She stood there, cold and dripping and wondered if she would ever feel warm again. She nodded.
"Yon young ruffians will harm you no more."
"No," she agreed, unable to get her voice more substantial than a whisper.
He stood, extending his hand to her. "Let me help you out of there."
Kiera just hugged her arms to herself.
"Do not be afraid," he said. "I have seen you at Camelot. I am from there, too, though just recently, so you don't know me. My name is Sir Bayard of Ridgemont." He smiled. Fatherly. Brotherly.
"I know who you are," she told him.
"So. Well." Before she could resist, he had put an arm under her knees and the other around the upper part of her body, and he picked her up.
Her heart pounded so hard she thought she would die from it. Mordred's enemy, she thought. Mordred's enemy.
But his horse was there, tied to a tree just a few yards from the clearing. He set her down on the saddle gently, then took the bridle and walked the horse down to the path that led to the castle, asking over and over to make sure she was unharmed.
Kiera kept her gaze on the back of the horses neck, holding tightly to the saddle, which was too big to give her enough support, and slippery with the wetness of her clothes.
In the courtyard, people started to gather. Bayard snapped at them, ordering them out of the way, declaring that the young lass needed to be tended to.
"I'm fine," Kiera said. "I am not hurt."
But he paid her no heed.
More people came to see what all his fuss was about. At the castle gate, he tossed the reins to a nearby squire and lifted Kiera off the horse.
"I can walk by myself," Kiera assured him, but he didn't set her down, so she pressed her face against his chest, unwilling to look at the people, to let them look at her.
She felt him climb the stairs. There was a back way to the room she shared once again with her mother, now that the Queen was in Brittany with Lancelot. But Bayard was new to Camelot, so perhaps he didn't know where the women's rooms were. He headed for the Great Hall.
Kiera tried to make herself smaller.
Then she heard her mother. "Out of my way!" Alayna demanded, her voice shrill with anxiety.
Finally, finally Bayard set her on her feet.
The next moment, Alayna almost knocked her over. She threw her arms around her. "Are you all right? What happened? Are you hurt? Oh, Kiera."
"She is uninjured, madam," Bayard said, more loudly than necessary—for the crowd's benefit. "Just shaken and frightened. She was set upon by two local ruffians, but I intervened in time. She has not been hurt."
Her mother took her chin in her hand and looked into her face, then hugged her again. "Oh, my poor, poor dear."
Voices called out from the crowd, demanding details.
"Who was it?"
"Where?"
"What happened?"
Why didn't they stop shouting? Why didn't they leave her alone? All she wanted was to get away from them, all of them.
Bayard explained. He said: "By the duck pond. Beyond the north pasture. I was exercising my horse when I heard her scream. I don't know the youths' names, but I've seen them before. I ... I think somebody better go back there and see to them. They were trying to drown her. I was so enraged that I ... did not take into account that they were little more than boys, and unarmored."
Kiera remembered the way the one boy's head had snapped back on his neck, and how the other had been thrown against the tree. She stole a glance at Bayard, then looked back down at the floor.
Still holding onto Kiera, Alayna dropped into a deep curtsy. She took Bayard's hand and pressed it to her cheek. "We are forever in your debt, kind sir."
"My Lady," Bayard murmured, and kissed her hand.
There was a sudden movement in the crowd. The people in front of Kiera were parting, not reluctantly as they had for Bayard and Alayna, and without being shouted at this time. They moved aside soundlessly, and Mordred strode into the sudden clearing that had formed.
He looked first at Kiera, then quickly to Bayard, and back to Kiera. "Are you all right?"
"She has had a bad fright," Bayard said. "But I came in time to see they did her no lasting harm."
Mordred didn't even look at him. He put one hand on Kiera's shoulder and the other, in a gesture mirroring Alayna's, under her chin. "Are you all right?" he repeated.
Kiera nodded.
"What happened?" he asked in what Kiera always thought of as his dangerous voice—soft and slightly husky.
"Nothing," she whispered. "Nothing happened." How could she tell them that the youths had tried to drown her as a witch? In the stillness she thought she could hear the breeze in the trees again, the far-off quacking of the ducks, the raspy breath of the two youths.
Then, "Sir Bayard rescued the maid," called a voice from the crowd.
"Did he?" Mordred's cool gray eyes shifted to Bayard, who inclined his head in acknowledgment.
"Yes," someone said, and then another.
"She was attacked by a pair of ruffians, and Sir Bayard came along just in time to save her honor."
She didn't correct them. She didn't tell them that they had called her witch.
Someone said, "Justin has gone to see who they were."
"About to rape her, they probably were."
For a moment, everyone was talking, then they were all still again.
Kiera closed her eyes, reliving it:
The spilled bluebelb ...
Eldred's swollen lips ...
"She's uninjured, madam," Bayard said. "I intervened in time. ."
She felt their solid grips on her wrists and ankles, tasted the water again . .
"By the duck pond," Bayard said. "I heard her scream..."
She saw Lowell's body, like a boneless thing in the water, and heard the thud of Eldred against the tree.
"I did not take into account that they were unarmored..."
She shook her head to clear it.
"Bayard," Mordred said, acknowledging the man with an all but imperceptible bow.
With a tight smile Bayard again inclined his head.
The crowd began to make way again, for them to pass, but then there was a commotion near the door. Would she never get away from all these people?
"What is it?" asked Bayard, who had started to follow Mordred, Kiera, and Alayna.
"Make way, make way," a huffing voice called. After some shoving and complaining, finally one of the older knights pushed his way through—Sir Justin, who had not gone with King Arthur's group because his joints were so stiff that in rainy weather he was barely able to walk. He waded through the crowd with his peculiar rolling gait, all the while dragging by the shoulder a boy of no more than ten, who looked and smelled to be a goatherd.
"My Lord," the stocky knight managed to puff out when he saw Mordred. He steered his reluctant charge toward them. "I was riding out to that duck pond yon fellow was talking about, when I saw this young laddie break from the woods, heading for the castle like the devil's own hounds were after him." He pushed the boy closer. "Tell 'im what you told me, boy."
The goatherd pulled his gaze away from the ornate woodcarvings and wall hangings, beyond the sumptuously dressed lords and ladies in their everyday clothes. He looked at Mordred, probably the nearest thing to a king he would ever see, and gulped.
"Tell 'im what you saw, boy." Justin gave him a little shake.
The boy's voice was a whisper, which they leaned forward to hear. "Well, sir, one of the goats, Teaser, he goes off from the rest of them, sir—"
"Not that part, you young fool." Justin cuffed him.
Again the boy gulped. "Eldred and Lowell, sir," he whispered, "an you please, sir."
There was a sigh from the crowd, the release of a communally held breath.
"And," Justin urged him. "And..."
Kiera felt fingers digging into her hair; hurting. She felt her lungs empty and aching, with the water pres
sing to get in.
The boy took another breath—his one moment of importance—and looked, for at least two heartbeats, directly at Mordred. "They was dead, sir."
Mordred's eyebrows lifted.
"An you please, sir. Eldred, his skull wor bashed in against a tree, sir, and Lowell, his neck wor broke. Sir."
Bayard sighed. "I never ... In the heat of the moment ... My only thought was to get them away from the girl."
Mordred said nothing, only looked at Bayard appraisingly.
Bayard said, "I never meant to kill them."
"You never mean to kill anybody," Mordred said. "I remember that."
"Mordred!" Alayna gasped. "Bayard has—"
"Bayard was a nephew of the wizard Halbert. You do remember Halbert?"
The vision of her mother, and the sword, and the tall blond man with her mother's features and the empty eyes came back to Kiera. And Halbert ... But that memory slipped away.
"Didn't you hear what they tried to do to Kiera?" Alayna said. One hand still encircled Kiera's shoulders. Now she rested the other on Bayard's arm. "Sir Bayard rescued her."
"She's uninjured, madam," Bayard said. "I heard her scream." She saw him shake Lowell until his neck snapped. "I intervened in time."
"Certainly Sir Mordred, also, would have helped," Bayard said silkily, "had he been there."
Mordred's chin raised slightly, but he said nothing.
The rattle of a pebble. Her basket sinking in the pond. The roughness on her palms as she slid on the ground. She felt their fingers trying to pull out her hair. She couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe.
Bayard's gaze surveyed the crowd. "Please, somebody, find out the families of the youths. Despite Sir Mordred's doubts, I had no wish for their deaths, no matter what crime they intended against this child. I would make restitution to the parents." He laid a hand on Kiera's head.
She ducked, edging away, and Bayard was left with one hand in the air. He took Alayna by the elbow, and smiled. "Shall we get the lass out of the crowd?" he murmured and started to force his way through, still holding onto her mother.
At the doorway, Kiera turned back. Old Justin was ushering out the young goatherd who was still trying to take in all he could of the Great Hall. Mordred stood in the center of the diminishing crowd, his gaze hard and intent on the backs of Bayard and Alayna. And the rest of the people were beginning to drift away, many of them no doubt headed for the duck pond.
I heard her scream, Bayard had said.
But try as she might, Kiera couldn't remember screaming.
CHAPTER 10
The next day Bayard called on them, to see how Kiera fared.
And the day after he came again, bringing as a gift an intricately woven basket, much finer than the one Eldred and Lowell had thrown into the pond, and he said he would be pleased to escort Kiera and Alayna on a flower-gathering picnic if they'd so honor him.
No, Kiera told him, she didn't quite feel up to it.
But he came back the following day, with a different basket and the same offer. And then again, and again, until her mother agreed they would go.
He came even more often after that, one time bringing a pretty lace handkerchief, and another some sweets in a painted tin box, and—on Kiera's fifteenth birthday—a pink hair ribbon edged with silver thread.
"Thank you," Kiera said for each of the gifts, and handed them directly to Alayna without really looking at them or Bayard. Except for the time he gave her the ribbon. That reminded her too much of the one she had lost on the sunny hillside draped in magic gray. The images would give her no rest: she and Mordred returning ... a curl of Nimue's golden hair hanging below her hood ... the thud of Pinel's sword into the ground ... Agravaine—his face as pale as death—Agravaine...
Kiera dropped Bayard's ribbon into the midden.
"Oh, Kiera!" her mother said in exasperation when she asked after the ribbon and Kiera told her what shed done. Alayna paused in her weaving and gave Kiera a long hard stare.
Kiera pretended to concentrate on the cloth she was making. It was aqua, a shade she knew would make her look sallow and unwholesome, but she had chosen the dye because it reminded her of Gareth's eyes.
"You should be more careful of things that people have given you."
"Yes, Mother."
"Sir Bayard has been so kind ... so generous..."
"So constantly present." Kiera pictured the man, his fine, large teeth flashing as he laughed, his hand resting on Alayna's arm. He was good at getting Alayna to laugh. So had Agravaine been, though Mordred never was. "We hardly have any time to ourselves anymore," Kiera said. "Why, he has only been here once this morning, so I imagine he'll be back any moment now."
"Kiera," Alayna said in a warning tone.
Kiera pretended not to notice. "Why do we never see any of our old friends anymore?"
"We don't have any old friends."
"Well, what about Mordred?"
"What about him?" There was some of the old tension back in her mother's voice that hadn't been there since her mother had been so concerned about her. "Don't blame me if Mordred feels he has outgrown us."
Kiera let her shuttle drop from her hands. "What has Bayard been saying about Mordred?"
"Oh Bayard!" Alayna flung her shuttle angrily across the room, causing the loom to tip precariously, bunching the threads. She got up and walked to the window. Quietly she started again. "Mordred has been very busy with the governing of the country. Very busy." She picked absently at some imperfection in the stone that formed the sill.
Kiera looked away, confused by the sudden bitterness in her mothers voice. She said, "Well, but now Arthur is coming back." And Lancelot was bringing Guinevere. It had taken the Popes threat of excommunication to bring such a measure of accord.
"Yes, and then everything will be happy and agreeable. Is that what you suppose? After all that has happened—the adultery, the killing, the fighting at Joyous Gard, the changes Mordred has made back here despite Arthur's express commands—now the Church says, 'Give her back,' and everyone will say, 'Oh, what a fine idea! Why did we not think of that?'"
Her mother's vehemence was uncharacteristic and unsettling. Kiera picked up her shuttle and studied it. Very softly she asked, "Why does Mordred hate Bayard?" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alayna make a vague gesture of dismissal.
"It's too complicated," Alayna said.
"Does it have anything to do with Halbert?" Still Kiera didn't look directly at her mother. She had the feeling she was approaching something she would never again be able to back away from, no matter what she learned. "Mordred mentioned Halbert that day ... that day Bayard rescued me. It seems I should know the name ... Shouldn't I?"
Alayna came and knelt beside her. She sighed twice and swallowed repeatedly before saying, "Halbert was a wizard, an evil man who had great power ... and wanted more."
"Mine?" Kiera asked. Of course hers. Why else would her mother have such trouble saying it?
Alayna hesitated, then nodded.
"And Bayard worked with him?" Kiera guessed.
"No! I mean yes, but..." Alayna got up, and started to pace. "Bayard did not ask to be Halbert's nephew. And Halbert used people. He had enough power that he could force people, or trick them." She turned to face Kiera. "Halbert was the cause of how your Uncle Galen came to die."
That was part of the quest Alayna had been on, so many years ago, that nobody—not Alayna, not the great-aunts—ever wanted to talk about. Kiera pictured herself very, very young—probably no more than two or three years old—and her uncle, holding her by the hands and twirling, twirling, twirling her, while she kept saying, "Do it again!" And she realized—for the first time—that he was also the vacant-eyed man she had occasionally glimpsed in her visions.
Alayna was saying, "He used me, too, for a while."
Kiera shuddered, yet couldn't think why.
"But Mordred remembers what he wants to remember. And Mordred's perception of things does not a
llow for Bayard to be as much a victim as I was." Alayna forced a cheery smile. "Surely we can talk about this some other time."
Kiera forced herself not to give in, not to make peace. She asked, "How many years have you been telling me that?"
Alayna straightened her loom. She picked up the shuttle and began to undo the part she had ruined. "Bayard is a good man," she said. "You can see it in his eyes. Besides, would the evil accomplice of an evil wizard have helped you?" For one moment, she looked directly into Kiera's eyes. "Sometimes Halbert worked with corrupt people, but he forced good men to his will, too, and that didn't make them any less good."
Kiera could see that. "Yes, but—"
"I do not want to talk about this anymore," Alayna said so firmly that Kiera knew she would not learn any more today.
She sighed. "No, Mother," she agreed.
CHAPTER 11
Kiera saw little of the sweeping changes Alayna had been afraid Arthur's return would bring, but neither did things go back to normal.
Then again, Arthur only stayed for one day.
Lancelot formally committed Queen Guinevere to Arthur's care, then immediately returned to France, to Joyous Gard.
Kiera glimpsed Guinevere, accompanied by the ladies who had waited on her at Lancelots castle, but she was not invited to join them. They made immediate preparations to leave for London, away from court for an indefinite stay.
Meanwhile Arthur, looking dull-eyed and stooped, announced that he, too, was leaving again at dawn. Now the men were confident of an easy victory—for at last Lancelot could no longer hide behind concern for the Queen. People gleefully reminded each other that Merlin had prophesied Arthur would never lose a battle throughout his life. Camelot's mood was one of exhilaration.
Kiera stood at a parapet and watched the army leave once again. Below, sunlight shone on burnished metal and brightly colored caparisons; but all around her, Camelot began to settle down to the routine of the working day. A servant girl leaned out of a nearby window, not watching the army, but shaking out linens, while the voice of the new stable master called to his assistants.