Whatever You Wish

Chapter 23 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.

Gwenddydd pursued the man who attempted to murder Wellington but is caught and blamed instead. Wellington came to her defence. She presented him the sword, but he refused it, saying he’ll only accept it once she and Sir Hugh find the assassin.

In searching for clues, they bump into Eidothea and Llyr. Shortly after, something sharp hits Gwenddydd’s shoulder.

I had tired of trying to make the madames of Brussels like me. Instead of our usual practice of visiting those who were ‘at home’, I declared a wish to walk in the Parc de Bruxelles. The Peeters women co-opted Ondine into a shopping expedition. With Father and Jasper haunting an aristocrat’s library, it was left to Llyr to accompany me.

We walked together along the gravel path, shaded by large trees. Compared to the wild clifftops of my home, or the underwater world of the dreigiau môr, it seemed like a very pale imitation of nature. Still, the green and the shade refreshed me.

:Eidothea, do you think Jasper is hiding something from us?: Llyr walked alongside, a handspan away from me.

I glanced up at him. :What do you mean?: I had some suspicions, but they seemed too ephemeral. Had Llyr seen more?

:Somehow, Jasper has secured us entry to Wellington’s next salon. He would not say how. Then there was that fight he got himself into. Was it more than bad luck?:

:Getting to attend Wellington’s salons is to our benefit. With the duke being aware of our existence, he will be less inclined to ignore us when it comes time. Jasper has acted within the guidelines of this quest. As for the fight, it seems to have drawn us a little closer to Miss Jones, who has the sword.:

:You come to his defence so quickly. I had thought …: Llyr paused, a pulse of pain slipping through our bond. :I had thought you had chosen not to love him.:

:It cannot be what it was,: I told him. It felt awkward to share my feelings about Jasper. :I do not know what it will be.: We passed a garden bed filled with brambled roses. I studied them, focused on their sweet scent.

“Will you look at me?” Llyr spoke aloud, startling me with his cracking voice.

My gaze rose to meet his. He longed… he still hoped … Would it be so wrong to let Llyr love me? “I am looking.” My feet stopped moving forwards and I stepped towards him. “I will look at you, Llyr. I know what it felt like to nearly lose you and … I do not want that again. We are better together, than apart.”

“Then you will—”

I shushed him with a gloved finger. The level of his hope crushed a fist around my heart. I found it difficult to breathe. “Let us take this slowly. Father did not entirely lie when he said any engagement would have to wait until after we meet the duke. I have known you as a friend, Llyr, and as my prophet.”

Llyr and Llyr only filled my view, my senses, my bond. I shielded, as he already had, and allowed myself to wonder. “Are you willing to woo me, Llyr ap Peredur?”

Startled by the sharp sound, Gwenddydd’s horse burst into a canter.

Cursing, she hauled on the reins, her shoulder burning. Had a wasp struck her? Kicking her foot free of the short stirrup, she slid to the ground.

Hugh galloped past, plunging into the bushes on their right. She grabbed the reins and followed, pulling the animal behind her.

His mount baulked at the dense branches. Hugh skirted to the right of the dense shrubbery.

A figure burst from the bushes on the left.

Yelling at Hugh, Gwenddydd gathered up her skirts into her fist and chased after the him. She knew him on sight: the assassin.

She knew it by the way he ran, a long, loping, effortless stride that ate up the ground beneath him. A shock of dark hair protruded from beneath his dark green woolen cap.

Being on the edge of the Parc, the assassin dashed across the crowded street and into a building.

She followed close behind, arriving to hear a bolt being drawn. She threw herself at the door, rebounding off the thick wooden planks.

Hugh reached her, springing from horseback. “Are you all right?”

“Damn door.” Gritting her teeth, she charged again, getting only a numbed shoulder as her reward. She stepped back and scanning the building for an alternate entry, ignoring the pain radiating through both her shoulders.

The shuttered ground floor windows hid the interior. She attempted to pry one open, wishing for something with more leverage than her fingers.

A window opened above them. The narrow-faced assassin peered over the lintel. “Bonjour, mes amis! I am sorry to leave you so soon!” He vanished.

As one, the two of them rushed the door. It quaked under their combined body weight but didn’t give.

“Around the back,” Hugh suggested and the two of them ran for the nearest alley.

She ran by his side, her skirts gathered high above her knees. She caught a glance of concern from him but thought nothing of it, focusing on the chase.

They reached a narrow lane, which led to the stables at the rear of the homes here, but caught no sign.

A roof tile crashed onto the cobbles at their feet.

She peered upwards, shading her eyes with her hand. She grimaced. Her shoulder hurt.

Silhouetted by the almost noonday sun, the outline of a head appeared over the roof line and then disappeared, leaving the faint echo of a mocking laugh behind.

“We will never catch him now.”

She absorbed Hugh’s concerned expression, rubbing her sore shoulder, feeling a stickiness. The unpleasant biting sensation turned into a steady throbbing.

For the first time, she glanced down at it. Blood soaked her bouffant muslin sleeve, now ripped, and she’d ruined yet another pair of gloves.

“Allow me.” Hugh peeled back the saturated linen.

She twisted, straining to see. Carmine swelled in a long runnel across her bicep.

“You’re lucky,” he said. “The bullet didn’t go in. I will take you back to Lady Meredith. You should have this seen to.”

Gwenddydd nodded. Wondering if the healing plants she needed grew in Brussels, she stepped away from the building. Hugh’s blue eyes clouded with concern, his mouth tightening in anger.

“What’s wrong?” She followed him back to the street. Her horse lingered in the park, munching on grass.

Hugh gathered the reins of his own mount. “You are hurt. You should have been more careful.”

“More careful?” Her mind struggled with the concept. “That’s not who I am.”

“Running after someone who just tried to kill you is not the wisest thing to do. Even if you do have a knife.”

The hem of her skirt back at its usual elevation, she realised that he must have seen the knife scabbard strapped to her calf.

“You were right behind me,” she said. “I was not alone.”

“But what if he reloaded, and fired again?”

At a closer range, he wouldn’t have missed. “Then we would not be having this discussion.”

He helped her back into the saddle and they returned to the Parc in an angry silence.

Miss Pendyr and Llyr waited for them by the shrub that had concealed the assassin. Eidothea held a pistol by her gloved fingertips. “We found this pistol. Freshly fired.”

Her gaze traveled to Gwenddydd’s bloodied shoulder. “You are hurt! My friend Ondine has excellent healing skills. Shall I send her over to your hotel?”

Gwenddydd glanced aside at Sir Hugh, who glowered. “It’s only a scratch. There is no need.”

“I think the pistol has jammed.” Miss Pendyr held it up to them.

Sir Hugh bent from his saddle and collected the pistol, stuffing it into his coat pocket. “I thank you for your assistance. Good day.”

Once they had left Miss Pendyr behind, Gwenddydd murmured, “He’s not a very competent marksman then. He missed me.”

“Not quite,” he snapped, giving her a dark, dry look.

Entering the Duchess of Richmond’s ballroom, Gwenddydd tugged on the cuffs of her chiton, concealing more of the long gloves she wore underneath. They felt a mite odd with her classical Greek garb, but at least they hid her tattoos.

She glanced aside at Lady Meredith’s bare arms which jingled with multi-coloured bangles. A cowled monk bowed over Lady Meredith’s hand and stole her away, the older lady’s cheeks pinking.

Gwenddydd moved through the crowd, a confusing array of garish costumes. Some guests had eschewed costume and wore rich, black dominoes, which concealed much. How could she tell friend from foe?

She longed to penetrate the disguises. Any one of them could be the assassin, waiting to pounce again.

She watched the Duchess of Richmond pass by two men: one wore a bewildering melange of striped silk that ballooned in various places with a heavy gold chain around his neck. But the other took her breath away. Her step slowed.

His billowing white shirt tucked into the tightest pair of black breeches she’d ever seen. Thigh high boots encased his legs and a cutlass hung suspended from the thick leather belt around his waist.

He had the untouched side of his face towards her. “Sir Hugh,” she murmured.

He turned. The black silk patch over one eye did little to conceal the morass of scarring on his cheek. The loosened laces of his shirt revealed his bare neck and upper chest. He had a very nice, strong neck. Gwenddydd decided she didn’t like this fashion of swathing the throat in windings of linen.

His companion nudged him with his elbow. Sir Hugh startled. “Uhh, Miss Jones. Somerset thought a pirate would best suit me.”

She scowled at Somerset, who looked as if he might float away if it weren’t for that gold chain. He grinned and delivered a florid bow. “Henry the Eighth, at your service, madam. Perhaps you would care to listen to my rendition of Greensleeves?”

Hugh groaned. “I swear, if you attempt to sing that one more time, I’ll stuff this patch down your throat.” He smiled an apology at her. “He’s been singing it all day. Would you dare to dance with a pirate, Miss Jones?” Hugh extended his arm.

She had heard of pirates, although she had never imagined they dressed like that. Her heart thudded. She should find Lady Meredith. She raised her chin, a slight tremor washing through her. “Of course.”

He led her into the dancing, spinning her into a waltz.

It took all her willpower to go through the dance steps, to deny the presence of his warm hands, encased in black leather, to deny his touch, his steadying grip, to deny the utter maleness of him, so near she breathed him in.

The waltz ended. He didn’t release her, his hands resting on her shoulders. She found she couldn’t let go of him either. Slowly, his hands slid down her arms, capturing her hands in his.

“Gwen,” he murmured, barely audible over the party’s roar. “What am I to do with you?”

“I believe the improper answer is: whatever you wish,” she responded in a low voice. “But I cannot give that to you.”

“Why not?”

She looked up at him, meeting his quizzical expression. She withheld the pain rising in her chest. She wanted him. Her whole body sang with wanting him, but it could not be. He needed a woman from his own world to cherish him and she … when this was over, she would return back to her own time.

Home. Her heart ached with the thought of leaving Hugh behind. But back in her own time she would be acclaimed, having saved the future. Perhaps her new knowledge could help save the past. She curtsied and retreated, not realising she had not spoken a single word of her thoughts to him.

I stood with Ondine, Jasper and Llyr. We surveyed the crowd, a cacophony of bright gilded costumes. Most wore masks. As newcomers, it made it difficult to identify anyone. We also wore costumes. Ondine had donned an old costume of Mademoiselle Peeters, a green velvet medieval gown that clung to her slender form. Jasper, Llyr and I wore pirate garb. For once, my eyepatch served as costume.

Father had disappeared a short while ago. Intent on finding the card room, probably.

A gentleman wearing a striped Tudor outfit of puffed and slashed sleeves and short ballooning breeches paused before us. He bowed elaborately and extended a hand to Ondine. “I believe I have found my Queen.”

The four of us started at that. A quick glance revealed he spoke to Ondine, not myself. My secret remained safe.

He seemed not to have noticed our sudden discomfort. “Such a fair princess should not be in the presence of such disreputable pirates,” he continued. “May I rescue you? Will you dance with me?”

Ondine glanced at me. “I am not sure.”

“Go,” I said. “It is only a dance.” I steeled my voice. “Be sure, sir, that this one keeps her head.”

He laughed. “I cannot help it if she loses it for love of me.”

Llyr rattled the sabre at his side. The masked Tudor king glanced at Llyr’s hand clenched about his sabre’s pommel and sniffed. He whirled Ondine into a polonaise already in progress.

I rested my hand on Llyr’s forearm. :He plays the part of a king from three hundred years ago. He means no harm.:

Llyr’s scowl remained. I glanced at Jasper whose gaze scoured the crowd. Having everyone masked made it difficult to find the duke’s confidantes, and we had yet to spot the Duke himself.

“Every person here is connected to another,” I said. “What you see is not a parade of wealth, although it is that, but it is also a web of community. We have to weave ourselves into the mix without wakening the spider.”

Jasper’s lips twitched. “Poetic.”

I glared at him.

Llyr asked: “What’s a spider?”

“I will point one out the next time I see one,” I promised, trying very hard not to smile.

“Let us mingle,” Jasper growled and hobbled off.

Llyr’s gaze darted amongst the crowd. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Then let us dance,” I suggested, holding my hand out to him. “It will properly introduce you to society, and pique their curiosity as to how you know the lady with the eye patch.”

His hand found its way into mine. He led me out to the dance floor as the polonaise ended and the musicians took a minute to retune their instruments.

I saw that the man playacting as Henry VIII had not relinquished Ondine. He chuckled at something she said.

:He is trying to guess my identity, I think,: Ondine reported in response to my gentle enquiry. :I should not tell him, I think?:

:Maybe if he tells you who he really is, but he does not seem ready to let go of his disguise. Ask him to guess which Catherine you are.:

:I’m a Catherine?:

:Henry VIII had three wives named Catherine. If he wants you to be Catherine Howard, then find someone else to dance with, unless you want to play at being an outrageous flirt.:

:Lady, no.: Ondine’s heartfelt reply made me smile.

The music began, a waltz. Llyr closed the gap between us, claiming my waist. Our opposite hands joined in an arch over our heads. We circled each other, stepping around the ballroom. I did not dare to make eye contact with him until I settled into the waltz’s rhythm.

Our arms descended and we turned in a loose embrace, hands upon each other’s waists. I gazed up into Llyr’s face, my breath arrested by his deep attention upon my features.

His lips widened into a smile, one just for me, and our turns slowed. I see why London’s mamas forbid unmarried women from this waltz. Our bodies moved less than a handspan apart. His gloved hands warmed my waist.

With his braids tied beneath a rakish silk bandana, he looked more like the Llyr I knew Under Sea, in Caer Morgana. My heart pounded. I felt Llyr’s hope rise, Ondine’s burst of curiosity and encouragement, and Jasper’s bittersweet attention.

It seemed my Chosen Council would learn before I did if I felt love.

“You have no right to be this handsome,” I murmured.

“Do I not, my Queen?” He dipped his head to whisper in my ear.

Our opposite hands should have lifted and met over my head, but my hand fell short of the mark, resting upon his cheek.

He mirrored my action, never breaking from his gaze deep into my soul. He switched to thought. :I never dreamed you would feel these things for me.: His words reminded me of the night he bound us together into the Chosen Court and how I drowned in his desire.

I murmured the shielding spell and released him, my hands falling to his waist again. He guided us around the room, a slight pressure on my waist. I did not answer him, wondering for the first time, what might have happened between us if I hadn’t already loved another.

I had let Jasper go—did this mean I needed to draw Llyr closer? But we were Queen and Prophet. I could not hide my feelings from him. I could not deny them.

:Your emotions are influencing mine,: I murmured. :We have a sword to gain and a world to save. I cannot lose my focus.:

He pulled me closer, our bodies coming together. :Even now?:

I stretched up onto my tiptoes, leaning against him. Our actions drew an audible gasp from the onlookers nearest us. I pushed him back into the proper position. :This is no dragon dance.:

His brows lowered. :Do you want it to be?:

I released the breath I did not even know I held. :I am not ready to choose.: I repeated the shielding spell.

The waltz drew to an end. I curtsied and he bowed. :Attend to the ones who fan themselves watching you,: I told him. :Avoid the ones with overprotective mamas.:

His face turned to stone. :As my Queen demands.: He bowed again, turned on his booted heel and strolled away.

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