Gwenhwyfar_ The White Spirit - Mercedes Lackey [46]
“Braith’s girl.” The Merlin nodded, and Gwen suppressed a start of surprise that he would use that term. “You honor me by sending your blood to serve me.” He turned his attention to Gwen, and the force of his regard landed on her like a blow. “Well, by your leave, I shall take mine. I am an old man, and I need my rest.”
The king laughed politely but in a way that said without words that he believed none of that. “Then your squire shall show you to your encampment. We look forward to your presence at our right hand at supper.”
Gwen thought the Merlin would turn his attention to other things as she guided him to the spot where his encampment had been set up—against the east castle wall, sheltered from wind, shaded from the worst of the heat of the day, but warmed by the rising sun in the morning. And so he did, but not for long. Time and time again, she felt his eyes burning on the back of her neck, and when they reached where his pavilion had been pitched, he stopped her before she could go.
“I have some business I must carry out, and a message I need taken, squire,” he told her. “Come.” And he motioned for her to step inside the flap his servant held aside for them.
She didn’t want to, but what could she do? Reluctantly, she obeyed. He sat down on the stool that had been set ready for him and gestured for her to stand before him. She kept her eyes fastened to her toes. She studied her own feet, studied the wrapped leather shoes she wore, with great care.
“Look at me, squire,” the Merlin ordered, sounding impatient.
“Look up at me, look me in the eyes.”
With even greater reluctance, she raised her eyes to his. The moment their gazes locked, his piercing gray eyes filled her vision, and she could not have looked away if she’d wanted to. She felt dizzy, and yet her knees locked, and she stood as rigid as a statue. As if from far away, she heard him speaking.
“Eleri. The queen, your mother. Was she at Arthur’s wedding?” he asked sharply.
What kind of a foolish question was that? “No,” she heard herself replying. “She was here, she was the Mother in the rites that night. Everyone saw her there and at the feast before and the fire after. Not even eagle’s wings could have got her there and back in that time. Besides, she wanted to be the Mother in the rites, to share the power all the Circles were raising for the High King.” She wanted to hesitate, not to say anything more, but the words kept tumbling out. “She wanted to give Father a son, after so many daughters. So she wanted to be sure she could share in that Power.”
She heard him mutter to himself. It made no more sense than his question. “Could it be that? The sharing of that power and not—the portent said it was his son, but could it have meant the child of his Power and not of his blood?”
Gwen strained against the invisible bonds that held her but to no avail. “The child she bears—boy or girl?”
She didn’t want to answer, but the answer slipped from her. “A son, as she wanted, the queen says, and so do the signs and all the women.”
And again, the Merlin muttered. “—I dare not risk it. I dare not. Better a hundred innocent perish to remove that one—”
She felt like a bird in a net. No matter how hard she struggled, she only entangled herself further. The cold hand of fear clutched at her throat. It was impossible to move even a finger.
“Your sister, Cataruna—did she ask to leave because of the new child?” he asked, as her head swam and she found it hard to breathe.
“No, my lord Merlin,” she replied truthfully, and she found herself relating word-for-word that last conversation she’d had with her eldest sister.
“And you? Are you jealous of this prince-to-come?” he asked, his eyes burning into hers.
“No!” she gasped, caught unawares by the question. “No! I am going to be his guardian, his protector! And when he grows up, I will be among his war chiefs, like Braith is. I will be his bodyguard