The Beast of Caer Baddan (16 page)

As she ate, her eyes searched the room for weaknesses that she might rip or pull up to get out, but the whole tent seemed snug and sound, and she soon realized that if she was to get out it must be by the tent door. Yet she could not simply walk out with a slave collar around her neck. Surely the other servants would notice and stop her or call for the soldiers.

What am I to do?

A harsh voice in the outer room caught her ear.

“Owain!” it cried.

Owain did not look up from the box that he was searching through, for he knew by the voice that it was Britu and by his tone that his cousin was angry.

“Ie, Clansman,” Owain replied.

“You have taken a prisoner out of the Saxon great hall!” Britu cried.

“Ie, that I did,” Owain said.

“You break the rules,” Britu cried, so upset that he could hardly utter the Latin. “You always break the rules. Prisoners are granted by lot. You know that.
Lot. You roll the dice.”

“I know that, Britu,” Owain said.

“And yet you take a prisoner before the lot!”

The tender feeling that Owain held for his clansman, cousin, and closest friend had always stopped him from speaking harshly to him.
Yet Britu’s uncontrolled temper had also kept Owain from confiding in him. Now that he held a most personal secret, Owain was by no means prepared to reveal it to his angry cousin. 

“It is true,” Owain said, in a calm voice. “I did just that.”

“The rules are there and not to be broken!” Britu cried.

“And when you are battle leader, you shall break the rules as you see fit.”

“This is not necessary, Owain! This is an obsession! And it must stop!”

“Do not worry, Clansman,” Owain replied, his voice gruff and somber. “It shall.”

Britu seemed at a loss as to how to reply. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that it shall stop,” Owain said. “Now, you must leave me, for I have much to do and little time.”

“Very well,” Britu replied. “I shall tell Swale, and he shall take my side of it.”

“Good.”

Britu left the tent then, a confused look on his young face.

Owain emptied the contents of the box he held onto the top of one of the lidded baskets on the floor. Then, he placed a few choice things inside of it, the little bone handled knife that he had found at the Pictii camp, harp strings he purchased in Lerion, and a smooth oval stone he had pickked up many months before on his journey north to Gododdin. These were things Owain was certain his Gratianna would love.

He would not get to see his daughter again, hold her in his arms, or kiss her bright red hair, but perhaps these little trinkets would cheer her and remind her of his unconditional love.

With that last thought, Owain shut the lid. Taking up both the box and a long piece of red chord, he went back into the inner room.

Owain caught Leola's short gasp when he entered the room. It was clear to him that she had eaten everything she was going to consume. He moved the whole platter to the table and set the decorative wooden box beside it.

Owain noticed a small cup of seeds on the table that Leir must have placed there.

He had never thought about the wild carrot seed before, for it was something that women were instructed to eat by their mothers or nurses, without any direction or interference by men. But now, he was determined that she should not touch them.

Owain took the cup off of the table and placed it beneath the used dishes that still sat on the tray. 

He felt the pang of guilt from intruding in the female realm yet told himself that it was necessary. Of course, once he was dead, there was nothing to stop Leola from picking the plant herself, for it grew wild all over the island. But perhaps if she did not see it now, she would not think to eat it later. That was his hope.

Leola shivered.

“You need not be afraid of me, Beauty,” he said, speaking once again in Saxon.

Now that he had someone to communicate with in that language, he felt it coming naturally to his lips.

“Yea, Master,” she said, in a quiet voice.

Her head was down so he could not see her expression, but he assumed that she did not believe his words. He sought to convince her.

“I’m going to ask you something,” he said, bending his head down to look at her face. “I want you to think on it before for you answer.”

“Yea,” she replied.

It was a game to him, getting her to like him, to smile at his words. He had long ago learned to coax affection out of people, and here he would not lessen his determination. He knew that he could convince her to do anything if she would only look up at him and see his eyes.

“Beauty?” he said.

“Yea, Master?” she said.

She would not lift her head to him, and he was unsure what to do to gain her focus. Touching her chin and tilting it up until she was forced to see his face would be the easiest way. Yet he was sure that such a move, even so slightly, would double her fear of him rather than lighten it. Telling her to look up at him, would be just as detrimental. He soon decided that to be direct was the most practical way.

“Will you marry me?” he asked.

Now, he had her attention, for she lifted her head up and stared at him, her eyes wide with shock, and her little lips parted and trembling.

Owain smiled and leaned over to her, drawing her gaze into him like one pulls in some trapped baby animal.

“Well, Beauty?” he said.

“What did you say?” she asked.

He knew that it was a mixture of shock and distrust that now cracked her voice, but these did not worry him.

“Will you marry me?” he said again.

His eyes fed her assurance until he was certain that she believed he was in earnest.

“You cannot marry me,” she replied, as if forgetting her caution. “You are an aetheling, a Britisc aetheling.”

“I am,” Owain said, “but I am an Andoco, of the house of Rheiden. I am the Aetheling of Glouia. I am the Champion of Albion. I am the dominae.”

Leola just stared at him in silence, and Owain now wondered whether he had her or not. She seemed a stubborn woman, inteligent and confident, and would not easily bend to his will, but he was sure he had been with those more difficult than she.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

It was not his design to reveal everything he knew to her. Indeed, it was not in his plan to tell her anything at all.

“I do whatever I will, whatever pleases me,” he said, and his voice grew soft and hushed. “And I want you to be my wife.”

“But...why?” she said.

“Shh,” he replied, and he placed the tip of his gentle finger on her lips. “No more questions. Just answer. Will you marry me?”

For a moment, she was silent and seemed lost in her own thoughts.

“You will take this off of me?” she asked, her own fingertips touching the iron slave collar that was still latched around her neck.

“Yea, Beauty,” he said, a little amused. “I shall.”

“Then, yea,” she replied. “I shall marry you.”

“Good,” he said.

His face filled up with a pleasant smile and as she gazed back at him, her own face brightened to match it. With that look he knew that she was his.

Owain leaned closer to her and whispered in her ear.

“Pick up your hair,” he said.

She gathered up her hair and held it at the top of her head. He took a knife out of one of the baskets and bent the iron latch off. Then he pulled the collar open, slipped it off of her, and tossed it casually on the carpet.

“Do you feel better?” he asked, with a merry laugh.

“Yea, Master,” she said, a wide smile forming on her own lips. “Thank you.”

“Not 'Master,' Leola,” he replied.
“Owain.”

She looked surprised by these words, but
his own smile seemed to ease her doubts.

“Owain,” she whispered.

It was his turn to be surprised for as she said his name, he heard a little musical sound seeping into her voice. It was just two solitary notes, but they warmed his heart like some soothing balm.

“Yea,” he said, soberly, quietly.

He promised himself that he would get her to say his name once more.

Owain returned to his place on the foot of the cot and touched her cheeks with his broad hands.

“Now tell me what do you want?” he asked.

“I… don’t understand,” she said, puzzled once more.

“What do you wish me to give to you?”

“Oh,” she said, as if still not understanding.

Her eyes wondered around, as if searching for something, and finally fell on his left hand.

“My ring?” he asked, trying to decipher her thoughts. “Do you want it?”

He took the carved ring off of his small finger and held it up for her to see.

“Yea,” she said, glancing at it.

“It was my father’s,” he said, his eyes growing soft and mild. “His grandfather had it made to match an ancient sword and gave it to him on his wedding day. Here.”

He put it in her right hand, folded her fingers over it, and brushed them gently with his lips.

“Take it, Beauty,” he said. “It is yours.”

He took her left hand in his own left and slowly wrapped the red cord around them. He knew that is was not tight nor did it hurt her, but she seemed disconcerted by the gesture.

“I shall take it off in a moment,” he said. “Shh. Do not be frightened.”

Owain tied the ends of the cord in a knot.

“My people call this hand-fasting,” he said, realizing that the Saxon probably did not do this. “We are now bound together in marriage.”

He searched her face and was pleased to see
some  understanding there. She was perfect, and he had her. There was only one more thing to do.

“By wind, and sea, and earth,” he whispered, “I pledge to you myself.”

He leaned over to her once more and kissed her full on the lips.

Chapter Fourteen: What is
Known

Britu was walking out of the private tent area when he noticed that the soldiers, who had been eating and playing games before, were carrying their weapons and lining up outside of camp. He went to one of the knights who were standing by.