Guinevere's Gift

  Guinevere's Gift

  CONTENTS

  __________

  Title Page

  Dedication

  The House of Gwynedd

  Chapter One: King Pellinore's Daughter

  Chapter Two: The Fitting

  Chapter Three: Dreams of the Ignorant

  Chapter Four: Old Argus's Son

  Chapter Five: Daughter of Rhiannon

  Chapter Six: Llyr

  Chapter Seven: Council of Elders

  Chapter Eight: The Tracker

  Chapter Nine: Counting the Days

  Chapter Ten: The Guest

  Chapter Eleven: The Banquet

  Chapter Twelve: The Cairn

  Chapter Thirteen: Double Trouble

  Chapter Fourteen: The Headache

  Chapter Fifteen: Trials of a Scribe

  Chapter Sixteen: The Warning

  Chapter Seventeen: The Old Ones

  Chapter Eighteen: The One Who Hears

  Chapter Nineteen: Traveling Companions

  Chapter Twenty: A Dangerous Ride

  Chapter Twenty-one: By the Garden Door

  Chapter Twenty-two Plans for a Princess

  Chapter Twenty-three Only an Earl's Son

  Chapter Twenty-four: Orders from Regis Himself

  Chapter Twenty-five: A Private Supper

  Chapter Twenty-six: Discovery

  Chapter Twenty-seven: In the Lion's Den

  Chapter Twenty-eight: Escape

  Chapter Twenty-nine: Rescue

  Chapter Thirty: The Queen's Choice

  Chapter Thirty-one: An Arrow in the Dark

  Chapter Thirty-two: The Cave

  Chapter Thirty-three: The Guardian

  Chapter Thirty-four: Queen of Gwynedd

  Chapter Thirty-five: A Measure of Mercy

  Chapter Thirty-six: Riding Out

  Chapter Thirty-seven: King Pellinore's Surprise

  Chapter Thirty-eight: Promise

  A Note to Readers

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright

  to

  Marian Edelman Borden

  whose idea it was

  and to

  Caroline McKenzie?

  for all her help

  CHAPTER ONE

  King Pellinore's Daughter

  “Move over, Gwen. It's my turn.” Elaine tugged at her cousin's sleeve. The two girls lay flat on their stomachs on the cold stone floor of the parapet. Guinevere had one eye pressed against a break in the mortar low in the castle wall.

  “The courier's just coming. He's entered the room. He's making his reverence.”

  “Move over,” Elaine demanded. “I let you look first. Now it's my turn. You keep watch.”

  Guinevere moved aside. “He looks exhausted. I wonder if he's come straight from the battlefield.” She wriggled closer. “What's he saying? Can you hear?”

  “Shhh! Not if you talk.”

  They had known that the new arrival was a royal courier by the dragon cipher on his belt, although he had ridden in with a party of merchants and wagons. Everyone had seen him, a young man with a military straightness in his carriage and the dust of travel still clinging to his clothes. He had come while the tables were being laid for dinner, and Queen Alyse had postponed the meal in order to receive him alone. She had been waiting weeks for a message. Elaine and Guinevere had taken advantage of the confusion and excitement at the courier's arrival to sneak up the guardroom stairs and learn firsthand through their peephole whether Elaine's father, King Pellinore, was still alive.

  It was six long weeks since Arthur's courier had come at snowmelt to summon Pellinore of Gwynedd and all his men to war. Half of Wales had risen with him. All of them were eager to fight for the young High King who never lost a battle.

  Guinevere crossed herself quickly. Please, God, let nothing happen to King Pellinore. She missed him dreadfully. He was a rough bear of a man with a jovial nature and a willingness to believe the best of everyone. He had to return safely. If he did not, Queen Alyse would rule Gwynedd alone.

  “Listen, Gwen!” Elaine cried. “Father is—”

  Guinevere clapped a hand over her mouth, but too late. Behind them, the guardroom door squeaked as it opened, and a sentry emerged. The peephole lay near the corner of the western wall, low to the ground and deep in the shadow cast by torches outside the guardroom door. Experience had taught the girls that they could not be seen if they huddled inside their cloaks and kept absolutely still.

  The sentry walked along the rampart, sword in hand, and looked warily about him. It had been a cool spring day, and dusk had brought a chill sea breeze ashore. Nothing stirred but the wind.

  “Galgan!”

  The sentry spun around. “Sir?”

  “We've just got word! The High King's done it again! The Saxons are running for their lives, and King Pellinore is on his way home at last. Come, lad, and drink a cup of wine with us.”

  The sentry's gaze swept the parapet and peered into the shadows. He sheathed his sword. “I'm coming, sir. I thought I heard—but there's no one here.”

  Guinevere exhaled as the man disappeared back inside the guardroom. Through the open door, she could hear the soldiers' celebration, a chanted victory paean, and the slosh of wine poured from a jug. “That was close.”

  Elaine sat up and pushed the hood from her face. Bright golden curls danced about her shoulders, and her voice exulted. “Father's alive and coming home victorious! The High King beat the Saxons back—didn't I say he would? He's not lost a battle yet. Admit it, now. He's the best warrior in all the kingdoms. And Father is coming home! Oh, what a feast we shall have when he arrives! I'll wager my last coin I can beg a new gown from Mama.” She grinned. “You can have my old blue one if I do.”

  Guinevere smiled. “Let's hope those wagons that came in tonight carry your mother's order of cloth, for the storerooms are as empty as your purse. Hurry now. We've got to get back before Grannic and Ailsa discover we've gone.”

  They tiptoed through the flickering torchlight and past the guardroom door. From within, they could hear the guards' joyous cheer: “Long may he live, long may he reign! Praise be to Arthur, King of all the Britons!” The girls just had time to fold their cloaks away before their nurses arrived to usher them downstairs for the evening meal. Elaine's nurse, Grannic, a lanky woman with a sour face and small, calculating eyes, busied herself laying out a new gown for Elaine. She asked no questions about how Elaine had dirtied her present gown; she knew from long experience she would not receive an answer. But Guinevere's nurse, Ailsa, round, plump, and cheerful, pulled Guinevere into the anteroom for private speech.

  “What have you been up to, then?” she said half under her breath as she brushed dust from Guinevere's skirts. “You were perfectly clean when I left you. And just look at you, with the roses in your cheeks and your hair pulling loose from its pins. You've worn your hood. You've been outside.”

  Guinevere bowed her head. She never liked fooling Ailsa, however easy it was to do. But Elaine had sworn her to secrecy long ago on the subject of the peephole and, in exchange for her silence, allowed her to look through it now and again. Having accepted the bargain, she could not go back on her word.

  “I'm sorry, Ailsa.”

  Ailsa's nimble fingers worked swiftly and firmly, replaiting her hair and straightening her gown. There was no question of laying out another; the girl did not have enough to spare. “Now, why, I ask myself, would two young maids want to go outside on a cold spring night? Something to see? Or someone to meet?”

  “No, no, nothing like that. Whom would we meet?”

  “What, then?”

  “We were perfectly safe. Honestly. It was just . . . something to do.”

  “Are you so idle, the
n? Perhaps I should speak to the queen. I've no doubt she could find a way to relieve you both of the time on your hands.”

  Guinevere hid a smile at Ailsa's pretended threat. “Please, Ailsa, I would tell you if I could. But I can't. I've promised. We were perfectly safe.”

  Ailsa finished her ministrations and lifted the girl's chin so she could look into her face. “I know who it was got the promise out of you, and all I can say is, be as careful as you can. Please, Gwen, for both our sakes.”

  Guinevere hugged her fiercely. Good, kind, loving Ailsa was more mother to her than nurse. Her actual mother had died at Guinevere's birth, and Ailsa, originally brought in as wet nurse, had stayed on to tend her. She had even left Northgallis with her five years ago, when Guinevere had been sent to her mother's people in Gwynedd for fostering.

  Guinevere kissed Ailsa's cheek. “Thank you, Ailsa. Don't worry. I won't get us sent back to Northgallis in disgrace. Although . . . I'm homesick for it sometimes, aren't you?”

  Ailsa's brown eyes widened. “Lord love you, child, is that what you think the queen would do? Why, what good would you be to her back in Northgallis? You'd be King Gwarthgydd's half sister, and his to marry off as he pleased. She'd profit nothing. No, Gwen, you'll not be sent back to Northgallis, whatever happens or however much you wish to go. But I might.”

  It took a moment for Guinevere to comprehend. “You mean . . . she'd send you back alone? Without me?”

  Ailsa smiled crookedly and patted the girl's shoulder. “There, there, child. It's not likely to come to that any time soon.”

  “But why should it come to that at all? Why can't you stay with me always?”

  This time it was Ailsa who looked away. “You'll be thirteen in two weeks' time and ready for courting. You won't need a nurse much longer. Queen Alyse is beginning to feel that she can manage your future without my help. It's only a matter of finding a suitable husband.” She met Guinevere's anguished gaze with consummate gentleness. “This was bound to happen, Gwen. Sooner or later.”

  Tears welled in Guinevere's dark blue eyes, and she wiped them fiercely away with the backs of her hands. “You're more than my nurse, you're my—my mother, almost.”

  Ailsa kissed her. “I'm also an extra mouth to feed.” She tried for a smile as she patted her ample hips, but Guinevere hugged her tightly.

  “I'm going where you're going. I won't stay here without you. If it comes to that, I'll steal a pair of horses, and we'll escape together into the hills. . . .”

  Pressed against Ailsa's stout body, Guinevere struggled to force back her tears. When she was calmer, she pulled away. “I ought to be allowed a companion of my choice. All highborn women have companions. I'm her own niece, after all, which I know counts more with her than being Gwarth's half sister. Besides, I'm not ready for courting. Anyone can see that. Let her make a match for Elaine before she starts scouting about for me.”

  “Oh, she will. No doubt of that.”

  “Elaine's not yet twelve, so we're safe for a while—if it's age that matters.”

  But she knew very well that it was not merely age that mattered. Six months ago, at the age of eleven, Elaine had begun her monthlies. This event had made her a woman in the eyes of the world and eligible for marriage. Guinevere, although a year older, was still considered a child. That was what mattered.

  “What are you two talking about?” Elaine parted the curtain and came in from the bedchamber, freshly combed and dressed. “The bell has rung, and I'm half starved, and here you are whispering in secret conference.”

  Guinevere managed a smile. “Yes, very secret. Ailsa thinks your mother is getting ready to marry us off.”

  Elaine grinned. “It's about time, don't you think? I was beginning to think she would put it off forever.” She linked her arm through Guinevere's and looked at her with dancing eyes. “Guess what Grannic told me? Mama is going to make each of us a new gown to wear to Father's homecoming feast!”

  “Good, for I've outgrown mine.” Guinevere stretched out her arms to reveal sleeves that fell well short of her wrists.

  “And,” Elaine continued, unheeding, “there's a rumor going about that the High King has finally been persuaded to start searching for a wife.”

  Guinevere rolled her eyes at Ailsa. Since well before Arthur's crowning, Elaine had been smitten with an ardent admiration for this warrior son of old Uther Pendragon. Now, after four years as High King himself, and with the kingdoms of Britain beginning to settle into a stable alliance against the invading Saxons, Arthur was ready to marry. How opportune—or was it foresight?—that last autumn Queen Alyse had placed a large order of imported cloth with a merchant in Londinium.

  Like a tapestry unrolling, the picture became suddenly clear: King Pellinore, high in King Arthur's graces after his bravery in the field; Pellinore's daughter, pretty, vivacious, almost twelve years old, and already past her menarche; Arthur Pendragon, High King of Britain, just eighteen and still unwed, beyond all doubt the most eligible bachelor in the land. Guinevere's respect for Queen Alyse's foresight deepened considerably.

  “So he'll marry at last?” She gave Elaine's arm a squeeze. “It's about time, don't you think? I was beginning to wonder if he'd put it off forever.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Fitting

  Queen Alyse turned her profile to the window. It was her best feature, and the turn of her head, like the lift of her chin, was not entirely without thought. She held a swatch of sky blue fabric to the light and rubbed it gently between her fingers. “Yes. This will do very well for Elaine.”

  She glanced at the two girls standing in obedient silence near the door. Predictably, her daughter's face clouded, and her petulant mouth folded in a pout.

  “Let Gwen have the blue, Mama. I like the scarlet better. Or the gold.”

  “Nonsense. You are far too young to wear scarlet. The blue is suitable for a maid your age, and it's a perfect match for your eyes. Guinevere may have the green.”

  The queen signaled to her women. Cissa and Leonora lifted two lengths of cloth from a large trunk in the center of the chamber. Leonora carried the green to Guinevere, and Cissa held the blue up to Elaine's chin. Ailsa and Grannic, standing ready with pins of slivered bone, murmured their approval.

  Elaine grimaced. “I'm so tired of blue,” she muttered under her breath. “She always makes me wear it. Just once, I want to wear something scarlet.”

  “Hush,” Guinevere whispered. “Don't rile her. You will in time.”

  “I don't want to wait until I'm old and gray. I want to wear it now.”

  Queen Alyse heard the whispers and ignored them. She did not particularly care whether Elaine liked the cloth. It suited her perfectly, accenting the blue of her eyes, the gold of her hair, and the pink creaminess of her complexion. But she could not help noticing the cloth's effect on the other girl, her ward and niece, Guinevere of Northgallis. Let that child anywhere near something blue—a gown, a tapestry, even a painted cup or the sea in summer—and her dark blue eyes shone like sapphires set in alabaster. Elaine should have the blue so that Guinevere did not.

  Queen Alyse looked out at the budding hills and sighed. They were Elen's eyes, of course. Dear, departed sister Elen, the firstborn, the beauty of the family. She had collected admirers the way other girls did trinkets. Even so, she had not married until she was eighteen, when Alyse was already past her fifteenth birthday. Fifteen! The indignity of it still brought a flush to Alyse's cheek. Most girls were married by that age or at least betrothed. She remembered only too well the long parade of suitors who had come and come again, for years on end, to beg for Elen's hand. None of them had spared a glance for little Alyse, eclipsed by Elen's shadow. Hers had been the only dry eyes in all Gwynedd when at last her much-admired elder sister wed King Leodegrance of Northgallis and left home forever.

  The queen smiled to herself. Of all the men she could have chosen—young men, handsome men, heirs to kingdoms twice the size of Gwynedd—Elen had chosen a
man old enough to be her father, a man with five sons from his first marriage already grown to manhood. Northgallis was a tiny kingdom, ringed by mountains, insular, isolated, and, Alyse was certain, primitive by modern standards. For the sake of love, Elen had made a very foolish match and, as things turned out, a fatal one. She'd been sleeping in her grave these thirteen years while Alyse ruled in Gwynedd in their father's place. So much for Elen's singular beauty. All it had brought her was an early death in childbed, a daughter she never knew, and a sister who never mourned her absence.

  Even now, Queen Alyse felt no regret. The threat of Elen's beauty hung over her still, like a lowering cloud, in the presence of Elen's daughter. But without Elen herself, it would not matter. There was only one princess of importance in Gwynedd, and that was Alyse's daughter. History would not repeat itself in this generation. She was not going to allow Elaine to grow up in anyone's shadow.

  She turned from the window and gazed thoughtfully at her ward. There was nothing to worry about yet, and she was, after all, in complete charge of the girl's future. She and Pellinore, out of the goodness of their hearts, had taken the child in five years ago when King Leodegrance's health had begun to fail. Even at the time, she had considered it a practical move. If she could decide the fate of Elen's daughter, then she need have no worries for the fate of her own. Elaine had always been a pretty child and was now on the verge of becoming a very lovely young woman. Only a true beauty could outshine her.

  A smile forced its way to the queen's lips. One could hardly call young Guinevere a beauty. Just two weeks shy of her thirteenth birthday and clad in her much-loved leggings and tunic instead of a proper gown, she was still as straight and slim as any boy. Next to Elaine, who was a full year younger, Elen's daughter looked more like a garden scarecrow than a girl on the verge of womanhood. There might be promise in those dark blue eyes, those fine bones, and that rather astonishing white-gold hair, but the child would need a figure to attract a husband. When Guinevere did begin to blossom—a distant event, by the look of things—Alyse would have plenty of warning. There would be time enough to foil the ridiculous prophecy made at Guinevere's birth. Highest lady in the land, indeed!