Queen of the Summer Stars Read Online Free PDF Page B

for her with you…She still talks about the months we spent at Court when you and Arthur were first married, and I’d feel better knowing she was under your protection.”
    “I’ll look after her, M’lady,” I promised.
    “Good…” Igraine’s fingers had taken hold of mine and she gave them a little squeeze.
    “There is little else about that night you could not imagine for yourself,” she murmured, drawn back again to Tintagel. “I own that I was fully aware Uther was not my spouse, and those who claim that Merlin turned him into such a perfect likeness of Gorlois it fooled even me, credit the Enchanter with more magic than common sense.” She smiled wryly. “Can you believe anyone thinking a woman couldn’t tell the difference between two men?”
    When Ulfin, who had accompanied his king disguised as one of Gorlois’s men, rapped sharply on the door, Uther rose and dressed hastily. Once he slung the black cape over his shoulders, Igraine got up and came to stand in front of him, settling the cloak more firmly and drawing the hood up in case one of the sentries looked too closely at his face.
    Staring up at the sharp features and burning eyes, she prepared to say good-bye. This was not a relationship to be woven into everyday life, but a gift from the Gods—a touching beyond time that no human could gainsay. They were not the first the Goddess had brought together this way, nor would they be the last, but Igraine knew better than to think it might continue. With deft fingers she traced the line of his cheek before rising on tiptoe to whisper farewell.
    Uther’s expression was hard and quick, as though he were already threading his way past guard and sentry in his bid to leave his enemy’s stronghold undiscovered. But he softened for a moment and promised he would find some pretext for making an honorable truce with Gorlois. Then he was gone.
    The Duchess returned to bed, too drained to think about the night’s events and too stunned to wonder what kind of child might come of such a union. She lay across the tangled covers, clutching a pillow in her arms and drifting on the edge of time until the day should properly begin.
    But dawn brought word that Gorlois had died in a night raid against the High King’s camp, and her household was set buzzing with questions as to how the Duke’s spirit could lie with his wife hours after his death.
    Igraine reeled before the news, seeing her world splinter around her. Sorrow and anger warred through her normally calm nature, and she stood like a statue in the center of the storm, staring out across the sea and listening to the cry of the wheeling gulls.
    Her daughters crept fearfully into her chamber, clambering onto the rumpled bed and clinging to each other in terror. At thirteen Morgause had grown into a handsome girl with the high, ruddy coloring of Gorlois, though now her face was white and frightened and she whimpered softly. It was ten-year-old Morgan, dark and cunning, who narrowed her green eyes and glared around the room with the fierceness of a cornered animal.
    “Will King Uther make us slaves?” Morgause’s voice was barely audible. “Or will he kill us outright, as he killed Father?”
    “I…I don’t think he’ll do either,” Igraine answered, trying to sound more certain than she felt. “And we don’t actually know who killed your father. If he was leading an attack against the King, he was probably killed in battle by a man attempting to defend himself.”
    The widow’s voice trailed off as her daughters stared at her in disbelief, refusing to consider Gorlois’s death anything but murder. Morgan’s black brows came together in a scowl and she sprang off the bed with the high, unearthly scream of a banshee.
    “I can smell him,” she shrieked. “Uther, the Roman who calls himself High King…he stalks Tintagel like a beast, sating his appetite on our family!”
    Igraine gaped at her daughter in astonishment. Could the child have the