Morning's Journey Read Online Free PDF Page A

execute such complicated moves had I not seen it for myself.” Her smile rose on the wings of a pleasant memory. “This morning, my husband was most insistent.”
    If her use of Caius’s rank pleased him, he didn’t show it. “Aye,” he allowed. “Arthur is nothing if not insistent.”
    “And I insist, Cai,” said Arthur, quietly but firmly, “that you show more courtesy to my bride.”
    The two men locked gazes. Caius burst into laughter.
    “You two, what a pair!” Still chortling, he slapped Arthur’s shoulder. “Saints in heaven, preserve us all!”
    She failed to see the reason for Caius’s mirth, but Arthur shared the laugh as he reached for her hand.
    “Time to reward the victors, Gyan.” He signaled a boy holding four wreaths standing a respectful distance away. The lad marched forward to surrender them to Gyan and withdrew with a bow.
    Amid the chorus of cheers, three of the four Argyll horsemen cantered to the platform.
    Despite her anxiety for Argyll’s absent teammate, she couldn’t suppress the surge of pride for her clan’s victory. The winners received more than the traditional laurel crowns. To the throng’s obvious delight, she leaned over the rail to bestow upon the brow of each warrior a lavish kiss.
    A hand pulled her back from the rail. “He’s here,” Arthur said.
    She looked past him toward the far end of the platform, where two medics descended the steps and departed in opposite directions as fast as the crowd would allow. On the platform, crimson-and-green-banded sky-blue cloaks of Clan Alban swirled beside legion scarlet as several men stood in a semicircle. Ogryvan, Per, and Rhys dismounted and made their way toward the group, as did Ygraine and Morghe. From the back, Gyan recognized Merlin by his silver ceremonial uniform and balding, iron-gray head. The slender, white-robed figure at his side presented another welcome sight, although how Niniane, renowned physician and prioress of Rushen Priory, could have reached the platform so quickly from where she’d been standing with other members of the clergy was a miracle in itself.
    A thicket of legs concealed the object of everyone’s attention from Gyan’s view. She sensed rather than saw her consort’s presence as she neared and the group parted to admit them.
    Blood and dust masked Angusel’s face. More blood matted his curly black hair and spattered his battle-gear. If his chest moved beneath its leather shell, only a person with a falcon’s eyes could see it.
    “I’ve sent a medic to fetch my medicines, Your Grace, and another for water and bandages.” Niniane regarded Merlin, clutching her crucifix. “With this crowd, it may be some time before they return.”
    “Then we must do what we can for the lad, Prioress,” he said.
    With the ease of a man half his age, the warrior-priest sank to his knees beside Angusel. Niniane joined him. They loosened the thongs holding Angusel’s breastplate and pushed it aside. Angusel didn’t respond. His limbs might have belonged to a child’s rag doll.
    Morghe stooped to pick up the breastplate, clutching it possessively. A mixture of sadness and fear pooled in her violet eyes, totally at odds with the Morghe Gyan knew. Then she recalled that Angusel and Morghe had been close companions before he’d chosen to devote himself to Gyan’s service. Ygraine wrapped her arm around Morghe’s shoulders.
    A medic joined the group, water sloshing over the rim of his bucket and a bandage roll tucked under one arm. Prioress Niniane tore off a strip and dipped it in the water. While she swabbed the blood and grime from Angusel’s too-pale face, Merlin laid an ear to the sweaty undertunic pasted to Angusel’s chest.
    When Merlin lifted his head, his look wasn’t encouraging. “His heartbeat is weak and irregular.” Gyan’s hopes fell.
    “What more can we do, Your Grace?” whispered Niniane as she gently wrapped Angusel’s bloody head. “Without my herbs and salves—”
    Merlin