Angusel begins to feel forgiven in Ch10/Sc3c of RAGING SEA by @KimHeadlee #amwriting

Graphic overlay (c)2016 by Kim Headlee.

Extending forgiveness to others can be a daunting task, especially if the person's actions result in the loss of a loved one. 

Far more daunting, however, is the task of forgiving oneself.

The legendary friendship shared by Lancelot and Gawain receives its start in today's excerpt from Raging Sea. Both young men have suffered extreme consequences from their actions, though Gawain, being a bit older and wiser, is the first to recognize this fact.

Previous excerpts of Raging Sea 
Chapters 1–6 in Raging Sea: Reckonings

 Chapter 7: Sc 1 | Sc 2 | Sc 3 | Sc 4 | Sc 5a | Sc 5b |
Chapter 8: Sc 1a | Sc 1b | Sc 2 | Sc 3a | Sc 3b |
Chapter 9: Sc 1a | Sc 1b | Sc 1c | Sc 1d | Sc 1e |
Chapter 10: Sc 1a | Sc 1b | Sc 2a | Sc 2b | Sc 3a | Sc 3b |

Raging Sea Chapter 10, Scene 3c

©2016 by Kim Headlee

All rights reserved.

“As you will, my lady.” He pointed a look at his new subordinate that he hoped was stern enough to keep him quiet. “Soldier Gawain, come with me.”

The silence lasted for exactly as long as it took for them to salute the Comitissa Britanniam, depart her workroom, and leave the praetorium. On its black-veined marble steps, prancing up and down and around Angusel like some moon-mad maiden, Gawain started in with:

“What is your will, sir? Repair your armor? Mend your tunic? Shine your shield? Muck your horse?” He looked at Angusel’s scuffed footgear. When his gaze rebounded, his lips had curved into a wicked grin. “Lick your boots?”

“Just shut your gob,” Angusel muttered. “That’s an order.”

“Shutting up, sir!” Gawain gave an exaggerated salute, biting his lips to stunt another grin.

“And stop being an ass.” As if there was much hope of that happening any time soon, Angusel thought as he careened down the rest of the steps and into the main thoroughfare.

“Right, sir. Because that’s the one thing that you most certainly do not need an assistant for.”

Angusel gazed at the darkening twilight sky, clenching his fists, thankful that none of the fort’s other residents were abroad at this hour. Her summons, which he’d mentioned beforehand to Centurion Cato, would prevent him and Gawain from getting the lash for reporting late to barracks, but Angusel had no desire to test the limits of that reprieve. He veered onto the first cross street of the barracks complex and kept walking.

When he could muster a mote of civility, he asked, “What in the name of all the gods is that supposed to mean?”

“What does ‘Ainchis Sàl a Dubh Loch’ mean?”

“It’s my name.” First Ala’s barracks was not far, and neither was the end of his patience.

Gawain quickened his pace to move into step beside him. “Stupid self-indulgence is what it is. Angusel. Sir.”

Growling, he hustled Gawain into the nearest alley, which separated the kitchens and mess hall, and shoved him up against the wall. “She took kin, clan, country, privilege, purpose—everything from me! I am nobody now. I—” He sucked in a ragged breath, released the neckline of Gawain’s tunic, and turned to brace his back on the rough, cold stone, eyes closed. “I do not deserve my name anymore,” he whispered with a sigh. “And I especially do not deserve to hear it from any member of the family that I failed in the very worst way imaginable.” Pursing his lips, he shut his eyes even tighter to trap the welling moisture.

When Gawain didn’t answer, Angusel opened his eyes and blinked, expecting to be alone. What surprised him even more than the fact that he wasn’t alone was that Gawain was regarding him with compassion.

“If you had said that to me a fortnight ago, I would have agreed with you.” Gawain extended his sword hand, but Angusel made no move to take it. “Aunt Gyan was right to pair us. My name has become like a stench to people; perhaps I could do with a new one too.” He gave his hand a slight shake, extending it further, and smiled. “Have you any suggestions, sir?”

“Amadan.” Cracking a lopsided grin, Angusel clasped Gawain’s forearm.

“And that’s Caledonian for—?”

“Ass. The animal, not the anatomy.” Angusel let go and chafed his arms, glancing down and away, the grin flattening as the guilt resurfaced. “I meant no offense by it.”

“None taken. Angusel.”

He nodded at Gawain and pushed away from the wall. “Summons or no summons, Centurion Cato is going to spit our heads on pikes if we don’t hurry.” He broke into a jog, and Gawain kept pace. “And it’s Optio Ainchis Sàl when we’re in public,” he said between breaths. “That is an order, Soldier Gawain.”

“Until the duty roster changes, sir.”

They charged toward the door opening into the room block Angusel shared with the centurion, where they would have to make room for the new century member. This would also give Angusel the opportunity to petition Centurion Cato to promote Drustanus into the ala, since his martial skills were improving and the harsh winter had opened more spots on the roster.

Gawain reached the door first and yanked it open for his superior, executing a salute that held no trace of mockery.

As Angusel returned the salute, he welcomed the return of his most non-legion grin.

***

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Angusel reacts to Gawain's disgrace in Ch10/Sc1b of RAGING SEA by @KimHeadlee #amwriting

Graphic overlay c2016 by Kim Headlee.

Oftentimes, when someone expects high standards of himself, either in terms of performance or behavior, he also exerts similar standards upon those around him.

In the Lerner & Lowe classic Arthurian adaptation Camelot—the stage version as well as its silver-screen counterpart—this phenomenon is demonstrated by Lancelot when he suggests that Arthur initiate a training regimen for all Round Table knights. While Arthur embraces it for the fine idea that it is, the suggestion ensures instant friction between Lancelot and the rest of the court, Guinevere most especially. 

Today's excerpt from Raging Sea shows Angusel, my Lancelot character in The Dragon's Dove Chronicles, getting into trouble with Gyan (Guinevere) in a similar fashion.

Previous excerpts of Raging Sea 
Chapters 1–6 in Raging Sea: Reckonings

 Chapter 7: Sc 1 | Sc 2 | Sc 3 | Sc 4 | Sc 5a | Sc 5b |
Chapter 8: Sc 1a | Sc 1b | Sc 2 | Sc 3a | Sc 3b |
Chapter 9: Sc 1a | Sc 1b | Sc 1c | Sc 1d | Sc 1e |
Chapter 10: Sc 1a |

Raging Sea Chapter 10, Scene 1b

©2016 by Kim Headlee

All rights reserved.

“I thought he was in that unit too,” Drustanus murmured.

Angusel, who had been watching her, turned to follow the line of Drustanus’s gaze toward the procession’s tail to discover the he to whom his student had referred. What he saw made his heart lurch.

Gawain map Loth, clad in a plain cloak and traveling clothes, was riding between two uniformed guardsmen—if in fact “riding” could describe someone whose wrists were bound and whose mount was being led. Angusel shook his head and blinked, but the puzzling scene didn’t change.

As Gawain passed the enclosure, a gust of wind flung aside his cloak, revealing his back. The undyed linen of his tunic displayed several bloody stripes.

Only one explanation could fit these facts.

Angusel dropped his sword, sprinted to the rail, and vaulted it. The guardsmen tried to block his approach, but he dodged between their horses and dragged Gawain from the saddle.

“You! You disgraced yourself, and all of them!” Angusel vented his fury with his fists, drawing only token resistance from his target. “You bastard, you disgraced her!”

Though Gawain tried to protect his face, he did not disagree. It goaded Angusel to strike harder.

“Optio Ainchis Sàl a Dubh Loch, desist at once!”

She had ordered it.

He obeyed.

While the Pendragon and all the Comites Praetorii save the two men guarding Gawain continued toward the barracks, she had wheeled Macmuir about and was thundering toward them, her eyes blazing and her lime-spiked hair quivering as if readying barbs for an attack. She reined her stallion to a halt and maneuvered him in a tight circle to bleed off his unspent energy.

“You,” she said to Drustanus, who had run to the ring holding Angusel’s practice sword as well as his own. “Back to barracks.”

“Aye, Comitissa Gyan.” With his right fist still clutching a sword, he thumped his chest, nodded, and quit the ring at a dead run.

“You and you,” she addressed the guards, “escort your charge to the infirmary to have his wounds dressed, then bring him to my workroom. You”—her glare pinned Angusel in place, and his heart squirmed its response—“get yourself presentable for an audience with me. Immediately.”

***
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Angusel begins training Drustanus in Ch10/Sc1a of RAGING SEA by @KimHeadlee #amwriting

Graphic overlay c2016 by Kim Headlee.

The Lancelot-Gawain friendship is an epic one in the truest sense of the word, according to traditional Arthurian legends. Another such epic friendship is that of Lancelot and Tristan—or Tristram, as some medieval stories name him.

My Tristan character in The Dragon's Dove Chronicles goes by an even earlier form of his name: Drustanus. A glimpse of the deepening friendship between him and Angusel is the focal point of today's Raging Sea excerpt.

Previous excerpts of Raging Sea 
Chapters 1–6 in Raging Sea: Reckonings

 Chapter 7: Sc 1 | Sc 2 | Sc 3 | Sc 4 | Sc 5a | Sc 5b |
Chapter 8: Sc 1a | Sc 1b | Sc 2 | Sc 3a | Sc 3b |
Chapter 9: Sc 1a | Sc 1b | Sc 1c | Sc 1d | Sc 1e |

Raging Sea Chapter 10, Scene 1a

©2016 by Kim Headlee

All rights reserved.

SWORD AT THE ready, Angusel circled his opponent, inviting attack. Drustanus answered with thrusts and slashes that were indeed improving, if predictable, and his footwork was atrocious. One quick lunge or twist, and he’d go down every time. But he kept getting up, ready to try again, and that was all that mattered.

Their wooden practice weapons collided with a fearsome clatter. Angusel’s sword almost slipped from his grip. He grinned.

“That’s the way! Now follow it with a body block.” He demonstrated with full force, and Drustanus went sprawling with a yelp, kicking up a cloud of dust in the fall that made them both cough.

Waving to part the cloud, Angusel bent to offer his hand, which Drustanus grasped to haul himself up. “I think I have the right of it now, Ainchis Sàl.” Sword cocked, he adopted a fair attack stance. “Let me have another go.”

He never got the chance.

Angusel had moved their training sessions to the main ring near the fort’s north gate upon receiving Centurion Marcus’s approval—though they were still constrained to practicing in the waning light after supper to prevent this activity from interfering with their regular legion duties. This evening, the double gates had swung open to admit a large mounted unit.

All the alae had returned from maneuvers hours ago.

He lifted a finger to signal Drustanus to pause, and together they turned to watch the Comites Praetorii parade by on their way to the barracks.

Nay, “parade” was not the word for it. Every horseman—and woman—looked dust-covered, bone-weary, and dispirited.

What in the name of all the gods had happened?

Drustanus was whispering the same question.

The Pendragon and… she rode past them. Drustanus and Angusel rendered the expected legion salutes. No one paid either of them any heed; every member of the company kept his forlorn gaze trained upon the road before his horse’s hooves as if to do otherwise would invite derision and scorn.

***

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Gawain is tried in a court of love in Ch9/Sc1e of RAGING SEA by @KimHeadlee #amwriting

Graphic overlay (c)2015 by Kim Headlee.

The medieval concept of "courtly love" and its corollary, the "court of love," where men who violated the "rules of love" were tried by a jury of women, most likely were invented by troubadours to entertain their noble patrons. Whether or not these social constructs were practiced in real life remains a matter of debate. 

In Arthurian legend, Gawain is hauled before a court of love, presided over by Guinevere, for his crime of having raped a virgin. The interesting takeaway from the tale is that Gawain was punished less for the act of sexual predation than for the fact that he had denied the woman her choice in the matter, and Guinevere sentences him to a yearlong quest to help all women he encounters so that he may figure out why what he did was so wrong.

I pay brief homage to this legend in today's excerpt from Raging Sea.

Previous excerpts of Raging Sea 
Chapters 1–6 in Raging Sea: Reckonings

 Chapter 7: Sc 1 | Sc 2 | Sc 3 | Sc 4 | Sc 5a | Sc 5b |
Chapter 8: Sc 1a | Sc 1b | Sc 2 | Sc 3a | Sc 3b |
Chapter 9: Sc 1a | Sc 1b | Sc 1c | Sc 1d |

Raging Sea Chapter 9, Scene 1e

©2016 by Kim Headlee

All rights reserved.

Fergus ran his tongue across his bottom lip as it curved into a grin. “What says the Scarlet Dragon? The man be one of your soldiers,” he said to Arthur, “and ye’ve been strangely silent all this time.”

Arthur took that as his cue to stand, and he looked none too happy to do so. “In the Dragon Legion, a soldier’s punishment is meted by his unit commander.” He offered his hand to Gyan, who accepted it for only as long as it took to push to her feet beside him.

Even in the throes of battle, Gawain had never seen her look so stern.

She drew a long breath and expelled it. “Since there was no commission of rape—”

“By Scáthach, he intended to!” Caitleen wailed. Fergus shushed her, stroking her cheek.

“Only the gods may judge a man’s intent, if there exists no action to demonstrate it,” Gyan stated. “Gawain’s actions demonstrated lewdness and a public breach of self-discipline. Therefore, his punishment is the legion standard ten lashes.”

Fergus released his wife and stalked closer to the dais. “Not good enough! Not by half!”

Urien raised his hands. “I agree.” He faced Arthur and Gyan. “Gawain attacked an honored, highborn lady in front of scores of honored, highborn witnesses. That demands special consideration.”

For a long time Gyan regarded the man to whom she had once been betrothed. Finally, she turned toward Gawain and extended her hand, palm up. He felt his eyes widen as the implication set in. She confirmed it with a nod. With fumbling fingers, he unfastened his legion badge, letting his blue Comites Praetorii unit cloak slip to pool at his feet. The pit in his stomach suggested how long he would be forbidden to wear it.

“Forever?” he dared to whisper as he leaned across the table to surrender the badge to his ex-commanding officer. Again, his hand trembled, and his self-loathing deepened.

Her fingers eclipsed the dragon brooch, her gaze steady but sad. “Commander Peredur,” she said to her brother without taking her eyes from Gawain, “arrange to have this soldier escorted to the camp and confined there, under guard and allowed no visitors except yourself, Arthur, Merlin, and me, for the duration of this mission.”

As Peredur joined Gawain from his place on the dais, the Scotti warriors returned to theirs. Gyan said to Fergus and Caitleen, “I am truly sorry for my soldier’s reprehensible behavior. Please accept my assurances that it shall never happen again. To that end, I appoint my second-in-command to deliver the physical portion of his punishment”—she glanced at Peredur—“to commence after my duties here are concluded so that I may be present.”

“We demand to be present too. Else how would we know if—”

If Gyan’s glare had been any colder, Fergus would have turned into a pillar of ice, and his wife along with him. “You shall be informed. My lord.”

Peredur clamped his hand around Gawain’s arm, and his march into disgrace began.

*** The end of Chapter 9 ***

All this month, you are invited to...
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Did lust rob Gawain of strength? Ch 9/Sc 1d of RAGING SEA by @KimHeadlee #amwriting

Graphic overlay (c)2015 by Kim Headlee.

Welcome back to Saturday excerpts from Raging Sea! I hope you enjoyed a pleasant holiday season and are ready to tackle the new year head-on. I know I am. :) 

To catch up with the early doings of Angusel, Gawain, and everyone else, I invite you to download a copy of Raging Sea: Reckonings, which is free with a Kindle Unlimited subscription or Amazon Prime membership.

In today's excerpt, Morghe (aka Morgan le Fay) begins to show why in later centuries she was dubbed "Morgan the Wise."

Previous excerpts of Raging Sea 
Chapters 1–6 in Raging Sea: Reckonings

 Chapter 7: Sc 1 | Sc 2 | Sc 3 | Sc 4 | Sc 5a | Sc 5b |
Chapter 8: Sc 1a | Sc 1b | Sc 2 | Sc 3a | Sc 3b |
Chapter 9: Sc 1a | Sc 1b | Sc 1c |

Raging Sea Chapter 9, Scene 1d

©2016 by Kim Headlee

All rights reserved.

“Chieftain Urien, you and all your guests be witness to this heinous assault upon me innocent lady wife,” Fergus stated. “I demand his head.”

“No!” shouted Gyan and Morghe together, and they shared a look.

“No,” Morghe repeated at Gyan’s nod. “This action is so very unlike my nephew’s normal behavior that it deserves further investigation before just punishment can be meted out.” She smiled at Urien. “With my lord husband’s permission?”

“What do you propose, my lady wife?” Urien asked.

She navigated from behind the table to approach Gawain and proceeded to feel his forehead and neck. With gentle fingertips, she probed the spot on his jaw where Fergus had struck him, and he couldn’t stop the wince. His knees still felt like jelly. He locked them to prevent them from betraying him. She ordered the Scotti warriors to release Gawain and step back. Once they complied with a nod from their lord, she bade Gawain to raise one arm parallel with the floor. The tremors that shook his hand alarmed him, and he clenched his fist, despising the display of weakness. Morghe gave him a sympathetic smile and faced Urien.

“Gawain has a fever and—”

“Aye, the fever bred of lust,” Fergus muttered, hugging his wife to him.

Morghe shot him an annoyed look. “When was the last time lust robbed you of strength, my lord Fergus?” When that netted no answer but a glare, she addressed Urien. “Clearly, something he ate or drank put him into this state and made him lose control over his baser urges. I propose—”

“’Twas your selfsame cup he drank from!” shrieked Caitleen.

“Indeed. Perhaps traditions are different among your people. I am not in the habit of poisoning my blood kin.” Gawain couldn’t figure out why a look of discomfiture flashed across Urien’s face at that, but his head was aching too much to expend anymore thought on the matter. “Furthermore,” Morghe continued, “what reason could I possibly possess to disrupt my own festivities in this deplorable manner?”

“I do hope, Chieftainess Morghe, that ye are not suggesting that me wife did anything to bring this upon herself. That would be most unfortunate to our new alliance.”

Urien rose from his tall-backed chair. “No one is suggesting anything of the kind, Lord Fergus. Neither is anyone denying the harm done to your lovely lady wife. What may appease you, other than Gawain’s death?”

***
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Gawain gets more than he bargained for in Ch 9/Sc 1c of RAGING SEA by @KimHeadlee #amwriting

Graphic overlay (c)2015 by Kim Headlee.

Saturday excerpts from Raging Sea go on hiatus for the holidays after today and will resume on 1/9/2016. I hope you enjoy a merry Christmas, a happy New Year, and whatever other event you're celebrating this season!

To tide you over while waiting to find out whether or not Gawain gets to keep his head after this excerpt, I invite you to download a copy of Raging Sea: Reckonings, which is free with a Kindle Unlimited subscription or Amazon Prime membership.

Previous excerpts of Raging Sea 
Chapters 1–6 in Raging Sea: Reckonings

 Chapter 7: Sc 1 | Sc 2 | Sc 3 | Sc 4 | Sc 5a | Sc 5b |
Chapter 8: Sc 1a | Sc 1b | Sc 2 | Sc 3a | Sc 3b |
Chapter 9: Sc 1a | Sc 1b |

Raging Sea Chapter 9, Scene 1c

©2015 by Kim Headlee

All rights reserved.

Morghe gave an exaggerated groan. “Please, my lords and ladies. This is a wedding, not a council chamber. My wedding, for those of you who seem to have forgotten that fact.” She stood, beckoned to the servant who was holding the platter bearing the victor’s haunch, and instructed him to deliver it to Lady Caitleen. While the man walked around the long table, Morghe leaned across it to give her own goblet to the Scotti woman, which the latter took with a nod of thanks.

“Brave warrior, accept this gift from my hand as but the smallest token of my esteem for your skills.” Lady Caitleen hefted the haunch from the platter and deposited it into Gawain’s outstretched hand.

The political sword-rattling had not dampened his appetite, and he tore off a generous mouthful. The salty skin crackled, and the flesh beneath was tender and juicy and hot, just as he preferred it. He closed his eyes for a moment of pure appreciation as he chewed and swallowed.

He inhaled Caitleen’s earthy-sweet scent as she sidled closer to him, and he opened his eyes. A soft smile adorned her lips. The boar’s haunch felt heavy in his fist, and he abandoned it on the table. Caitleen’s smile widened as she pressed the goblet into his hand. His fingers touched hers for a moment before she released her hold. He felt a lower part of him stir awake in response.

“May this victor’s cup refresh ye as nothing ever could,” she said.

God, she was so very beautiful… and so very married.

Gawain murmured his thanks. He prayed that the mead was potent enough to kill his lust and drained the goblet in one pull.

She moistened her lips. Her smile shaded from radiant to sultry. She glanced at Fergus, who returned her look with a smoldering one of his own. “And may this kiss remind me husband to perform better in your rematch.”

No stranger to a woman’s mouth, Gawain had never felt such an arousing kiss in his entire life. She nibbled his lower lip. The moment his mouth widened, she slid in her tongue to twine with his. She stepped closer, pressing her body to him and shifting her hips in a tantalizing rhythm.

His engorged senses reeled. Reason fled. He enveloped her in a crushing embrace and deepened the kiss, matching her rhythm and reveling in the mounting ache that would soon find release…

A woman’s scream startled him. Rough male hands dragged him back. Chest heaving and hair swirling about her head like a flame unbound, Caitleen was glaring at him while trying to hold closed her torn bodice.

Gawain blinked. Her appearance made no sense. What in hell did I do?

“Ye attacked me, monster!” she shrieked.

Did I speak those words aloud?

He shook his head, as much to clear it as to deny her claim. The room wouldn’t quit spinning. He wanted to bend over, but the Scotti warriors gripping his arms held him fast. Nausea clawed at his stomach. The entire feast hall had erupted into a cacophony of shouts and outcries, most of which were directed against him.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

Gawain’s protest was cut short by Fergus’s fist to his jaw. Gawain stumbled back against the warriors, who tightened their grips. His vision fractured into needles of light, and the hall spun even faster. He closed his eyes and would have sagged to his knees if his captors had let him.

“Chieftain Urien, you and all your guests be witness to this heinous assault upon me innocent lady wife,” Fergus stated. “I demand his head.”

***

Those who aspire to greatness
must first learn servanthood.

All this month, you are invited to...
— Follow Kim on Twitter
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...and each action this month is good for one chance to win an e-book copy of Raging Sea: Reckonings. Please enter often, and good luck!

En route to the royal wedding in RAGING SEA Ch 7/Sc 3 #amwriting #Arthurverse

Graphic overlay (c)2015 by Kim Headlee.

Some of the constants I maintain in my vision of the Arthurian legends, while turning every other aspect upside down and inside out, include the major relationships. 

One of the major relationships is the marriage of Arthur's sister (usually Morgan le Fay; sometimes Margause or Margawse, depending on the source) to one of his most troublesome enemies, Urien (or Uriens). Whether their forced union is coldly polite, fraught with friction, or engenders an entirely different alliance also depends upon the literary source.

In today's excerpt, Gawain offers a glimpse of his thoughts about riding escort duty for his aunt, Morghe (Morgan le Fay)—and the unexpected wedding guests they encounter along the way.

Previous excerpts of Raging Sea 

 Chapter 7: Sc 1 | Sc 2 |

Raging Sea Chapter 7, Scene 3

©2015 by Kim Headlee

All rights reserved.

Rather than individual oath swearing, which would have tried the patience of people and animals alike, Uncle Arthur addressed the assembled troop:

“Do you swear by all that is holy to protect Gyanhumara nic Hymar, Comitissa Britanniam, on and off the battlefield and to obey all lawful orders given by her either directly or through your superior officers, even unto death?”

“Even unto death!” chorused the Comites Praetorii, Gawain included.

The trouble was, he mused days later as the procession plodded at the pace of the horse-drawn litters carrying Ygraine and Morghe toward the Clan Moray stronghold of Dunadd, no one had ever said anything about the possibility of dying of boredom.

That changed in a blink as they neared a fork in the road to find a band of mounted Scotti warriors approaching them on the intersecting trail, which originated at the seacoast.

“Praetorii, alert!” ordered Gyan in Latin, sword drawn. Arthur had already done likewise, countenance darkening.

Gawain and the other soldiers drew their swords and closed ranks around the litters.

The Scots halted and fixed their attention upon Morghe’s escort but seemed otherwise unperturbed.

Gyan and Arthur nudged their mounts forward, as did the Scotti leader. A second Scot detached himself from their formation, a spear clutched in his left fist. From its shaft rippled an undyed, unadorned linen flag.

Gawain’s aunt and uncle sheathed their swords, but neither relaxed in the saddle.

“Commander Fergus,” said Gyan, switching to Brytonic with a slight dip of her head. “You survived.”

“As did ye, Chieftainess, though ye both”—he jerked a contemptuous nod toward Arthur—“made it damned hard for me sword-brethren and me.”

They were referring, Gawain realized with a start, to the First Battle of Port Dhoo-Glass, after which a small number of Scots escaped by stealing Brytoni fishing boats two nights after the battle.

“Next time, we’ll make it easier for you to meet your gods,” Arthur growled. “What business brings you onto Brytoni lands under the banner of truce?”

“Business that be nae concern of yours, Scarlet Dragon.” On the Scot’s lips the title became an insult.

Arthur scowled and seemed about to speak, but Gyan shot him a look. He desisted but remained wary. She smiled at the Scot named Fergus. “And yet it appears that your party and ours are bound for the same destination.” By the tilt of her chin, she appeared to scan the enemy troop. “With your womenfolk?”

Blinking, Gawain eyed the Scots closer. True enough, as many women rode in their ranks as men, and not a sword or even a dirk in the lot that he could see. And each woman, he noted, shifting in the saddle to relieve the sudden pressure, was prettier than the last. At the first moment of danger, Gawain had seen only the spears and swords.

Gyan continued, “It seems my brother-by-law has invited you to attend his wedding.” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Why would he do that, I wonder?”

“Urien’s counsel is his to keep,” Arthur said. “The fact remains that these folk are here, and so are we.” He turned a predatory grin upon Fergus. “And I imagine that Urien’s—guests—shall not mind a bit of added protection as they travel to Dunadd. Attacks can be ever so unpredictable at this time of year.”

Fergus had the ballocks to laugh, as did some of his men. “We shall indeed rest easier knowing that the great Scarlet Dragon guards our backs.” With upraised fist, he signaled his party forward.

And as we choke on their dust, and gag on their horses’ stench, and tread through their cac, Gawain grumbled to himself, stifling a cough with the back of a gloved hand as Gyan gave a similar order to her men. But with that treacherous lot, white flag or no, Gawain wouldn’t have had it any other way. He could well imagine that Arthur and Gyan and everyone else in their group felt the same.

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