Beauchamp Besieged. Elaine Knighton

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      “Sir Raymond!” Ceridwen’s clear voice echoed.

      “Keep off! ’Tis unsafe.” Infested with demons, it was.

      She tied the pony to a shrub and marched toward him. “What in God’s name are you about? Have you gone mad?”

      Raymond kept silent, for in that moment he did not know. A long dolmen was before him, a horizontal slab of stone that had no doubt lain there since the beginning of the world. It rested upon two smaller stones, like a tabletop. The dolmen was waist high, but once it had seemed gigantic. Dread knotted in his stomach. He tried to swallow and could not.

      Ceridwen stepped closer, brushing past his arm with the lightest of touches. He kept still until she was out of reach.

      “What is this place? Has some enchantment taken you, sir?”

      He stared into her clear, innocent eyes, then shook his head. She was the only thing capable of enchanting him, and that he would not allow. A pang speared his gut and the unwelcome past burst upon him, vivid and intense. “An evil remembrance.”

      Ceridwen nodded sagely. “Bad memories are like infected wounds. They must be allowed to drain.”

      Her knowing words surprised him. But never had he told anyone what had happened here. Not even his lord father, who had made an earnest attempt to beat it out of him. To speak of it might give power and substance to Alonso’s act of betrayal. Raymond rested his hands upon the bench of stone, its surface rough and gritty beneath his palms.

      He rubbed his scarred wrists, the legacy of scraping his bonds against the stone to free himself that night. He had survived, but poor Parsifal had never been the same, ever at Alonso’s mercy, or lack thereof.

      “What happened, then?”

      He jumped at Ceridwen’s question. There she sat, still waiting for him to speak. He cleared his throat and looked at the sullen, brooding sky. “I had a—small disagreement with my brothers here, long ago.”

      Ceridwen raised an eyebrow. “You do not care for the truth. Its lack will haunt you.”

      Raymond scowled at her impertinence and climbed onto the stone. He lay back, touching the rough, lichen-covered dolmen with his fingertips. The events of that night still burned at the bottom of all his hatred for Alonso.

      Ceridwen clambered up to sit cross-legged on top of the dolmen. “You had best tell the tale before the storm breaks.”

      “I do not want to speak of it.”

      “Are you afraid of my judgment?”

      Raymond smiled grimly. “God is my judge, not you.”

      She studied him, her eyes grave. “We all have fear. Or regret.

      If one keeps it always at bay, one never heals.”

      “I have healed. Many times. I am covered in scars.”

      “That is not the sort of healing I mean.”

      Raymond shifted uncomfortably and glanced at the young woman beside him. She was like a stick poking a raw wound. “Here is the truth, then. I spent an uncomfortable night here once as a boy. I woke at dawn, warmed by a great dog. The original Hamfast, as I named him, the great-great-grandsire of all that have since followed.” Never had he been so glad of another creature’s comfort. God only knew where he had come from.

      The girl made no comment. The stone bit into his shoulder blades. The sky wheeled overhead, as though the slab he lay upon revolved on its own axis. Here he was, on the brink of war, of fratricide, no better than Alonso. He wanted to cover his face with his hands, but not with Ceridwen looking on. He was glad he had not revealed the sordid tale of his humiliation to her.

      His life was a hell of his own making, and no amount of talking could ease the burden. “Where has that damned hound got to?” he snapped. He could face Ceridwen’s probing green eyes no longer. “Hamfast!” His shout rang through the woods.

      “You should not curse the one thing you love. And mayhap the one thing that loves you.” Ceridwen rested her chin on her palm.

      “Woman, when I want your opinion, I shall ask for it.” Raymond was about to add that she would have a long wait, when Ceridwen’s face turned white. He followed her stark gaze toward the edge of the clearing.

      Gradually, out of the mist, the faint figure of a man appeared. Bare legs showed from beneath the ragged edge of a dark-stained tunic. His hair fell past his shoulders in tangled ropes. Bearded and gaunt, he stood in silence.

      “A ghost…?” Ceridwen whispered.

      Guarding his knee, Raymond eased down from the stone, the hairs on the back of his neck on end, his heart battering his ribs. The wraith seemed familiar. Was it someone he had slain, long ago? “Begone!”

      The apparition backed away and vanished into the forest.

      His pulses still pounding, but satisfied the thing had departed, Raymond turned to Ceridwen. “’Tis high time we left.”

      “What was it?” she insisted, eyes yet wide, walking with him toward the tethered pony.

      “I know not. It looked like…” He shook his head. It was impossible to nail down. “Probably some poor wretch so thin we could nearly see through him.”

      “Perhaps. But ’tis unusual enough to see a white stag.”

      Raymond rubbed his jaw, relieved that he was not alone in having seen the beast. “Never mind. I must find Grendel before he gets lost any farther. He is a great goose of a horse.”

      Apparently content with his change of subject, Ceridwen held out the pony’s reins. “You are hurt. Do you want to ride?”

      “Nay. I shall lead you.”

      Ceridwen snatched the loop of braided leather from Raymond’s hand, flung it over the pony’s neck, and gave the animal a swat. It squealed and trotted off. The girl stood defiant, her face pale but radiant with unbowed spirit. “If you walk, so will I.”

      He wanted no kindness from her. “Do as you like.” His beleaguered heart thudding in protest, Raymond turned his back upon Ceridwen and led the way from the dolmen. There was no point in bemoaning his choice in allowing her to return with him. He would keep his distance, as any prudent man would when confronted by something as unpredictable and desirable as this Welshwoman.

      Raymond gave silent thanks when, before going a mile, they came upon horse, pony and hound. The equines shivered, head-to-head, contrite, but Hamfast sat guard, princely in his bearing.

      Ceridwen trudged to a halt near the animals, and her slight form swayed as she rubbed her arms. Of course she was still weak from her wound, cold and hungry. Stroking Hamfast’s head in greeting, Raymond glanced from Ceridwen СКАЧАТЬ