The Dream Weavers by Barbara Erskine (best ereader for pc TXT) 📗

‘You know my father plans for you and me to marry,’ she said suddenly. She hadn’t meant to say it; it wasn’t true, she knew that.

He was barely taller than she and slender, but she could see the ridged muscles of his arms. He wore gold bracelets and a circular decorated brooch of gold held his cloak in place.

She saw the shock of surprise in his face at her words.

‘No mention has been made of that to me,’ he said guardedly.

‘It is a secret, between your father and mine.’

‘And does the idea please you?’ The wind was tearing at his hair; his eyes were on hers now, amused, teasing.

She looked away hastily. ‘I’ll consider it, certainly, as I will consider the other princes my father is offering for my consideration.’

‘Oh, there are other princes?’

‘Naturally. The son of the King of the Franks.’

‘I had heard he was to marry your sister.’

‘Possibly.’ Her eyes flashed. She had been caught out. She stepped away from him sharply.

He reached out and grabbed her wrist. ‘I would hope that, given the choice, you would prefer me.’

She looked down at his hand, strong and muscular, weathered against her pale skin and she felt a strange stab of excitement. ‘I think I might,’ she whispered. She took a step closer to him and caught her breath as his arm went round her shoulders.

They kissed for only a second and then he pulled back. ‘We can see the world from here, Princess, but don’t forget that means the world can see us. I doubt but that your escort are somewhere close behind in the fold of the hills over there, guarding their princess for their king, and my men too, if they are doing their job, will not be far away. We must go back.’

‘Not yet.’ She held his gaze. ‘It’s too soon. We must find somewhere they can’t see us.’ She turned away to scan the hillsides around them. ‘There, where the ground dips down into the valley.’

They led the horses down the hillside into the lea of the slope and there they found a summer shelter, built for shepherds, a roofless enclosure of stones, sufficient to keep the weather at bay. And the wolves. Elisedd tied the horses to a stunted thorn tree near the entrance and taking her hand he led her inside the walls out of the wind. He unfastened his cloak and spread it on the ground so they could sit down. ‘So, when did your father tell you we were to marry?’

She bit her lip. It was too late to withdraw her rash words. She couldn’t admit it was a lie. And she wanted him to kiss her again. Her blood was on fire. Besides, she thought wildly, perhaps she could persuade her father that the marriage made sense. It did, after all. This ditch would never be enough to prevent raids across the border and a marriage alliance would seal the peace once and for all. Her hand was in his, lying on the warm wool of the cloak, and her blood was racing and they were alone. As she leaned towards him, all her common sense and training had long since flown out of her head.

‘No,’ it was Elisedd who drew back. ‘We mustn’t. Not without the blessing of the Church.’

‘We are blessed here by your dragons and your old gods of the mountains.’ She threw herself against him, scarcely able to breathe. ‘What can it matter if we test ourselves to make sure we are suited. Your blood runs as hot as mine. I can feel it.’ She put her hand over his heart, feeling its steady beat under her palm through his tunic. She pressed her lips against his, and then she was in his arms.

When they pulled apart at last, exhausted, the sun had slipped round in the sky and the shadows were lengthening. Sitting up, peering out over the drystone wall they could see overhead two birds tumbling in the clear air, black silhouettes high in the sunlight. Elisedd laughed. ‘Look. Ravens. The messengers of Branwen, daughter of Llyr. She was our ancient goddess of love.’

Eadburh caught her breath. ‘Then she has witnessed our exchanged vows and we are already married in her eyes. We will go before the bishop later. Look, there are hares out there too. All nature is making love.’

They sat for a while, watching the two hares leaping round the clearing, oblivious to their audience. ‘We in Powys have a patron saint of hares,’ Elisedd murmured. ‘She’s called Melangell. Many centuries ago one of my ancestors was hunting a hare, and the hare saw a beautiful woman watching the hunt and it fled to hide from the dogs in her skirts. She pleaded for the hare’s life, and because she was so beautiful the king granted her wish. He fell in love with her on the spot and wanted to marry her, but she refused, saying she had come to Powys to live the life of a holy virgin, so he gave her land to build a convent there.’

‘That’s a lovely story.’ Eadburh gave a wistful smile.

‘One day I promise I will take you to her shrine. But now we must go back! It grows late.’ He reached for his tunic, then he helped her to her feet. The two horses were grazing quietly outside, and there was no sign of anyone around, but suddenly he sensed danger. ‘Get dressed. Quickly. We’ve been up here much too long. Our guards will long ago have grown suspicious.’

She pulled on her gown and quickly began to rebraid her hair. ‘They wouldn’t dare come up here.’

‘They would if they were worried. Come, let me help you mount. If we ride back openly, there is nothing they can do. If they followed us, they will have disobeyed our orders, if they admitted they didn’t follow us, they would have disobeyed your father. So long as we get back before dark, all will be well.’ He