tell a woman who relished the game. And this one reminded him of something—he'd remember it soon. They were here for only one night, but a man never knew… Gawain felt his flesh thicken and laughed to himself.
Kay read Gawain's expression and gave him an angry nudge. "We're guests here, man," he hissed in Gawain's ear. "Can't you behave yourself?"
Gawain gave a guilty grin. "Listen, Kay," he began. "I've seen the Earl's daughter before somewhere—no, don't laugh—"
Laugh all you like, thought the Earl viciously, watching the two knights. With a secret like this, the King was in his power. First he'd take Lienore and the boy to court and let Arthur get to know his son. Then he'd surreptitiously track down others who had been at the tournament and establish proofs of paternity that the King could not shrug off. If the price was right, someone would surely recall the great King Arthur rutting like a hog in a tent—
Earl Sweyn sighed with content, and reviewed his plan. As time went by, he'd find or make other allies, too. Arthur's barons must want an heir, so he'd surely have their support. The main thing was to play his cards close to his chest. Not a word of this must come out till the time was ripe.
Suddenly he felt a buzzing in his head and knew there was danger, though he could not say where. Arthur was playing tenderly with young Sweyn, and Lienore was staring at him with an unfathomable look in her wide, pale eyes.
Arthur smiled at Lienore and ruffled young Sweyn's hair. "You are blessed in your son, my lady. Any man would be proud to call this boy his own."
Lienore paused, her fair head to one side. Suddenly Earl Sweyn knew where her silence was leading and opened his mouth to cry out. But he knew in the same moment that he was too late.
Lienore gave a sublime, malicious grin. "Well, sir, you can."
"Can what?" Now it was Arthur's turn to hesitate.
"What I say, sir," Lienore said blithely, fluttering her shoulders in a glorious shrug. "You fathered this child. You can call him your son."
Chapter 14
By the light of the candles, the figure on the table looked like a slumbering giant from a former age, a monster, not a man. But the blood, the quivering flesh and the stink of decay, these were all too human and meant only one thing. Isolde straightened her aching back and worked on. Whatever could be done to save Sir Marhaus, she would do.
Behind her the Queen prowled the chamber like a wild beast, whimpering in her throat.
Goddess, Mother, how will she live if he dies
? Firmly Isolde put the bleak thought away. Time enough to deal with her mother when this was done.
On the high wooden bench before her, Marhaus lay deeply unconscious, his handsome face in repose, his muscular frame relaxed. When his weeping knights had carried him from the ship, he had been alert enough to mock them as a gaggle of silly girls, and to check the Queen sharply when she wept too. Then he had pressed her hand to his lips and closed his eyes. Sir Houzen, the leader of his knights, fell to his knees and offered the fallen champion's sword to the Queen.
She snatched up the weapon. "Marhaus, what have you done?" she howled. Then she whirled it round her head and, keening like a banshee, sent it spinning into the sea. "Save him, Isolde!" she cried.
Isolde's heart was burning with words she could not say:
Mother, his soul is leaving us on this tide. Let us not clog its flight to the astral plane
. She took Marhaus's hand and its clamminess made her fear he had already begun his journey between the worlds. But when she felt his pulse, something whispered back. She gave a decisive nod to Marhaus's knights.
"The infirmary, sirs—and hurry! This way, if you please."
She strode ahead to the castle, making for the low, whitewashed hospice where all came to her with their ailments and woes. Fumbling into a clean apron with Brangwain's help, she ran a practiced eye over the shelves of lotions and compounds in the spare, well-scrubbed
Kay read Gawain's expression and gave him an angry nudge. "We're guests here, man," he hissed in Gawain's ear. "Can't you behave yourself?"
Gawain gave a guilty grin. "Listen, Kay," he began. "I've seen the Earl's daughter before somewhere—no, don't laugh—"
Laugh all you like, thought the Earl viciously, watching the two knights. With a secret like this, the King was in his power. First he'd take Lienore and the boy to court and let Arthur get to know his son. Then he'd surreptitiously track down others who had been at the tournament and establish proofs of paternity that the King could not shrug off. If the price was right, someone would surely recall the great King Arthur rutting like a hog in a tent—
Earl Sweyn sighed with content, and reviewed his plan. As time went by, he'd find or make other allies, too. Arthur's barons must want an heir, so he'd surely have their support. The main thing was to play his cards close to his chest. Not a word of this must come out till the time was ripe.
Suddenly he felt a buzzing in his head and knew there was danger, though he could not say where. Arthur was playing tenderly with young Sweyn, and Lienore was staring at him with an unfathomable look in her wide, pale eyes.
Arthur smiled at Lienore and ruffled young Sweyn's hair. "You are blessed in your son, my lady. Any man would be proud to call this boy his own."
Lienore paused, her fair head to one side. Suddenly Earl Sweyn knew where her silence was leading and opened his mouth to cry out. But he knew in the same moment that he was too late.
Lienore gave a sublime, malicious grin. "Well, sir, you can."
"Can what?" Now it was Arthur's turn to hesitate.
"What I say, sir," Lienore said blithely, fluttering her shoulders in a glorious shrug. "You fathered this child. You can call him your son."
Chapter 14
By the light of the candles, the figure on the table looked like a slumbering giant from a former age, a monster, not a man. But the blood, the quivering flesh and the stink of decay, these were all too human and meant only one thing. Isolde straightened her aching back and worked on. Whatever could be done to save Sir Marhaus, she would do.
Behind her the Queen prowled the chamber like a wild beast, whimpering in her throat.
Goddess, Mother, how will she live if he dies
? Firmly Isolde put the bleak thought away. Time enough to deal with her mother when this was done.
On the high wooden bench before her, Marhaus lay deeply unconscious, his handsome face in repose, his muscular frame relaxed. When his weeping knights had carried him from the ship, he had been alert enough to mock them as a gaggle of silly girls, and to check the Queen sharply when she wept too. Then he had pressed her hand to his lips and closed his eyes. Sir Houzen, the leader of his knights, fell to his knees and offered the fallen champion's sword to the Queen.
She snatched up the weapon. "Marhaus, what have you done?" she howled. Then she whirled it round her head and, keening like a banshee, sent it spinning into the sea. "Save him, Isolde!" she cried.
Isolde's heart was burning with words she could not say:
Mother, his soul is leaving us on this tide. Let us not clog its flight to the astral plane
. She took Marhaus's hand and its clamminess made her fear he had already begun his journey between the worlds. But when she felt his pulse, something whispered back. She gave a decisive nod to Marhaus's knights.
"The infirmary, sirs—and hurry! This way, if you please."
She strode ahead to the castle, making for the low, whitewashed hospice where all came to her with their ailments and woes. Fumbling into a clean apron with Brangwain's help, she ran a practiced eye over the shelves of lotions and compounds in the spare, well-scrubbed
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