The Hallowed Isle Book Three Read Online Free PDF Page B

successor? The lords of Britannia had refused to make her husband their king because his power was too far from the center of things, but in the time that was coming, it might be that only a king whose strength lay on the borders could hope to rule. A king like my son . .  . she thought, smiling grimly, my Medraut.. .  .
    â€œAnd there is this to think on,” said Tulach. “They say that the people of the south have abandoned their gods. The new religion teaches love, and peace. Is it any wonder that the empire has fallen? You think you keep the old ways here, my queen, but among the Pretani we have preserved the ancient traditions in all their purity. It is not only our menfolk who have power!” The silver ornaments clasped in the tight curls of her bronze brown hair chimed softly as she nodded.
    Morgause smiled thinly. “It is true that there are many in Britannia who follow the Christos, but I am the daughter of the Lady of the Lake and the heir to its mysteries.”
    â€œNo doubt, but there are things we could teach you, Morgause.”
    Morgause did not answer her. The dust of Leudonus’ cavalcade was fading, and it was time to go in. She could not deny that for a moment Tulach’s offer had tempted her. But the power that waited on the Isle of Maidens was bred in her, blood and bone. It had been too long since she had tasted its waters and breathed its air.
    She should pay her mother a visit, she thought then, and take Medraut. It was time Igierne met her youngest grandchild.
    * * *
    â€œWell, Morgause, motherhood certainly agrees with you. You are blooming like a rose!” Ebrdila grinned toothlessly and patted the bench beside her. Behind her, the roses in Igierne’s garden had been trained over an arbor. In this sheltered spot, the red blooms clustered in profusion, scattering bright petals upon the path.
    True , thought Igierne, surveying her daughter with a more critical eye, but this rose is beginning to look just a bit blown .
    Morgause still had a fine, full figure, but after five children, her breasts no longer rode high, and the muscles of her belly had not yet recovered their tone. But it was her face that had prompted the observation, as Igierne noted the permanent high color in the cheeks, and around the mouth, the first faint lines of discontent. Ebrdila’s old eyes might not be able to see it—but then Morgause had been her special pet since the days when Igierne, newly married to Uthir, had left the girl in her care.
    â€œOh, I am very well!” Morgause gave the old woman a swift hug as she sat down beside her, “and so is my baby. Is he not a fine boy?” She smiled complacently at the child who was playing with the rose petals in the path.
    â€œHe is indeed,” answered Ebrdila, “just like his mother!”
    Igierne had to admit the boy was handsome, though most children, however ugly as babies or gawky as they grew, were plump and rosy at this age. Had Artor been so sweetly rounded when he was two, so seriously intent upon the wonders of the world? Regret for the lost years ached like an old wound in her breast. This boy’s hair shone like burnished bronze in the sunlight—Morgause had been the same—but when he looked up, Igierne found herself disconcerted by his considering stare. Then he grabbed for another rose petal and laughed, and the odd moment was gone.
    Igierne cleared her throat. “And how is Leudonus?” For a moment Morgause simply stared at her. Your husband , thought Igierne, surely you remember him, even if he is not the father of this child .
    â€œHe is in Isca with Artor,” Morgause answered, a little defiantly. “He took Gwyhir into his household with Gualchmai. But surely you knew that—do not you and your son correspond? I thought he asked your advice every time he wiped—”
    â€œMorgause!” Ebrdila chided gently, “There is no need to be