The Prince of Powys (16 page)

“I don’t think so.” At the flash of anger in Elisedd’s eyes

Blaise gulped then said, “Can we trust Cuthred to keep to his

bargain of ransom?”

“Do you think me daft, boy? I wil send my finest troops to

escort the Princess and you wil lead them. This way we shal see

Cuthred keeps his bargain, for you wil not release the Princess

until the ransom is secured. Do you understand?”

“Yes. You command me to turn the Princess over to the

Saxon but do you glean I love her?”

“What say you? She is Ethelbald’s daughter, betrothed to

Cuthred of Wessex. She is tied to our greatest enemies.” Elisedd

leaned forward in his chair. “I am fond of the Princess myself. I

can see you would be taken by her charms, but by the gods,

how can you love her?”

“Father, you must listen to me.”

Elisedd banged his fist on the dais table. “Hear me! Mind you,

her father chose her fate when he banished her from Mercia.

Blame Ethelbald if you must, not I. You brought me a hostage,

and now I wil turn her over for the ransom.”

Blaise’s heart banged so hard against his chest he almost

jumped with each beat, and his throat clenched as if a garrote

twisted it. Unable to speak, unable to breath, he stood silent,

shaking, needing to scream.

“My son, you knew this day would come.”

“Father,” Brochfael spoke up, “we have al come to care for

the Princess, you as wel.”

“There is naught we can do. If Cuthred refused to pay the

ransom then it would be another matter but he agreed to my

terms. I wil hold to the bargain.” Elisedd laced his fingers

together. “I am a man of honor.”

Elisedd turned his head toward Blaise. “Son, what say you?”

Blaise stared at an empty space in the room, overcome with a

sensation similar to sinking deeper into a bog. He was frantic to

find a way out, knowing there was no way to escape and he’d

suffocate soon.

suffocate soon.

“It is not your doing, Father. As you say, her own sire gave

her to Cuthred.”
It is all my fault. I failed her. I never knew
how much I loved Branda until this day came.

The servant girl refiled the tankards of Brochfael and Elisedd

and handed one to Blaise. Silently, the three drank together.

Feeling the renewed confidence from the ale, he took leave of his

sire and brother and walked to the ladies’ bower. He rapped on

the door. “Branda. Branda!”

She opened the door a crack. “It’s late, Blaise.” She flung it

wide-open and placed one hand on her hip. “You are in your

cups. Your feet are wavering as if you may pass out. Sit down.”

He swaggered to the bed and plopped down. “I swear to

you, I wil find a way to keep you from Cuthred. I promise.”

“I wish it were so but we ride on the morrow.”

“That we do.” He leaned his head toward her until their lips

touched. Hot currents surged through him as he caressed her

warm, wet lips with his. He fed from the sweetness of her mouth

as his aching craving for more of her grew stronger.

When he released her, she pressed her head upon his

shoulder. “What are we to do?” she asked in a voice choked

with tears.

“Trust me.” The thought of keeping Branda hammered his

brain.
We will stay together. We must.

He crushed her against him in a tight, heavy embrace. He

heard breathy sobs and felt her tears dampen his sleeve. He had

to right this wrong. “I vow I wil find a way.”

With one last, lingering kiss, he choked back his own tears,

bid her good eve and swaggered from the bower.

* * * *

keeping Branda, and prepared for his mission in the old ways.

Scan bore the woad and the limewash Neilyn mixed. Blaise

washed his hair with the powdered limestone and water mix then

spiked his mane until it stood as thick as a hedgehog’s coat.

With the woad dye, Neilyn painted magic symbols of the gods

upon Blaise’s forehead, painted tattoos likened to the sacred

images engraved on the long stones in the tombs. The swirls

began smal and curved into larger loops. The gods shielded him

began smal and curved into larger loops. The gods shielded him

with these mystical symbols.

The Druid chanted ancient words of power as Scan strummed

the harp:

“Before the sky and the earth and the sea,

Before the sun and the moon and the stars,

I place a circle of safekeeping around you.

Oh, Blaise, bind yourself to Bran’s power,

Mighty is its strain, oh, Blaise.

Magical energy wil enliven,

And empower you on the field of battle.

Thrust the
Saesneg
with the sword of Nuada.

Around you, I place a circle of protection,

To bind Bran’s power to you, oh, Blaise.”

Scan continued to strum the harp. Neilyn drew blue circles

upon Blaise’s legs, arms and chest as he continued the

enchantment:

“Win your Princess as Bran foretold,

So the two of you shal return to us,

To live a life ful of honey,

With peace as ample as the sky.

Be this nine times eternal.

I place a circle of protection around you.

Oh, Blaise, bind yourself to Bran’s power.”

Blaise picked up a bronze mirror adorned with Celtic tracery.

The image of a warrior Prince painted with the magic of the old

gods gazed back at him. Pride and determination filed him with a

warm, glowing sensation of peace and invincibility.

Before he vaulted onto his steed, Neilyn presented him with

Nuada’s sheathed sword of power. Blaise drew the blade from

the serpent-etched sheath. The gleaming bronze hilt, curved in

never-ending circles of life, mesmerized him as rays of sunlight

danced upon the long, powerful sword, which glistened with an

ethereal luster.

Neilyn bent his head down and kissed the gleaming blade.

Blaise brandished it high in the air as Brochfael, Elisedd and al

the gathered Cymry praised its power.

Blaise sheathed the magic sword and belted it at his side. He

swung upon his horse, grasped Branda’s forearm and eased her

into the saddle. With his arm wrapped about her, he nudged his

horse down the mountain path. His men, clad in boiled leather

horse down the mountain path. His men, clad in boiled leather

and plaid cloaks, folowed his lead. Al the inhabitants of Dinas

Bran stood outside the gates, transfixed, as Blaise of Powys,

dressed in ful regalia, rode onward with Princess Branda to the

Saxon stronghold of Wessex.

The warriors of Powys, mounted on sleek roan, sable and

chestnut horses, thundered across the valey of the River Dee.

Branda and Blaise rode pilion on a horse, which snorted and

neighed as they led the war band across reedy marshes and

heathery fields.

Her silken hair exuded the scent of a meadow after a spring

rain. Wayward strands fluttered against Blaise’s chin, tickling him lightly. His chest tingled at the sultry heat of her smooth back

pressing into him. The hammering of the horse’s hooves and the

rhythmic beat of his brat flapping in the wind wrapped him

deeper in the joy of the euphoric moment, one of the last with

Branda. A painful image of Cuthred holding her invaded his

mind. With the thought of the balding, yelow-haired demon,

Blaise’s warm inner glow gave way to scalding fury.

He inhaled deeply to steel his temper and whispered in her

ear, “If the beast harms you, I wil hunt him down and kil him!”

Branda fel silent, and for a moment Blaise thought she hadn’t

heard him.

Then her ful lips parted and in answer to his vow, she said, “I

would like to be with you this night. Kiss you one last time. Do

not leave me alone this eve.”

He peered intently into her eyes, filed with love for him.

“Princess, you did not have to ask. I cannot bear to be away

from you for one moment this eve, for after tonight, we shal

never see each other again.” The acute physical pain of the guilt

piercing his heart felt no different than if a metal blade impaled him. He’d taken her to Dinas Bran, now he rode with her to

Wessex. The sensation of a sword twisting and turning in him

intensified. His mind reached for a spark of hope, a way to save

her form Cuthred, but even more, he had to find away to stay

with her.

She remained quiet, and he didn’t know what to say either.

She remained quiet, and he didn’t know what to say either.

He’d never find another woman like her, yet he’d found no way

to keep her. It gnawed at him, like a raven devouring his insides.

Blaise spotted a lush clearing with a welcoming pond fringed

with lanky trees, lifting their green-leafed branches to the sky,

which was a burst of crimson, saffron and salmon-pink as day

gave way to night.

“Look, Branda; is it not beautiful?”

“Yes, it is.” She snuggled against him as he rode forward.

As he sat in the saddle, with her soft body pressing against

him, he waved his hand toward his men, gesturing them to make

camp. He nudged his horse near the pond then brought the

stalion to a halt. Blaise’s legs were stiff as he swung off the steed and stomped his feet in the ground to loosen up his muscles.

Gently, he took hold of Branda’s waist and lifted her from the

saddle. The heat from her body passed through his fingertips and

into his blood. He brushed back strands of hair which had falen

from her braids, and his breath stopped. She looked ethereal in

the mystical glow of the setting sun. The flush of her cheeks

rivaled the dusky rose of sunset. His mouth watered for the taste

of her mauve lips.

She smiled at him. “I wil think of you while I am in Wessex.

Not a day wil go by that I wil not wish I was with you.” Her

voice broke as if she might cry.

He inhaled. “Somehow, someday, we wil be together forever

more. I promise.”

Blaise’s horse snorted and he patted its sweat-laden neck. He

removed the saddle and his bedding from his steed. She leaned

forward and brushed her lips across his in a kiss of faith and

hope as he clutched the saddle and bed rol.

God’s teeth, I cannot let her down. I need time to myself

to figure this out.
“I have duties to attend to.” His voice was edged with tension. It took al his strength to leave her at that

moment.

“Yes.” She stared at him with a penetrating gaze and softly yet

firmly said, “Tarry not.”

He swalowed. “No, I shal not.” Fighting the tension in his

body at having to turn away from her, he left his horse to crop on the long grass and walked toward his men.

“We wil bed down here.” He set the saddle and bedrol on

the ground. “Build the fire there.”

the ground. “Build the fire there.”

Two of the men gathered wood and kindling and soon had a

roaring blaze going. The sun had sunk to the horizon and

everyone except Blaise and Branda sat around the crackling fire,

sharing a skin of mead. Blaise pitched his tent, picked up the rol of bear and wolf furs he’d been carrying and spread them down

inside. He gazed out over the campgrounds but couldn’t find

Branda. She’d wandered off, but where?

He ran to the pond, and there she stood underneath the

canopy of an ancient gnarled oak, staring at the stil, dark water.

“Branda?” he caled.

She didn’t move.

He shut his eyes for one moment. “Wil you not speak to me?”

As he opened his eyes she slowly turned toward him.

Her pale-blue eyes were rimmed with tears. “Blaise, kiss me.”

He gazed at her lips, lush and close, and walked up to her.

She reached up to his shoulders and roled her smooth arms

against his neck, enveloping him in a scorching embrace. He

gasped as he peered into the smoldering blue fire of her eyes and

crushed his lips against hers. Her mouth was so soft. His lips

burned as he sipped from her honey warmth. A heated shiver

shot through him. Blaise’s heart beat hard and fast against his

chest, like the hooves of a galoping horse pounding the ground.

He encircled her with his arms, pressing his palm against the

smal of her back. Al her muscles thrust forward, pushing against

him—closer, tighter. The puffing rhythm of her breath, the soft

vibrations of her purring heart, aroused his senses. A sigh

escaped her parted lips.

“Branda,” he rasped in a guttural groan.

She replied by pressing her open lips to his.

His pulse raced as he caressed her lips, twisting, suckling,

exploring her mouth fuly. She moaned. His shalow, fast panting

ran together with hers as one roaring breath. Every pore of his

body was immersed in fiery flames of amber and scarlet.

As he swept his hands down the smooth plane of her back,

she quivered in his arms. A blaze roared from deep within and

rose to the sultry surface of his flesh. Every muscle in his body

leapt like a flickering flame. The crickets’ tune vibrated in the

night air. He could not think about the morrow. Blaise never

wanted this moment to end. He was nothing without her. He

pressed his lips harder against hers, claiming her, putting his mark upon her. On the morrow, somehow, someway, he would make