Page 50 of Warrior Queen
He smiled. “Whatdoyou like to do, then?” His hand slid beneath the table and touched my thigh. I’d put on a gown for the evening, and the heat of his hand radiated through the thin fabric, intimate and invasive.
I froze. What to do? He was our host, another king, and my husband’s ally. I could hardly slap his face. Instead, I removed his hand and set it firmly back on the table. “I like to be with my husband.”
He guffawed out loud, making Arthur, who’d been talking to Ystradwel and Garbaniawn, turn his head to stare.
“It’s all right,” Coel barked, full of good humor despite having been rebuffed. “Your wife’s just put me in my place.”
A puzzled frown creased Arthur’s brow, so I smiled radiantly back at him. The last thing I wanted was trouble between him and our ally, and Arthur could be very touchy where I was concerned.
I was saved from having to further fend off the old king’s attentions by the hall doors bursting open. Heads turned, conversation faltered, and the noise receded as everyone craned their necks to see the source of the interruption. A youth in a mail shirt stumbled through the gap between the tables and into the narrow aisle.
For a moment he paused as if orienting himself. The firelight flickered over his drawn face, dancing across the links of his chain mail. With a huge effort, he drew himself up to his full height and on unsteady feet, staggered toward the high table.
Complete silence fell. Every eye followed his progress.
His boots dragged in the rushes, halting and unsure.
I stared. Long hair hung in rat tails around an ashen face streaked with blood, and he carried his right arm across his body, clutching his chest. This very action served to make him bend forward, robbing him of the height he’d tried to give himself.
Forgetting me, Coel rose to his feet. Arthur too. The juggler who’d been entertaining us scurried to the shadows at the side of the hall, and the young man limped unopposed to the foot of the platform the high table stood on. Hunched, he seemed slight and vulnerable and scarcely older than Rhiwallon.
“Yes?” Coel asked, his deep voice booming out over the heads of his people to carry around the hall. “What news do you bring?” His brow furrowed with impatience.
Nothing good, by the look of him.
The young man dropped to his knees in the rushes. “My Lord King…” His voice trailed off as though he’d used up all his strength to get this far and had none left for speaking. Parchment-pale skin glimmered in the torchlight, making a ghost of him already.
“Speak, man,” Arthur said, his voice, too, tinged with impatience.
The urge to shout at them to let the poor boy rest was huge, but I bit my lip and stayed silent. No one in this hall would take kindly to me interrupting, queen or not.
The young man raised his head. “They’re coming.” His voice barely rose above a whisper, and in their seats the suddenly alert and watchful warriors craned their necks to hear his words.
“Where?” Arthur snapped. “From which direction? Spit it out.”
“The south.” The young man’s breath rasped like a rusty saw. “Toward the Humber estuary. We came upon their scouts… I mean… they came upon us.” He coughed, bloody spittle running down his chin. “Twenty miles from here, as evening fell. There was a fight– a skirmish.” He coughed again. “Only I escaped.” He heaved another rasping breath, the arm clutching his chest tightening. “My commander ordered me to flee and bring you the news.” He faltered, barely breathing, as though every inhalation racked him with pain. “They have bows. An arrow hit me as I fled.” Every word was run through with anguish, his eyes dark with sorrow. “My friends…”
He toppled face down onto the rushes, the broken shaft of an arrow protruding from his back.
Oh God, no.
Bitter experience had taught me that any arrow lodged in someone’s body would be almost impossible to remove. The arrow’s fierce barbs would hold it tight in the flesh. Only where you could push it all the way through did you have a chance– and that wasn’t possible with an arrow that had pierced the young man’s ribcage. Nothing would save him now, and he must have known it.
Cei pushed back the bench he sat on with a clatter and leapt to his feet. Merlin, at the other end of the table, was already standing. All over the hall, men did the same, food and bonhomie forgotten.
“We have to reinforce the wall guard,” Arthur called to Cei and Merlin as he skirted the high table and leapt from the platform. “We join our men– now.”
Without waiting to speak to Coel, the three of them hastened down the hall to the doors and out into the night, the poor young messenger sprawled forgotten in the rushes.
A buzz of noise arose as everyone spoke at once. Coel raised his hands, and stood waiting until silence fell again before he spoke. “Warriors, to the walls. We stand watch tonight. They’ll be here by morning. Go.”
Garbaniawn struggled to his feet as best he could, being so portly. “I’ll get my armor.”
Coel shook his head. “No. I want you here, seeing to our arms supply. Your sons can do the fighting. You and I are old men now.”
Anger flashed across Garbaniawn’s heated face, but he must have seen the sense of his father’s words. Without argument, he hurried from the hall, as his warriors hastened to arm themselves.
Without a backward glance, Coel followed them.
