Tweet of the Day: Writing Excuses 7.7: Historical Fantasy
Leodegrance and I stood side by side at the top of the hill. We watched a long line of refugees snake up the road to the hill fort. Farmers and their families fled the growing Saxon horde. From the West came reinforcements. Allied kings heeded the Champion’s call.
Among the riders, one stood out. Its horse galloped at full speed through the lower western gate. Horse and rider traversed the twisted path that hugged the hills contours with practiced ease.
“There is only one person I know that can ride like that,” said King Leodegrance.
“Who, Sire?” I asked.
“My daughter,” he said.
“What is she doing here?”
Leodegrance ran a hand over his bald pate, “We are about to find out.” She jumped from the saddle into her father’s arms.
“Father, I’ve missed you! And here is the hero far away from home,” she said with a wink at me.
“We shall celebrate your return, Guinevere. Tonight we feast,” said the King.
There was more to the feast than a daughter’s homecoming. For it was held among the wagons and tents of those who had fled their homes. The act of a king who shared his wealth with the people. In return they would give him his fealty and silver. He would soon ask the same men to turn back and join his army to repel the very enemy they had just fled.
Bards sang, women dance, men drank. Out of nowhere came Guinevere, cups in hand.
She handed one to me, “Here!”
I drank deeply from the cup. It had been awhile since I could set aside the dangers of the battlefield. A while too since I seen fair Guinevere, her radiant smile, her dark eyes, the bounce on her step. My focus sharpened. I saw nothing but her. Every strand of long dark hair that cascade over her shoulders. The slight turn of the nose. The long fingers of her hands.
She faced me, “Arthur, answer truly, please…do you love me?”
She took me by the hand to a secluded spot. We kissed. We embraced. Our lips met, our hands caressed, our bodies met. A short, hot summer night passed between us. How we ended up in a tent in morn, I do not know, but there we were. She slid up my body until we were nose to nose.
“Do you love me, Ambrosius?”
I never felt more sure about the answer.
“Yes, I do.”