Free Lancelot and the Wolf by Sarah Luddington Page B

hand outstretched to my face.
    I reacted violently. I threw myself backward and pushed her hard in the chest, sending her sprawling. “Don’t you fucking touch me. Don’t ever touch me again, you scheming bitch,” I growled at her. She went white with shock. “I would rather suffer a thousand whips on my back than ever have you touch me again. I will save Arthur,” as though it had been in any doubt. “But you do not come to me again, ever.” My rage and sense of betrayal; my self pity and misery were the only things which made any sense to my beleaguered mind.
    We didn’t speak other than to see to the camp. When she left me alone to see to her toilet, I wept silently. Eventually I felt able to sleep, but I had vivid evil dreams of slaughtered white doe’s and bloody wolf pelts. Of the antlers of a great white stag hung on the wall of a dark castle. I woke fitfully, my body racked in pain. Else watched, her misery clear, but she maintained her distance.
    When dawn came, I forbid her from touching Ash. I moved slowly, painfully, every muscle ached but I vowed I would break myself of my cravings for her body. My only goal to smash the spell placed on me. I would not love this fairy witch. She stayed quiet and small. My anger made Ash nervous and tetchy, he nipped and stamped every time I came close. It took a long time to saddle him and even longer to climb into my gambeson and hauberk. I mounted and a small whimper escaped my control as I settled in the saddle.
    “ Please, Lancelot, I beg you, let me ease your pain,” Else cried.
    “ Leave me alone,” I growled. “I will kill you if you touch me. Now, just get me out of this fucking wood and back to England. If Arthur doesn’t kill me on sight we might find a way through this shit.”
    “ Yes, my Lord,” she said humbly.
    We rode. I sweated, first burning with fire through my blood and guts, then so cold I thought I’d rather die than move another step. Everything hurt more than I had ever considered possible. I knew every sinew and bone which laced my body in an eternity of pain. We left the wood around midday and that night we paid for lodgings in a farmer’s hay barn. I curled around my pain and nursed my rage.
    It took almost a week but we made it to the coast. It rained constantly adding to my misery. We were too impoverished to pay for transport across the channel but Else vanished at one point and reappeared with a purse of small coins. I didn’t ask. I didn’t care. England beckoned regardless of my state of mind. I suppose I became accustomed to the pain and the terrible convulsions almost stopped. I merely ached, a hidden wound in my chest, which refused to heal, bleeding constantly.
    “ I have enough to take the horses,” Else said. She watched me drink strong liquor of indeterminate heritage. I’d taken to drinking heavily as we travelled, it helped ground me and made the withdrawal slightly less agonising.
    “ Well, I’m not leaving Ash here,” I snapped. “He’ll kill anyone other than Dillon.” I hid my relief from her, I needed Ash, he steadied my nerves and acted as an anchor. He gave me something real to hold onto, something that needed my concentration and dedication.
    We were in a town I didn’t use to reach England, Mont St Michel. Else knew it, she’d used it to hide her identity for some months. She now wore a simple dress of deepest green, a warm woollen cloak around her shoulders. The curls from her brown hair kissed her high cheekbones. She looked beautiful. I spent a great deal of time not watching her.
    I stared at a woman, obviously touting for business in the tavern, her dark blonde hair neatly tied back. I wondered idly what she’d feel like in bed. Then I realised I didn’t care. I didn’t ever want another woman in my bed. I never wanted another woman in any capacity in my life. Arthur might well be in danger and I would go to him, but once he knew of the threat, I planned on leaving Else. I also knew Stephen