Isolde: Queen of the Western Isle (46 page)

Home!

She could not wait for the gangplank to drop into place. "Come, Brangwain!" she called, making a leap for the shore.

"Lady, lady!" protested Brangwain, following as fast as she could. "Wait for the guard!"

Along the path, the first celandines covered the grass in handfuls of pale gold. On all sides the rough ground was enlivened by green shoots of spring. Misty harebells were whispering their secrets to the mad March wind, and flights of swallows were swooping in from their winter haunts.

Gods above! Brangwain lamented as Isolde skimmed ahead of her like a bird, flying up the hill from the bay. Surely she knows that the Queen will not have changed—that Sir Tolen will be everything now that Sir Marhaus was before—that the Queen will be under his sway, and her mother will always be a child to her—

Brangwain looked up the hill at the palace and her spirits sank. No, Isolde does not know this. And nothing but hurt and disappointment lie ahead.

Mother
—
Home
—

A great roar greeted them as Isolde approached. All the dogs came bounding out from the palace to lick her hands, howling with joy. And all the people of Duhh Lein, it seemed, had turned out to welcome her home.

"It's the Princess!"

"She's Queen of Cornwall now, noddle-head!"

"Queen Isolde!"

"The Queen!"

"Isolde!"

At the head of the steps stood the Queen with all her knights. Foremost among them was Sir Tolen, his narrow hips thrusting suggestively, his handsome face composed in a confident smile. She saw Sir Gilhan bowing with tears of joy in his eyes, and the other knights and lords offering greetings too. But Sir Tolen was still to the fore as the Queen fluttered down the steps and wept on Isolde's neck.

"Isolde," she said tremulously, squeezing Isolde's hand. "Little one, I'm so happy to see you here!" She looked over her shoulder at Tolen and gave a quick secret smile. "And so is my knight."

Sir Tolen arranged his empty young features into an air of manly joy. "Your Majesty!" he declaimed to Isolde, bowing low.

The Queen looked on like a mother watching her firstborn learning to dance. "See, Isolde?" she said lyrically.

Isolde suppressed a sad smile. "Yes, Mother, I do." Inside the palace, the Queen dismissed Tolen, but even as he went, her hungry gaze followed him to the door. Isolde could tell from Tolen's loose, cat-like walk that the knight knew this and played up to it shamelessly. The Queen's eyes caressed him with lascivious delight.

"Mother!"

Isolde could not contain herself. "Even a queen waits for bedtime, like everyone else!"

"Oh, so?" The Queen stared and laughed. "Isolde, how you've changed!"

"Yes, I have." A huge weariness swept over her and she wanted to weep.

The Queen swept to a sofa and patted the place at her side. "Come and sit by me."

Reluctantly Isolde sat down. She felt the weight of Igraine's locket round her neck and took it in her hand.
Is this the moment of need?
"You wanted me back, madam?"

The Queen tossed her head. "Isolde, I never wanted you to leave, you know that."

"I know." In spite of herself, Isolde was moved. "But you sent for me. You had something important to say?"

The Queen's mood shifted like a weathervane and a joyful secret moved in her dark eyes. She leapt to her feet and strode airily up and down.

"We must look to the future," she announced, waving her hands. "The time is coming for me to give up the throne. You'll be Queen of the Western Isle, Isolde—what d'you think of that?"

Whatever Isolde had expected, it was not this. Her mouth fell open. "
Whay?
"

The Queen stared in angry reproof. "Now, Isolde, don't look so surprised! You know you'll make a better Queen than I have."

What are you up to, Mother?
There was something here she did not understand. She searched for a reply.

"Madam," she said carefully. "You're far too young to give up the throne. We don't need to think of this for years to come."

And I don't believe you will do it, Mother dear!
Without a second's thought, she could see it all—her mother ostentatiously handing over power, then staying behind to advise her on every point—the Queen insisting that she was Queen no more, yet still seeking to advance Sir Tolen and all her favorites to places around the throne—

Goddess, Mother, no!

The Queen glimmered at her. Again Isolde had the sense of a secret she did not share.

"I may surprise you, little one." She gave a swift gurgle of laughter, hastily suppressed. "And sooner than you think." She rose to her feet and moved toward the door.

Going back to Tolen
, Isolde noted coldly.
To her love
. With a sudden rush of shame, she struggled to be fair.
He has made her happier and that means kinder and saner, too. But he cannot change her nature. She will always he Queen
. She took a deep breath. "Madam, I—"

The Queen gave her a strange sideways look. "At least help me with some of the cares of state. The King of Lyonesse is here. Will you receive him for me?"

"The King of Lyonesse?"

Tristan's father. Gods above!

"The King here? Why?"

"That is what you must find out."

He's come to blame me for starting the feud that estranged his son from Mark
—
or for loving Tristan at all
—

The Queen paused at the door with a smile. "I'll send in the King."

Or Tristan's dead! And he asked his father to bring me his last words before he died
—

She hardly noticed the Queen leave the room. She turned to the window, choking with grief and fear.
Have I lost you, Tristan, my love?

She heard the sound of the latch and the voice of the guard at the door. "This way, sire."

No tears
—
compose yourself
—

She took a deep breath and prepared herself to turn. But then she felt a hand on her shoulder and a voice she would have known through all the world. "Lady? Oh, my love!"

It was the voice she had been hearing since time began. Her heart leapt and danced in her breast and the tears flowed.

"Oh, oh, oh—"

He folded her in his arms with a hundred soothing cries. His face was warm, and his kiss was like sun on her skin. She could not stop touching his cheek, his hair, his hands.

Tristan
—"Oh, my love!"

They held each other delicately, like broken things. She heard a low crooning and felt him stroking her hair. Slowly the thundering in her head began to subside. It was a long time before either of them could speak.

At last she found her voice. Disengaging gently, she blinked up at him through her tears. "My mother said you were the King of Lyonesse," she began wonderingly.

"She told you the truth." For the first time she noticed the new seriousness in his face. "My father has died."

"Oh, my love—" She clasped his hand.
Always new pain
.

He nodded. "When I left you, I went back to my own land. I thought it was time to make my peace at home." Tears misted his eyes. "After all that had happened, I didn't want to die before I saw my father again. I never dreamed that he might be dying himself."

"Did you get there in time?"

"Thank the Gods, yes." He gave a watery smile.

You have lost your father, love, and my mother is lost to me
. She folded him in her arms.
We shall be father and mother to each other now
.

His mood swung, and he crushed her fiercely to his chest. "And all this time, never a day passed when I did not think of you! I made a hundred plans and rejected them all. I knew you were in danger as long as you were in Mark's hands. But that last day in the solarium, you'd had a letter from Ireland, so eventually it came to me that your mother might be able to get you back here."

She was amazed. "You wrote to her?"

He shook his head. "I came here in person to win her to our side."

She caught her breath. "Even though—"

He nodded grimly. "Even though the last time she saw me, she wanted to have me killed." He smiled grimly. "But I knew all her hopes for the kingdom lay with you. So I guessed she'd rather have you back alive than me dead."

"And you were right!" How good he was, how brave! She reached out to him again. "And while you've been getting me here, I've been trying to see if you can go back to Cornwall again!"

"Back to Cornwall?" He started violently. "How on earth could that come about?"

"Through Queen Igraine." She laid a soothing hand on his cheek. "Remember, she's Queen of Cornwall and Mark's overlord. Mark will forget his anger, she says, and give up his revenge. And as he is her vassal, she can command him to put aside all thoughts of a blood feud in Cornwall and live in peace."

Tristan longed to believe it. His eyes were fixed on her face. "Can it be?"

"Think of this, love." Isolde pressed his hands. "You have shed no blood. You never planned or intended any evil to Mark. Queen Igraine says you are free of this feud."

She could see the hope returning to his heart. "Praise the Gods!" he cried.

"And you're King of Lyonesse now," she went on, glowing with pride, "so Mark must deal with you as king to king. You're no longer the long-lost nephew, the landless boy."

"It's true." He laughed with joy, and color flooded his face. "And you're no longer Princess of the Western Isle," he added, wreathed in smiles. "Your mother says you'll be Queen of Ireland now."

Isolde found herself caught between laughter and a rueful despair. "She told you that?"

"That and much more. We have had many long talks in recent times, and she and I have become the best of friends." He put his head to one side, unsure how she would react. "She means what she says."

"She means it now!" Isolde shook her head. "But she was born to be Queen. That will never change."

"Circumstances change." He paused. "She wants to be with her new love."

"I know," she said darkly.

Tristan reached out and drew her into his arms. "He makes her happy," he said gently. "Anyone can see that."

"Yes…"

"And Sir Tolen is not another Marhaus, lady, that's obvious, too. So he'll never be a danger to the kingdom—or to you."

Igraine's voice came back to her.
And a Queen must have her knights
. "Oh, Tristan—"

How good he was, how sweet! "I will hear what she says," she said honestly, "and we'll see how things unfold. I'll try to accept whatever happens now."

"That's all I ask."

Joy blurred her eyes and the world melted in a soft fall of tears. Then a warmth began somewhere near her heart and she heard a low thrumming like a cobweb's song.

It was the locket, crooning to itself in bliss. "What's this?" Instinctively Tristan reached out for it, and it opened in his hand. Nestled inside lay a circle of emeralds in a band of gold. The green stones picked up the light in Tristan's eyes.

"My mother's ring!" he breathed. Like a man in a dream, he took it from its golden nest.

Now Isolde's tears fell like a waterfall. "But I left it with the Lady of the Sea!" she babbled. "How did it get from her cave? She must have given it to Queen Igraine—or Igraine must have—"

"Hush, lady," he said in a voice like the wind off the sea. "We'll know all this some day. Hear my oath now."

He was looking at her with starlight in his eyes. "As I rule my kingdom, I shall be with you step by step. And as you govern this great island, I shall be at your side. As the ivy and the honeysuckle, so are we. Wear this for me. I am yours for life."

He slipped the ring on her finger and she heard the voice of his heart.
This is the bridal of the earth and sea. You're the one, I am the other, and from now on we shall never he apart. Together we make a world of light and hope, a universe
.

I am yours, love
, her heart responded,
through all the three worlds
—
the world that is, the world that was, and the world that is to be. When our day ends, our souls will meet on the astral plane. Together we shall walk the world between the worlds
.

He drew her to him again as the twilight came down. "Come, love," he said.

Overhead the love star bloomed and a smiling moon looked down. Through a mist, the lovers moved hand in hand toward the dawn. They would ride through dark woodlands, they knew—every voyage they made could not be into the sun. But in the heart of the darkest forest the ivy and the honeysuckle flourished as one. And so it would be for them, their lives so intertwined that every line and curve of one traced the outline of the other in deepest love.

And always in the place of their hearts, the island the Old Ones loved. Always they would feel the call of the green hills, the longing to be in the land of the green trefoil. An island of heroes and poets, of scholars and scoundrels and those who loved the craic.

Ireland.

Erin.

Home.

~~~

A'isha
Gypsy fortune-teller, leader of wandering band of Gypsies pursued by Kay, Gawain, Lucan, and Bedivere

Amir
"The Beloved One," only son of Arthur and Guenevere

Andred, Sir
Cousin of Tristan and nephew of King Mark of Cornwall, son of Mark's younger brother

Arthur
Pendragon, High King of Britain, son of Uther Pendragon and Queen Igraine of Cornwall, husband of Guenevere, father of Amir, and leader of the Round Table fellowship of knights

Bedivere, Sir
Knight to King Arthur, one of his first companion knights, who takes part in the hunt for the fortune-teller to clear Arthur's name

Black Lands, King of
Vassal king of Arthur as High King, combatant at the tournament in Ireland for Isolde's hand

Brangwain
Lady-in-waiting and personal maid to Isolde, formerly maid to Isolde's mother the Queen and nursemaid to Isolde when she was a child, born in the Welshlands and thought to be "Merlin's kin"