Page 70 of The Bear's Heart
That feeling of foreboding was strong. “Be careful. I have a bad feeling about today.” Which wasn’t like me at all. The fifth century must be rubbing off on me.
He retrieved his helmet from the clothes chest. “I make my own luck, Gwen. And so do you. Today is not the day of my death. I’ll not be back for a few days, so don’t worry yourself. Look after our son.”
And he was gone.
I was left sitting with Amhar in my arms and a hollow feeling in my stomach I couldn’t put a finger on. Unease. Distrust. Doubt. The hand of fate hovering.
The first day passed as normal. Amhar was a hungry baby and needed frequent feeds, and then rocking to sleep, so my time was taken up with him. Maia had proved a willing helper, having gained experience with all her younger siblings, and was always eager to give him a cuddle or have him fall asleep in her arms, which freed me to do what I wanted from time to time. And now it freed me to think.
That first day, when I knew Arthur would only be marching toward Dinas Brent, the feeling of foreboding loomed lightly.
It was the second day, when my mind imagined all sorts of scenarios on his arrival at Dinas Brent, that disquiet properly set in. Amhar somehow knew and spent the day crying incessantly, as though he, too, were worried for his absent father. I left him with Maia, whom he seemed to like as much as me, and went to stand on the fortress walls in the rising autumn wind, staring out toward the northwest where Dinas Brent lay.
On the third day, when I was standing wrapped in my long cloak on the walls once again, a fine drizzle falling from a leaden sky, Bretta came to me.
I didn’t see her coming, so intent was I on the rain-washed plain and my thoughts.
She broke in upon the silence, making me start. “No matter ’ow ’e avenges my brothers and sisters, it won’t bring ’em back.”
I swung around to stare at her.
Someone had given her a warm cloak. Cottia, most likely. “I cared for ’em all since my mother died. Fed ’em, clothed ’em, tended their bumped knees and their colds. All for nothing. They was taken from me in a single moment.” Her thin brows came together in a frown. “The king thinks what ’e does’ll make a difference. It won’t.”
What could I say to this? I licked my lips uncertainly. “I’m sorry.” The words sounded futile and inadequate. How could anyone apologize for the losses this girl had suffered?
“Yer words mean nothing–my lady.” She spat out my title in contempt.
How does one comfort someone when comfort isn’t what they want or can accept? It’s an impossible task, and I wasn’t up to it.
She looked out across the plain, where smoke curled up from the village and the scattered farms. “I was ’appy…once. My brothers and sisters ’ad a roof over their ’eads, no matter ’ow poor it were. We ’ad a fire most days in winter, and food more often than not. We managed.” Her loose hair blew across her face and she had to push it out of her eyes. “I can never be ’appy again. It…it’s like the reason for bein’ me ’as gone out o’ me life.”
I wanted to say something, anything, to make her understand that despite her loss, this wasn’t the end of the world. “One day you’ll feel better.” The words sounded crass as soon as they emerged. Just as when I’d spoken them to Ummidia.
She rounded on me, her pale grey eyes flashing in white hot anger. “Ye say that?” she spat. “’Ow would ye know? Marooned ’ere in your ’illtop palace? Ye’ll never go ’ungry. Ye’ll never wonder where the wood for a fire’s comin’ from when the frost bites ’ard. Ye’ll never sleep in one bed with yer brothers and sisters ’uddled close fer warmth. Ye’re a queen. Yer son’s a prince.” Her lip curled. “Ye thought ye’d interfere with my life. Ye thought ye’d make yerself feel noble by yer actions. Yet ye never thought to make certain yer orders was followed. It’s yer fault this ’appened to my family.” Madness burned in her eyes, madness and hatred. “I curse ye, Queen of Dumnonia, and I curse yer ’usband and yer son. Ye and yourn shall know the loss I feel.”
Fear swept over me like a tidal wave, a base, primal fear. I was no longer a twenty-first-century woman marooned in the past, I was all fifth-century queen and Bretta’s curse bit deep into my very soul. I turned from her, stumbling down the steps to the practice field, and ran, as fast as I could, back to the hall and Maia and my son, Bretta’s words echoing in my head.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Two more interminabledays passed before tidings came of Arthur. At last, late in the afternoon of the third day, three outriders trotted up the cobbled road to the gates, to tell us he was returning victorious from Dinas Brent. Merlin, who hadn’t ridden with him, brought the news to me where I was feeding Amhar in our chamber. I’d not left my son alone since Bretta had hurled her curse at me, too afraid that if I did, something would happen to him, despite telling myself over and over that words alone could have no power.
At the back of my mind lurked the constant nagging thought that this was an age when magic still existed, however sparsely scattered, and Bretta just might have invoked something with her venom. I hadn’t told Maia of my fears, but she must have noticed how I’d suddenly become inseparable from Amhar when before I’d been happy to leave the baby with her from time to time.
An hour after the outriders arrived, Arthur and his army rode through the gates and into the fortress. And with them they brought a prisoner. Melwas sat on a horse, hands bound in front of him, forehead and hair crusted with dried blood.
I stood in front of the great hall with Amhar in my arms, my anxious heart beating a rapid tattoo against my ribs as I waited to welcome my husband. Over the heads of the gathered crowd, Melwas’s long cruel face stared across at me, his black eyes boring into mine. The sight of Melwas within our walls brought back vividly the days I’d spent as his prisoner. If I’d thought about his fate at all, I’d imagined Arthur killing him in battle, not bringing him back here as a prisoner. A shiver of cold unease ran through me.
In front of the stables, Arthur swung down from his mount with a stiffness that spoke of weariness and a possible wound. Passing his reins to one of the waiting servants, he walked up the slope to greet me, limping a little as he came. He took me in his arms, pressing me against his mail shirt. “The children are avenged.” He planted a kiss on my lips. “And Melwas will stand trial for his misdeeds.”
I stiffened at his words, my eyes drawn to the dark figure being dragged unceremoniously down from his horse by two of our warriors. Regaining his feet, Melwas shook off their hands and tossed his head with an arrogance that belied his situation.
One of the warriors gave him a hard shove, forcing him forward until he came to a halt, scarcely twenty yards away, ignoring Arthur and looking me insolently in the eye. His thin-lipped mouth curved into a mocking smile. “How lovely to see you again, Gwen.” His voice cut across the murmur of the crowd that had gathered. “As beautiful as ever, and with a child, I see.”
I turned to Maia who was hovering a couple of paces behind me, and held out the baby to her. “Take him to my chamber and stay with him.” She took Amhar and hurried away obediently.
With a smirk Melwas went on, unashamed. “I hadn’t thought to see you again so soon. We should get together to remember old times. I’ve missed your company.” He threw a glance at Arthur. “I can’t say I feel the same way about your husband.”
A hiss of anger rose from those in the watching crowd who’d heard his words.
