[Fic] A Scandalous Friendship (pt. 3) - for i_claudia
[ Part I] | [ Part II]
Morgana sat back, stunned at what she had just said. Oh God, she admitted to killing Edwin. Oh God! What was she thinking? She had promised herself that she would never tell a soul, though the event still visited her ever night in her dreams. Oh God. It was the nightmare and Mordred combined. Her defences were down after that particularly horrendous nightmare, and Mordred’s voice was so soothing, and she cared for him so much...
"Please don’t tell anyone," she begged, panic in her voice. "I just couldn’t take it any more. He was a cruel man and he was queer. He used to invite other men into our marriage bed, did you know that? Boys he picked up of the street... Then he found a favourite, and kept bringing him back. They used to laugh afterwards." Huge sobs shook her body at the memories and she felt Mordred’s strong arms encircle her.
"Tell me what happened," he command gently, but firmly, and for once in her life, Morgana obeyed. She needed to get this off her chest.
"It was getting worse," she told him in a voice that held a definite waver. "He knocked me unconscious one night. I thought he would kill me. So the next day, when no one was around, I went to the kitchen. I found what they used to poison rats, and I took some. Not enough to make it noticeable, not enough to kill. Just enough to cause sickness and pain, and rather a lot of it. They were so smug, the both of them. They thought nothing could touch them. I slipped it into the brandy they always drank afterwards and they never noticed. Later that night, I went into Edwin’s chambers. They were in there, both of them on the bed. The poison had taken hold and they could barely move. But Edwin could still talk. He threatened me with death, dismemberment and everything in between, and the threats kept coming. It was so easy to pick up the pillow..." Her voice took a far away quality as she remembered the feeling of satisfaction, or triumph as she pressed it down over his face. His weak struggles, pathetic really, they barely even registered. So soon he stopped struggling and then stopped breathing...
"His whore saw what I had was doing, and he tried to get away, but he was too weak. One solid blow to the head with the candlestick was all it took. It was so quiet afterwards... so still. Edwin was gone and I was free. I cleaned the candlestick before I lit the wick and set the bed curtains on fire. It went up like a shot. The flames were everywhere..."
When she came back to herself, she found herself in Mordred’s arms and he was looking down at her with concern.
"Where did you go?" he asked quietly, and Morgana knew he wasn’t referring to after the fire.
"I was back there in the room, with the heat and the flame and the stench of burning flesh," she whispered. "Sometimes, I find myself back there and when I come to myself again, hours have past. It scares me."
"Trauma," Mordred nodded. "I’ve seen to happen before. Usually to men in the battlefield."
"It’s helped to talk about it," she said and Mordred pulled her close. The bond she felt with him strengthened the longer he held her. She knew he wouldn’t turn her in, that he would keep her secret. Even if it was because he had secrets of his own to hide, even if that was not the case, he would not turn her in.
"Oh Morgana," he whispered. "My beautiful Morgana. I can’t even begin to imagine what it was like to be married by such a man. I do not blame you and I certainly will not turn you in. You did the world a favour getting rid of a man like that. Will you tell me the rest?" he asked and she nodded.
"Once the fire consumed the bed, burning the bodies almost beyond recognition, I raised the alarm. I was lucky that the fire was mostly in the bed. The room was damaged extensively, but the rest of the house only had damage from smoke. The servants put out the flames and when they saw the two bodies... Geoffrey, my butler, sent for Arthur immediately, because he was one of the only people I trusted. He came and was absolutely horrified to see who was in bed with Edwin. He helped cover it up. The whore’s body was buried in an unmarked grave in one of the cemeteries later that day. Because he was so badly burnt, no one even checked for damage to his head. No one saw the wound."
"Pendragon helped cover it up?"
Something in Mordred’s voice gave Morgana pause.
"Yes. I know you don’t like him, but Arthur and his father have been good to me since Edwin’s death. They tried to do right by me when my father died, but Edwin was blackmailing my uncle Halig and
I was forced to marry him. Would that they had stopped this whole thing... Why did you sound so surprised there?" she asked him.
"It does not matter now," he dismissed. "I will explain later."
"No, you will explain now," Morgana demanded, pulling out of his arms and turning to face him. "Why did your voice go all funny when you asked about Arthur, and why should it matter?"
"If you’re sure..."
"I am."
"How did Pendragon react when he saw the bodies?"
"He was horrified, naturally."
"Are you sure that’s all it was?"
"Yes, why? Just tell me Mordred."
Mordred sighed before looking her straight in the eye.
"Arthur Pendragon, your saviour, is queer himself."
Morgana glared at him and hit his arm, hard.
"That’s not funny," she snapped.
"It wasn’t meant to be. I saw him with my own two eyes."
"Mordred, are you telling me that you saw Arthur with another man?"
"That’s exactly what I’m saying. I saw him kissing Emrys in the garden at the Wentworth’s ball."
Morgana looked as if she had been slapped.
"Merlin?" she asked incredulously. "You saw him kissing Merlin...Why should I believe you?"
"What reason do I have to lie?"
"You hate Arthur. You want to see him go down in my estimation."
"And why would I chose such a dangerous lie and drag his doctor friend into it?" Mordred asked patiently. "I am with you, my heart’s desire. You love me as much as I love you and that is all that matters. I do not need to tell such a lie about him to bring him down in your eyes. Your eyes are no longer on him."
Morgana went even paler than usual as she took in his words, and the implications.
"No, I cannot believe it," she said, shaking her head.
"Believe it, for it is the truth," Mordred said sternly. "And I can prove it."
"You can prove that Arthur is fucking Merlin?"
Mordred winced at the language coming out of Morgana’s delicate mouth, but he understood the sentiment behind it. The vulgar words were the only way for Morgana do show her utter distaste and disgust at the act.
"Give me a week. In that time, I will prove to you just how much that country doctor means to your precious Arthur."
~*~
Today had been a good day. Merlin’s patients had all been easily placated with either medicine or simply explaining their problem to them, and most, if not all, were set on the road to recovery. The sun was shining, for once, and all of London seemed to be in a good mood. But best of all, he was meeting Arthur in a few hours for the dinner, then for the opera. Life, as Merlin knew it, was good.
He saw an opening and cut across the street, avoiding carriages and horses alike and re-adjusted his grip on his doctor’s bag as he was nearly sent sprawling by a man walking opposite him. The stranger kept his head down and shouted an apology behind him as he hurried along, and Merlin resisted the urge to yell ‘prat!’ after him. He rotated his shoulder, wincing from the impact as he straightened his coat and turned down the side street to his home.
He never noticed the two men that fell into step behind him.
He definitely noticed the meaty hand that landed heavily onto his shoulder, spinning him around and slamming him into the wall. His head spun and he tried to kick out his feet, but his head was slammed against the wall again. Blood poured from the cut on his forehead down and into his eyes, half blinding him. He was turned around and he just had the time to take in too figures with their hats down low and scarves over their faces before the man not holding him in place slammed his fist into Merlin’s gut, and he was sent to his knees, gagging. He felt them rifling in his pockets for his coin, and through his bag for God knows what, and tried to push himself up. His head swam and he gagged at the motion before a foot connected with his stomach and he slammed to the ground once more.
As they ran off down the side street, he couldn’t even call out for help.
~*~
It was quite a surprise to Arthur when Lance knocked on the door to his library and told him that Lady Morgana was in is drawing room, waiting to see him. They hadn’t spoken since their fight the previous week, both too proud and angry to apologise for the harsh words they had spoke. It wasn’t their first argument, and would undoubtedly not be their last, and they usually needed a few days to cool off before being in each other’s company once more.
Morgana was seated on the low settee, but stood when he entered.
"Morgana," he said warily, painfully proper. Morgana rolled her eyes at him.
"Arthur, please." He nodded and indicated for her to sit.
"I trust you are feeling better," he said after a moment. "I hope you are at least thinking about what I asked of you. Be wary of him Morgana."
"I will," she promised and then sighed. "I came here to apologise for the way I treated you," and Arthur felt his jaw drop a little. He had been expecting a longer argument and a round-about way of saying sorry, not a straight forward apology. When they were younger, he remember her going without food for over 12 hours rather than apologise for spooking his horse on purpose and almost having it throw him on the gravel.
"You were only trying to help in your bumbling, overbearing way and I should not have treated you the way I did. I know you are worried about Lord Sortiar, but trust me when I will not allow him to harm me in any way. I will keep a weather eye out on his behaviour, and I will heed your warnings." She smiled wanly at him.
"Think nothing of it," Arthur said, coming around to sit on the settee next to her. He held out his hand and, after a long moment’s hesitation, she took it. "I’m just glad you’re alright."
"I am Arthur."
"Good."
"Excellent. Now that all that unpleasant apologising business is over, shall we ring for some tea?"
Arthur glanced at the clock and hesitated. Merlin was due to arrive in twenty minutes and they were to go to eat at their club before the opera. He didn’t want to stand Merlin up.
‘Odds are you will end up married to this girl,’ he thought to himself. ‘You need to put her first, before Merlin. And you are just going to have to get used to it, Pendragon.’
"Alright," he said, standing. "I’ll call for some tea. I was going to meet Merlin, but I’ll send Lance with the message that I’ll be late and will meet him at the Opera."
Her smiled faltered for a split second before freezing into place again.
"Of course, you can’t let down the good doctor."
Arthur was at a loss to explain the sudden icy chill in her voice.
Arthur rang for Lance, who was talking with his Gwen. Arthur was almost loathe to send him on the errand, but he couldn’t just let Merlin down. Gwen smiled at him nervously, even more so than usual and, even though she was Morgana’s servant and not his own, she went to inform the kitchen of their request and instructed them on how Morgana took her drink.
He and Morgana spent a good hour or so pleasantly trading good-natured insults, just like old times, when there was a knock at the door and Lance entered when he was bidden. His face was pale and serious.
"What is it?" Arthur asked, immediately rising. "What’s happened?"
"It’s Merlin, my Lord," Lance reported. "The doctor has been attacked. He was robbed not fifteen metres from his home."
Arthur felt all blood drain from his face, and sank back down into the chair. He felt sick to his stomach. Why would someone attack Merlin? He was not obviously wealthy. He was a doctor, for the love of God. He spent his life helping people. What was this city coming to? His mouth opened and closed a few times as he tried to speak and he had to take a sip of the now cold tea to wet his completely dry throat.
"How is he?" he asked once he regained control of his vocal chords. "How badly his he injured?"
"He has a concussion, two cracked ribs and a bruised kidney," Lance told him softly and Arthur slumped in his chair.
"Oh God," he murmured, sick to his stomach again. He looked up at Morgana, and was at a loss to explain the utter fury on her face.
"I need to go," she told him, standing suddenly.
"Morgana, wait" Arthur tried, but she ignored him.
"Give Merlin my best," she said coldly before sweeping from the room.
"What just happened here?" Arthur asked Lance, who looked as confused as he felt.
"I have no idea," Lance admitted.
"Perhaps she’s still upset about the argument," Arthur mused, but he brushed it aside for now. He would go speak to her tomorrow, and sort everything out. "Tell me everything you know, Lance. And tell Cedric to prepare my horse. I will be going to visit Merlin within half an hour."
~*~
Mordred was waiting for her when Morgana arrived home. She had long since stopped asking how he got in undetected all the time because he would just tell her it was a few tricks he’d picked up in the army. It frustrated her no end, but she simply had to accept it. He was looking out the window overlooking the garden when she stomped into her bedchamber and slammed the door behind her. She’d dismissed Gwen as soon as they got in the door, so it was fingers shaking with rage that tugged at the knot of her cloak. Mordred moved forward and helped her, undoing the knot with swift efficiency.
"Well?" he asked as she tore off her bonnet and threw it on the bed.
"You were right," she told him and promptly burst into tears. Mordred took her in his arms and made nonsensical comforting noises as he kissed and stroked her hair.
"You should have seen him," she spat out, pulling back an angrily swiping at her tears. "When his servant Lance told him what had happened to Merlin, he looked like he was about to faint. I remember my father looking exactly like that when the nurses told him that both my mother and my brother had died in childbirth. Arthur looked positively ill. And that’s how Arthur looked. Oh God, he loves him. He’s a queer."
Morgana felt nauseous.
When Mordred had told her what he had witnessed in the garden at Lady Wentworth’s ball, she hadn’t believed him. There was no way Arthur was fucking Merlin, no way. Arthur wouldn’t, not after everything that had happened with Edwin. He’d been as horrified as anyone at what they had found in the ruins of the room. Surely Arthur, one of her oldest friends, wouldn’t have expected her to marry him and turn a blind eye to his leaving her bed for that of his friend.
It was sick.
It was wrong.
Her stomach rolled at the images and memories that flooded her mind, at what she had been witness to and what she had been forced to do during her short marriage. It was perverse and the thought of Arthur and Merlin locked in such an embrace... God, she was going to be sick. She ran for her chamber pot, which was mercifully clean, and promptly lost the contents of her stomach. She sobbed into the pot, devastated at the thought of going through that again. There was no way she could survive it.
She felt gentle hands pull her hair back and soothe her sweaty brow. Mordred pulled her up and led her to the bed where he lay down and held her close. Morgana sobbed into his chest, hating herself for the weakness, but grateful for his presence.
"I am sorry, my love," he whispered into her hair. "I don’t know what you went through with that bastard Muirden, but to find out that your husband-to-be is of the same ilk... I cannot imagine how you feel."
"Thank you for being here," she whispered. "No one else would understand. Everyone thinks that Arthur is this paragon of virtue and goodness, but he’s as perverted and disgusting as Edwin was. I refuse to marry him. I can’t, now that I know."
"No one would expect you to," Mordred assured her. "Tell him tomorrow. Tell him you know and see him try to deny it. Break the engagement because you refuse to marry such a man."
"It’s not enough," Morgana’s eyes were snapping with fire. "He has to pay. What he is doing is sickening; him and Merlin. I want them humiliated. God, I want them dead!"
"We could report them," Mordred mused. "Sodomy and buggery are illegal. They’d be at the end of a rope within the month."
"No," Morgana shook her head. "The Pendragon name is too powerful. The Duke has too many connections. Merlin would swing, and good riddance, but Arthur would be saved because of who he is. He’d be ruined, and his family disgraced beyond redemption, but he would still live."
"I’m sure we can think of something," Mordred said, moving onto his side so he was facing her. Morgana mirrored his position and smiled when he gently cupped her cheek. He was always so gentle with her, as if she were made of spun glass: handle too roughly and she would shatter. Morgana thought that he knew the truth; that she was already shattered on the inside, but that his love and his light in her life was slowly healing her. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked her, looking hard into her eyes. "I know what happened with Muirden, but he was a sadistic bastard, excuse my language. Arthur was a friend, someone you held affection for. Someone you were going to marry. This will be different."
Morgana felt her face harden into a fierce expression that took Mordred by surprise.
"You don’t know what Edwin did to me when we were married," she said. "When he entered my bedchamber... What he forced me to do... Sometimes he wasn’t alone. He made me watch." She shuddered.
"I wish I could kill him for you," Mordred whispered. "I would have made it slow and painful."
"I know," she whispered, leaning down to kiss him gently. "And as strange as it sounds, I appreciate the sentiment."
"I swear to you, Morgana: you will get your revenge on Arthur," Mordred said fervently. "I promise that he will be dead before the end of the season."
~*~
Hours later, they were curled up in bed. Morgana had been like a wild thing, angrily biting at his lips and slamming her hips down onto his as if sheer physical force could release her rage and horror. It had been the most violent coupling they’d had to date, and it had also been the most intense orgasm that Mordred had ever had. They had both collapsed, boneless, onto the bed, Morgana automatically settling down into the crook of his elbow, head resting on his chest. Mordred ran his fingertips up and down her arm, constantly moving over the soft, pale skin as he thought things through.
He trusted Morgana. He trusted her with his heart and his soul. He could trust her with this.
"Are you sure you want to go through with this Morgana," he asked quietly, breaking the stillness between them.
"I’m sure," she said, her voice hard.
"Good," Mordred said, slipping out from under and leaning up on his elbow. "Because there is something you need to know before we go any further."
Morgana raised herself up onto her own elbow, facing him square in the eye.
"Go ahead," she said solemnly as if she knew how important the information he was about to give her was. He was she knew how important the information he was about to give her was. He was basically giving her his life. He was putting it in her hands. He would live or die by her word, and he found he was alright with that.
"The rumours of my discharge from the army... what Pendragon accused me of. It was true. I did it."
"What did you do?" she asked warily.
"You have to understand, General Pendragon hated my family; some falling out of the other decades ago, possibly before I was even born. When I joined the army, I was put under him. Time and time again, he passed me over for promotion. I was the better officer, I was the better soldier than most of the men in my unit. But, lesser men continued to be promoted above me. It was an insult to me, to my family name. When I moved on, and when the Peninsular war started and I worked in espionage, I still never forgot the insult. When I was working in France, I met a man named Tauren. He was a man with a mission; namely: Kill Uther Pendragon. The Duke has many enemies, and I saw the chance to get my revenge. I helped Tauren get through the camp and close to the Duke to try and kill him. It would have been perfect revenge. No one would have suspected me. I was supposed to be miles away in Madrid. When Tauren failed, and they were in pursuit of me, I shot Arthur Pendragon. He was right; it was my tattoo he saw that night. He nearly died because of me."
"Would that he had died," Morgana said, eyes never breaking contact with Mordred’s own. "If you had succeeded the first time, he would not have had the gall to offer marriage to me when he is just as bad as Edwin. He would never have even met Merlin and had started this whole affair. You kept my secret Mordred, and you did not judge me for it. It is only fair that I do the same for you."
Mordred had never loved someone more in his entire life than he did right there.
And he told her so, right before he kissed her again.
~*~
June, 1817
"What is wrong my love?" Morgana’s brow furrowed in concern as she looked at him, and Mordred felt his heart leap, as it always did in his lady love’s presence. "You have been quiet for some time."
They were curled up in bed, naked and sweaty, with Morgana’s head resting on his muscled chest. She absentmindedly traced the tattoo he had gotten as a young man to honour his ancestors, but had regretted it when Pendragon had used it to identify him. It had ruined his life, and for a long time, Mordred considered burning it off. But, since their first night together when Morgana had pressed a kiss to the swirls and had, every night since, shown a fascination with it, he had grown to appreciate it once more. He kissed the top of her head and turned on his side to face her.
"Well?" she asked again after he was apparently silent for too long.
"Marry me," he blurted out and wanted to kick himself when he saw her dumbstruck expression. But, nothing worth keeping was won easily, so he ploughed ahead. "I have a plan. You want Pendragon humiliated in society. What better than to have his intended throw him over and elope with his worst enemy? It would be excruciating for a man of his pride and social standing. And once we were married and returned to London, he would be forced to interact with us in society. Any argument he had against us would look like that of a love struck, jealous fool, and make him seem weak in the eyes of the Ton. Think about it. Pendragon is very aware of his place in the world. If we played this right, if we struck at his business interests and leaked the rumour about him and his doctor friend, a ‘suicide’ would seem that much more convincing and it would ruin the Pendragon name for generations. If it even continued."
"You want me to marry you..." Morgana stated flatly.
"Yes!" Mordred interrupted.
"You want me to marry you... to get revenge on Arthur..." Morgana’s voice was emotionless and dull, and horror swept through Mordred.
"No!" he exclaimed. "I want to marry you because you are the most amazing woman I have ever met, and I love you. You accept me for who I am. You don’t try and change me. And you understand that sometimes, you need to do things that you may find distasteful, but that life is distasteful and is all about survival. I love you Morgana. Please marry me."
"I don’t know Mordred..."
"Do you love me, Morgana?"
"You know I do."
"Then what is stopping you. We can go to Gretna Green in Scotland. It should only take us a few days by coach and we will be wed."
"Why can’t we get married here?" Morgana asked, and hope flared in Mordred’s chest. It wasn’t an outright dismissal.
"Do you really think that if we posted the banns and announced what we were to be married here in London, that Pendragon wouldn’t find out and interfere? No, he cannot find out until the deed is done. He would stop us, and there is nothing in this life that will stop me from being with you. Even in death, I would be with you."
"Hush." Morgana pressed her fingers to his mouth to stop him talking and he kissed her lightly. "Don’t say things like that. They are always foreshadowing and I can’t lose you Mordred. I would not be able to handle it."
"You won’t," Mordred vowed. "I will be with you always. Say yes."
Morgana looked at him for a long while.
"Can I think about it for a few days?" she asked in uncharacteristic timidness.
"What’s to think about?" Mordred sat up, dislodging Morgana. "Either you love me or you don’t. You were willing to marry Pendragon."
"I was marrying Arthur to get my freedom." Morgana sat up also, pulling the sheets up around her chest. "I was marrying him for friendship and to have children, and so, if I wished, I could leave society and its constantly judging eyes. I love you, and if I married you, it would be one of passion and heat and I would give myself completely over to you and I swore I would never give someone that power over me again."
She was shaking like a leaf by the time she had finished and Mordred suddenly understood and slid closer in the bed to wrap an arm around her shoulders.
"I would never hurt you," he promised, kissing her temple. "I would never, ever raise a hand to you, even in my darkest anger. I promise now to cherish and protect you for the entirety of my life, even if you choose not to marry me. You are my destiny, Morgana. I will always be with you."
Morgana turned in his arms and kissed him, pushing him back onto the bed and straddling his hips.
"Is that a yes?" he asked, cupping her breasts and smirking at her moan.
"It’s a maybe," she replied, sliding down onto is length. Mordred gasped as he was surrounded by warm, wet heat and gripped her by the hips.
"That’s good enough for now," he replied, pulling her down to kiss her properly.
~*~
The next week was torture for Mordred. He continued to see Morgana, but though she seemed deep in thought at times, she did not mention it again.
Almost seven days after his proposal, a messenger delivered a missive to his address. He recognised Morgana’s dainty handwriting on the front, and cracked her seal on the back with bated breath. What if she said no, and wanted to let him down gently? What if she never wanted to see him again?
He need not have worried.
Written inside were five simple words that made his heart sing.
‘Yes, but make it soon.’
With a joy that he had never remembered feeling before, he began to make arrangements for getting to Scotland in a few days.
~*~
The house was in silence when Morgana slipped on the rough, dark cloak over her borrowed and ill-fitting clothing. She had claimed a migraine early in the afternoon and had dismissed all of the servants early, waiting as they settled down the house and either left for the night or retired to their rooms upstairs before finishing gathering her things. She placed the letter on the dresser where Gwen was sure to see it when she arrived in the morning, twisted her hair up underneath the cap she wore and picked up the carpet bag she had packed earlier in the day.
She slipped out the door of her chambers and made her way noiselessly down the stairs. She’d pocketed the key to the front door the day before and now used her foresight to pass through entrance unobserved. She was silent as she walked through the close, staying close to the shadows because, even though it was dark, it was still well before midnight and people could be around.
There. Just where he had promised he would be.
Mordred was waiting for her on the corner, standing next to non-descript, black carriage. A man that Morgana vaguely recognised as one of Mordred’s servants was seated up front as coach driver, and four beautiful black horses were harnessed to the vehicle. There was no insignia on the coach at all, and dark wine coloured curtains were pulled across the open windows. The door stood open next to Mordred, and a warm, if dim, light spilled from a lamp within.
And Mordred. He stood there, dressed simply as she was, though not as much out of character as her own clothing. He smiled widely when he saw her, and kissed her lightly by way of greeting. He took the bag from her hands, which she was thankful for, and passed it on to his man, who secured it to the roof next to his own things.
"We can buy you clothing there, you know," he reminded her as he took her hand and helped her into the coach. "And we’re not leaving forever. We’ll return soon enough, and as man and wife."
"I know," Morgana replied. "I just wanted something to change in to before we arrive because I am certainly not getting married in these things." He pulled back her cloak to reveal her current state of dress: men’s rough woollen trousers that she had stolen from one of her servants, a white linen shirt and a dark waistcoat. The low cap she wore hid her hair from view, and as soon as the door to the carriage was closed, she took it off and shook her hair down loose. "In case anyone looked too closely," she told him.
Mordred laughed delightedly at her and pulled her into his lap, running his fingers through her newly freed hair.
"You are the most amazing, wonderful woman Morgana," he told her, and the sincerity in his voice and in his eyes took her breath away. She twisted in his grip, turning until she was straddling his thighs. Mordred reached up and tugged at the clasp of her cloak, pushing it off her shoulders and onto the floor behind her as they started to move.
"You’re not so bad yourself," she grinned, leaning down to kiss him. Mordred ran his hands up her sides and back, and Morgana moaned in pleasure.
"What would you say if I suggested we start the honeymoon early?" she said, kissing his jaw.
"That, right there, is why I’m marrying you," he told her, pulling her flush against him. "All your wonderful ideas."
~*~
"My Lady?"
Gwen tentatively knocked at the door to Morgana’s bedchamber, determined to check on her once more before she left for the night. Morgana had been restless and fidgety for the past few days, often spending time pacing the floor and looking worried. She would not confide in Gwen, not matter how many times she asked. The day before, it seemed as if she had come to a decision about something and was as relaxed as Gwen had seen her in a long time. This morning, unfortunately, Morgana had complained of a headache which had only gotten worse during the day. By mid-afternoon, she had a full blown migraine and had retreated to her bedchamber by three o’clock. Gwen had drawn the curtains for her as she huddled under the covers, eyes closed to avoid the sun.
That had been several hours ago. Although she had heard from one of the footmen that Morgana had dismissed all the staff early so they could enjoy an early night, Gwen stayed where she was in the room Morgana set aside for Gwen to work in. There had been six dresses that needed repairing; beads needed to be re-attached, hems sewn back up again. Several also needed to be ironed and that was the work of an age. Gwen had dreaded the task, as she knew it would take her hours, and she had been putting it off for a long time, but the free evening gave her plenty of time for it. She could have gotten help with it, but Morgana was a private person, and didn’t like people she didn’t know or trust dealing with her things. Still, now it was done and finished and it wasn’t looming over her head any more. She only wanted to check up on her mistress and see if she was sleeping peacefully or if she needed anything else before she left for the night.
There was no reply from inside, so Gwen pushed the door open silently and crept forward, candle held aloft, to see if she was sleeping.
The bed was empty.
Confused, she reached forward and touched the covers. They were stone cold, as if it had been hours since someone had lain beneath them. She went to the ante-chamber door.
"Lady Morgana?" she called softly, but again received no reply. She peeked inside to find the room in darkness. Concerned now, she used the candle to light the little oil lamps in the room and looked around. The door of her wardrobe was flung open and the clothing that Gwen spent time so carefully and lovingly cleaning and putting away carefully were rifled through, spilling out from the wardrobe onto the floor. She suppressed the feeling of irritation at the sight and quickly took stock of the contents, noticing with a sinking feeling that one or two of her lady’s simpler dresses and her favourite red cloak were missing. Gwen hurried over to the tall chest of drawers that stood in the corner and opened the jewellery box that was placed on top. A quick scan of the contents showed that several of Morgana’s favoured pieces were missing, along with her mother’s necklace that she only wore on special occasions.
She turned and the sinking feeling she’d felt when she saw the missing items was replaced with a feeling of dread when she found the sealed letter, addressed to her, lying on the table next to the door. She opened it quickly and scanned the brief contents in horror.
This cannot be...
Morgana wouldn’t...
Apparently, she would.
Turing, Gwen abandoned any pretence of grace and control and ran through the halls. She barely spared the time to grab her cloak before she ran out into the cool night air.
She needed to get to Lancelot.
~*~
"So," Arthur said as he strode through his front door, Merlin at his heels. "Care to explain what was so important that you sent Cedric to get me from Whites?" Lance stood back, closing the door behind them, a tense expression on his face.
"What is it, Lance?" Merlin asked, stepping forward. His friend’s handsome features were clouded with worry. He indicated down the hallway to the front sitting room.
"In there," he said solemnly. Merlin followed down the hallway, both removing coats and gloves as they went. Merlin was shocked to discover Gwen, his friend and Lady Morgana’s ladies maid, ensconced in one of the chairs. She held a cup in her trembling hands and her eyes were red rimmed and puffy as if she had been crying.
"Guinevere? What’s wrong?" Arthur asked, coming to a stop in a crouch in front of her. She burst into tears again at Arthur’s uncharacteristic kindness and soft voice and Arthur looked and Lancelot, confused.
"She arrived about an hour ago," he explained, sitting down next to her and putting an arm around her shaking shoulders. Gwen clutched at his hand as if it were her only source of strength.
Maybe he was.
"She said..."
"It’s alright Lance," Gwen said after a moment. "I’m alright." She turned to Arthur and took a deep breath as if to steel her nerves. "My lady has been in a strange mood the past few days, but she would not say what it was wrong. Then yesterday, she was as calm as peaceful as I had seen her in months. This morning she complained of a headache and it got worse during the day. She retired to bed this afternoon with a migraine and dismissed all of us staff early. I stayed behind because I had some work to finish. Some of her dresses needed some caretaking and it took me several hours. At around ten, I finished and went to check on her once more before I left. She wasn’t there, and some of her clothes and jewellery were missing. I found this and I read it, then I came straight here." She held out a letter with her name on the front. The seal had been broken from where she had opened it before, and Arthur read the missive in silence. Merlin saw his face go pale at first, then bright red with fury.
"What is it?" he asked as Arthur stood and strode to the mantel, bracing his arms against it and hanging his head low in anger.
"Morgana has eloped," he finally gritted out, and Merlin felt his own face go pale.
"But... she can’t!" he exclaimed.
"Apparently, she can," Arthur replied. He turned to look Merlin straight in the eye. "And it gets worse. She has eloped with Mordred Sortiar."
~*~
Arthur saw Merlin’s face flush red with fury as his own had done. That was good: he understood just how dangerous this situation was.
"How did this happen?" Arthur exclaimed, unable to prevent himself from shouting. "How did you not know what your lady was planning?" he asked of Guinevere, who looked as if she was about to burst into tears again before she rallied and looked him straight in the eye.
"My Lady has been acting strange over the past few weeks, but she would not tell me why. It isn’t as if I didn’t care enough to ask!"
"How did she even know him?" Arthur fumed.
"She... I... She’s been meeting him for the past several weeks in secret," Gwen admitted in a quiet voice.
"WHAT?" Arthur roared. "Why didn’t you tell somebody? Why didn’t you stop her?"
"You think I didn’t try?" Gwen snapped back. "She made me promise not to tell anyone. I swear, I wanted to let you know. I’m so sorry, Sir. I’m sorry Lance," she said to her fiancé, who looked as if he had been slapped in the face.
"That’s no..."
"Arthur, that’s enough," Merlin reprimanded him, coming to crouch next to her as he had done a few minutes ago, and Arthur felt an insane flash of jealousy as the doctor took Guinevere’s hand. They had always been on good terms, friends even, and for an insane moment, Arthur felt the bitter sting of envy as he looked at Merlin so casually taking her hand in comfort, when they could not even...
No. Now was not the time to think on that.
"Is there anything else you can tell us?" Merlin asked his friend, focusing her attention back onto him. "How long had they been gone when you noticed Lady Morgana missing?"
"I don’t know. I was upstairs working for several hours, and it was ten by the time I was finished. She could have been gone as soon as it was dark out. I mean, if she had her bags packed and was ready to go..."
"She would have," Arthur interrupted, shooting an apologetic glance at Guinevere for his brusque tone earlier. "Morgana was always to clever and organised for her own good. She deliberately made you believe she was ill with a migraine so you would all leave her alone and in peace. She was probably ready to go as soon as it was dark, but she underestimated your loyalty Gwen. I wouldn’t be surprised if Sortiar was hidden in the house somewhere to help her out."
A shudder ran through Guinevere.
"What is it?" Lance asked, tightening his arm around her shoulder, worry etched on his face. His earlier anger at the secret seemed to be forgotten, for now anyway.
"It’s just... Lord Sortiar. He... un-nerves me. Frightens me even."
"If he has done anything to harm you... I already want to have words with that bodyguard of his for what he said to you last week..." Lance began, half rising out of his seat before his fiancée pulled him back down beside her.
"No," she assured him. "He barely even looks at me. But there’s something about his eyes... so cold and calculating. And the way he acts around my Lady. It is as if he is obsessed with her. I fear for her, my Lord." The last part was addressed to Arthur, and he straightened, feeling the weight of her expectations falling onto him.
"Alright, so you found her missing at ten o’clock, you say?" he asked.
She nodded. "Yes, my Lord."
"Alright then," he said, beginning to pace the room. "I assume you came straight here?"
Gwen nodded again. "I ran all the way, my Lord."
"You ran through London at night? On your own?" Lance almost screeched. "Did anyone approach you? Did anyone harm you?"
"I am fine," she said softly. "I just ran, too upset to even think of stopping for anyone. Besides, I am not entirely helpless, Lancelot du Lac." She pulled herself up to her full height as much as she could while seated, then she blushed. "My father always taught me that if a man tries anything, I’m to punch him in nose and put my knee..." Her blush intensified, and despite the situation, Arthur grinned. This woman was something else. He almost felt jealous of Lance.
Lance smiled at her and, ignoring Arthur and Merlin’s presence, pulled her close and placed a chaste kiss on her mouth. She blushed again.
"What time did you arrive here at?" he asked, determined not to be charmed and sidetracked from the situation at hand.
"She got here just after before quarter to eleven," Lance told Arthur. "Once she got her breath back, she showed me the letter and I send Cedric out with the carriage to find you."
"He didn’t track us down at White’s until almost half eleven," Arthur mused.
"It certainly didn’t look to me as if he had been rushing," Merlin said in a petulant tone. It was no secret that Merlin hated Cedric more than almost anyone, not trusting him one whit.
"And we came straight back here." Arthur looked at the clock. It was well past twelve.
"So, say Morgana left around nine this evening. That gives her three hours on us. I doubt, though, that they would ride."
"Lady Morgana is a skilled rider," Merlin said, standing and coming next to Arthur. "But that is too far to go on horse, especially if they have bags which it sounds like have. They would have been using a carriage."
"If Lady Morgana thought Gwen was gone for the night and that no one would check on her, they must think that they have the night to travel, and would be twelve hours ahead of us before anyone finds out. I wouldn’t be surprised if they drove through the night," Lance said from his position beside Gwen.
"They need to rest at some point though," Merlin mused. "If they drove through the night, and if they changed horses several times and rode at a fast clip, with the empty roads they could be fifty miles away by the time anyone found out they were even gone."
"Agreed. And knowing Sortiar, he wouldn’t risk an inn somewhere, even if they were in disguise. He’d want somewhere private. Secluded, where there was no one to tell tales on them." Arthur paced, deep in thought. "Camlann!" he shouted after a moment.
"Where’s Camlann?" Lance asked, standing and coming forward. Arthur felt as if he was in Spain and France again, and Lancelot was once again his trusted captain, awaiting orders.
"Camlann Estate is the seat of the Le Fay family," Arthur explained to them. "It’s a beautiful old house and grounds near Cambridge . My father and I often visited there when I was a child and Lord Gorlois was still alive. It was shut up after his death, I believe, and the servants transferred to different houses of Morgana’s. It’s set back in its own ground, secluded and private. I’d lay money that they are there."
"I’m inclined to agree with you," Lance said, and Arthur knew he was mentally reviewing the terrain from here to there. "If we leave within the hour, there’s a good chance we can catch up to them by morning."
"We need to stop and get my medical kit first," Merlin interrupted.
"Oh no, you’re not going," Arthur said and Merlin bristled at his tone.
"Like hell I’m not," he stated, drawing himself up to his full height which was, unfortunately, an inch or two taller than Arthur, forcing him to look up slightly to see the anger in his eyes. "I may not be a soldier, but I have been on battlefields and I can defend myself. Besides, I am not letting you two go off and get yourself killed when I could have been there to help. You’ve said yourself: Mordred Sortiar is dangerous, and the men in his employ aren’t much better. I’m going."
"Fine," Arthur snapped, fighting down the urge to argue. Merlin made sense but the thought of him being in danger made his gut twist. "I’ll get Cedric to pack some provisions and ready the horses. We leave within the hour. I’ve got some horses stabled along the way. If we change often, we may batch them up before dawn."
[ Part IV]
Morgana sat back, stunned at what she had just said. Oh God, she admitted to killing Edwin. Oh God! What was she thinking? She had promised herself that she would never tell a soul, though the event still visited her ever night in her dreams. Oh God. It was the nightmare and Mordred combined. Her defences were down after that particularly horrendous nightmare, and Mordred’s voice was so soothing, and she cared for him so much...
"Please don’t tell anyone," she begged, panic in her voice. "I just couldn’t take it any more. He was a cruel man and he was queer. He used to invite other men into our marriage bed, did you know that? Boys he picked up of the street... Then he found a favourite, and kept bringing him back. They used to laugh afterwards." Huge sobs shook her body at the memories and she felt Mordred’s strong arms encircle her.
"Tell me what happened," he command gently, but firmly, and for once in her life, Morgana obeyed. She needed to get this off her chest.
"It was getting worse," she told him in a voice that held a definite waver. "He knocked me unconscious one night. I thought he would kill me. So the next day, when no one was around, I went to the kitchen. I found what they used to poison rats, and I took some. Not enough to make it noticeable, not enough to kill. Just enough to cause sickness and pain, and rather a lot of it. They were so smug, the both of them. They thought nothing could touch them. I slipped it into the brandy they always drank afterwards and they never noticed. Later that night, I went into Edwin’s chambers. They were in there, both of them on the bed. The poison had taken hold and they could barely move. But Edwin could still talk. He threatened me with death, dismemberment and everything in between, and the threats kept coming. It was so easy to pick up the pillow..." Her voice took a far away quality as she remembered the feeling of satisfaction, or triumph as she pressed it down over his face. His weak struggles, pathetic really, they barely even registered. So soon he stopped struggling and then stopped breathing...
"His whore saw what I had was doing, and he tried to get away, but he was too weak. One solid blow to the head with the candlestick was all it took. It was so quiet afterwards... so still. Edwin was gone and I was free. I cleaned the candlestick before I lit the wick and set the bed curtains on fire. It went up like a shot. The flames were everywhere..."
When she came back to herself, she found herself in Mordred’s arms and he was looking down at her with concern.
"Where did you go?" he asked quietly, and Morgana knew he wasn’t referring to after the fire.
"I was back there in the room, with the heat and the flame and the stench of burning flesh," she whispered. "Sometimes, I find myself back there and when I come to myself again, hours have past. It scares me."
"Trauma," Mordred nodded. "I’ve seen to happen before. Usually to men in the battlefield."
"It’s helped to talk about it," she said and Mordred pulled her close. The bond she felt with him strengthened the longer he held her. She knew he wouldn’t turn her in, that he would keep her secret. Even if it was because he had secrets of his own to hide, even if that was not the case, he would not turn her in.
"Oh Morgana," he whispered. "My beautiful Morgana. I can’t even begin to imagine what it was like to be married by such a man. I do not blame you and I certainly will not turn you in. You did the world a favour getting rid of a man like that. Will you tell me the rest?" he asked and she nodded.
"Once the fire consumed the bed, burning the bodies almost beyond recognition, I raised the alarm. I was lucky that the fire was mostly in the bed. The room was damaged extensively, but the rest of the house only had damage from smoke. The servants put out the flames and when they saw the two bodies... Geoffrey, my butler, sent for Arthur immediately, because he was one of the only people I trusted. He came and was absolutely horrified to see who was in bed with Edwin. He helped cover it up. The whore’s body was buried in an unmarked grave in one of the cemeteries later that day. Because he was so badly burnt, no one even checked for damage to his head. No one saw the wound."
"Pendragon helped cover it up?"
Something in Mordred’s voice gave Morgana pause.
"Yes. I know you don’t like him, but Arthur and his father have been good to me since Edwin’s death. They tried to do right by me when my father died, but Edwin was blackmailing my uncle Halig and
I was forced to marry him. Would that they had stopped this whole thing... Why did you sound so surprised there?" she asked him.
"It does not matter now," he dismissed. "I will explain later."
"No, you will explain now," Morgana demanded, pulling out of his arms and turning to face him. "Why did your voice go all funny when you asked about Arthur, and why should it matter?"
"If you’re sure..."
"I am."
"How did Pendragon react when he saw the bodies?"
"He was horrified, naturally."
"Are you sure that’s all it was?"
"Yes, why? Just tell me Mordred."
Mordred sighed before looking her straight in the eye.
"Arthur Pendragon, your saviour, is queer himself."
Morgana glared at him and hit his arm, hard.
"That’s not funny," she snapped.
"It wasn’t meant to be. I saw him with my own two eyes."
"Mordred, are you telling me that you saw Arthur with another man?"
"That’s exactly what I’m saying. I saw him kissing Emrys in the garden at the Wentworth’s ball."
Morgana looked as if she had been slapped.
"Merlin?" she asked incredulously. "You saw him kissing Merlin...Why should I believe you?"
"What reason do I have to lie?"
"You hate Arthur. You want to see him go down in my estimation."
"And why would I chose such a dangerous lie and drag his doctor friend into it?" Mordred asked patiently. "I am with you, my heart’s desire. You love me as much as I love you and that is all that matters. I do not need to tell such a lie about him to bring him down in your eyes. Your eyes are no longer on him."
Morgana went even paler than usual as she took in his words, and the implications.
"No, I cannot believe it," she said, shaking her head.
"Believe it, for it is the truth," Mordred said sternly. "And I can prove it."
"You can prove that Arthur is fucking Merlin?"
Mordred winced at the language coming out of Morgana’s delicate mouth, but he understood the sentiment behind it. The vulgar words were the only way for Morgana do show her utter distaste and disgust at the act.
"Give me a week. In that time, I will prove to you just how much that country doctor means to your precious Arthur."
~*~
Today had been a good day. Merlin’s patients had all been easily placated with either medicine or simply explaining their problem to them, and most, if not all, were set on the road to recovery. The sun was shining, for once, and all of London seemed to be in a good mood. But best of all, he was meeting Arthur in a few hours for the dinner, then for the opera. Life, as Merlin knew it, was good.
He saw an opening and cut across the street, avoiding carriages and horses alike and re-adjusted his grip on his doctor’s bag as he was nearly sent sprawling by a man walking opposite him. The stranger kept his head down and shouted an apology behind him as he hurried along, and Merlin resisted the urge to yell ‘prat!’ after him. He rotated his shoulder, wincing from the impact as he straightened his coat and turned down the side street to his home.
He never noticed the two men that fell into step behind him.
He definitely noticed the meaty hand that landed heavily onto his shoulder, spinning him around and slamming him into the wall. His head spun and he tried to kick out his feet, but his head was slammed against the wall again. Blood poured from the cut on his forehead down and into his eyes, half blinding him. He was turned around and he just had the time to take in too figures with their hats down low and scarves over their faces before the man not holding him in place slammed his fist into Merlin’s gut, and he was sent to his knees, gagging. He felt them rifling in his pockets for his coin, and through his bag for God knows what, and tried to push himself up. His head swam and he gagged at the motion before a foot connected with his stomach and he slammed to the ground once more.
As they ran off down the side street, he couldn’t even call out for help.
~*~
It was quite a surprise to Arthur when Lance knocked on the door to his library and told him that Lady Morgana was in is drawing room, waiting to see him. They hadn’t spoken since their fight the previous week, both too proud and angry to apologise for the harsh words they had spoke. It wasn’t their first argument, and would undoubtedly not be their last, and they usually needed a few days to cool off before being in each other’s company once more.
Morgana was seated on the low settee, but stood when he entered.
"Morgana," he said warily, painfully proper. Morgana rolled her eyes at him.
"Arthur, please." He nodded and indicated for her to sit.
"I trust you are feeling better," he said after a moment. "I hope you are at least thinking about what I asked of you. Be wary of him Morgana."
"I will," she promised and then sighed. "I came here to apologise for the way I treated you," and Arthur felt his jaw drop a little. He had been expecting a longer argument and a round-about way of saying sorry, not a straight forward apology. When they were younger, he remember her going without food for over 12 hours rather than apologise for spooking his horse on purpose and almost having it throw him on the gravel.
"You were only trying to help in your bumbling, overbearing way and I should not have treated you the way I did. I know you are worried about Lord Sortiar, but trust me when I will not allow him to harm me in any way. I will keep a weather eye out on his behaviour, and I will heed your warnings." She smiled wanly at him.
"Think nothing of it," Arthur said, coming around to sit on the settee next to her. He held out his hand and, after a long moment’s hesitation, she took it. "I’m just glad you’re alright."
"I am Arthur."
"Good."
"Excellent. Now that all that unpleasant apologising business is over, shall we ring for some tea?"
Arthur glanced at the clock and hesitated. Merlin was due to arrive in twenty minutes and they were to go to eat at their club before the opera. He didn’t want to stand Merlin up.
‘Odds are you will end up married to this girl,’ he thought to himself. ‘You need to put her first, before Merlin. And you are just going to have to get used to it, Pendragon.’
"Alright," he said, standing. "I’ll call for some tea. I was going to meet Merlin, but I’ll send Lance with the message that I’ll be late and will meet him at the Opera."
Her smiled faltered for a split second before freezing into place again.
"Of course, you can’t let down the good doctor."
Arthur was at a loss to explain the sudden icy chill in her voice.
Arthur rang for Lance, who was talking with his Gwen. Arthur was almost loathe to send him on the errand, but he couldn’t just let Merlin down. Gwen smiled at him nervously, even more so than usual and, even though she was Morgana’s servant and not his own, she went to inform the kitchen of their request and instructed them on how Morgana took her drink.
He and Morgana spent a good hour or so pleasantly trading good-natured insults, just like old times, when there was a knock at the door and Lance entered when he was bidden. His face was pale and serious.
"What is it?" Arthur asked, immediately rising. "What’s happened?"
"It’s Merlin, my Lord," Lance reported. "The doctor has been attacked. He was robbed not fifteen metres from his home."
Arthur felt all blood drain from his face, and sank back down into the chair. He felt sick to his stomach. Why would someone attack Merlin? He was not obviously wealthy. He was a doctor, for the love of God. He spent his life helping people. What was this city coming to? His mouth opened and closed a few times as he tried to speak and he had to take a sip of the now cold tea to wet his completely dry throat.
"How is he?" he asked once he regained control of his vocal chords. "How badly his he injured?"
"He has a concussion, two cracked ribs and a bruised kidney," Lance told him softly and Arthur slumped in his chair.
"Oh God," he murmured, sick to his stomach again. He looked up at Morgana, and was at a loss to explain the utter fury on her face.
"I need to go," she told him, standing suddenly.
"Morgana, wait" Arthur tried, but she ignored him.
"Give Merlin my best," she said coldly before sweeping from the room.
"What just happened here?" Arthur asked Lance, who looked as confused as he felt.
"I have no idea," Lance admitted.
"Perhaps she’s still upset about the argument," Arthur mused, but he brushed it aside for now. He would go speak to her tomorrow, and sort everything out. "Tell me everything you know, Lance. And tell Cedric to prepare my horse. I will be going to visit Merlin within half an hour."
~*~
Mordred was waiting for her when Morgana arrived home. She had long since stopped asking how he got in undetected all the time because he would just tell her it was a few tricks he’d picked up in the army. It frustrated her no end, but she simply had to accept it. He was looking out the window overlooking the garden when she stomped into her bedchamber and slammed the door behind her. She’d dismissed Gwen as soon as they got in the door, so it was fingers shaking with rage that tugged at the knot of her cloak. Mordred moved forward and helped her, undoing the knot with swift efficiency.
"Well?" he asked as she tore off her bonnet and threw it on the bed.
"You were right," she told him and promptly burst into tears. Mordred took her in his arms and made nonsensical comforting noises as he kissed and stroked her hair.
"You should have seen him," she spat out, pulling back an angrily swiping at her tears. "When his servant Lance told him what had happened to Merlin, he looked like he was about to faint. I remember my father looking exactly like that when the nurses told him that both my mother and my brother had died in childbirth. Arthur looked positively ill. And that’s how Arthur looked. Oh God, he loves him. He’s a queer."
Morgana felt nauseous.
When Mordred had told her what he had witnessed in the garden at Lady Wentworth’s ball, she hadn’t believed him. There was no way Arthur was fucking Merlin, no way. Arthur wouldn’t, not after everything that had happened with Edwin. He’d been as horrified as anyone at what they had found in the ruins of the room. Surely Arthur, one of her oldest friends, wouldn’t have expected her to marry him and turn a blind eye to his leaving her bed for that of his friend.
It was sick.
It was wrong.
Her stomach rolled at the images and memories that flooded her mind, at what she had been witness to and what she had been forced to do during her short marriage. It was perverse and the thought of Arthur and Merlin locked in such an embrace... God, she was going to be sick. She ran for her chamber pot, which was mercifully clean, and promptly lost the contents of her stomach. She sobbed into the pot, devastated at the thought of going through that again. There was no way she could survive it.
She felt gentle hands pull her hair back and soothe her sweaty brow. Mordred pulled her up and led her to the bed where he lay down and held her close. Morgana sobbed into his chest, hating herself for the weakness, but grateful for his presence.
"I am sorry, my love," he whispered into her hair. "I don’t know what you went through with that bastard Muirden, but to find out that your husband-to-be is of the same ilk... I cannot imagine how you feel."
"Thank you for being here," she whispered. "No one else would understand. Everyone thinks that Arthur is this paragon of virtue and goodness, but he’s as perverted and disgusting as Edwin was. I refuse to marry him. I can’t, now that I know."
"No one would expect you to," Mordred assured her. "Tell him tomorrow. Tell him you know and see him try to deny it. Break the engagement because you refuse to marry such a man."
"It’s not enough," Morgana’s eyes were snapping with fire. "He has to pay. What he is doing is sickening; him and Merlin. I want them humiliated. God, I want them dead!"
"We could report them," Mordred mused. "Sodomy and buggery are illegal. They’d be at the end of a rope within the month."
"No," Morgana shook her head. "The Pendragon name is too powerful. The Duke has too many connections. Merlin would swing, and good riddance, but Arthur would be saved because of who he is. He’d be ruined, and his family disgraced beyond redemption, but he would still live."
"I’m sure we can think of something," Mordred said, moving onto his side so he was facing her. Morgana mirrored his position and smiled when he gently cupped her cheek. He was always so gentle with her, as if she were made of spun glass: handle too roughly and she would shatter. Morgana thought that he knew the truth; that she was already shattered on the inside, but that his love and his light in her life was slowly healing her. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked her, looking hard into her eyes. "I know what happened with Muirden, but he was a sadistic bastard, excuse my language. Arthur was a friend, someone you held affection for. Someone you were going to marry. This will be different."
Morgana felt her face harden into a fierce expression that took Mordred by surprise.
"You don’t know what Edwin did to me when we were married," she said. "When he entered my bedchamber... What he forced me to do... Sometimes he wasn’t alone. He made me watch." She shuddered.
"I wish I could kill him for you," Mordred whispered. "I would have made it slow and painful."
"I know," she whispered, leaning down to kiss him gently. "And as strange as it sounds, I appreciate the sentiment."
"I swear to you, Morgana: you will get your revenge on Arthur," Mordred said fervently. "I promise that he will be dead before the end of the season."
~*~
Hours later, they were curled up in bed. Morgana had been like a wild thing, angrily biting at his lips and slamming her hips down onto his as if sheer physical force could release her rage and horror. It had been the most violent coupling they’d had to date, and it had also been the most intense orgasm that Mordred had ever had. They had both collapsed, boneless, onto the bed, Morgana automatically settling down into the crook of his elbow, head resting on his chest. Mordred ran his fingertips up and down her arm, constantly moving over the soft, pale skin as he thought things through.
He trusted Morgana. He trusted her with his heart and his soul. He could trust her with this.
"Are you sure you want to go through with this Morgana," he asked quietly, breaking the stillness between them.
"I’m sure," she said, her voice hard.
"Good," Mordred said, slipping out from under and leaning up on his elbow. "Because there is something you need to know before we go any further."
Morgana raised herself up onto her own elbow, facing him square in the eye.
"Go ahead," she said solemnly as if she knew how important the information he was about to give her was. He was she knew how important the information he was about to give her was. He was basically giving her his life. He was putting it in her hands. He would live or die by her word, and he found he was alright with that.
"The rumours of my discharge from the army... what Pendragon accused me of. It was true. I did it."
"What did you do?" she asked warily.
"You have to understand, General Pendragon hated my family; some falling out of the other decades ago, possibly before I was even born. When I joined the army, I was put under him. Time and time again, he passed me over for promotion. I was the better officer, I was the better soldier than most of the men in my unit. But, lesser men continued to be promoted above me. It was an insult to me, to my family name. When I moved on, and when the Peninsular war started and I worked in espionage, I still never forgot the insult. When I was working in France, I met a man named Tauren. He was a man with a mission; namely: Kill Uther Pendragon. The Duke has many enemies, and I saw the chance to get my revenge. I helped Tauren get through the camp and close to the Duke to try and kill him. It would have been perfect revenge. No one would have suspected me. I was supposed to be miles away in Madrid. When Tauren failed, and they were in pursuit of me, I shot Arthur Pendragon. He was right; it was my tattoo he saw that night. He nearly died because of me."
"Would that he had died," Morgana said, eyes never breaking contact with Mordred’s own. "If you had succeeded the first time, he would not have had the gall to offer marriage to me when he is just as bad as Edwin. He would never have even met Merlin and had started this whole affair. You kept my secret Mordred, and you did not judge me for it. It is only fair that I do the same for you."
Mordred had never loved someone more in his entire life than he did right there.
And he told her so, right before he kissed her again.
~*~
June, 1817
"What is wrong my love?" Morgana’s brow furrowed in concern as she looked at him, and Mordred felt his heart leap, as it always did in his lady love’s presence. "You have been quiet for some time."
They were curled up in bed, naked and sweaty, with Morgana’s head resting on his muscled chest. She absentmindedly traced the tattoo he had gotten as a young man to honour his ancestors, but had regretted it when Pendragon had used it to identify him. It had ruined his life, and for a long time, Mordred considered burning it off. But, since their first night together when Morgana had pressed a kiss to the swirls and had, every night since, shown a fascination with it, he had grown to appreciate it once more. He kissed the top of her head and turned on his side to face her.
"Well?" she asked again after he was apparently silent for too long.
"Marry me," he blurted out and wanted to kick himself when he saw her dumbstruck expression. But, nothing worth keeping was won easily, so he ploughed ahead. "I have a plan. You want Pendragon humiliated in society. What better than to have his intended throw him over and elope with his worst enemy? It would be excruciating for a man of his pride and social standing. And once we were married and returned to London, he would be forced to interact with us in society. Any argument he had against us would look like that of a love struck, jealous fool, and make him seem weak in the eyes of the Ton. Think about it. Pendragon is very aware of his place in the world. If we played this right, if we struck at his business interests and leaked the rumour about him and his doctor friend, a ‘suicide’ would seem that much more convincing and it would ruin the Pendragon name for generations. If it even continued."
"You want me to marry you..." Morgana stated flatly.
"Yes!" Mordred interrupted.
"You want me to marry you... to get revenge on Arthur..." Morgana’s voice was emotionless and dull, and horror swept through Mordred.
"No!" he exclaimed. "I want to marry you because you are the most amazing woman I have ever met, and I love you. You accept me for who I am. You don’t try and change me. And you understand that sometimes, you need to do things that you may find distasteful, but that life is distasteful and is all about survival. I love you Morgana. Please marry me."
"I don’t know Mordred..."
"Do you love me, Morgana?"
"You know I do."
"Then what is stopping you. We can go to Gretna Green in Scotland. It should only take us a few days by coach and we will be wed."
"Why can’t we get married here?" Morgana asked, and hope flared in Mordred’s chest. It wasn’t an outright dismissal.
"Do you really think that if we posted the banns and announced what we were to be married here in London, that Pendragon wouldn’t find out and interfere? No, he cannot find out until the deed is done. He would stop us, and there is nothing in this life that will stop me from being with you. Even in death, I would be with you."
"Hush." Morgana pressed her fingers to his mouth to stop him talking and he kissed her lightly. "Don’t say things like that. They are always foreshadowing and I can’t lose you Mordred. I would not be able to handle it."
"You won’t," Mordred vowed. "I will be with you always. Say yes."
Morgana looked at him for a long while.
"Can I think about it for a few days?" she asked in uncharacteristic timidness.
"What’s to think about?" Mordred sat up, dislodging Morgana. "Either you love me or you don’t. You were willing to marry Pendragon."
"I was marrying Arthur to get my freedom." Morgana sat up also, pulling the sheets up around her chest. "I was marrying him for friendship and to have children, and so, if I wished, I could leave society and its constantly judging eyes. I love you, and if I married you, it would be one of passion and heat and I would give myself completely over to you and I swore I would never give someone that power over me again."
She was shaking like a leaf by the time she had finished and Mordred suddenly understood and slid closer in the bed to wrap an arm around her shoulders.
"I would never hurt you," he promised, kissing her temple. "I would never, ever raise a hand to you, even in my darkest anger. I promise now to cherish and protect you for the entirety of my life, even if you choose not to marry me. You are my destiny, Morgana. I will always be with you."
Morgana turned in his arms and kissed him, pushing him back onto the bed and straddling his hips.
"Is that a yes?" he asked, cupping her breasts and smirking at her moan.
"It’s a maybe," she replied, sliding down onto is length. Mordred gasped as he was surrounded by warm, wet heat and gripped her by the hips.
"That’s good enough for now," he replied, pulling her down to kiss her properly.
~*~
The next week was torture for Mordred. He continued to see Morgana, but though she seemed deep in thought at times, she did not mention it again.
Almost seven days after his proposal, a messenger delivered a missive to his address. He recognised Morgana’s dainty handwriting on the front, and cracked her seal on the back with bated breath. What if she said no, and wanted to let him down gently? What if she never wanted to see him again?
He need not have worried.
Written inside were five simple words that made his heart sing.
‘Yes, but make it soon.’
With a joy that he had never remembered feeling before, he began to make arrangements for getting to Scotland in a few days.
~*~
The house was in silence when Morgana slipped on the rough, dark cloak over her borrowed and ill-fitting clothing. She had claimed a migraine early in the afternoon and had dismissed all of the servants early, waiting as they settled down the house and either left for the night or retired to their rooms upstairs before finishing gathering her things. She placed the letter on the dresser where Gwen was sure to see it when she arrived in the morning, twisted her hair up underneath the cap she wore and picked up the carpet bag she had packed earlier in the day.
She slipped out the door of her chambers and made her way noiselessly down the stairs. She’d pocketed the key to the front door the day before and now used her foresight to pass through entrance unobserved. She was silent as she walked through the close, staying close to the shadows because, even though it was dark, it was still well before midnight and people could be around.
There. Just where he had promised he would be.
Mordred was waiting for her on the corner, standing next to non-descript, black carriage. A man that Morgana vaguely recognised as one of Mordred’s servants was seated up front as coach driver, and four beautiful black horses were harnessed to the vehicle. There was no insignia on the coach at all, and dark wine coloured curtains were pulled across the open windows. The door stood open next to Mordred, and a warm, if dim, light spilled from a lamp within.
And Mordred. He stood there, dressed simply as she was, though not as much out of character as her own clothing. He smiled widely when he saw her, and kissed her lightly by way of greeting. He took the bag from her hands, which she was thankful for, and passed it on to his man, who secured it to the roof next to his own things.
"We can buy you clothing there, you know," he reminded her as he took her hand and helped her into the coach. "And we’re not leaving forever. We’ll return soon enough, and as man and wife."
"I know," Morgana replied. "I just wanted something to change in to before we arrive because I am certainly not getting married in these things." He pulled back her cloak to reveal her current state of dress: men’s rough woollen trousers that she had stolen from one of her servants, a white linen shirt and a dark waistcoat. The low cap she wore hid her hair from view, and as soon as the door to the carriage was closed, she took it off and shook her hair down loose. "In case anyone looked too closely," she told him.
Mordred laughed delightedly at her and pulled her into his lap, running his fingers through her newly freed hair.
"You are the most amazing, wonderful woman Morgana," he told her, and the sincerity in his voice and in his eyes took her breath away. She twisted in his grip, turning until she was straddling his thighs. Mordred reached up and tugged at the clasp of her cloak, pushing it off her shoulders and onto the floor behind her as they started to move.
"You’re not so bad yourself," she grinned, leaning down to kiss him. Mordred ran his hands up her sides and back, and Morgana moaned in pleasure.
"What would you say if I suggested we start the honeymoon early?" she said, kissing his jaw.
"That, right there, is why I’m marrying you," he told her, pulling her flush against him. "All your wonderful ideas."
~*~
"My Lady?"
Gwen tentatively knocked at the door to Morgana’s bedchamber, determined to check on her once more before she left for the night. Morgana had been restless and fidgety for the past few days, often spending time pacing the floor and looking worried. She would not confide in Gwen, not matter how many times she asked. The day before, it seemed as if she had come to a decision about something and was as relaxed as Gwen had seen her in a long time. This morning, unfortunately, Morgana had complained of a headache which had only gotten worse during the day. By mid-afternoon, she had a full blown migraine and had retreated to her bedchamber by three o’clock. Gwen had drawn the curtains for her as she huddled under the covers, eyes closed to avoid the sun.
That had been several hours ago. Although she had heard from one of the footmen that Morgana had dismissed all the staff early so they could enjoy an early night, Gwen stayed where she was in the room Morgana set aside for Gwen to work in. There had been six dresses that needed repairing; beads needed to be re-attached, hems sewn back up again. Several also needed to be ironed and that was the work of an age. Gwen had dreaded the task, as she knew it would take her hours, and she had been putting it off for a long time, but the free evening gave her plenty of time for it. She could have gotten help with it, but Morgana was a private person, and didn’t like people she didn’t know or trust dealing with her things. Still, now it was done and finished and it wasn’t looming over her head any more. She only wanted to check up on her mistress and see if she was sleeping peacefully or if she needed anything else before she left for the night.
There was no reply from inside, so Gwen pushed the door open silently and crept forward, candle held aloft, to see if she was sleeping.
The bed was empty.
Confused, she reached forward and touched the covers. They were stone cold, as if it had been hours since someone had lain beneath them. She went to the ante-chamber door.
"Lady Morgana?" she called softly, but again received no reply. She peeked inside to find the room in darkness. Concerned now, she used the candle to light the little oil lamps in the room and looked around. The door of her wardrobe was flung open and the clothing that Gwen spent time so carefully and lovingly cleaning and putting away carefully were rifled through, spilling out from the wardrobe onto the floor. She suppressed the feeling of irritation at the sight and quickly took stock of the contents, noticing with a sinking feeling that one or two of her lady’s simpler dresses and her favourite red cloak were missing. Gwen hurried over to the tall chest of drawers that stood in the corner and opened the jewellery box that was placed on top. A quick scan of the contents showed that several of Morgana’s favoured pieces were missing, along with her mother’s necklace that she only wore on special occasions.
She turned and the sinking feeling she’d felt when she saw the missing items was replaced with a feeling of dread when she found the sealed letter, addressed to her, lying on the table next to the door. She opened it quickly and scanned the brief contents in horror.
This cannot be...
Morgana wouldn’t...
Apparently, she would.
Turing, Gwen abandoned any pretence of grace and control and ran through the halls. She barely spared the time to grab her cloak before she ran out into the cool night air.
She needed to get to Lancelot.
~*~
"So," Arthur said as he strode through his front door, Merlin at his heels. "Care to explain what was so important that you sent Cedric to get me from Whites?" Lance stood back, closing the door behind them, a tense expression on his face.
"What is it, Lance?" Merlin asked, stepping forward. His friend’s handsome features were clouded with worry. He indicated down the hallway to the front sitting room.
"In there," he said solemnly. Merlin followed down the hallway, both removing coats and gloves as they went. Merlin was shocked to discover Gwen, his friend and Lady Morgana’s ladies maid, ensconced in one of the chairs. She held a cup in her trembling hands and her eyes were red rimmed and puffy as if she had been crying.
"Guinevere? What’s wrong?" Arthur asked, coming to a stop in a crouch in front of her. She burst into tears again at Arthur’s uncharacteristic kindness and soft voice and Arthur looked and Lancelot, confused.
"She arrived about an hour ago," he explained, sitting down next to her and putting an arm around her shaking shoulders. Gwen clutched at his hand as if it were her only source of strength.
Maybe he was.
"She said..."
"It’s alright Lance," Gwen said after a moment. "I’m alright." She turned to Arthur and took a deep breath as if to steel her nerves. "My lady has been in a strange mood the past few days, but she would not say what it was wrong. Then yesterday, she was as calm as peaceful as I had seen her in months. This morning she complained of a headache and it got worse during the day. She retired to bed this afternoon with a migraine and dismissed all of us staff early. I stayed behind because I had some work to finish. Some of her dresses needed some caretaking and it took me several hours. At around ten, I finished and went to check on her once more before I left. She wasn’t there, and some of her clothes and jewellery were missing. I found this and I read it, then I came straight here." She held out a letter with her name on the front. The seal had been broken from where she had opened it before, and Arthur read the missive in silence. Merlin saw his face go pale at first, then bright red with fury.
"What is it?" he asked as Arthur stood and strode to the mantel, bracing his arms against it and hanging his head low in anger.
"Morgana has eloped," he finally gritted out, and Merlin felt his own face go pale.
"But... she can’t!" he exclaimed.
"Apparently, she can," Arthur replied. He turned to look Merlin straight in the eye. "And it gets worse. She has eloped with Mordred Sortiar."
~*~
Arthur saw Merlin’s face flush red with fury as his own had done. That was good: he understood just how dangerous this situation was.
"How did this happen?" Arthur exclaimed, unable to prevent himself from shouting. "How did you not know what your lady was planning?" he asked of Guinevere, who looked as if she was about to burst into tears again before she rallied and looked him straight in the eye.
"My Lady has been acting strange over the past few weeks, but she would not tell me why. It isn’t as if I didn’t care enough to ask!"
"How did she even know him?" Arthur fumed.
"She... I... She’s been meeting him for the past several weeks in secret," Gwen admitted in a quiet voice.
"WHAT?" Arthur roared. "Why didn’t you tell somebody? Why didn’t you stop her?"
"You think I didn’t try?" Gwen snapped back. "She made me promise not to tell anyone. I swear, I wanted to let you know. I’m so sorry, Sir. I’m sorry Lance," she said to her fiancé, who looked as if he had been slapped in the face.
"That’s no..."
"Arthur, that’s enough," Merlin reprimanded him, coming to crouch next to her as he had done a few minutes ago, and Arthur felt an insane flash of jealousy as the doctor took Guinevere’s hand. They had always been on good terms, friends even, and for an insane moment, Arthur felt the bitter sting of envy as he looked at Merlin so casually taking her hand in comfort, when they could not even...
No. Now was not the time to think on that.
"Is there anything else you can tell us?" Merlin asked his friend, focusing her attention back onto him. "How long had they been gone when you noticed Lady Morgana missing?"
"I don’t know. I was upstairs working for several hours, and it was ten by the time I was finished. She could have been gone as soon as it was dark out. I mean, if she had her bags packed and was ready to go..."
"She would have," Arthur interrupted, shooting an apologetic glance at Guinevere for his brusque tone earlier. "Morgana was always to clever and organised for her own good. She deliberately made you believe she was ill with a migraine so you would all leave her alone and in peace. She was probably ready to go as soon as it was dark, but she underestimated your loyalty Gwen. I wouldn’t be surprised if Sortiar was hidden in the house somewhere to help her out."
A shudder ran through Guinevere.
"What is it?" Lance asked, tightening his arm around her shoulder, worry etched on his face. His earlier anger at the secret seemed to be forgotten, for now anyway.
"It’s just... Lord Sortiar. He... un-nerves me. Frightens me even."
"If he has done anything to harm you... I already want to have words with that bodyguard of his for what he said to you last week..." Lance began, half rising out of his seat before his fiancée pulled him back down beside her.
"No," she assured him. "He barely even looks at me. But there’s something about his eyes... so cold and calculating. And the way he acts around my Lady. It is as if he is obsessed with her. I fear for her, my Lord." The last part was addressed to Arthur, and he straightened, feeling the weight of her expectations falling onto him.
"Alright, so you found her missing at ten o’clock, you say?" he asked.
She nodded. "Yes, my Lord."
"Alright then," he said, beginning to pace the room. "I assume you came straight here?"
Gwen nodded again. "I ran all the way, my Lord."
"You ran through London at night? On your own?" Lance almost screeched. "Did anyone approach you? Did anyone harm you?"
"I am fine," she said softly. "I just ran, too upset to even think of stopping for anyone. Besides, I am not entirely helpless, Lancelot du Lac." She pulled herself up to her full height as much as she could while seated, then she blushed. "My father always taught me that if a man tries anything, I’m to punch him in nose and put my knee..." Her blush intensified, and despite the situation, Arthur grinned. This woman was something else. He almost felt jealous of Lance.
Lance smiled at her and, ignoring Arthur and Merlin’s presence, pulled her close and placed a chaste kiss on her mouth. She blushed again.
"What time did you arrive here at?" he asked, determined not to be charmed and sidetracked from the situation at hand.
"She got here just after before quarter to eleven," Lance told Arthur. "Once she got her breath back, she showed me the letter and I send Cedric out with the carriage to find you."
"He didn’t track us down at White’s until almost half eleven," Arthur mused.
"It certainly didn’t look to me as if he had been rushing," Merlin said in a petulant tone. It was no secret that Merlin hated Cedric more than almost anyone, not trusting him one whit.
"And we came straight back here." Arthur looked at the clock. It was well past twelve.
"So, say Morgana left around nine this evening. That gives her three hours on us. I doubt, though, that they would ride."
"Lady Morgana is a skilled rider," Merlin said, standing and coming next to Arthur. "But that is too far to go on horse, especially if they have bags which it sounds like have. They would have been using a carriage."
"If Lady Morgana thought Gwen was gone for the night and that no one would check on her, they must think that they have the night to travel, and would be twelve hours ahead of us before anyone finds out. I wouldn’t be surprised if they drove through the night," Lance said from his position beside Gwen.
"They need to rest at some point though," Merlin mused. "If they drove through the night, and if they changed horses several times and rode at a fast clip, with the empty roads they could be fifty miles away by the time anyone found out they were even gone."
"Agreed. And knowing Sortiar, he wouldn’t risk an inn somewhere, even if they were in disguise. He’d want somewhere private. Secluded, where there was no one to tell tales on them." Arthur paced, deep in thought. "Camlann!" he shouted after a moment.
"Where’s Camlann?" Lance asked, standing and coming forward. Arthur felt as if he was in Spain and France again, and Lancelot was once again his trusted captain, awaiting orders.
"Camlann Estate is the seat of the Le Fay family," Arthur explained to them. "It’s a beautiful old house and grounds near Cambridge . My father and I often visited there when I was a child and Lord Gorlois was still alive. It was shut up after his death, I believe, and the servants transferred to different houses of Morgana’s. It’s set back in its own ground, secluded and private. I’d lay money that they are there."
"I’m inclined to agree with you," Lance said, and Arthur knew he was mentally reviewing the terrain from here to there. "If we leave within the hour, there’s a good chance we can catch up to them by morning."
"We need to stop and get my medical kit first," Merlin interrupted.
"Oh no, you’re not going," Arthur said and Merlin bristled at his tone.
"Like hell I’m not," he stated, drawing himself up to his full height which was, unfortunately, an inch or two taller than Arthur, forcing him to look up slightly to see the anger in his eyes. "I may not be a soldier, but I have been on battlefields and I can defend myself. Besides, I am not letting you two go off and get yourself killed when I could have been there to help. You’ve said yourself: Mordred Sortiar is dangerous, and the men in his employ aren’t much better. I’m going."
"Fine," Arthur snapped, fighting down the urge to argue. Merlin made sense but the thought of him being in danger made his gut twist. "I’ll get Cedric to pack some provisions and ready the horses. We leave within the hour. I’ve got some horses stabled along the way. If we change often, we may batch them up before dawn."
[ Part IV]