Gwenhwyfar_ The White Spirit - Mercedes Lackey [124]
Well, that explains a great deal . . .
“Still I have forgiven him. And I know him to be a great, and great-hearted, man. And a good leader, of the sort that this land needs. He has a vision of this part of the world being united and strong, as the old empire of the Romans was. I hope that this does not harden his heart and make something terrible out of a good man.”
Something terrible . . . like the sort of man who could order the deaths of infants? She said nothing, however, only nodded. She and Gildas exchanged a little more conversation, then he pleaded exhaustion, and she took her leave—making sure to stop with several war chiefs on the way back to her encampment to relate what Gildas had tacitly asked her to pass on.
And then she and her men followed the example of the rest, packed up, and returned, thankfully, to their homes.
Nevertheless, she was somehow not at all surprised to learn, about a month after their return, that Queen Gwenhwyfar had caught an unexpected chill, sickened, and died, and was buried on the grounds of the Abbey.
PART THREE
QUEEN
Chapter Nineteen
It was just cool enough for a fire at the king’s hearth, but the light it cast gave very little aid in reading facial features. Gwen could not believe what she had just heard, and stared at their visitor in total disbelief. “If this is a jest, it is in very poor taste,” she finally managed.
But her father looked completely serious, as did the visitor, the Lady Aeronwen. “Lady” in the sense of “one of the Ladies.” The Lady looked outwardly no different from any other woman, and Gwen was not Gifted enough to sense the Power in her; her clothing was unusual only in that it was of plain, undyed white linen and wool, and her hair was unbound, signifying she was not a married woman. There was nothing whatsoever to mark her as a person of any importance at all, but she had been sent directly here from the great School, and Cataruna, who bowed to almost no one, practically groveled to her.
She did have the most piercing dark eyes that Gwen had ever seen; eyes that definitely looked far beneath the surface of everything around her. Her speech was clipped, her manners rather severe. That, of course, was probably very effective against the young women sent to the School, but it cowed Gwen not at all.
And her proposal was . . . well, on the surface of it, sheer insanity. Why in the name of every god and goddess should she become the High King’s third wife? She had never even laid eyes on him to her certain knowledge, and she doubted he had ever seen her. And she was twenty-seven. Even if she did look eighteen. Surely he would want a younger bride.
If he does, he’ll reject this whole scheme out of hand.
“The High King must have a queen. He dallied not at all after the death of his first, and there is no reason to wait this time, either. He drew up a pathetically short list of names that he indicated would be acceptable to himself and one or another of his advisors. The only other candidate that we will accept is Morgana,” said Aeronwen flatly, her eyes hard. “And leaving aside the little problem that she is also the High King’s half-sister, she is completely out of the question, because she is completely uncontrollable.”
“Oh. And you can control me,” Gwen replied dryly, raising one eyebrow. The tiny, dark woman flushed, disconcerted. Gwen sensed that she did not often find herself contradicted or her will thwarted.
“That is not what I mean, Gwenhwyfar.” The Lady’s glare could have put ice on a pond in summer. “I mean that you will work for the good of the land, for the good of the followers of the Old Ways, to protect the Folk of Annwn. You will think first of the good of others, not yourself. You have proven that, as a warrior. Morgana will work only on her own behalf, or Medraut’s.”
“And leaving aside whether or not Arthur will be remotely interested in a bride who has followed the warrior’s path, just how do you propose to get the High King to accept a third wife with the name ‘Gwenhwyfar’?” she asked.