~ Regardless Of Time ~

by

Cathy Miller

One

"No," Bedwyr ap Breiddan heard himself scream. His throat-ripping cry didn’t stop Kara or bring her scrambling back over the window’s edge to him from her magical world. Back to the life he offered her as his wife.

The red cloak he’d gifted to her earlier this evening during their formal betrothal slid from her fingers when she couldn’t free it from the briars that kept it anchored in his world. With a quick movement of his sword, Bedwyr sliced through the cloth, deftly flipping the section of wool attached to his cloak pin toward her. Catching the fabric, she looked at him, tears sliding down her face. Light from hundreds of candles behind her lit the fiery nimbus of her hair, each strand crackling and lifting from her scalp almost as if with a life of its own.

Something more than physical hands held him back, kept him from leaping after her.

"Wait for me. Please wait for me." Her words burned into his heart while, as he watched, her face faded back into her strange, alien world beneath the hollow hills. And he was helpless to stop her.

Her whispered words echoed in his brain as he struggled from the depths of sleep to wide-awake, gasping for air. The pre-dawn cold seeped beneath his blanket, chilling him to his soul. Sounds of his war-band stirring around him filled his ears. Several horses nickered.

By the Goddess, but he’d tried to wait for her. Almost an entire year had passed now. And the waiting had cost him dearly both in prestige and in the respect of his men. Yet the wound to his heart she’d caused him still had not healed. Rarely did two days pass without someone asking about his elven betrothed and if he’d seen or heard from her. Their disrespect to her, referring to that innocent as his lover, irritated him and left him feeling angry. Usually he recognized the questions as good-natured teasing. But some days he wanted nothing more than to strangle those who asked. Then there was the rift between him and his little brother--though that was healing, albeit slowly.

Bedwyr stretched and forced himself to rise from his rough bed of forest leaves and moss. The mist that had chilled him earlier clung thick as a curtain to the ground and trees, giving his men the appearance of ghosts as they moved. He shivered with more than the cold.

Without Artorius’s intervention on the night Kara vanished, Bedwyr knew he would have killed his little brother for the part he played in her disappearance. Dayffed’s treachery still rankled, even now nearly a year later. The boy freely admitted that he had helped the twins escape. And that he had been the one who first held Bedwyr back from following Kara into her strange world.

After the portal faded to Kara’s world, it had taken both the war leader and the combined strength of the assembled Combrogi to keep Bedwyr separate from his traitorous brother. Both Artorius and the members of that elite mounted fighting force had stood by him that night, drunk with him and watched over him as he grieved for his elven bride. How could she have put her grievously injured twin brother’s needs above his offer to take her to wife? While her loyalty to her family was credible, Kara need not have fled back to her world to find one who would protect her as Lord Artorius did his own wife.

The return up the hill from the vanished portal to the fortress of Deganway had been grim and the resulting drinking heavy spirited. The Lady Gwennuvar absented herself after proclaiming total and complete innocence concerning Kara’s intentions. And of course the war leader believed her, or at least gave lip service to her alibi. All these many months later, Bedwyr was not convinced the lady had spoken the truth. Not that it mattered any longer. The deed could not be changed nor Kara brought back.

The sound of a branch snapping alerted Bedwyr to the approach of one of his men. Rowulf, his tall, burly second in command, came to a stop in front of him, holding out a steaming cup of herbal tea. "You are far from this place, my friend. And you have not the look of a man happy to be going to his own betrothal feast." Rowulf pulled a leather cord from around his wrist and tied his blonde hair back out of his way.

Taking his first sip of the hot beverage, Bedwyr grimaced. Rowulf had no idea how accurate were his words. With the remnants of his dream of Kara still fresh, Bedwyr found it even harder to show the proper degree of enthusiasm for marrying his young cousin later this afternoon.

"Bedwyr?" Rowulf asked. He drew his sword and tested the blade’s sharpness.

"Sorry, Rowulf," Bedwyr said. "What were you saying?"

The other warrior shook his head. "I was saying that while this match is good for your people, it might not be what is best for you. Perhaps this once neither the High King nor Lord Artorius know your heart."

Bedwyr shrugged. "My heart is not involved. As a true Celt, I must obey the dictates of the Goddess, and strive for the survival of our land’s bounty."

"But how can we find harmony with the land when the Saxons overrun our farms and pollute our very air? And how can you achieve any kind of harmony with a wife you do not want?"

"Ah, do not plague me with your worries about harmony and oneness with the land. We all do what we must." Even though Bedwyr verbally dismissed Rowulf’s comments, his warrior’s opinion poked at his own festering thoughts.

Perhaps he was better off without the fey one as a wife. Artorius certainly seemed to think so. His childhood friend had encouraged Bedwyr to get on with his life and forget Kara’s desertion. Had she not proved herself untrustworthy?

Five months ago, winter had not yet settled its mantle over the land and the Saxons were enjoying a last round of raids before the winter storms closed the roads and bound them to their squalid settlements. Artorius and he still sat at the table after the evening’s meal. They’d dined this night in the hold of a minor lord grateful for the help he’d received in driving the Saxon scourge from his lands. The same hill lord looked to marry off at least one of his brood of daughters to any one of the warriors who made up Lord Artorius’s Combrogi.

"Even if your elf should magically reappear, Bedwyr," the war leader cautioned, emphasizing his position yet again, "you would be more than a fool to trust her words or to renew your intention to marry her. Bed her if you must but never trust her to bear your sons."

A winsome lass jiggled her ample bosom at Bedwyr and Artorius as she filled their drinking cups. Both men ignored her invitation. "You see, that is just what I mean," the war leader said.

"What? You’ve already said I’d be a fool to wed the elf should she come back. Have you changed your mind in the space of a few moments and Kara is suddenly acceptable as my wife?"

Artorius shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Have we not just finished a hearty meal provided by our host?"

"Aye."

"And is he now not seeing that you are offered a choice of willing partners to warm your bed this night?"

"I hadn’t noticed." Bedwyr stuffed the dice on the board in front of them back into the leather cup. "I’ve no desire for a wife and less desire to be saddled with one from these lands."

"You miss her still." Artorius picked up the dice cup. The two now sat in an island of quiet, the wine server having moved away.

Bedwyr took a healthy drink from his flagon, pointedly ignoring his friend.

"Come on. Admit it," prodded Artorius.

Slamming his hand on the board of the trestle top table, liquid sloshed over the rim of Bedwyr’s drinking cup. "For the last time, Artorius, I do not miss the elf and I am well rid of her." For several long beats he stared into the fireplace, ignoring his friend’s concerned looks, then shook his head. "Well rid of her, my friend. Have you not told me so time and again these many months?"

Artorius picked up the dice and let them fall onto the table. "So then you’ve decided to accede to your family’s wishes and marry your cousin come summer? I hear she’s pleasant enough to look at."

Bedwyr shrugged. "I’ve no feelings for the girl."

"Feelings for a wife aren’t necessary. In fact, they just get in the way."

With a grimace Bedwyr took the dice cup from his friend. "She’ll not be getting much of a bargain if she marries me. I doubt I’ll make much of a husband."

"She is a young woman. What more does she need than the security of your name? If you’re lucky she’ll bear your sons and run your estate, or at least stay to her solar and leave your second in charge to run it for you while you tend to the business of killing the Saxon swine."

Bedwyr didn’t answer. What was there to say? His friend was entitled to his opinions and Artorius rarely went to his bed alone.