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Sight…was it possible she knew who had so recently occupied that bed? Would she see her mother’s action as the treacherous betrayal of a good man rather than the fulfilling of the Goddess’s demand? And how did Uther himself see it—Uther who had promised to hold the Duke harmless for her sake, or perhaps his own. What mantle of guilt lay on his conscience this day, and how would he rage against this unexpected twist of fate?
    Uther Pendragon returned to Tintagel that afternoon, riding in state up the path from the mainland. He brought the body of the fallen Duke home, the black cape draped over the litter.
    The Duchess of Cornwall was standing, still and proud, on the dais at the end of the Hall when Uther entered, and his fierce blue glare pinned her to the spot. His spurs struck sparks on the stone floor and the riding crop in his hand flicked rhythmically with each step. He was as haughty and distant as any conquering lord, yet amazingly, he bowed before her in recognition of her bereavement.
    “It is with great sorrow and concern that I bring the body of your husband home,” the Pendragon began, anger and bitterness sharp in his voice.
    The children moved closer to her skirts, terrified by the sight and sound of the man. Igraine looked into his face, seeing behind the severe features the bafflement of a wild thing fighting futilely against the web of fate.
    “And now I shall leave you to your grief,” the Pendragon announced. “You may bury your lord wherever you see fit, and in whatever manner you choose. But when the two weeks of mourning are over, I shall return to make you my bride, as if I had, in fact, dealt the deathblow to the Duke last night.”
    Shocked, Igraine watched Uther turn on his heel and leave, looking neither right nor left and never pausing to see if she would accept him. She felt the pent-up rage of the man driving him out and away from the company of others, and she was not surprised to learn later that he had ridden for hours over the moors, killing the horse under him and coming back to his camp on a beast he’d taken from an outlaw he’d met in the wilds. Compassion, whether for himself or others, was not part of Uther’s nature; pride and honor and fierceness were more the colors of his armor.
    The wedding was held at the end of the fortnight, but it was an occasion marred with grief as much as joy. The girls nurtured an insatiable hatred for their stepfather and their loathing was so great, Igraine feared for their future. So it was with relief as well as heartache that she agreed they both be sent away as soon she and Uther were married.
    Morgause was given in early betrothal to King Lot of Lothian and the Orkney Isles, one of the brash young men who squabbled among themselves in the northern kingdoms beyond the Wall. It was a fitting choice, for the girl was high-spirited by nature and might have dominated a more placid man.
    Morgan le Fey was sent to a convent in the north to learn the arts of healing, more because the nuns would watch over her well than because of any religious conviction on Igraine’s part, for the new High Queen was still Pagan.
    ***
     
    “It was not until I realized I had to give up even the child of that night’s union that I began to question the Old Gods,” the Queen Mother sighed. “To lose all your children, including the one unborn, is a high price for any love, my dear. But Uther refused to consider keeping the baby; at first he argued that people would think it was Gorlois’s, conceived as it was so close to the Duke’s death. Later it seemed as though he blamed the infant’s need to be begotten for entangling us all in that night of passion.” She sighed softly. “Perhaps, as Merlin claimed, we were each just pawns doing the Gods’ work. Before Arthur was born the Magician came to visit, asking permission to take the infant and raise him himself. I’ve never been comfortable with the Enchanter, but he kept his word and Arthur grew into