The Guinevere's Tale Trilogy

Chapter 9-1

Chapter Nine

Autumn 495

Every evening, my father, Octavia, and I ate dinner at dusk in the great hall, quietly discussing our day and any news that filtered in from the village or countryside. After the trenchers were cleared, we passed the hours of early evening by sewing, writing letters, playing games, or telling stories—catching up on the lost years I was away in Avalon. I treaded carefully, still unsure of my position in this new world, but all went well. It was a quiet life, but one doing much good to heal our wounded hearts.

However, this mid-autumn evening was anything but routine; for the first time since my mother’s death, we were having guests at dinner.

The household was abuzz with activity, preparing for the arrival of Lord Evrain, ruler of the kingdom of Powys, which bordered my father’s lands. Though Evrain possessed only moderate power in the overall hierarchy of the country, maintaining a pleasant relationship with him was of utmost importance because of the location of his lands. Should he ever turn against my father, the proximity of his kingdom would give any enemy perfect staging grounds for an invasion of our less-fortified eastern border. This being so, I was admonished to be on my best behavior.

Even though Lord Evrain was considerably late in arriving, I was still rushing to tuck my hair beneath the cream-colored veil my father had insisted I wear low over my forehead. Apparently the visiting lord was a very religious Christian, so the sight of my sacred crescent would not make for a very good first impression. I was dismayed by having to conceal something I had worked so hard to attain and was so proud of; in my mind, the mark was a part of me, but I had no choice.

Voices carried in from the courtyard below, muffled greetings of peace. Evrain and his men were finally here.

“Guinevere, make haste!” Octavia hissed.

I turned to face her, and she scowled, pulling at the veil until it brushed my eyebrows.

“Be certain you do not let it slip,” she warned. “Your father is in a foul temper as it is.”

Octavia escorted me firmly by the arm as we descended the staircase into the great hall, falling into her proper place behind me only when we came within sight of Lord Evrain and his small cluster of attendants. I took a deep breath and wiped my clammy, trembling hands on the sides of my gown. Having been away in Avalon for so long, I had forgotten the rules of courtly life. Dear Goddess, please let me make my father proud.

I stepped forward out of the shadows, careful to stay a distance behind my father. Once the men had been formally introduced to one another, my father gracefully slid his arm behind me and gently nudged me forward.

“Lord Evrain, this is my only child, the Lady Guinevere.”

I curtsied low before the silver-haired man, not daring to meet his eyes.

“Indeed, she is a beauty,” he said to my father as he reached to take my hand and assist me to rise. “Lady Guinevere, I am most honored to meet you.”

He had addressed me, so now I could raise my eyes. “In truth, sir, the honor is mine.”

Lord Evrain released my hand and gestured to the young man on his right. “Allow me to present to you my son Fergus. He is my youngest and the only of my sons yet to take a wife.”

Evrain glanced purposefully at my father as his son stiffly stepped forward. He was thin and tall, his arms and legs far more than his still-growing body could manage.

He is barely more than a boy.

Fergus roughly clasped my hand in his puppy-like paw. “I am grateful to be a guest in your home,” he croaked in the uneven voice of one not still a boy but not yet a man. He shot an uncertain look at his father, who nodded in encouragement. Fergus swallowed before continuing. “And I feel most privileged to present this token to you,” he stammered, fumbling to untie a pouch from his belt. “It pales in comparison to your beauty.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Fergus’s father smile delightedly.

Oh no. This is more than a gift. Evrain is trying to make a match.

I fought to hide my fear and disgust behind a smile of surprise as Fergus removed a delicate golden chain from a small velvet bag. I tried to catch Octavia’s eye but found my father’s warning stare instead. I quickly returned my gaze to the man-boy in front of me. As he struggled to fasten the golden rope around my wrist with his bulky fingers, the rubies suspended from the chain caught the torchlight, reflecting dully on the ashen surface of his face.

When the bracelet hung securely from my wrist, I clasped Fergus’s hands in mine, as was expected of me. “My Lord, I am most flattered.” My smile tightened to cover my true emotions as I looked into his lifeless, nervous eyes. “Your gift is truly a treasure, one that I will cherish for years to come. I only hope I will be judged as valuable to you as the gift you have given me.”

Lord Evrain clapped his hands together, pleased by the exchange. “Hurrah! Now that the introductions are done, shall we sup?” He took my father by the arm and started toward the long table in the center of the room.

From somewhere behind Evrain’s rust-colored cape, a man cleared his throat. Lord Evrain turned. His annoyed scowl was artfully replaced with an apologetic smile as he gestured toward a young man previously hidden in the throng of attendants.

“It appears I have forgotten someone after all,” Evrain said.

The man glided forward when he was introduced, but I did not need to hear his name to know who he was. Before me stood Aggrivane of Lothian, my lover from the Beltane fires. When his dark eyes met mine, they registered the briefest moment of shock, which faded into joyful recognition coupled with a slight upturn of his lips before he could discipline his features and pretend to be introduced as a stranger.

Evrain seemed a bit embarrassed by his guest, explaining away Aggrivane’s presence as an act of charity to a fellow king. “He is the son of an inconsequential barbarian who wears a crown only by right of inheritance. He is a guest in my court, studying how to govern. Pay him no mind; he is here to learn, not to socialize.” Evrain turned to me and added, “Until he wins or inherits land, he is more a servant than a noble. He is certainly not fit to be in the company of such a gracious lady.”

Was I supposed to take that as a compliment? It seemed more of a veiled warning.

By the time the main course was served, I was beginning to wonder if it was possible to die of boredom. My father and Lord Evrain disagreed over everything and especially seemed to enjoy arguing over the most trivial matters. I tried to force myself to pay attention to their discussion, but I kept finding every excuse possible to steal a glance in Aggrivane’s direction. Judging from the way he tightened his jaw and kept his body angled away from me, he was doing everything he could to pretend to be uninterested in me, but every so often his resolve weakened and he fleetingly returned my gaze.

Perhaps it was our time apart or pure imagination on my part, but Aggrivane seemed to have grown more handsome since the last time I saw him. Everything about him made my body twinge: the way the light reflected off his glossy hair, the gleam in his dark eyes, the way his whole face lit up when he laughed. Nothing would have pleased me more than to spend the entire evening admiring him and indulging in secret memories of our night together. But I was brought back quickly to the present by a sharp pinch on my thigh. I scowled at Octavia, my lust-addled mind not yet comprehending the reason for her action.

“Guinevere,” she hissed quietly, amid the din of servants changing courses and the clattering of dishes. “You’d best get control of yourself, or your father will have your hide.”

“But, Octavia, he is—”

“I remember his name from your stories. I know full well who he is. But Lord Evrain does not, and it is in your best interest to keep it that way. Aggrivane is to be of no consequence to you. Do you understand?”

I nodded dumbly.

Instead of enjoying a reunion with the man I loved, I had been sentenced to the company of Lord Evrain’s socially inept son. I had been attempting all night to engage the boy in some type of conversation, but he seemed just as afraid of me as he was of his father. Every time I asked him a question, he gave me the simplest possible answer and then returned to staring at his plate or at the floor. “The weather is quite fine, yes” or “I do agree that the meat is cooked perfectly.” I could get no opinion or interest out of him whatsoever.

Desperate for some relief from the tedium, I tried one last topic. “How do you find living with your new guest? Do you dislike Lord Aggrivane as much as your father?”

Fergus’s eyes widened, and he put down his knife. “Oh no, I like him very much. He is so kind to me.”

Thrilled I had finally found a subject that interested him, I was eager to keep him talking. “How so?”

“He is the only one willing to listen to me, to teach me what he knows. I hope to be as smart and skilled as he one day. He is the best storyteller. You should hear him recite the great triads. His words are magic.”

As Fergus prattled on about Aggrivane, I couldn’t help but let my gaze wander in his direction. I was rewarded by a jab in the ribs from my serving maid that brought my attention back to our enamored guest, but only temporarily. I had a feeling by the end of the night, my entire side would be black and blue from Octavia’s admonitions.

Throughout the insufferably lengthy meal, the two lords talked mostly of things long past or those that I cared not for, but late in the evening, the subject changed to politics and I began to take notice of the conversation.

“The villagers are bursting with gossip about Uther’s successor,” my father noted, cutting another slice of meat as he spoke. “They say he is little more than a boy. What do you know of him, Lord Evrain? Can he be trusted to lead the country?”

Curious now, I looked up from my plate, intent on stealing yet another fleeting glance at Aggrivane. Instead of meeting his twinkling gaze, my eyes were drawn to Lord Evrain, who, now deep in his drink, was gesturing wildly as if to match his booming tone.

“So you have heard of our young king-to-be, have you? He is quite a lad,” Evrain bragged as if speaking about his own son. “He is Lord Ector’s son, or was,” he corrected himself.

“What do you mean?” my father questioned with a wrinkle in his brow. “Has something happened to Ector?”

“Bless him, no. Oh, it is quite a tale. How is it that you have not heard? Does news not travel past the Cambrian Mountains? Surely you must know.”

If the twitch of muscle in his jaw was any indication, my father was beginning to get annoyed with his drunken guest. “I assure you, my lord, we do not. Would you be so kind as to recall the events to us?”

Evrain beamed. That was just the invitation he had been waiting for.

“Father,” Fergus interrupted as all eyes turned to him, shocked at the intrusion from the quiet boy. “Should not Aggrivane tell the tale? He is as a bard under your command.” Fergus flushed visibly, squirming under his father’s blazing stare. To me, he added in an aside, “He tells it so magnificently.”

“Be quiet, boy,” Evrain roared, gesturing violently toward his son and sloshing wine onto the table in the process.

My father grimaced. “Perhaps your son has a good idea. We have heard little from your guest this evening. It would be refreshing to hear him speak.”