The Dragon Prince (8 page)

“I will go see about the escort,” Bridei
said. “That way you can return to your ladylove and make her
comfortable.” Although Rhun could not see his brother’s expression
in the darkness, he knew he was grinning.

* * *

“Princess Eastra?”

She gave a little gasp at the sound of his
deep voice behind her. Then she sat up in the cart and turned to
see Rhun’s tall form, the sunkissed strands of his hair glinting in
the light from the torch he carried. A sense of deep relief washed
over her. “Oh,” she said. “You startled me.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t certain this was the
right cart. Arwistyl should have brought you a torch so you
wouldn’t have to sit in here in the dark.”

Rhun sounded angry as he fastened his torch
to a spear shaft and stuck it in the ground. Eastra thought about
the young soldier who had brought her the food—his soft, unformed
features, the sprinkling of freckles across his nose. She did not
want Rhun to punish the youth. “Arwistyl brought me something to
eat and treated me with every courtesy,” she said quickly. “I’m
certain he got busy with other things or he would have come back
with a torch.”

“Not likely,” Rhun grumbled as he dug in one
of the saddle packs lying near the cart. “He’s probably off
somewhere playing knucklebones and drinking wine right now.” He
straightened suddenly and turned toward her. “I wanted to come and
tell you—our plans have changed. Instead of setting out for my
homeland, tomorrow we will travel to a place called Londinium.”

She could sense the tension in his body. “Is
something wrong?” she asked. “Is there going to be a battle
there?”

“Nay. Arthur and the rest of the army aren’t
going. Only you and I and my cursed brother. And a small escort, of
course. It’s not safe to travel anywhere in Britain these days
without a troop of fighting men.”

Rhun and Bridei had obviously been arguing
again. She hoped their conflict had nothing to do with her. She
didn’t want to be responsible for coming between Rhun and his close
kin. The ties of family were too precious to forsake for any
reason—certainly not for a woman who was by rights their enemy.

“I have heard of Londinium,” she said. “My
father used to go there to buy trading goods. Years ago it was.” As
always, she knew a pang of grief at the thought of her family and
her lost childhood. “Is that why we are going there? To purchase
trading goods?”

Rhun didn’t answer immediately. Then he
said, “Aye, that is it. There are some things I would like to buy
to take back to Gwynedd to my father and stepmother.”

She had thought he would say they were
buying supplies for Arthur’s army. It surprised her to think they
would make such a journey simply to purchase gifts for his family.
“Are you fond of your stepmother?” she asked.

Rhun nodded. “She is a gentle, loving soul,
and has always treated me like I was her own. My own mother died
when I was not yet a man, so I appreciated her kindness. Besides,
she makes my father happy, and he has endured so much tragedy and
suffering in his life he deserves to know some peace in his later
years.”

The way he spoke of his family brought tears
to Eastra’s eyes. She thought of all she had lost, and the ache
that filled her was almost unbearable.

“There is one thing,” Rhun said, breaking
into her gloom. “While we are in Londinium, we must give some
explanation for why a Saxon woman is traveling with us. Bridei has
come up with an idea, but I don’t think you will agree to it. If
his plan distresses you, rest assured I will not insist on it, but
will find some other means to explain things.”

“What is his plan?”

Rhun took a deep breath. “He wants me to say
that you are my leman.”

His leman. With any other man, the idea
would distress her, but with this one—wasn’t this what she truly
wanted, to have Rhun love her and take her maidenhead? “I have no
objection,” she answered.

“You don’t? But... perhaps you don’t
understand. Men will think that I... that we... that we share a
bed, that we are intimate.”

“I know what it means,” she said. “Is it
considered so shameful among your people for a man and a woman who
are not married to lie together?”

“Nay, I suppose not. My own mother was my
father’s leman, so I can hardly condemn it. But the Christian
priests say it devalues the woman, that it’s a barbaric,
dishonorable practice.”

She looked intently into his deep-set eyes.
“It’s a plausible tale, is it not? And if you and I know the truth,
what does it matter what the people of Londinium think?”

He nodded, but she could see he was still
uncomfortable with the idea. She wondered at his unease. Was he
embarrassed by the thought that people would believe he had a Saxon
lover? Or did the fact she had been a slave distress him? She
thought back to Bridei’s playful words. He had implied Rhun desired
her. Could she believe Rhun’s brother?

Rhun cleared his throat. He found he was
staring at her, something he’d vowed not to do. But it was so hard
not to take delight in her pale, glowing beauty. He cleared his
throat. “Is there anything else you require for the night?”

“Are you leaving?”

“Nay, I will sleep beside the cart. But I
wondered if there wasn’t something else I could do to make you more
comfortable.”

She shook her head. “I’ve plenty of blankets
and sheepskins to sleep on, and I ate my fill earlier.”

“Well, good night.”

He got his bedroll from his saddle pack and
spread it out on the ground. He had not wanted to bother with
having Arwistyl pitch his tent, especially since it looked to be a
clear, warm night. He settled himself in his bedroll and looked up
at the stars. Soft rustling sounds came from the cart beside him.
Was she uncomfortable, despite her assurances she had plenty of
blankets? Was that why she seemed to toss and turn?

He thought of her, so close, so very close.
It almost seemed he could smell her, some fragrance that clung to
her skin from when she had last bathed. But maybe it was only the
honeysuckle and clover growing on the hill, casting their sweet
scent into the breeze. Whatever it was, it made his heart squeeze
in his chest and his loins tighten. He sighed. A fine summer night,
with all thoughts of battle and war forgotten. Despite the army
camp around them, it seemed as if there were only the two of
them—man and woman, dreaming beneath the starlit heavens.

They set out the next day under a bright
blue, cloudless sky. Rhun and Bridei rode side by side at the front
of the traveling party with Eastra behind them. Bringing up the
rear were five warriors clad in mail shirts. Three of them had dark
hair and swarthy skin, while the other two had flame-colored
tresses. There was enough of a resemblance between the darker men
that Eastra wondered if they were brothers.

Her mount was a beautiful reddish brown
mare. She had never ridden such a regal beast, and she found the
mare’s gait to be smooth and graceful. As they rode out of the army
camp, where everyone was busily preparing to march, Eastra’s
spirits soared.

Ahead of her, Rhun and Bridei spoke quietly,
obviously discussing the journey ahead of them. After a short
while, Rhun fell back to ride beside her. “It’s not too long a
journey. By nightfall we should be within sight of the city’s
walls.”

“Have you ever been to Londinium before?”
Eastra asked.

“Aye, several times. It’s an amazing place.
There, Saxons, Britons, and men who still call themselves citizens
of Rome all live side by side, engaged in a common cause.”

“Which is?” Eastra prompted.

Rhun grinned. “They are merchants, and that
makes them view politics and war differently than the rest of us.
They are loyal and devoted to only one thing—
pecunia.”

“
Pecunia?”

“It’s a Roman word for wealth... gold...
cattle... coins.”

“You sound critical of them,” Eastra said.
“But it seems to me they are more sensible than other men. Why
spend your time killing? Why not live in peace as the merchants
do?”

His smile faded. “The merchants need only a
small shop in which to ply their trade, but most men need land.
Land to raise crops on, as your people do. And for Britons, land to
hunt on and to graze our herds and flocks.”

She gestured to the broad green expanse of
hills around them. “It seems to me there is plenty of land here.
Enough for both your people and mine.”

Rhun raised a brow. “Do you think your uncle
is a man inclined to share?”

“Nay,” Eastra answered.

“Well, neither is Arthur, nor are many
Britons. In our minds, it’s a simple thing. We were here first, so
we have the better claim.”

“Is that why
you
fight?” she asked.
“Because you are greedy for land?”

Rhun looked at her, and his expression
changed. “Nay, that’s not why I fight. My people live in the hills,
a land too rugged for farmers like the Saxons.”

“Then why do you fight for Arthur?” She knew
she should not argue with him and behave so disagreeably, but this
was a thing that had troubled her for years. Why should so many
people suffer—women, innocent children—all because of men’s
stubborn greed?

He didn’t answer her for a time, and she
grew worried she had made him angry. Then he spoke in a slow,
thoughtful voice. “I first swore allegiance to Arthur because I
believed the priests and holy brothers, like Gildas of Llandudno,
when they said the Saxons were heathen barbarians and any man
devoted to the Christian cause must fight to drive them back into
the sea. That was what sent me to Arthur’s camp. But then, in the
next few years, I came to know him as a man and a king. I saw he
had a vision for Britain no man had ever had before. He wants to
unite the whole of the island, to finally end the futile squabbling
between tribes and chieftains that has always made us vulnerable to
our enemies. It’s a glorious, valiant dream, one that was
irresistible to a youthful warrior, the man I was a few years
ago.”

“And now?” she asked.

“I’m no longer certain Arthur’s dream is
possible. In times of crisis, aye, then the chieftains will rally
around and fight side by side. But as soon as the threat has
passed, they go back to their petty disputes, recalling old
grudges, insults made to their fathers’ fathers.” He grimaced. “My
people have a kind of blindness that way. No matter that the
Christos teaches us to forgive our enemies, most of my countrymen
believe the opposite—that a man’s honor depends on vengeance, and
every slight to him or his tribe must be repaid. I think sometimes
it is the curse of our race.”

He has pondered these matters a great
deal,
she thought, observing his intent, serious face.

He met her gaze and smiled. “My father says
he worries about me because I think like a priest, rather than a
warrior. That I am not ruthless and ferocious enough.”

“Well, I think it is wonderful you’re not
ruthless and ferocious,” she said emphatically. “I have lived most
of life around men like that, and I do not like them.” She
hesitated, then asked, “Is your father like my uncle, then?”

Rhun cocked his head. “My father? When he
fights, I know he is as pitiless as any man. But his heart is
tender, and he does not really think like a warrior, either. For
the love of a woman, he nearly gave up his kingdom—not once, but
twice.” He nodded at Eastra’s amazed look. “When his first wife
died, he mourned so deeply that he renounced his title and power
and went to live in a priory for several years. Then, later, when
there was opposition to his relationship with Rhiannon, my
stepmother, he told his chieftains he would remain wed to her even
if it cost him everything he had fought to regain.”

Eastra was encouraged. If Rhun’s father was
a man who would put a woman before his ambitions, then
perhaps...”It sounds as if your father and you are much alike,” she
said breathlessly.

Rhun gave a laugh and turned around to
gesture for Bridei to ride forward and join them. “Bridei, tell
her, tell her
exactly
how well I get along with our father.
How
much
we are alike.”

Bridei cocked a brow sardonically. “Well,
they are both very tall, and they have blue eyes, but I would say
those are about all the traits the two of them share.”

“Truly?” Eastra asked.

“Truly. You will see when we reach Deganwy.
Every moment they are together, they will argue. Of
course”—Bridei’s mouth quirked—“they still have more in common than
Maelgwn and I. As far as I can tell, the only traits the two of us
share are the blue eyes.”

“You don’t get along with your father,
either?” she asked.

“Rhun and he might argue all the time, but
Maelgwn still believes his firstborn is the most noble and
admirable of men. While I...” Bridei shrugged. “He thinks I
inherited all the evil traits of his line, which are many.”

“It’s not as if you’ve never given him cause
to doubt your honor,” Rhun said.

Bridei shrugged, then met Eastra’s gaze, his
vivid blue eyes mocking and self-depreciative. “So, you see, I am
the evil spawn, and Rhun the saint. But remember, saints have their
drawbacks. Much of the time they are so unholy grim and serious,
the rest of us can hardly stand to be around them. Here we are,
riding out on this fine, glorious day, and all my brother can do is
talk of politics and honor.” He winked. “I can tell you such is not
my idea of how to entertain a beautiful princess. If I were him, I
would seek to make you laugh and be merry.” He grinned again, then
suddenly began to sing. It was a playful tune, about a man courting
a maid and all the outrageous, absurd tasks he promised to perform
in order to win her love.

Bridei’s voice was rich and deep, and Eastra
felt spellbound as she listened. As the vibrant melody echoed
across the hills around them, she could almost feel her worries and
concerns falling away. When he had finished, she said, “That was
wonderful. Are you what your people call a bard?”