Read Tristan and Isolde - 02 - The Maid of the White Hands: The Second of the Tristan and Isolde Novels for Free Online

he’ll oppose you, and so will I.”
    Breccan conjured up a pleasant smile and reached out a hand in farewell. “So you won’t give me your support? Well, let us part as friends.”
    Odent shrugged. “As you wish.”
    He leaned forward to clasp Breccan’s gauntleted fist, his mind already turning to a cup of mulled wine back at the castle and a hot roast to come. He did not see the blade concealed in Breccan’s left hand as the young knight made to clap him on the back, and he hardly felt the thin steel enter his neck. But his last word was drowned in a torrent of bright blood. “Fare—”
    “And farewell to you.”
    With deep satisfaction Breccan watched the older knight’s pupils contract to pinpoints of light, then he let go his hold on Odent as the light went out. With a last whisper of departing breath, Odent’s heavy body slid from the saddle to the ground.
    “Gods above, what—”
    “My lord, my lord!”
    Trembling with shock, Odent’s knights spurred forward, only to find themselves surrounded by Breccan’s men. Ravigel rode up to take charge, peering with interest at the lifeless hulk.
    “Your lord is no more,” he called out. “My lord is your lord now. He claims this fortress by the rules of war, and all those who will not serve him must leave at once. Ride back to the castle and tell all your fellows the same.”
    In silence they watched Odent’s knights ride away.
    “Breccan—” Tolen began hoarsely, his fingers unconsciously feeling for his neck.
    But Breccan’s attention was focused ahead. “Follow them, Ravigel. Don’t let them raise the castle and bar the gates against us before we get in.”
    “Yes, my lord.” Ravigel was already moving away. “Then we ride after Sir Fideal?”
    Breccan tore his gaze away from the mountaintop. “Fideal?”
    Ravigel nodded meaningfully. “If he’s going to oppose you, better take care of him first.”
    Breccan gave a scornful laugh. “What, kill that old fool?”
    “Not so old, sir. And a doughty fighter in his day.”
    “His day is done,” said Breccan dismissively. “He won’t trouble us.”
    “It’s the work of a moment, my lord.” Ravigel tenderly fingered the glistening edge of his blade. “Why not make sure?”
    “Fideal is nothing.” Breccan waved a contemptuous hand. He frowned. “Now the Christians, they’re a different thing. If they’re against me, you can have free rein.”
    “Gods above, Breccan, there are hundreds of them, maybe thousands now!” Tolen recoiled, aghast. “You can’t kill every man who stands in your way.”
    Breccan stared into his brother’s face with the eyes of death. “There’ll be no trouble if they do what I say. The only question is, who else wants to die?”

CHAPTER 5

    Long hours in the saddle, driving forward into the night. A brief stop while she rested, stretched out on Tristan’s shield, and he threw himself down on the ground among the men. Then on, and on, till day and night became one, and all she saw was the sorrowful face of the moon. She was aching in every limb, trembling with fatigue.
    Or with fear? Do you dread to see your husband again?
    Enough!
    Ruthlessly Isolde silenced the troublesome voice in her head. Right or wrong, she had to go back to Castle Dore, and the going would always be hard at this time of the year. They’d had the last warm days of the season in Camelot and were riding now into the driving cold. A wind as sharp as elf-arrows sliced their flesh, and the first snows of winter were gathering overhead in the ominous bellies of the fat purple clouds.
    “Not far now, madam,” came a sharp Welsh voice at her side.
    “Thank you, Brangwain.” She gave the maid a smile.
But still too far for
my peace of mind,
came the next thought.
Far from joy or the hope of joy
whenever I see Mark.
    Mark . . .
    Unbidden, a vision rose before her of a tall, ungainly figure striding in from the hunt, angry eyes peering suspiciously around, lank sandy hair falling over a