The Road to Avalon (26 page)

He smiled at her. “A crowd of them wanted to come too, but I wouldn’t let them.”

“Thank goodness for that.” The apprehension had left her eyes as soon as he smiled.

He sat down beside her on the bed. “You are very beautiful,” he said, and put his hands up to cup her face. He held her gently and then bent his head toward her mouth.

She gave him an almost instant response. He let his hands travel down her cheeks, to her throat, then to her shoulders. He pulled her closer and her arms came up to circle his neck. After a minute, without releasing her mouth, he pressed her back to the bed.

Gwenhwyfar could sense that he was fighting to control himself. Far from frightening her, however, his obvious need only brought her gratification and joy. He wanted her. All her doubts vanished, and she arched up against him, abandoning herself to the feelings his touch was arousing, her blood answering strongly to the call of his.

There was pain when first he came into her, but she had been prepared for that. She had not been prepared for the explosive pleasure that followed. It astonished her and elated her and humbled her all at once. She nestled into his arms and laid her cheek against his shoulder, listening to the slowing beat of his heart. He smoothed her damp hair off her forehead with a gentle hand. That gentleness was a surprise to her, and a profound joy.

She went to sleep cradled in his arms. He waited until he was quite sure she was asleep before he disentangled himself and got out of bed to go to the window. He stood there for a long time, his forehead pressed against the cool glass, staring at the blurry lights of the lanterns on the forum. Then, finally, he returned to the bed.

He was asleep when Gwenhwyfar awoke the following morning. She opened her eyes slowly and saw the sun shining through the translucent glass of the window. The coals in the brazier had gone out, and the air in the room was cold, but she herself was warm under the woolen blankets that she had brought with her from home. The man next to her did not stir and, a little cautiously, she turned her head to look at him.

All she saw at first was a bare brown shoulder and a tangle of black hair on the pillow. Carefully she raised herself on her elbow so she could see his face. That was when she first noticed the scars.

They were obviously old, but the thin white lines were still clearly visible on the smooth brown skin of his shoulder. Gwenhwyfar frowned. They looked like lash marks. Her eyes moved from his shoulder to his face, relaxed and defenseless-looking in sleep. He seemed to sense her regard, however, for his lashes lifted almost immediately.

She thought, at first, he did not recognize her. Then he pushed himself up, shaking the hair off his forehead, giving her a warm and friendly smile. “Well now, my lady,” he said, and there was warmth in his voice as well. “Did you sleep well last night?”

Her anxiety vanished. “Yes.” She was very conscious of his bare, lean torso, of her own nakedness under the blankets. He had discarded their clothes with flattering haste last night.

He read, easily, what was in her eyes and responded by putting out a hand to touch her hair. It was so fine it floated, a cloud of red and gold about her white shoulders. “This is the one morning of my life,” he said, “when I can be sure no one is going to come knocking at the door to wake me.” His hand moved from her hair to her arm. “Come here,” he said softly, and she went.

Spring changed into summer. The work on Arthur’s new capital was progressing. The Saxon shore was quiet and Arthur entered into tentative negotiations with Offa, Cynewulf, and Cerdic. Morgan was back at Avalon once more.

Summer turned into autumn. It was October when Cai went to Avalon to see her.

His father was the one to greet him, and Cai was appalled by how much Ector had aged in the months since Arthur’s marriage.

“Are you ill, Father?” he asked almost as soon as he had stepped back from Ector’s embrace.

“No, no,” Ector reassured him heartily. A little too heartily, Cai thought. He frowned as he scanned his father’s seamed face. Ector seemed smaller than he used to, and distinctly less massive.

“You should have let me know if you weren’t well,” Cai said severely. “I would have come sooner.”

“I am perfectly well. And you’ve been busy with the king’s work, I know.” His face glowed with simple pride.

Cai felt a pang of guilt. He had been busy, yes, but for most of the summer he had been only twelve miles away. He should have come to Avalon before this. He would have, had it not been for Morgan. He had wanted to wait, to give her time . . . Ector was putting an arm around his shoulder. “Come along now,” the old man said. “I want you to tell me all that you’ve been doing. What is this new city that Arthur is building?” They went to the family salon and were still there talking when Morgan came in an hour later.

She smiled with pleasure when she saw Cai, and came immediately to kiss his cheek. He raised his head and looked down into her face. Her eyes were searching his, and he knew she saw how disturbed he was about his father.

No one looked at you like Morgan, he thought. She saw right through into your soul. Which meant, of course, that she saw, had always seen, other things too. But he had always known he had no secrets from her. He smiled a little crookedly and said, “It’s good to see you, Morgan.”

They had no chance to speak alone until much later in the evening, when Ector had gone to bed. Then they pulled their chairs closer together and lowered their voices.

“Father looks terrible,” he said.

She sighed. “He’s lost weight, I know.” She looked at him sadly. “He misses Merlin, you see. He’s never been the same since my father died.”

“But is he sick?”

“He’s just getting old, Cai. And it seems to be happening very quickly.”

“I should have come to see him.”

“Well, you are here now. And he is so proud of you, of how Arthur depends on you.”

The name, dropped so unobtrusively into the conversation, seemed to reverberate between them. He said it again. “Arthur.”

There were lines of tension around her eyes. “How is he?” she asked.

“He is well.” He was not sure what she wanted to hear but he had come to give her the truth. “I think this marriage has been a good thing for him,” he said deliberately.

The brown eyes closed. There was a pause that seemed to Cai like a small eternity. Then: “Thank God,” she said. “I have been so worried.”

Cai realized he had stopped breathing. He drew in a long breath and let it out again. “I was worried too. When Gwenhwyfar first came, it was . . . dreadful. You know how he can be, Morgan.” She gave him a shadowy smile. “But somehow she managed to break through the ice and ever since, they have done very well. He’s much more relaxed than he was.” He looked at her gravely.

“I’m so glad.” Her eyes were bright with unshed tears but there was no mistaking her sincerity.

He stared at that small face with its great luminous eyes. “Morgan,” he said. The brown eyes blinked and then looked at him with sharpened attention. “Morgan,” he repeated, unaware of how vulnerable he suddenly sounded, “now that Arthur has married, have you ever thought of marriage for yourself?”

It was out, the thing he had waited to say to her since last May. He continued doggedly, determined to say it all now that he had begun. “I love you. I have always loved you. You know that. And I know that all I can expect from you is kindness . . . but that would be enough for me.”

His words filled her with such deep sadness. “Cai,” she said, and gazed up into his dear, familiar face, “if I were to marry anyone at all, it would be you.”

“Then why not?” he asked. “Marriage has been good for Arthur. Why shouldn’t it be good for you?” He leaned over, picked up her hands, and held them tightly.

She looked down. His hands were so large they engulfed her own. They were wonderful hands, she thought: strong, steady, competent hands. Hands one could trust. “I have little doubt that marriage to you would be good for me,” she said, still looking at their clasped hands, “but I don’t know how good it would be for you.”

Her words were a strange echo of Bedwyr’s comment about Gwenhwyfar and Arthur. “Why do you say that?” Cai asked.

Her lashes were long on her peach-brown cheeks. She was outdoors so much that her skin was lightly tanned even in October. “It is not an easy thing,” she said, “to love more than one is loved.”

His voice was harsh as he answered, “I know I can never take his place, Morgan. I wouldn’t expect to. I know you don’t love me—”

“Of course I love you,” she interrupted. “After Arthur, you are dearer to me than anyone. But Arthur comes first, Cai, and because of that I can never marry. Not you, not anyone.”

He was trying to understand. “Because you couldn’t bear to marry anyone who wasn’t Arthur?”

“Because he couldn’t bear it,” she answered, and looked up into his face.

A faint flush reddened his cheeks. “Arthur would never grudge you happiness, Morgan.”

“Of course he wouldn’t.”

“But then . . .”

“Cai.” Her brown eyes were kind. “If you think he was difficult to live with this winter, you would not want to see him if I married you.”

He frowned. “I don’t believe . . . Nonsense.”

“It is not nonsense. I know Arthur.”

He dropped her hands. “
He
married.”

“He had no choice. And I was the one who forced him to it, Cai. I would not marry him.”

She was pale beneath the light tan, but her voice was composed. This was clearly a subject she had thought out long ago. “Why, Morgan?” He asked the question that he had long wondered at. “Why wouldn’t you marry him? Ten years ago, I could understand it. But now . . . Arthur has the church in his pocket. There would have been no trouble.”

The faintest quiver passed over her face, but her voice was steady. “I cannot have children” she said.

“Ah . . . ” It was a long, drawn-out note of comprehension and compassion. “I see” he said, and drew her to her feet and then into his arms.

She rested against him, the top of her head not reaching as high as his shoulder. “You know him too, Cai.” Her voice was a little muffled by his chest. “He is a king. About some things he is intensely possessive. He can’t help it; it’s in his nature.”

Cai held her close, felt the warmth and tenderness of her body against his, thought of Arthur, and knew she was right.

Chapter 22

T
HERE
was the flare of torches in the courtyard of the praetorium and then the clatter of hooves on stone.

“The king is back!” Word ran like wildfire through the house and the stables, and men came running to take the horses. The December night was cold and breath hung white in the air as the men moved into the house. The horses were led away and quiet fell on the courtyard once more.

Inside the praetorium, servants ran to and fro. Food was ordered to be served in the king’s private rooms for Arthur and Prince Bedwyr. Then Gareth went running to summon Lionel and Valerius from the army encampment. Cai had already joined the king and Bedwyr. The food was removed and the five men sat down to talk.

Gwenhwyfar paced her room impatiently. News of Arthur’s return had reached her, but he had not come to greet her. The servants had said he wanted to see Cai and Lionel and Valerius.

Gwenhwyfar told herself she understood. Arthur and Bedwyr were returning from a meeting with Offa of Kent. They had met to discuss the terms of a treaty that would carve distinct boundaries for the Saxon kingdoms within Britain. It was a meeting of momentous importance for all of Britain; of course Arthur would want to inform his men about what had happened.

He had been gone for weeks. He would come to her as soon as he finished with the men. She knew that. Suddenly, however, she could not wait.

“Olwen, get me my cloak,” she said in her most imperious voice. Olwen looked surprised but made no comment as she handed the queen a deep green cloak and watched as Gwenhwyfar flung it around her shoulders. The queen turned to take a quick, cursory glance in the mirror.

“Shall I come with you, my lady?” the girl asked.

“No.” Gwenhwyfar swept regally to the door. Then, over her shoulder: “I am going to the king.” The door closed behind her.

The four girls left behind looked at each other. Then Elaine said, “Bedwyr is back too.” She went to look in the queen’s mirror.

Olwen sighed. “I hope the king’s return improves my lady’s temper.”

“She has missed him,” Cara said softly.

“Yes.” Olwen turned her head. “Elaine, get away from that mirror. No matter how much you preen, you’ll never be as beautiful as the queen.”

“But the queen already has a husband,” Elaine said complacently as she came back to pick up her sewing.

“Stay away from Bedwyr, Elaine,” Olwen warned. “The prince has no mind to marry.”

Elaine smiled secretly. “We shall see,” she returned.

Cara said, “Olwen, tell us a story.”

The guard at Arthur’s door admitted Gwenhwyfar immediately. She stood for a moment on the threshold, looking at the lamplit room with the five men seated in a circle at the far end of it, and her poised exterior masked inner uncertainty. Perhaps she ought not to have come.