Knights of the Round Table: Geraint Read online

  Geraint shrugged, but the tension in him was so very visible. “I did not wish to wait.”

  “What a surprise,” the king said softly.

  To her shock, Geraint seemed to flinch.

  To Enid, the king said, “You are welcome in my home, Lady Enid.”

  “Thank you, sire,” she answered.

  King Erbin finally relieved her of the weight of his stare and glanced at his son, resignation and amusement warring on his face. “You have arrived in time to partake of the evening meal with us. We shall break bread while you tell us of the momentous change in your life. And of course, I have news of my own.”

  Chapter 9

  WHILE the servants set up dozens of trestle tables throughout the hall and a long table on the dais, Geraint followed his father to a gathering of cushioned chairs before the fire. Geraint frowned at the pleasant grouping of furniture, one of many changes he’d already noticed in the brief minutes of his return.

  The biggest change was his father. Much as Geraint was glad to know that his father had heard of the many services he’d performed for King Arthur, Geraint expected an angrier reaction to the marriage. He’d always accused Geraint of being too impulsive, and though Geraint might have lived down this reputation under the high king, to his father he’d just proved he hadn’t changed at all.

  Marrying Enid had been the most impulsive thing he’d ever done. And he hadn’t needed to. She had offered herself regardless of marriage, as if where she came from, pleasure and need were all that mattered. But it had never only been a matter of lust between them. He’d wanted her to be his, body and soul.

  He didn’t feel like she was his at all.

  “Lady Enid, do you wish to refresh yourself before the meal?” his father asked without subtlety.

  She looked between them, and Geraint wondered uncomfortably what she saw with those intelligent, blue eyes.

  “I am proud to meet my husband’s family, sire. I would wish to know you better, if you do not mind my presence.”

  The king grinned with a bit too much eagerness, and Geraint knew how he relished a challenge. Enid should have retired, so that he could explain their marriage in private.

  Geraint could have asked her to leave, and she might have done it—or maybe not. And how would that have looked? Much as he always told himself not to care about his father’s opinion, he couldn’t help himself. His father was the king, after all.

  Geraint looked on his wife, so still, so serene, and he felt something in him reluctantly soften. In this old hall, with so many people as dark in coloring as he was, she glowed like a golden angel, her plaited hair weaving together many shades of yellow. Certainly no one could doubt that he’d been overcome by her appearance from the first. He was no different than any man here, he noticed, as his gaze searched the hall. People were watching them with curiosity, but men studied Enid’s rare beauty with envy.

  As if that were all that mattered.

  The king seated himself, then gestured to the chairs on either side of him. Geraint and Enid sat down, and maidservants came with tankards of ale and goblets of wine and cider. Geraint and his father took the ale, and Enid chose cider. Did she want to be the one with the clearest head for this battle?

  “Was your journey uneventful?” the king asked.

  Geraint focused his attention on his father. “Aye. Usually there is the occasional attack by thieves beyond our kingdom’s borders, but not this time.”

  “Maybe news of your accomplishments has spread farther than you know, my son.”

  Geraint blinked slowly, disbelieving his ears. Was his father complimenting him? “That does not seem possible, Father.”

  “King Arthur is quite pleased with your progress. And now to hear that he’s begun to rely on you for counsel . . . well, I am amazed.”

  Geraint stiffened, but he detected no sarcasm in his father’s tone. He felt off balance, as if the man had changed in some indefinable way.

  “So tell me about this marriage,” King Erbin said. “When did it take place?”

  “Not quite a fortnight ago,” Geraint answered.

  The king turned a smile on Enid. “Ah, still a new bride then. I am glad Geraint brought you home to meet us so quickly.”

  “As am I, sire,” she said. “It is good to have new family.”

  “And what about your own family? Who are your people?”

  Geraint tensed and saw Enid hesitate. He couldn’t risk what she might say.

  “Father,” Geraint said, “she is from a village a day’s journey from Camelot, and her father is a well-respected knight.”

  He didn’t know a damn thing about her father, but Enid was so gracious and poised that she had to have been raised well.

  Her pale blue eyes flashed at him, but all she said was, “My father rules his land with a benevolence you would appreciate, King Erbin. I have a younger brother who will inherit someday, and my mother watches over us all. I also have two sisters.”

  The king sighed. “Siblings are a good thing to have. I always regretted that Geraint’s mother died so young, leaving him an only child.” He looked over Geraint’s shoulder, then came to his feet and grinned. “But I am in the process of rectifying that situation.”

  Puzzled, Geraint glanced where his father did and saw a young woman descending the wide stairs from the second floor, surrounded by several ladies. Leading the way was her very pregnant belly.

  Geraint’s mouth fell open and he looked back at his father, whose new satisfaction now seemed justified. “I guess I’m not the only one with a surprise bride.”

  King Erbin strode to the base of the stairs, then reached for his wife’s arm. She smiled at him and leaned on him gratefully. She was short and delicate, with a hint of dark hair beneath her headdress. The king led her to the chairs before the fire and seated her in his own.

  He finally met Geraint’s gaze. “My son, this is my wife, Queen Portia. My queen, this is Prince Geraint, and his bride the princess Enid.”

  Portia’s smile displayed dimples in her cherubic face. “Sir Geraint, it is a pleasure to meet one whom I would like to consider a son.”

  Surely she was younger than he himself, Geraint thought with amusement, but he only bowed. “I am glad my father has found a woman to make him happy, my lady. He has seemed lonely over the years.”

  His father frowned at him.

  “But now he will be too busy for idleness,” Geraint continued smoothly, “since you are soon to gift him with another child.”

  “But not one who could ever replace you in your father’s thoughts,” Portia said demurely. “Perhaps you and Lady Enid shall have a child soon, and our offspring could be raised together as playmates—though uncle and nephew, of course,” she added with a smile. “Or aunt and niece? Good gracious, I am prattling on.”

  As the king reassured his wife, Geraint saw Enid put a hand to her stomach and look a little pale. Had he just assumed she would understand that a prince needed an heir? He wanted to groan at his own stupidity. The mystery of a comely, sword-bearing woman in need of protection had made him forget all else.

  Enid remained a little apart from this new family, studying her husband’s reaction to his new stepmother. It had been rather comical, his shock. Had he thought his father wanted to be alone for the rest of his life? Even Geraint hadn’t wanted that, Enid knew. He had wanted the commitment of marriage more than just having her briefly to fulfill his lust.

  Or maybe he’d wanted ownership.

  But Queen Portia did not seem a woman to be owned, not with the way her husband waited on her. He guided her to the table, full of concern because of her delicate condition. He put choice meats on her plate, saw to the refilling of her wine, waved away her weak protests.

  Portia loved every bit of this treatment, Enid thought with amusement.

  Geraint didn’t seem to know what to do with himself, so busy was he staring at his father. When Geraint would have ignored the maidservant bearing a cauldron of so
up, Enid made sure that he was served. She would have worried, but Geraint’s amazement was genuine, not full of jealousy. Many men did not like to lose a parent’s attention, but Geraint was above that.

  She was relieved.

  She didn’t have to make dinner conversation, because everyone was so distracted by their attention to the queen. Feeling at peace, Enid watched King Erbin’s subjects. They had no problem enjoying themselves before their ruler; he was obviously a man who inspired loyalty and not fear.

  But she had already known that, just from being with Geraint. Though she’d spent days thinking she didn’t know anything about her husband, she had to admit that his actions spoke to the man he was.

  She’d always thought his behavior full of kindness. He treated everyone with the same courtesy, from servant to high king. Couldn’t she put aside her disappointment and try to trust him again? But he didn’t want the same from her.

  He had lied to his own father for her, answering the king’s question about her family. He could have left her floundering, knowing she had to keep her secrets. Was he just trying to keep his embarrassment to a minimum?

  Geraint and his father began to discuss the battles and skirmishes that Geraint had fought with King Arthur. Enid listened most carefully to glean anything that would help train her people. But they had barely begun to talk when the queen leaned forward and beckoned to Enid.

  “Come sit by me, Lady Enid. We have so much to discuss.”

  Geraint may have been engrossed in conversation, but he sent Enid a small frown, and she gritted her teeth. What did he think she was going to do, attack his stepmother? Display her sword and challenge the woman?

  After a serving boy brought her chair to the far side of Queen Portia, Enid sat down. A maidservant displayed cut fruit and cheese, and the women helped themselves. The queen took a healthy amount, and Enid found herself relaxing. Enid’s own appetite had often been compared to a man’s—at least by her proper sister, Cinnia.

  After nibbling on cheese, Portia asked, “How long have you known Sir Geraint?”

  Enid swallowed a grape. “We married but a few days after we met.”

  “Instant love,” Portia said, laughing. “It is such a wonder when it happens. My own husband quite romanced me into marriage. I admit I was reluctant to marry a king, but he was persistent.”

  “As was his son,” Enid said ruefully.

  Portia eyed her with curiosity. “You would not have married so quickly?”

  Enid hesitated. It was so awkward to speak to a stranger about such intimacies, but Portia seemed like a woman with a core of firmness beneath her fragility. “I would have been content to wait as long as Geraint needed me to.” She would have done anything he wanted, she thought sadly, if only to be with him.

  “We do what is necessary for our men,” Portia said softly, her hand on her round stomach. She gave a little start. “Oh, this child is quite eager to play. He kicks at me constantly. Would you like to feel him?”

  Enid was not used to women’s ways, and she drew back wide-eyed. “Oh, nay, my lady, I am far too clumsy.”

  But the queen took her reluctant hand and put it on her taut belly. Almost immediately, Enid felt the child inside move. He was already his own person, with his own wish to move, as if not a part of his mother. She stared at her own hand, then up at the queen.

  Portia smiled. “Is it not marvelous, to carry life within us? It makes us part of the future, does it not?”

  Enid smiled wanly, knowing that she herself used a potion mixed by the women of her tribe to temporarily prevent conception. She was a warrior first, not a mother. Until her mission was over, she could not give up one role for the other.

  Portia was a woman who had all she wanted, Enid thought, recognizing her own envy. Portia used her femininity to sway the king, not for any cruel purpose, but to accomplish her own needs.

  If only Enid could be like that. But what she wanted, she could not ask for. She could not have Geraint’s help. She had never imagined regretting her vow of secrecy to her father, but more and more she was beginning to. But her regrets changed nothing.

  Portia leaned toward her, her smile sympathetic. She put her hand on Enid’s where it rested on the table.

  The moment stretched out, and Portia’s expressive smile slowly began to fade. Enid, who couldn’t look away, found herself somehow connected to this other woman—her mother by marriage, though there could only be a few years between them.

  Portia’s head tilted, and she studied Enid’s face as if memorizing it. Her expression was intent and curious. Then she looked down at her belly and moved her hand there, away from Enid’s. She smiled again, but this time she seemed flustered.

  “Ah, this child is so demanding,” she murmured, caressing her stomach as if she already comforted the babe.

  Enid frowned. “My lady, you seem pale. Shall I send for your ladies?”

  “Nay, I would not want the king to worry. I shall eat and drink—I have had this hungry, faint feeling before, as if the child cannot get enough food. Can you reach the platter of bread?”

  Enid leaned across the table and brought the platter near.

  Portia sighed and shook her head. “Of course you can reach it. It must be wonderful to be so tall.”

  “Not always, my lady. Most men do not wish a woman to look down on them.”

  “Then it is a good thing you married Sir Geraint. I never thought he’d be that tall.”

  Enid paused, then looked the queen straight on. “But I am taller than the king,” she said softly.

  “He is a confident man, Lady Enid,” the queen said. “And I am confident in him.”

  “It must feel good to be so confident,” Enid murmured without thinking first. Then catching her breath, she looked at Geraint. He was still engrossed in conversation with his father.

  Portia’s smile was soft. “You have not been married long. Confidence will come.”

  “My lady, forgive me for being so bold, but you have not been married long either.”

  “Long enough,” she said, her expression a shade wicked as she smoothed her gown over her belly.

  Enid finally smiled.

  GERAINT’S bedchamber was comfortable as befitted a prince, and Enid felt strangely at home there. A fire warmed the room. Cushioned chairs were grouped before the hearth, and a massive, curtained bed took up one wall. Enid quickly looked away from it. Their coffers had been brought in, and someone had hung her few gowns on pegs mounted on the wall. But the best thing was the bathing tub laid on towels before the hearth, steam rising from the water. She stared at it with longing, though she knew she had to bathe in a forest pond this night.

  “You may use it first,” Geraint said, coming up behind her.

  She gave a start, even though she was always aware of his presence. She hadn’t thought to bathe before him, something that had given each of them pleasure the morning after their wedding.

  Now she felt reluctant to taunt him by brazenly bathing. Yet part of her stirred to life at the thought of his gentle touch, at the memory of the way he could make her skin shimmer as if it burned for him. After all the terrible things they’d said to one another, the awkward tension that was always between them, she still wanted him with a ferocity that frightened her.

  At her long hesitation, he turned away. “I promise I shall not watch,” he said darkly.

  “You have a husband’s right to do as you wish.” Was she actually giving him the opportunity to demand such intimacies? It was as if she was making him take the first step toward what she desperately wanted. It seemed so long since she’d lain beneath him, since the joining of their bodies had made them one.

  He glanced at her, his eyes narrowed. “And if I was to take advantage of ‘a husband’s right,’ what would that make me in your eyes—or my own?”

  She sighed. “I only meant that I would not force you from your own chamber with my need to bathe.”

  “Then bathe and stop talking about it.
”

  He busied himself at his coffer with his back to her, and Enid quickly divested herself of her garments and sank into the tub. Usually, they only came to her waist, but this must have been created especially for a large man like Geraint, for she could sink up to her neck. Her appreciative sigh was a little too loud, but he said nothing.

  The soft soap was fragrant with the smell of roses, and she rubbed it into a cloth and began to lather her skin. But her mind wasn’t simply on her own comforts.

  “Geraint,” she said, “you seemed surprised by your father’s warm greetings. Did you have a falling out before you left?”

  Behind her, she heard movement, and after a moment he said, “Nay. But my father and I often did not agree on the decisions I made.”

  She held her breath, glad that he was actually confiding in her.

  “He claimed me far too impulsive,” Geraint went on dryly.

  And then she understood why he was telling her this. Coolly, she said, “And you believe you married me impulsively, thereby proving your father right.”

  “I was impulsive,” he said. “You were content to take your time, but I could not wait to have you.”

  Was he blaming himself? “Geraint, your regrets will not help the problems between us. And regardless of my hesitation during our courtship, if I wouldn’t have wanted to marry you, we would not be here today.”

  “So we were both foolish.”

  It hurt her to hear him speak bitterly of their marriage. She had thought herself so in love with him, and he with her. Now she didn’t know what they were but two strangers bound together forever.

  To change the subject, Enid said, “The queen seems like a lovely woman.” With a glance over her shoulder, she saw that her husband was staring out the window into the darkness, so she risked lifting her leg out of the water to soap it.

  “He was never interested in another wife,” Geraint said after a heavy pause. “They seem happy.”

  “They do. Queen Portia is intelligent, and she must love your father.”

  “I hope she did not upset you with her talk of us having children.”

  She fumbled with the cloth, and it slid to the bottom of the tub. She rolled her eyes. “I was not upset. It was a natural assumption.”