Whatever their mutual destiny might be, the rules of their society made it entirely forbidden for them—yet. “Yes,” he agreed, “we’d better get on with our quest—tomorrow morning. Until then, Your Majesty, back to bed. You can get up for a ten minute walk every hour, but when we set out tomorrow, you’re riding in a litter.”
He braced himself against the storm of Brion’s outrage and waded through the outburst with grim and unyielding determination. After all, Brion might have been the rightful king, but he was Brion’s physician, as well as consort to the Queen of Merovence. When the sun rose the next morning, Brion’s warhorse went in front of him, and a local horse—drafted by the druids—behind, with the king lying on a stretcher between them, grumbling every foot of the way.
Matt accepted his grumbling with good grace, but Rosamund, who rode beside him, spoke sharply to him every ten minutes or so, upbraiding him for his lack of chivalry in making those about him suffer. She must have known which buttons to push, because she always managed to make Brion subside into dark muttering for five minutes or so.
For his own part, Matt kept glancing at the Irish horse at the other end of the stretcher, wondering whether it was going to turn into a person or not. However, by the end of the day it was still a horse, and the most human thing it did was to turn greedy when he put on its feed bag.
The next day, though, even Matt couldn’t deny that Brion was well enough to ride. The Irish horse was quite happy to bear Rosamund, and three other horses had showed up during the night to carry Brock, Orizhan, and Matt, who rode gingerly, each wondering what he would find himself riding the next minute.
At noon they turned off the road to rest and eat—and broke through a thicket into a lovely little grotto, decked with flowers, with a brook making a small waterfall into a crystal-clear pond where brightly colored fish darted.
Brion’s gaze turned distant, and he reached out to rest one mailed hand lightly on Rosamund’s. “Now could I stay in this grove all my days and let the world go hang, if you were by my side!”
Her gaze snapped up to him in surprise and, since he wasn’t watching her, the naked longing filled her face and stayed there.
“Could you not, also?” Brion’s voice was low, seductive, and thrilling.
Rosamund shivered and admitted, her voice very low, “Aye, my lord, and be mightily content in your presence and the beauty of this place.”
Matt had to do something fast. “You can’t seriously mean to stay in this grotto the rest of your lives!”
“Why should we not?” Brion reached out toward Rosamund, smile glowing, eyes devouring her. “What more would we need than each other?”
Slowly, shyly, she reached out to him, but her eyes were locked on his, and her face was beginning to glow, too.
“Well, there’s the matter of midwives, for one.” Matt spoke a little more loudly than he needed to, just to break the spell. “Or were you somehow going to live together all your lives without having babies?”
“Our love shall be as pure as any troubadour ever sang!” Brion declared.
Rosamund drew her hand back a little, the glow starting to fade.
“There’s also the minor matter of food,” Matt pointed out. “I see wild grapes growing here, but that’s hardly a balanced diet, and it won’t last past the first frost. I suppose Brion could hunt enough meat to keep you through the winter, if you had any way of staying warm, but that’s hardly a balanced diet, either.”
“Must you be so confoundedly practical!” Rosamund cried.
Matt shrugged. “Somebody has to, and neither of you seem to be in the mood—at least, not that mood. But the biggest problem is that Brion is a knight, and one of the most chivalrous in Europe. How long do you think it would be before he grew restless and began to sicken for battle again?”
“Never!” Brion declared.
But Rosamund withdrew her hand completely as the glow died. “Then I must know you better than yourself, Majesty, for I see that the Lord Wizard is right in every particular. You are a knight born and bred, and would chafe and grow ill-tempered if you could not take to the saddle and ride to defend fee weak and the poor.”
Brion opened his mouth to protest.
Rosamund’s voice sank low. “Indeed, if you were not such a man, I would not… esteem you so highly.”
Brion closed his mouth.
Rosamund turned away. “Let us find some other place to rest, Lord Wizard. I could not abide here now, and think of what might have been.”
She rode out of the clearing, back straight as an exclamation point, and Brion followed, casting a black look at Matt as he passed. Matt let Sir Orizhan and Sergeant Brock ride by before he rode after, cursing under his breath. It wasn’t always fun to know you were right.
Nonetheless, later in the afternoon Matt found himself riding beside the new and uncrowned king. Brion rode with his eyes straight ahead, not deigning to give him so much as a glance.
Matt couldn’t let that last, either. “I still have to learn who murdered your brother, Your Majesty. Your mother burns to make war on Merovence as long as she believes it was our fault he died.”
“And you know that if I overthrow my upstart puppy of a brother, I shall loose her from her prison?” Brion nodded. “You would rightly dread her then! Yes, she might make war upon Merovence of her own accord, and I would surely march to support her.”
“But not if Gaheris were murdered by a man of Bretanglia, who was frying to shift the blame onto Merovence,” Matt countered.
Finally Brion turned to frown at him. “Who had you in mind?”
“Practically everybody who was there, or anybody who knew Gaheris.” Matt didn’t mention that the list included Brion himself. “I was hoping you might have seen or heard something that would help me learn who the murderer was, even though I know you weren’t at the inn.”
“In that you are wrong,” Brion said. “I knew my brother of old, and followed him to that inn disguised as a common soldier.”
CHAPTER 22
Matt stared. “You followed your brother because you know him? I’m sorry, but that doesn’t make sense. You’re leaving something out. Why did knowing him make you want to follow him?”
“I knew he would begin a brawl of some sort,” Brion answered, “and so he did. I followed both to protect him from those with whom he picked his fight, and to protect those others from him. If the whore’s pimp had not stepped up to protect her, I would have done so myself.”
Matt’s head reeled in amazement. “A belted knight, fight to save a prostitute?”
“I am sworn to protect the weak, my lord, no matter their virtue, or lack of it,” Brion said severely. Then he seemed to thaw a little and added, “Besides, I have never been certain that prostitutes were not more victims than sinners.”
He spoke softly, but Rosamund heard nevertheless, and looked up at him in surprise. Then her gaze turned thoughtful.
“So you saw the fight,” Matt interpreted.
“I saw it begin,” Brion corrected. “Once the melee began, though, and I saw the harlot was safe, I leaped to defend my brother’s back.”
Matt stared. “You defended Gaheris? I thought you hated each other!”
“He was my brother,” Brion said simply.
Once again Matt was amazed by the medieval concepts of honor and duty.