Feelings!

Chapter 18 of "A Sword for Wellington", Book Three of The Môrdreigiau Chronicles

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The story began in A Grail for Eidothea and continued with A River Trembles. Now the Chosen Court seeks another Arthurian treasure. New here? Save this post and have a binge read. You deserve it.

At the soiree, Gwenddydd overheard nasty gossip about Sir Hugh. Eidothea was overwhelmed by the glittering soiree, being used to country gatherings. She and Sir Hugh had a conversation and a dance, which was both an interrogation and a negotiation. Sir Hugh and Gwenddydd flirt. Eidothea’s father attempts to renew his past acquaintance with Lady Meredith. Jasper doesn’t agree with Eidothea’s delay in retrieving the sword.

A long balcony edged the ballroom. Gwenddydd allowed Hugh draw her there, away from gossiping eyes. She couldn’t resist him: not the soft words, not the clean male scent, not the way his sensual lips curved when he spoke. She did not want anyone else to have him. Certainly not that Pendyr woman. She had no choice but to follow.

Reaching up, she kissed him. He froze into utter stillness. Her eyes opening, she started to withdraw, but his arms drew her in, his lips softening against hers.

He broke away, laying a small kiss on her cheek. “There are too many people around us.”

For the first time, she noticed her kiss had drawn attention. By kissing him, she broke some rule, but she could not care less. She drew back, knowing her smile trembled.

He clasped her hand. “Come.”

He led her into the courtyard. Lanterns lit the inner square, banishing darkness. They stopped a short distance from the bright light spilling from inside.

She rested a hand against the column behind her to steady herself, her back arching. Why did she feel so off-balance around him? The cool April air chilled her although a brazier burned nearby. She shivered.

“I didn’t think.” His faced flushed, darkened by shadow. “I should fetch your cloak.”

She stayed him, laying her hand on his forearm. “I am fine. Do not go.”

He chafed her lower arms, tugging on her gloves. She pulled free. “There are other ways to keep me warm.”

She didn’t mean the nearby brazier. He stepped in, pressing her against the column. A sharp heat flared between them. She felt his hard muscled body through her thin ball gown.

He bent to kiss her and she raised up on tip-toe to meet him halfway. Their lips brushed: once, twice, a teasing feather-light caress before melding together. She opened her mouth to him, arching against him.

He ended the kiss, murmuring against her cheek, “I have wanted this for so long.”

She claimed his lips again. Her body flooded with heat. The spark she had felt when she first saw him, when she thought he was Wellington, had not been the spark of identity but the spark of desire.

She moved her hips against his. His hands slid down, cupping her rear and lifting her to him. She fitted against him, hooking a leg about his calf to keep him close. She wanted him closer, much closer.

She felt him respond, felt his mouth demand more. She gave it.

He groaned into her mouth. His hands firmed on her hips and he set her back from him. “Gwen,” he murmured. “I want this but … not here.” His shaky exhale warmed her cheek.

She heard only his rejection. “I will not get closer to Wellington being out here with you.” She left him in the dark, her silhouette backlit from the glowing lights within.

Somehow Hugh found the ability to move and returned to the soiree, ascending to the gallery level, where he found his golden-haired friend.

That’s her?” Lord Charles Somerset snagged a petit four from a passing tray. “She seems a bit gauche for you, old boy.”

Hugh watched Gwen follow his aunt. The high colour on her cheeks and tousled auburn curls shrieked of their liaison but he hoped nobody else noticed. “She is lovely.”

“Lovely?” Somerset guffawed. “She has you hooked. Where did Lady Meredith dig her up?” He nudged Hugh with his elbow. “Perhaps she’s a byblow of hers she wants launched on society.”

Hugh grimaced. “You forget yourself. You speak of my aunt. She is beyond reproach.” He could not tell Charles the truth. That was the crux of his problem. How would he explain her, a woman of no background, to his world?

“Then you do know.”

Hugh gave him a dry look.

Somerset sobered. “My apologies. Is she some poor penniless relation? I gathered as much from speaking with Lady Meredith, not that I believed it. ‘Distant cousin from Wales’ indeed.” He winked. “She’d be good for a bit of fun though, Hugh, and no harm done. After all, did you not say she has not run screaming from the sight of you?”

Hugh’s grimace twisted further. “Thank you for reminding me of my shortcomings.”

Somerset laughed outright. “All the more for me!” He slapped Hugh on the shoulder and strolled off.

“Feelings!” exclaimed Lady Meredith, wrenching away from their hotel room window. They had left the ball without Sir Hugh. He still danced attendance on the Duke, who had left to attend supper at another house. “Miss Jones, the idea is preposterous! You and he? He must make a good match, an educated match, not—” Her fists bunched. “I like you, my dear, truly, but Hugh’s a second son, he must make his own way, and that’s generally through a good marriage.”

“Marriage?” The word hit Gwenddydd like a blow to the stomach. She caught her breath. She fingered her necklace, wishing she had removed it so she could not hear Lady Meredith’s words. “I will be going back once my task is complete. This is a temporary—“ She searched for the right word and gave up. “Thing.”

“An affair?”

Gwenddydd ignored Lady Meredith’s scandalised expression. “How could it be anything else? I am needed in my own time. I cannot abandon them.”

The older woman stared at her for a long unreadable moment, before turning and heading into the bedchamber they shared.

“What are we supposed to do?” Ondine sat on the edge of the bed we shared. “Why are we even here?”

Jasper sat on the stool by our dressing table, Father at the small seat built into the window. Llyr leaned against the door, arms crossed. The Peeters were busy with their day but we did not wish to be overheard by the staff.

“I know you miss Cychwr—” I began.

“We sit, doing nothing, while you attend parties. We can’t even go after the sword because it’s apparently not our turn to have it.” Ondine’s hands fisted in the folds of her gown. “It didn’t take all of us to find the Greal. You are right, I do miss him. I dislike being unnecessarily apart from him.”

“I agree with Ondine,” Jasper said. “Land and sea both need healing. There will always be another war. The sword—”

“—is a battle weapon,” Father interrupted. “The fact that the Chosen Court is called to claim it makes far less sense than handing it to a general.”

“We do not ignore Llyr’s visions.” I looked across the room at Llyr from my place next to Ondine. “I will put you both to better use. The dreigiau môr are a dancing people. It should take no time at all for you to learn the steps. I could use some practice with this new waltz myself.”

“I will hire a dancing instructor,” Jasper said. “But as for the sword—”

“We get as close as we can to Wellington. That’s the only way forward. We need to be part of his circle in order to retrieve the sword once this battle is won. That requires all of us to make inroads with his staff as well as with Lady Meredith Rathven and her companions. If we are there when they hand over the sword, we will be placed to make the gift a conditional one.”

“Or we can just steal it back.” Jasper’s clutch on his crutch tightened. “Let Ondine return to her lover. We do not need—”

“I need them.” Certainty whipcracked my words. “I need my Chosen Court around me. There may not be time to send for her return. Napoleon’s attack is imminent. I hear he’s left Paris. We will not have long to wait.”

I glanced at Llyr, feeling the rightness of his remaining by my side. From Ondine, I sensed only a bittersweet longing. “I am sorry I did not include you. The territory we traverse is unknown to me as well.”

Pain stabbed me through the bond, accompanying Ondine’s dark, conflicted emotions. She pushed off the bed. “I am going for a walk.” Llyr stepped away from the door to let her pass.

“I will come with you.” Father rose. “You should not be without an escort in this city.” He followed her from the room. He did not seem troubled by leaving me in a bed chamber with two men.

I glared across the room at my Fisher King. “Jasper, you will not disagree with or undermine my prophet’s visions again. Do you understand?”

Jasper met my angry gaze. “I will obey your command, my Queen.” Using the crutch, he hauled himself up from the dressing table stool. “Forgive me, I am frustrated…”

Llyr nodded, his entire body tense. “Believe me, I understand.” He glanced at me. He knew every feeling of Jasper’s and every one of mine just as I knew his. He fixed Jasper with a glare. “You and I are in need of a long conversation. A private one.” He stepped aside and allowed Jasper to precede him from my bedchamber.

I flopped back onto the bed, breath escaping in a soft whoosh. I reached out with my senses. I felt Ondine’s agitation sink slowly into something resembling comforted peace. Sparks flew between Llyr and Jasper, their anger synchronising and yet their mutual heartbreak rose up as well. They argued over me.

I sighed. They needed to sort that out between them. I muttered the shielding spell, muffling their noise, and turned my attention to the delicate plaster curlicues festooning the ceiling. How could we gain entrance to the Duke’s circle when none of us possessed a single title, nor any military connection?

Gwenddydd strode along the wet footpath. Steam rose in the mid-morning light, the day already warming. Carriages rattled past.

It felt good to walk and be in the open air, even in a city. She made her strides as long as her skirts allowed. How she missed the freedom of breeches!

She walked off her anger. Plan? What more was there to plan? They needed to act. She tired of waiting for Hugh to get them an audience, or for him to resume his amorous advances.

Gwenddydd sighed. A pity their hotel suite had no space for her to practice with the sword. A few imagined slashes at Hugh’s scarred face would do a lot for her state of mind.

Passing citizens looked askance at her fine clothing. She pulled her cloak tighter about herself. Back in her own time, the flicking of her cloak to reveal her sword would have them all looking the other way. But here, she had no defence except for the knife hidden in her pocket.

She crossed the street, entering the shadow of a somewhat familiar grey stone building. Out of the morning sun, the temperature plummeted. She shivered and walked faster.

“Miss Jones?” a man’s voice called behind her. “You are walking alone?”

She turned. Sir Hugh strode towards her, using an umbrella as a walking stick. His scar had purpled with the chill morning air. “I’m getting some air. You?”

“The same. I was just returning.” He peered into her wind-numbed face. “You should not be alone.”

“I am capable of looking after myself,” she snapped. She walked on. Her angry stride lengthened to the full diameter of her heavy wool skirt.

He caught up. She noticed his slight limp had worsened. “Gwen—”

“I am well aware that this is 1815 not 485.” She stopped, muttering an ancient curse under her breath. She needed to keep him by her, not insult him and push him away. She turned to see him walking in the opposite direction.

She caught up with him. “I’m sorry. I am in a foul temper today.”

He retraced his steps. “Why?”

“Honestly?” At his nod, she continued, “You know the importance of handing the sword to Wellington and yet you delay.”

His cheeks flushed. “Things are at a breakneck pace at present. There is much to prepare. Wellington prefers action as opposed to report-reading.”

“A man after my own heart,” Gwenddydd interrupted. His sudden, sharp look made her blush in turn.

He sniffled and wiped his nose with a handkerchief. “So you see, there has not been time.”

She startled when he tucked her arm under his. He wished to walk with her, like she’d seen other couples do. She relaxed. At least he blocked a bit of the wind.

They made a turn into the strengthening spring sunlight. Pleasure from its warmth washed over her. She glanced at Hugh and saw him relax. She squeezed his arm. “When can we meet with him?”

“There’s no chance of that in the near future,” Hugh remarked dryly.

“But he was at the soiree the other night.”

“It’s good for morale. It was important for him to be seen.” He sneezed. “Besides, we both seem to have caught a cold.”

“Wellington will need a clear head for battle,” she observed.

Hugh raised an eyebrow. “Quite.” What had she said wrong now? His bemused expression mirrored the one Lady Meredith had at times. His gaze softened. “My apologies. When you are dressed like this, I forget you have seen battle.”

She stared at him. How could he forget that? She knew she differed from the women of this age. Did this repulse him? But he had kissed her, caressed her, wanted her. Did he stop kissing her because of her past?

They circled around the block. “I must return to my duties, Gwen.” They stopped outside the door leading to Wellington’s headquarters. “Who knows, perhaps in a week or two, Wellington will grant us an audience.”

He smiled. The heart-stopping beauty of it ended in a vicious twist. She trembled, returning an uncertain smile. Did they even have a week or two?

She strolled back to her hotel, her heart pounding from anticipation and not—as Hugh’s smile rose again in her mind—the heated look he had sent her way.

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