Floodgates by Emma Shelford

Author:Emma Shelford [Shelford, Emma]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781726627108
Publisher: Kinglet Books
Published: 2018-10-31T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XVIII

Dreaming

I’ve been south for the winter. The memory of last year’s storms that shut us in for days still haunted me by autumn, and when the first cold snap closed in on us, I bade farewell to newlyweds Arthur and Guinevere and rode south. A merchant ship from a settlement on the coast offered to take me and my horse across the channel, after some persuasion. We rode until the north wind no longer cut through my cloak like a knife.

But when spring arrives, I itch to return to my friends and my home, and my trusty steed and I make our way north. We pass through the lands of the Franks and sail on another merchant vessel across the channel. Days after landing, I pass through the more familiar forests of Gwent.

By midday I am famished. In my saddlebag are provisions for journeying, not the solid meal I crave. The thought of halting my journey to hunt and make a fire rankles, so close to my destination, and I console myself with the thought of Guinevere’s table.

The track I follow forks. One way leads to Arthur’s villa. The other, I now recall, winds into a dell in which Arthur’s sister Morgan lives with her husband Idris. Her dwelling is only moments away.

I am torn. I have no desire to trespass on Morgan’s hospitality, mainly because I wronged her in the past and have avoided her ever since. Arthur and I did visit in the autumn, and she was nothing but hospitable to me then, but Arthur and Idris were both present. Would she turn me away from the door? What would I say to her? It is unlike me to waffle so, but I’ve never felt right about how Morgan left Uther’s house, and the role I played.

However, there is a promise of food if all goes well. Arthur’s villa is still a half-day’s journey away, and my stomach is unwilling to wait that long. I tug my horse’s reins toward Morgan’s home.

A longhouse sits in a clearing in the woods. Its fresh thatching glistens from a recent rainfall. A few outbuildings surround it, but all is quiet except the clucking of contented hens in the dirt between buildings.

Morgan emerges from behind the longhouse when I approach. She wears a kerchief to hold back her hair, and her dress is tucked up into her belt to keep it out of the spring mud. When she sees me, her eyes widen.

“Merlin,” she greets me. Her lauvan spark with surprise, but without embarrassment at her lack of formal dress in my presence. I take that as a good sign and dismount.

“Morgan. It’s a pleasure to see you.”

She doesn’t respond directly to this, for which I don’t blame her.

“I presume you have a message from my brother?”

“No.” I pat my horse’s neck. “I have been away for the winter, in the south. I am on my way to Arthur now, but hoped to break my journey here before my last push through Gwent.

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