The Dragon Prince (18 page)

She stared wistfully ahead at Rhun’s tall
form. Although she was pleased Bridei took the time to talk to her
and explain things, she would much rather spend time with his
brother.

* * *

Although he couldn’t hear what they were
saying, Rhun was aware Eastra and Bridei were engaged in an intense
conversation. The sound of their voices—Bridei’s, low and musical,
and Eastra’s, light and feminine—made his stomach clench. His
brother would charm her, as he did every woman, and she would
forget all about him.

He told himself that it was better that way,
but the thought still aroused a harsh ache inside him. He’d never
felt for a woman what he felt for Eastra. The very sight of her
made his heart swell in his chest and an exquisitely sweet longing
rush through his body. It wasn’t merely the hunger to touch her, to
press flesh to flesh, but a craving for her spirit, her very
essence.

But it was not meant to be. He’d known that
from the very moment when he said farewell to her in the forest all
those years ago—urging her to run to freedom, away from him, away
from her deadly enemies. Their blood cursed them, made any future
impossible. For a time he’d forgotten that, but it was time he
remembered the bitter truth. And Bridei, curse his glib, handsome
face, was exactly the man to remind him.

They paused near midday to eat a meal, then
resumed riding, traveling west and north. Rhun led the way, with
Bridei and Eastra riding behind him, side by side. The rest of the
warriors were arrayed around them, speaking seldom, their eyes
always watchful and wary, as if they were wild beasts passing
through a predator’s territory.

During the break for the meal, Eastra had
thought a lot about what Bridei had told her of the old Saxon
threat, of Ambrosius and of Arthur, and how they had organized the
Britons to fight their enemies. While she found it fascinating to
learn the history of this conflict, she longed to speak of other
things. Rhun’s name seemed always on her lips. She wanted to know
more about this man who had so beguiled her.

Finally, she let her horse drop back a
little farther from Rhun’s silvery gray mount, then faced Bridei
and asked casually, “You’ve told me a great deal about Arthur and
his cause, but tell me, how did you and your brother get involved
in all of this?”

“Rhun hasn’t told you?” Bridei asked.

“Some,” Eastra hedged, casting a careful
glance at Rhun. “But not how it all started. He must have been very
young when he went off to fight with Arthur.”

“He was,” Bridei agreed. “When he was about
sixteen, a holy man came to Deganwy. He ranted on and on about how
all noble Christian warriors must join Arthur’s cause and fight to
fling the barbarian hordes back into the sea. Rhun was quite taken
with the idea of saving Britain and fighting for the one true God.”
He grinned suddenly. “And then our father forbid him to go, so of
course he went.”

“And Arthur took him into his army, despite
Maelgwn’s objections?”

Bridei nodded. “Among our people, sixteen is
counted pretty much a man. Besides, Arthur was not one to let
a
promising warrior slip through his fingers. But it has
rankled with our father ever since. I sometimes think Rhun’s
decision back then is what, more than anything, keeps Maelgwn from
aiding Arthur’s cause.”

“So Rhun joined Arthur’s army and ended up
rising high in his favor?”

“Well, it took him some years. Even my
miraculous brother did not impress Arthur’s hardened commanders
right away. He had to get a few battles under his belt. At first,
he simply avoided being killed. Then he gradually learned how to
defeat and kill other men. I don’t think it’s been easy for him.
It’s not his nature to be bloodthirsty. He’s had to learn that it’s
a matter of kill or be killed. Now it’s all instinct with him.”

Eastra nodded. “I saw that. Before those men
were even upon us, he had drawn his sword and attacked them. But he
didn’t seem to take satisfaction in it.”

“That’s his only flaw. He does not like to
kill.”

“You believe that’s a flaw?”

Bridei shrugged. “Some will argue that it is
in a warrior. Your uncle Cerdic might think so, for example.”

What would Cerdic think of Rhun? Eastra
wondered. If she wed with him, would Cerdic vow vengeance again
Rhun, or would he accept the match? Rhun was certainly high born
enough, a prince among his people. And if ever they were to live in
peace together, Saxon and Briton must begin mingling their blood at
some point.

But she was far ahead of herself. At this
moment, it did not seem likely Rhun would ever speak with her
again, let alone want to make her his wife. She repressed a sigh.
The more she learned about Rhun, the more she admired him and
thought he saw things very much the way she did, despite being a
man and a warrior.

To distract herself from the flash of pain
that idea brought her, she glanced at Bridei once again. “And what
of you? How did you end up in Arthur’s army?”

There was a flicker of emotion in Bridei’s
dark blue eyes. Then he answered, “My journey was much more
complicated than my brother’s. I didn’t run off to fight the noble,
Christian cause. Indeed, I was banished by my father.”

“Why?”

“I got into a bit of trouble, and my father
lost his temper and said he was sending me north to live with my
mother’s people—to see if they could make a decent man of me. I
didn’t take kindly to the idea of being banished so I ran away
instead.”

“But whether you are banished or ran away,
it amounted to the same thing,” Eastra suggested.

“That’s true. But I didn’t see it like that
back then. I was very young, even younger than Rhun. Only fourteen
and looked it. I wasn’t a precocious giant like my brother.” There
was a sharpness in his voice, and Eastra recalled Rhun mentioning
that his brother was sensitive about his height. “I caught a ship
for Less Britain and from there wandered east.”

“How did you survive?”

“I was able to acquire a skill that served
me even better than a fast and furious sword arm.” He gestured to
his saddle pack, where the curved end piece of a harp poked out. “I
learned to play the harp and sing. That’s how I survived after...
“

Bridei hesitated, his expression suddenly
dark and somehow haunted. The next moment he seemed to shake off
the mood. “I would go to markets and public areas and sit down and
played my tunes. Sooner or later someone would come up and ask me
if I knew this song or that. I seldom did, but I would do my best
to sing something that would please them. I was so young that I was
no threat to anyone, and as a bard, I was welcome everywhere. I had
to learn a bit of this tongue and of that in order to manage, and I
found out I was good at it. By the time I sailed back across the
sea, I had picked up a smattering of Saxon, as well as the Frankish
tongue and a dozen other variations of Latin.”

“And so you returned home and joined
Arthur’s retinue as an interpreter?”

“Not exactly. I was not so sure of myself as
that. No, instead I went north, to my mother’s people, to the place
I was originally supposed to go to serve out my sentence of
banishment.”

“And what happened there?”

Bridei laughed. “Why are you so certain
anything happened? I might have lived quietly and uneventfully
there for several years.”

Eastra regarded him dubiously.

“All right.” He gave another rumbling laugh.
Despite his lean, graceful build, Bridei had the deep, rich voice
of a larger, more robust man. “I got into trouble there as well.
That’s when I decided to seek out my brother. I figured he would
not refuse to help me. Besides being a tenderhearted soul compelled
to rescue the hapless—as you well know—Rhun has always felt a kind
of responsibility for me, poor bastard.”

“And he took you in and suggested Arthur
make you his interpreter?”

“No, that came after. All Rhun promised was
that I would entertain the men and inspire them with tales of the
old heroes. But then Arthur found out I knew Saxon and urged me to
cultivate the skill. I used to drive the slaves in his camp to near
distraction by pestering them to speak with me.” Abruptly, Bridei
paused and, eyebrows lifted, said, “Sorry. I forgot you were once a
slave yourself.”

Eastra stiffened, waiting for the familiar
distress to grip her. To her surprise, it didn’t come. Knowing Rhun
accepted her for what she was and did not care about her years as a
slave made all the difference. “It doesn’t matter,” she said,
meaning it. “Although I feel sorrow for those who suffer the
humiliation of slavery, I don’t want to dwell on that part of life,
but instead look forward to the future.”

“And now you are hostage,” Bridei said. “Is
that a better sort of captivity?”

Despite herself, Eastra could not help
casting a glance at Rhun, riding a half dozen paces ahead of them.
“Aye, it is better,” she agreed. “For if I am not mistress of my
fate, I am at least treated as someone of worth.”
And I am near
the man I love,
she added in her thoughts.
For all the good
it has done me.

* * *

Rhun forced himself to scan the densely
forested hills surrounding them, searching for any hint of
soldiers—the flash of a shield boss, the furtive movement of an
archer, the restless movement of horses. He must be on his guard.
Be ever vigilant and alert. But, curse it, it was damned difficult
when a part of him was constantly distracted by the awareness of
Eastra and Bridei riding behind him, talking companionably.

He could not hear a word of what they said,
but once in a while he would catch the inflection of their voices
or even their soft laughter. Whatever they spoke of, it was not
unpleasant, or at least Bridei was telling it in a way that was
amusing.

Harsh, grinding jealousy made Rhun’s muscles
go taut.
He
should be the one to entertain Eastra and make
her laugh, not Bridei! But then he told himself he was being a
selfish, arrogant fool to think such thoughts. He had decided he
must stay away from her, and yet it was only simple decency to
provide their royal hostage with companionship and put her at her
ease. If he could not do it himself, at least his brother could try
to relieve her loneliness and the hardship of travel.

If only Bridei were not so good at it, so
skilled at beguiling people, especially women. And so remarkably
handsome. While Rhun had never had reason to doubt his own
attractiveness to women, he knew he could not compare to his
brother. The maids always swooned over Bridei, murmuring about his
“raven tresses” and his “eyes like wood violets,” cooing over him
as if he were a girl. Rhun knew his own physique, however
impressive, was marred by battle scars, his hands battered and
gashed from years of wielding a weapon, his skin weathered from
spending so much time outside. He looked very much the nine years
older he was than Bridei.

And then there was Bridei’s skill with
words. He knew how to coax and cajole, how to tease and flatter.
When he sang, men said he could charm the very stars out of the
heavens with his voice. It was a voice to bring tears to the eyes,
to wring emotion from the depths of the soul. Between Bridei’s
voice and his looks, Rhun had always thought there was a kind of
magic about his brother, some sort of enchantment he had from
Rhiannon, who more than a few people believed was a sorceress.

But
he
had no magic, although fortune
had smiled upon him in many ways. He knew he was a skilled warrior,
and Arthur valued his judgment and his ability to read people and
make decisions. To be among the high king’s inner circle was no
mean accomplishment. And yet with women... many had approached him,
but he always feared they did not really care for him, but sought
him out because he was a prince, heir to Gwynedd, and one of
Arthur’s Companions.

Somehow it seemed a better thing to be like
Bridei and have women love you for your face and your voice. At
least those things were part of the man, while status and power
were not real. They could be lost. And once they were lost, what
happened then? Did the women drift away, although they’d once
spoken words of devotion and love? He wanted a woman who cared for
him because of
himself,
his very essence, the secret, hidden
part of him no man really knew.
Eastra,
his mind told him.
She could love him and know him that way.

But then he reminded himself of all the
complications between them. It was dangerous to get close to her—he
could not think clearly when she was near. And this was a
treacherous journey they embarked on. He could feel it the farther
they rode west. The landscape was changing from farmland to
pastureland. The scenery becoming more rugged, the trees denser.
Soon they would be traveling much of the time in forest, and they
would have to be alert every moment. The incident in Londinium had
made it clear they had enemies watching them. Watching and
waiting.

And there were other reasons not to yield to
his urge to be near Eastra. Even if they made this journey safely,
what then? She was still a hostage, and bore the blood of the
enemy. If war broke out again, it would be cruel to have grown too
close to her. For how could she endure it, to be torn between what
she felt for him and what she felt for her own people? To face the
day when he rode out to kill her kin?

The thought was chilling, and Rhun told
himself he must keep it ever present in his mind. Eastra was
innocent and naive. If she had yielded to the moment in that hidden
alleyway and kissed him willingly and eagerly, it was because she
had not thought far into the future, had not considered the pain
and grief that could come about from their falling in love.