Page 25 of The Road to Avalon
Time and the life she must lead here at Din Tagel had eroded the beauty of the woman I’d first met when I was expecting Amhar. Her thick white hair had thinned, but still hung in a neat braid down her back, and her skin had sunken inward, clinging to the bones of her face and making a skull of her features. Her pale blue gown, which must have been made for her before the flesh had fallen from her bones, hung loose about her frame.
“Cei.” Her voice had lost none of its strength, though. “Arthur.” Her age-thinned lips pulled back in a smile. At least she still had all her teeth. The ones I could see, at any rate.
Cei stepped forward and took her hands in his. “Mother.” He kissed her on either sunken cheek then put his arms around her, hugging her to him. She almost disappeared inside his embrace.
Arthur glanced at me, and I gave him an encouraging nod. He stepped forward.
Cei released his mother and she turned to her younger son, those faded blue eyes wary.
“Mother,” Arthur said, bending to kiss her cheeks. He didn’t hug her like his more impetuous brother. Had he ever? I wanted to tell him to put all his lingering resentment behind him and take her in his arms. That she was the only mother he’d ever have, and he couldn’t know how long she had left. That this might be the last opportunity he had to do this. That I wished I’d been more aware of my own mother’s impending death. I didn’t.
Eigr turned to me. “Guinevere.”
My turn to pay my respects. The skin of her cheeks was dry and papery under my lips, the scent of lavender on her gown and in her hair strong. “My Lady Eigr.”
Her gaze travelled past me as I took a step back. “And who is this?” she asked, eyes fixed on Archfedd as my daughter made an elegant bow. I’d taught her to curtsey, something no one else was likely to be doing for another thousand years, but she couldn’t do that when dressed in boys’ clothes.
“My daughter,” Arthur said. “Princess Archfedd.”
What was that look Eigr gave her, so knowing and crafty? A little shiver of apprehension tickled the hairs on my body upright. Did Eigr know something I didn’t?
Chapter Twelve
No way wouldI allow Arthur to usurp his mother’s chamber, with her so frail and old. Her seneschal, a practically bald old man of much the same vintage as his mistress, managed to produce perfectly adequate accommodation for us in some of the houses nearest the hall. However, Eigr took a strong fancy to Archfedd. “My granddaughter will have a bed in my chamber,” she declared, her voice autocratic and a touch querulous. That of an old woman unused to being crossed. “I wish to become better acquainted with the child.”
Despite my misgivings, on the spur of the moment I couldn’t think of a way to deny Eigr this. I had to let Archfedd follow the old lady into her chamber. Our daughter cast an imploring, nervous glance over her shoulder as she went, but all I could do was give her an encouraging smile, even though I couldn’t think of a single good thing that might come of this. I didn’t trust Eigr one bit.
“Dinner,” the wispy-haired seneschal informed us, “will be served in one hour, Milord.” With an unsteady, wrinkled hand, he turned over the hourglass timer on the table in our room to set it ticking off the minutes and reversed out of the room, bowing as he went.
A timid girl had brought a bowl of water to wash in, but testing the temperature with my hand proved it to be tepid, at best.
“Water’s nearly cold,” I told Arthur, who’d lain back on our bed with his hands behind his head and was watching me out of speculative eyes. I could guess what he was thinking. Men. Did they ever think of anything else? Probably not.
He grinned. “Best to hurry, then, before it gets any colder.”
Ignoring his suggestively raised eyebrows, I stripped down to my undershirt. Under his close scrutiny, I made the most of the water then daubed on some of the perfume he’d obtained for me via this very port. Visiting his mother seemed to merit its use.
I unfastened my hair tie and loosened my hair, sending it cascading down my back in a heavy veil of chestnut. Where was my comb?
Arthur pushed himself upright. “Come and sit here, and I’ll do your hair for you.” He had my comb in his hand.
I sat on the bed beside him and for a few minutes let him comb my hair, enjoying a sensation I’d loved since childhood and that still reminded me of my long dead mother. However, Arthur’s version of hair combing involved a fair bit of him running his fingers through it as well, and those fingers were wont to stray elsewhere. “Is that a gray hair I see before me?” he asked at last, with a chuckle.
“What?” I pulled as much of my hair as I could round to get a look, and he burst out laughing.
“Fooled you. Not a gray hair on your head. Yet…”
I gave him a playful slap. “Let me look atyourhair then. Hmmm. I swear I see a hint of gray appearing in your beard.”
He dropped my comb and rubbed his stubbly chin. “Damn it. I’ll have to shave more often.”
I pulled his hands down and leaned in for a kiss. “Don’t worry. I’ll still love you when you’re old and gray, and as a matter of fact, I think a few gray hairs on a man make him look distinguished.” I resolutely pushed away the nagging thought that he might never get to be old and gray.
For a moment we were preoccupied as the kiss deepened and I felt that familiar stirring of desire. Did we have time before dinner? As we parted, we both glanced toward the hourglass and then chuckled in unison.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked, a wicked glint in his eye.
Desire growing, I nodded. “Most likely.” My hands went to his belt. “Let’s get you out of these clothes.”
