Susan Squires - [Da Vinci Time Travel] (29 page)

She stilled. He waded into the edge of the river. His shoulder was strong against her belly, his arm like iron as it held her. “Will . . . Will they give us shelter?” she asked in a small voice as she stared once more at the village.

“They are a prosperous village. They serve the king and his court, and that is good business. We are visitors to the king and his court. They will give us shelter.”

“They’ll want payment,” she said doubtfully. The water was up to Gawain’s thighs.

“I brought enough silver coins to buy most of the village. At least enough to get me a horse as well as our dinner and a bed for the night.”

He pushed forward through the rushing water, now almost to his waist. “There’s a drop-off here somewhere. . . .”

He didn’t even finish his sentence before he stepped awkwardly into a deeper channel and water sloshed up to his chest. Diana gasped in surprise. He stumbled but righted himself. Diana pushed up on his shoulder to avoid the water.

“Sorry,” he said, over the current.

Her feet were wet. So what? She was ashamed she’d even worried about it. How could she be such a prima donna when he had a concussion and was carrying her
and had gotten totally wet in the bargain? The current was stronger here.

“Can you make it?” she asked. God forbid she drowned him by weighing him down. “I was just being a sissy before. But I can swim.”

“I know. You were always a good swimmer. Relax; I’m fine.”

It was so humiliating that he knew more about her than she did herself and that he remembered a life she could not. He felt his way forward and leaned against the current. He paused, and then stepped up onto the shallower shelf of river bottom on the other side. Now he could stride out, and he did, until he was out of the water and dripping.

“Okay, put me down,” she ordered.

“It’s still really marshy here. You’re better off where you are.”

“I’m not
that
much of a sissy.”

“Then let me put it this way: we’ll make faster time to the road with me carrying you. I’ll put you down when we reach the road.”

“All my blood will be in my head by that time,” she protested, but not with much intensity. She’d come back to this time against his wishes. She didn’t want to be a drag on him. So she swung quietly over his shoulder until he stepped up on a rutted track and eased her down. He was wet from the chest down, his leathers slick with water and his boots squishing still. Her own leather ballet-style shoes were wet, but otherwise she was dry.

“Thanks,” she said. “You were brave.”

“Yeah. The fish might have eaten me.” He turned to the lights of the village. “Come on.”

The moon was considerably higher in the sky by the time they reached the first straggling huts of the village. Shutters were closed against the night, though light
leaked through them. The place had an unkempt look. Dooryard gardens were untended, plant stalks broken. No one was abroad at all. Gawain peered around, brows furrowed, as they walked.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered.

“It’s early evening. Yet no one is about. And there are no animals.”

“What animals should there be?” The huts were more numerous here. “It’s a village.”

“Well, the chickens and geese should be in for the night. But that pigsty over there is empty.” He pointed. “And that lean-to should have two or three cows in it. Eobert was a careful husbandman.” He strode forward with some purpose. “Animals are the lifeblood of a village.”

“I thought that was only farms.”

“No.”

She hurried to keep up with him. He strode toward a larger building in the middle of the village. Light streamed from the doorway as a figure stumbled into the night. Raucous laughter could be heard from inside. Gawain stepped behind a building and dragged her with him. The man stumbled by them, then bent over, hands on his knees. The sound of retching made Diana’s gorge rise in sympathy. She turned her head. When he was done, the man staggered on.

“What is that place, a tavern?”

“It used to be the village gathering place, where the Elders met to decide matters, and it served on some days as a church for the new religion. Now, apparently, it is only a drinking hall.” His voice was tight, his grip on her tighter. “Something is wrong. Things have definitely changed. You stay here. I’ll get the lay of the land.”

“I’m not staying here alone.” Did he know what he was asking?

“Diana, this is no time . . .”

“Please. Please don’t leave me alone here. I’ll be safer with you.”

He swallowed and gave his head a half shake of disgust. “Stay behind me.” He started off through the mud toward the hall. As she got closer she could see that the hall was made of thin poles, set together, probably with pegs. The seams were filled with wattle, and the roof was thatch. Windows had shutters closed over them, but the door gaped open on leather hinges. The sound of male laughter echoed within. Gawain set his shoulders and pushed through the door, Diana in his wake.

The air was thick with smoke from a roaring fire at each end of the huge open room. The place smelled like too many men who hadn’t bathed in too long, as well as cooked meat and vegetables, cabbage most prominent among them. Men lounged on wooden stools with tankards and horns of some kind of alcoholic drink, or sat on benches at a long table made of rough planks. Some were eating from bowls with big wooden spoons and hacking slabs of meat off bones with really big knives. There was a game of dice going on in one corner. The men were big and rough looking, dark in coloring, dressed in leather jerkins and breeches. Some had chain mail like Gawain. There seemed to be two camps, one loud and very drunk, the other wary and talking in low voices. The women who were serving them were dressed in layered tunics over what looked like long shifts. One was incredibly pregnant. She could hardly lift the steaming bowl she was carrying.

Everyone turned when Gawain and Diana came in. The room stuttered to silence. Diana was only too glad to stand behind Gawain’s broad back. The women in the room went wide-eyed when Gawain walked in, of course. They couldn’t take their eyes off him. One smoothed her braids. Another pushed her breasts up into the neckline of
her shift. The men had a different reaction. Some were wary, others fierce. One of the largest of the men stood up, his hand on the hilt of a great sword. Diana saw knives being drawn. Gawain didn’t seem to notice. He kept his eyes mostly down, though how anyone could see their color change in this smoky light she didn’t know. Still he glanced up to the face of the man who stood before him. It was a hard face. This man’s brow furrowed in a perpetual scowl and his mouth was used to sneering. His cynicism and hatred of his fellow man shone out of his face. How different Gawain looked, though their experience was undoubtedly much the same. The giant was about to interrogate her and Gawain, and of course he was speaking Proto-Celtic.

“Who are you?” The man’s voice was a bass growl.

“A traveler,” Gawain answered. Did travelers wear chain mail and really big swords?

The man examined Gawain and his eyes rested on the leather pouch Gawain had tied to his belt. In shock she realized that these men were likely to fall on Gawain and rob him. Then the man cast a glance to Diana. There was something avaricious in his eyes, and it wasn’t just for Gawain’s purse. Diana glanced around fearfully and saw the same look in the eyes of those immediately surrounding the fierce giant of a man. “And your companion?”

“She is under my protection.”

Diana had never heard him sound so . . . definite. He had claimed her, and she had never been so glad of anything in her life.

“So it would seem,” the giant man said, but Diana could tell that he was not giving up those avaricious thoughts. “What is your business here?”

“I have come to offer the king my service.”

That wasn’t what she expected Gawain to say, but really, what else
could
he say? What really surprised her
was how easy and relaxed he looked compared to all the tension in the room.

“Perhaps you are fit to serve me, and perhaps not. I am captain of the king’s personal bodyguard. I only take the best.” The swagger in the set of his shoulders was unbecoming.

“I will let the king determine how I may best serve him.”

The man’s glower deepened. “You think well of yourself. But you’ll not see him unless I think well of you.” Two of the men behind him rose and stood at his shoulders.

“Then I hope you will think well of me,” Gawain said mildly. “Do any know of a place where I might lodge my lady for the night? She is weary and would rest.”

“She can share my bed,” one of the louts at the captain’s shoulders said. The group around him sniggered.

Gawain ignored him. “I will pay for lodging, food, and suitable garments for my lady.”

The silence was thunderous. The avaricious looks increased. They’d seen his purse. But should he have admitted he could pay? That somehow made him seem more vulnerable. Her short skirt and bare legs were unfortunate. She wasn’t making their situation any better. If one of these men wanted her, Gawain was even more likely to suffer for protecting her. And she had no doubt he would. She had made his position more precarious by coming back here with him.

The men in the opposite camp looked at their food and drink. Diana turned to the very pregnant little serving woman, surprised that she was about to speak.

“You can lodge with me. I do not have much, but what I have you are welcome to share.” Diana really saw her for the first time as all turned to stare at her audacity. She had medium brown hair, not dramatic and dark like the
very Celtic-looking men around her. Her skin was fair. One couldn’t tell the color of her eyes in the smoky light, but they were not dark.

“Who said you could speak, whore?’ the captain barked. He turned to Gawain. “You and your
lady
can sleep in the forest.” He made the word “lady” sound like an epithet.

Gawain sighed. “You really want to do this, don’t you?” He looked down at his boots, then up, decisively. He glanced around the room. “You there.” He pointed to a man from the other camp, with a beard just starting to show gray. “You will see to the safety of my lady while this is settled.” He did not ask it as a question. The man stood. He wasn’t young, but he didn’t look like a pushover, either. He had ropy muscles on a lean frame, and she could tell by the neck coming out of his flaxen shirt that he was strong. More important, as he stood, the men around him rose as well. The man with the grizzled beard nodded, just once, seriously.

“You have my oath on it.”

Gawain turned to Diana. “Go with them. Lamorak will protect you. He may be in different circumstances than I left him, but he is an honorable man.”

“You know my name . . . ,” the one Gawain called Lamorak muttered.

Gawain grinned. “Your fame has spread before you, old man.” He motioned to Diana to go to them. “Don’t worry. This will be quick. You’ll be back under my protection in no time.”

When she hesitated, Lamorak held out a hand and gave a roguish grin. “Not that old, young buck. But I do have a shred of honor left.” He darted a glance to the captain. “Come, my lady; you are safe with me.”

At another encouraging nod from Gawain, she moved into Lamorak’s camp.

“My lady,” they murmured greetings to her, and studiously avoided looking at her legs.

Gawain settled his weight easily on feet spread about a foot apart. “Here, or outside?”

“Outside,” the captain growled, picking up his big, triangular shield from a stack to one side of the great fireplace. He cast a murderous look at Lamorak. “I’ll deal with you later.” He pushed past Gawain to the door, his buddies in his wake.

Gawain nodded graciously as they passed, then followed them out into the night. At which point the entire room made a dash for the door. Men from any time loved a fight.

“No one can take Gareth,” someone murmured.

Gareth, as in Mordred’s half brother?

“I don’t know. That one looks confident.”

“He’s a fool.”

By the time Diana and her escort got to the door, the captain they called Gareth and Gawain were already facing each other and pulling out their swords. Their shields were at the ready. Gawain nodded to his opponent, who immediately rushed in swinging. Gawain dodged and parried easily. But Diana’s stomach flip-flopped. How could Gawain be so certain he would win? And in these times, what did winning mean? The guy left standing with the fewest horrible wounds? The sharp glint of Gareth’s sword made her wince.

Gawain waited for his opponent to recover, relaxed. He motioned Gareth to try again with the fingers holding his sword hilt. Gareth’s face dissolved in rage. He rushed again, sword swinging. Gawain parried again, but this time, just behind the swing of his sword that brushed Gareth’s sword away, he moved to the side and swept a leg out behind Gareth’s shield, catching Gareth just behind the knee. Gareth went down on one knee. Now his shield was an unwieldy liability. It canted to the side, and Gareth
couldn’t get a clear blow with his sword. In desperation he dropped his shield. Gawain brought his own small shield up and caught Gareth a vicious blow under the chin. His head snapped back and he grunted as he collapsed, head lolling.

The whole fight had taken less than two minutes.

Stunned silence gave way to shouts of congratulation from Lamorak and his men. Several left Lamorak’s side to go up and clap Gawain on the shoulder.

“I thought you were a dead man, carrying such a small shield.”

“He used the shield itself as a weapon,” another said, wondering.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” Lamorak asked as Gawain returned to Diana, surrounded by his new well-wishers.

“I watched a lot of mixed martial arts on something called television.” He grinned at Diana. “Besides. Gareth was always a hothead who rushed in before testing his opponents.”

Lamorak raised his brows. “I am not sure I understand this . . . mixed martial arts. But Gareth
is
a hothead. Do . . . Do you know him?”

“In a way,” Gawain said noncommittally. He came to take Diana’s arm protectively.