Knights of the Round Table 03 - Gawain Page 11

  “Please,” he whispered, “madam, don’t—not that—”

  “What, you do not want to bear my mark? Now I call that ungrateful.”

  As she passed the glowing brand before his face, Launfal found he did not have to feign the tears rising to his eyes. He shrank back against the two knights, knocking them off balance. “Don’t mark me,” he whispered. “Anything but that.”

  Morgause drew the iron back. “Anything? Well, I suppose we could geld you instead.”

  The terror was like ice. “No!” he cried, “mark me— please, madam, I—I would b-be honored to wear your brand, I will serve you m-most loyally, I swear it.” He straightened, shifting his weight forward as he lifted his head and shook the hair back from his face.

  “I say he should be gelded,” one of the knights said.

  “Wouldn’t be much of a loss, though, would it?” the other answered, and they both laughed.

  Their hands relaxed fractionally—not enough, but it was the best chance Launfal would have. He forced himself to remain perfectly still as the brand approached his face, but just as its tip seared his flesh, he lunged awkwardly forward and seized the burning end one-handed, twisting it from Morgause’s grasp. Still on his knees, he flipped it and swung blindly behind him. The knight on his left fell back with a shout.

  Launfal wrenched himself to his feet, bringing the iron around with all his strength. It struck the second knight full in the face and he went down like a stone. The first knight staggered to his feet and drew his sword. Before it had cleared the scabbard, Launfal felled him with a single blow. Morgause picked up her skirts and ran for the door, but he was there before her, the smoking iron at her throat.

  He gestured toward the chair. “Sit.”

  His cheek hurt, but it was his hand that was the trouble, for it was seared to the bone. The pain and the stench of charred flesh made him want to vomit.

  “Give me your scarf,” he ordered harshly, and awkwardly, juggling the iron and setting his teeth against the pain of his seared palm, he bound her wrists to the arms of the chair. She attempted to rise once and he stepped back, the iron raised.

  It would be so much simpler to kill her. More practical, as well. No matter how well he bound her, she would soon be free to raise the alarm. But the truth was that he wanted to kill her. He had wanted to for a very long time and he would never have another chance.

  She looked into his eyes and sagged back in a faint that he doubted was genuine. Even if it was, what difference did it make? He could kill her just as easily unconscious.

  The iron trembled in his grasp as he lifted it, then with a curse he let it fall and bent to jerk the knots tight about her wrists.

  He bound both knights and relieved them of their weapons. The daggers he tucked into his belt; one sword he flung from the window, and the other he kept in his hand as he made for the door. It had been a long time since he’d held a sword. He had forgotten how good it felt. How right.

  Enjoy it while you can, he thought, for you won’t have it long. But at least he would go down fighting, not whipped and starved like an animal. He eased out the door, checking the passageway in both directions before heading for the back stairway.

  He clattered down the twisting stairs at a dead run, halting with a gasp when he rounded a corner and found himself face-to-face with a young man who gave a startled cry, the book he had been holding falling from his hand.

  “Launfal!” Prince Gaheris said, half laughing. “You gave me a start! Where are you—”

  He fell silent, his eyes widening as they moved from the sword in Launfal’s hand to his face.

  Of the three princes still in Lothian, Launfal had always liked Gaheris best; in part because he was Morgause’s least favorite of her brood, but also for himself. In another life, he’d sometimes thought, they might have been friends.

  “What have you done?” Gaheris whispered. “Did you— is she—”

  “Alive. Unharmed,” Launfal said harshly.

  He froze, looking toward the upper corridor, where the sounds of raised voices and running feet could be heard. He would not be taken here, trapped like a beast in its lair. His one remaining goal was to make it to the courtyard, where he would sell his life as dearly as he could.

  “Move,” he ordered Gaheris, raising the sword’s point to his chest. “Now.”

  Gaheris’s gaze snapped back to him. “Come with me,” he ordered and plunged through a curtained doorway leading to a storeroom. “Hurry,” he hissed over his shoulder.

  Launfal hesitated for the space of a heartbeat before he followed.

  Chapter 12

  MORGANA found Gawain in the hall, sitting with a knight who rose as she approached, bowed to her, and hurried off.

  “What ails your friend?” she asked, sitting down beside Gawain.

  “He thinks you’ll turn him into a tree if he offends you.”

  Morgana gazed after the retreating knight with interest. “Is he so offensive?”

  Gawain shrugged. “Dinadan has never learned to guard his tongue. When he sees a jest, he cannot help but share it.”

  “How unfortunate for him. But tell him he needn’t run next time. I have never yet turned any man into a tree—or anything else, for that matter.”

  After today, she could not say the same of women, but she felt no need to share that information with Gawain.

  What Morgana had told Aislyn was true: she was extremely fond of her eldest nephew. What she had not said was that Gawain often annoyed her greatly, or that they had quarreled the last time they met. But now, looking at him, she felt only pride in how well he was bearing up under his disastrous marriage and could not recall why they had argued.

  “Welladay,” she said, gently chiding. “I turn my back, and now look at the trouble you’ve gotten yourself into!”

  He smiled, albeit a trifle wryly, more in acknowledgment of her tone than of her words. Morgana was not so much older than he was himself, but had always taken her status as aunt very seriously.

  “I wed. It happens. And it might as well be Dame Ragnelle as anyone.”

  “Does your mother know of this?”

  He shrugged. “I suppose she’ll hear sooner or later.”

  “And then she’ll come to meet your bride for herself.”

  Of course by then, this whole charade would be finished. Despite what she’d said to Aislyn, Morgana had no intention of leaving her as a crone forevermore. She had meant to give the girl a fortnight or so in which to attempt the impossible, just time enough for Aislyn to repent the folly of her actions. Now she wondered if it was fair to make Gawain suffer even for that long.

  “Mother won’t come. I don’t want her here and she knows it.”

  “And you think that is enough to keep her away?” Morgana laughed.

  “It has served so far. Now tell me what has kept you away for so long. Where have you been?”

  “Here and there,” she said.

  He frowned. “It isn’t right for you to be traveling about the countryside on your own. It isn’t safe.”

  “I can look after myself. And I have work to do.”

  “Work!” he said, dismissing all her years of study and labor with a wave of his hand. “You should marry.”

  Now she remembered why they had quarreled.

  Angry as she was, she felt the old puzzled sorrow rise in her when she gazed upon her nephew. Much of Morgana’s childhood had been lost amid the turbulent romance between her mother and Uther Pendragon, but once Gawain was born, she had reclaimed at least a part of it. As a child, he had been her shadow, and they had spent many a day wandering the wood or lying in the meadow practicing birdcalls and watching clouds drift by.

  Then Morgana had entered fully into her own studies, but she had followed his adventures with no small measure of pride. The Great Mother of them all was watching over him, she knew; testing him, training him, presenting him with the very lessons he had chosen to learn during this life. Whatever might bef
all Gawain, his spirit never shrank from it, but rose to meet each new challenge. Even when he had gone to meet the Green Knight and it seemed certain he would not return, he had laughed at those who would have sent him off with tears.

  But some years ago, Gawain had undergone a strange and puzzling change, and her attempts to win his confidence were fruitless. He no longer looked to her for wisdom or valued her advice, nor was it only she he turned from. Ragnelle spoke truly on that score; Gawain was notorious for his contempt for all things feminine. And despite all Morgana’s prayers on his behalf, the Goddess seemed to have turned her face from him, as well.

  “Do I hear aright?” she said, half laughing. “Are you giving me advice on marriage?”

  “Why not?”

  “Tell me, Gawain, have you lain with that . . . woman you have wed?”

  “What goes on between us is no business of yours or anyone’s. It is an honorable union.”

  “It is a denial of life,” she said flatly.

  He snorted. “And here I thought your Goddess is in all women!”

  Morgana stared at him. “What did you say?”

  He did not deign to repeat himself, but it did not matter. She had heard him well enough. And he had spoken a simple truth that took her breath away.

  The Goddess was all women—maiden, mother, crone. Gawain could not see Her face in his mother, and that was no surprise, given what Morgause was. His obstinate refusal to take a maiden to wife was proof enough that he was blind and deaf to Her in that form, as well.

  And that left only the crone.

  A slow chill wound down Morgana’s spine. She had thought she did her own will when she enspelled Ragnelle, but now she realized she had been prompted by the Goddess. She knew not what would come of her actions, but that was not in her hands. She had done what she was meant to do.

  “Come, Gawain, let me kiss you before I go.”

  “Go? But you’ve just arrived!”

  “I needed to speak with the king, and now I must away. But I will see you again at Midsummer,” she said, rising to her feet and setting her lips to his brow. “You know I wish you nothing but good fortune.”

  He smiled, then, with something of his old affection. “And I you. Take care, Morgana.”

  “I always do.” She looked at him a moment, then said, “Your lady—no, don’t frown, I will say no more against your marriage, for it is done. But Dame Ragnelle fancies herself something of a witch, I fear. Do you take her bag from her and lock it in your trunk. It is dangerous for her to be meddling with magic.”

  Gawain nodded. “I shall.”

  She turned to go, then halted and looked back, feeling there was something yet undone. Her lips and fingertips tingled, and she spoke before she had any idea what she meant to say. “If you would know happiness, you have only to give your lady that which all women desire.”

  He looked up from his porridge, brows raised. “Not that silly riddle again! Go on, then, tell me what it is all women desire.”

  “I cannot tell you. You must discover it yourself.”

  He waved a hand. “I’ve already wasted a full year searching for that answer, and in the end, Dame Ragnelle did not deem me worthy to hear it. So I am afraid I cannot oblige her even if I would.”

  “Mark me well, Gawain,” Morgana said, and heard the echo of another voice that spoke through her. “This is more important than you can imagine.”

  “If it’s so damn important, she should have asked me plainly. I have no time for games and no patience for them, either.”

  “This is no game, but a task given to you to accomplish.”

  Something in her tone must have reached him, for he sighed. “Very well, Morgana. If I ever do stumble across the answer—which seems unlikely—I will consider the matter then.”

  Chapter 13

  BY the time Aislyn reached the hall, it was deserted. She hobbled stiffly through the courtyard to the gardens, where the queen and her ladies sat sewing.

  “Ah, Dame Ragnelle,” Guinevere said. “What can I do for you this morning?”

  “I was looking for the duchess of Cornwall.”

  “She has already left us,” Guinevere said.

  “Where did she go?”

  “I cannot say.” Guinevere looked past Aislyn, her face brightening. “Perhaps my lord can tell you.”

  Aislyn turned to see Arthur walk into the garden with half a dozen of his knights. Gawain was among them. Aislyn’s breath caught when she saw him; warmth suffused her face as she remembered him last night, shaking with passion in her arms.

  His gaze passed over her, pausing only briefly to acknowledge her existence before moving on. She felt oddly bereft, but he could hardly be expected to connect her bent and withered form with the woman who had curled against him, her head pillowed on his shoulder as he whispered love words into her hair, and— Stop. It wasn’t real, he didn’t know . . . oh, holy Mother, what have I done? What am I to do now?

  “My lady,” the king said, bowing to Guinevere. “I must away to Kent.”

  “Oh, but the tournament—!” Guinevere began.

  “I know, and I am sorry, but there is no help for it. I must take counsel of King Aesc at once. Sir Gawain alone will accompany me, and we shall try to return before the end.”

  “Is the duchess of Cornwall gone?” Aislyn said to Gawain as he approached.

  “Yes, she could not stay. What did she say to you before?”

  “Not much,” Aislyn lied. “Do you know where she was bound?”

  “Morgana goes where she will. But she will be back for the feast at Midsummer.”

  Midsummer? Oh, no, that was far too long to remain as she was!

  “Gawain,” she said. “About the duchess of Cornwall. She—she—” Aislyn’s throat closed like a snare, trapping the words she meant to speak.

  “Yes?” Gawain said, glancing over toward the king.

  “I am—I was—” Damn Morgana! Whatever she had done, it was working all too well.

  Gawain drew on his gloves. “My aunt advised me to take your bag from you,” he said, “and I have done so.”

  “My bag? But I need that!”

  “For what?”

  “I—I—my old bones ache sometimes,” she said, “and all my remedies are in there.”

  “You can get anything you need from Lady Enid,” Gawain said.

  Not devil’s trumpet, Aislyn thought, sown at the dark of the moon and harvested on Midsummer’s Eve. Nor her pierced wolf ’s tooth or the water she had gathered on the first day of May at the very moment the sun fell upon the black lake, bearing it back home beneath the golden bridge without speaking a word to anyone.

  But she could hardly tell Gawain that.

  “I want my own remedies!” was the best she could manage.

  “I am sorry, but my decision is final.”

  She glared at him, then remembering Morgana’s words, assumed a meek expression. “Whatever pleases you, husband.”