Accolon IS tempted in Ch 11/Sc 1b of RAGING SEA by @KimHeadlee #amwriting

Graphic overlay c2016 by Kim Headlee.

As far as I know, I'm the only author of Arthurian fiction who has given any thought to the viewpoint of  Morgan le Fay's favorite lover, Sir Accolon.

To give Accolon some depth, and in keeping with fine Arthurian tradition, I made him be the best friend of Morghe's husband Urien. Unlike with Lancelot, Guinevere, and Arthur, however, in The Dragon's Dove Chronicles the friendship shared between Urien and Accolon was in place long before either of them had met Morghe.

All of that to say, there is much more at stake here than just two random (if powerful) men butting heads over the same woman.

In today's excerpt of Raging Sea, Accolon begins to get an inkling of just how hot burns the fire that he secretly yearns to play with.

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 | Sc 3c |
Chapter 11: Sc 1a |

Raging Sea Chapter 11, Scene 1b

©2016 by Kim Headlee

All rights reserved.

“Practicing your diplomacy, I see.”

Accolon turned. Morghe was wiping her hands on a cloth and grinning. She dropped the cloth onto the table and stepped around it to within arm’s length of him. Dressed in the plain-spun garb she favored while working inside this chamber, she looked more like a nun than the chieftainess of the most powerful clan of Brydein—and yet that only heightened her allure.

To rein in his emotions, he tried to picture her in the former environment, on her knees with hands folded and head bowed. It didn’t help much.

He cleared his throat. “As are you, my lady.” To her raised eyebrow he added, “Excusing a servant from duty because of a mere cut.”

“Not so ‘mere’ as you might think. You didn’t see how long it took me to stanch the blood. Any deeper and she’d have lost the tip.” Not one trace of defensiveness marred her tone.

She undulated closer; he bridled the instinct to retreat. Nothing was happening between them, and nothing ever would.

“You summoned me, Chieftainess?”

“Indeed. How is your shoulder?” She laid a gentle hand upon the exact spot she had field-dressed last year despite the fact that he would have killed her if he hadn’t been hit by that damned spear. “I’ve noticed how you rub it sometimes.” Her pressure increased as she began small circling motions that did feel good once the sting abated.

He shrugged her hand away. “It is well enough, my lady. How may I serve you this day?”

She searched his face for God alone knew what, for God alone knew for how long. At last, she withdrew a small object from the pouch attached to her belt.

It was a loop of gold wire, curved and strung with three pearls of different colors: white, silver, and black.

She reached behind his head to pull his ear close to her lips. “I need you, Lord Accolon, to retrieve this bauble’s mate.”

Straightening, he resisted the urge to bristle. “Please permit me to remind you, Chieftainess, that groveling about on hands and knees is what slaves are for.”

Her laugh tinkled like a delicate bell as she smoothed her hair where it had been pulled back into its braid. “It isn’t lost.” She laid that warm, fragrant hand against his cheek… and of a sudden, groveling in the dirt at her feet was the only thing he could think about doing. Sheer force of will kept him upright, gazing into her alluring violet eyes. “Find the crofter who lives near the spot where you and I… danced last year, and bring him and everyone in his household to me.” She lowered her hand, and with the other one rolled the pearls between thumb and forefinger. “This will prove that I sent you.”

He felt a tingle as her fingertips brushed his palm in the act of giving him the earring. Another, lower part of him stirred awake too. To distract her from noticing it, he let his ire flare. “You must be mad if you think they can stay here. My lady.”

“Of course they shan’t.” She sidled closer, brushing the bulge with her hip. Damn her, he couldn’t prevent it from twitching. A slow, sultry smile parted her lips. It took his last shred of self-discipline to resist the temptation of sampling them. “That is why you shall be escorting all of us to Maun.”

It galled him to retreat, but he needed distance to keep from acting upon either of his suicidal desires—to kill her, or to take her right here and now. He dipped his head and backed toward the door. “You needn’t trouble yourself with this mission. I can arrange everything.” And I can complete my original mission at last.

***

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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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