A few months later…
Morien knelt next to the freshly turned earth and dropped a pinch of seeds into the furrow. Shuffling down the row, he planted a series of pinches that, if the weather was kind, would yield peas before they left for summer campaigns.
He groaned at the ache in his back. At Ban’s stronghold, he’d shown Gwen’s boys how to do this. It had saved his knees, his back and shoulders. His neck. He hunched everything up and then tried to shake out the tension. Too bad they weren’t here to do the planting this time too.
Of course, he didn’t miss them only for what they’d done for him. Medraut’s sharp mind and tenacious loyalty. Galahad’s sweet belly laugh and open affection. Morien missed walking with them, hand in hand with Gally, explaining some bit of the world to Medraut or just telling them both a tale from his own boyhood.
He edged down the row and dropped another pinch of seeds. The truth was he missed them so much sometimes that it made his chest ache. But they were in good hands. Their mothers loved them, Gwen teaching them letters and sums, and Elain initiating them into blade work. Their grandfathers held them up proudly, too; Ban introduced them to visiting lords, and Uthyr, fierce as he appeared, treated them with undivided attention when he visited.
Shuffle, pinch. Shuffle, pinch. He supposed Arthur and Bedwyr missed them as well, for they laughed over things one lad or the other had said or done, and their voices were tinged with affection as they did so.
But he’d spent nearly every day in their presence since each lad had come into this world. Thanks to an unusually snowy winter, he hadn’t seen them for a couple of moons and their absence in his daily life was a silence he was still growing accustomed to.
Yesterday, though, at Safir’s urging he’d given in and flown back to peek in on them. That was all he’d wanted, and it was all he took. He’d left before they woke.
Movement from the corner of his vision caught his attention. As he dropped the next pinch of seeds, the creature stepped nimbly across the furrows toward him, zigging and zagging in a manner that spoke of play more than necessity, and he smiled.
He missed the boys, but his days weren’t lonely.
Neither were his nights, and he still marveled at what he’d been missing. He would hardly admit it, but if he’d known what he could have experienced had he let down his guard… Well, he might have become as shameless as a certain rogue he knew.
Which was just fine. Shame had no place in their bed.
Safir stopped next to his knee and dropped something onto the earth, before pushing his head into Morien’s free hand. Morien indulged him with a long stroke from his soft, pointed ears to the tip of his long tail. It twitched, and Safir demanded another stroke.
The man really was impossible.
And he made a lovely, sleek, black-as-midnight cat.
Safir shifted. Smiling, he kissed Morien’s palm. When that made him shiver, Safir grinned and nuzzled his face into Morien’s neck.
“Stop,” he said, wanting nothing of the sort. “I’m planting.”
“So am I,” Safir said and set a procession of warm kisses from Morien’s ear to his jaw.
“What did you bring me?”
“A love pure and true.” More kisses, across his cheek, up his nose, along his eyebrow.
“There isn’t a single thing about you that’s pure.”
A small laugh huffed against his temple. “Are you complaining?”
Morien turned his head to meet Safir’s eyes. “Why would I do that?”
His man smiled and met him halfway for a kiss.
“Mmm. Where did you find mint?”
“Over the southern ridge,” Safir said, “near the stream.”
“Give me another taste,”
He did. A taste that was purely, truly naughty. And Morien had no problem with that whatsoever.
Safir sat back and picked up his offering. He’d fashioned a small packet with a leaf, which he emptied into his palm. “Found these over there as well. Thought we could try them here and not have to walk so far.” He held up his hand, revealing mustard seeds.
Morien’s heart did a little skipping sort of dance, but not at the gift so much as the we. Safir had helped him prepare this plot, too, putting as much muscle into its turning as Morien had done. His enthusiasm had sometimes outmeasured his skill with the plough, but Morien didn’t mind the crooked, uneven furrows one bit. He would sow them like the gifts they were and delight at every sprout they produced.
Safir closed his fingers around the seeds and stood. “I want to show you something.”
Morien grinned up at him, quite enjoying his vantage point. “I wager you do.”
“God, you’re insatiable. Stand up, you, and follow me.”
His knees creaked a bit as he straightened them. Safir led him out of the garden fence and past the stable. (Not that, then.) They skirted the horses’ paddock to a flat area near the forest. Safir stopped next to a stick that stood waist high amid the grass. Tied to its top was his iron ring. It clinked in the breeze.
“What do you think?”
“I think that ring has better uses.”
Safir gave him the sort of exasperated look he used to give to Safir. “No, about this location.”
Morien looked around them. The snow had melted, but spring had yet to bring much new greenery. Here and there crocuses bloomed, but other than that, the spot was unremarkable. “It’s a place?”
“It is. You see, I spoke to Philip before he left. Asked him quite a few questions he wasn’t expecting, but I have to say the man is a trove of knowledge.”
“What did you ask him about?”
“Optimal growing conditions.”
“The garden is optimal—that’s why we broke the soil there.”
“Not for vegetables, love. For a peach orchard.”
Morien’s breath caught in his throat.
Safir didn’t seem to notice. “According to the Myrddin, peach trees require full sun and good drainage. When I considered our possibilities, I thought this spot would do best.”
“You’re giving me an orchard?”
Safir stepped close to him and set a hand on his chest. “I only scouted a spot for it. I thought we could plant it together.” With one finger, he tapped the peach pit Morien wore around his neck.
Thump, thump, went his fingertip.
Thump, thump, went Morien’s heart.
We.
Together.
This man bore no resemblance to the ideal he’d held in his mind for so long. Safir wasn’t wealthy or powerful. Somehow, he outshone those old imaginings. Most days, Morien had to stop what he was doing for a moment and be thankful that Safir had been able to see past Morien’s own imperfections.
And now he was offering the orchard Morien had wanted since he first tasted the fruit—
His heart sank. “I only have the one pit.”
“We’ll get more this summer. I wager Gwen’s boys would save them if you asked. I say we go ahead and plant this one.”
Morien felt its lacy surface, smoothed by years of wear. “I drilled a hole in it, and I’ve worn it for so long…I don’t know if it will take root.”
“Only one way to find out.”
“But…”
“But what?”
“What if it fails?”
Safir gazed up at him, the lines around his eyes deepening as he smiled. “Then it’ll have already done what it was meant to do.” He gave Morien a slow, sweet kiss. “But aren’t you a little bit curious?”
It truly was something to be seen in this way. Recognized and cared for.
Loved.
“I am.”
So they knelt in the grass and cleared a patch of warm earth and, working together, planted a possibility under a broad blue sky.
Medraut stood just inside the forest, staring at the men in the meadow.
They were men now. But moments before, Safir had been a cat, and not long before that, Morien had been a magpie.
The magpie.
Medraut scratched at the tree he was hiding behind and tried to think. He needed to tell his—he needed to tell Arthur. Or Uncle Bedwyr. They would want to know there were men in their war band who turned into animals like some bedtime tale. Magpies didn’t seem all that dangerous, but they had beaks, and they had claws. And so did cats—vicious ones. What if they turned those against Arthur and Bedwyr?
Medraut slipped farther back into the trees and began to skirt the villa’s pastures. He would find his—Arthur, or Uncle Bed, and he’d tell them. He would have to admit how he got here, to this farm a full day from home. How he’d decided once and for all to investigate the magpie Gally was so convinced was his friend, and that when the bird visited their chamber just before dawn yesterday, Medraut had slid silently out of bed, thrown on his winter cloak and boots, and then slipped out of his grandfather Ban’s settlement and followed the magpie.
He’d almost lost it several times, but it turned out to be a curious creature. It had stopped many times to root around in the leaves and soil. He’d even seen it eat a grub.
Morien had eaten a grub!
Medraut had eaten a grub before, too, on a dare. He hoped it wouldn’t turn him into a magpie.
Maybe he would ask Uncle Bedwyr about that. He wouldn’t laugh.
He was about halfway back to the main buildings when a clearing opened up to his right. A splash drew his attention, and he forgot the urgency of his mission for a moment. Following the sound, he walked toward the tree line and the brighter light beyond.
Then halted, still as stone.
The clearing had a big pond in it, just the sort he and Gally liked to swim in when it got warmer outside. He wasn’t the only one who thought so.
Splashing in the water near the bank of this pond were two big, furry bears.
He should turn around. He should turn around and tread very, very lightly away from here. Bears had keen senses of smell—that’s what their tale-teller back home said every time he told a story about one of the beasts. They could smell everything, especially naughty lads.
Medraut’s fingernails dug into his palms as he tried to remember when he’d last had a bath. Mama had insisted because he and Gally had gotten into some—
He caught his gasp just in time. Holding it tight in his throat, he watched the two bears wade toward the bank. Their big feet threw the water ahead and out, making rings around their great bodies. Rings that grew wider and wider, overlapping each other as they traveled over the surface of the pond. As big as the bears were, they were surprisingly quiet, and Medraut’s chest began to ache with the need to breathe. Slowly, he raised his hands to cover his mouth and then let his breath out. He pulled fresh air in, in painfully small breaths.
And then he yelped because the bears were no longer bears. Quicker than a heartbeat, they had turned into men.
They had turned into Arthur and Bedwyr.
Medraut stared at them, his hands tight over his mouth, trying to make sense of it. It seemed as if they’d shrunk and then grown longer, but no, that couldn’t be right—they weren’t longer than bears, they were only thinner. But even that wasn’t right because Uncle Bedwyr wasn’t thin, exactly—
On the shore of the pond, Uncle Bed stepped close to Arthur and hugged him. Medraut heard the rumble of his voice, and then they were kissing.
Medraut backed away, slowly, silently, except for the tumble of thoughts in his mind.
Arthur and Bedwyr were bears.
They could turn into bears and then back into men.
Just like Morien could become a magpie. And Safir a stable cat. Could cousin Gawain do this too? Could his man Palahmed?
Could Mama? Or Mother? Could his grandfathers?
Medraut bit his lip. Could he and Gally?
He thought hard about that. Had he ever felt like any sort of animal? Sometimes, he supposed, when he was running very swiftly or when summer came and he swam in the river or maybe even now, when he walked without making a sound.
But those were all things he had learned to do. They didn’t feel like things animals did on instinct. And as many times as he’d climbed onto the roof at home, he’d never truly been tempted to jump off and see if he could fly—
His feet faltered, and he stopped in the middle of the forest.
Everyone, for as long as he could remember, had said that Arthur was the bear, the one in the night sky. Arthur had shown it to him himself and said that the dragon next to the bear was Uncle Bedwyr.
Only…Uncle Bed was a bear too, not a dragon.
And now that he thought about it, there were two bears in the stars, a big one and a little one. Sort of like Arthur and Bedwyr.
So why had Arthur told him Uncle Bed was the dragon?
A little pain twisted in his belly. Had his—had Arthur lied to him? It hadn’t seemed like it. That night when he’d knelt next to Medraut and explained the stars to him…it hadn’t felt like a lie. It had felt special, as if he was being trusted with a secret.
Maybe, whoever the dragon was, Arthur had been protecting him.
Maybe it was grandfather Uthyr. People did call him Pen y Ddraig, after all.
But what if he wasn’t? What if Arthur didn’t know who the dragon was?
Maybe…maybe nobody was the dragon.
Not yet.
Breath filled his lungs, and his feet started walking again. He needed to get home. Spring was here, and summer was coming, and Mother had promised he could train with a real sword this summer. If he was lucky, she wouldn’t be too angry about his sneaking off to let him use it.
Because he needed to learn. He needed to start to prove he could fight, could defend, could do whatever he had to.
He began to jog, and then to run, and he kept on running as far as he could before he had to walk again and catch his breath.
He would show them, all of them, that he could do it. That he could be one of their band someday. That he was worthy.
A flash caught his eye. Stopping, he bent to find an empty snail’s shell in the wet grass. It was pretty, striped with brown bands.
He wasn’t interested in pretty things. Gally was, though, and Medraut had a feeling Morien was going to be too busy here to visit very much more.
Opening the pouch at his belt, he dropped the shell inside, and then he set off toward home again.
Thank you for reading Charmed by Mischief!
The Sons of Britain series will continue with Cai’s romance.