Bastard's Beginning

Chapter Six

Morgause

The lake was as clear as glass when Morgause peered into it. The urge to run her fingers along the smooth surface, to disrupt its perfection, was strong. Her lips curved as she remembered one of the few happy memories she had from when she lived in Lothian.

Her body ached. A virgin when she had joined with her husband in the marriage bed, his attentions had been as polite and careful as such an act could be performed, yet still, he'd become maddened in the pursuit of his release, surging within her as he panted against her throat. Morgause had clung to the sheets and forced her desperate pleas for him to stop down, stubbornly refusing to voice her weakness.

The physical pain was something she could endure. The shattering of her heart and spirit was of an entirely different matter. The loneliness clawed at her mind until she feared she would lose her sanity, become nothing more than an animal, incapable of anything other than shrieking until she lost her voice. Only eighteen years old and she felt older than her bones, wearied to the point of longing for the sweet release of oblivion.

The cool kiss of the lake felt blissful against her skin, the little grove she had found, a shelter from the oppressive heat of high summer. Morgause floated on her back, the thin cotton of her shift transparent as it billowed around her amidst the water. Tucked away under the protection of Lothian's oaks, she closed her eyes.

They burnt, itching with unshed tears, yet she could not release them. Even here, with no one but herself present, she could not allow a slip in her defences. To open the wall she had built, to allow her emotions to run freely, would only invite madness. Morgause twisted in the water, pressing her feet to the floor of the lake and standing straight. She opened her eyes and gasped. Pale grey eyes were fixated upon her.

A man crouched upon the bank, broad shouldered and brown haired. A knight, she realised. Of her brother's court. Her eyes narrowed instinctively. Lamorak. The name drifted to her mind as pale moonlight washed over his features, revealing the jagged scar that ran from his brow to taper at his throat. Perhaps any other woman would duck down, hiding her nudity beneath the depths of the water as she stammered her mortification.

Morgause bore her husband's name, possessed the rank of Lady of Lothian. However, Le Fey magic thrummed through her veins. It was power passed from mother to daughter, and the mere idea of their line producing such a shrinking violet would be enough to have all who came before her turning in their graves. Morgause Le Fey lifted her chin and squared her shoulders with such impudence, the knight's steely countenance shattered and his eyes widened.

"My brother sent you." She curled her upper lip and the very air tingled as her magic writhed within her like a snake, begging for release, its sibilant whisper ever a temptation that rose from her chest to her ears. Her stomach burned and the bitter taste of her own poison welled at the back of her throat.

Lamorak tilted his head and remained silent. He goaded her with his quietness, with his stillness. With those strange eyes that had not once trailed from her face to observe the all too visible curves of her body. Morgause sought a reaction from the knight, as she did from everyone else. Angry people made mistakes. They were easier to handle, easier to manipulate.

"And like a good dog, you obey. Like a servant, a lowborn ready to jump to his master's commands." Her mouth echoed the serpentine hiss of her magic, the s' lingering between her teeth, her tongue savouring each vowel.

"You hide your distaste for your circumstances poorly," The knight murmured. "Perhaps it would be in your favour if you were to cooperate. The Lord of Lothian is strict, but fair. I have known men to whom marriage would be nothing but misery."

An incredulous laugh burst from Morgause's mouth. "Misery? What could you possibly know of misery?"

The woman strode forwards, her wake churning with the strength of the motion. "My family was destroyed. My mother was raped and my sister, my twin, now sides with the man who calls himself our brother. Yet he sold me to Lot in some pathetic attempt to appease me. As if I could be pandered to like a child, given a stranger's title in place of my own true birth right. I was the future Lady of Cornwall, where my family's magic is strongest, where my children should rule once they prove themselves."

Morgause's eyes flashed and she stared down at the man who remained crouched at her feet. "All this was done at the hands of Uther. My brother's father," She spat the last word like a curse. "Who's actions, or so I am told, are being undone by Arthur. All wrongs righted, justice brought to the land once again. Where is my justice? Where is my family's justice?"

Lamorak remained silent.  Her lips peeled back into a snarl, her shoulders bared as if ready to fight despite her small size and she remained unashamed of her nakedness. But her eyes. The solemnity of those eyes, the grave sadness, was gone. Instead, her fury incinerated the haunting quality.  Morgause was beautiful in her rage. The sun turned her hair to crimson fire, crackling around her milky skin, and Lamorak was struck by the bone deep need to be branded by the most magnificent woman he had ever seen.

A figure strode from the tree line. Sword at his hip, mouth pursed into its usual scowl. Such a pallid shade were his eyes, disturbing with their strange, ghostly colour. Beloved. The softening of the steel shade, the merest tilt of his lips, the way his pace hastened upon sight of her. Sir Lamorak, knight of King Arthur's court and Lady Morgause's personal guard, knelt and enveloped his lover in his arms.

"My Lady." He murmured, shifting to cup her face in his hands. Morgause accepted his kiss, angling her head as his lips met hers.

"It has been too long." She replied breathlessly as they parted reluctantly. The pair of them settled into a more comfortable position, Morgause settling her back to his chest and extending her legs to their full length.

The knight grasped a handful of silken hair in his fist, admiring its gloss as it trickled through his fingers. "How is our daughter?"

Margause smiled tenderly. "She is well. Missing you sorely, of course. Gareth is trying his best to provide ample distraction for her."

Lamorak sighed. "I've missed her very much. Life is incredibly dull without my little owlet to brighten my days."

Dark eyes narrowed quickly and Morgause twisted her torso to fix the man with a piercing stare. "You gave our six year old child weapons."

The knight smoothed his expression quickly, but Morgause's lips thinned at the spark of mischief he was unable to hide from her. "Did she like them?"

"That is besides the point, Lamorak! Even Gareth still uses wooden weapons."

Lamorak scowled. "Gareth's circumstances are entirely different from Mordred's." He continued speaking, his voice firm even when Morgause tried to intervene. "Our daughter will have to grow up faster than other children. It's not something I'm happy about, but there is no skirting the truth."

His face gentled at the fear in her eyes and he pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. "You know it, Morgause. Besides, Mordred is very responsible for her age. I trust she will be sensible and I have explained the dangers of misused weapons since she could begin following me around the training yard."

Morgause conceded the point with a sigh, relaxing back into Lamorak's embrace. "True enough," She acknowledged. "Mordred possesses a rare amount of good sense in such matters. Truly my opposite in most ways. Although..."

The woman's brow wrinkled. "Although?" Lamorak prompted with a raised brow.

"Part of me wonders if such good behaviour is merely because she has not had the inclination to disobey quite yet. She has only Gareth for a friend after all, and he is very much an older brother first and foremost. He would not allow her to make rash decisions."

Lamorak followed her line of thought. "You believe she might begin to rebel if she makes friends her own age?"

Morgause sighed. "Perhaps I wish for it," She admitted, her eyes dulling. "Truly, she lives such an isolated life. Sometimes I can't help but wish she had friends to lead her astray."

Lamorak snorted a laugh. "Something tells me, my love, you may yet come to regret those words."