Page 43 of The Bear's Heart
A feeling of uneasiness began to dawn. After all, I’d been a teenage girl myself not too long ago. “Where’ve you been?” My voice came out heavy with suspicion.
“The stable courtyard. But don’t tell anyone. Father would disapprove. But he can’t stop me because he’s always praying. He has no idea what I do. You’d think he wouldn’t care about me riding properly for once.” Even thoughts of her father’s disapproval couldn’t shake the smile from her eyes.
It was obvious she hadn’t been admiring the horses. Only one thing could make a girl glow that much. A boy.
This could only mean trouble. She was a princess betrothed to another king. A boy from the stable courtyard would not be a good match.
“Who is he?” I asked.
Her eyes widened in surprise. “How did you know?” She gulped. “Is it obvious? Will other people know?” For a moment fear flashed across her guileless face.
I let out a sigh and raised my eyebrows. I could do without sorting the love life of an impressionable princess when all I wanted to do was worry about my own husband. But at least it would give me something else to think about. “I’m a woman. Of course I know. It’s written all over your face.”
She blushed hotly. “You won’t tell, will you?”
I let myself smile. “No, I won’t. But you have to tell me who it is. You’re a princess and you have to mind what you do.”
She buried her face in her hands. “I can’t tell you. I’m too embarrassed.” Her voice was muffled, but full of laughter. If hers hadn’t been such a precarious existence, I would have been happy for her. But she was the daughter of a volatile and eccentric old man who was putting far too much trust in an uncertain God I wasn’t convinced even existed.
“I won’t look at you. Then you can tell me.” I turned my head away and looked out at the straggly garden where a few doves strutted between the weeds.
“Drustans,” she whispered and gave a giggle.
Drustans. I don’t know why, but the penny didn’t drop until that very moment. Her name– Essylt. His name– Drustans. The legendary star-crossed lovers, Tristan and Yseult. And swiftly on the heels of that realization came another– the identity of the king she must be betrothed to. Drustans’ father– March of Caer Dore. I didn’t know an awful lot about the romance of Tristan and Yseult, but I knew Yseult married King Mark, while in love with Tristan, his son or nephew according to which story or legend you chose to believe. A cold hand clamped over my heart, pushing my fears for Arthur out of my head for the moment.
“No,” I said, before I thought about it. “You can’t.”
She bridled, as any teenage girl would on being told that the boy she’d chosen was forbidden. “Why not?” She was bordering on angry. “He’s a prince, so there can be no problem with his rank. I’m not silly enough to fall in love with a stable boy!”
I swallowed. “The man you’re betrothed to…”
She interrupted. “Oh, pooh to him. He’s an old man, and he’s far away. I can persuade my father to annul that and let me marry Drustans. He’ll be a king one day himself. It’s a perfect match. And…” She paused, a faraway look in her eyes. “He’s so handsome. And not much older than me. I’m sure my father would rather see me wed to a boy my own age than some old man.”
I wasn’t so sure about that.
“The man you’re betrothed to…” I tried again, putting my finger to her lips when she tried to interrupt, “…is Drustans’ father, I think. March of Caer Dore.”
She opened her mouth to speak, paused, and then shut it again. The happiness drained out of her eyes.
I soldiered on. “And I doubt very much, having met him, that he’ll back out of his betrothal to you in favor of his son. We know what your father is like. He wouldn’t let you learn to ride astride; he’s never going to let you break off a betrothal.”
Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes.
I took her hands in mine and held them tight. “I think you have to give up seeing Drustans. It’s his father you’re going to have to marry.”
I hated myself for saying this to her. She was a teenager in love, a teenager betrothed to an old man she’d never met, and there was nothing either of us could do about it. I wished Arthur were here. Perhaps he could have persuaded Manogan to allow his daughter to marry whom she wanted in payment for his services against the Saxons. But wouldn’t the old king see that as unwarranted meddling in his private affairs?
Her lower lip trembled. “I won’t.” Her voice quavered. “They can’t make me. I won’t marry him. It’s Drustans I love.” She raised her eyes to mine, in pleading. “Arthur is the Dux Britanniarum. You can ask him to intervene for me when he returns. Drustans is one of his warriors. Surely he’ll want to help him?” She’d had the exact same thoughts as me, but with more hope involved.
I didn’t know what to say. Where I came from it would have been an easy matter to sort out, but Arthur was a man of his time who would see the initial betrothal as binding. I really didn’t think he would want to help a princess against her father. If he ever got back, that was.
Chapter Seventeen
Two days later,word came of a battle far to the north of Linnuis, toward the River Humber. A single messenger arrived with the briefest of summaries of how the battle had been won beside a tributary called the Dubglas. Of course. Arthur’s next battles after the River Glein had been on the River Dubglas– or Blackwater. It seemed as though that obscure monk Nennius, who no one was certain had even existed, had been right all along about at least some of the battles.
The message didn’t bring news of any major casualties, so I could nurse the hope that Arthur was still in good health when the messenger had left the army. But there was no sign of any of them returning yet.
Through a storm of angry tears, Essylt had confirmed to me that her betrothed was indeed March of Caer Dore, and I’d given her a shoulder to cry on. But my worries for Arthur and my daily rides around the city with Merlin distracted me, and I foolishly allowed my concern for her to drop from the forefront of my mind.
