Between Two Fires by Mark Noce Page B

life. A little boy against the likes of this assassin wouldn’t stand a chance. I grab Morgan by the sleeve.
    â€œArthwys, the young prince, where is he?”
    â€œSafe with his uncle in Prince Malcolm’s care.”
    â€œBut then … you knew some danger was afoot?”
    â€œI suspected. You should have stayed in your bedchamber as I ordered.”
    The King flashes Ahern a stern glance and leaves. I trail after Morgan, Ahern’s footsteps following close behind. My torn and bloodied rags earn me more than a few curious stares from soldiers and servants throughout the halls, doubtlessly drawn out of hiding by my earlier screams. No one dares to meet the Hammer King’s eye as he marches through the fortress, his metal greaves clacking loud as horse hooves along the stone floors. We wind our way up to my solar chamber where Malcolm and Arthwys await us. Like his brother, Prince Malcolm wears full armor and clutches his battle mace. The young boy rubs his red eyes. He has been crying. Ahern shuts the door behind me and stands watch outside. Where Una and Rowena have gotten to, I have no idea.
    I splash cold water on my face from the washbasin before hiding behind my changing screen. The two men and young boy drink at the table while I strip out of my bloodied gown and put on a clean robe. Malcolm glances my way a moment before eyeing his elder brother.
    â€œWell?”
    â€œDead,” Morgan replies. “Before I could question him.”
    â€œDamn! I would have tortured him for days, whether he talked or not.”
    â€œHe would have talked,” Morgan replies grimly. “I’d have made him talk.”
    Stepping out from behind my screen, I tighten my robes and approach my husband.
    â€œYou confined me to quarters with no explanation. Why not tell me of the assassin?”
    â€œI do not always have time to explain my decrees, but I expect them to be followed.”
    Morgan gives me a stern sidelong glance and I say no more. Husband or no, he rules as king in South Wales and his word is law for all subjects, including me. The Hammer King brings his fist down hard against the table and for a moment I fear he will strike one of us. Malcolm, Arthwys, and myself stand silent as statues. Morgan slumps down into his seat, his eyes glazed over in thought.
    â€œAt this moment, I trust no one outside this room,” he begins. “Someone has betrayed us.”
    â€œGive us time and we’ll weed out the traitor,” Malcolm replies. “We should raise an army.”
    â€œAnd do what? Attack who? Winter approaches and my men have returned to their farms.”
    Stepping between the brothers, I pour them each a new drink, trying to soothe their tempers. I pet Arthwys on the head, but the boy pushes away from me and sulks in the corner. Sighing, I let the child go. Will I ever be more than a stranger to him? My hands still tremble a touch, my nerves worn from my encounter with the assassin. If Ahern had not followed me, I would be cold as a corpse now. I pour myself a drink, quickly finishing the cup.
    â€œThe assassin had a Pictish tattoo,” I begin. “Who would hire a Pict?”
    â€œOld Belin wed a Pict queen once,” Morgan recalls. “He has certain ties to those barbarians.”
    â€œThe old king’s not fool enough to use a Pict!” Malcolm scoffs. “It’s too suspicious.”
    Morgan remains silent.
    â€œYou think someone used a Pict assassin to make it look like Belin was behind the attack?” I ask.
    â€œThe Blacksword is behind this,” Malcolm says with a growl. “I’d stake my life on it!”
    â€œIt could be the Saxons too,” I reply.
    â€œUse your head, foolish girl!” my brother-in-law retorts. “There’s no Saxons here. Someone from the gathering left an assassin behind after the council broke up. Artagan’s had it out for us since we put a price on his head.”
    â€œIs