Chapter 17
Elain could only make herself walk to the center of the room, and then the weight of their stares stopped her. Gwen looked as though she hardly recognized her.
No wonder; she scarcely recognized herself. But she was here because some things were greater than her.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
Gwen looked like a deer in a hunter’s sights, wide-eyed and still. “Didn’t tell me what, precisely?”
“That I was born here. In this house. That Lord Ban is my father. That I’m his heir.”
“Lord Ban’s heir died,” Gwen said.
“Lord Ban’s heir ran away. To Rhys’s.”
“I thought you were born in the brothel.”
“I sheltered there, no more. Caron was my mother’s sister. Rhys is my uncle.”
Gwen blinked. Then her gaze tripped uncertainly down Elain’s clothing. “What is this?”
“I came to offer myself in suit.”
Gwen’s eyes snapped back up to meet hers.
“As Lord Ban’s heir, I would inherit all of his holdings—the lands, the structures upon them, and the ruling of the people who serve his authority. As heir, I’m in a position to offer all of it to you—”
“To me—”
“If you agree to marry me, I can give you the security of my inheritance. I can give you a home. I can give our child a home.”
“Your child?” Ban barked.
She tried to ignore him, tried to focus on Gwen.
Gwen, who was looking angrier by the second. “You lied to me,” she said. “You’re Rhys’s niece? A warlord’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re still lying to me.”
“I’m not. I’ve told you everything. Ban is my father. If you marry me, I can give you everything I have.”
“As my husband?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“What?”
“I refuse!” Gwen said, slicing a hand through the air.
The circle of lamplight next to the bedside seemed to shrink inward suddenly, and Elain’s right knee buckled. She braced it hard and tried to steady herself. She’d thought the failure would come at Ban’s hands. Never had she imagined she’d be cut down by Gwen.
She strode forward with such momentum Elain had to resist the urge to take a step backward. When she stood before her, Gwen prodded her shoulder with one hard fingertip. “How dare you make me such a paltry offer?”
Paltry? She’d just offered everything she had to give. “The lands are extensive. Richly productive. You would be wealthy, the most important woman in the region.”
“Goose shit. You’re withholding.”
“I’m not. Everything I’d have. It would be yours, for the taking.”
“All but the one thing I want most.”
“What—?”
“You.” Gwen took hold of her vest and tugged at it. “You.”
“You’d have me.”
Gwen shook her head and scowled at Elain’s clothes. “A semblance only.”
They were ill-fitting, it was true, but she’d had to borrow them. Steal them, in truth. Somewhere in the brothel was a customer wondering where his clothing had gone. It was here, on her body, the cut of the cloth binding her, the seams scraping her thighs. She wanted to tear it off, burn it, bury it, this costume that hung on her like dead skin. But until she could get trousers made for her, a shirt that fit… a belt that didn’t feel so heavy…
Gwen’s hand on her chin brought her gaze back up. “This isn’t you. It isn’t who you want to be.”
Elain swallowed hard. She could feel Ban’s leaden gaze on her. “It’s who I must be,” she said, then lowered her voice, “if I’m even to have a chance.”
The warmth of Gwen’s fingers left her. “And if you do this—live as someone you’re not just to give me a house—”
“That isn’t why—”
“—what will you do if this babe isn’t yours?”
Elain drew back. Listened to the words again in her mind. “Not mine?”
Gwen shook her head. “What if I’m carrying Arthur’s child?”
She felt her body jerk. Arthur’s?
“Morien says remedies fail.”
Gods, had that happened?
“What if it didn’t work? What if this is Arthur’s babe?” Gwen looked near tears, and Gwen never cried. “How long will it take for you to resent me? To resent us?”
Elain tried not to let her reeling mind betray her. The last thing she could afford to show was uncertainty, even if it was close to drowning her. “I would never resent you, either of you. Even if… even if it’s true, if it didn’t work as it should have done, Arthur will have to be off fighting for Cymru half the year and patrolling the border the other half. I could give you and the babe the security of this place—”
“Of Lord Ban’s holdings? As my husband?”
“Yes—”
“I’d rather live in a wool shed with you,” Gwen said, “than a grand hall with someone I don’t recognize.”
“You have to think of the babe.”
“I am thinking of the babe! Whose ever it is, it will be better off with two loving mothers!”
But she couldn’t be thinking clearly. How could Gwen consign herself to a life of uncertainty? To the poverty of being landless? Elain had been living that for years. She’d chosen it. But Gwen shouldn’t have to. She was Uthyr’s daughter, raised to deserve more.
Morien stood in the doorway, watching Gwen, his brow wrinkled in worry. Elain looked from him to the bed, where she was met with Ban’s hard glare. No quarter there.
“Elain?” Gwen said.
The plea in her eyes made Elain feel as if she were cracking apart. She couldn’t do what Gwen asked. She would fail her, as she had done over and over, and the stakes were too high now to fail her again.
She held those dark eyes, hoping Gwen would understand, and whispered, “Galahad.”
Gwen flinched as though she’d been struck. She stood still as stone for a long moment, then stepped back. She gave Ban a halting nod. “By your leave, my lord.”
When she’d gone, the chamber felt hollow. Elain stood in the middle of it, arms hanging useless in her counterfeit clothing. When she risked a glance toward Ban, his expression was flat.
“What were you thinking?” he said.
She turned and fled the chamber. Shouts sounded behind her but the words were muffled by the rasp of her desperate breath as she ran through corridors she knew like her own veins.