips whispering across his neck like the clouds flitting among the stars. He should have pushed her away, but the light kisses felt too good; instead, he closed his eyes, enjoying the moment — including the slight rush of danger it held.

She drew away again, and a sigh escaped him. He realized that while she had been kissing his neck, he had taken hold of her waist in both hands, and now his fingers slid down toward her perfectly shaped rump. "Thank you," he murmured.

"You mean it, don't you?" Her voice was disbelieving.

Gawain chuckled, pulling her hips forward against his swollen cock. "Is that answer enough for you?"

Instead of giving him some kind of flippant or defiant answer as he had learned to expect from her, she leaned her head on his chest and her arms snaked around his back. "Gawain, make me forget," she murmured against his tunic.

He pulled her tighter, an automatic gesture of comfort. Her words were like a fist around his heart. "Ah, Ragnell, you cannot know how many times I wanted to pound Bertilak's face in during dinner this evening — both for what he did to you and for every time he looked away from you."

She raised her head and took his chin in her hands. "I
do
know, Gawain. Which is why I ask you — fuck me. Fuck me well. Take away those other memories."

The raw sexuality of her words had him hissing in his breath — and jumping even more painfully to attention. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Please. I want to eradicate the memory of what the green warrior did to me. Please. Give me joy rather than pain and humiliation."