The Reckless Oath We Made - Bryn Greenwood Page 0,65

to bear. I pushed her hand away.

“Did you just parry me?” she said. She stepped back and sat herself down upon the pallet. With her hands gone from me, my heart calmed and I perceived my villainy.

“Lady, I meant no offense.”

“I’m not offended, but it’s not a sword fight. All you had to say was no. Or nay.”

“I said not nay.”

“Then what? You brought me here and fed me your food and put me in your bed. Why?”

“Little knight, she is nigh naked for thee,” said Gawen. “Thou hast seen and smelt the hair of her cunt. Lady or no, dragon or no, she offereth herself to thee.”

“Like a bitch in heat,” Hildegard said. “Thou art of no import to her. The slattern would open her legs to any man.”

“And he runneth like a frighted whelp.”

“I am no coward,” I said.

“I know you’re not,” Lady Zhorzha said, laughing.

“But I am more fitted to battle than bower. I shall go, for I would not offend thee further.”

“Wilt thou leave her to Sir Rhys? He would not retreat thus,” Gawen said. “If not afraid, art thou unable?”

“I am able.”

“Unwilling to fight leaveth a man as dead as unable to fight. Show her thou hast some fire.”

“’Tis not fire,” Hildegard said. “’Tis filthy lust. She hath no shame, and thou must have it for ye both.”

I would hear the Witch’s wisdom, but she was silent.

“Stay and finish the story,” Lady Zhorzha said. “I promise I won’t touch you again. Unless you want me to.”

“Lady, thy lips are soft and thy breath is sweet.” I longed to have her ken me, but I kenned not myself.

“I wager her cunt is soft and sweet,” Gawen said.

“Yea, and were the deed done, mayhap ’twould all turn to bitterness,” I said.

“What does Gawen say?” she said, for I could not conceal it from her.

“I care not, my lady. I would not have thee despise me.”

“Oh,” she said upon a sigh. “Like I haven’t had sex with people I despised.”

“I would not be numbered among them. Where aren they? Standen they ready to take up a sword to defend thee?”

“No, they’re long gone.”

“And when thou scorneth me, wilt thou allow me to stay? I think thou wilt send me from thee.”

“What if I promised not to send you away?”

“Wilt thou? Swear such a vow?”

“Sure,” she said, tho she smiled. I knew not if ’twas in jest.

“Sooth? Thou wilt not send me away from thee?”

“I won’t. I promise.” Her voice was soft, and so by a venture she spake truth. “But how do you know you’ll be ready to defend me with your sword if you haven’t tried it?”

“She meaneth thy prick,” Gawen said.

“Yea, I ken she meaneth my prick.”

“What about your prick?” she said much amused, for I misspoke to her.

I knew not how to answer, for certs I was able, but was I willing?

“Finish your story, Gentry. So what about Pressyne? What the heck was she?”

“Some say Pressyne and Melusine alike weren water nymphs, like as the Lady of the Lake that stole Sir Lancelot when he was a babe.”

“A water nymph!” Lady Zhorzha laughed and coiled upon her side that I might see the phoenix burning upon her limb. I looked, tho Hildegard said, “Filth” and “Slut.”

I took up the tale again, tho ne my liver ne mine heart weren at peace.

“’Twas Melusine first among Pressyne’s daughters who learned why they lived exiled in Avalon. Quick as she knew it, she was wroth and swore to revenge her father’s slight against her mother. She betook her sisters to the place of their birth in Alba, whence they kidnapped King Elynas. They also took his riches, and secured them in a cavern until they might devise their revenge.

“When their mother heard what they had done, she was full wroth. For tho she loved him no more, tho she forgave him not, she would not that his own daughters shew him uncourtesy. She cast them three out and cursed them, but most especially Melusine that had plotted this act against her father. Melusine, like her mother, was cursed to take the form of a monstrous sea serpent, not only in her bath or in birth, but upon each Saturday, from sunup to sundown.

“Exiled from Alba and from Avalon, Melusine and her sisters wandered til, one day, they came upon a lone huntsman in the forest of Poitiers. He was distraught and unburdened himself of his sad tale. That morn, he and the Duke of Poitiers, that was his