Urien's final thoughts as a bachelor in Ch 8/Sc 3a of RAGING SEA by @KimHeadlee #amwriting

Graphic overlay (c)2015 by Kim Headlee.

The last thing Urien ever envisioned, when he began butting heads with Arthur in the political arena several years earlier in my story arc's chronology, was to become allied with the Pendragon through marriage to his youngest sister. 

That union became even more inconceivable to him when it appeared as though he would be making an alliance with his enemies the Picts of Clan Argyll through marriage to their chieftainess, Gyanhumara (a.k.a., Guinevere), the woman Urien desires above all others. 

Arthur and Gyan, of course, had other ideas, and the story of how they outmaneuvered Urien without causing him to start a civil war plays out in The Dragon's Dove Chronicles book 1, Dawnflight. 

In today's installment of Raging Sea, Urien has one last opportunity to address just what he has gotten himself into by agreeing to marry Morghe.

Previous excerpts of Raging Sea 

 Chapter 7: Sc 1 | Sc 2 | Sc 3 | Sc 4 | Sc 5a | Sc 5b |
Chapter 8: Sc 1a | Sc 1B | Sc 2 |

Raging Sea Chapter 8, Scene 3a

©2015 by Kim Headlee

All rights reserved.

Urien map Dumarec stood atop Chieftain’s Rock, dressed in his ceremonial battle-gear and bathed in dawn’s strengthening light, surveying the crowd that surged through the wall’s side gate following the conclusion of Easter prime mass. The Scots had declined to attend the religious service and were already occupying the far side of the courtyard. Gyanhumara and those of her men who also had not gone to mass had formed up near the section of wall protecting the chapel.

Gyanhumara . . .

She stood garbed in gleaming metal and tooled leather armor, her shorn flame-red hair stiffened with lime and twisted into spikes. Her gold dragon brooch glittered from its perch fastening her gold-hemmed, dark blue cloak. Every facet of her demeanor shouted warrior and leader of warriors, and yet all Urien could think about was the day he would strip off those armaments and adornments, the day he would at last take that which she had dared to deny him.

Her glare warned him not to raise his hopes. The lowered eyebrows framing his gaze delivered a challenge of their own.

Abrupt cessation of activity at the gate drew his attention.

After the last of the worshipers had taken their positions facing Urien, the elegantly robed and coifed Ygraine processed through the gate, followed by Arthur escorting Morghe. Gyanhumara stepped from the formation to join them.

As prearranged, Urien had not attended mass at prime with everyone else, owing to the ancient tradition that kept his bride hidden from him on their wedding day. As Ygraine claimed her assigned place in the assembly’s front row, Urien received his first clear view this morning of the woman who in moments would become his wife.

God, what a vision! Morghe was swathed in gold fabric embroidered front and back with the Boar of Moray in ebony thread. Her auburn hair lay piled atop her head and was decorated with ropes of black pearls that must have cost a fortune. A thin curtain of cream-colored lace veiled her face. And Morghe was everything Gyanhumara wasn’t: soft, gentle, refined, wise, willing . . .

He wondered just how willing she would be after he refused to grant her the privilege of reigning as chieftainess.

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