Pendragon 02 Pendragon Banner by Helen Hollick

Author:Helen Hollick [Hollick, Helen]
Format: epub
Publisher: Helen Hollick
Published: 2010-06-10T07:48:53.773000+00:00

§ LII

Morgause seethed, though she took great care not to show it. That whelp riding ahead would gloat were she to show discomfort – and that satisfaction, under no circumstance, would she give him. Called himself King? Ha! He was not half the man his father, Uthr, had been! There was no time that she could remember not loathing Arthur, as a boy or man. Had she realised when he was a child what the man would become ... ah, but what use was stewing over might-have-beers? The future was the important thing, if he intended to allow her a future. That Arthur meant her to be entombed as a prisoner, or to see her hang, she had no doubt – and unless she could coil a tendril tight around the Pendragon’s damn neck soon, then such a disagreeable future looked set. Had she only borne Uthr a son .. .

Her hands were bound and her horse tethered to the one being ridden in close attendance; she rode straight-backed, regally and with pride. Ah no, she would not let her anger give a public show! There were, however, some intriguing compensations. The rumours that Arthur and Gwenhwyfar were often quarrelling were true then. And what of those other tales that had filtered north? The deliberate drowning of his own child, for instance, and the murder of his mistress, the one who had been carrying his child? She would have to discover more for these were things she could use to her own advantage.

She glanced at her escort – guard – riding beside her. Were he not one of Arthur’s curs he would be a most pleasing young man to look upon. Good chin, clear eyes, skilled hands. Torso and legs not too fat, nor too skinny. She liked flesh on her men but not too much. A fat man, she had found, would wheeze and grunt in bed like an old foraging boar, but a man of all bone would have no stamina.

The morning air smelt clean and fresh after the rain, the hills and trees wearing a tinge of autumn gold. A pleasant enough day, considering her predicament. There was no hope of a rescue, those Picti turds – barbarian fools – had abandoned her to Arthur. So a few settlements had been burnt, a few women and children slaughtered – were they as important as herself! If Edda had lived ... if Lot had not been such a coward, if those damn fool men had not wasted time in gathering the war-hosting together in the first place ... there, the ifs and buts again! The horse beside her stumbled and she glanced again at its rider, intending some scathing remark, but a sudden instinctive inspiration changed the scorn to flattery. ‘You handle a horse well, young sir.’

‘I pride myself that I am an accomplished rider.’ Morgause lowered her sweeping lashes. ‘I would warrant, any mare would respond well to your, gentle, guiding hands.’ Hueil’s smile was swaggering. He knew as well as she that their words were not directed at horses.

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