Queen's Heart: An Arthurian Paranormal Romance (Arthurian Hearts Book 2) (18 page)

Considering the day’s alternative, spending the rest of eternity in this cramped and ill-lit cabin wrapped in Yseult’s splendor would have been my desire. Here, we could forget all grief and jealousies, sad farewellings and whatever dark secrets went still unspoken.

Des hid his well, but the mysteries around him only grew the longer I knew him. As for my own… I thought it would be easier to confess my name and title to Yseult once away from Whitehaven. But to bring it up during song in the afternoon hadn’t seemed fitting, nor while we were drinking, and certainly not any time beyond that. Perhaps now, when Yseult woke.

As if she’d heard my thoughts, she stirred against me. “That’s lovely,” she whispered, my hands still filled with her.

“You should try it from my side.” Sweeping her hair aside, I kissed her neck, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. She turned her head and, lips to hers, I kissed her fully awake. “We only have a couple of hours before landfall. Our last to be together. Share them with me,” I invited. My secret had waited this long. It needn’t compromise the last few minutes I had to know true happiness. “Forget the world for just a little. All will still be as it is now when we’re done.”

“Yes,” she breathed into me. “Let’s forget together.”

I rolled from bed to deck to remove my breeches. Yseult pulled her shift over her head, and in the stray bit of morning light that peeped its way in through the tiny porthole, I ogled her resplendent body.

Had we more room, more time, I could think of a hundred ways to pleasure her. As it was, I rolled back into our awkward bed and pulled her atop me. With a smile and a firm hand, she caught me and guided me in.

“I’m not too heavy, am I?”

I laughed gently at the concern in her voice. “No, my Lady. You are perfection itself.”

I savored every moment, every touch, every thrust. We swallowed each other’s cries of ecstasy, then I rolled her beneath me and we did it all again.

After, I clung to her, making that moment and the others that had come before ours alone.

“Whatever else may come,” I whispered, my voice urgent in her ear, “remember this is truth. I will never stop loving you.”

“Whatever else may come,” Yseult echoed, “God will know my heart always lies with you.”

Holding to the bliss of that moment, I refused to think of Des or Mark or Brangien. Yseult was mine. Would be mine forever.

Whatever else may come.

Clouds hung low and threatening when Drustan and I made our way to the deck at last. With each step up the ladder, my soul went a little more numb. To have found Drustan only to lose him to the duty of the crown. To have lost my dearest friend to tragedy. To be about to lose myself to a king I’d never seen.

Is this what it meant to be a queen? Losing that which I most loved?

Brangien had found her way to peace. But I knew her path could never be mine. For now, for whatever more might come, I could endure.

Des was finishing his breakfast when Drustan and I stepped on deck. The pinch in my stomach reminded me none of us had eaten last night.

“Boatswain!” Des bellowed. “They’re up.”

He turned sullen eyes on us and by the open keg at his side, it was clear he wished to be drunk. He arched a brow at me. “My Lady disapproves?” He nodded toward the keg. “It has no more effect on me than your mother’s potions. But come, indulge yourselves. We all deserve to be drunk this day.”

One of the boatswains dropped a laden trencher by Des, then hurried off. I picked up a bit of beef and a piece of flatbread before asking, “What did you mean by ‘mother’s potions’?”

Des scowled. “Playing innocent no longer becomes you, my Lady.”

The backhanded remark stung. I didn’t love Des, as a friend, any less. I knew it was jealousy speaking in Des’ voice, and for that I forgave his behavior. “You mistake, Sir, if you believe I knew anything of my mother’s gift. What has it to do with any of this?”

“What has—?” His eyes narrowed and he looked sharply, first at me then at Drustan who was raiding the trencher yet all the while acutely aware of Des and me. “You truly didn’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Your mother’s gift was a love potion.”

“A lo—” My knees went weak as understanding crashed over me. I struggled for breath as I sagged to the deck. Then Des on one side and Drustan on the other were bearing me up, leading me to a seat by the rail and forcing me to sit. I clenched at Drustan’s arm. His face looked as ashen as mine felt. “Was last night—? This morning—?” I heard Des’ anguished groan.

“No!” Drustan cupped my chin with a hard hand. “There was no need of any witchery. I’ve loved you since the moment I saw the storm in your eyes.” Only then did he falter, and I saw the edge of fear in his face. “But maybe it was
you
who never loved
me
.”

The dread in his eyes at the thought tore at my heart. “I loved you, too, before. I swear. Only…” I swallowed. Why did truth always hurt so much? “Between you and Des—I couldn’t choose.” I felt tears gather in my throat, but this went beyond tears. In the quiet that fell between us, I waited for the man to catch up.

“Mother, too, knew what it was like to be a reluctant bride. She would have meant the drink for me and Mark.”

“Brangien!” Drustan had finally caught on.

Des, I was certain, already knew what Brangien had done. By the pain deepening in his eyes, he was just coming to realize that, before last night, I had still not chosen between him and Drustan.

Des dropped to his knees before me. “So, it could have been I who took your heart?”

Why was his pain so plain for me to see? I shook my head, a denial as false as Judas. “No. Not you. Not Drustan. Mark. No matter what else, my pledge is to duty and Mark.”

“Then you have doomed me, my Lady.”

“I think we have all doomed each other.”

~ ~ ~

There were carts waiting for us when we landed. One to lade my things on and another to carry me on to Tintagel. Des led his and Drustan’s stallions from the hold and they galloped the spirit out of them while the first cart trundled me off along the coast. As the crow flew, it was only a short distance from port to castle. But Tintagel was built on a high cliff overlooking the sea and it took time to climb the switchbacks to its top.

The country about Tintagel had a wilder look than that about Whitehaven. No meadows of deepest green that gave way gently to thick forests among the hills, but fields of harsh sedge grasses on the rugged hills that ended bluntly at the edge of a thick, ringing wood. Add to that the drizzle that had begun to fall and that the one familiar companion I’d counted on was gone and I was thoroughly homesick already. Only loneliness lay ahead. I prayed to have Mother’s philtre back, or at the least for my heart to be unshackled from Drustan, because when he left—as he must, I knew—he’d take my heart, my soul, my life with him.

As we drew close to the castle, Des fell his steed in step with the cart while Drustan spurred ahead.

“He insisted on announcing you,” Des said.

I was wet and tired; the last thing I wanted was fanfare. Too, while I should have been flattered, I was suspicious. Had Father requested it of him?

The small knot of folk waiting in the courtyard hardly constituted fanfare, however. An older gentleman with softly graying hair—of an age with the king, I suspected—met the cart with hand extended to help me out.

“My Lady, welcome to Tintagel,” he said with a bow. “I am Dinas of Lidan, Seneschal. It is my pleasure to attend you.”

Des to one side and Drustan in front dismounted, and a pair of young pages appeared to take their horses.

“My pleasure to be here, Sir Dinas.” Taking his hand, I stepped from the cart. Two others, knights too, perhaps, stood at the wide doors. Even bedraggled as I was, I expected men’s stares. But Dinas and the guards at the doors had eyes as much for Drustan as for me.

The guards pulled back the doors onto a large audience hall and bowed me through, Des and Drustan following no more than a step behind. Within, a score of nobles and their ladies stood from their benches. At the far end of the hall, King Mark rose from a modest throne, gray hair, gray beard, but a fit-seeming body and a look of surprised joy.

I blushed deeply as Dinas, from behind, announced us. “The Princess, Yseult of Whitehaven, Sir Palomides, and Sir Tristan of Lyonesse.”

My knees went weak. The room suddenly held no air. I spun sharply to face Drustan—no
Tristan
—who looked at the floor and would not meet my stare. I spun the other way and fixed Des with an accusing eye. “Did you know?” I hissed. But the look of astonishment on his face was enough to tell me he was as taken by surprise as I. Surely he had heard the rumors same as I, but to know them for truth…

What miracle held me to my feet I didn’t know. I was numb, unable to feel my body, barely able to think. I wanted nothing more than to crawl away and hide somewhere safe—away from kings and lies and grief.

But there was no time to do anything save plaster on a smile that burned like shame as the king approached us. He sucked in air at close sight of me, and I saw a familiar glint in the appraising eye he cast over me. He had been a fine man in his youth, I was certain. And he made for a king—wise and confident—one could have faith in. But for a husband… Memory of Drustan—
Tristan
—washed over me. What body could compare to his in strength and endurance? What face, save Des’, could compare to his beauty? What other man could make my heart and body sing?

“My Lady,” King Mark was saying, “all of Tintagel welcomes their queen-to-be.” Clasping my hand in his he lifted it eagerly to his dry lips. “Though none welcomes her more than I.”

“The pleasure is mine,” I responded, mustering what formality I could.

Mark, however, was already turning his attention to Tristan. “I thought you dead, my boy.”

“I very nearly was. It was Yseult who saved me.”

“A generous heart to save an enemy,” Mark said.

“Only because I knew him not for the man who slew my uncle.” And now that I did, why did I not revile Tristan in my heart the same as I tried to castigate him with my words? Granted, I had not known Sir Marhaus well and they had fought as champions, out of duty, each bearing the sword of their respective king. They had fought not as Tristan and Marhaus then, but as Cornwall and Ireland.

But then to betray me every day as we sat in my courtyard, to carry my favor, to bed me, to urge me in every way to fall in love with his lie…

When I could move again, I stepped away from Tristan and Mark who, reunited, were embracing now. Uncle and nephew, they were as close as father and son. And now I would be Tristan’s aunt.

My mind skittered away, too overwhelmed to think too closely about what had been and what would come. I stumbled back another step—right into Des’ arms. Hand on my waist he steadied me.

Left his hands there even when Mark returned his attention to me and announced to the hall in general, “Yseult and I will wed ten days hence. Tonight we feast the return of Tristan!” Leaning close, for my ears alone, he added, “You are far fairer, my Lady, than the songs would tell. You and I will have much joy come the wedding night.” His face split into a sloppy grin. “More mead all around!” he shouted, and I couldn’t help but observe it wasn’t yet mid-day.

~ ~ ~

From somewhere Dinas found me a handmaid to help me change into dry clothes and to unpack my things when the second cart arrived.

I was exhausted—heart, mind, body and soul. Claiming fatigue from the journey I slept till suppertime. When I woke, the handmaid had already laid out a gown for the feast: the same emerald overdress I had last lent Brangien. “Choose me another,” I commanded, offering no other explanation, not caring that I likely would be labeled
imperious
by the court’s servants. Knowing I didn’t yet have the strength to talk about Brangien.

At the feast, Mark sat me at his right-hand side and fed me sweetmeats from his own trencher. Tristan sat to his left, resplendent in a deep blue surcoat trimmed in silver. At a near table, fidgeting in his borrowed finery of ruby and gold, Des watched us, the normal dazzle in his eyes dulled by his sullen stare.

Mead flowed generously, and as the night wore on Mark pressed closer and closer to me, taking freer and freer liberties with his hands. When he winked at me and laid his hand between my thighs, over the gown though it was, I’d had enough. Curbing my instinct to slap away the disdainful thing, I said, “Your Grace sets a lovely and lavish table, but the sea trip and the feast have tired me greatly. With your permission, I think it’s best I retire.”

Without actually waiting for that permission to be granted, I stood, twisting my hips and brushing away the offending hand as I did. For the benefit of propriety, I dropped him a sweet smile and a curtsy before striding off.

As I passed Des he caught my hand. “May I come to you tomorrow?” he asked, low enough that only I could hear.

He looked so wounded and distraught—and I desperately needed the comfort of a friend. “At noon,” I nodded. “In the main courtyard where we first arrived.”