Camelot’s Shadow

Camelot’s Shadow
Sarah Zettel

A stunning tale of romance and magic set against the legendary backdrop of King Arthur’s court.At nineteen the beautiful Lady Rhian is clearly of marriageable age. But her father seems reluctant to give his blessing to any of her suitors. When she discovers the true reason for this – that in return for her mother's life he promised her to a sorcerer – she runs away to join a convent.The sorcerer, Euberacon, is determined to exact his payment and waylays Rhian on the road, but she is rescued by the valiant Sir Gawain, a knight of King Arthur's Round Table, who gallantly offers to escort Rhian to Camelot.Gawain has grave tidings to bring to Arthur – the Saxons are growing restless, and the threat of war looms. He has taken a great risk in stopping to help Rhian. But when a band of Saxons attacks them, Rhian proves that her skills include more than tapestry and gossip – and Gawain will be captivated as much by her bravery as by her beauty.

Camelot’s Shadow

Sarah Zettel

To all those down the years who have told the tale.

Table of Contents

Cover Page (#uaafd537d-e423-5b17-837a-71abd448422a)

Title Page (#uaf493876-38d8-5a17-bddf-0f0cdaf75f2f)

PROLOGUE (#ue369dcf0-6f05-5357-a9bc-b98198d9824d)

ONE (#uf6007e59-b88f-5fda-8abf-2bb76fe62040)

TWO (#uc9743172-ddc8-5af2-bcd4-1739406659a0)

THREE (#ud69bd568-c70a-505d-822a-d0e88b7e2bcd)

FOUR (#u86cf57d5-7157-5f7d-82da-3e9f499e3cc9)

FIVE (#u5f831b9a-5084-59c7-9d59-adf437005ec3)

SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Preview (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

By Sarah Zettel (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

PROLOGUE (#ulink_695141a4-b35e-5893-b6fe-d33f977c0639)

The rain pelted down through the trees as if to make a second Flood. Its noise muffled Jocosa’s moans. The oaks had provided some shelter when the rain fell softly, but now they were as useful for stopping the water as a sieve.

Lord Rygehil eased his horse backward a few steps and lifted back the curtain of Jocosa’s litter. Rain ran in rivulets down onto the cushions and their occupants. Jocosa tossed restlessly beneath her woollen cloak, lost in her own tortured imaginings. The two maids who flanked their fever-racked mistress looked up at him in mute distress.

Rygehil’s throat closed on his breath. He let the curtain fall.

Curse this rain. He pounded his fist against his thigh and glared at the darkening sky from under the hood of his cloak. Curse King Arthur and his coronation, curse his useless physics and curse me, curse me for taking Jocosa so far from help!

The rain fell implacably on his head and shoulders. His horse stirred restlessly under him, shaking its mane and stamping its hooves. The animal was soaking wet, and no doubt cold. He could smell, rather than see, the steam rising from its back. The men-at-arms around him were at least as badly off, if not worse.

Forgive me, God. Forgive me. Rygehil bowed his head low over his horse’s neck. Mother Mary deliver my wife. I love her, I love her. Take me. I’ll go gladly to the grave, but spare my Jocosa, the radiant, the incomparable. I beg of you!

‘Hoofbeats, lord,’ said Whitcomb. Rygehil jerked his head up. ‘Liath is back with us at last.’

Without waiting for an order, Whitcomb urged his horse out onto the road. Sea of mud, more like, he thought ruefully as his horse sank up to its fetlocks in the mire.

Even though the clouds had brought night down far too early, Rygehil could make out young Liath, urging on his dun pony for all the poor beast was worth.

‘A fortress, my lord!’ Liath cried as he drew close. He brushed at his hood and sent an additional gout of water down his own shoulders. ‘An old Roman garrison. The roof is still good in spots. We shall have some shelter at least, and a place a fire can be made.’

Hope sparked in Rygehil’s heart. A fire, a dry place to rest, it could make all the difference to Jocosa.

‘Lead on, then, boy.’ Whitcomb’s voice called before Rygehil could get the words out. Rygehil glanced behind to see Whitcomb checking the thongs that held the litter to the mules’ backs.