Page 63 of Warrior Queen
He was hard to get across the room to our bed. His legs didn’t appear to want to obey him, and he leaned heavily on me, dislodging my towel so that when he tumbled onto the bed, I was stark naked. But his eyes closed as his head touched the pillow, and not even if I’d done the dance of the seven veils in front of him would he have shown any interest.
I pulled my undershirt on over my nakedness and lay down beside him, wondering if Cei was in a similar state.
*
Arthur’s shout wokeme in the middle of the night to total darkness. The candle I’d left burning had gone out, and oppressive, warm night pressed in all around.
“No!” He shouted again, thrashing back and forth in the bed beside me. “No! Leave him alone!”
I sat up, leaning over him, my heart pounding in fright. “Arthur. Wake up. You’re dreaming.” I put a reassuring hand on his chest, and found it drenched in sweat, his heartbeat galloping under my touch. “Wake up!” I shook him with both hands.
His thrashing lessened. Finally, he lay still, panting. Had he been dreaming of Rhiwallon’s death?
I stroked his face. “It’s all right. I’m here. You’re in your bed, with me.” I kept my voice low and gentle, a mother soothing her child after a nightmare.
“Gwen?” How vulnerable and young he sounded, how unsure. Not the determined, powerful king I knew and loved. But somehow, I loved this version of him all the more– the boy he’d once been, afraid of his nightmares. The man who needed me.
I bent and kissed his forehead. “I’m here.”
He lifted his hand and touched my face. “I have a terrible headache.”
I smiled, but he wouldn’t have been able to see. “I’m not surprised, the amount you must have drunk.” I touched his clammy forehead. “I think you needed to do that, though.”
“My mouth feels like a dusty road,” he croaked. “I need a drink.”
“Not that strong wine. You’ve had enough of that. I think there was some watered wine as well. I’ll find it.”
“No.” His hand closed around my wrist. “Don’t get up. I’ll manage. Hold me.”
I lay back down next to him, my arms around him. “I’m here.”
For a few long minutes we lay in silence, before he spoke again. “I dreamed of Llongborth.”
I stiffened. His first battle, where Prince Geraint had died. “You did?”
He nodded. “I’ve never told you about it, have I?”
“No, but I know about it. I know about Geraint.”
I felt him shake his head. He groaned. “Ow, that hurts. I doubt you were told the full story.”
I bit my lip. I wanted him to go on, but part of me recoiled from yet another tale of death. “Go on, then,” I whispered, shuffling closer.
His warm breath tickled my neck. My heart bursting with love for him, all I wanted to do was kiss away his demons. But I couldn’t.
“I led part of my father’s army south to Din Cadan to join Geraint. We rode together to Llongborth. I felt like a god, riding at the head of our combined armies, beside my cousin, as though I were a general, like him. He glittered in the sunlight. All I wanted was to be just like him.”
The stubble on his face felt like sandpaper under my fingers.
He swallowed. “We came to battle. My first. I’d learned all the tricks, the theory, ridden at the targets with my spear. But nothing could have compared to being in a real battle.” He paused. “I was terrified, but I loved it. Geraint stayed by my side, and I tried to copy everything he did. Glorious, brave, handsome. My horse fell, a spear in its chest, and I was trapped under its body. Geraint saw and leapt off his own horse to pull me out.” He paused. “Then Cerdic came.”
He fell silent, maybe conjuring that long ago day inside his head.
I waited, my hand against his cheek.
Arthur heaved in a steadying breath. “We were on foot. Cerdic did to Geraint what that Saxon did to Rhiwallon.” The words tumbled out in a hurry.
Oh God. No wonder he’d been so badly affected by the boy’s death. I leaned over and pressed my lips against his cheek, tasting the salt of tears.
