Abduction of Guenivere (Once and Future Hearts Book 7) Read online

  Morgan: Daughter of Gorlois & Igraine. aka Morgan le Fey (See Rheged)

  Cador & Elen

  Cador: Gorlois & Mari’s son. Duke of Cornwall.

  Elen: Cador’s Duchess. (See Brocéliande)

  Constantine: Cador & Elen’s son

  DUNODING

  Cadfael & Lynette

  Cadfael: Hero of Born of No Man. Vortigern’s War Duke.

  Lynette: Cadfael’s wife

  Bricius: Cadfael & Lynette’s son (see below)

  Alis: Cadfael & Lynette’s daughter (see Listenoise)

  Lowri: Cadfael & Lynette’s daughter (see Calleva)

  Drusan: Cadfael & Lynette’s son, partner of Bryn (see Calleva)

  Eogan: Cadfael & Lynette’s son (see below)

  Bricius & Maeve

  Bricius: Cadfael & Lynette’s son

  Maeve of Ireland: Bricius’ wife

  Cadoc: Bricius & Maeve’s son

  Tegan: Bricius & Maeve’s daughter

  GALLEVA

  Ector & Druscilla

  Ector: Count of Galleva

  Druscilla: Ector’s wife

  Cai: Ector & Druscilla’s son. Companion to Arthur.

  Steffan & Anwen of Galleva

  Steffan: Hero of Pendragon Rises

  Anwen: Heroine of Pendragon Rises

  Rhiannon: Their Daughter (see Lothian)

  GUANNE

  Bors & Evaine

  Bors The Elder: King of Guanne

  Evaine: Bors’ queen (see Brocéliande)

  Bors The Younger: Bors & Evaine’s son (see below)

  Lionel: Bors & Evaine’s son

  Mared: Bors & Evaine’s daughter (see Morbihan)

  Bors The Younger

  Bors The Younger: Bors & Evaine’s son. King of Guanne

  KERNOW

  Tristan the Elder

  Tristan The Elder: King of Kernow

  Brandegoris: Cousin to Tristan (see below)

  Mark: brother to Tristan (see below)

  Tristan: Son of Tristan the Elder

  Dinadan: Friend of Tristan’s.

  Brandegoris of Estangore & Julia

  Brandegoris: Cousin to Tristan

  Julia: Princess of Rome, wife to Brandegoris

  Sagramore: Son of Julia and the King of the Magyars

  Claire: Daughter of Brandegoris & Julia

  Mark of Kernow

  Mark: brother to Tristan. King of Kernow

  LISTENOISE

  Pellinore

  Pellinore: King of Listenoise, descendant of Joseph of Arimathea (see below)

  Tor: Pellinore’s bastard son and heir

  Dornar: Pellinore’s bastard son

  Pellinore & Alis

  Pellinore: King of Listenoise, descendant of Joseph of Arimathea

  Alis: Pellinore’s queen (see Dunoding)

  Percival: Pellinore & Alis’ son

  Aglovale: Pellinore & Alis’ son

  Dindrane: Pellinore & Alis’ daughter

  Lamorak: Pellinore & Alis’ son

  Elaine: Pellinore & Alis’ daughter

  LOTHIAN

  Lot & Morguase

  Lot: King of Lothian & Duke of Orkney

  Morguase: Lot’s queen. (See Cornwall, and also Pendragon)

  Gaheris: Lot & Morguase’s son & heir

  Gawain: Lot & Morguase’s son

  Agravain: Lot & Morguase’s son

  Gareth: Lot & Morguase’s son

  Idris & Rhiannon

  Idris of Lothian: Hero, War Duke of Britain

  Rhiannon (see Galleva): Heroine, War Duke of Britain

  Anwen Idria: Their daughter

  Emrys Myrddin: Their son

  Kay The Stalwart: Their son

  MORBIHAN

  Budic of Britanny

  Budic: King of Morbihan

  Isla: Budic’s bastard daughter

  Hoel: Budic’s son & heir (see below)

  Hoel & Mared

  Hoel: Budic’s son & heir. King of Morbihan.

  Mared: Hoel’s queen. (see Guanne)

  Tewdwr: Hoel & Mared’s son

  Kahedin: Hoel & Mared’s son

  Isuelt of the White Hands: Hoel & Mared’s daughter

  PENDRAGON

  Ambrosius: High King of Britain (see below).

  Uther: Ambrosius’ brother & heir (see below)

  Ambrosius & Vivian

  Ambrosius: High King of Britain (see below).

  Vivian: Princess of Dyfed

  Merlin: Ambrosius’ bastard son by Vivian

  Uther & Igraine

  Uther: High King of Britain

  Igraine: Uther’s queen. (see Cornwall)

  Arthur: Uther & Igraine’s son. War Duke of Britain. (see below)

  Arthur & Morguase

  Arthur: War Duke of Britain

  Morguase: Wife of King Lot (see Lothian)

  Mordred: Arthur’s bastard son by Morguase

  PERILOUS FORREST, The

  Nimue: Lady of the Lake

  Vivian: Nimue’s second in command and partner

  RHEGED

  Urien & Morgan

  Urien: King of Rheged. Cousin to Lot of Lothian.

  Morgan: Urien’s queen. (See Cornwall)

  Owain & Morfydd: Urien & Morgan’s twin son & daughter.

  STRATHCLYDE

  Idris & Rhiannon

  Idris: King of Strathclyde.

  Rhiannon: Idris’ Queen. Foster sister to Arthur.

  Anwen Idria: Idris & Rhiannon’s daughter

  Emrys Myrddin: Idris & Rhiannon’s son

  Kay the Stalwart: Idris & Rhiannon’s son

  Maps

  Some reading devices do not display these map images well, or at all. If that is the case, use this link to jump to a webpage where the maps are reproduced. (Tip: Bookmark the page, which allows you to refer to it while reading, and not lose your place.) http://tracycooperposey.com/once-and-future-hearts-series-maps/

  Prologue

  Vale of No Return, Avalon. 500 C.E.

  As she carefully set up the elements she needed, Morgan, Queen of Rheged, whom most people these days called Morgan Le Fey, blamed every seer and oracle who dared peer into the future for the predicament she faced.

  She was a princess from a line of kings and emperors winding back into forgotten history and the queen of a land so powerful it had shattered Arthur’s kingdom when it stirred itself. She had powers which outranked all but the most potent wielders, Merlin himself included. In her deepest and most private thoughts, she suspected that if she and Merlin were ever to confront each other directly, she would win. The old Druid let qualms and human foibles limit him, while she had cast aside those considerations many years ago.

  Despite her powers and her strength, Morgan was reduced to this ignoble method to See what lay ahead in the days to come, for the waters of time were muddy and unclear.

  She pushed at the coals beneath the cauldron with the poker, to encourage them to blaze, for the use of her powers to heat the oil in the cauldron would not part the veil for her.

  While the black oil heated, she sprinkled herbs over the surface and whispered the incantations. They were weak words, old spells which those of little power believed were the secrets to life itself. Morgan felt embarrassed speaking the silly words aloud, even though there was no one in the valley to hear her. Before she had begun this final attempt, she had sent out a mental cloud to scatter even the smallest animals who dared linger here.

  The vale was completely under her control. The natural power of a place, which all places in the world held, channeled to her as she spoke the words. Morgan could feel the banked life of the sleeping land. It was not yet spring, but deep beneath the surface, life was stirring. Preparing. That potential flowed into her veins, too.

  Perhaps this would work, after all.

  In the last few years, it had become fashionable in Camelot to consult oracles for every little matter. From the sex of an unborn child, to the naming of a newborn, to which suitor one chose…every little decision
the mindless and spineless might make required divination.

  And what was fashionable in Camelot naturally became a necessity everywhere else in Britain.

  The more people who gazed into the future with their vestigial talent and inadequate tools, the more the future grew uncertain and unfocused to those of real ability. Morgan had been reduced to this old crones’ method to part the veil and this was her third attempt.

  This time, she replicated every little step and spoke every stupid word no matter how foolish she felt doing it. The land around her had responded, encouraging her to continue. Her voice grew firmer as she felt the power rise. The oil swirled, colors moving over its surface.

  Morgan leaned over the air above the cauldron and breathed in the scent of herbs and the hot oil itself. The colors shifted again and then…

  …there! She could See!

  Morgan drew in a breath of delight and opened herself up to See what glimpses she was given. As she focused both inward and outward, she reached into the pouch on her hip and withdrew the token and held it in the palm of her hand.

  She humbled herself before time itself and begged silently for the boon of Sight. Even the smallest glimpse…

  The colors swirled and turned, shifted and became coherent.

  The dark figure stood at the door of a great building surrounded by water. A lake. A great and powerful lake, which had imbibed the power of the women who had lived on it for generations. The man, one of the very few men ever given access to that place, peered west. He gazed with great longing in his heart, but he took no steps in that direction. He was…afraid.

  Morgan absorbed this knowledge, a mere vessel accepting whatever vision came to her. Yet she knew the man. Oh yes, she did. She held his fibula in her hand. He thought he had lost it during battle and had not looked for it later. The fibula directed the vision, not her. Morgan could only receive whatever was presented to her and be grateful for it.

  Yet there was a pleasure in seeing him again.

  “Lancelot…” she whispered. A kernel of pure satisfaction formed in her chest. She had Seen exactly what she wanted to see. She was still powerful.

  The thread of human vanity cracked the pure vessel she had made of herself to receive the visions. The images scattered in her mind. She stared into oil which smoked and threatened to burst into flames.

  Morgan cursed and moved away from the over-heated cauldron, her eyes streaming from the smoking oil. She would not be able to pierce the veil again tonight. She had extended herself and the power in the valley to the fullest extent.

  It did not matter. She had Seen what she needed to see. She had felt his longing for those places he would not go to, for the people from whom he kept himself removed.

  That one tiny glimpse told her everything she needed to know. Now she had the key which would let her reach out and take what she wanted.

  “Lancelot,” she breathed once more. This time, her satisfaction was purely that of a woman anticipating a long-awaited victory over a man who was merely mortal.

  Morgan smiled as the stench of burning oil rose around her.

  Chapter One

  Camelot. Ostara (early Spring). 500 C.E.

  Later, Tegan would tell herself she should have been seated at her family’s table, that perhaps the tragedy might have been averted if she had.

  Instead, Tegan had murmured to Elaine, her stepmother, that she would sit at the high table for the feast, for she was concerned about Guenivere. Elaine patted Tegan’s hand where she had rested against Elaine’s shoulder. “You are a good friend to the Queen. Go and care for the poor girl.”

  Tegan hurried through the guests assembling in the big hall. The guests stood in clumps between the tables set for the feast. Tegan was careful not to step upon hems or jostle shoulders which might dislodge headpieces. She kept her own hems firmly in hand, so that no one snagged her gown. The gown had only just been completed by the seamstresses in time for the feast. It was one of the new style gowns, which clung to breast and hip, with sleeves that dipped and threatened to sweep the floor alongside her hems. There was an excess of fabric in the gown from hip to hem. Tegan was not certain how the gown could be so restricted about the hips yet manage to fold and drape around her ankles the way it did, but she liked the effect and didn’t want her gown ruined the moment she first appeared in it.

  She reached the high table just as the King and Queen were announced with a three-note call upon a horn, and took her place beside Guenivere’s high chair. Directly in front of the King’s table were the family tables of his companions. It was an unfortunate fact that the Lothian table was directly in front of Tegan.

  As everyone moved to their tables and stood waiting for the King and Queen to seat themselves, Tegan’s gaze shifted to the Lothian table. As it was the Feast of Ostara, many of the petty kings had travelled to Camelot to celebrate with Arthur and the court. This year, they included King Gaheris of Lothian. He sat at the head of the table, facing toward Arthur’s chair. It meant that Gawain, the second oldest of the fiery red-headed family, sat at the other end of the table, for Gaheris had no queen yet.

  It meant that Gawain’s gaze, if he peered directly ahead, would be upon her. Right now, he watched Arthur help Guenivere to the table. As usual, Gawain wore a richly embroidered tunic. The fibula in his mantle shone golden and glinted with gems but did nothing to hide the warrior’s shoulders beneath.

  Vexed that she was staring at the man, Tegan looked away even as his gaze flickered in her direction. Had he sensed she was watching him? She would not look back to check.

  Instead, Tegan got to her feet and took Guenivere’s other elbow. Cara pulled out the Queen’s chair, even though Cara was heavy with child. Then Cara settled carefully upon her own well-cushioned seat.

  Tegan and Arthur helped Guenivere onto the big chair while the hall politely waited.

  Then Arthur returned to his chair and took the mug Merlin offered him and held it up to the people watching him. “I call good fortune upon the land. May the planting of this year’s crops go smoothly and bear fruit.” He did not look at his queen as he spoke the traditional words and no one shifted their gaze from the king, but Tegan suspected that everyone had focused upon Guenivere at that moment.

  Guenivere kept her gaze upon her lap, but Tegan saw her cheeks redden.

  “The gods bless the land,” Merlin added, in a firm voice.

  “Amen,” some of the Christians in the room added.

  Everyone drank.

  Then the servants hurried in with their trays and kettles and platters. The feast began.

  Conversation immediately began at all the tables. The pleasant noise of companionship rose up toward the high ceiling, where doves roosted.

  While the head man served Arthur, Tegan leaned toward Guenivere. “Are you well enough, Jenny? It is far too soon to rise from your bed—”

  Guenivere shot Tegan a glance, one filled with both frustration and amusement. “And miss this feast?” she breathed. “The court already disapproves of me. That would merely add to their complaints.”

  “That is not true,” Cara said just as quietly, from the other side of Tegan. “You overestimate their ire, my lady.”

  Only Tegan dared called Guenivere “Jenny”. The practice had started as a joke. The silly form of teasing had made Guenivere laugh at the common, unadorned simplicity of the name and desist with whatever pretentious and overly grand scheme she was building at that moment.

  The name had remained, just as Guenivere’s ambitious plans for Camelot had remained…and grown.

  Guenivere gave Cara a fond look. “You underestimate the will of the people, Cara. You always have. I have lost a third child…” She hesitated, her slender throat working, then she continued. “People already speak too much of portents and signs and look for bad luck where there is none. I will not give them further reason to point at me.” She lifted her chin and smiled beautifully at the kitchenhand as he laid slices of venison upon her platter and
thanked him, her voice even and musical.

  Once the servants had finished serving everyone at the King’s table and had placed dishes in the middle from which they could take additional portions, Guenivere bent her head and spoke so Tegan alone could hear it. “In truth, I am not sure I should have attempted to rise tonight.”

  “I suspected so,” Tegan replied just as quietly. “Is Arthur…is he very upset?”

  Guenivere did not look at her husband. “I do not know. He is so very hard to understand, at times.”

  All the time, more likely, Tegan amended in her mind. Arthur was a distant man even to those counted close to him, including Guenivere. He shared more of his true nature with his companions, those who had been his senior officers when war had gripped the land.

  One of those companions was Gawain. Tegan resisted the need to look at him. It had become a habit to let her gaze drift to any areas of a room Gawain did not occupy. “Eat a little,” she told the Queen. “If you cut the meat up and push it around, it will appear you have eaten much more than you have.”

  Guenivere gave a small nod. “Thank you.” The appearance of a healthy appetite would not go unobserved by the court.

  Tegan turned to her own meal. She had little appetite for the rich meat, the herbed vegetables and sauces which accompanied every meal. The near-burnt slice off a haunch hanging over an open flame would suit her better. Although a lady did not profess such preferences aloud.

  So she ate daintily, drank rather more of the strong wine and let her gaze move around the hall.

  Her family’s table was farther down the room, yet she was still able to see everyone there clearly enough, for it was in the middle of the room and in direct view of the King’s chair, and not off to one side or up against the wall, as some of the lesser families and houses were.

  Tegan saw that Bricius, her father, watched her. As she looked at him, Bricius lifted his goblet toward her. He winked, his dark eyes merry. While his beard and hair had developed alarming streaks of grey lately, his eyes never seemed to change.