Guinevere's Gift

  “It will endanger Elaine,” she whispered. “They'll harm her to stop you.”

  Marcus sighed. “All right, then. I'll get in position here. You attract their notice and run in between these two trees. Hide over there. Wrapped in that cloak, you'll be invisible.” He smiled gently at her. “Provided you cover that beautiful hair. Now go.”

  Guinevere walked alone across the stony ground to the apron of flat, grazed turf before the cave mouth. She pulled back her hood and faced the cave. But the sound of Drako's snores must have covered her approach, for Jordan did not look up from his whittling, except to raise his empty flask to his lips and then throw it from him in disgust. He leaned around the edge of the fire and grabbed Drako's wineskin. That, too, proved to be empty, and Jordan swore as he flung the wineskin at Drako's head. Three things then happened at once. Drako grunted and awoke; the breeze shifted and blew the firesmoke into Guinevere's face, making her cough; and Elaine lifted her head and cried out, “Gwen!”

  Jordan jumped to his feet, a dagger in his hand.

  “Oh, Gwen!” Elaine cried again. “You're alive! Thank God! Have you brought troops?”

  At these words, Drako drew his sword and looked blearily about him. “Troops? Where?”

  “Th-there are no troops,” Guinevere stammered. “I—I came alone.”

  Elaine's face fell, and great, shining tears rolled down her cheeks. “No troops? But how will you get me out of here?”

  Guinevere said nothing to this, and a slow smile creased Jordan's face. His stance relaxed, and he pushed his dagger back into his belt. “Yes,” he said easily, “I'd like to know that, too.”

  Guinevere ignored him and focused only on Elaine. “I came to find out where you were so I can go down and tell the queen. Then the troops will come to save you.”

  Hope lit Elaine's face, followed quickly by impatience and vexation. “Then why did you show yourself and put yourself in danger?”

  Jordan snickered. “And how do you propose to get back to the castle?”

  For only an instant, Guinevere met his eyes. “Run,” she said, and was off.

  She heard a shout behind her and the pounding stride of a heavy man. Fear gave her wings, and she shot between the pine trees and into her hiding place with a gasping sob. She just had time to realize that Marcus was not there before Jordan crashed into the clearing. She heard a soft thud. Jordan staggered and drew his sword—thud. He staggered again, swung around, blade raised, seeking his enemy—thud. He staggered a third time, dropped his sword, and slowly sank, knees buckling, to the ground. A shadow appeared from the trees at the edge of the cliff. She saw Marcus bend over the bleeding man and pull his daggers out.

  “What'll it be, you traitorous dog?” he growled. “A quick death or a slow one?”

  A bubbling reply came from Jordan's throat. It sounded more like a curse than a plea for mercy. Marcus searched his body, removing his dagger, his sword belt, and the rings from his fingers, before dragging him to the cliff's edge and pushing him over. Guinevere heard him bounce down the slope in a shower of pebbles. A sharp cry pierced the night, and after that, there was only silence.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The Guardian

  Marcus stood at the cliff's edge and crossed himself.

  “Are you there, princess?” he asked quietly.

  “Y-yes,” she whispered.

  “Stay there. The ground's slippery with blood. I'll collect his things and stack them under the trees. I'm afraid we have time enough to work up another plan. The other's not coming.”

  Guinevere realized with a start that this was true. When she turned her head, she could see Drako standing by the fire at the cave mouth, sword in hand, peering anxiously out into the darkness and calling Jordan's name. The darkness itself seemed to be lifting with the clouds. Dawn could not be far away.

  “I didn't think of this.”

  “Don't be dismayed. You did beautifully. You've a head on your shoulders and a gift for doing the right thing.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice and was comforted. “You surprised me, Marcus. I expected a sword fight. I didn't know you were so skilled with knives.”

  He laughed lightly. “I prefer to fight at a distance, if I can. I'm at a disadvantage in a sword fight, with no hand to hold a shield. Besides, the man was twice my size.”

  Guinevere smiled. She could see his face now across the clearing.

  “That's better, princess. I like your pretty smile. I wish half the men in the house guard had your courage. You came through those trees like all the Furies of hell were after you, but you did your job. I'm proud of you.”

  Guinevere flushed. Warmth spread through her, even to her fingertips and toes. “Thank you. I'm ashamed I didn't know what a good fighter you are.”

  Marcus grunted. “It may yet come to a sword fight with the other one. He's not going to budge.” His voice turned suddenly sharp. “Look!”

  From behind the screen of pine boughs, Guinevere saw Drako dragging Elaine to the mouth of the cave. The blankets had fallen from her, and they could see that her hands were bound behind her back. Her gown was dirty and torn in places, and her eyes were wide with terror.

  Drako turned in their direction. He took Elaine by the upper arm and shook her hard. “Come out! Come out, you bloody scoundrels! Or I'll put the princess to the fire!” He pushed Elaine toward the flames.

  “Let me go!” she screamed, kicking at him. “Gwen! Go for help! Go for help but don't come out!”

  “Oh dear God!” Guinevere gasped, as Marcus grabbed her and held her. “I must go to her! Let go! Let go!”

  “No, princess. There's nothing you can do. I'll go, if you'll promise to stay here.”

  Guinevere struggled to free herself. “Don't you see? He doesn't care any longer. He's not looking for reward from Sir Darric. All he wants now is his life.”

  “I'll circle around back and—”

  “How can you help her? One look at you and he'll kill her so he can fight you unencumbered. But he'll see no threat in me. Maybe I can talk him into letting her go, if you will let him flee. I've got to try, Marcus. Please.”

  Marcus shook his head. “It's out of the question—” he began, and then stopped. The cloak he still held in his hand was empty. The girl had unlaced it and gone. He saw her now in the gray light, running toward the cave, bright hair flying. “Struth,” he muttered, and ran for the horses.

  “Gwen!” Elaine shouted. “Don't come near him—he's crazed with drink!”

  Guinevere stopped at the cave mouth. “If you want to live,” she said to Drako, “you'll have to let the princess go.”

  Drako was drunk, frightened, and sweating heavily. In his right hand, he held a bared blade, and in his left, he held Elaine. The hem of her gown was only inches from the fire. He did not look in the mood for reasoned argument. “Where's Jordan?”

  “He's dead.”

  Drako glanced left and right. “Who killed him?”

  “A man I had with me. A brave man, a soldier. Jordan cut him, and he's just now died of his wounds.”

  “Only one man?” Elaine's voice rose, dismay struggling with disappointment.

  Drako's eyes were red and tired and his face dark with dirt and stubble. Thinking seemed to be a labor for him. “How do I know that's true?”

  “If he weren't dead, do you think he'd have let me come out here alone?”

  “You came before.”

  “That was to trick you into following me into the ambush. But there's no ambush anymore. There's no one left but me.”

  “For God's sake, Gwen!” Elaine's eyes were full of tears. “How could you come with just one man?”

  Drako jerked her rudely. “Shut your mouth. I'm tired of all your yammering.”

  “Listen to me, Drako.” Guinevere came closer. “There's a battle going on down at the castle, as I think you know. Queen Alyse is winning. If you value your life, you'll let the princess go. The queen's men will come looking for h
er as soon as dawn breaks, and if she's been harmed in any way, they'll have no reason to show you mercy. Sir Darric warned you not to harm her, didn't he? Yet you've bound her wrists, and you're threatening to burn her alive.”

  Drako stared at her as if she were a spirit from the Other-world, as if her speech were incomprehensible to him. She tried again.

  “Why do you threaten her? There's no one's hand to force. There's no one here but me, and I have no weapons. If you leave now, you can slip unseen into the hills. You can escape. Survive. But you must get away before the queen's men come looking for Elaine.”

  Drako sucked in his lips and pushed them out again. He seemed to teeter on the verge of speech. “You're the queen's ward, aren't you?”

  “Of course she is,” Elaine said impatiently. “She's my cousin. Our mothers were sisters.”

  Drako grunted. “Family, eh? Then she'd do just as well.” He beckoned Guinevere forward. “I'll let your cousin go if you'll take her place.”

  “Leave her alone!” Elaine shrieked. “Don't do it, Gwen! Run back down the mountain and get more help!”

  “You do and I'll take this one with me.” Drako looked straight at Guinevere, and she could see he meant it. “If I'm slipping off, I'll want a hostage for protection, won't I? I can buy my life with her or take her with me. She can be my servant in some other kingdom.”

  Elaine shrieked and struggled, but could not loosen his grip on her arm. “Let me go, you foul traitor! Let me go!”

  Guinevere stood on the rocky ground, shaking. In the east, above the mountains, the sky was lightening. The breeze was stronger now and cold. She was so numb she could barely feel her feet moving over the dead grass toward him.

  She stopped just out of his reach. “Let her go. Please.”

  Drako glanced around again from side to side. He saw nothing suspicious. He could hear the horses moving uneasily in the pen, but Jordan's roan was always spooked by wind. In one quick movement, he shoved Elaine aside and lunged for Guinevere. He caught her arm and threw her spinning to the cave floor behind him. In the same moment, he heard a hissing in the air. Light broke and shattered before his eyes as something hard struck his chest and knocked him backward. He gasped without breath and fell over, a long fall forever into darkness.

  Someone screamed. Hooves clattered on stone. Guinevere struggled to rise but could not move. She could hear voices, but they seemed a great distance away. She opened her eyes, but the world had gone black and breathless. Her body ached, and her cheek was flattened hard against the ground by a great, suffocating weight.

  “Gwenhwyfar!” She heard another voice and then a succession of grunts. The weight lifted, and sweet air rushed into her mouth and nose. Light filled her vision. Strong arms raised her and wrapped her in the warmth of fur. She looked up groggily into Llyr's face, Marcus's face, Elaine's face. They looked with sheer relief down into hers.

  “The brute fell on you when Llyr shot him,” Marcus explained. “I'm amazed he didn't crush the life out of you.”

  “Oh, Gwen!” Elaine cried, clutching Guinevere's hand and spilling tears on it. “It's over. It's over at last. You saved my life. You were so utterly brave—how did you do it? How can I ever thank you?”

  Guinevere saw the raw flesh on Elaine's wrists where the bonds had rubbed. “Are you hurt, Laine? Your gown's torn, and your wrists—”

  “Don't be ridiculous.” Elaine hugged her, and Guinevere wrapped her arms around her cousin. The nightmare of the past day and night dissolved in a steady waterfall of tears, to which Elaine responded with reassurances and hugs but which discomfited the men.

  Llyr offered an awkward apology. “I could not shoot sooner. You were in my line of sight.”

  “Drako is dead, then?” Guinevere asked, recovering her breath. “And no one else is hurt?”

  “You have Llyr to thank for that,” said Marcus. “I had some idea of bringing the horses out and attacking the brute from behind them, but one of those animals is afraid of wind. I couldn't catch him. You owe your rescue to your guardian.”

  Elaine looked askance at Llyr and addressed Marcus. “Is there really a battle going on in the castle? I thought she made that part up.”

  “I'm afraid it might be true. The captain of the house guard and some of his men are in Sir Darric's pay. Last night they rebelled. Add to them the force that Sir Darric brought with him, and they outnumber the queen's loyal followers.”

  Llyr smiled shyly. “Perhaps not.”

  Marcus turned to him eagerly. “You were able to get word to your people?”

  Llyr nodded. “We took all of them. And the man the Marsh Lord's son sent to summon them. They cannot help him now.”

  Marcus slapped his own knee in excitement. “That's great news! There's a chance, then, that Queen Alyse can repel the attack herself. I wouldn't put anything past that woman.”

  “Mother's being attacked?” Elaine quavered. “Can't we help her?”

  “Certainly we can,” Guinevere responded. “We have three horses now.”

  Marcus smiled. “All right, then. Let's go down and rescue the queen.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Queen of Gwynedd

  With a candle in her hand, Queen Alyse made her way slowly around the hall of meeting. The torches had been doused for the present, and the great chamber was in darkness except for scattered, small pools of light where the women gathered around oil lamps on the floor. All the furniture had been used to barricade the doors. The men waited in their assigned positions, some silent, some talking in quiet voices. No one slept.

  A good fire was burning on the kitchen hearth, and everyone had been well supplied with willow tea, leftover mealcakes, and heels of stale bread. There would be no more, for the bakehouse outside was inaccessible now. There was food enough in the storerooms to keep them for weeks and mead enough in the cellars to serve them once the water ran out. That was not what worried Queen Alyse. Morale was the problem. Her people were afraid.

  In her progress around the hall, she spoke to them all. She thanked them for their loyalty, encouraged their wakefulness, and showed them more confidence than she felt. When she paused in her progress to listen, everyone listened with her. No one breathed. The cool night air flowed in through the high windows, but the only sounds it carried were the normal small rustles and flutters of night. The queen moved on, and the room breathed again.

  Ailsa and Grannic huddled together against one dark wall. They were eager to keep out of the light and away from the queen's notice. Grannic's bony face was haggard, and her hands twisted in her lap. She feared for her future. Ailsa, who knew hers only too well, could not spare a thought for Grannic. She could think only of Guinevere.

  Somewhere out there in the chill, wet night, her dear girl was struggling against evil forces too strong for her. Stannic should never have let her go—Marcus should never have let her go—what fools these men were! How could they risk her, even for the queen's daughter? Did they not know who she was? What she would one day be?

  Her perfect belief in the prophecy made at the child's birth did nothing to relieve Ailsa's fears. All gods required the sweat of human labor to bring their wills into being. Even Arthur's coming, foretold a good hundred years before his birth, had required the assistance of men to bring about. What if Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall, had stayed at home and not led his troops against King Uther's on that fateful night of Arthur's begetting? What if Uther, disguised as Gorlois, had been recognized by the porter who let him into Tintagel? What if Ygraine, Duchess of Cornwall, had not taken King Uther to her bed in her husband's place? What if Ygraine, as High Queen nine months later, had not been able to give up her firstborn son on the night of his birth, or if Merlin had been unable to receive the child after Uther refused to raise him? A million things might have gone awry. The truth of a prophecy did not, in Ailsa's eyes, ensure its coming to pass. That required the assistance of human beings, the most fallible of creatures. If Guinevere was to become a great lady s
omeday, the highest lady in all the land, the utmost care must be taken of her. She must be protected, not allowed to ride off on dangerous rescue missions in the middle of the night! That, as she had told Stannic in no uncertain terms, must be as plain as the nose on his ugly face. His apologies, his explanations, could not excuse him. Guinevere was gone, and he had let her go. The fact that she herself had slept soundly through the girls' escape was no comfort at all.

  Queen Alyse passed by without a pause. She saw the dim shine of Grannic's tears and Ailsa's head bent low, but they did not move her. Let them fear, let them tremble, let them reap the bitter harvest of their neglect. She could not spare a thought for them now. She would deal with them when she had her daughter back. When she had her daughter back . . .

  Where was the traitor Darric? Why hadn't he come? Could he not find her? Could he still be fighting the fire? The longer she waited for him, the more she believed that setting fire to Pellinore's apartments had been a brilliant move. She had expected a battle long before this. Judging from the amount of oil left in the lamps, this was the ebb of night, just before dawn, when the old folk believed spirits roamed the earth to collect the souls of the dying. Certainly, more people died at this time of night than at any other.

  She shivered and hoped that the breeze meant dawn was near. The coming of day would instill new hope into all her people, for she saw in their faces the expectation of imminent death. For Sir Darric's men, dawn could bring only discouragement. They had probably expected to be in possession of the castle by morning. Daylight would make them realize how long they had been struggling against the fire and how much was left to be done. With luck, they might even be downcast and fatigued. But perhaps they would just be angry. Queen Alyse stilled another shiver. The fire had kept them at bay for more than half the night, but she knew it could not hold them off forever.

  She was at the door to the kitchen stairs when she heard a noise and turned back. The clamor of voices and the thunder of boots on stone grew louder and louder. She went to the barricaded door and nodded to Lucius, the guard in charge. “At last, the villain comes. Now we shall see what he has to say for himself.”