Dark Winds Rising Page 5

  Entering the castle chapel, I search the pews for Father David. The church seems deserted. A voice echoes off the archways behind me.

  “Lady Branwen, come to offer your latest confession?”

  I smile at the bald-headed priest. Father David smiles back. A true believer, his hands and bare feet bear many a callus and blister from his years spent wandering and preaching in the wilds. I trust this cleric more than most, holy men or otherwise.

  “I fear my confessions would only shock you, Father David.”

  “Nothing shocks the Lord, my child. He watches all and forgives all, if only we have the courage to ask.”

  “Actually, I wanted to ask you a favor, Holy Father. A favor, and to keep a secret.”

  Father David raises an eyebrow before bowing toward me in reply. I heave a sigh, knowing that I risk not only my life but also the lives of those I love. But a queen must sometimes risk her all in order to save all.

  4

  Ahern grunts beneath the hood of his cloak.

  “I still think this is a bad idea, your ladyship. We should turn back.”

  “Just keep your eye on the road.”

  Seated beside Ahern at the front of the wagon, I tug my hood down so that it hides my face. A rumble of thunderheads and a light sprinkle of rain make it all the more reasonable for me to conceal myself under a large cloak. The high walls and tall towers of Aranrhod shrink behind us as our cart wends its way up the switchbacks into the mountains.

  A few other oxcarts dot the trailheads on the otherwise deserted greens. All the better. It makes us look like just another merchant’s wagon following the trade routes between kingdoms. Nothing to draw any particular attention, especially from the watchful eye of an assassin, wherever he lurks within Aranrhod’s keep. I glance back under the canvas cover of our wagon where several barrels protrude.

  Rowena looks up at me from a mat of straw, hidden in the center of the covered cart. Four little children lie asleep beside her in the hay. Mina, Mora, Cadwallon, and my beloved Gavin. Rowena puts a finger to her lips as she whispers.

  “I gave them each but a few drops from the medicine bottle. Just enough to make them sleep.”

  I nod at her prudence. The last thing we need is for one of the children to make noise and draw attention to us. Fortunately, the guards never gave our everyday cart a second look, and they certainly did not recognize that their queen and seneschal rode in front with long hoods draped over their eyes.

  Turning into the mists, our wheels groan as we traverse the first mountain passes. Enveloped by the fog and rain, we talk more freely now that our wagon lumbers along quite alone on the winding road. Only the most desperate of merchants would travel the roads during a brewing thunderstorm. Ahern shrugs off his hood, letting the rain pat against his beard.

  “I still don’t understand, my Queen. Won’t they notice we’ve left?”

  “Eventually, but not for at least another few days. I left Father David in charge of the castle. He will give the impression that we all are keeping close together in the children’s tower for better safety.”

  “I still say you should’ve let me bring an escort, at least few armed men.”

  “That would’ve been practically an open declaration that we’re no ordinary travelers. If the assassin was clever enough to steal into the castle in the first place, he’ll be clever enough to recognize a royal escort of guards. No, secrecy will get us much farther than force of arms.”

  “Besides,” Rowena chimes in, “the roadways are much safer nowadays since King Artagan’s knights have cleared the highways of bandits.”

  Ahern turns away, frowning as he slaps the reins on the two oxen that pull our cart.

  “Bandits don’t worry me. We’re heading west into Dyfed. There are supposed to be Picts there now, remember?”

  I scoff at my half brother’s eternal pessimism.

  “It’s also the last place anyone will look for us. The order was mine and the responsibility is mine, not yours.”

  I crawl into the covered portion of the cart, tugging a wool blanket over me. Best to catch a few hours of rest in our rumbling wagon bed while I can. Let Ahern sulk by himself. My eyelids sag heavy as church bells, my lack of sleep quickly catching up with me. How strangely the Fates weave our lives together. Despite having a castle and queenship, I find myself hiding in the back of a straw-filled wagon on a rough road in the wilderness. Time will tell whether my decision proves foolish or wise.

  * * *

  I awake to the sound of crying. Blinking my eyes open, darkness fills the back of the cart. Little Mora moans until Rowena suckles her at the breast. Youngest of the bunch, Mora still needs her mother’s milk. The other children roll about in the straw, gnawing on cuts of cheese and bread. It must be after nightfall, but all the children have awoken.

  I did not think this journey into the wilderness with young ones would be easy, but we had no choice. Gavin was in peril, and if we left any of his playmates behind, the assassin might have slain one of them, mistakenly thinking he was targeting the young prince. After all, an arrow in the dark or a cup of poison is not discerning amongst its victims.

  Ahern still sits at the reins as our chariot slogs through the muddy highland passes. Cranky as he gets, his stouthearted loyalty makes him a dependable guard and guide. Lying in the hay, I nestle closer to Gavin and stroke his gorgeous auburn hair, shiny as polished copper even in the dimness.

  It churns my stomach just to think of someone trying to harm him. Through the canvas folds of our cover, I speak to Ahern over the rain. Swirling winds howl through the unseen peaks in the darkness.

  “Ahern, did you question any of our guests before they left Aranrhod? Iago, Olwen, or Griffith and his wife?”

  “Nay, they had already departed just before dawn.”

  “You just let them go?”

  “Had to. They’re monarchs in their own right. If we tried to detain them for questioning, it might have started a war. First thing a guardsman like me learns is who is above the law and who isn’t.”

  How damned convenient. So any one of our visiting rulers could easily have let an assassin in with them and their entourages. Even if we knew the assassin and the culprit slipped out with them at dawn, we would have had to risk war in order to take him by force. The North and South Welsh contingents certainly had the ability to have set an assassin upon my son, but does that mean one of them did?

  Iago is ruthless, but Olwen should know better. I have her own son in my care. Although I’d never lay a finger on the boy, she must know he would be as good as a hostage in my household if conflict ever arose between the Free Cantrefs and the North. Then again, Olwen is just wily enough to try anything. But I cannot see what she or Iago would gain by my son’s downfall.

  And what of King Griffith? He and Queen Cordelia have their flaws, but never would I suspect them of such treachery. Young Arthwys certainly has his reasons for wanting to hurt me and mine, but he is still just a boy. Too young to plot with assassins against me, right? Maybe I’m being too naïve. It’s a dark world we inhabit.

  Rowena sidles up next me, little Mora falling asleep at the breast. Gavin, Cadwallon, and Mina chuckle with glee as they roll around the bed of the swaying wagon. To them, this rocky road seems like some marvelous adventure. Little do they know the peril I have put them all in. Rowena whispers in my ear so that Ahern cannot hear us.

  “M’lady, a question has taxed me mind of late. Pardon my impertinence, but I must know.”

  “Ask away, Rowena. I keep no secrets from you.”

  “It be about the baby, Your Grace. The one you’re but a moon or two along with.”

  My shoulders tense. I’d tried to push such thoughts to the back of my mind. I try to sound calm.

  “What of it?”

  “Well, ma’am, why keep it a secret from the King? A child is a blessing.”

  I hang my head, a knot forming in my throat so thick I can barely whisper.

  “Becaus
e, Rowena, I’ve not decided whether to keep it or not.”

  Rowena gasps.

  “M’lady, you cannot mean that! You wouldn’t take a bitterroot potion, would you? To quell the life inside you before it grows?”

  “Many women of the Old Tribes did so, and some womenfolk still do. I don’t think I’d survive another pregnancy, Rowena. What good am I to a newborn if I’m dead? Or to my husband and son, for that matter? I’ve a kingdom, a people to protect. I can’t look after any of them if I end up in the graveyard before my time.”

  “You don’t know how the birthing will go, my Queen. Perhaps this time it’ll go easier.”

  I shake my head. The last two miscarriages alone were brutal enough. I honestly thought my womb was past childbearing, although I am still plenty young. Of all my pregnancies, only Gavin’s came to proper fruition. He is my one gleaming exception in a series of otherwise dismal failures. All the reasons I’ve given Rowena may or may not be good ones, but they’re not my only reservations. I sniffle back the tears, trying to keep my voice low. How can I explain to Rowena the fear that grips my heart?

  “Rowena, what good is it to bring another life into this coldhearted world? A place where grown men attempt to kill children still in the cradle. A land where Saxons try to wipe us out and sometimes our own Welsh barons. I cannot promise to keep even my husband, my son, or myself alive. Is it right to bring another life into all that danger?”

  Rowena sighs, her shoulders sinking low.

  “What is written, is written, m’lady. We do not know what’s to come, that’s all in God’s hands. We’ve both good husbands and healthy children. Let us take what happiness we can in this life while we have it. Worry is all you’ll have if you let it eat you up, m’lady.”

  I look away. Darkness pervades the landscape. Give up worrying? Worry is what has kept me alive these past years. Worry has kept my mind sharp and one step ahead of those who would’ve killed me. And now they want to slay my only son. No. Worry is a companion I cannot afford to rid myself of. I shall need it to the bitter end. Rowena means well, but she does not understand.

  Nonetheless, I know she will keep my secret. But I must come to a decision soon, otherwise my swelling belly will betray my condition within a few moons. Nonetheless, I will think no more on it tonight. Not tonight. My limbs suddenly feel heavy as lead. Despite my restful nap, I feel weary as a rain-soaked lamb.

  My son tugs at my sleeve, restless and no doubt wanting a song or some such, but I’ve no voice for lullabies this evening. Instead, I stroke his head as I tell a bedtime story to him and the other young ones. The timbre of my voice more than my words reaches them, the kind of comforts toddlers seek. Racking my weary mind for a tale, I relate brief stories about Artagan and me: how we first fell in love and fled from an evil king, then how we saved our people in our many adventures against the Saxons. For a while, I lose myself in my own memories, my heart smarting as I think on my husband. My beloved Artagan, how I wish I could enfold myself in your arms on this stormy night.

  One by one the children gradually nod off again. The combination of darkness and the cradlelike motion of the rocking cart puts them all back to sleep. I soon find my own eyes closing, but I know I must relieve Ahern. Even the most stouthearted of men cannot go forever without rest.

  Laying my head down in the straw again, I close my eyes. Strange dreams percolate through my thoughts and the tapping of the rain. My mother works at the loom with me on her lap, humming a soft lullaby. Her song fills me with an inescapable warmth and wholeness. I am very young, my hands small against the strings of woven wool. I wish her tune and the lavender scent of her robes would last forever.

  But the dream twists and blurs. Alone on a barren, rocky plain, a lone figure beckons me across the expanse. I squint my eyes, now much taller and older, as I am now. A woman with long flowing hair like my mother’s holds me with her stare, but it is not my mother. Lady Annwyn aims her finger at me, yet I cannot tell if she does so accusatorily or to single me out for some purpose. I try to speak but find myself completely robbed of my voice. I can neither move nor talk. Darkness falls.

  Before I know it, birds twitter in the morning sunshine. I blink back the perspiration from my eyes. I’ve not dreamt of my mother in years. As for Lady Annwyn, what was she trying to tell me? Whatever it may be, I have the distinct feeling it is something important.

  I sit up with a start, rubbing my eyes. Has the night already fallen away from me? I turn to check on Ahern but find him snoring beside me. Rowena sits at the reins, taking a turn directing the oxen. The tired beasts low heavily after a ceaseless night of toil. We must have crossed the divide into the hills of Dyfed. The uneven trail jounces the bed of straw beneath me. Roads in the westernmost provinces of Wales have always been rougher and less maintained with wear.

  I crawl past the slumbering children toward the front of the cart. Gnawing on a cut of dried beef, I share my meager breakfast with Rowena as she keeps a hand on the cattle’s traces. Golden light pervades the clouds. The recent storm must have broken in the night.

  “Any sign of anyone in front or behind us?” I ask.

  “None as far as I can tell. Except a few horse prints in the mud, trampled nearly flat.”

  “Probably Artagan’s knights, and his archers following close behind. They make good time.”

  “M’lady, the King will probably not be pleased to see you when we catch up with them.”

  “No, I don’t think he will, but I must convince him that I was right to do what I did.”

  “I hope so. It looks like they’re still half a day ahead of us on the trail.”

  “I wish these oxen moved faster. I would have brought horses, but steeds are expensive and it would’ve given us away as something other than humble merchants when we left Aranrhod.”

  “My Queen knows what she’s doing, I suppose.”

  Rowena and I exchange sidelong glances, before letting out a laugh. Maybe some of what Rowena said last night does hold true. What’s written, is written. We can only roll the dice and muddle through as best we can.

  Just when I’m finally starting to breathe easier, Ahern sticks his head between us.

  “We’ve got trouble.”

  He points toward the mountains behind us. Rowena slows the cart as we descend into the foothills. The upper peaks to the east still have lingering clouds stuck to them. Far behind us on the edge of the horizon, a figure looms in the mountain pass. My pulse hammers in my throat. I squint, trying to see better.

  “What is that back in the pass behind us?”

  “Not sure,” Ahern replies. “But it’s no beast alone. Only man rides on horseback.”

  My eyebrows narrow. A rider? Maybe another traveler? But why would anyone other than us have journeyed through the mountains in a rainstorm? Unless our ruse has not fooled anyone. Unless the lone figure half a league behind us is following our trail. My voice trembles.

  “Ahern, you don’t think that it’s…?”

  “Him? The assassin? I don’t plan to wait around and find out.”

  Rowena bites her lip.

  “But if he’s on horseback, he’ll catch us sooner or later. Two tired oxen will never outpace a horseman.”

  “We’re trying to catch my husband’s army with cattle,” I counter.

  “But they’re mostly on foot,” Ahern interjects. “And probably slowed by the rain. Rowena’s right. This rider will catch us before we reach the safety of the King’s army.”

  One of the children starts to cry. Rowena halts the wagon and crawls back into the straw. We’ve four younglings starting to wake up. They’ll be hungry and restless, and will only slow us down more. God help me. I was a fool to think I could just steal away into the wilds toting children with me. But what other choice did I have?

  I grab my birch longbow from the hay, digging around for my quiver of arrows. Hopping off the wagon, I string an arrow to my bowstring and trot a few paces to the rear. Ahern comes after me, toting
his shield and spear with him.

  “What in the blazes do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m not waiting for the inevitable without a fight. The assassin is still one man. You and I make two warriors for him to deal with. Send Rowena on ahead with the children in the cart. You and I will lay an ambush for this horseman when he catches up.”

  Rowena leans out the back of the cart.

  “I’m not leaving you two. Besides, I won’t get far with four squalling children.”

  The children start to whine and wail. It tugs at my heartstrings to hear such pitiful moans, but we’ve no choice left. I plant my feet firmly in the narrow roadway, waiting for the distant figure. Ahern turns to Rowena.

  “Just put as much distance between us as you can. The Queen and I will catch up after.”

  Rowena reluctantly slaps the backs of the oxen with the reins. It takes the better part of an hour for the grind of the wagon wheels and the murmurs of the children to fade down the path to the west. Godspeed, Rowena. Godspeed.

  But of course, it won’t much matter. If Ahern and I cannot stop this mercenary ourselves, Rowena and the children won’t stand a chance. My jaw tightens as I try to clear my mind. I won’t allow any harm to come to my son or any of the other children. I simply cannot.

  Ahern and I take up positions in the shrubs on opposite sides of the road. Between his spear and my arrows, one of us has to land a killing blow on the assassin. But this killer was smart enough to nearly slay my boy once before, smart enough to leave a corpse behind in place of his own, and smart enough to figure out that I secretly left the castle with Gavin. Will he expect me to lay an ambush for him? We’ll soon know. I’ve staked everything on this.

  The landscape turns gray and cold over the next hour. I had forgotten how quickly the weather changes in Dyfed. Storms come off the sea without warning. What looked like a promising morning has clouded over again. The first tendrils of fog move across the heaths and foothills. I nearly start to nod off when the clack of horseshoes down the road perks my ears.

  Taking aim at the empty trail, I listen as the cantering horse nears. Several twists in the path come straight again near the thickets where Ahern and I wait. Once the rider turns the last corner and comes into view, it should be too late for him to react. The clacking of hooves looms louder in the glade. I draw back my bowstring, trying to steady my breath for the shot. More fog rolls in through the hills, but I can still see at least a dozen paces in any direction. It’s now or never.