Yseult: A Tale of Love in the Age of King Arthur (64 page)

Yseult felt a sharp disappointment, immediately followed by remorse; it was not Brangwyn's presence she would miss, it was her assistance in sneaking behind her husband's back to continue her affair with Drystan. As infrequently as they met, they would not have been able to meet at all without Brangwyn's help.

She turned to the master of the smokehouse. "I will speak with you again when I know precisely how many will be making the journey."

He gave a slight bow. "As you wish, Lady."

Yseult took her cousin's arm and pushed open the door, leaving the salty, smokey smells behind. "It is Judual, I take it?"

Brangwyn nodded. "He can't travel, and I want to be able to help if he falls ill."

As so often recently, Brangwyn's mind was a blank to her. "I will make your excuses to Ginevra — I'm sure she will understand."

"Thank you. I need to go down to the river to see if I can find any fresh all-heal roots."

"Have we nothing left dried?" Yseult asked.

"Some," Brangwyn said. "But our stores are growing low. Perhaps if I mix it with horehound I can do something about Judual's croup. If only he slept better, he might grow stronger." She gently extricated herself from Yseult's grasp and turned down the path to the river. "I'll see you later this afternoon."

Yseult watched her figure recede for a moment before she continued on to the gates of the hill-fort, her cloak wrapped tightly around her against the cold. Was it only her concern for Judual that had moved Brangwyn to stay behind? Perhaps she wanted a reprieve from the lies and subterfuge, from helping her and Drystan carry on their affair. It was unlikely they could have done so at Celliwig with all the wedding guests present, but just suspecting Brangwyn would stay away in order to not have to face that decision made her chest tight with pain.

Brangwyn was leaving her; the friend and cousin she had spent most of her life with, had shared her most important experiences with, had closed off her mind to her.

They saw each other as much as ever. And Yseult missed her more with each passing day.

* * * *

Not far from the banks of the Voliba River near the edge of the woods, Brangwyn found a patch of the spindly, fern-like plants which had not yet died in the cold. With a small trowel she had brought along, she dug up several roots, shook them off, and laid them in her basket, glad of the dirt beneath her fingernails, glad to be among plants again, demanding so little.

She should probably tell Yseult how she felt, but what good would it do? She still would not be able to stay away from Drystan.

Love was a sickness.

She leaned back on her heels and rested her forearms on her knees, her hands dangling in front of her. Had her love for Aidenn been a sickness? After he had died, yes, it had seemed so. Her rape at Lugaid's hands had mattered so little because nothing could hurt her as much as having the husband she loved torn from her life. She could have used her power of changing earlier and Lugaid probably wouldn't have touched her — but she'd wanted that little piece of revenge, had reveled in the fear on his face when he ran out of the roundhouse. She hoped he had been impotent for a long time after that, hoped it passionately still, hating Lugaid the way Yseult loved Drystan.

It seemed love was a sickness when it was denied.

She sighed and wiped the trowel on a patch of grass before putting it into the basket with the roots. There was love and there was love. Judual was just learning how to smile, in between the coughing and the crying, and when he smiled at her, Brangwyn loved him so much it brought tears to her eyes.

She rose and turned back towards the path to the hill-fort. And what of Kurvenal? Brangwyn did not doubt that he loved her; he had given her ample evidence, and the glimpses she had caught of his thoughts only served to reinforce what his words and actions said.

And she had been denying him for years now.

The winter mist of Dumnonia clung to her skirts as she climbed the pathway from the river. Why had Kurvenal's love for her not become a sickness? Yes, they had been apart for the past two years while Arthur drove back the Saxons. But before, and now, he showed a patience and devotion she knew she didn't deserve. She had given him so little cause for hope, but that didn't stop him from hoping anyway. Now that they were together again, he had made it clear his feelings hadn't changed, and when she once again denied him, rather than protesting, he withdrew and simply watched over her the way he watched over Drystan.

She did not have the power of calling, but when she was almost within sight of Lansyen, he appeared in front of her as if she did.

"Good day, Kurvenal."

"Good day, Brangwyn. Yseult told me you had come this way. Here, let me take that." He took the basket from her and drew her hand through his arm.

Brangwyn shook her head, smiling. "The basket is no burden."

He looked into the shadows of the wicker. "For little Judual?"

"Yes."

"With you caring for him, he is sure to recover."

Brangwyn stopped in her tracks, pulling him up short. Kurvenal looked down at her with a question in his eyes.

"Your confidence in me is gratifying, but perhaps not entirely realistic," she said.

He chuckled. "I think it is."

"Is that why you sought me out, to make me extravagant compliments?" As soon as she said it, she realized how flirtatious it sounded.

Kurvenal obviously did too. He cocked his head to one side, his eyebrow raised. "I would happily do so, but you have reminded me more than once that it is not allowed."

Brangwyn felt herself blushing, and a wide grin spread across Kurvenal's face. He set the basket on the ground and took her shoulders in his capable hands. For some reason, Brangwyn didn't stop him.

He tilted her chin up with one hand and examined her face, still smiling. "Almost I would say you are even more beautiful when you blush," he said softly. "There, was that extravagant enough for you?"

Brangwyn burst out laughing, relieved that he had not taken advantage of the moment.

He brushed her flushed cheek lightly with the back of his hand and stepped back again. "I sought you out because I heard you would not be accompanying us to Arthur's wedding. I would stay with you if I could, but Arthur was very good to me after I was injured at Caer Baddon. I owe it to him to attend."

She nodded. "It is better so. There should be one of us to watch out for Drystan and Yseult."

To her surprise, anger flared up in his mind, and he turned away. "Must you always put them first?"

She touched his shoulder. "You do it too. You put Drystan first."

He whirled around, and the depth of the feelings she felt from him made her gasp.

"No," he said, and now his eyes did have the sickness in them she had thought he was immune to. "No, I do not put Drystan first."

Brangwyn lowered her head, withdrawing her mind from his, trying to leave him his privacy. "I'm sorry."

"Ah, Brangwyn, there is no need to be sorry." He gave an incongruous chuckle, and she looked up. He was smiling at her again, even if it was a trifle lop-sided. "I'm well aware that I'm responsible for my own madness. But I would have given up long ago if I weren't so sure that I've felt something from you."

She stared at him, the mist of the valley flitting between them. There she had her answer: as if he had known her thoughts as she came up the pathway from the river. Perhaps he did; he could have caught something from her, but since he didn't believe in what he would call "magic," he would think it was his own thoughts plaguing him, not hers.

He took her hand, his expression serious now. "I'm not wrong, am I?"

A ragged sigh escaped her. Could love be anything other than a sickness? Could she find love that wouldn't tear her apart with this man? His brown hair curled around the neck of his cape in the moist air and there was a scar along his jaw that had not been there when he had left to fight Octha and Aesc over two years ago now.

"You are still a warrior," she said.

He grinned and took her face in his hands. "This peace will last, Brangwyn, you will see. It wasn't bought with a marriage, it was won with a victory. The Saxons have crawled back to Ceint, weak and wounded."

"The Saxons are not the only enemy in the world."

"But we still will not have to fight as much. And then you will love me." His lips came down gently on hers, warm and moist. A shock of physical joy went through her before she tore herself away and grabbed the basket from the ground.

* * * *

Kurvenal stood there for a long time after she was gone, breathing deeply. Perhaps he had made a mistake.

But ah, it had been such a exquisite mistake.

Chapter 28

The stag bells,

winter snows, summer has gone.

Wind high and cold,

the sun low,

short its course, the sea running high.

Cold has seized the blackbirds' wings.

Season of ice.

Anonymous, Ireland, Ninth Century

The others did not return from Celliwig until after the New Year. A heavy snow fell on the third day of Christmas, and although the journey on horseback was half a day in good conditions, with snow coming well past a mount's fetlocks and in places as high as a horse's knees, it would be dangerous, uncomfortable riding.

So Brangwyn was not surprised when Marcus's party did not return to Lansyen as planned. She was actually quite happy that the quiet continued longer than expected. Judual's wet-nurse Sevi was a jolly, uncomplicated woman who loved to hear tales from Eriu in the evenings next to the fire, as did little Kustennin. They formed a small, peaceful household, largely content except for the times when Kustennin cried for his mother. But he was a lively, curious boy, and Brangwyn learned to distract him with things that sparked his curiosity, such as taking a walk outside the ramparts of the hill-fort, looking for evidence of the animals hidden away from the cold, or inspecting how the water on the banks of the river had turned to ice.

During the day, Brangwyn distributed syrup of heartsease to the local inhabitants afflicted with ague, and woodruff cordial for the excesses of the holidays; she treated sprained ankles caused by slippery paths of packed snow turned to ice and a broken toe from dropped firewood. Judual, her most important patient, took well to the treatment will all-heal and horehound and began to sleep better.

By the time the snows melted and the travelers returned from Celliwig, Judual's barking cough was gone, and he was gaining weight.

When the guard announced the approaching party, Brangwyn went to the gates of the hill-fort with Kustennin to meet them. While she was watching them ride up the hill, snow began to drift down again, dusting the hoods of their cloaks, and rapidly turning the brown patches in the landscape back to white.

As soon as they were within the ramparts, Yseult dismounted and caught her son in her arms. Brangwyn watched as she whirled him in the air while Kustennin squealed and laughed, no longer quite as envious as she had once been. Someday Judual would surely launch himself at her the way Kustennin launched himself at Yseult. She smiled.

Kurvenal appeared next to her. "I wish I could believe that smile were for me," he murmured, shaking his head, a hint of a grin on his face.

Brangwyn pursed her lips, repressing a chuckle. "I smile for you quite enough, I think."

"No, never enough," Kurvenal protested. "And how is the little one doing?"

"Much better. He rarely coughs now, and he's gaining weight."

"I told you he would get well in your care."

Kurvenal seemed to know too well what would make her weak, asking after Judual, complimenting her talents as a healer. The snowfall grew heavier around them, and Brangwyn watched the party dismount. Marcus joined Yseult, gazing on Kustennin with possessive satisfaction. After giving the boy a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, he slapped his riding gloves on his thigh and retired to the great hall where he had his rooms — without Yseult.

Watching Marcus walk away, her gaze caught on Drystan, still mounted, staring much to greedily at his mother-in-law. She wished she could shout at him to mind the way his eyes strayed; perhaps he heard the shout she didn't voice, because he looked down and finally dismounted.