Her Rogue Knight (13 page)

“I don’t want a husband,” she said quietly. “You owe me nothing if you did this only to keep me safe… I mean, if you regret…” She refused to look at him.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he brought both horses to a stop. “Gemma, I do not regret.”

She kept her gaze down on her hands.

“Look at me,” he insisted, turning her chin up so she faced him. “I do not regret. Do you understand?” he asked.

“I do not want a husband,” she repeated.

“You have said that many times before, but perhaps you do not understand what sort of husband I would be.”

“What sort is that?” she asked, needing time to think.

“Your father was kind to your mother, I believe?” he asked.

“Yes, always. He loved her.”

“You don’t have much experience with others—men or women—so why is your view of marriage so negative?”

“It’s not that it’s negative. It’s that I…” She what? She looked ahead, trying to sort her thoughts.

“You what? You must know that I will challenge your ideas, your thoughts, just as I expect you to challenge mine. That is the kind of husband I plan to be. The kind of man I am. So answer my question—why so negative a view on men, on a husband?”

She floundered for a moment, having only the truth and feeling weak to think it.

He waited, his smile kind and patient, but at the same time, unrelenting.

“I don’t want to lose my freedom, for one thing,” she began, but that wasn’t the part she was afraid to share.

“And with me, you would not. You will be expected to obey me, but I will not be unreasonable in what I ask of you, and I have no desire to take away your freedom. But go on, you said ‘for one thing’. There must be another,” he prompted.

“I do not want to have children,” she lied outright.

That surprised him, and he looked at her with questioning eyes.

She looked at her hands, then back at him. “No, that’s not true. My mother died having my sister. I’m so much like her. I don’t want to die like that.”

He smiled and reached over to take her hand. “What happened to your mother was tragic. I can make no promises against death—no one can. What I can promise is to be a good husband, to keep you safe, and to care for you.”

“What about punishment?” she asked.

“I will only punish you if you give me cause to, and the punishment shall never be more than what you yourself earn.”

“I do not have a choice anyway,” she whined.

“Look at me,” he said, squeezing her hand and slowing their horses.

She turned to face him, fearing she might once again be in trouble.

“You always have a choice. You can choose how to take the circumstances of your life and make a happy living from it. You will marry me for a number of reasons, the least of which is that your father has offered me your hand in exchange for embarking on this journey to bring your sister home safely. There are many more benefits to marriage to me, one of which you have just experienced for yourself.”

She blushed and dropped her gaze to where he held onto her hand.

“I am not an ogre, and will not become one once I am your husband, Gemma,” he said. “Or, do you find me so terrible?”

She smiled a little and shook her head. “Only when you punish me.”

He smiled.

“Can you really not see the mist over the path?” she asked, wanting to change the subject.

“No, I cannot. I rely on you utterly at this moment,” he said, bowing his head.

She smiled, appreciating his effort, but the feeling that he might regret what they had done nagged at her.

* * *

They rode through the day, and only as the afternoon gave way to the long shadows of approaching night did they arrive at the end of the path. They were nearing a ridge, and Gemma looked at him, confused, hoping she hadn’t been wrong.

He must have seen it in her eyes. “Ride on,” he said, motioning to the top of the ridge.

They did and sure enough, they had reached the shore. She smiled. “There,” she said, pointing in the distance at the shadow of an island.

Galahad looked out, scanning the beach below. “We’ll ride down to the shore. I see a boat to take us across.”

“It’s quite some distance to cover. Will we bring our horses?” she asked. Crossing the water made her a little uneasy, although she wasn’t sure why.

“If we can, we will. Let’s ride down first before we decide.”

They rode in silence as Gemma’s feeling that something was not quite right grew. “I’m nervous,” she said.

“Aye, so am I,” he confirmed. “This is too easy. But what choice do we have?”

The wind grew stronger as they approached the open land. Clouds gathered overhead, and the water seemed to become more unsettled the closer they got. Gemma shivered.

“There,” Galahad pointed. An old man stood near a waiting boat.

“It’s not right. Something is wrong,” she said, panicked for a moment. As she said it, three other men walked out from behind a large boulder.

“Stay here, I will approach them.”

“No. It’s a trap, I know it. I feel it.”

“Do as I say and stay here,” he instructed once again.

Gemma placed a hand on her bow as she watched Galahad ride toward the men. As soon as he separated from her, an arrow coming from a ridge near the one where they had stood flew through the air.

“Galahad!” she called out, pulling an arrow from her quiver.

Galahad’s speed intensified, and the arrow missed. Gemma turned in the direction the arrow had come from to find an archer aligning his next arrow. She lifted her own bow, narrowed her eyes, spoke her usual poem and released the arrow. The man fell from the ridge without a sound as she watched.

Galahad drew his sword as the three men surrounded his horse. Gemma prepared her next arrow and, just as Galahad’s horse bucked and Galahad fell off, she struck one of them, this one in the throat. There was a moment where the two remaining men turned to her giving Galahad just enough time to stand, raise his sword, and strike one of the men down. There was too much movement for Gemma to get another arrow off, and she remained watching as they battled.

Galahad was clearly the more skilled of the two, but the other man managed to defend every attack even if Galahad did not once allow him an offensive strike. The sound of swords and men was all she could hear as she remained watching, and just when Galahad seemed at a disadvantage and Gemma drew her arrow back, his sword pierced the man’s chest.

Gemma exhaled, her muscles relaxing finally when the man fell to the ground and Galahad stood victorious but breathless over him.

Relieved, she rode fast to him.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his breath coming short.

Gemma watched him kneel and wipe the blood from his sword on the fallen men.

“Yes,” she said. “Are you?”

He nodded.

“I’ve never…” she began. Tears filled her eyes at the enormity of what she had done. “I’ve never killed a man.”

Galahad looked at her. “You had no choice, Gemma.”

“I know,” she said. She looked up at the old man who waited by the boat.

Galahad reached up to take her by the waist and carried her off her horse. He then held her close for a moment. “It’s all right. They would have killed us if they could have.”

“I know. I know,” she said, allowing herself one sob before pulling away. “We’re close now. She’s on the island, isn’t she?” she asked.

“I think so.” He looked over at the old man. “Let’s go.”

He took her hand and they walked to him together. When they approached, the aging man took a step backward, holding up his hands. “I meant no harm, the others…”

Galahad stopped him. “We only want to cross to the island, old man. We want nothing with you,” he said.

“Those men… they…” He was clearly afraid. It was obvious he had been held hostage by the others.

“They knew we were coming?” she asked.

Galahad rubbed his chin. “They might have known we would come after Alys, but it is strange that we haven’t been attacked at all yet.”

“Did others cross to the island recently? They would have had a child with them. A young girl.”

The old man nodded once.

“How many?” Gemma asked. “How many men?”

“More than a dozen.”

“How was the girl?”

“Frightened,” he answered quickly, his eyes sad.

“Can you carry the horses over as well?” Galahad asked the man. This was their priority now, they needed to cross to the island.

“Aye, I can,” he said.

“Let us go then,” Galahad said. He looked up to the sky. In the horizon, the sun was setting. “Before it’s too dark.”

The man led them on board the boat. The horses didn’t like it, but Galahad pulled them along as well. The crossing took a quarter of an hour, and the water grew more and more choppy. When Gemma set foot on the island, it couldn’t have been soon enough.

“Good luck to you,” the old man said, quickly climbing back on board to cross back.

“Wait,” Galahad called out, holding onto his arm.

“Please, Sir. I’m just an old man. Let me go back before it’s too late.”

“Which way did they walk?” Galahad asked.

“West.”

“Thank you,” Gemma said.

He looked at her and nodded once then turned and set out. They watched the old man as he began to cross back over, then headed into the forest to find shelter for the night.

* * *

The scent and sound were familiar even before she opened her eyes. The dripping of water, the cool, damp of the cave, the musty smell of the enclosed space. She listened closely, wanting to hear beyond the physical, wanting to hear the thoughts. Her mother was nearby, the subtle scent of incense gave her away. But today she wasn’t alone.

Gemma opened her eyes and looked at the ceiling of the cave above her. She lay on a bed with a rough blanket covering her otherwise naked body. She turned her head and looked at the candles that lined the walls. Shadows moved from the light they cast. She sat up, holding the blanket to her chest. She saw no one at first, although she knew she was not alone.

The tingling of her arm drew her attention, and she looked down at it, knowing what she would see even before she saw it. Her heart rate did not pick up, and her stomach did not lurch. She did not react, she simply watched, even as the slithering sensation became almost unbearable.

The serpents had grown thicker, their faces sharper, their tongues and fangs lethal. She watched them circle round and round her arm, and when they reached her wrist, the two came together as one. Their bodies settled into place, and their heads came to rest on the back of her hand. For one unnerving moment, she swore their eyes met hers, and yet she remained still, only watching until it was finished. Until the outlines of their bodies were fully formed.

Gemma.

Every hair on her body stood on end as she turned in the direction of the sound. Her eyes now widened, and her heart would have leapt from her chest if that were possible. One tear slid from her eye as she took in the form of her mother, her very Fey mother.

Catalina wore a thin white gown. Ropes of shimmering gold bound her waist and corseted her breasts. Her chestnut hair hung loose from her head and reached to her hips. Woven within her hair Gemma glimpsed the gold thread that wound its way throughout. Her eyes shimmered iridescent. As beautiful as they had been in life, they were more so now. Her skin was soft, her smile softer as she held out her hands to her daughter. And when she did, Gemma could no longer ignore the marks that covered every inch of exposed skin. The same marks that she herself wore, and thicker, fuller, and even more beautiful were the serpents that wrapped their bodies around her mother.

“Mother,” Gemma said once she was able to meet her eyes again.

Come, child. It’s time to prepare you.

The forms of three other women were then visible. These three had hair that was darker, that of a raven’s feathers. Their faces showed no emotion at all, and their dress was simple. No marks covered their bodies. They stood patiently watching Gemma, waiting for her. In her hands one held a clay pot, the other a needle, and the third simply stood empty-handed.

Come,
her mother said again.

Gemma rose out of the bed and walked directly into her mother’s outstretched arms. She lay her face against her shoulder and melted into her as Catalina’s arms closed around her, hugging her to her breast with one hand, holding the back of her head with the other.

“I miss you so much,” she managed, tears pouring from her closed eyes as she held onto her mother tightly.

Her mother petted her head and her hair and coaxed her with the gentle sounds she remembered from so many years ago.

“Alys needs you now,” she said. This time the words were spoken words, and Gemma felt her mother’s breath at her ear as she said them. “You must be brave for her now. For your father. For your knight.”

Gemma’s body tightened, and she looked up at her mother’s shimmering face. It was as though she were Gemma’s own age, as though time had not passed for her at all.

Catalina smiled. “Your knight. Your lover,” she said. “Sir Galahad’s heart is pure. His love for you is great. I have tried, but he stole from Morgan and for that, he must be punished. You will deliver him to her tomorrow, and your reward shall be your sister’s safety.”

“Punished?” she asked.

“I am sorry, Gemma.”

She opened her mouth to speak, not sure what to say. But it didn’t matter, because in the next moment, her mother turned her to the waiting women. The one who held nothing took up her arm, the one that contained the outline of the serpents. It was at this moment that Gemma realized she did not wear her bracer. Panicked for an instant, she went to touch her now bare arm, but the woman’s grip turned vice-like, and she was unable to move. The other two walked closer to her, and when she tried to take a step back, her mother’s hands were on her shoulders, holding her, steadying her. Keeping her in place.

Be still. They won’t hurt you. As you are not immortal, your blood impure, you have need of the magic the paint contains. It will protect you. The serpents will give you strength to do what you must do. Be still now.