Queen Of Knights (4 page)

“After your mother’s death? She would not have approved the match?” he asked, searching her face for the answer.  Then he smiled.  “I would give you your choice!” he stated boldly.  “Would you have me for your husband?” Gwendolyn knew with a strange certainty that life with this man would be everything she could want
. 
Even the one thing which she knew was impossible, but was her most cherished dream
.

“I would
,
” Gwendolyn whispered, her heart stopping for an instant
.

“Then I will speak of this to Sir Hughes.  I will strike a bargain he will be agreeable to.”

“But .. 
.
” Gwendolyn began, taking a deep breath as she lifted her hand and gently stroked his cheek.  The sensation
of his skin on hers sent tremors along her arm.  Her thoughts swirled with the possibilities of the fu
t
ure, and she knew she must voice them before anything further could come of this meeting
. 
“I would ask one boon if you are to marry me.”

Mi
l
es’s eyes were unblinking as he looked at her.  Then he nodded.  “When I saw you, I knew you were no ordinary woman.  Your boon, or as many as you ask, shall be granted! One, or a hundred, it matters not
.
”

Her heart swelled at his words.  She wondered for a moment if this was just his passion speaking.  Then he smi
l
ed again
,
his face softening.

“You have a strong chin, Sir Miles, and intelligent eyes.  I could fare worse.  There is one, and only one, boon I would ask.”

“Then speak it, for it is granted
.
”

“Not yet
. 
If you succeed in winning my hand, you will hear my boon on our wedd
i
ng day
.
”

“And why not now?” Miles asked, puzzled by her secrecy, yet at the same time feeling an intense anticipation
.

“Because, my gallant knight
,
until we are actually betrothed, and until the words of the marriage ceremony are to be a reality and not a dream, I will trust no one with what I must ask.”

Hearing the passionate depths of her words, Miles tightened his grip on her hand.  “You will always be able to trust me, my lady, always.  Now, up with you,” he said as his hands went around her waist and he lifted her effortlessly onto the mare’s back.  Gwendolyn closed her eyes at the pleasure of finally having someone who could make her feel like a woman.

“Soon, my Lady Gwendolyn, I will come to claim you.”

“I know
,
” Gwendolyn whispered.  Then she sat straight on the horse’s back and, using her heels, urged the mare into the trees.  She rode smoothly, not giving in to the impulse to glance back.  She had no need
. 
Miles’s features were inde
l
ibly printed in her mind: his strong face, his deep, but gentle eyes, the strength in his hands, and the aura of his power.

Gwendolyn knew that now she must go to the cave.  She must feel the sword of her father in her hands, and with it, she must think over everything that had happened to her this day.

Chapter Two

Gwendolyn
rode deep into the forest
,
her mind confused, yet peaceful at the same time.  Over and over, she forced herself to rep
l
ay the encounter at the pool
. 
She analyzed every moment now that she had the time to do so
. 
She remembered all her mistakes clearly, but at the same time she realized she could have done no better.  A
l
l her training-in
-
arms and the ways of fighting had been learned by observation of
t
he squires and knights when they practiced; and her own practice had been limited by necessity to the times when she was alone
. 
And then she could on
l
y fight imaginary foes with her sword.

She reviewed what had happened and again saw Miles charging forward on his mount, his head bared, his halberd hanging on its thong, and his sword held high, reflecting sunlight and gleaming its intent as he whipped it downward against the others.  But there was his handsome face .  .  .shivering, even in the warmth, Gwendolyn wondered what the fates had in store for her
.

Why had she spoken so boldly?
Because I have waited a lifetime for him! Because he is the only man I have ever seen that I could allow myself to be with
!
Because I see within him a vast good.

W
i
thout realizing it, Gwendolyn had arrived a
t
her destination.  She slid from her mount's back and dropped the reins.  Pausing as she looked at the obscured opening in the face of the moss-covered hill, she fe
l
t her heart beat faster
.

Breathing deeply, Gwendolyn started forward
. 
As always,
a tingling began
i
n the bal
l
s of her feet
,
and by the time she reached the entrance, it spread through her ent
ir
e body.  It was a far
-
from
-
unpleasant feeling and one she always looked forward to
.

Ducking her head, Gwendo
l
yn entered the darkened cave
.

Inside, she wa
l
ked unerringly toward the deep n
i
che in the far wall
. 
Reaching up
,
Gwendolyn’s fingers sea
r
ched until they brushed against the soft chamois
. 
She sighed in relief.  It was always so, every time she
r
eturned to the cave: she feared that she would never find it.  Her fingers grasped the object and she drew it down.

With the chamo
i
s-wrapped b
l
ade secure in her hand
,
Gwendolyn walked toward the entrance of the cave.  Halfway there she reached the dayl
i
ght filtering inward in a misty flow
. 
At the first edge of light upon the cave
’
s floor, she stopped.

Sinking gracefully to her knees, Gwendolyn placed the chamois on the ground and gently unfolded it
. 
She gasped as she always did when the light struck the b
l
ade.  The silver shimmered
,
and Gwendolyn felt warmth emanating from it
.

She gazed at it for long moments, her eyes reacquainting themselves with her treasure
—
her inheritance.  The pommel, a perfect oval with a round silver ball on top, and a tapering and simple qui
l
lons cross bar beneath it, was crisscrossed w
i
th fine lines, and Gwendolyn knew the design was not for beauty, but for traction on the skin.

The blade was severa
l
inches
l
onger than most longswords
,
yet so thin it was almost invis
i
ble when turned sideways
. 
Its gleaming length was unmarked, showing not one nick from batt
l
e.  But instinctively, Gwendolyn knew this sword had seen more battle than any sword in England or Normandy.

Reverently, she grasped the hilt and lifted the sword
.

Although it should weigh so much that both hands of the strongest knight would be needed to lift it, the sword floated upward feather
l
ike, within her one
-
handed grasp.

The tingling that rippled through her increased when she stood and she could feel her blood begin to sing
. 
The sword of her father always spoke to her thus, always gave to her a feeling of belonging, knowledge, and courage.

The longer she gazed at this most wondrous of instruments, the faster her b
l
ood coursed through her body.  Unexpectedly, a low glow rose from the sword.  Yet, no fear entered her mind; rather did she gaze on it with wonder.

Soon the ethereal glow increased, and the interior of the cave was illuminated with a shimmering silvery light
. 
Gwendolyn was bathed within it and warmed by it
. 
The walls of the cave were luminous, sparkling with the sheen of moss.  All the while, the sword hummed in her hand, joining the singing of her blood until she could not distinguish her body from the sword
.

And then she saw a darkened shape appear in the rear of the cave
. 
At first it was a wavering coalescence of shadows, but it grew steadily, at pa
c
e with the sword’s light.  Finally the misty wavering figure solidified, and a robed figure with long flowing hair stood before Gwendolyn’s wide-eyed inspection.

Gwendolyn held her breath as the apparition appeared, and when the figure had become steady, she released it with a long sigh.  Gwendolyn was bathed with a feeling of tranquility at the appearance of this ghostly stranger.  She watched the robed figure step toward her and saw clearly the other’s face
.

It was old and deeply lined, older than she had ever seen before.  But it was not hideous.  In the instant it took for Gwendolyn to gaze into the strange woman’s face, she saw kindness, concern, and love
. 
Then, as her mother’s stories flowed through her mind, Gwendolyn knew who it was.

“You are dead,” she whispered to the apparition of the Druid priestess
.

“What know you of death, my child? You who are the very essence of life itself
—
the blood of thunder and lightning flows through your veins
. 
You are the chosen! You are the daughter of the giant Norse warrior, he who is the right hand to the god of thunder, he who rides the myriad skies with his bride, the fair Gwyneth, your mother!

“They look down upon you as they traverse the heavens and smile when they see what they have created.  Know you, Gwendolyn the chosen, whose blood is of the purest, unsullied blood of Britain and Wales that you were born to fulfill a destiny.  You must live for it, and with it!”

“Why have you come now?” Gwendolyn asked, accepting the priestess’s words without knowing why, but understanding that she must
.

“Because it is time.  Because today you have taken the first step on the road toward your destiny.” As the old Druid stopped speak
i
ng, the silver sword began to vibrate in Gwendolyn’s hand, and she was hard pressed to hold it.  “Release it!” the o
l
d one commanded, pointing one knobby finger at the sword.

Gwendolyn stared at her, but refused to loosen her fingers.  “Release it,” she repeated, this time in a husky whisper.  Gwendolyn’s eyes were riveted to the priestess
’
s as she slow
l
y unlocked
h
er fingers.  When she opened her hand fully, the sword’s hilt rested on her pa
l
m, yet the sword did not dip toward the earth.  Hesitan
t
ly, Gwendolyn drew back her hand a fraction.

The sword floated a hairsbreadth above her palm, burning even whiter as it wavered in the air.  “You speak the truth,” she whispered to the priestess.

“None can
l
ie when they evoke the power of your father’s sword.  Listen
,
my beautiful child, for it will not be often that we talk.  This sword was cast unto
l
d eons ago, when the earth had not yet cooled.  It is of the purest meta
l
, forged by the powers of those whom you call the northern gods.  It was made for only one purpose, to fulfill the destiny ordained by its makers, a destiny that must yet come to pass.”

Gwendolyn, held by the dark orbs of the priestess
’
s eyes
,
felt as if she were being drawn within a vortex that was the other’s mind, pulled from her very body.  Swirling colors assaulted her senses, a sensation of separating, and a fleeting impression of floating above the world sought to claim her, but even as it did she still found no fear within her.

As the old one spoke
,
Gwendolyn could see the silver sword being cast, she could see the northern gods, bearded
,
blonde, and powerful, their bulging muscles glistening with sweat as they worked the sword, shaping and testing the blade until it glowed with unearthly perfection.

“Thousands of years ago it was ordained that mortal man sho
u
ld fight mortal man, for they lost the way of the earth when they ignored the teachings of the ancient ones and desecrated the place they lived upon.  They fought and killed each other, and called upon whatever gods they had created in their minds to justify this need for blood.  And today it grows even worse.  The people have turned their back on the
way of light, and chosen, instead, a path of evil whom those you cal
l
the gods refuse to witness.

“But, it has also been ordained that this path may be broken; however, the ancient powers will not interfere bodily
. 
This road must be traveled, not by the blood of those who have chosen to follow desecration in error, but by those who have remained pure
. 
Who, although they have no knowledge of what has happened before them, and what will happen after, have kept themselves unsullied by the powers of deceit
.
”

Gwendolyn listened, entranced by the priestess’s words, yet all the while wondering if this were not but a dream.

‘‘‘Tis no dream you stand within, Gwendolyn.  ‘Tis but the reality denied to a mortal
,
” she whispered as lightning danced around them, and carried them to the top of a floating mountain.

Gwendolyn knew she was still in her cave, but she a
l
so saw that she was rising above the boiling tip of a mountain
. 
Suddenly the volcano exploded, and blood-red lava rose to engulf them.

“But I am mortal!” she cried, defending herself against this awesome vision, never once realizing she had spoken a
l
oud
.

“Yes, but you have been chosen.”

“Why?” Gwendolyn asked, fighting to regain her sense of reality while challenging the old one as boldly as she had the three men-at-arms a bare hour ago.

“When the time comes for you to know, you shall
. 
Now listen to me
,
my child, for my time here is almost gone and there is much to tell
.
” The priestess made a swirling motion with her hand, and they were again in the confines of the cave.  The silver sword floated gently downward, until it rested upon the chamois that was its home.

“Today you met the man who was chosen
,
when the sword was cast, to be your mate
. 
You will marry him, as custom decrees.  Your life wi
l
l be devoted to protecting him, for it w
i
ll be his seed within you which will produce the race that, in a thousand years, will inherit the earth
.
”

A chill raced through Gwendolyn as she listened to the old one’s prophesy.  She lifted her head to gaze into the ancient eyes of the priestess, but instead of the old lined face, she saw the sea-green eyes and jet hair of Miles of Radstock
.

“Yes!” the priestess cried.  The visage of Miles dissolved and the ancient face of the Druid returned.  “Yes, he is the one.  He was born for you, as were you for him
.
”