Cold My Heart: A Novel of King Arthur by Sarah Woodbury

Author:Sarah Woodbury
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: merlin, pendragon, arthurian, historical fantasy, britain, arthurian fantasy, Historical Fiction, king arthur, wales, dark ages
Publisher: Sarah Woodbury
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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Chapter Thirteen

16 November 537 AD

Myrddin slept again, woke in the early evening, and then slept in fits and starts throughout a second night at Caerhun. Every time he tried to roll over, he awoke in pain, but either Ifan or Nell was there to ease him into a more comfortable position. Ifan had a soldier’s ability to watch or sleep in whatever situation he found himself, but the times Nell sat beside him, she talked. Some of what she said Myrddin remembered, but mostly he let the sound of her voice wash over him as she related a story from her girlhood, or another from the tales of the Dôn. She didn’t speak of the dreams again, but then, Myrddin knew that story too well himself.

At dawn, Myrddin came to himself enough to realize that he couldn’t delay any longer and neither Nell nor Ifan protested that they should stay. They knew as well as he that King Arthur awaited word of Myrddin’s journey. Soon, the King would begin to fear that Myrddin would never return. Most importantly, Myrddin had information for him and Myrddin didn’t want him doing anything rash because of lack of knowledge.

In the pouring rain, which was a match to the companions’ low mood, they made their slow way out of Caerhun. By late afternoon, they had reached the last stretch, descending down the road from the standing stones to Garth Celyn; the men-at-arms on the battlements saw them coming and opened the gates, welcoming them home. In the muddy bailey, Nell slid off the horse. Myrddin climbed down with Ifan’s help, his body stiff and a hand at his ribs. Even though they’d walked the horses the whole way, Myrddin could barely move from the effort the journey had cost him. Most of the day was gone, as slow as they’d taken it.

“Your face looks much worse.” It came out as a matter-of-fact comment as Nell steered him towards the hall. “I have something inside to help with the bruising.”

“It’s my ribs that ache the most,” Myrddin said. “I’m glad Modred’s lackeys didn’t puncture a lung.”

“From my examination, all your bones are whole,” she said. “Not to diminish the pain, but I felt you all over when you were unconscious and you’re only bruised.”

“Only,” Myrddin said.

Nell tsked through her teeth. “Infant.”

They’d taken one step up the stairs to the double doors that guarded the hall when one of the doors opened to reveal King Arthur. Nell and Myrddin froze, their heads tipped up, looking into his face. He pursed his lips; then took two steps down to where they stood. Without saying anything, either admonishment or praise, he placed Myrddin’s arm over his shoulder. Taking most of the weight off Nell, he hobbled with Myrddin into the hall, across it, and down the corridor.

“I need to rest.” Myrddin’s breath came in gasps.

“In here.” Arthur maneuvered him through the door to his receiving room and onto his own padded chair. He motioned to Nell to shut the door behind them.

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