May Earth Rise (18 page)

He bent his head and kissed the side of her neck. The kiss turned into a bite as his teeth nipped at her. But he knew better than to break the skin and he lifted his head again to kiss her lips. His tongue invaded her, forcing her mouth open. She did not respond, but neither did she struggle, for she knew he would like that.

When he at last released her mouth she hissed, “Take me then, Bledri. Then will I go to Morcant and show him what you have done.”

His arms tightened around her then released her. He stepped back all at once and she clutched at the dressing table to keep from falling.

“You will never be free, Enid. Not even if both Morcant and I are dead. You will carry with you all the rest of your life the things we have done to you. You will never again taste joy, for we will be in your memories forever.”

He stormed from the room as she slowly sank down to the floor, her face in her hands, the truth of what he said lodging like an arrow in her weary heart.

O
WEIN TOOK A
firm hold of the slim rope that snaked down the side of the fortress wall. In the darkness he could not even see the top of the wall he scaled until he was almost upon it. As he reached the top he let go of the rope and hoisted himself up to lie flat across the parapet. He laid still for a moment, catching his breath.

Cautiously, he inched across the top of the wall until he was directly beside the watchtower. Above him the light from the narrow window flickered once, twice, three times. Owein grinned to himself. Geriant and Yrth had indeed done their task.

Loud, raucous laughter sounded from the hall in the middle of the huge courtyard. Someone opened the door of the hall and golden light spilled out and down the steps. Owein crouched, not moving, as three figures made their way down the stairs and to the ystafell. Although the light of the torches in brackets set in intervals around the fortress walls was flickering and uncertain, he knew exactly who the three men were.

Morcant, the self-styled King of Rheged wore a dark red cloak, the color of old blood. The cloak clasped at this throat with a brooch of opal and gold shaped in the figure of a rearing stallion. At the sight of the ornament, an ornament he had often seen around his father’s neck, Owein drew his dagger and almost leapt to kill Morcant. But he stopped himself in time, though rage coursed through him, leaving him shaking.

The sea green and silver robe of the man on Morcant’s left shimmered briefly in the torchlight. Around the man’s powerful neck glowed a torque of pearl set in a silvery pentagon. Again, Owein had to grit his teeth to keep from jumping down and slitting Bledri’s throat. For this was the Dewin who had betrayed his parents, ensuring their deaths. And this was the man who Enid had thrown everything away for, the man who had betrayed his sister and sold her into slavery.

The third man Owein knew by reputation. He was dressed in red and gold, the colors of his master. General Baldred’s stocky figure walked with authority, for he was the true power in Rheged, and he knew it.

The three men disappeared into the ystafell and Owein breathed a sigh. He glanced up at the window and waved briefly. The light again flickered. Owein gave out a soft hoot, so like an owl’s as to be almost indistinguishable, and saw the rope below him pulled taunt.

It took her but a few moments to scale the wall. Her golden hair was covered and muted by a dark scarf, and her dark eyes danced as she took his hand and allowed him to pull her up next to him. He snatched a kiss, because he simply couldn’t help it. Sanon smiled at him, then nodded to the window, her brows raised. He nodded back and motioned for her to pass him and stand beneath the window. As she did so he laced his fingers and lowered his arms. She delicately stepped into the palms of his hands and held onto the wall as he lifted her. Hands reached out of the window and pulled her in.

Again, the rope went taut, and he waited. One by one his companions reached the top of the wall and climbed into the watchtower window—Trystan, his captain, and Teleri his lieutenant, followed by Gwarae Golden-Hair, the Gwarda of Ystlwyf. This last gave him a grin and a jaunty salute as he made his way with Owein’s help through the watchtower’s window.

Owein coiled the rope, then went to the window. He stowed the rope in the front of his dark tunic, then spit on his hands. He scaled the wall carefully, searching for the handholds he knew were there. As his hands reached the window ledge Trystan and Gwarae reached out and hauled him up the rest of the way.

His eyes met the two men who had been waiting in the tower—Prince Geriant and Yrth, the Druid that High King Arthur had sent to aid them. At their feet sprawled the figures of three guards.

Owein nodded at the still bodies. “Any trouble?” he asked.

“None,” Geriant answered briskly.

“I still think that I should have been allowed to—” Teleri began with a frown.

“Enough, Teleri,” Owein said. “You know perfectly well why only Geriant and Yrth were allowed to go through the gate earlier today.”

“Because the two of them were not well known in Llwynarth,” Sanon finished for him. “While the rest of you certainly are. But that was no reason I could not have been allowed in. No one knows me here.”

Again, as he had through all the previous arguments, Owein could find no good reason to not have allowed Sanon to do it other than that his heart almost stopped at the thought.

“Enough, sister,” Geriant said with a smile. “Or do you truly not know why your husband did not allow you to come with us?”

“Maybe it would be best if someone told me why we are continuing to argue about this?” Gwarae asked. “It’s a little late to keep on about it.”

“True,” Owein agreed with relief. “Teleri, the signal.”

Teleri went to the window and strung her bow. Owein knew that her shot had to hit the target true or their escape would be well nigh impossible. But, even in the dark, he had no doubts about Teleri’s abilities. The arrow sang softly as it left the bow and sped through the still air. A half league away a light flared and died, then another, from further off still. The last flame flared briefly then sputtered out.

“The signal is sent,” Teleri said with satisfaction. “March will be on his way with the horses.”

“Truly, Teleri, there is no one like you with a bow and arrow,” Gwarae said jauntily. “Why, how long has it been now since you sent an arrow through my heart? I remember the moment I first saw you—”

“Oh, leave off, Gwarae,” Teleri said as she slung her bow over her shoulder. “You always do that. You always make a game of me.”

“A game of you?” Gwarae asked, his brow raised. “Now what makes you think that this is a game?”

Teleri snorted. “It’s always a game with you. Why, if I thought you were ever serious—”

“You’d do what, lieutenant?” Gwarae said swiftly, his green eyes glinting.

“Never you mind,” Teleri said sharply.

Owein decided to put a halt to this conversation. The two of them always spoke to each other this way—Gwarae paying Teleri elaborate compliments that she clearly did not take seriously. She thought he was playing an elaborate game with her. And, perhaps, he had been, at first. But lately Owein wondered if it really was a game to Gwarae at all.

But now it was time to free his sister, and he was focused on that alone. “We are ready,” he said quietly. “Yrth, you are prepared?”

The old Druid nodded. His gray eyes glittered with anticipation in his weather-beaten face. “I am, King of Rheged.”

Once that title had made Owein wince in shame and guilt. But those days were past, smoothed over by the love of his wife. So he smiled instead and nodded at the Druid. Although he had not known Yrth long, he knew that this Druid had been one of the five that had followed Aergol to High King Arthur to offer their allegiance. Yrth had been a highly respected teacher in Caer Duir for many years and, in spite of the fact that the old man was a Druid, Owein had liked him instantly for the wisdom in his eyes and the calmness of his spirit.

At his nod Teleri and Gwarae left the room with Yrth, one in front of and one behind the old Druid.

Owein nodded to Geriant. “Let’s go,” he said to the man who had loved, who still did love, his captive sister.

Sanon kissed them both lightly then pulled her long dagger from her belt. Trystan pulled out his short sword with a steely hiss. Owein turned at the door for one last look at Sanon. She smiled at him, her heart in her dark eyes.

T
ELERI LED THE
way, with Yrth behind her and Gwarae last. They made their way silently down the twisting stairs of the guard tower. They reached the bottom and Teleri stood to one side of the door, motioning for Yrth to stand next to her. She nodded to Gwarae and he opened the door a crack. He put his eye to the crack, then stepped back, motioning that the way was clear.

Teleri stepped out first, her bow slung across one shoulder, a long gleaming knife in her hands. The courtyard was quiet as they rushed to their left and took cover behind the silent bathhouse.

She glanced behind her and saw the shadowy forms of Geriant and Owein glide the opposite way, toward the ystafell.

“The fools are all in the hall,” Teleri whispered furiously.

Yrth’s brow rose at her tone. “I would have thought we wanted it that way,” he said quietly.

“Ah, Druid, you simply don’t understand this beautiful woman here,” Gwarae said with a grin. “If she was still lieutenant here in Caer Erias things would not be so sloppy. Guards would patrol the courtyard, not simply be limited to the towers.”

“And every last torch would be lit,” Teleri said, still angry. “Why, only every other torch on the walls is lit. Anyone could be up to anything in the courtyard! If I had my way—”

“Which you will again,
cariad,”
Gwarae said. “For we will take it all back.”

“So we will,” Teleri said firmly. Almost as an afterthought, she went on, “And don’t call me
cariad
.”

“Why, for a moment I thought you were going to let me do that without scolding me,” Gwarae quipped. “I almost had hopes.”

“You can take your hopes and—”

“Pardon me, Yrth,” Gwarae said, turning to the Druid. “But could you hold this?” He snatched the bow from Teleri’s hands and handed it to Yrth. Then he reached out and pulled Teleri to him, and fastened his mouth over hers. For a moment, a very brief moment, Teleri struggled. But then she seemed to melt into Gwarae’s embrace. After a long, lengthy kiss, Gwarae raised his head. He seemed surprised and shaken but did not loose Teleri from his arms.

Teleri smiled up at him, her gray-green eyes almost soft. “And did you think I would never let you do that?”

“After all this time, I feared so,” Gwarae breathed.

“Then why did you try?”

“I assumed you would not kill me here, but wait until later.”

“I do have plans for you later,” Teleri agreed. “But I don’t believe you will object.”

“Did you really believe that I have been playing a game with you?” he rasped.

“Of course. That’s why it took me so long.”

“Teleri ur Brysethach, I love you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. At last. At long last. “Gwarae Golden-Hair, I love you.”

Gwarae bent his head to kiss her again, but Yrth’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“While I enjoy the course of true love as much as anyone, I think you had both best concentrate on the task at hand,” Yrth breathed, nodding toward the shadows by the ystafell. From the darkness a white cloth fluttered.

“The signal,” Gwarae whispered. “Now, Druid. Now.”

S
ANON AND TRYSTAN
halted at the bottom of the watchtower stairs. They took up their places on either side of the open doorway, hidden in the shadows. Sanon squinted toward the bathhouse.

“Why,” she said with delight, “I believe that Gwarae has caught his quarry at last.”

Trystan glanced over and grinned at the sight of two shadows twined together. “Took long enough,” he grumbled, but he smiled faintly as he said it.

“I must say, the timing could be better.”

Trystan shrugged. “It happens when it happens.”

“Trystan,” she began, then stopped.

“Yes, my Queen?” he asked softly.

“Be a friend to Geriant,” she said. “My brother might need one very badly.”

“Enid will come back to us,” Trystan said, for he seemed to understand everything that Sanon did not know how to say. “She’ll come back. And Geriant will be whole.”

In the shadows behind the ystafell a white cloth fluttered.

“The signal,” Sanon breathed. “Now, Druid. Now.”

G
ERIANT AND OWEIN
stood in the shadows that pooled behind the ystafell. Above them the windows of Enid’s rooms were shuttered from the outside, for Morcant always had the shutters closed at night. Wan candlelight flickered fitfully in the cracks between the shutters.

She’s in there, Geriant thought, and closed his eyes briefly at her nearness. She was so close to him, after all this time. At last he had come to rescue her, to take her from this place of pain and terror and humiliation into the light of Mabon’s bright sun. The time had come, at last.

She was no longer the Enid he had known and loved. He had seen that clearly when he had caught that brief, sweet glimpse of her in the courtyard this afternoon. The girl she had been was dead and gone. The woman that the lovely, spirited, generous girl had become was unknown to him.

He had thought, deep in his heart, that this would be so. And he had thought, deeper still, that perhaps it would matter to him—this change. But it had not. When he had seen her he had known, as he had known from the beginning, that she was the one. She was the woman he was born to love. And if he could not have her, he would have no one.

He pulled a slender coil of rope from his tunic. At one end was a lead weight wrapped in dark cloth. At Owein’s nod he slung the weight attached to the rope over his head once, twice, three times, then threw. The rope arched high overhead then began to descend. In its descent it looped around a protruding roof beam just over one of Enid’s shuttered windows. The weight wrapped the rope around once, twice, three times. The cloth adequately muffled the sound.