Page 62 of The Quest for Excalibur
Once packed, I stowed my bags in a corner where Arthur wouldn’t see them. That done, I divested myself of the light, linen day-tunic I wore in summer, washed myself all over in the basin of water Maia had left, and brushed my teeth with the delicious combination of powdered charcoal and mint leaves. That took a bit of spitting out, as usual. However, as in the last twelve years I hadn’t had the slightest problem with my teeth, it must have been working. That, and the lack of sweet things on the menu.
Outside, the sun had set, and the glorious red sky that foretold another fine day to come, had faded to darkness by the time I slid between the covers of our bed, determined to stay awake until Arthur joined me. I settled myself against the pillows, wishing I had a book to read. Zero chance of that. Hopefully the strung-out state of my nerves would keep me from nodding off.
Time moved at a snail’s pace.
I’d left a single clay lamp burning, but as the minutes ticked past, the lengthening shadows in my chamber crept toward it, threatening to snuff it out. Or was that my eyelids drooping? I shook myself awake, listening out for sounds in the Hall that would tell me he’d returned.
Nothing.
My eyelids drooped again. I fought them, but down they fell, like a heavy curtain. I yawned, slipping lower in the bed, head nodding.
Chapter Thirty
Ijerked awake.The clay oil lamp had gone out, sweat prickled on my skin, and the air felt hot and heavy despite the lateness in the year. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, and I strained my eyes to see, blindfolded by the cloying darkness.
A clunk. The door from the hall opened, creaking on hinges in need of oiling. Arthur padded in carrying a single tallow candle, his hand sheltering its flickering flame. The golden light threw his face into planes of light and dark, catching his eyes and making them glitter like gold.
“Arthur.” The word came out on a breathy gasp from the sudden awakening.
He stopped. “Sorry. I was trying not to wake you.” He kept his voice low as though afraid he might disturb someone else.
“You didn’t. I had a bad dream.” I kept my voice to a whisper, complicit in his effort to be silent.
He came to the bed and set the candle down on his clothes chest. “A nightmare?”
Too late, I remembered how prone everyone here was to reading too much into any kind of dream, especially before a military campaign. “Not that sort,” I whispered, unable to prevent the shiver that shook my body, the sweat turning to ice on my skin. “Don’t worry. I didn’t see you lying dead anywhere. You’ve years yet to live.”
I managed a small laugh, in an effort to reassure, conscious of the fact that one day he’d be riding off to battle and I would be just as certain of the opposite. Because then it would be to Camlann he’d be riding. And who was I to say how many years off that might be? Medraut was already well on his way to becoming a warrior. Time concertinaed itself inside my head and my hands gripped the covers so hard my knuckles must have whitened.
He sat on the edge of the bed beside me and put up a gentle hand to brush away a strand of hair that had escaped my braid. “Don’tyouworry, either. I don’t believe in omens. You know me better than that.”
Not strictly true. But if he wanted to believe that, who was I to argue? I sighed. “I tried to stay awake but failed. I think that’s why I was dreaming. You know how restless sleep is when you often have the most vivid dreams.”
He put his arms around me and drew me close. “You’re chilled. The nights are drawing in. Maia should start putting a hot stone in your bed in the evening.” His hands ran over my back. “Let me chase that bad dream away for you.” His breath, smelling slightly of wine, warmed my skin.
I snuggled closer. “I want to come with you.”
He froze.
I ran a hand down his spine under the soft wool of his tunic. “You need me.”
One hand cupped the back of my head, his fingers in my hair. “You think?”
My face was against his throat, so I kissed his stubbly skin. Slightly salty with sweat. “I know it.”
Very gently he extricated himself from my embrace, holding me at arm’s length. The candlelight flickered over his face. “Is there something you know about this?”
I stared into his dark eyes, where the candlelight picked out the gold flecks and made them glow. I’d once told him that a huge battle at a place called Badon lay ahead of him. Did I really think this was it, coming now? My bones, and something else I didn’t understand, but felt certain I had to listen to, told me it was.
Had some hand of fate put me here in the fifth century for this reason? To direct him to Badon? The battle whose fame would resonate down the centuries– well known fifteen hundred years after it was fought. That something other than chance had brought me back to the Dark Ages and into Arthur’s life, I knew for certain. Magic. And not just Merlin’s magic.
Twelve years ago, Merlin had kidnapped me from my own time to fulfill an ancient prophecy– that a woman bearing the dragon ring would help Arthur to save Britain and become the most famous king of all time. Was he about to ride out to meet that prophecy head on? Every cell in my frightened body screamed that he was.
His eyes bored into mine, and I drowned in their depths. This was the man I loved above all else, the man for whom I’d given up my life in the comfortable twenty-first century and the boyfriend I’d thought I’d spend the rest of my life with. The man I feared would die at Camlann. The man I feared would be taken from me by cruel fate.
Year by year, I’d been counting my way through his battles, the twelve the ninth-century monk Nennius had listed, interspersed with others, unknown to any chronicler, and now we seemed to have come at last to the final one on that shadowy monk’s list.
And after that lay only Camlann, with all that entailed.
