Page 26 of The Quest for Excalibur
Kicking out, I fought my way forward, determined not to give in, no matter how much easier it might have been to just sink back into that other world.
The light ahead flickered brighter, calling to me, drawing me on, while dark shadowy things with no shape nor form swirled about me, whispering in my ears.“Arthur doesn’t want you any longer.” “You belong with Nathan.” “Let go.” “Stay with us.”
No! I refused to give in to them.
The light ahead brightened and grew, blossoming like the shimmering sun viewed from deep underwater. One more kick would free me, take me home.
“He doesn’t want you. He doesn’t want you. He has Hafren. She’s younger than you and more beautiful.” A hissing voice echoed inside my head, coiling its way into my mind like a canker to smother common sense.
My legs ceased to kick, and the light began to recede.
Doubt seeded itself in my brain and in my heart. What if this were true? What if my dream was real? What if he did want a younger woman?
“Give up. Go back. Back to where you belong. This isn’t your world.” A hissing woman’s voice. A voice I knew.
Morgana.
No! I kicked out with my legs, arms outstretched, the ring on my finger leaving a trail like a sparkler on bonfire night, and the hissing voice rose in a wordless scream. I tumbled forward, down and down and down.
I landed on my back with a jolt, and my eyes flew open. I was no longer in the tower on the Tor.
“Gwen?” A gentle, anxious voice. A voice I knew and loved. A man’s. Not the policeman. Not Nathan.
The brilliant light had been replaced by the soft glow of candlelight, and the tangy scent of woodsmoke tickled my nostrils. I blinked, and the world came into focus. Arthur’s face hovered over mine, handsome, unshaven, haggard, but beautiful. Loved.
I burst into tears.
His hand touched my face, warm and alive… and real. I cried harder. Tears of relief, of love, of thankfulness cascaded down my cheeks as his rough thumb caressed my skin.
“Don’t cry,” he whispered. “Don’t cry. You’re all right. Thank God.” He bent closer and kissed my forehead. “Thank all the gods.” The side of the bed sagged. He must be sitting on the edge.
My gaze focused on his dark eyes, flecked with gold, that I’d feared I’d never see again. Tears sparkled on his thick lashes.
He swiped his free hand across his face, wiping away the tears and cleared his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.
We had only a moment to stare into one another’s eyes before Coventina’s face appeared behind Arthur’s, smiling through tears of her own. “Let me dry your eyes,” she said, her voice low and gentle, a voice for the sickroom. “No need to cry. We’ve all been doing enough of that.”
She dabbed my eyes with a soft cloth, her hands shaking a little, and stepped back.
I couldn’t take my eyes off Arthur. How close had I come to losing him? And how had this happened to me? With an immense effort, I tried to lift arms that felt too heavy to raise. “Arthur.” The words came out croaky and rough.
He gathered me up, holding me close against his body in a warm embrace, his bristly cheek against mine. “My love.”
With an enormous effort, I put my leaden arms around him and hung on as though I never wanted to let him go. Which I didn’t. My fingers crooked in the linen of his undershirt, hanging on like cats’ claws. I breathed him in, the smell of horses, woodsmoke, sweat, all perfume in my nostrils. And he held me back just as tightly, pressing my body against his, so close I felt his pounding heart had cleaved to mine.
How long we clung to each other like that, I had no idea. But at last, Coventina coughed discreetly. “I think Gwen should rest.”
Very tenderly, Arthur loosened his hold and laid me down on the pillows. Not moving from his perch on the edge of our bed, he covered my hands with his, and held on. Perhaps he, too, had feared us parted forever.
I heaved a sigh of relief that hurt my ribs, and winced. His hold on my hands tightened. He glanced at Coventina. “Poppy syrup?”
“No,” I whispered, terror washing over me at the thought of sleep, and the dreaming that might bring. “I’m fine. It’s just a twinge.” I shifted a little in an effort to get more comfortable, wishing for the painkillers they’d given me in the hospital. “I need a drink.” Still croaky. “What happened?”
Coventina proffered a horn beaker, and Arthur supported me while I sipped the water. I still had the tender lump on the back of my head, so probably the cut on my forehead as well. If Bedwyr hadn’t stitched it neatly, I’d end up looking like Harry Potter.
He lowered my head to the pillow again, and Coventina stepped back, her attitude all broody hen.
“Your girth broke,” Arthur said, his brow furrowing as his grip on my hands tightened. “At a gallop. You fell.” His voice faltered. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t catch you in time.” It cracked. “I–I thought you were dead. That I’d lost you.”
