Chapter 25
Bedwyr strode toward Rhys’s behind Arthur, thinking he could get used to the view.
The summer had been a sound success. They’d driven the Saxons eastward, establishing a significantly deeper border and reclaiming lands that had once belonged to Rhys’s grandfather. They would have stayed to fight longer, but two straight weeks of rain had flooded the border plains, strengthening Cymru’s hold on them.
And the man in front of him… Well. Suffice to say his reputation had grown enough in one summer that a lesser man might have floated away on his own steam. Arthur had puffed up, now and again, and Bedwyr had reveled in pricking his bubble. Not because he envied the way other men had begun to defer to Arthur, or how they seemed drawn to him. He couldn’t envy what he felt himself.
No, he’d enjoyed bringing Arthur down to earth because Arthur had asked him to do it, and because every time he did, his cub rewarded him with a worshipful look and low promises no other man on earth could surely have received.
Now it was dusk on a cool, early autumn evening. The rains had let up on this, their final day trekking back. He was going to eat well in Rhys’s hall tonight, and drink some decent ale for the first time in months, and then he was going to pull Arthur into a private space and perform his own worship.
That was the plan, anyway, before a lad met them on the path and said the two of them were to follow him directly to Lord Ban’s.
Bedwyr looked longingly at Rhys’s hall in the distance.
Safir chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll save you some ale.”
“No, you won’t.”
Their men walked on without them, laughing. When he and Arthur started down the other path, Arthur asked, “Why Lord Ban’s?”
“That’s where the mistresses Elain and Gwenhwyfar are,” the lad told him, “and the babe.”
Babe.
Arthur whipped around to look at Bedwyr. “They did it,” he murmured. “Elain got her with child.”
“What has my sister had?” Bedwyr called to the lad, feeling every inch the proud uncle.
The boy glanced at them over his shoulder and grinned. “Good question.”
Indeed, as soon as they laid eyes on it, he and Arthur were rendered speechless.
It almost didn’t look like a babe. In fact, Bedwyr wasn’t convinced until it reached a limb from its swaddling and wrapped tiny fingers around one of Gwen’s. Mostly, though, Bedwyr was remembering the day Arthur’s family had arrived in the mountain village.
Bedwyr had been proud to stand next to his father, even prouder when Uthyr had introduced him as his son, though he was only four years old. Master Tiro, the only one of the strangers who spoke Cymrish fluently had then introduced everyone in his party. The last person he presented had been Arthur. He’d been wrapped up just as this babe was, and held close to his mother’s breast, as this babe was.
And he’d been covered with long hair, from crown to toe, as this babe was.
“His name is Medraut,” Gwen said.
As he had those many years before, Bedwyr smoothed a thumb over the long silky hair on the babe’s cheek. This time, something in his chest cracked open. He smiled at Gwen. “Congratulations.”
She smiled back, but her gaze flicked quickly to Arthur. “What say you?”
Elain stood at her shoulder and together they waited for Arthur’s response.
His cub, so confident and swaggering and capable over the summer past, looked bewildered. “He’s…” He looked at Bedwyr. “Is that what it looked like? What I looked like?”
“It is,” Bedwyr said, his throat tight at the lost expression on Arthur’s face. “Your hair was red, though.”
“The midwife said it’s not uncommon, the hair,” Elain said then. “But we don’t know for sure. We won’t until he’s older, and even then, perhaps not.”
Arthur frowned. “But, the remedy…”
Gwen’s free hand sought Elain’s. “Evidently, no method is foolproof.”
Arthur looked between them, then blurted, “You’ll want for nothing,” and Bedwyr wanted to wrap him up.
“I know that,” Gwen said and kissed Elain’s hand. Then they relayed what had happened at midwinter. Elain’s reconciliation with her father. Her proposal to Gwen. And her condition that Uthyr acknowledge Bedwyr and Arthur as he was prepared to do for the women.
Bedwyr stared at them. “Ta fought with us just after that. He fought with us all summer. Didn’t say a word of it.”
Gwen shrugged. “He said he’d do it when you needed him to. Or wanted him to. Our existing marriages stand for now. I suppose he’s waiting for a signal.”
They said rather stunned goodbyes so that Gwen and the babe could rest, promising to return once they’d settled in, and left for Rhys’s. Bedwyr’s mind was a-tumble. Arthur’s must have been as well, for he walked in silence, which almost never happened. As they topped the last rise before Rhys’s wall, however, Arthur stopped. He looked stricken.
“What if he’s mine?”
“The babe?”
Arthur nodded.
“Then he’s yours.”
“Bed…” His gray gaze searched Bedwyr’s. “My bond to you hasn’t changed.”
A moment before, Bedwyr would’ve wagered he’d have a difficult time putting his thoughts into words, but when he looked at Arthur, they came easily. “My bond to you has changed, cub. It’s stronger now. No matter what, he’s my nephew. If he’s also your son…” What a notion. He smiled. “I’ll love him that much more.”
Arthur looked back the way they’d come. “But what if we never know?”
“So be it.”
Arthur turned to him. “Truly?”
“Last year the four of us made an arrangement of convenience. Now it’s more.” He could scarcely believe he was the one making this argument, but here they were. “We get to shape it to our purpose.”
The setting sun shone in Arthur’s eyes. “A family?”
“One we create. One only we could create.”
“But… is the babe Elain’s heir or mine? Or your father’s? Or Ban’s—”
Bedwyr put a hand to Arthur’s neck, and he stilled. “Could be any of those. But know this: he’s Gwen’s first and foremost, so you’d best relinquish any plans until she approves them.”
Arthur smiled at that, finally.
“He’s scarcely a month old. We’ve a while yet. Fortunately, we have plenty to keep us occupied.”
Arthur leaned into his touch. “Saxons?”
“Not until spring.”
A cheeky grin made Arthur’s eyes flash, and Bedwyr sighed.
“Or midwinter, as seems to be your preference.”
“I like midwinter. It’s dark and quiet. Good for mischief.”
“I like autumn.” Bedwyr tipped his head to the land surrounding them, fields and pastures that would yield the year’s bounty soon, and trees ablaze with all the colors of Arthur’s hair.
“And what is autumn good for?”
Bedwyr leaned in and nipped his lower lip. “New ink.”
~ ~ ~
Elain tucked the light wool blanket around Gwen, pulling down the top edge until Medraut’s face was clear. He slept peacefully against her soft warmth, his small lips parted on her skin. Elain leaned close, inhaled the sweet scent of his head and set a kiss there. In the next few weeks, she would need to pull the heavier winter blankets from the chest against the wall.
As much as she would have liked to spend her every hour here, caring for Gwen, holding their son, spoiling them both, soon she would need to go out and be useful in the wider world. To continue learning her role as her father’s successor.
Now that the fighting men were returning from the summer campaigns, she would renew the meetings she’d initiated with the lords before they’d left in spring. She was fortunate for the help Gwen had given her then; she’d been a stalwart, pragmatic presence next to Elain in those exchanges, had outright charmed at least four warlords until they’d practically sat in her palm.
Gwen wouldn’t be able to stand with her like that for a while, but that was fine. She needed her strength for the weeks ahead, and she’d already shared enough of it that Elain felt more solidly of this place than she had in a long while.
She was grateful every day for the circumstances that had led her here, all of them: her bargain with Uthyr, her marriage to Bedwyr, even Cai’s accusation of Arthur. She was grateful most of all that her father was the sort of man who could admit to having been wrong. Many, likely most, would not have been willing to do so.
When they’d met with his subjects and allies, Ban had unwaveringly introduced Elain as his daughter. There had been some consternation, and it was possible it would spring up again. She felt up to the challenge now, but she was grateful, too, that his improved health might give them all more time to prepare.
That night, almost a year before, she had huddled in the forest, believing herself landless and orphaned, possessing nothing but a desperate devotion to the woman huddled with her.
Now, she had nearly everything she couldn’t have imagined having that night. Family, loyal friends and allies, and a sense of binding to this land that had raised her.
She would need to return to her duties in the world soon. For now, though, this was her world, this bed in this chamber and these two she loved with every corner of her heart. Half a step outward, she had Bedwyr and Arthur as well. Among them, they formed the humble posts of a home, one she would defend with her life.
Maybe they were fools, the four of them, thinking they could reforge the world.
But they could.
They would.
They must.