Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles) by Ruth Nestvold

is only accessible at low tide. We would be safest there."
    She felt him nod. "I have heard of it," he said. "But I have never had any need to hide in caves before."
    "Lucky for you," she said, smiling.
    For the dangerous descent, they tied lengths of rope around their waists, hoping that the group could save the individual if one of them slipped. Of course, it was always possible that one false step might rip all of them to their deaths on the rocks below. Yseult wished she had a power that would help in a situation like this. Instead, she would have to lead the way with little more than the senses given to any man or woman, while Ricca held up the rear, watching for pursuit and ensuring that no one on his end of the rope chain would plunge to a rocky, wet death.
    The surf loud in her ears, Yseult stepped sideways along the path, her back flattened against the cliff. "Follow me, slowly and carefully," she called out, no longer worried about being to loud — she had to compete with the sound of the waves crashing just to be heard by the few dozen people behind her. "As I move forward, I will give a slight tug to my rope. Each of you are to do the same."
    She felt their fear, but also their willingness and trust. She glanced down at the dark ocean churning beneath them and hoped she would be able to earn that trust this night.

Book II
    Love Ignored

Chapter 6

    "And who shall give thee any counsel that may avail, seeing that there is no force that may prevail whereby to come unto her in the Castle of Tintagel? For it is situate on the sea, and is on every side encompassed thereby, nor none other entrance is there save such as a narrow rock doth furnish, the which three armed knights could hold against thee, albeit thou wert standing there with the whole realm of Britain beside thee."

    Geoffrey of Monmouth, History of the Kings of Britain

    Cador's feet were cold. His hands too. And he couldn't get comfortable on the thin bedroll, the only cushion between his back and the hard ground. It had been half a lifetime since he'd last ridden into battle and endured the discomfort of sleeping in a tent each night. At least as the ostensible leaders of this campaign, he and Gawain had a tent, while many of their men were wrapped in their cloaks near the embers of the fire.
    They were camped outside Uxelis — only three hours hard ride to Dyn Tagell. What would they find? Was Yseult safe?
    Given his worry over Yseult, Cador would have thought himself immune to physical discomfort, but there it was — his back ached, pushing the existential fear for her to the back of his mind. Ever since he had recognized Dyfyr as one of Yseult's men, Cador felt as if his mouth had turned to straw and his stomach to splinters of glass. Now the numbness in his fingers was more immediate than imaginary disaster. Nonetheless, he stared into the darkness of the tent he shared with Gawain and worried. About Yseult. About Kustennin. About the future. About Arthur. About Britain. About his life.
    Saying goodbye to Cwylli had been painful and awkward; he would have avoided speaking with her at all, guilty coward that he was, but she had sought him out in her shy and tentative way. He hoped he had not been too harsh. Knowing how to treat a former "lover," however brief the interlude of sexual congress, lay totally outside his experience. And then there was her swelling belly. He trusted she was right that the babe she carried could not be his.
    He turned on his side, hoping that his left hip could take the cold better than his back and he would finally be able to sleep. If only they could have anticipated the attack from Ystrad Clud, could have prevented the northern warriors from getting a foothold in the rich lands along the Sabrina Estuary in the first place. But no one had expected such a move — despite the fact that a generation before Picts had regularly raided the richer lands of southern Britain; despite the fact that famine was growing in the