Now, now, we can't go killing off Gawain...he's a sweetheart, after all.

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"What the hell was I thinking?" Codi wailed a month later as she paced back and forth in her mother's cottage. "I'm not ready to get married—I hate children, I hate housework—I'd have to give up riding Dancer, I'd have to give up—God, Mother, I'd have to give you up--"

"You would have to do no such thing," her mother said crisply. "You would have to explain it to him, yes, but he would hardly forbid you to see your mother. And I highly doubt he would expect you to give up riding. From what you've told me, Gawain is a good man."

"I can't do it." Codi made a sound of extreme frustration and collapsed into a chair, burying her face in her hands.

"Then why did you say yes?" her mother wanted to know.

"Because I'm stupid?" Codi mumbled into her hands.

"You're not stupid. Momentarily foolish, perhaps, but not stupid."

Codi sighed. "How could I say no, in a situation like that? He was going off to battle—what if he were depressed and unfocused and got himself killed because of me?"

Morgaine raised an eyebrow. "You give yourself an awful lot of credit."

"Mother."

Morgaine sighed and came to kneel beside her daughter. "Codi, do you want to marry him?"

"Yes—no—I don't know!" Codi cried, getting up to pace again.

"Do you love him?"

"I--" Codi stopped. "Yes. Yes, I think I do. But marriage? That's huge—I mean, it's marriage. As in married. Forever. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure divorce doesn't exist yet."

"No, it doesn't," Morgaine agreed. "Codi, only you can make this decision. You can still say no."

"Vonora and her friends had a field day when they found out," Codi said miserably. "They've been working like mad preparing wedding clothes and new blankets and all this other crap that I'm supposed to have. They'd eat me alive if I told them the wedding was off."

"Well, then I would either make sure you've got some salt handy or stop complaining," her mother said bluntly. "You've gotten yourself into a coil and only you can get yourself out of it."

Codi rubbed her face wearily. "You're no help."

"Perhaps not," her mother said with a shrug. "I'm only telling you what you already know."

Codi glanced out the window and sighed. "I'd better go. I've work to do at the tavern."

Outside, Morgaine hugged her daughter and laid a hand on Codi's cheek. "Just remember that, in the end, you have to do what's best for you. No one else."

"I know," Codi sighed, and mounted Moondancer. "I might not be back for a few days." She made a face. "Wedding stuff."

"If you are back before then, am I to assume that the wedding is off?" Morgaine wondered.

Codi gave a crooked smile. "Not necessarily. It might just mean that I managed to escape for a few hours."

Codi's mind was still reeling as she rode along the track. She was completely torn. She cared for Gawain deeply, but she didn't know if she was ready to marry him. What if things went sour for some reason and they ended up hating each other? There would be no escape. What if she ended up a hassled housewife with dishes up to her elbows and children clinging to her skirts? Codi could barely stand other people's children, and yet she knew Gawain wanted children of his own.

Codi was so deep in thought that she never saw the snake that slithered across the track. But Moondancer did. With a high pitched whinny, Dancer balked and then bolted before Codi knew what was happening. Codi tried to rein her in, but Dancer had the bit in her teeth and wouldn't respond. Cursing, Codi raised her eyes and saw the wire strung across the track. With a cry of alarm, she raised her arm just in time.

On a man, the wire would have hit across the chest, scraping him neatly out of the saddle. It caught Codi's arm and neck, causing her to do a full three sixty and more. She landed heavily on her shoulders and head. One of her knees hit her cheek as they came down. Codi slowly, painfully untangled herself and took inventory of her hurts. There were deep lacerations on her forearm and throat, but it was better than a broken neck. Her cheek hurt from her knee, but she'd gotten worse during the high jump. Dancer was nowhere to be seen.

"Well, what have we here?" drawled an oily, unpleasant voice from the shadows. "A little lass who's lost her way."

Codi whipped her bow off her shoulder and nocked an arrow. "Show yourself," she rasped.

"How frightening," another laughed. "She has a bow. But can she use it?"

"Aye," Codi said harshly, but her hands were shaking.

"Not if you can't use your hand," yet another replied agreeably.

There was a flash of silver and a knife sliced deeply into the back of her hand, causing her to drop the bow. In the next moment she was surrounded by men bearing long, cruel looking knives. These were no Woads, she saw—they lacked tattoos of any sort. They were ordinary, everyday rogues. Trifles to Arthur and his men. Routine. But, to her, they were a deadly threat.

Codi pulled her knife from her belt with her good hand and lunged at the nearest man, slashing it across his throat. She cried out as blood sprayed across her face, making her gag. The others were on her in an instant, forcing her the knife from her hand and throwing her to the ground. Codi tried to reach into her boot for another knife, but found her arm pinned to the ground by a heavy boot. She struggled madly, crying with pain and fear.

"What to do with a fiery little lass like you?" the leader wondered, stroking an oily, scraggly beard. Then he smiled, revealing yellow, rotted teeth. "I know what you need. You need humbling. You need to be shown your place." His men grinned and moved closer. The leader laughed unpleasantly. "Patience, lads, patience. Each will have his turn."

"No," Codi sobbed as she felt her skirts being lifted up. "No—please--"

"That's right, lass, beg," the man laughed. "It won't do you any good."

"No—stop—please--"

All she could hear was their laughter. All she could feel...

Codi screamed.

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Tristan's head jerked up at the hawk's cry. She was winging toward him from the east. "Something's wrong."

"What?" Arthur asked, startled. "But we're nearly there. Look--there's the fort."

"I tell you, something is wrong," Tristan snapped. "East," he said intently. "Past the fortress."

Tristan kicked his horse into a run, leaving the others to catch up. The hawk soared overhead, shrieking. He ignored Arthur's call to slow down. Something was desperately wrong. Without thought, Tristan plunged into the forest, going as fast as he dared on the narrow path. Suddenly the hawk crashed down through the trees and alighted on a branch. Tristan pulled the horse up and swung out of the saddle, hurrying toward the woman crumpled in a heap halfway under a bush. Faint movement showed she was still breathing. Slowly, he eased the woman out, pausing to disengage matted, bloody hair from the bush. The others were just arriving.

"Bandits," he said grimly, and gently rolled the woman onto her back. Tristan froze and stared in shock.

"What is it?" Arthur asked sharply. "What's wrong?"

For a moment, Tristan couldn't speak. When he could, looked up to see comprehension and horror creep into Gawain's face. Gawain lurched from the saddle and fell to his knees beside Tristan.

"Oh, gods—Codi--"

"Give me your water," Tristan ordered, and gently set it to swollen lips crusted with blood. She coughed and spluttered but swallowed some.

"Will she be alright?" Gawain whispered fearfully.

Tristan didn't answer right away. "I don't know. We need to get her back to the fort. Quickly."

Gawain nodded.

"Slowly," Tristan snapped as Gawain gathered her into his arms. Then his tone softened. "You don't want to hurt her any more than she already is."

Tristan took Codi's limp, battered form while Gawain mounted and then handed her up to her betrothed, who cradled her gently. Fury, grief, and shock warred for dominance in Gawain's face. Tristan felt deeply sorry for his friend, who had been near senseless with joyful anticipation on the ride back.

"Come as quickly as you can," Tristan said quietly. "I will ride ahead."

Gawain was struck by the irony of the situation. This was the second time he was riding to the fort with Codi unconscious in his arms. But this time, he was not at all certain that she would live. Once again, women were waiting when they clattered through the gates. This time, however, the faces were pinched and anxious rather than curious. Tristan was there as well, looking very grim. Vonora rushed forward to take her friend from Gawain.

"She didn't come back," she muttered, tears streaming down her face. "She didn't come back—we thought she was with Morgaine—and then her horse came back without her--"

"Hush," Tristan said quietly, grasping her shoulder. "It's not your fault. You couldn't help her then, but you can help her now." He looked at Gawain. "I've sent for healers—and midwives."

"Midwives?" Galahad asked in confusion. "What do you want midwives for?"

Tristan only looked at him.

"Oh, gods, no--"

Gawain swallowed, ashen faced. His knuckles were white as they gripped the reins. "What can I do?"

"Nothing," Tristan said softly. "It's out of your hands, now. All you can do is wait."

"And drink while you wait," Lancelot said, making a valiant stab at lightheartedness. He dismounted and gently pried Gawain's hands off the reins. "Come on, Gawain...it will do you good."

"I promised," Gawain muttered into his ale some time later. "I promised I would come home safe. She never promised to be safe. Why should she? I promised to protect her." Gawain's head wagged back and forth. "I've failed her—failed—oh, gods..."

Lancelot grasped his shoulder comfortingly. "She's strong, Gawain. She'll make it."

"Besides, Tristan's with the healers," Dagonet said reassuringly. "How many times has he tended our wounds? How many times has he pulled us through when we thought we wouldn't make it?"

"Dagonet is right," Galahad said, though he, too, looked shaken. "Tristan will set her straight."

"I'd like to find the dirty bastards," Bors muttered. "Not to kill them—geld them, more like--"

Gawain shot to his feet and lurched sideways as Arthur entered the tavern. "What news?"

"She's weak," Arthur said wearily. "No food and little water for two days—infection, fever—it doesn't look good, but Tristan says that she'll live if the fever breaks. They're doing all that they can."

"What can we do?" Gawain asked desperately.

Arthur spread his hands. "Wait...and pray."

"To your God or ours?" Lancelot said sourly.

"To any who might be listening," Arthur sighed, rubbing his forehead. "One of them is bound to hear."

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:hides under desk:

please don't kill me! it had to be done, I swear!