Gwenhwyfar dressed in her usual over-sized linen shirt and trews the morning after Arthur’s public acknowledgement of his infant daughter with the priestess, Nimue. Gwenhwyfar was sorry now that she had worn the low-cut, tight gown to the ceremony for she had seen how the evil Maelgwyn and his mercenaries leered at her yesterday, even though they had looked quickly away. She had wanted to provide a contrast to the simple pale blue and white robes that the ethereal Nimue wore and unfortunately, the effect had gone awry. Today Gwenhwyfar was back to normal

She grew bored. Everyone had something to do in anticipation of this afternoon’s tournament and feast. Cai was in charge of the food preparations, Lancelot was practicing with some of his men for the games later, Palomides had gone to get the horses ready, and Arthur was in the map room with Uriens discussing the problems in the north with a rebel named Hueil. She would have liked to have taken part in that discussion, but Arthur had told her not to worry her pretty little head about it. As if her father hadn’t trained her in war strategies! She watched the field practice for a while, admiring the way Lancelot rode as though he were one with the horse, guiding him only with powerful thighs and leaving muscular arms and shoulders for weaponry. She sighed and then wandered to the paddock. Her favorite colt, Safere, nickered and trotted over to her.

Gwenhwyfar stroked his soft muzzle. “You wouldn’t toss me if I were to ride you alone today, would you, boy?” she asked. She had been working steadily with the young horse. He pawed the ground.

She made up her mind. Quickly, she saddled him and mounted. No one would notice if she rode for a few miles. She’d be back well before the games began. Eric and Gustav, Maelgwyn’s Saxon mercenaries, came around the corner and stopped, watching her. She ignored them and was readying an excuse for the gate guard, but noticed there wasn’t one this morning. Unusual, but there were plenty of people around. Safere trotted out the gate and down the road.

The horse behaved beautifully. Gwenhwyfar held him to a slow canter, not risking the full gallop. He wasn’t even winded when she stopped by the circle of stones several miles later. She had not gone inside it for the ceremony. Today, she felt reckless.

She dismounted, dropped the reins over his head and left Safere to graze on the grass by the hazel trees. She hesitated when she got to the spot where they had stood yesterday. It felt different, but maybe it was her imagination. She stepped between the tall, blue menhirs.

Inside the circle, she felt peaceful. A small flock of meadowlarks soared through, their yellow breasts brilliant, the buzz-like air-song sweet. Somewhere over the small hill, she could hear the sound of the tumbling water of the river Cam. She went to the altar stone, and touched it tentatively, then drew her hand back quickly. A spark had come from the stone.

She heard horses approaching. Idly, she wondered if she had been seen and Arthur had sent someone to escort her home. She stepped out of the circle as the two riders rounded the curve by the copse.

They were Maelgwyn’s men, the two Saxons. Quickly, she stepped back behind one of the stones.

They stopped and dismounted. A moment later, she heard the sound of a whip and Safere’s scream, then his hooves pounding away at a flat run.

“Gwenhwyfar!” one of them called out. “Where are you?”

She crouched, hidden behind the stone.

“She’s here someplace,” Eric said and pointed to the stones. “Probably up there.”

Gustav held him back. “Those places have old magic in them. Let’s look around first.” They moved off.

Gwenhwyfar fought the panic welling up inside of her. She had to get to their horses. The Saxons had stopped just over the hill, arguing about how far up the stream to look or whether they should separate.

Finally, after some minutes, they started to move again. She slipped away from her stone and quietly approached the horses. One of them whinnied and she froze, halfway between safety and escape. She heard one of the men returning.

She ran to the horses, which made them edgy, and was trying to get her foot in the stirrup when Eric saw her. She got mounted just as he grabbed for the reins.

The horse had been trained for battle and was not the Saxon’s personal mount. It responded to her kick and reared up, striking out with its hooves as it was taught. Eric backed away, but Gustav joined him, coming around on the other side. The horse kicked out with its back legs. Gwenhwyfar took the extra length of rein and started swatting at the men.

If only I had a sword! I was a fool to ride out without a weapon. Thankfully, she noted neither of them was armed either.

The destrier did his best to respond to her commands. Finally, Gustav grabbed the rein close to the bit and pulled the animal’s head down. Eric reached for Gwenhwyfar and she kicked him.

“You’ll pay for that one, little queen,” he jeered and lunged for her again. She clung to the saddle, her legs gripping the frightened charger.

Eric struggled to dislodge her while Gustav held the horse still. Finally, he dragged her off and threw her to the ground. Panting, he stood still for a moment.

Gwenhwyfar leapt to her feet and ran; Gustav sprinted after her, eventually able to grab one arm. She turned and punched him as hard as she could in the stomach and then brought her knee up to his groin. He groaned in pain and sank down.

She struggled loose and ran again, but Eric was mounted and caught up with her easily. He half-lifted and dragged her back to the copse, dangling from the horse.

Gustav sat, moaning. “I guess it will be your turn, first, brother. I’ll try to hold her for you.”

Gwenhwyfar kept moving, thrashing her arms and legs. She managed to kick Gustav again and he went down cursing. Eric had a hard time pinning her but finally, he managed to throw himself over her. Gustav crawled to them and pulled her arms painfully over her head.

She spit in Eric’s face and he slapped her, hard, before he ripped her shirt open and greedily helped himself.

*

Lancelot was astride his black stallion, Pryderi, when he saw Safere galloping up the road, riderless. He shouted to Palomides to catch the colt. Pryderi reached out for his full stride before they cleared the gate.

She must have been thrown… She probably went out alone. He knew she didn’t want to spend time in the hall while Nimue was there. He had planned to stay with her this morning, but she had insisted he work with the men.

Lancelot heard her scream as he drew near the hazel copse. He came around the curve and saw two men galloping off. He started to give chase, but then he saw Gwen.

She lay crumpled in a heap, her shirt in shreds around her, her arms covering her face. He pulled off his own shirt as he ran to her. “It’s Lance, Gwen, you’re safe now,” he said as he dropped beside her.

She reached out blindly, pulling herself up against him, clinging to him, shaking. He saw that her face was bruised, one of her lovely green eyes nearly swollen shut. He ran his hand along the soft, warm skin of her back and felt something sticky. She was bleeding.

“What have they done, Gwenhwyfar? How badly are you hurt?”

She only buried her face deeper into his neck. Finally, her muffled voice came to him faintly. “I feel so dirty, Lancelot, so unclean.”

He held her tighter, stroking and smoothing her disarrayed auburn curls. “You’re safe, Gwen. I’ll find them.”

He started to wrap his shirt around her when she sat up and he did a sharp intake. Her left breast was already bruising badly near the teeth marks. Her right breast had long, bloody scratches across it. His face hardened and his smokey eyes turned dark.

“I will kill them, Gwen. Slowly. I give you my oath.”

She closed her eyes. “Just make me feel clean again and not used. Please.” She took one of his hands and pressed it to her bare breast.

For a minute, he didn’t grasp her meaning. Does she want me to…by the gods, her breasts are beautiful…I always knew they would be. Very gently, he cupped the bruised one and bent, taking the nipple of the other in his mouth, laving it lightly with his mouth and then suckling carefully. She groaned and gripped him tightly. He nuzzled her neck and softly parted her swollen lips with his tongue, tasting the saltiness of her tears. The kiss lingered and grew and deepened. He knew he should stop; this was developing into unbridled passion and Gwenhwyfar was not his. But she felt so vulnerable in his arms, and her breasts were so soft pressed against his naked chest. Ah, Gwen, why did you marry Arthur? With tremendous effort, he tore himself away from her embrace.

She sighed and opened her eyes and brushed his dark hair off his forehead with a caress that just about made him forget his honorable intentions.

“Maelgwyn’s men. The Saxons…they followed me.”

Guilt flooded him. I let the bloody bastards go that night Gwen was nigh abducted. “They will be dealt with and Maelgwyn, too, if he is any part of this,” Lancelot said grimly. “But first, I need to get you home.” He helped her into his shirt and fastened the laces. “Can you walk?”

She nodded. “You came before they could get my trews off.”

When she stood, however, she wobbled. He whistled for Pryderi and lifted her into the saddle, mounting behind her. She settled against him as he wrapped his arms around her and set the horse into a comfortable, rocking-chair canter.

As they reached the main road, they met Arthur, Uriens, and Palomides.

Lancelot brought Pryderi alongside Valiant. “Maelgwyn’s Saxons,” he said quickly, “tried to rape her. They rode toward his place.”

Arthur leaned over and touched the side of Gwenhwyfar’s bruised face. His mouth set in a hard line. “How badly are you hurt, Gwen? Did they…”

She shook her head. “Lancelot got there in time.”

He gave Lancelot a grateful look and nodded. “Take her home, Lance, and take care of her. I’ll get the details later. I’m going to ride after them. And have Maelgwyn waiting when I get back. If he’s any part of this, he’s a dead man.” He spun Valiant around and was gone, Palomides and Uriens thundering after him.