THE CURSE OF EXCALIBUR: a gripping Arthurian fantasy (THE MORGAN TRILOGY Book 2) (8 page)

She slipped into the bath water, splashing a little as she got in, letting her hair trail out the back of the bath and sinking back into it with a murmur of pleasure, closing her eyes.

The young maid said something to her in Breton, and a slight smile played about Guinevere’s lips in response, though she did not open her eyes. The elder women clicked her tongue.

“
English
,
Marie,” the older woman scolded. “It is not fair for Margery.”

I sat beside the young woman, Marie, next to the bath. No one seemed to mind. The older woman sat at its foot in a chair, sewing carefully at something. She was attractive still, about of an age with Morgawse, I thought, or a little older. Dark, dark, black hair and pale skin, with sharp blue eyes.

The young girl, Marie, looked a little flustered at being scolded.

“Sorry Margery. I was just saying that I am amazed that Guinevere can spend so long in bed, and get so little sleep.”

She looked embarrassed to say it to me, as though Margery were a prude, or that she was only used to teasing the Queen in Breton. Without opening her eyes, Guinevere lifted a hand in the bath to splash Marie with some of the water. Marie squealed.

The older woman made a shushing noise.

“Margery doesn’t want to hear your crude jokes, Marie.”

Suddenly, without warning, Guinevere slipped down in the bath, sloshing water out of the sides, to dunk her hair through the water. When she came back up from the water, she pushed the hair back off her face, and flashed her slight, reserved little smile at me and Marie, pulling her knees up close and wrapping her arms around them. The water dripped from her thick hair onto the wooden floorboards with a soft tapping noise.

There was still something childlike about her, though she had obviously grown to womanhood. Marie had begun to comb through her wet hair, and Guinevere wrinkled her small, pointed nose with discomfort every time Marie tugged at a knot.

“Marie, you will tear out all my hair,” she said, half-laughing. I realised that this was the first thing that she had said. Her voice was soft and low, reserved without being shy, like her manner, and rich with her Breton accent.

“
I
am not the one who tangles it up,” Marie quipped with a smile. Guinevere splashed her again.

“
Marie
,”
the older woman scolded, glancing warily at me. Were they afraid that I would tell someone how they talked? Or was Margery truly as shy and prudish as they acted as though she was? I had heard my sister talk far more candidly. But they were talking about it as though it were something happy, and Guinevere still wore her half-smile of secret amusement.

It suddenly felt painfully unfair that I was so unhappily married, and yet Arthur had summoned a woman whose family he had slaughtered to be his wife, and they had found some kind of tentative new-married happiness. I could not believe that she would have wanted Arthur as much as he wanted her, and yet there was no hint in anything anyone said that he had been forceful with her. Had I misunderstood so much? Had my own experience of marriage made me believe that everyone was unhappy?

“Where did you say Arthur has gone?” Guinevere asked, standing suddenly in the bath now that Marie had untangled her hair and wound it, still wet, into a tight plait and then a bun at the nape of her neck. She stepped naked from it, the water running off her on to the floor. The two other women barely seemed to notice. Guinevere picked up a sheet from the table beside the older woman, and wrapped it around herself to dry.

“To speak with the woman from Avalon.”

Guinevere made a small noise of assent, as though she barely cared, or as though she was thinking something that she would not say. I hardly thought that Arthur would desire Nimue in return. She looked like a child still, and the woman who was newly his wife had the strong, full body of a woman. Suddenly, looking at her made me feel my own inadequacy, my thinness, my plainness. But perhaps it was better. No man would ever talk about me in the awful way I had heard Gawain and my own husband talk about Guinevere.

When she waved me and Marie away to fetch her clothes, I heard her speaking to the older woman in Breton, faster and bolder than her English. I thought about what Arthur had said, that she had threatened to kill him. I could not make any sense of it.

I made an excuse to slip away, and when I was alone, I returned to my own form. That night, sleeping beside Morgawse, I dreamed a strange dream about Guinevere, the Queen. I dreamed of a man like and yet unlike Arthur, holding her down on the floor in her bedclothes while she struggled and kicked, and then the same man, who might or might not have been Arthur, in the same place, still on top of her, but she kissing him, wrapping her arms around him, and pressing her body against his in hungry desire. The dream was sharp and clear, like the dreams from Avalon, but it did not make any sense. If it had truly happened, it would have already taken place. I did not think the dreams could show me the past. But it left me nervous and unsettled, and the dream stayed with me long after I had woken.

Chapter Eleven

The next day was the day I had to return to Gore with Uriens. I had not spoken to him, really, the whole time we had been in Camelot, and once we were back at his castle, I would not be able to hide from him with my sister. I asked her to come with me, but she had to return to Lothian with her two youngest sons. She was afraid to leave it too long, in case one of her barons tried to seize it from them. With Gawain and Aggravain in Camelot, there was less of an incentive for them to hold back from trying to seize power from her, and she did not like leaving her kingdom long.

When I had kissed her goodbye, and her two youngest sons, and they left, I sat down on the edge of her bed, the bed we had shared like children for the past few weeks, and let out a sigh. I should have brought some kind of protection with me, some weapon, some magic, but all I had was my power to change my shape, and I could not hide from Uriens forever.

There was a soft knock at the door, and I was afraid it was him, but it was not. It was Kay. Nervous and awkward, he stepped through the door and shut it softly behind himself. I had never seen him look so uncomfortable, but I was not about to ease his discomfort. He stepped towards me, and I stood to meet him. I wanted to look him in the eye.

“Morgan, I hoped I would find you here, before you left,” he said gently.

“So you were not looking for my sister, then?” I demanded.

“No, Morgan, listen.” He stepped forward again and tried to take my hand, but I pulled it away. “Morgan, that was a mistake; I was drunk, I –”

I crossed my arms over my chest, against his pleading look. I could see that he was sorry, but I was not ready to forgive.

“Morgan –” He began to speak again, but the words seemed to freeze in him, as though they were not enough. I reached out to slap him, but, quick as a cat, he caught me by the wrist. I tried to pull away, to strike at him again, but he held me fast, and as I stepped back away, I felt the bedpost at my back. He stepped towards me, and I felt the fire of anger in me turn suddenly to the heat of desire as he, fired with the same potent memory of our past passion, pulled me against him and kissed me hard. When I felt his lips against mine, all of the wonderful memories seemed to rush fast around me; lying together in the sunlight, the first time, Kay falling to the floor with me and tearing through my dress in a haze of passion, the night before I was married, when he had told me he loved me. I was drowning in the memories and I ran my hands through his hair, pulling him tighter against me.

I was about to slide my hand up under his shirt, when I heard the door open suddenly behind us. We jumped apart, both still hot and breathing hard. It was Uriens, and I saw the dark rage flash across his face. He had seen. Good. He stood warily back from Kay. The shadow of the bruise still lingered green-yellow against his jaw, and he remembered all too well which man had given it to him. I saw him notice, too, that Kay’s sword hung around his hips, his hand resting on the hilt.

“That’s my wife, you know? Not a boy, though I know she looks like one,” Uriens sneered at Kay. Kay turned around to face him, but said nothing. Uriens’ eyes fell on me. “Come, you nasty little whore. It’s time for you to go home.”

Kay drew his sword as Uriens made to stride across the room to seize me. Uriens stopped where he stood, but I could see in his eyes that he would make me suffer for this when he could. Kay could not stand there between us forever.

Uriens held out a hand towards me, and Kay stepped suddenly towards him, and Uriens jumped back.

“What’s the matter, Uriens?” Kay demanded, his voice edged with cruelty. I was glad, at least, that he seemed to hate my husband as much as I did. “Are you jealous? Do you want me to fuck you as well? You might enjoy it.
I know what men like.
”

Uriens looked terrified for a second, as though he really thought Kay meant it. He did not seem to follow the point that Kay was trying to make. Flustered and afraid, Uriens turned back to me.

“We are leaving. Now,” he spat, and turned and fled from the room. Kay put his sword back in his sheath, letting the breath sigh out of him. He ran a hand through his hair thoughtfully, before turning back to me. He looked sad. I missed the bright laughter of his eyes. I would have thought he would enjoy frightening Uriens more than he seemed to. He walked back over to me and, taking my face gently in his hands, kissed me softly, deeply. I hated it, because it was so wonderful, and because I knew it was a kiss goodbye.

It was only when I was on my horse, riding away from Camelot, that I remembered how angry I had been with Kay. He had been with my sister; he had kissed her like he had kissed me, he had touched her like he had touched me. And he had kissed me as though that made it all go away. It did
not
make it all go away. I knew I had no right to be angry since I too had another lover, but the thought of Kay and Morgawse was unbearable. Morgawse got
everything
that she wanted. But I could not hate her.

Uriens and I rode a long way in silence, side by side. It was only when the sun began to sink in the sky and I knew that we were near to Rheged that he spoke.

“I suppose you did that to spite me, Morgan,” he growled.

“What?” I snapped.

“Your little play at being lovers with the Seneschal. Only because you know how much I dislike perverse little men like him. I do not know why you make it your life’s aim to cause me humiliation and suffering.”

“
I
cause
you
humiliation and suffering?” I cried. He had not experienced true humiliation. He had been embarrassed in front of Arthur a couple of times. That was all. He had never felt his own awful weakness underneath the hands of man.

“You know, Morgan, it makes me very angry the way you treat me. You are no good wife to me, and no good mother to our child. If I could, I would take another wife, and send you back to the abbey. That you continue to refuse me when I have been a good husband to you despite your shortcomings as a wife makes me very
very
angry, Morgan.”

I turned to look at him. He was red in the face, slightly spitting his words. I could see the vein bulge angry with blood on his forehead. I shrugged my shoulders and turned away again, gazing off into the distance.

“Well, Uriens,” I said, “how you feel is of no importance in the matter.”

I did not need to look at him to know that his anger was great enough to choke him into silence, and I was glad.

I thought he would try to punish me when we reached the castle. I expected him to grab me by the hair in front of his men, and drag me off with him, but he did not. He was too angry even for that, and he jumped from his horse and stormed off as soon as we arrived. It was late in the night, but still mild with late spring warmth. I was happy to linger in the courtyard once I had slipped from my horse, tired and sore from the ride. There were a few knights milling around in the courtyard, but I could not see Accolon. Surely he had not left?

I had not thought of him much while I was in Camelot – that felt like a different life entirely – but now that I was back in Rheged, I knew I had to see him.

I took hold of my horse’s bridle and led it to the stable. When I stepped inside, I saw him there, as though he had come at my wish. I froze in the doorway with the bridle in my hand, and as though he sensed me there he turned around. I had forgotten how much I liked his rough, handsome looks.

“Morgan,” he breathed, stepping towards me as though in a dream.

He took another step forward to take the horse from me, and our hands brushed on the bridle. I felt the touch of it go through me, strong and delicious. I saw it flash through his eyes, too, and I knew that he wanted what I wanted. I let go of the bridle and grasped hold of the front of his shirt with both hands, pulling him against me, pressing my forehead against his. I felt every beat of my heart rushing the hot desire through me.

“I have been too long away from you,” I whispered. He gave a low groan of lust and kissed me, hard and eager. I felt the relief at his touch flood through me. Still, I pulled away for a moment.

“What if someone comes?” I whispered. He kissed me again, his hands running through my hair, unwinding the plait.

“No one comes here at night but me,” he whispered, reaching out to slam the door shut. My horse, only just through the door, whickered in alarm and walked deeper into the stable, into the place that it remembered as its own. Accolon pushed me up hard against the stable wall, and once again I felt the dangerous thrill of his strength. He tasted of honey, and spices, and wine. He had never betrayed me. I still had the heat in me from Kay’s kiss, and from my own anger, and I had a man in my grip who was all mine. I could feel the heat of his skin against mine already, in anticipation. I took his face in my hands.

“I want you now,” I whispered to him. “
Now.
”

He lifted me and braced me hard against the stable wall, and had me as I had commanded him. I wound my fingers tight into his hair and held his gaze to mine. I had longed for him, and he had given himself to me. The force of our coming together burned through me, leaving me deliciously clean, and making me strong. Things were simpler here than at Camelot. I knew whom I wanted, and I knew whom I hated, and there was no one in between.

I woke the next day to the sound of Uriens banging on the door and shouting for me. So, the punishment I had anticipated was coming for me. Elaine – who it seemed had been sleeping in my room all the time I was away – was already awake, her big doe eyes wide with fear, and cowering in the corner of the room. I rolled my eyes at her and grabbed her by the arm, dragging her towards the door.

“You had better go, Elaine. Oh don’t look so afraid. This isn’t for you.”

I did not think having her here would stop him, and besides, I wanted to draw Excalibur on him again and see the fear in his eyes, and I did not want her to know about it. I opened the door and pushed her out. I heard him greet her, suddenly gentle and kind, before she scampered away. He pushed the door open and strode in. I already had Excalibur in my hands.

He sighed in frustration at the sight of me, in my nightdress, my hair loose, the sword bare in my hands.

“Morgan, why am I cursed with you as my wife?” he groaned.

I wanted to step forward, to kill him, but I held myself back. I wouldn’t risk it like this, when he might be strong enough to get the sword off me. The mixture was ready; I just had to get him to drink it.

“Uriens,
leave me be
.”

He shook his head in frustration. “I will go, for now. But you cannot continue this forever. The more you do to vex me, the more unkind I will be when I can get my hands on you away from your witches’ tricks.”

I had to kill him soon. But not just him. No. It was Arthur who had brought me to this. Arthur who had chosen for himself the wife that he desired.

The days passed, and I kept Uriens from my bed with my threats of witchcraft, and Accolon within it. I spent those days and nights kindling the flame of anger that burned deep within me. I found I was angry with Arthur in particular. He had followed his own desires, turning down the advice of his counsellors, and pleased himself with the Breton girl, and yet despite my protests he had sold me to this brute who forced himself on me. I had given up everything for the sake of my sister, and of the kingdom, and he had cared about neither. And he had taken a woman as his wife who had the blood of Maev in her veins. That was a dangerous choice. Maev, warrior and adulteress.
Half-wild
, Merlin had called her. And every man that laid eyes on her seemed to desire her. That seemed an ill combination to me, and yet Arthur had taken her as his wife anyway, because he always did as he pleased. I suffered, and Morgawse suffered, and Arthur lived careless and happy. I hated him. I hated him for changing, too, from the kind boy I had known as a child into this selfish king. They were all liars. Arthur, Merlin, Kay. I would punish them all. I would have Merlin’s secrets from him, and I would use them to destroy all of those who had made me suffer.

One night, at the hottest peak of summer, Accolon tore back the curtains of my bed, where I had been lying in the depths of my rage, and I saw him there and I felt the rage mingle hot with my desire. I was glad that Accolon had come. I wanted his hungry roughness, I wanted the power of my rage to move through our coming together. I threw him down on the bed beneath me and tore his clothes from him. I gave myself to the feel of his hands gripping me at the hips, and his eyes running over me with awe and desire as I slipped my nightdress up over my head. I took him deep inside me, and I saw how my wildness excited him, and it made my own desire hotter. I could hear him sighing my name, and my body filling with the power of my own pleasure. I held back a little, from the edge, but only until I could be sure that he had had his fill, and then I let it wash over me. I was not sure if it was all the more filled with trembling ecstasy because I knew how he loved me, or because I knew that my revenge was near.

I sank down beside him, and we lay a long time in a pleasant silence. I did not hurry to ask him. I knew he would not deny me. Only when the candles were low and the night at its blackest depths did I speak. I lifted a hand to stroke through his hair, and he murmured with appreciation.