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

long, heavy face. She gripped her reins in a spasm of self-disgust. Why did she marry this man? A king, yes, but born without the natural dignity of the humblest serf. A knight, but with less notion of chivalry than one of his own horses charging into the joust. A man who had lived to middle years without shedding the foolish boyhood habits learned long ago. A husband who had never shared her bed.
    Enough, enough.
    Nothing will change Mark now.
    How different it had been ten years ago. Arriving at Castle Dore for the first time, she had seen a great palace newly built on the foundations of ancient kings, with a little town winding crinkle-crankle around its walls, a snug harbor and a quay below, and all had welcomed her with open arms. Even Mark himself, her bridegroom-to-be, had looked fine enough that day in royal red.
    But had any young bride ever made such a willful choice? Dug a grave for her heart and leapt so blindly in? Isolde raised her face to the heavens, dry-eyed. Ten years ago she had wept all the tears she had to shed.
    Too late now to lament the misunderstandings that had driven her and Tristan apart, and encouraged her to tie herself to Mark. Too far down the road to regret the rift with her mother that had made her want to seek another country, another world, another life.
    Mother . . .
    Gone away now into the silent land.
    Lost and gone.
    There it was again, the pain that would be with her till she died. The hot musky scent of the Queen’s Chamber flooded her memory as the voice of her childhood echoed in her ears.
    Why don’t you love me, Mawther?
    I always love you, little one.
    Why do you leave me, then, to be with those men?
    There was never an answer, and never would be now. The Queen had been in thrall to her own beauty all her life, and too many around her had been moths to that fast-burning flame. Born to love and be loved, she had lived for love alone and lost herself along the way. No wonder then that she had lost her hold on the land and also her place in her only daughter’s heart.
    Lost . . .
    Lost and gone . . .
    Tears stung the back of her throat and filled her eyes.
You are not lost
to me, Mother,
she swore in her soul.
The Otherworld is only a step away. At
the dawning of the day and at every moon’s midnight, I shall remember you.
    A raw drizzle began, driving needles of cold rain into her skin.
    “Lady?” came a concerned voice from behind. Riding at the head of the troop bringing up the rear, Tristan had read her drooping spirits from the set of her shoulders and the sad incline of her head. She turned and put her heart into her eyes:
all the better for your love.
    “Journey’s end!” came the cry from the head of the troop. One by one the weary horses plodded to the edge of the ridge, and Castle Dore lay below them in the mist. Isolde shivered.
Far from joy and hope of joy when
we enter there.
    Tristan urged his horse alongside hers. “The lookouts at the castle won’t have seen us yet,” he said quietly. “We could still make straight for the port and bypass Castle Dore.”
    She shook her head. They had had this discussion so many times. “No. I must see Mark.”
    “As you will, madam.” Bowing curtly, he spurred to the head of the ride. “D’you hear me, Captain?” he shouted. “The Queen’s orders are onward to Castle Dore!”
    THOUGHTFULLY STROKING his mustache, Andred hurried into the King’s Chamber with his mind on fire. Only Elva and those with Druid sight knew that he had been elf-shotten in the womb, and the thick growth concealed a harelip, but Andred felt the silvery scar at times like this.
    “The Queen here?” he greeted King Mark with well-feigned surprise. But he had known the very moment Isolde and Tristan crested the mountain ridge and started down to Castle Dore. Whatever happened, he was not going to be taken by surprise.
    The Mother-right! he yelped in his hungry heart. Why did women rule, when men should have control? Why was Mark no more than