Gwaine stared at the girl in astonished silence as she resumed tearing off strips of cloth with an energy that suggested she was imagining that the old blanket was his skin. "You brother?" he said weakly.
"Yes," she said, giving an angry yank at a particularly tough bit of blanket.
"He—when—" Gwaine seemed to be having trouble forming sentences. He swallowed and tried again "Why didn't he come to Camelot's aid when Morgana took over?"
"He was in Gaul," Raynelle answered coldly, still not looking at up at him. "Visiting my mother's people—the Joure family. Have you heard of them?"
"Uh…"
"My brother was raised in their court from the age of twelve," Raynelle continued, not waiting for him to answer. "My grandfather fell ill around the time my father died, and my brother could not leave. Then when my grandfather died and my cousin fell heir to the duchy, there was some unrest in their border lands—and by that time news had reached him that the crossing to Britain was dangerous because of Morgana's men."
"The duchy…" Gwaine said weakly.
Raynelle was still pretending she couldn't hear him. "I had a letter a couple weeks ago that he was finally coming—I expect him within the month."
"Why isn't there any record of his existence in Camelot?" Gwaine asked as Raynelle finished tearing the last bandage.
"I don't know!" She finally looked up at him, her eyes flashing. "I'm not in charge of the court records!"
"I'm sorry," Gwaine said.
"Uh huh." She picked up a strip of cloth and started hunting for the end.
"No—really." He reached down and caught her wrist. "I'm sorry I burst in on you like this. I didn't mean to give you the impression—I didn't mean to dispossess anybody. And I didn't know about your brother. I'm sorry."
She watched his expression as he said it, and her own didn't look as angry by the time he had finished stammering out his apology. Maybe it was his uncertain delivery that made the corners of her lips curl up. "You just don't want me bandaging your ankle while I'm this angry," she accused him, lifting one eyebrow.
He grinned at the proffered olive branch and let go of her wrist, sitting back up. "Have to admit, I'd prefer you didn't cut off the circulation," he agreed.
She began to wrap his ankle. "Well, don't worry. As lady of the house, I know all about binding up sprained limbs when boys come home crying after hunting accidents."
"That's put me in my place," Gwaine said humbly.
Raynelle grinned up at him. "I should hope so."
000
They were both silent as she finished attending to his ankle and mended the fire. Despite her light words to him, Gwaine felt she was still angry. The silence had grown uncomfortable, but he didn't know how to break it, and Raynelle didn't seem to want to. When she had finished with his ankle she gave him some bread she had been carrying and a bit of salted meat. They ate together, still in silence.
"Guess we better turn in," Raynelle said at last.
The bed was far too narrow for two, even if he could trust Raynelle not to be offended at the suggestion.
"I'll take the floor," Gwaine said.
"No, you won't. You'll take the bed."
"A knight should always give the best place to a lady."
"And a lady should always give the best place to her guests. And you're wounded. So you're taking the bed."
Gwaine opened his mouth.
"Shouldn't a knight yield to a lady's requests?" she added.
Gwaine shut his mouth and looked at her calculatingly for a moment.
"Well, if you're going to twist my arm." He pulled up the blankets and furs that covered the narrow bed and stuck his feet down into the cold depths.
"Besides, this means I'm closer to the fire," Raynelle added, with a smug smile, arranging some furs on the floor.
Gwaine gave a short laugh. "Good night, Lady Raynelle."
"Good night, Sir Gwaine."
000
"Mama, there's someone coming!" Florence came running down the steps into the great hall. "They have banners!"
"Oh God," Gwaine heard his mother breathe. He looked up from where he was playing with a carved lion on wheels, a gift from his father. He was sitting at the only trestle that had been left set up after the midday meal, the servants having folded the rest of them up and stacked them against the walls. His mother, glancing at him, must have realized that he heard her comment, for she cleared her throat and said in a more cheerful voice, "What banners, darling?"
"A white boar on a red field, a green castle on a yellow field, and a blue clarion on a white field," Florence answered, obviously proud of her powers of observation.
Gwaine's mother, her skin already fair as the moon in contrast with her black mourning gown, paled still further, and her hands clenched on the arms of her chair.
"I wonder if they've brought news of a pension from the King?" Florence said excitedly, oblivious to her mother's reaction. Someone pounded at the door, and a servant moved to open it. "I'll go find out!"
"Florence!" her mother said sharply, and the barely controlled fear in her voice stopped her daughter in her tracks. Florence stared at her mother in surprise. In the silence that had fallen in the hall, Gwaine heard the servant drawing back the bolts of the heavy door. "Florie, Gwaine, come here," their mother said, calming herself with an effort. Gwaine climbed down from the bench before the trestle and walked over to the side of her chair, Florence to the other side.
In the entryway, they heard the murmur of voices. Their mother leaned back in her chair and lifted her chin, facing her guests with dignity. The voices became less muffled and more angry, and Gwaine held tight to his carved lion, trying to imitate his mother's attitude. Florence was fidgeting.
"Sir? Sir!" one of the servants exclaimed as a knight in red marched into the great hall. Two others in yellow and white followed him, along with a small retinue of soldiers in red. Gwaine's family servants seemed to appear from everywhere at once.
"You are the relict of Sir Loth?" the red knight asked casually, pulling off his gloves as he strode forward to the head of the hall. He hardly looked at the lady of the castle.
"I am." Gwaine's mother's voice was as dignified as her bearing. "Who are you and what business have you here?"
"I am Sir Accolon, and I am the Lord of Gwalchmei."
"My son is the Lord of Gwalchmei," she answered, and Gwaine looked up at her in surprise.
"The lands of Gwalchmei have been granted to me by King Caerleon."
"Gwalchmei has belonged to my husband's family for generations, and we do not recognize your authority here." She gestured to the trestles against the wall. "I can offer you the hospitality of a meal, but then I must ask that you leave Gwalchmei before nightfall."
"Llacheu, Ryence." Accolon gestured toward the chair, and the knights in yellow and white strode forward, forced her out of her chair and frogmarched her toward the door.
"Mama!" Florence screeched, and Gwaine leapt forward, not even noticing when his lion slipped from his hand and broke on the floor. "Let her alone!" He pounded on the back of the knight in yellow and kicked at his legs. "Let her go!"
"Gwaine, stop!" Florence caught him in her arms and held him back. He struggled against her as the men tossed their mother out into the mud and horse muck outside the door. Florence let go of him when he stomped on her foot, and he flew at the knight in yellow again, screaming like a wildcat. Someone grasped the back of his collar and lifted him high in the air.
"Let him go! Please!" he heard his mother cry out, and then the person tossed him out the door. He struck his head on the ground and everything went black. The last thing he heard was his sister screaming.
Gwaine sat straight up in bed, breathing hard. He stared about the darkness wildly, trying to figure out where he was. Finally it came back to him—Inglewood, the wolves—Raynelle.
The fire had died down and only very limited light was coming in through the horn windows, but there was just enough for him to see the furs bunched up on the floor next to the bed.
Raynelle was gone.
AN: I went back and changed the first chapter a bit—since I don't have many followers on this story, I figured nobody would care if I did a little revision midstream.
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