Page 70 of Warrior Queen
He was staring down at his hands, clasped about the stem of his goblet. “I’m guilty of all their deaths. I’m their leader. I lead them into battles they wouldn’t be involved in if it weren’t for me.”
I slid my hands down his arms toward his wrists, pressing my body against his back in an attempt to gain as much physical contact as I could, something telling me that was what he needed. “You defend this island, Arthur. You’re the only thing standing between all of us and the pagan Yellow Hairs.”
I could feel the rise and fall of his ribs as he breathed. I breathed with him, our bodies synchronized. “In my old world,” I began, my voice low and almost singsong, whispering in his ear. “Fifteen hundred years from now, the whole world knows your name. The other kings are forgotten, but your name lives on in glorious legend. You’re the most famous king Britain has ever had. You’ll hold back the Saxons with such great defeats that you’ll create a golden age that will never come again. You’re Britain’s savior.”
Yes, I was being economical with the truth, but this was what he needed to hear.
“People will write hundreds of books about you. Some speculating about who you were, some works of fiction with you as the hero. People will study you, write about you, make films about you…”
“Films?”
“Pictures that move.”
He shifted under me, turning his face to try to peer into mine. “This istrue?”
I nodded, loosening my hold on him a little. “And all your warriors will be remembered as heroes. Every one of them. The men who held back the Saxons and brought peace to Britain.”
He turned in his seat until he was facing me.
I took his face in my hands. “Everything you do leads to this.” I kissed his forehead. “Everything you do is right. No other king will ever equal you.”
I couldn’t tell him how I felt, how alien this all was to me. I couldn’t help destroy him and drive him deeper into self-disgust. No matter how I felt about how he’d treated Llacheu, about the deaths I’d seen, I had to keep him following the path that would lead to legend. It was my destiny.
He pulled me onto his lap, my legs straddling his, holding me against his chest with his head on my breasts. “None of this was your fault,” I whispered into his hair again. “The Battle of Ebrauc was on the list I’ve read. You had to fight it because history said you did. For me, this has already happened. I’m living the history I know, and I don’t think I could change it even if I tried. And nor can you.”
“And what happens next?” he asked, voice muffled against my breasts. “Where do we go from here?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.” My fingers tangled in his hair. “I just don’t know.” Should I tell him? It was in my power to and never had I longed to more. I licked my lips. “All I know is that there’s an even bigger battle than Ebrauc coming. And it’ll be the one that brings the peace. It’ll be at a place called Badon.”
There. I’d done it. What harm could it do?
He lifted his head, alert and awake in a moment. “Badon? Where is that? And when?” The drunken slur had vanished.
I shook my head. “No one from my old world knows the answer to either of those questions.”
His eyes had lost their hopeless look, washed away by the few words I’d spoken. Now they blazed with an excitement I’d not seen since before Ebrauc. “Why not?”
Staring into his eyes, I felt my heart give a leap of joy– and of desire. Too weighed down by sorrow, I’d not felt like that for a while. Now, with the old Arthur gazing back at me, I felt a stirring in my stomach that moved rapidly downwards. I had to deliberately gather my thoughts to answer him. “Because it was never written down. There’re no records at all of where it was, and only a few mentions that mostly can’t be verified.”
How difficult was it to concentrate on talking about battles, when a burning desire for his body had just kindled itself deep inside me?
He nodded. “So, if I can find it, I should bring the Saxons to battle there, confident of a victory.” Not a question– a statement. Had I just done to Badon what I’d once done to the sword in the stone story? Made it real because I knew its name? And if I had, was it such a bad thing?
He put a hand on my bare leg, sliding it upward under my long shirt. “The Ring Maiden has many talents.”
He was right. I did, and this might well be the medicine he needed. Without hesitation I lifted his shirt and ran my hands up his torso to his chest, then round to his back, digging my fingers into the muscles, pulling us closer together.
He gave a little groan of pleasure, and lifted his head to mine. I kissed him, tongues meeting, desire coursing through me like a fast-burning wildfire.
He tugged at my undershirt. “Can you get this off?”
Panting, I dragged it over my head, then leaned forward to lock my lips on his again. When we could drag our mouths apart, he tore his own shirt off and flung it to one side. His hot mouth explored my throat, descending to my breasts, as one hand groped blindly with the laces of his braccae.
We didn’t make it to the bed.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Islept latethe following morning, waking to sounds of activity and childish laughter in the Hall, and climbed groggily out of a bed empty of Arthur. My head ached as though it had been me who’d been drunk the night before. Pulling on my workaday dress over my undershirt and gathering it at the waist with a woven belt, I pushed open the door and stepped into the Hall.
