After breaking her fast, Mair walked through the Corneus camp to the rope line where Leolin stood patiently waiting for his oats and his brushing. It was a daily task she would not hand off to a boy or slave, for the moments she spent with Leolin bound them together and made them a fighting team.
Alun had counted on it. He came up behind Mair as she was removing the leather blanket which protected Leolin from the worst of the damp and the cold during the night. He stood between Leonlin’s rump and the next horse, which was Lucan’s gray. His position cut off Mair’s escape route, unless she ducked and scrambled beneath Leolin’s belly or neck.
As that would speak far too clearly about her feelings, Mair stayed where she was, with one hand on Leolin’s back, her heart pounding far too fast.
Alun’s gaze skittered over her face. He was a tall man, like his brother. They and Elen, their sister, had all taken their height from their parents. Alun had the look of his sire, though, while Rawn had taken his mother’s blue eyes.
“Were you waiting for me?” Mair said, pressing her spare hand to her heart to steady it.
“Yes,” Alun said. “Yesterday was a day crowded with priorities, so I may have concluded you were avoiding me in error. Hasty conclusions happen when one rides into the camp upon the eve of battle.” He paused, his gaze meeting hers. “Was it my imagination, Mair?”
She swallowed. “I needed time to think,” she confessed. “I haven’t seen you for nearly five years. Only letters, and few of those…”
Alun seemed to relax. His head nodded infinitesimally. “A reasonable want,” he said softly. “And now you have had time to think, we should speak, you and I.”
Mair trembled. “Alun—”
He lifted his hand. “No, let me speak first. Please.”
Why, he was as nervous as she! Mair’s fear lifted. “Of course,” she told him. What harm could words do? They were not a blade.
“I have spoken to your brother. Bedivere has given his blessing.” Alun’s voice was low. “You would be a queen, Mair. Queen of a great land, which—”
“You spoke to Bedivere first?” Mair said.
Alun hesitated. “I did not have to speak to him at all,” he said. “I am a king. If he inherits your father’s title, he will only be a duke. I am told the inheritance is still in doubt, more than three years after your father’s passing.”
“Because the Corneus clan has more important priorities, like the defense of Britain,” Mair replied. She marveled at her cool tone, when her fury surged in her veins, making her dizzy with it. “I am part of that clan,” she added.
Alun shook his head. “That is where you are wrong. There is no place for you in Corneus. Your father is dead. The leadership is uncertain, although Bedivere is the only one who can take it. One day, he will have a wife and a family, and your place will be gone.”
The coldness in her grew harder. “I am a soldier of Corneus, fighting for Arthur.”
“This mad need of yours to fight—” he began.
“You should have spoken to me first!”
“Fighting is not everything, Mair!” Alun’s tone was harsh.
Mair felt her jaw sag.
Alun shook his head. “No, that is not what I meant,” he said, almost to himself. “I mean,” he said with a firm tone, as if he was trying to change the direction of the conversation, “only that once you are living in Lorient, in the heart of Brocéliande, with the forest right there, you will see the world has more in it than wars and loss and sorrow.”
Mair stared at him, horror spilling through her. “Then I would not be here, doing the most important work of our lives.”
“If you love me…” Alun begun.
Mair shook her head. “I thought I did. Only…you’ve changed, Alun.”
“I am the king now. Of course I have changed.”
“I have not,” she replied. “The Alun I knew five years ago would not have asked me to leave Britain. He would have known I could not.”
“Could not, or will not?” Alan asked, his voice strained.
“My life is here,” she said, her throat hurting with each word. “Fighting for Arthur and for Britain.”
Alun shook his head. “It will be the end of your life,” he said bitterly. “A short and bloody one.”
“If my life is asked of me, then very well.” She ducked under Leolin’s neck, making him snort in surprise, and hurried away from the line of horses.
“Mair!” Alun called.
She ignored him and kept walking. After a few steps, she broke into a run.
THERE WERE FEW COMPLETELY PRIVATE spaces in a king’s army camp. Mair could only think of one at that moment—her small tent beneath the Corneus banner. Only, Bedivere or Lucan could step in at any moment.
Mair kept running, until she left the camp behind and was jogging between trees. Impenetrable copses of brambles and blackberry bushes, just coming into their foliage for the year, made her walk around them, leaving the camp far behind and well out of sight.
When she could no longer hear the sounds of the camp, she settled her back against an oak tree and closed her eyes.
Rawn found her there. He called out as he approached. “It’s me. Put up your knife, Mair.”
She pushed her knife back into her belt. “How did you find me?” she asked wearily. It wasn’t long since dawn and she already felt as though she could sleep another night through, beginning this very minute.
“The ground is damp. You left footprints a child could follow.” He settled his back against the tree. His arm rubbed her shoulder companionably. For a moment he didn’t speak.
“Alun told you?” Mair asked.
“He didn’t have to. His face spoke for him.”
“You’re not mad at me?”
Rawn put his arms on his knees and studied the backs of his hands. “I’m not even surprised.”
“Why is it acceptable for you to want to be the perfect warrior, yet it’s wrong for me to want to be?” Mair demanded. “Why must I bend my life to suit his?”
Rawn sighed. “I think the way it is supposed to work is that when you love someone, you don’t mind giving things up, because you get to stay with them when you do.”
“If Alun loved me, he would stay here?”
“He can’t, Mair. You know that.” Rawn shifted and looked at her with his calm blue eyes. “Arthur has already dismissed the Lesser Britain contingents, so they can catch the spring tides. Alun knew that before he came to speak to you.”
Mair drew in a quivering breath. “So soon! There will be no more big battles this summer. The fighting is done for this year…”
Rawn nodded. “The Saxons can’t possibly regroup that fast. It will be another year at least before they return.”
Mair rested her head back against the tree and gave a great gusty sigh. “A whole year!”
Rawn got to his feet and held out his hand. “Come and see Brocéliande depart, Mair. It is the honorable thing to do.”
Reluctantly, knowing he was right, she took his hand and let him hoist her to her feet.
They walked back slowly, talking as they always did of matters of war, fighting, strategy and craft. When they reached the west side of the camp, they came to a halt, for the earth where the Lesser Britain houses had been sprawled was clear and nearly empty.
“So fast!” Mair breathed. She trembled. If she had accepted Alun, she would now be sitting upon a horse, preparing to rush from this place, too.
“Spring tides, fast ships and harvests to plant,” Rawn said. “Lesser Britain is a different world to this one.”
“It won’t stop the Saxons from plundering it.”
Rawn’s expression darkened. “No. It won’t. Which is why I remain, while my brother returns, and why Alun will come back the moment Arthur needs him.”
The long file of horses and carts were forming on the periphery of the camp. Alun strode across the ground where men had been laying only a short while ago, skirting the remains of fires. He wore his armor once more, and his sword slapped his thigh as he came toward them.
He nodded at Rawn, before shifting his gaze to Mair. His eyes were shadowed. “I regret what cannot be, my lady.”
Mair’s eyes ached. Her chest hurt. “So do I,” she said truthfully.
Alun looked as though he might say more. Instead, he shook his head and held his arm out toward Rawn. “Until next time, brother.”
Rawn took his arm, moved closer and held him with his other arm. “Until then,” he murmured.
Alun stepped back and considered the pair of them. “At the very least, watch out for each other, for me. You are my two most favorite people in the world.”
Mair drew in a breath which hitched.
Alun turned and walked back to the head of the file. He climbed into his saddle and waved the file forward. With no ceremony, the Brocéliande, Guanne and Morbihan armies left.
Mair and Rawn watched the long line of soldiers, horses and carts climb the low hill and turn onto the old road which ran there, then slowly disappear behind the tree line.
“Was I wrong?” Mair whispered.
“No,” Rawn said, his voice low.
“Then why do I feel this way?”
He caught her fingers with his. “Because giving up a dream hurts.”