Grail Prince

  “What, then?”

  Talorc smiled sideways at him. “If you don’t know, it is not my place to tell you. You will find out soon enough.”

  One night after dinner, when the lords and their companions were drinking and singing lewd songs in the hall, Galahad stood before a log fire in the small chamber where the family often gathered for privacy. Anet sat on a cushioned bench, bending over her needlework. Peredur reclined on a couch with a tankard of mead. He smacked his lips and grinned up at Galahad.

  “Well, nephew, how do you think it’s going? She has barely a week left to make her choice. Which one of ’em do you s’pose she fancies?”

  Galahad shrugged unhappily. “I’m sure I’ve no idea, my lord.”

  Peredur laughed. “And I’ll wager you a king’s ransom, neither does she! She’s sorry now she sent for them.”

  “Do be still, Peredur,” Anet said crossly. “You speak in ignorance.”

  “Do I, madam? Then tell me what you think. Young, blind Percival thinks it’s all going swimmingly. He dreams of alliance with Rheged or Gorre. His ambition has clouded his perception.”

  Anet put down her needlework and sighed. “I agree with you there.”

  “Surely, Galahad, you must have formed some opinion.” Peredur smiled up at him. “You’ve dogged her heels these last weeks. Tell us, does she favor one of them above the others?”

  “I’m sure I couldn’t say,” Galahad replied stiffly. “She seems to me to be equally attentive to all.”

  “Well, she’s not a fool,” Peredur asserted, draining his tankard and thumping it on the floor to attract the servant’s attention. “She’ll keep them hanging, to see what they will offer. Owaine’s made the handsomest offer to date, I hear.”

  “Your ears, sir,” Galahad said evenly, fighting a sudden urge to cuff his uncle, “have heard a great deal more than mine.”

  “Be still, both of you,” Queen Anet urged, taking up her work and whipping her needle through the silken cloth. “There will be no wedding of any sort if we don’t complete the bridegift. We’ve only five months, and there are mountains left to do.” She looked up suddenly. “Besides, you are wrong, Peredur. She has made her choice. She has fallen in love with one of

  “Indeed?” Peredur cried. “Then tell us, who will it be? I’ll place a wager on it tonight and be a rich man next week!”

  Anet smiled secretly and shook her head. “Save your gold. It is Dane’s secret and Dane shall be the one to tell it. Not I.”

  “Do you really know, then? Anet, you amaze me,” Peredur began, when the door opened and Percival strode into the room.

  “Good evening, Mother, Uncle—Galahad, you are pale. Have a pull at the wineskin and steady yourself. I’ve just come from hall—Lothian has upped his offer. So has Strathclyde. By God, my sister is a genius! In a week’s time we shall double our cattle and our gold!”

  Anet bent over her stitching. “Perhaps you are right, son. But bear in mind that you might be wrong.”

  “How so, Mother? I am with them every day.”

  “I fear you see what you want to see and nothing else.”

  “Nonsense,” Percival muttered, “you are the one who always sees clouds on a sunny day. Anything Dane plans, goes well.”

  “Mmm,” Anet agreed, “provided she does not change her mind.”

  Percival stared at her in bewilderment; slowly his features hardened. “She would not dare. Not now. Not after this. She would not betray her kingdom and make her brother look a fool.”

  Anet looked at him kindly, and put aside her work. “Percival, you are a generous man and you have done well to leave the choice to her. But remember, when the time comes, that it is her choice and not yours.”

  Percival shrugged. “I have not forgotten. Whichever of them she chooses, I am content. Even the lowest offer is a handsome one.”

  Anet said nothing, but glanced up at Galahad with compassion in her eyes.

  “Excuse me,” Galahad rasped, bowing quickly, “but I must have some air.” He pushed past Percival. “Good night.”

  Percival stared after him. “What’s gotten into him? Have you been talking about Lancelot?”

  “Not likely.” Peredur grunted, gulping his mead. “He’s an odd duck, that’s all.”

  But Anet, her eyes on the flames, smiled secretly.

  Out in the cool, clean air, Galahad strode about the castle grounds, his hands clasped in an iron grip behind his back, his long strides eating up the ground. They were mad; they were all mad, the ignorant, mead-besotted uncle, the prying mother, the bully of a brother! Why couldn’t they leave the girl alone? God in Heaven, wasn’t it enough that she had offered to sacrifice her future for them? Must they count her value in pieces of gold behind her back? Had they no feeling, no appreciation for her suffering? Just the thought of her wedded to one of those aging, ox-faced, northern half-wits was enough to freeze the blood! Were they really going to let her throw herself away and lift no hand to stop it—nay, but encourage her to choose the highest bidder, by God, like a beast at the market fair?

  He swung through a grove of trees and ducked under a trellis. The garden was dark, but the half moon hung above sleeping trees and he could see well enough to avoid the beds, pruned and banked for the winter. He strode back and forth across the dead lawn, his breath leaving a spidery trail on the cold night air. Only a week until he was free of this—he could endure it no longer. He did not care whom she chose. He wished it were over and done with, and long behind him. He wished he had never come. He would rather renew his service to Constantine than spend another hour in Gwynedd.

  Suddenly he heard a noise from the far end of the garden: a shuffling, a gasp, and a loud slap.

  “I’ll not take that from any lass!” came a man’s angry grumble, and then a woman’s muffled cry, cut short. Galahad whirled. In a recessed bower he saw two dim forms, locked in a struggle. A soldier had a woman by the hair, her arms pinned and his mouth on hers. Even as he watched the man recoiled, blood streaming from his lips.

  “You filthy bitch!” he bellowed. “You bit me!”

  The woman wrested free and launched a well-aimed kick at her attacker’s groin. But he saw it coming and half spun away, grunting as the blow landed across his thigh. He was on her then, felling her with a heavy swipe of his fist, pinning her with the weight of his body as he tried to force her kicking legs apart.

  “You little whore! I’ll make you pay for that!”

  “Bastard!” the woman shrieked. “I’ll see you dead first!”

  Galahad’s sword whipped from its scabbard, his legs pounded across the lawn, his blade lay trembling against the attacker’s neck before his mind could register more than that it was Dane’s voice.

  “Get off her.” The command, cold and inhuman, seemed to come from the chilling shadows, not from his throat.

  The man backed away and rose, turning to face him. “Well, well. Young Galahad, the firebrand. Put your weapon down; I’ve not harmed her.”

  “Valvan!”

  “In the flesh,” returned the King of Lothian, straightening his tunic. “What are you doing here, virgin? Spying on me?”

  Galahad could not speak. He fought to keep his gaze from the girl sprawled on the grass. His whole body trembled with the effort, but the hand that held his sword to Valvan’s throat was cold, steady, oddly disconnected from his roiling thoughts.

  Valvan’s small eyes narrowed and he laughed. “Put your blade down. This is no concern of yours. It’s hardly a thing a virgin could understand— we had an assignation. But she had a change of heart.”

  “Lying snake!” The hiss came out of the darkness, a shadow flew past him, and the girl flung herself at Valvan, oblivious of the sword, her nails striking for his eyes. Valvan raised an arm to fend her off; the nails missed and drew blood on his face and neck instead. “Kill him!” It was more a sob than a scream. “Kill him! Why do you wait?”

  Galahad reached for her, took her by the waist, and drew
her up against him. She shook violently and struggled to free herself, but her strength had gone.

  “Leave him to me.”

  “He sent a page to me saying Percival awaited me in the garden . . . I didn’t know . . . God, Galahad! I’d never have come down if I’d known it was him!”

  He pressed her shivering body closer to his warmth. “Leave him to me. I will avenge you.”

  Valvan backed until he was pressed against the bower. “You dare not kill me, Galahad—neither your cousin nor your sweetheart will live to see the morning!”

  “No,” Galahad agreed evenly, “I will not kill you. But I will give you something to remember me by.”

  Valvan’s eyes widened. “I meant no harm. You must believe me. The lady is beautiful, and I knew well she would never choose me.”

  “So you thought to force her choice? You contemptible dog.”

  The bright sword point moved slowly in the gloom, an inch from Valvan’s body. Valvan watched breathlessly as it descended. He clapped his hands to his groin. “Not my manhood!”

  “No,” retorted Galahad. “Your face.”

  Before the man could move, Galahad’s sword tip flicked upward and sliced a narrow bloody stripe across each cheek, from lip to eye, and slid soundlessly home to its sheath.

  “Now let’s see what maiden will have you. If you wish to revenge yourself, Valvan, you have only to name the day. I will be waiting.”

  But Valvan had had enough. Pressing his sleeve to his face, he whirled and fled.

  Galahad looked down at Dane. “Will that do? He is marked for life.”

  In the moonlight she had lost her vibrant color. Her face looked deathly pale against her halo of wild hair. “Why didn’t you kill him?”

  Gently, Galahad raised a finger to her glistening cheeks and wiped away her tears. “Because it would have meant war. Britain cannot afford it. That is why you and Percival invited these ruffians here, to unite for common strength. But you need fear him no longer. I wager he’ll be gone before morning so he need not explain his scars to Percival.”

  “I’d have killed him before I let him force me to marriage!”

  Galahad’s arm tightened around her. “I’d never have let you marry such a brute. Not while there’s breath in my body.”

  They gazed at each other. Then Dane lowered her eyes and looked away. Coming to himself, Galahad loosed his arm and backed away a step.

  “Thank you, cousin,” she whispered. “Once you were Percival’s right arm and tonight you were mine. We both owe you more than we can repay.” She made him a quick reverence and fled from the garden.

  Galahad stood beneath the singing stars and watched her go.

  48

  THE CHOICE

  The last day of November finally dawned. A great feast was in the making; the cooks had been busy for days at the stewpots and bread ovens, the chamberlains sweated with brooms and dusters, and servants lugged from the cellars great vats of mead. The lords put on their finery. The women shook out their best gowns. Hawath the bard rehearsed the recitation of the long list of heroes of Gwynedd, whose ancient lineages ran back into the depths of time. No one regretted Valvan’s absence; his sudden departure gave hope to all the others. But when Percival approached Galahad he found his cousin in a surly mood.

  “I’m leaving tomorrow. I’ve stayed too long.”

  “What! Tomorrow? Why, the celebration will last for another week!”

  “I’m in no mood for celebration.”

  Early in the evening Galahad packed his bedroll and took it down to the stable. His stallion, rested and impatient, whinnied at his approach. Galahad stroked the silken coat and rested his face against the horse’s warm neck. “Rouk, old boy, we set off again at first light. We’ve a quest before us now, and neither Constantine’s soldiers nor wandering dwarves nor promises to cousins will keep us from it. We shall get out of this wretched country and back into the open air. Ah, Rouk, I’ve not slept a solid hour this week past. You must take me away, boy, as soon as she throws herself to the swine she chooses, for I shall not survive if you do not.”

  As dusk fell and the servants lit the oil lamps, Galahad stood at his window, formally dressed in his best dark blue tunic with his badge at his shoulder, ready for the feast. He had steeled himself, he thought, to endure anything. Then footsteps thundered up the stairs and Percival flung himself into the room.

  “Galahad! Galahad! We are undone! Gwynedd is ruined!”

  “Calm yourself, cousin. What has happened?”

  “A disaster—a catastrophe! You must help us!”

  “I will if I can. You don’t need to ask. But what is the matter?”

  “My sister has disappeared!”

  Galahad stared blankly at him.

  “She has vanished! Gone! Disappeared! Into thin air, it seems. No one saw her go. One minute she was trying on her gown and baubles for her hair, and the next she was gone! I tell you, I will wring her neck with my own hands if I catch her, unless some horrible misfortune has befallen, and she is dead already!” He pulled at his hair in distraction. “Oh, ye gods, I am beside myself! This is the long-awaited night—I cannot keep them waiting another day.”

  Galahad came forward and took Percival’s arm. “Be calm. If she was here recently, she can’t have gone far. Have you searched the castle? From top to bottom?”

  Percival nodded miserably. “Oh, yes, we did that first. My mother has had all her women at it. When we found her horse gone from the stable, Mother said to come and ask you.” Percival threw him a quizzical look, then took another pull at his hair and paced back and forth. “I don’t know why she seems to think you’d know where Dane went. Do you? Will you tell me? Will you go get her? Oh, God, how could she do this to me? She’d never dishonor us all like this. It isn’t like her. She’s not a coward—I can’t believe she’d run off at the last moment. Why would she do it? Something must have happened, but what? Galahad, will you help us?”

  Galahad walked to the narrow window and stood looking out. He took a deep breath, and for the first time in weeks it came easily. “If she has ridden out, I think I know where she may be.”

  Percival was too relieved to wonder at this admission. “Would you go get her and bring her back? I’d go with you, but I can’t leave—these kings are my guests; I must see to their entertainment. We can go ahead with the feast, and Hawath can draw out his tales until she shows. That’s the best I can come up with. Can you do this for me, Galahad? Will you find my sister?”

  Galahad was already fastening his cloak. “Cousin, step aside. I am gone.”

  It was not until he had galloped beyond the meadows and into the wooded foothills that Galahad realized he did not know the way. Rouk had found the place by accident all those years ago, by the scent of her mare, and he had left in such a hurry he had not taken notice of any landmarks. With a smile of chagrin he dropped the reins on the horse’s withers. “All right, Rouk, it’s up to you. Find her for me.”

  Without hesitation the stallion headed up into the low hills that lay at the mountains’ feet. Galahad let the horse go where he would and shut his own mind to thought, content for the moment to enjoy the sheer beauty of the night, the frosted stars, the crisp, salt-scented air, the sleeping silence of the forest, and below it all, like the low thrumming of a harp string under the bard’s song, the thrill of anticipation.

  Steadily the horse climbed higher, walking faster, as if he, too, could scent the promise of the dark. As they ascended, the evening star burned bright over the treetops and the breeze stabbed suddenly cold. The stallion lifted his head, nostrils wide, and whinnied. From far ahead came the answering cry of the mare. Galahad dug his heels into the horse’s side.

  In the clearing they came to a sliding stop. Dane waited at the cave mouth, the light of the fire behind her making a bright halo of her hair. Darkness shimmered at the edge of the leaping flames; a fitful wind whispered a welcome on the edge of sound. The steady beating in his ears began to quicken
. An owl called, the long notes drawn out in the sighing breeze, the bard’s final thrumming. Without feeling his feet touch ground, Galahad slid off the horse and walked straight into her arms.

  “Thank God you have come! I knew Percival would send you. You must help me, Galahad!”

  As he looked down into her face the world beyond them spun silently away. He bent and kissed her. At the first, soft touch of his lips she yielded to him all the joyous warmth of her eager nature. Sweet and insistent, the night music eddied around them, flames, wind, owl, and wild longing.

  She took his hand and led him into the cave. She had prepared a cushion for him by the fire and cup of watered wine. Through the wavering light, through the pounding in his head, through the sweet song of desire, her voice came soft and clear.

  “Galahad, Galahad, you came to me. And you came here, where I attacked you so long ago.”

  “I forgive you,” Galahad whispered, alive with the feel of her hand in his, entranced by the delicate line of her cheek against her glowing hair. “I told you that before.”

  “If you tell me Lancelot is a lecherous villain, I shall believe you. I will put my faith in your judgment. At the very least, I owe you that.”

  He lifted her hand and held it against his cheek. “Why did you run, Dane?”

  Her dark green tunic fitted her as closely as her gown. She seemed to have grown curves everywhere. She lowered her eyes. “Galahad, I am in an impossible position, and the worst of it is, it is all my own doing.”