Page 15 of The Quest for Excalibur
Llacheu was staring in open-mouthed fascination at Hafren, lust reeking from every over-sexed teenage pore.
If it had just been him she seemed intent on flirting with, I’d have ignored it, but here she was, posturing provocatively at my husband.
Arthur smiled at her, as susceptible as the next man to a pretty face and come-hither eyes. “You’re most welcome. We value good entertainers here. I trust my people have made you feel welcome.”
Hafren sidled closer, hands on hips, thrusting those breasts invitingly in Arthur’s direction. If she breathed any deeper, they’d be popping out, which would probably be too much for Llacheu, who was fidgeting restlessly as though his braccae had suddenly become uncomfortable. Men.
I itched to give her a shove and force her back two steps. No, make that half a dozen, or maybe hard enough so she fell on her arse in the mud. Only then she’d be displaying her knickerless state. She’d edged far too close to Arthur, gazing up at him out of her doe eyes, her breasts rising and falling tantalizingly. Pert breasts that had never had to feed a baby.
“They have indeed made us welcome,” she purred up at him, inching even closer and turning her shoulder toward me. “I did not know how warm a welcome the King o’ Dumnonia would give us. If’n I’d’a known, I’d have aksed Ruan to come here all the sooner.” Flutter, flutter went those eyelids.
Ruan, standing behind her, cap in hand, fidgeted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and clenching and unclenching his hands on the cap. “We did come as fast as we could,” he mumbled, his speaking voice degenerating even further from the one he used for reciting his tales. “Snow did hold us up sore bad in Caer Gloui.”
Hafren shot him a sharp frown from suddenly hostile eyes, and he fell silent. With a coy smile, she stretched out a hand as if to touch my husband’s tunic front, her poise recovered, and the flare of anger hidden.
I clenched my fists, aware that a queen should ignore such insults but wishing with every fiber of my body to be able to punch her on the nose and rearrange that pretty face a bit for her. Maybe with a log.
Archfedd saved me the embarrassment that would have caused. She stepped between Hafren and Arthur and tugged her father’s sleeve, staring up at him with a determined frown on her small face. “Papa. I thought you were comin’ to help me an’ Reaghan catch our ponies?”
Hafren stepped back, a knowing little smile on her face, as Arthur, with an almost imperceptible shake of his head as though to free himself from her influence, made her a slight bow and bent to our daughter. “Just so. Excuse me, duty calls.” And he turned away.
Everyone else did too, leaving Hafren standing in the mud, watching Arthur’s straight back as he walked off with the girls. I moved toward the stable entrance, as Alezan, my horse, was already in there, but I paused before going inside, my gaze on Hafren as she watched my husband. Was that raw hunger in her eyes, or maybe something else?
“You don’t trust her, do you?”
I glanced around. Merlin had come to stand beside me, also watching Hafren.
“Not one bit,” I spat, through gritted teeth. “She’s got a cheek. Standing there flirting with Arthur right under my nose.”
Merlin nodded. “That’s not quite why I don’t trust her.”
I focused on him instead of her. “What d’you mean?”
He pursed his lips. “Didn’t you listen to what she said? What she called Arthur?”
I frowned, struggling to remember. I’d been a bit too busy looking daggers at her and controlling my urge to sock her one.
Merlin leaned closer and lowered his voice. “She called him King of Dumnonia.”
It took a minute for the significance of that to sink in. “Not the High King?”
He nodded. “Why would she do that? Everyone knows he’s High King. Even if she didn’t when she arrived here, which is unlikely, she’d have found it out soon enough. And yet, she seeks to flatter but doesn’t use his proper title.”
“I don’t understand.”
He glanced her way again, but she’d hitched her skirts up to show off her white thighs, to the delight of the watching men, and was climbing into the back of Ruan’s wagon. “Who doesn’t see Arthur as High King? Who wouldn’t want to give him that title? Think.”
Of course. My husband had more than a few enemies who resented him holding the High Kingship at such an early age. I nodded. “Cadwy. Caw of Alt Clut. Morgana, maybe. Someone who doesn’t like him. Hates him, maybe, for having that title and the power that goes with it. Someone who refuses to acknowledge him as High King.” I paused. “Somehow I don’t think it would be Cadwy though– he and Arthur shook on their agreement.”
Merlin shrugged. “And yet Cadwy is arming men. The boy Llawfrodedd told us this. And we still don’t know why.”
“That doesn’t mean he intends to break the agreement. He might be arming against the threat of more Irish raids. Why would he even want to go against Arthur? It would be foolish of him to cause internal strife when our enemies surround us.”
“You’d think.” Merlin rubbed a hand across his stubbly jaw. “Men, and kings in particular, don’t always have the wisest judgement.”
I glanced again at the wagon, but no sign remained of its inhabitants. “But what could that girl have to do with any of my husband’s enemies? A traveling dancer, and probably a woman of loose morals at that. What could she or her companions have to do with Arthur’s enemies? She’s unimportant. Poor.”
Medraut and Amhar came toward us, leading their muddy ponies in from the paddocks and laughing together.
