The Dragon Prince (32 page)

But when would she see him? What if he went
off to war without her ever having a chance to talk to him? She
remembered her Seeing and the agonized expression on his face. Did
that
have something to do with the babe?

Rhiannon reached out and stroked her
shoulder. “I understand. You don’t want anyone to know until you
tell the father. Well, you won’t have to wait too long. He’s on his
way here.”

Eastra stared in amazement at the woman
beside her. Rhiannon’s violet blue eyes had a distant, misty look,
and her mouth curved into a tender smile.

* * *

“Damned mist,” Rhun muttered. He jerked his
horse to a halt, then reached up with his free hand and pulled up
the hood on his heavy woolen mantle.

Bridei rode up beside him. “We’ll have to
wait it out. This mountain country is treacherous enough when a man
can see where he’s going. It would be suicide to try to ride in
this stuff.”

“I
know
we’ll have to stop,” Rhun
grumbled. “I’m trying to find some sort of shelter so the waiting
isn’t so miserable.” He dismounted and squinted into the mist,
waiting for the white haze to shift. When it did, he spied a tumble
of rocks about knee high. It would afford them a dry place to sit,
at least. “There’s some rocks about ten paces to your right,” he
said. “Won’t keep us dry, but it’s better than nothing.”

In seconds, the mist was on them again, but
they managed to stagger blindly over to the rocks. No need to
tether the horses, Rhun thought as he let loose of the reins. The
beasts knew better than to wander off. He crouched down, feeling
for the rocks, then sat down when he found one flat enough to sit
on. He could barely make out Bridei no more than two paces away,
finding his own resting spot.

“Llud, that was fast,” Bridei said. “One
minute it was clear. The next we were swallowed up in the dragon’s
breath.”

“I hardly think it’s any sort of
enchantment. Just the cursed weather up here in the hills.”

“Well, it was your idea to go this way
instead of keeping to the coast road. You were so sure it would be
faster.”

Rhun adjusted his cloak more tightly around
his body. The mist chilled his face, but at least it was summer.
They would not freeze to death.

Frustration churned inside him. Whatever had
possessed him to decide to go this way? Bridei was right. The old
Roman roadway, overgrown and crumbling as it was, would still have
been faster. And now, with the mist, they might lose a whole day.
There was the distinct possibility it would keep them penned in
until nightfall. What an uncomfortable, godforsaken place this
would be to spend the night!

As if having the same thoughts, Bridei said,
“Do you think we should get out our gear before the horses wander
too far?”

“I suppose so. Stay here and keep talking.
If I get turned around, the only way I’ll be able to find this spot
is to head toward the sound of your voice.”

“Well, brother, if there’s one thing I can
do, it’s keep talking. Or maybe I should sing.” With that, Bridei
broke into song. It was some sort of lament, Rhun noted as he
inched his way forward with his hands out, feeling for warm, solid
horseflesh among the shifting whiteness. Cadal nickered when he
found him. Rhun spoke soothingly to the stallion and groped in the
saddlebag. Behind him, he heard Bridei, his rich, well-trained
voice sounding so clear and close, he might have been standing next
to Rhun. Although he tried to concentrate on what they would need
for the night, Rhun found himself responding to poignant sadness of
the melody. “By the saints! Can’t you sing something more
cheerful?” he exclaimed.

Bridei stopped and called out, “It’s an old,
old song about a beautiful maiden who gets stolen by the fairies
and taken to the underworld. She dwells there for three lifetimes,
then finally convinces them to release her. When she returns to the
mortal realm, her earthly lover is long gone, dead and buried. So
she roams the hills looking for a fair-faced, handsome youth to be
her new paramour.”

Having found food, blankets, and his leather
pouch with flintstone and tinder, Rhun made his way back to Bridei.
Fortunately, the mist thinned momentarily and he could almost see
where he was going. “I hate those ancient, traditional songs,” he
said, as he dumped their provisions among the rocks. “They’re
always so gloomy and mournful.”

“But appropriate. Who knows but that we will
wake in the morning to find the mist cleared, but also that three
lifetimes have passed?”

Rhun sighed heavily. He’d been so anxious to
see Eastra, he’d tried to take the shortest route. Now it appeared
they would be delayed for nearly a full day.

Bridei said, “You know, I’m having a hard
time understanding this. You left Urien’s stronghold over a
fortnight ago. Plenty of time to make your report to Arthur, then
return and rescue Eastra. But instead you moped around Camlann for
days, then suddenly decided the night before last that you
had
to see her. What’s changed? Have you made some sort of
decision regarding our lovely Saxon hostage? Are you finally going
to admit you’re in love with her and ask her to be your wife?”

Rhun felt the familiar weight descend upon
him. “Don’t you see—I can’t marry her! She’s a Saxon, and our
hostage. It’s impossible!”

“Then what are you going to say to her?
She’s going to want some sort of commitment from you, some
assurance that if she gets with child, you aren’t going to abandon
her.”

Rhun sucked in his breath. “I had not
thought about a babe.” What would he do if Eastra were carrying his
child?

“Well, you should, foolish brother of mine.
It only takes one time, and I know you’ve been intimate with her
more than once.”

“And
how
do you know that?”

“Losing their maidenhood changes a woman,
makes them bolder. I saw every sign of that soon after we were
taken captive by Urien. And then, one night before you left Caer
Louarn, Morguese worked a spell. If Eastra didn’t let you love her
that
night, Morguese is not the sorceress I think she
is.”

With a rush of feeling Rhun remembered
making love to Eastra in his underground prison. The experience had
been so intense, so overwhelming. He’d thought that was love, but
what if it was merely one of Morguese’s charms, binding him to
Eastra against his will? “Damn that meddling witch,” he muttered.
“Why couldn’t she leave well enough alone?”

“I don’t know, but she was adamant about it
being that night. She said the spell wouldn’t work the same any
other time.”

Rhun turned to face his brother, although he
couldn’t see him in the mist.
“You
were a part of it?
You
helped her?”

“By the Light,” Bridei said angrily, “I
thought it was what you wanted! It was certainly what Eastra
wanted! I didn’t see the point in arguing with Morguese. I figured
she was giving you both your heart’s desire!”

Rhun reached out and grabbed his brother’s
arm. He was furious. He’d known Morguese was trouble, but he’d
never guessed
he
would be the target of her loathsome magic.
“What does Morguese want from us? From
me?
Does she have
some sort of scheme in mind? Or was she just amusing herself at my
expense?”

“I don’t know! Morguese doesn’t trust men.
She’d never tell me what she was up to. The only reason I knew
anything about the spell was that I was part of it.”

Rhun clutched his brother tighter, fingers
digging into flesh. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Relax, brother. I didn’t have to drink your
blood or anything too gruesome. All she asked me to do was make
love to her little apprentice, Nevyn. I guess she put a spell on
us, too, so that our ardor and passion transferred to you and
Eastra. It was simple enough. Nevyn was half mad for it anyway.
Hard to imagine such a tiny, quiet wench could be so passionate. I
vow I still have the scars on my back from her fingernails.”

“That’s appalling!” Rhun shouted. “She’s
barely more than a girl!”

Bridei pulled away. “She was a maid aye, but
not too young. Most men wed off their daughters at that age, and as
I’ve told you, she was more than eager.”

“But to use her in some repulsive rite!”

“I didn’t use her; Morguese did. And I have
every reason to believe Nevyn knew exactly what she was about. ‘Sex
magic’ she called it. The woman I bedded was no quivering, blushing
maiden, but an acolyte of the Great Mother herself.”

Rhun tried to calm his breathing, to
overcome the helpless rage Bridei’s revelation had aroused.
Although he despised Morguese’s manipulations, he had to get past
his anger and discover her motivations. What did Morguese want with
him and Eastra?

“I don’t see why that changes anything,”
Bridei said. “You’ve been infatuated with Eastra since you set eyes
on her in Cerdic’s hall, and she with you. Maybe all Morguese
wanted to do was get you together and force you to admit your
feelings for each other.”

Rhun snorted. “I hardly see Morguese as a
matchmaker. Nay, you can be certain she had some devious purpose in
mind. But what was it?”

“Maybe Eastra knows, or at least can shed
some light on the matter. The two of you need to talk, that’s for
certain.”

Rhun sat down heavily. Eastra. How had
things gotten so contused and muddled between the two of them? As
if their situation wasn’t bad enough, now Morguese had complicated
things even more. How could he be certain what he felt for Eastra
was real and not some sort of enchantment?

Oh, it was real, he decided. And Bridei was
right. He’d been in love with Eastra since that day in the
longhouse. Or maybe even since the day he defied his commander and
saved her life. But all this aching longing inside him didn’t
change the fact she was a Saxon princess. Because of that, he could
offer her nothing but passion and dreams and in the end
heartbreak.

“Oh, God” he groaned. “Why am I even doing
this? I should leave her alone, never see her again, like I’d
planned.”

“So you don’t think you can wed her,” Bridei
said thoughtfully. “You’re probably right. Arthur wouldn’t allow
it. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t see her. At least while she’s a
hostage, you might as well enjoy her company. Grab what moments of
happiness you can. That’s what I would do, brother, if I were ever
dense-witted enough to fall in love. And maybe somehow it will work
out. If Cerdic breaks the truce and you go to war and Arthur wins,
as the victor you could petition Cerdic for the right to marry his
niece. For that matter, if Cerdic were dead, there would be no
obstacle to the marriage. If I were you, I would be thinking of
ways to be rid of Cerdic”

“You want me to commit murder? What noble
plans you have for me! If I did something like that I would not be
worthy
of Eastra, nor any other woman!”

“Not murder. But you are involved in a war
with Eastra’s kin. I’m merely saying it might be to your benefit if
Cerdic broke the truce. Then you could kill him on the battlefield
and have no compunction about it.”

“If Cerdic breaks this truce and we go to
war, I will probably end up dead myself,” Rhun said flatly.

“Arthur thinks things are that
hopeless?”

“Aye. The word is that the Picts have joined
forces with Cerdic, and maybe some of the Irish as well. We can’t
fight on three fronts—not when half of our countrymen refuse to
join our cause.”

“Can you blame them, under the
circumstances? Why should they sacrifice their lives for Arthur?
Why should
you?
”

“For a dream, a dream of a united Britain.
And because if they don’t fight now, they’ll end up fighting for
the rest of their lives anyway. The ravens are circling, brother.
The barbarians mean to crush us between them.”

“But the Picts aren’t much different than
the Cymry. And even the Irish—father has told you the tale of our
great-grandfather Cunedag, hasn’t he? He was Irish, but he settled
the wild lands of Gwynedd and Manua Gotodin and became as British
as the rest of them. And the Romans, they supposedly conquered
Britain. For centuries they dwelled here, but do you see any sign
of them now? All that’s left is a bunch of ruined buildings and
fools like Aurelius.”

“But the Romans changed Britain, made it
something different. Taught us to fight wars with strategy and
skill. They improved trade, introduced us to many civilized
comforts, brought a kind of peace and order to the land it hasn’t
seen before or since.”

“And the Saxons will change Britain, too,
but it might not be all bad, either. From what I’ve seen, they are
not so different than us, except they are better farmers.” Bridei
thought a moment. “And deep down I believe they are less warlike,
less hotheaded and impulsive. That might be good for Britain. In
fact, it might accomplish exactly what you wish for. Arthur—or any
British chieftain—will never unite the people of this island, but
the Saxons might be able to.”

“But they will never win over the Picts,”
Rhun said. “Nor the Cymry, either. Neither of them will ever join
forces with the Saxons. They are too stubborn, too fierce and
independent, like our father.” He grimaced.

“Our father.” Bridei’s voice dripped scorn.
“He’s from another time, another world. A time when, to hear him
tell, warriors were much more valiant than they are now, their
deeds greater and more heroic. He lives in the glorious past, the
realm of the bards, where everything is brighter and more vivid
than the present. I dabble in that world, too, so I suppose I can’t
blame him for being seduced by it. The imagination always colors
things the way you wish it had been. I remember when I was a boy
and he would be talking to me, but his gaze looked past me, seeing
another time, all the memories crowding his thoughts. I wonder how
my mother endures it—to know a part of him dwells forever in the
past with his beloved Aurora.”