Jack Whyte - Uther

"Wait! Wait, not yet—"

He stopped, raising himself over her to peer down into her eyes, and she could see no sign of the callow, hesitant boy of the day before.

"Forgive me," he said. "I forgot, again. It shouldn't be possible for me to forget, I know, but when I am near to you like this, beside you—"

She silenced him by placing her fingertips against his lips. "Hush," she whispered, "you have done nothing wrong, and what you feel is only natural. I am the one who should feel regrets, and believe me, I do, for I want you as much as you want me . . . In fact . . . wait . . ." She moved her lower body, twisting sinuously yet carefully against him. "There now, see what you can achieve. But gently, gently . . ."

He moved delicately and with great gentleness, fitting himself to the contours of her body and lifting her cautiously with one supporting arm until he could sheathe himself, and they made love in silence, slowly and almost without moving.

When it was over, and they lay entwined, she turned her head and smiled at him. "That will improve," she whispered, "now that we have discovered how to do it without hurting any of my bruises." She moved her bottom, pushing it into the hollow of his lap. "Now, tell me what you meant earlier when you talked of being a champion rather than a warrior."

He pushed himself up on one elbow, looking down at her. "You don't know the difference?" She shook her head, gazing back at him, and he reached down beneath the coverings and hooked his other elbow gently beneath her knee, raising it and pulling it towards him, then insinuating himself into the space he had formed. For a long moment he remained there, staring into her eyes, and then, his voice thick with desire, he whispered, "Later . . . I'll tell you afterwards."

She shuddered and smiled, closing her eyes.

"Being a warrior means fighting at any time . . . But being a champion means winning all the time. It means defeating every enemy who challenges your championship, and doing it so thoroughly and so completely that he will never think to challenge you again . . . Being a warrior means fighting on command and lighting to survive. Being a champion means killing constantly in response to challenge and being challenged constantly."

Mairidh had no idea how much time had passed since Uther had last spoken. She had had other things to occupy her since then.

Listening to the sound of his voice now, however, and feeling the sweat cooling between her breasts, she became aware that he was repeating something learned by rote, not expressing his own opinion. She twisted her body in order to squint at him where he lay so close beside her.

"Being challenged constantly by whom?"

"What?" He sounded now as though he had been on the verge of sleep when she spoke.

"You said something about killing in response to challenge and being challenged constantly. Who are these challengers?"

He made a sound that might have been a laugh or a sob. "Anyone who wishes to challenge you," he muttered sleepily. "When you are champion, everyone wants to best you."

"So every man is your enemy, is that what you are saying?" She waited, but he did not respond. "Uther!"

"What?"

"Don't go to sleep now. I'm talking to you. Are you saying that all men are your enemies?"

He grunted again, then sat up, stretching his arms above his head and then bending over her to brush his fingertips through her pubic hair, setting her skin tingling.

"No," he said quietly, his eyes intent upon her body. "Not enemies, but rivals . . . challengers. You're all shivery . . . A champion has no enemies . . . not living ones, at least."

She reached down and caught his hand in hers, holding it gently but firmly to rid herself of the distractions it was causing. "Who taught you that?"

He glanced up at her and smiled, tugging gently to free his hand. She held it fast.

"Garreth."

"And who is Garreth?"

"Garreth Whistler. He's my . . . teacher. Cay . . . Merlyn . . . calls him my mentor, but he's really my personal guard, appointed by my father and grandfather for my protection when I was a child. I grew up, but Garreth remained with me. Now he teaches me to fight the Pendragon way."

"Why do you call him Garreth Whistler?"

"Because he whistles all the time, and better than anyone else."

"Of course, why else such a name?" She was smiling gently now. "But if he is your personal guard, where is he now? Should he not be with you, protecting you at all times? Or is he merely lazy, guarding you only when he feels like it?"

The boy was outraged. "Garreth is not lazy! He is not here in Cambria, that's all. My father sent him away on the King's business three weeks ago, and he is not expected back until next month."

"Ah, I see. Forgive me, for I had no way of knowing that, and so I must ask you to convey my apologies to Garreth Whistler for the slight. Tell me about this Merlyn . . . or is his name really Merlyn? Did you not call him Cay a moment ago? Where does he live?"

Seeing her smile, his own smile grew wider, the pull of his hand increasing slightly. She closed her other hand about his wrist. He pressed downward, one wiggling fingertip brushing her belly.

"Aye," he said. "Both names are right. He is Caius Merlyn Britannicus. The family and his close friends all call him Cay. He's in Camulod."

"Camulod? I've heard of Camulod, but I've never been there." Mairidh paused, thinking. "Nor have I ever met anyone who has, now that I come to think of it. It's somewhere to the east of here, is it not, inland?"

The boy nodded. "Aye, southeast."

"And is it far from here to there?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Far enough, depending upon how quickly you want to travel."

"Is it a Roman town with walls?"

"No, it is not a town at all . . ." His hand went limp, and he fell back to lie beside her. She did not release his hand, in case his surrender might be no more than a ruse, but he was looking up again now to where the sun was disappearing behind a cloud. "It's going to rain," he said, then looked at her again.

"Camulod is a place built by my grandfather and my great-uncle, about four days' travel from here. I've lived there half my life, half of all my time. The other half of the time I'm here with my father's people. Cay and I are usually together all the time."

"You like him, this Caius Merlyn, don't you?"

"Of course. He is my cousin and my closest friend. We were born on the same day, four hours and four days' travel apart. Him in Camulod, me here in Cambria. But Cay loves to read and write and learn things out of books. I don't. I prefer to learn things otherwise, by training and example, as Cay says. He thinks I'm mad not to love books."

Now it was Mairidh who smiled. "And you disagree?"

"Well, I think he's mad to waste so much time reading. I prefer to spend my time with Garreth. That's why I'm here this summer while Cay stays in Camulod. Garreth is training me to use the longbow properly and to fight with an axe and shield. The truth of the champion was the first thing he ever taught me, and I've never forgotten it. He taught me about fear."

"Tell me," she said.

His arm tightened very gently around her shoulders.

"You have to understand about Garreth if you're to understand what I'm going to tell you next. And you're a woman, so you might not be able to understand it. Garreth was my father's greatest warrior, the King's Champion. He would fight any and every man who sought or thought to undermine the King's authority. He was, and he still is, unconquered and unbeatable. But that day, he told me that he had always been afraid of going into battle—of fighting and of being hurt or killed."

His voice died away, and for a long time Mairidh wondered if he had forgotten that she was listening and would say no more. Finally she stirred against him, prompting him to continue.