Between Two Fires (24 page)

I've been a flickering star at twilight,

A rune carven on an ancient oak tree,

A child born of the world's first kiss.

His words set my skin abuzz, stirring something deep within me. I watch him a long while in silence, my arms still wrapped around his middle. It takes me a moment to find my voice.

“That's beautiful. I never took you for a poet.”

“A warrior-poet,” he corrects me with a half-grin. “Alas, I did not compose that one. It was sung by Taliesin the Great Bard, and is one of my favorites.”

Just when I think I've figured out this hedge knight's quaint ways, he surprises me again by reciting poetry. I'm sure plenty of woodsmen know bawdy songs, but how many ruffians memorize poetry from Taliesin the Bard? Taliesin won renown as the greatest poet and wise man of all Wales back in King Arthur's time. Today Artagan speaks with enough passion to do the old druid proud.

My heart beats fast against him as I lean close.

“I want to thank you, for bringing me to the Free Cantrefs, for saving my life.”

“You rescued me, remember?”

I smile back at his playfulness.

“I still know so little about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Where you were born, your family, your favorite songs, what you like to read. You do read?”

“Whoa, you can't just open up my life and start reading from the middle.”

“You already know so much about me, my family and past. It's only fair.”

We dismount and walk beside one another past the brooks that feed into the river, striding through the tall green grass. Merlin grazes in the bulrushes behind us, the two of us otherwise quite alone. The wooden keep looks like a miniature model of a castle beneath the woods and green peaks in the distance.

Artagan takes my hand. My fingertips warm under his touch, my skin rippled with goose bumps. He sighs.

“I grew up in a village not far from here. My mother raised my sister and me.”

He only mentioned his sister once before, and she was taken by the Saxons like my mother. We've both lost so much to the barbarians, and I've no desire to dredge up our sad stories. I stroke his hand in mine.

“I've never heard you speak of your mother.”

“She rarely leaves her home, something of a village chieftess. She still keeps strictly to the ways of the Old Tribes.”

“Is she the one who gave you your good looks?”

“She certainly gave me my hardheadedness. And my sense of right and wrong.”

I stop, turning away from him with our fingers still entwined. Right and wrong. With my life so upended in the last few months, the line between good and bad has blurred until I hardly know one from the other. I disobeyed my father and husband, breaking the bonds made by men who were supposed to be my betters. Instead, I stayed true to myself. Remaining a broodmare and pawn for Morgan and Father would've been a greater betrayal than I could ever stomach. But so many lives may suffer for my deeds. My eyes begin to water. Artagan touches my wet cheek.

“What's wrong?”

“Enid is right. I'll only bring destruction down on the people of the Free Cantrefs if I stay. Sooner or later the people here will suffer Morgan's wrath for having sheltered me. I must go.”

“Go where? This is where you're safe. This is where you belong.”

“I've come to care for the people here, but fleeing may be the only way to save them.”

“The people here love you. Does that mean nothing to you?”

He leans over me, drawing me close. My hands rest on his chest, his heart drumming against mine. I part my lips to speak, but I've no words. No words at all. He wipes away my tears with his thumb, our eyes searching one another's. Our lips touch before I surrender in his arms.

 

11

“Riders at the gates!”

Enid bursts into my bedchamber, torchlight flickering in the nearby brazier. Artagan and I sit on my bedspread, several books open as we read by firelight. The warrior-woman narrows her gaze, probably wondering why she should find the two of us alone together and poring over dusty old tomes.

My pulse quickens at the sound of horses whinnying outside the keep walls. Artagan and I exchange looks as we dart to the windowsill. Outside the gate, several torches dot the otherwise pitch-black night. I place my hand on Artagan's.

“Raiders?”

“Too few of them, unless more wait in ambush.”

“How did they get so close to the keep undetected?”

He frowns, undoubtedly wondering the same thing. Enid prods the open pages of yellowed parchment on the bed. Quickly gathering them together, I shut the book covers. Enid grabs one.

“What were you two doing?”

“Never mind,” Artagan answers. “Wake my father and summon guards to man the walls.”

Enid reluctantly obeys. Once she has gone, I hide the hardbacks under a blanket. Artagan unsheathes his blade, pausing in the doorway. He glances at the mound of hidden books.

“We'll continue this later?”

“I hope so,” I reply, smiling.

He nods with a grin, darting down the dim corridors toward the main gate. I shake my head. He should not be so embarrassed. Even amongst noblemen, few warriors know how to properly read. It never occurred to me that Artagan might have learned all of Taliesin's poetry from listening to bards and minstrels instead of reading about it in books.

Nonetheless, Artagan learns quickly. A few more weeks of lessons and I'll have him reading as well as any monk. Tucking the last of the books away, I put on my shawl before heading outside.

I've no intention of hiding in my chamber while a potential enemy waits at the gates. Whatever fate has in store for me, I would rather meet it openly than cower behind closed doors. What gang of cutthroats has my former husband sent after me now? When I reach the lookout tower, Enid, Artagan, and several other guards man the battlements. The glow of torches emanates from a small company of horsemen clustered in the darkness. Artagan bellows down from the walls.

“Who goes?”

“Someone you once gave a cracked jaw.”

My ears perk up. I know that voice. Leaning over the embrasures, I shout to the guards.

“Open the gates! It's my kinsman, Ahern.”

Enid and a handful of Free Cantref men reluctantly unbar the large timber doors, letting the small cavalcade inside the muddy courtyard. King Cadwallon arrives as the riders dismount, their faces lit by torchlight. Rushing forward, I embrace Ahern and kiss his bruised cheek. He winces a moment, the old wound still not entirely healed. Nonetheless, he cannot help but smile at me.

“My lady, a queen ought not to be without her household, so I've brought them to you.”

Three other riders dismount and step into the light: Padraig, Rowena, and Una. The balding cleric and my two serving girls smile broadly at me as I step forward to put my arms around them. Before I reach them, Cadwallon thrusts his meaty arm in my way. He shouts to his guards.

“Seize them! Guards, search them for weapons.”

Enid and the other Free Cantref warriors surround the newcomers in a ring of spearheads. Ahern turns his own spear on them, bristling with anger. Of all the warriors in the yard, only Artagan does not draw his blade. I turn toward the King in disbelief.

“What's the meaning of this? These are my friends, my family, my sworn household!”

“Aye, and how conveniently they've been released from Caerwent just when all King Morgan's plots have failed. You really think they just blundered upon us in the dead of night by happenstance?”

Unarmed, Abbot Padraig approaches the ring of spears.

“We are no spies, Your Grace. Morgan does not even know our destination. We escaped three days ago.”

“So you say, monk.” Cadwallon frowns. “So you say.”

“How did you find your way here?” Artagan asks, more curious than accusatory. “The mountains are treacherous.”

“I can answer that,” a voice calls out.

Keenan approaches from the shadows on horseback, Emryus following close behind as they enter via the main gate. The young axman dismounts and bows before Artagan and the King.

“Forgive me, my lords, but we discovered them while out on patrol and guided them hither.”

“Why did you not lead them into the keep yourself?” Cadwallon demands.

Keenan clears his throat.

“Ah, I was … detained, sire.”

Gray-bearded Emryus pushes Keenan aside.

“The young pup had a village girl to visit up the valley. I waited half the night for him to return.”

“I figured it was no harm.” Keenan shrugs. “These are friends of Lady Branwen.”

Cadwallon and Artagan exchange looks, both hiding half-grins at the thought of Keenan detained by the likes of a willing peasant girl. Nonetheless, Cadwallon gives Keenan a stern glance before dismissing the youth.

“If you minded your duty half as well as you do a woman's skirts, you'd be a second Arthur by now.”

Keenan sheepishly lowers his head before the King's rebuke. Artagan gives the youth a friendly whack upon the back of the head. Cadwallon turns to his guffawing men.

“Lower your weapons.”

Enid withdraws her spear last, leering at Ahern. Moving between the guardsmen, I clasp Padraig's hands. He touches my cheek with such fatherly warmth that I have to fight back the water welling up behind my eyes. I feared I'd never see him again. Rowena and Una surround me, exchanging kisses on either cheek, each clucking like hens.

“We've brought some of your things, m'lady,” Rowena begins.

“Gowns, slippers, cloaks, and such,” Una adds.

Smiling until my cheeks seem fit to burst, I lead them all inside and offer them food and drink. We stay up half the night exchanging stories of what has happened to each of us since our separation. Much of it turns out to be fairly predictable. Morgan has restlessly roamed the halls of Caerwent, mad as a bull, and his brother, Prince Malcolm, has already put a hefty price in gold on Artagan's head.

Eventually, we find our way to my quarters, laying out bedrolls for the girls and the Abbot. Ahern insists on standing guard outside my room, even though Enid has not relinquished her post. I slip into bed, surrounded by my household like so many puppies in a litter. I begin to nod off to sleep, more content that I can remember feeling in a long time.

Unfortunately, Cadwallon has planted a seed of doubt in my mind. He has a point regarding the sudden arrival of my friends. Morgan surely would have pursued them when they escaped Caerwent to come and find me. Without a cunning woodsman like Artagan to guide them, how had they gotten so far? Morgan certainly could have detained them if he wanted to. Although I cannot unravel this riddle now, something tells me I have let in a Trojan horse.

*   *   *

Rowena draws a bath for me, the first real one I've had since coming to the Free Cantrefs. Even in the wilderness, she manages to keep me clean. She leaves me alone as I slip into the steaming vat, luxuriating in the warmth of my bedchamber. I shut my eyes and listen to the morning birds tweeting outside, the pitter-patter of rain on the roof only making me enjoy the comfort of my heated tub all the more. I recline in the waters, passing out of thought and out of time.

With my household around me once again, I feel truly at home for the first time in months. Only my falcon, Vivian, remains behind in Caerwent. If I could but somehow free that bird of prey from her captors, I might go hawking along the woods and meadows around Cadwallon's Keep. If only.

The door creaks open behind me. Startled, I rise and grab a towel. Artagan ducks his head inside, a mischievous grin spreading across his face when he sees me in the wooden tub. I aim a stern finger at him, trying to look cross even as I smile.

“Have you no shame, Sir Artagan? I thought Rowena locked that door.”

“No lock could keep me from you, especially at a time like this.”

“Turn around. You're worse than a young colt in season.”

He enters and shuts the door, facing the wall. Stepping out of the vat, I wrap a towel around my middle, the cloth barely concealing me from bust to knees. My skin glows pink with the heat of the tub, my dark, wet locks dripping down my back. Artagan glances at me from the corner of his eye. I purse my lips.

“No peeking.”

“Don't you trust me, Lady Branwen?”

He flashes a half-grin, slowly walking toward me. I wag my head playfully, pressing my hand to his chest. It's impossible not to smile back at Artagan when he grins like that. He really is just an overgrown boy. He puts his palms in mine, looking me up and down as I shiver under a draft. Artagan wraps his warm arms around me, pulling me close until our lips meet. He slowly devours me with his mouth, his muscles hard against my towel. I pull back, still a little unused to his free-spirited ways.

“Did you mean what you said yesterday? That I'd be safe here, that I could stay as long as I wish?”

“So long as I'm around.” He winks. “You and I make a good team, remember?”

“When you follow my lead, that is.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

He kisses me as we smirk at one another, his lips finding their way down my throat. The towel loosens around my waist. My eyes widen as his hands run down my bare skin. Artagan certainly likes to move fast.

I fondly slap his cheek and push myself away before adjusting my towel a bit more modestly. Artagan glances at me with a pained look, clearly not used to being denied when it comes to women. He may have the figure of a young Adonis, but this is one woman who will rule her own body. Only a few months out of the marriage bed, I've no intent of ending up right back in one so soon.

Artagan frowns and lowers his head. I'm not some filly in the field. I need time and I need to be sure. Why doesn't he simply understand that?

Reaching up, I put my palms on either side of his face, his eyes looking longingly into mine. We stare at one another a long while, no words, just two souls gazing deeply into one another. I run my fingers through his hair, calming him as I might a wild stallion.