Read Online THE WARRIOR QUEEN (The Guinevere Trilogy Book 1) by Lavinia Collins - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lavinia Collins
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soft and light up the inside of my thigh and brush light again at the place he had found the night before, and I felt the brightness of it rush through me, and through both of us, and I sighed hard with it, feeling it wash through me, hot and bright and wonderful.
We sank down together, and Arthur gathered me against him, and I rested my head against the hot skin of his chest as he wrapped his arms around me and closed his eyes with a murmur of content. As I fell asleep, I wondered if it would always be like this between us, and if it was enough. We did not know each other, really, though I knew his body well enough already, and my own seemed to respond in natural recognition. We were still strangers, this warrior-boy and I. But he was also gentle, and kind, and I was beginning to think that he was also good. In his sleep he gathered me closer, rubbing his face into my thick hair, and in his sleep he murmured my name. He is beginning to love me already , I thought in the darkness.
Chapter Seven
Arthur left to go to his prayers in the morning, but it was not a public mass, so I did not have to go. I did not want to go and stand beneath the sad gaze of his Hanged Christ. Marie and Christine poured me a hot bath and dropped in it the scented oils they made in Logrys. It wasn’t like the clean, clear waters of the river I bathed in at home, where I came out smelling like the fresh grass or the green leaves, but Logrys was cold, and I was glad at least of the hot water. The aromas of lavender and rose from the bath felt mildly intoxicating in my nostrils as I sank back into it. Marie began to comb out my wild, knotted hair. I thought about Arthur, about how much had changed already. It would have been easier if I could have just hated him as a brute, but he was not. It would have been easier if I could have dismissed him as a boy, but I had been so very wrong about that, as well. I did not want to lose the connection I felt with the lands and the people of my home. I did not want to be swallowed by Camelot and become a queen of Logrys. I had given up my gods in public, to take Arthur’s gods. I spoke Arthur’s language with him and in the court. The only thing I had left to hold on to was my anger, the dim memory of my idea of him as a murderer, a savage, a boy-king battle-mad and cruel, and that was not what I had found here. I thought perhaps it would be easier if I let go of the thoughts of my past, if I would be happier if I tried to become what I was, forget my old land and make Logrys and Britain my new, but I could not bear, yet, to let Brittany or Carhais go.
“How do you find it, my lady?” Marie asked me in the lovely, rich Breton of my home. In a moment, it tantalisingly brought it all back, but also it comforted me. I had not left it all behind. I had my two Breton women, and I could hear the speech of my own people. Truly, the only thing about Logrys that had been as bad as I expected was the awful brutality of its language.
“The bath? Very pleasant.” I slid deeper into it, and sighed.
Marie and Christine giggled together; I was surprised that the solemn older woman joined in. I opened one eye and peered at her, where she was sitting at the foot of the bath, sewing, her mouth stern, only betraying her amusement at the edges.
“No, my lady,” Marie whispered conspiratorially. “With the King.”
I raised an eyebrow and flicked water at Christine with my foot.
“I think it would be treason for me to say anything other than very pleasant,” I replied, archly.
“No one here will understand what you say, even if they do overhear us,” Marie whispered.
Christine gave the younger woman an indulgent smile.
“I wouldn’t be sure, Marie. That Sir Kay has a celtic look about him, and he seems to get everywhere,” I said, aloof. I wasn't sure if they were making fun of me, or making fun with me.
“We heard,” Christine replied, with an infuriating little smile. “We heard from the smith’s boy
We sank down together, and Arthur gathered me against him, and I rested my head against the hot skin of his chest as he wrapped his arms around me and closed his eyes with a murmur of content. As I fell asleep, I wondered if it would always be like this between us, and if it was enough. We did not know each other, really, though I knew his body well enough already, and my own seemed to respond in natural recognition. We were still strangers, this warrior-boy and I. But he was also gentle, and kind, and I was beginning to think that he was also good. In his sleep he gathered me closer, rubbing his face into my thick hair, and in his sleep he murmured my name. He is beginning to love me already , I thought in the darkness.
Chapter Seven
Arthur left to go to his prayers in the morning, but it was not a public mass, so I did not have to go. I did not want to go and stand beneath the sad gaze of his Hanged Christ. Marie and Christine poured me a hot bath and dropped in it the scented oils they made in Logrys. It wasn’t like the clean, clear waters of the river I bathed in at home, where I came out smelling like the fresh grass or the green leaves, but Logrys was cold, and I was glad at least of the hot water. The aromas of lavender and rose from the bath felt mildly intoxicating in my nostrils as I sank back into it. Marie began to comb out my wild, knotted hair. I thought about Arthur, about how much had changed already. It would have been easier if I could have just hated him as a brute, but he was not. It would have been easier if I could have dismissed him as a boy, but I had been so very wrong about that, as well. I did not want to lose the connection I felt with the lands and the people of my home. I did not want to be swallowed by Camelot and become a queen of Logrys. I had given up my gods in public, to take Arthur’s gods. I spoke Arthur’s language with him and in the court. The only thing I had left to hold on to was my anger, the dim memory of my idea of him as a murderer, a savage, a boy-king battle-mad and cruel, and that was not what I had found here. I thought perhaps it would be easier if I let go of the thoughts of my past, if I would be happier if I tried to become what I was, forget my old land and make Logrys and Britain my new, but I could not bear, yet, to let Brittany or Carhais go.
“How do you find it, my lady?” Marie asked me in the lovely, rich Breton of my home. In a moment, it tantalisingly brought it all back, but also it comforted me. I had not left it all behind. I had my two Breton women, and I could hear the speech of my own people. Truly, the only thing about Logrys that had been as bad as I expected was the awful brutality of its language.
“The bath? Very pleasant.” I slid deeper into it, and sighed.
Marie and Christine giggled together; I was surprised that the solemn older woman joined in. I opened one eye and peered at her, where she was sitting at the foot of the bath, sewing, her mouth stern, only betraying her amusement at the edges.
“No, my lady,” Marie whispered conspiratorially. “With the King.”
I raised an eyebrow and flicked water at Christine with my foot.
“I think it would be treason for me to say anything other than very pleasant,” I replied, archly.
“No one here will understand what you say, even if they do overhear us,” Marie whispered.
Christine gave the younger woman an indulgent smile.
“I wouldn’t be sure, Marie. That Sir Kay has a celtic look about him, and he seems to get everywhere,” I said, aloof. I wasn't sure if they were making fun of me, or making fun with me.
“We heard,” Christine replied, with an infuriating little smile. “We heard from the smith’s boy
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