Chapter 2
Bedwyr woke before sunrise, blanketed with mist and Arthur.
He lay still, letting the sting of the cold air in his nose bring him to full awareness. The boughs of the tree line sheltered them, evergreen needles hanging low. The damp chill muted the normal scents of forest and hillside and seemed to have the same effect on the animals living there, though perhaps they were only sharper than him and had chosen to sleep until the sun rose.
That appeared to be Arthur’s intent. His head lay on Bedwyr’s shoulder, one arm draped over Bedwyr’s belly. The heavy warmth of his long body felt good. It had numbed his arm, but one of Arthur’s knees crooked across Bedwyr’s lap, perilously close to his stones. He wouldn’t be waking the cub suddenly. Well enough, for he needed a few minutes to think.
The previous night he’d been so driven by fear, by protective instincts. By this ache in his chest. Nighttime, moonlight—they were made for dramatic and desperate action. The dim light of pre-dawn, tinged grayish-rose and heavy with frost, was sobering. The ache was still there, but now it held company with a dull pang deep in his gut.
They’d been sent away from the only home they’d known. He would have found a way to follow Arthur, no matter the circumstances, but being released by his father to do so had caused a tangle inside him, as if his core were a twisted mass of scavenged blades. They had rung with hope that Uthyr might understand what Arthur meant to him. But it had hurt, too, knowing it meant his father didn’t need him at his side.
Uthyr had implied they could return, but only after they’d been gone for a time. The thought of Arthur leaving the village without that knowledge, setting off into the dark and believing he truly was alone… It still made Bedwyr rage inside that his cub had lived such a thing. Made him want to pull Arthur close, to wrap him up and snarl at anyone who dared approach.
But even the coming dawn couldn’t chase away his clearest memory of the night before, of Arthur telling him he loved him. The words had gripped his heart as surely as if Arthur had cracked open his ribs and thrust his hand inside. He’d made Arthur say them again, just to be certain he hadn’t imagined it. Then they’d made their vows, the true ones, which had squeezed his heart further, and then he’d not been capable of doing anything but bury himself as deeply in the man as he could.
Except to tell Arthur he was loved as well. The words had felt small, inadequate to make Arthur understand this fierce thing that lived in Bedwyr’s chest now. This thing with fangs and claws and fiery breath that would kill for him. Die for him. It seemed a larger version of the beast-self he felt during battle, and he never would have guessed that love would feed it more than fear.
But if he were honest, the fear had grown alongside the love. After all, the more a man had to lose…
Arthur stirred, pulling Bedwyr from his thoughts. After a deep draw of breath, Arthur opened his eyes. He took in their misty surroundings, a line slowly forming between his eyebrows. When his hand curled into a knobby fist, clutching Bedwyr’s cloak, he tipped up Arthur’s chin.
“Morning.”
“Morning,” Arthur said, his voice rough.
“Sleep well?”
“I suppose.” The frown remained.
“Cub.”
Arthur blinked at him, gray eyes open and searching.
“It’s a new day.” He smoothed his palm over Arthur’s hair. “We’ll meet it together.”
Arthur shifted, rising onto an elbow to look down at Bedwyr. “You’re truly here? I’m not imagining you?” He let go of the cloak and set his hand over Bedwyr’s heart, spreading his fingers.
Bedwyr covered it with his own. “You’re not imagining it. And you’ll not be rid of me now. Best get used to it.”
Arthur smiled faintly.
Not good enough.
“I told you last night there was more to Ta letting me go. That I’d tell you once we’d slept.”
“Is it that bad, that we needed to rest up for it?”
A joke, but not. Bedwyr reached up and drew Arthur’s hair over one shoulder, so that it spilled onto his own chest, coppery and warm. “First, you might like to know I have your mother to thank for finding you last night.”
“Mama?”
“She not only convinced Ta to release me, she made him pass along a clue to your destination.”
“Lord Uthyr knows where we’re headed?”
Bedwyr grinned. “No. She gave him a word—a name, actually—but didn’t tell him what it meant.” He tugged on Arthur’s hair, the color of which had come from his mother. “She may be the fiercest person I’ve ever met.”
It occurred to him then that Mistress Britte might have used his father’s longing as leverage. Uthyr had admitted to wanting her. According to Uthyr, the feelings were one-sided, had come to nothing. It would do Arthur no good to know. But it seemed likely Mistress Britte did know, and had used it to her advantage.
Fierce, indeed. He was only glad they were beneficiaries of her tactics. He almost felt sorry for his father.
Almost.
“Name?” Arthur said.
“What?”
“What name did she give him, if not Rhys’s?”
“Lancea.”
Arthur’s brow cleared. “Elain’s nickname.” He whistled low. “We owe them both.”
“We do. There’s one thing more, though.”
“What’s that?”
“You haven’t lost your home.”
Arthur blinked again, confusion pinching his features.
“Ta told me to go. Said we should sow our oats. Kill some Saxons. Make something of ourselves. But once we’ve done so…” He stroked his fingers down Arthur’s cheekbone to his beard. “We can return.”
Those gray eyes widened until Bedwyr thought he might fall into them. “We can go home?”
“Eventually. Once we’ve made ourselves useful.”
Arthur’s smile flashed bright, and it was all the sunrise Bedwyr needed. He pulled Arthur down for a kiss, and lost a bit of time exploring the strong body in his arms. Sharing breath as if they each carried what the other needed. Needing to reassure Arthur and himself in equal measure, because despite the hope he’d been able to give his cub, uncertainty hung about them as thickly as the mountain mist.
Closing his mind to it for the moment, he let his hand wander the hard angles and curves of Arthur’s body, silently claiming each until he imagined his man’s skin scored by claw marks, blistered by fire.
Only an insistent throb from his bladder could have distracted him. “Let me up. Have to piss, then we can head out.”
Arthur sat up, allowing him to do the same. His body felt stiff from their night on the ground. He rose and stretched, then walked down the tree line to relieve himself. Beyond the forest, down the path, the curve of the mountainside disappeared into the low cloud.
It would be good to move on from here. To act, instead of wondering what lay ahead.
And it was a fresh day.
Nothing it could throw at them could possibly be worse than the day before.
~ ~ ~
Arthur watched Bed walk away, wanting nothing more than to cling to his bearskin cloak. That wouldn’t do at all, though, so he stood and stepped into the forest to piss.
But once he’d done so, he walked deeper into the trees. The air was still here in a way it hadn’t been just outside. Calm and welcoming. He slowed his stride, softening his tread to not disturb the peace around him. Nothing appeared to be awake, and it gave him the eerie sense he was the last man alive in Cymru. The thought had him shaking his head to dismiss it, so that when he topped a small rise in the forest floor, he nearly stumbled upon a woman on the other side. She was squatting, but before he could do more than halt, she rose and spun on him, dagger drawn.
He gaped at the familiar face. “Elain?”
She scowled and sheathed her blade.
“What are you doing here?”
“I followed you.”
“Why?”
Her hands curled into her skirt. “Gwen asked me to.”
“She asked you to follow us?”
She looked at him for a long moment, as if making a decision, then said, “She asked me to accompany her.”
Arthur stared at her, before scanning the trees. “She’s here?”
Elain hurried toward him. “She was frightened. You were sent away, Bedwyr left, and I was bound to be sent off too. Don’t tell Bedwyr.”
“I have to.”
“Not yet. Please.” She reached out and gripped his hand. “We’re too near the village. He’ll tell her to turn back.”
Bedwyr would do exactly that, no question.
And then, as if summoned, the man’s voice sounded behind him. “You talking to yourself now?”
Elain jerked her hand away.
Bedwyr’s step stuttered as he caught sight of Elain. “You.”
“Me,” Elain said, cautiously.
His dragon stepped up beside him. “We owe you thanks. Without your help, I wouldn’t have caught up to Arthur last night.”
“Don’t speak of it,” Elain said. “Mistress Britte did all the work.”
“Still.” Bed stepped up and embraced her. Elain gave Arthur a pleading look over Bedwyr’s shoulder before he pulled away. “What are you doing here? Seeing us off?” He glanced at Arthur, but Arthur was content to let Elain explain this.
“I followed you,” she said and sent another big-eyed look in Arthur’s direction.
Ho no. He and Bed were a united front now. “They followed us.”
“They?” Bedwyr’s face was blank for only a moment, and then his brow crashed down like thunder. He glared at the surrounding trees and shouted, “Gwen!”
A few seconds later she stepped into the clearing.
She hadn’t hesitated, Arthur would give her that. But then he’d never known Gwen to quail in the face of danger.
And Bed’s was certainly the face of danger just now. “What in the gods’ blood are you doing?”
“I—”
“Are you insane?”
“No!”
“Get your arse back home!”
Well, that hadn’t taken long.
Neither did Gwen’s reaction. Stomping across the pine needles, she planted her feet solidly in front of Bed. “No.”
“No?”
“No.”
Bed leaned toward her, making himself look big. “Maybe I’ll throw you over my shoulder and haul you back myself.”
Gwen took a cautious step backward. “You wouldn’t.”
“Turn for home now.”
“No! And leave off telling me what to do! I’m sick to death of men dictating my life!”
A hush fell as they stared each other down, their breath clouding the air between them.
After a moment, Bed said, “I am not dictating your life.”
“You are, Bedwyr.”
His jaw worked under his beard. “Why did you run?”
“She was frightened,” Elain said.
Bedwyr glared at her. “Didn’t ask you.”
“She didn’t want to marry Cai.”
“Cai?” Bed frowned. “What’s Cai to do with anything?”
“Well, he’s next in line, isn’t he?” Gwen said.
Jealousy rose in Arthur, strong and unfounded. Gwen wasn’t his to keep from someone else.
But Cai…
“Ta wouldn’t,” Bedwyr said.
“He would.”
“He wouldn’t. I asked him.”
Disbelief crimped Gwen’s features.
Bed stepped toward her. “I asked him what would become of you, and I asked about Cai, because I know you, sister.”
“You don’t.”
Bedwyr snorted at her petulance. “Fine. But Ta said he’d not marry you to Cai because you’d never thought much of him.”
“He married me to Arthur quick enough,” she said, throwing a hand toward him.
Arthur flinched, at the words as much as the gesture. “Hey, now.”
“Because you’re friends,” Bedwyr said. “He considered alliances but decided on Arthur instead. Because you’re friends.”
“Because you’re lovers,” Gwen shot back. “And because Arthur was a threat he wanted to keep reined.”
Bedwyr stilled, then looked at Arthur.
Arthur’s heart beat hard in his chest. “What do mean, threat?”
Gwen’s expression of disbelief grew. “I mean you were proving unpredictable and bold. The kind of man other men choose to follow. How better to keep you in line than to make you his son-by-law?”
Bedwyr’s eyebrows rose, and Gwen scoffed.
“You didn’t see it?” she said. “Gods, I should sit on the war council.”
Bedwyr recovered. “You should. On Ta’s council. Back in the village.”
She gave him an unimpressed glance.
It should have been unsettling, seeing them all in one place, here in this forest. Knowing they’d left their homes behind. Bedwyr for Arthur, Gwen out of fear, and Elain in devotion to Gwen.
Instead, Arthur looked from one to the next and a warmth spread through his body—one he hadn’t thought he’d feel again when he walked away from his parents.
It felt like family.
“They should come with us,” he said.
Bedwyr turned to him with a warning look.
“We’re married,” Arthur said. “Gwen to me and Elain to you—”
“Yes, I recall,” Bedwyr said, his voice flat as slate.
“So… why not present ourselves to Rhys as married couples?”
“Because you were banished.”
“He doesn’t know that.”
Bedwyr shook his head slowly. “Black Rhys isn’t a man you want to toy with.”
“Not toying when it’s the truth. We’re all still married. Who’s to say our wives wouldn’t have chosen to leave with us?”
“Loyal wives,” Bedwyr said wryly.
“Faithful to the end.”
Bedwyr turned to face him squarely. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“He’ll put us to some kind of work. If word arrives we were sent away—”
“Word will arrive. Information is rewarded at Rhys’s.”
“When it does then, we’ll already be making ourselves useful.” He stepped close, smoothing a hand down Bed’s cloak. “Why shouldn’t Gwen be where she wants to be?”
“Because where she wants to be,” Bed said, low and even, “will have Ta on our backs by sundown, with enough men to drag her home.”
“I’d fight for her,” Arthur said. “Wouldn’t you?”
Dark eyes blinked at him.
“Why should we be the only ones who get to be together?”
Bedwyr swallowed hard. “We’ve given up everything else to be so.”
Arthur tipped his head toward the women. “So have they.”
The silence of the forest fell around them again, waiting. Then Bedwyr looked at Gwen. “You’d leave your people?”
“You three are my people.”
The women may not have seen it, but Arthur did, how those words twisted Bedwyr’s certainty.
“We won’t slow you down,” Elain said.
Bedwyr gave her a brief glance before looking back to Gwen. “He’s going to come for you.”
“Perhaps. But perhaps not. I left him a message.”
“Saying?”
“That I was safe.”
“And he’d believe that because…”
“I’m with you.”
Bedwyr closed his eyes and groaned. “Fuck.”
“I love you, brother.”
Bed growled something unintelligible and stalked off.
Gwen turned to Arthur, triumphant, and gave him a saucy wink.
Elain kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
Truth be told, he felt triumphant, too, and relieved. But they had a few days to go before they could root themselves in any sort of certainty again.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he said and turned to follow Bedwyr. “And don’t fall behind.”