Page 6 of Warrior Queen

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“Cadwy didn’t bend the knee,” I remarked.

Arthur grimaced. “Didn’t expect him to. There’ll be snow at midsummer before he forgives me for drawing that sword and taking the title he sees as his by right.” He grinned. “And for marrying the Ring Maiden.”

I ignored that. “Neither did Morgana.”

“She’s a different basket of eels.” He glanced over his shoulder at where Merlin and Cei rode side-by-side behind us. “Do you think Merlin’s going to be all right?”

This was such an unlikely insight from Arthur that my eyes flew wide open. He was always inclined to dismiss anyone’s troubles as something they’d get over if you left them to it. But then again, he’d known Merlin since his early childhood, an ever-present force for good in his life. Perhaps he had more fellow feeling for Merlin than for anyone else.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s very quiet.”

“I tried to get him to tell me what happened while he was her prisoner, but he shut me off.” He paused. “Something tells me he needs to talk, or it’ll fester in his heart. Maybe you could try to worm it out of him. He likes you.”

“Goodness,” I said. “You’re very perceptive today.”

This made him chuckle. “I know. I’m quite shocked myself. But Merlin’s my closest friend. Cei’s my brother, and I love him. But Merlin is something different.”

On an impulse I leaned towards him. We were close enough that I could plant a kiss on his stubbly cheek. “I do love you, sometimes.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Only sometimes?”

“You know what I mean. I love you all the time, but sometimes you surprise me, and I feel an upswelling in my love for you. Like right now.”

He grinned. “Remember that for tonight then. I could build on that.”

I laughed. “Not if we’re camped with all your men surrounding us!”

*

As dusk fell,we made our camp in a wooded valley beside a small river. The men were expert at this, and soon had sentries posted and a number of scattered cook-fires sending glowing embers spiraling up into the night sky to join the full moon, like little would-be stars. We always carried dried meat with us, along with hard cheese, and dark bread that by now was dry and stale. But by the time the designated cooks had reconstituted the meat in a stew with a few dried mushrooms and some ale, the bread could be softened in the gravy, and we had a good meal. When you’re on the march, every meal tastes good.

Afterwards, in a darkness lit only by the flickering flames of their fires and the full moon overhead, the men gathered in smaller groups, telling jokes to one another, and singing songs. Bedwyr began the recital of a tale about a long-gone king of Gwynedd called Llew Llaw Gyffes, in a singsong, lilting voice that held his fellows enraptured and drew others to where he sat, even though they’d probably all heard it a hundred times before. The magic of his words held them in his thrall.

“Oak that grows between two banks:

Darkened is the sky and hill.

Shall I not tell him by his wounds,

That this is Llew?”

Arthur got to his feet, stretched, and put a hand down to me. “Come, I’ve heard this story too many times. Let’s walk along the riverbank in the moonlight together. I need to stretch my stiff legs.”

I scrambled to my feet and, hand-in-hand, we threaded our way between the groups clustered about the cook-fires, each one of them occupied in the same way as the men about ours. The words of a dozen songs, plaintive, martial, comic, twisted between the trees around the camp, floating away into the night air, sending us on our way.

The uneven ground sloped downhill through sparsely scattered trees. In the valley bottom, the dark river sang its own gentle tune as it wound south toward the distant sea, and, between the inky tree-shadows, moonlight silvered the rippling surface of the water.

A narrow deer-trod ran along the bank, leading our feet downstream in the quiet warmth of the summer night. The songs of the camp died away, the glow of the cook-fires diminished to nothing, and somewhere on the far bank a nightjar chirred.

Arthur’s fingers laced between mine, warm and strong. He didn’t hurry, and as we left our camp well behind, the feeling of being quite alone draped itself about my shoulders like a pleasant veil.

Ahead, a dainty roe deer sprang through the trees, disturbed by our approach, its white rump bobbing for a few seconds before disappearing into the gloom. An owl called, and another answered. Wings soared silently above our heads, just their shadowy shapes alerting us to their presence. The feeling that this quiet valley held some special magic couldn’t be denied.

The riverbank, that had at first overhung the water by several feet, now dropped down to a gravely beach as the river curved in a meander. Small stones crunched. Arthur halted and turned to face me, his features thrown sharply into planes of light and dark by the moon’s pale glow. “I’ve been wanting you to myself all day.”

I gazed up at him, at the face of the man I loved. The man for whom I’d given up my whole world. My heart twisted with the intensity of my feelings, a physical ache forming in my chest. I’d never believed it possible to feel so strongly about someone– to put him above all else.

His hand caressed my face.