ISABEL knew instantly that inviting Gwen to the meeting had been a bad idea. The look on Arthur's face told her so.
But she was rather puzzled why, since she'd had the impression that he'd always kept his queen involved in the politics of his kingdom. Gwen seemed so in tune with the intricacies of Camelot. It was something Isabel had rather admired last evening, when Gwen had seemed right up to date.
Gwen, too, obviously recognized that her husband had not expected her to join this party. Once she graciously greeted all at the table, including Lancelot, she took her leave.
All the men had stood and bowed, but holy cow!
Isabel felt at a loss. She was the only woman among a dozen burly and apparently a bit unhappy men, and she'd have liked Gwen to be there so she didn't feel so out of her element. So alone.
How strange that she'd so quickly bonded with the woman who she had been asked to betray in one way and ended up betraying in another. What the hell was wrong with her? Suddenly she felt like shit and wanted to run. Only Arthur's eyes meeting hers kept her from tearing away from the room.
You are not alone, Isabel, I am here, and it is at a time like this that you must keep your neckpiece near. I recognize your confusion and understand your fear; my deepest apologies that you question all you hold dear. Should you wish to withdraw from this pact we have made, I will undo this scheme, which I have laid.
Isabel touched her necklace and smiled at the men. "Please, sirs, take your seats. It seems to me we have much to discuss. And I don't know about you, but I'm starving. So let us break fast and stuff ourselves with food and ideas."
The necklace warmed comfortably against her chest.
"She does not speak as we do," one giant said.
"Because she comes from a very different region," Arthur said, coming to seat her. "'Tis why we need her. Her views are refreshing."
As he helped seat her, he whispered, "May we speak privately after this meeting?"
"You betcha," she said, "as long as there are none of these men following along."
His low chuckle drummed right through her. He straightened and moved back to his own chair, his hands moving in a "sit, sit" motion to the rest of the men. Then he clapped. "Trevor! We are ravenous."
"Oh, thank the gods," Isabel murmured. No way was Trevor going to feed her pickled eel. When she and Gwen had visited the kitchen, Isabel and Trevor had made a no-eel deal.
"DID the meeting go well in your mind?" Isabel asked Arthur as they strolled through the bailey. Even now, warriors were hard at work, exercising their swording skills with one another. The clanging of steel on steel - at least she believed it was steel, but who the hell knew? - rang out through the air.
"You won over every one of my men with your unique thoughts and ideas, Countess. I particularly enjoyed your suggestion of an occasional fair held at our borders, so that we may continue to enjoy harmony betwixt our people."
"Hey, a party is a party. Especially at peak harvest time."
"And you want to call this Thanks and Giving?"
"Well, we can call it whatever you would like, Arthur."
"I enjoy the Thanks and Giving notion."
"Tell me this, Arthur. Why was Mordred not at the table this morning?"
"Because until he swears complete fealty to the kingdom of Camelot and disavows his allegiance with Richard of Fremont, he is disallowed at all brainstorming meetings."
That stopped her short. "He is in league with that pig?"
"So my sources say."
Isabel felt outrage bubble up. "How dare he come here, acting as if he's just waiting for you to hand over the throne?"
"There are many words and actions Mordred has sprung upon me and all of Camelot that make no sense."
"And yet you permit it. You invite him into your castle."
"He is my son, Isabel. What would you have me do?"
"Giving him a good spanking would probably be at the top of my list."
"A spanking?"
"A good whack or ten to his backside."
"You mean whipping?"
"With spanking, you do not use a whip, you take him over your knee and spank with your hand."
Arthur barked out a laugh. "'Twould seem he is a bit too old to lay him over my knee. But the image amuses me."
"His actions gall me."
"May we speak of more pleasant things? I do not wish to spend what time we have together on troublesome issues that I have brought on myself."
She was about to argue that he hadn't brought on this particularly bad-tasting piece of trouble, but stopped herself. "Yes, of course. It is too nice a day to waste."
Arthur steered her toward the stables. "Would you care for a ride, Isabel?"
"Oh, I would love it." She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. "Are they going to keep us company?"
Arthur glanced back at the men following close behind them. "Break off, sirs. I will meet up with you again shortly."
As they entered the stable, it was obvious right off the bat that Harry was not a happy camper. "If you have come for a ride, I'm afraid Samara cannot be ridden, Izzy. She has been hurt."
"Hurt how?" Isabel asked.
"Her leg has been lamed."
"How?"
"I can only say that foul play may have been involved. I can't see how she could possibly have caused this injury on her own."
"That little sonofabitch!" Isabel said. She turned on Arthur. "That beloved son of yours is a mean, nasty little prick."
Arthur grabbed her shoulders. "Hold off, Isabel. We do not know that this was the machinations of Mordred."
She felt her eyes welling but did nothing to wipe away the tears. "Who else would want to harm Samara? You know the answer, Arthur. You just don't want to see it."
"How would he even know which horse is yours, Isabel?"
Harry cleared his throat and shuffled his feet.
"Harry?" Isabel said, looking over at him.
"Well, when he came to stable his horse, I overheard a conversation between him and one of the lads. Mordred commented on Samara's beauty and apparent fine lineage and asked the boy if the king was considering breeding her. The lad told him that Samara belonged to the countess, not the king. And then Mordred said that perhaps he would discuss the possibility of a pairing between his steed and her mare."
Before Isabel could indulge in another tirade, Arthur said, "I will have my men investigate, Isabel, I promise you this. And no matter where it leads, the person responsible will be held accountable, should it be a stable boy or even Mordred."
She wrenched herself from his hold and ran to Samara's stall. "Oh, my poor baby," she said, opening the stall door and wrapping her arms around the horse's neck. "I am so sorry."
Samara nickered softly against her neck.
"Who did this to you, do you know?" she asked, stepping back and tickling Samara's muzzle.
Samara nodded her head.
Isabel glanced down at Samara's foreleg, which was wrapped in what looked like cotton cloth. Apparently that was about the only thing available in these times.
"Dick will be coming to massage her leg," Harry said from behind her.
She whirled to see both Harry and Arthur standing outside the stall. "She knows who did this," Isabel said. "We can bring Mordred down here and see how she reacts."
"Isabel, you are not thinking clearly," Harry said. "Samara is ornery with most of the stable boys. It even took me at least fifteen minutes to settle her down enough to allow me to examine her. And you well know that animals love me."
She turned back to Samara, scratching her neck. "We will find who did this to you, I promise. Okay?"
Samara nodded her head again, then pressed her muzzle against Isabel's chest in what one could loosely interpret as a "woe is me" gesture.
"Isabel, if you'd still like to take that ride, you are welcome to any number of my horses."
Isabel wasn't so sure that she could ride any other horse beside Samara sidesaddle. She'd hate to embarrass herself if the magic did not extend beyond her own horse. She shook her head as she left the stall and closed it. "I fear I've lost the desire for a ride."
"A stroll, perhaps?"
As much as she craved time with Arthur, she just felt heartsick over what had happened to Samara. "I'm so sorry, but I don't think I would be the best of company, Arthur."
"I am guessing that even when you are not at your best, you are still the most worthy companion I could wish to be around."
She smiled. "Okay, perhaps a short stroll."
"Excellent." He turned to Harry. "Sir, I wish for you to instruct the stable lads that Samara should be guarded at all times. If needs be, have one set up a bed of sorts in front of her stall so that none can disturb her again."
"Sir, I'm sorry, but I do not feel all that comfortable giving orders to your servants. I have no authority here."
"You have authority in the name of the king, Harry. I bestow it upon you."
Harry bowed slightly. "As you wish."
Arthur held out his arm and Isabel took it, loving the feel of his well-muscled bicep beneath her fingers.
"I just cannot understand, Arthur, the abuse of innocent animals."
"Nor, I, m'lady, nor I. As you may have noticed, I have a love of dogs."
"No, really? I could not tell, being too busy trying to keep from tripping over them all."
Arthur smiled and squeezed her hand. "There, now that's better. Now tell me, what is this Izzy thing?"
THE two ended up at the east gardens, which were just as beautiful as the others, but in a totally different way. There was a large pond here, teaming with bright, beautiful fish. And as far as Isabel could tell by the scents, this garden was made up mostly of fragrant herbs. It made sense, as the cookhouse was nearby, and beyond that were rows upon rows of plants, which she guessed would be producing fruits and vegetables very soon. And beyond that was an orchard in full bloom with the promise of apples and maybe apricots and cherries and peaches. She wasn't certain just what types of fruit trees they had in this time. But all of the different fragrances were intoxicating.
"Camelot is lovely, Arthur. Truly."
"My thanks, Countess. Although I cannot take credit for much of this. 'Tis the artistry of my people, and of course - " He stopped short and swallowed hard.
"And of course, Gwen," Isabel finished for him. "You should not feel reluctant to speak of her, Arthur. We have spent but a short time together, but I really do like her. She's a lovely lady, and I see perfectly why you fell in love with her."
He led her to a concrete bench and they sat. "So you see how I cannot bring myself to condemn her?"
"Absolutely. As we have said before, the heart wants what it wants. Sometimes it's a very fickle thing."
"It would seem that mine is just as fickle."
"As it can be for any human. Would you care to hear the story about the first boy I fell madly in love with?"
His sad eyes lit up with humor. "Oh, yes, madam, I would enjoy that very much."
"Well," she said, settling her skirts around her, "his name was Billy Thornton and we were in second grade."
"Second grade?"
"We attended school together."
"You do this in Dumont? School the young men and women together?"
"Indeed. So anyway, Billy and I sat side by side in class, at the back of the room, because we were both good students."
"You were seated by how well you did in the learning?"
"Yes. The problem children were seated right up front, so the teachers could keep a closer watch on them."
"Such different customs for two lands so close to one another."
"Yes, I suppose, but anyway, it was obvious he had a crush on me. He pulled my pigtails all the time and - "
"This was a sign of affection?"
"Yes. When we were that young the only way to express if you liked a girl was to tease and taunt. If a boy ignored you, that was a sure sign he wasn't interested at all. But if he teased, then you knew he liked you. Or at least wanted to grab your attention."
"Ha! That is so true. That at least we have in common."
"So then on Valentine's Day" - she held up a hand to stop his question - "it's a holiday we celebrate once a year, where sweethearts express their feelings for one another." She figured discussing having a Hallmark moment would be too hard to explain so said, "Mostly by writing handmade notes to one another with all kinds of sappy tidings and pictures of hearts and things like that."
He nodded. "This happens, too, at Camelot, yet we do not set aside a particular day for this."
"I know, it's possible we in Dumont overdo the holiday traditions."
He was actually grinning now, which made Isabel feel all fluttery. She loved his smile, and she loved being the one who could put one on his face when his heart was heavy.
"So on Valentine's Day, Billy slipped a note on my desk. It read, 'Please be my valentine.' I was really happy, as I had set my little girl's heart on him as well."
"I am certain that you were fetching even as a young girl. I do so wish I had also known the young lady you were then. I am certain that I would have battled with this Billy for your affections."
"I'm not certain that he would have fought that hard for me."
"Why is that?"
"Because at recess - the time we broke for the midday meal - all of the girls compared the notes we received that day. Imagine our surprise when Billy had offered the exact same Valentine note to six of us."
Arthur chuckled. "And you say he was one of the brighter boys in this classroom of yours?"
"Okay, so he was probably a bit of a knucklehead in the romance department. I think he was hedging his bets."
"And what was your reaction?"
"I was heartbroken. He was my very first crush."
"But you did not retaliate?"
"Oh, sure we did. The six of us surrounded him at lunch."
"And?"
Isabel once again didn't think she could adequately explain what a wedgie was, so she improvised. "We took turns pouring our milk over his head and in his breeches."
Arthur slapped his knee, laughing. "The ire of a mistreated woman is not to be taken lightly."
His laughter was so rich and infectious, Isabel couldn't help but join in. "Indeed. We can exact very creative revenge."
"Remind me to never incur your wrath, m'lady."
She leaned over and nudged his shoulder. "Should you do so, sir, you will most certainly know it."
"You ne'er answered my question afore. Your men call you Izzy?"
She shook her head. "First of all, they are not my men, they are my friends. They are equals in every sense. They agreed to accompany me on this journey because they wanted to ensure my safety."
"All right, yes, your friends. They call you Izzy?"
"It is a pet name they have given me since we were young. Very few are permitted to call me that."
"I see. 'Tis a privilege one must earn."
"Something like that."
"I look forward to the day I am afforded that privilege, Isabel."
"With the uncertainty that lies ahead, Arthur, who knows if that day will ever come?"
He took her hand. "I certainly hope to live to see that day."
Wow, that sounded kind of doom and gloomy. Not a place she wanted to head right now. She squeezed his hand. "So how about you tell me of your first love?"
He opened his mouth, but a sound from above stopped him and they both looked up. Gwen had been heading down the stone steps from the castle, a basket of sorts hanging from her arm. She froze.
Isabel slipped her hand out of Arthur's. They all were stunned silent for a moment before Gwen found her voice. "My . . . apologies for interrupting. I was just coming to gather some herbs. But I can return at a later time."
Isabel shot to her feet. "No, Gwen, please don't let us stop you. I was just regaling Arthur with a story from my misspent youth. I should really go . . . do something else." Well, she couldn't get much lamer than that, could she?
"I shall escort you back to your . . . something else, Countess," Arthur said.
"No, thank you. Once I figure out what that something else might be, I'm certain I'll be able to find my own way. If you'll please excuse me." She lifted her skirts in an effort to hightail it out of there as fast as these damn slippers would let her.
ARTHUR and Gwen stared at one another before she made the first move by heading down the steps. "My apologies for the interruption, Arthur."
"'Twas nothing of great importance, Gwen. We were merely engaged in an enjoyable conversation."
"Something that seems to be sorely lacking between the two of us of late."
"Yes, well, there seems not to be much to share these past days."
She took another step forward, her expression pained. "I have given a vow to stop - "
He held up a quelling hand. "Please do not make any more vows you are unable to keep. It cheapens even further what was once good and bright."
"What is it you want from me?"
He stared at her. She was at once beautiful and fragile, a woman who begged for a man's strong arms to shield her from harm. 'Twas once such an alluring thing, as he so wanted to be her shield, her protector, her husband and her lover. His views had reversed course after meeting Isabel, who would likely jump into battle against anyone who would harm those she held dear. Isabel would not ask for assistance but would take on enemies, insisting she was quite capable of fighting her own battles.
Night and day, day and night. 'Twas not that he found fault with Gwen, for it was how she was raised. 'Twas just that Isabel's strength of a sudden he found much more admirable.
"What I want, Gwen, is your happiness. I am being truthful when I say this. Your happiness is very important to me. But no longer at the cost of mine."
"Then there is no going back?"
"I fear not, nor should there be. To attempt to reclaim the past when so much has happened between then and now is as attempting to save a snowflake on your tongue from melting. 'Tis, quite frankly, not possible. I am not and refuse to be another Billy Thornton."
"Billy Thornton? I do not recognize the name. Have I misremembered? Have we entertained him?"
"No, but he quite entertained me."
She wore a confused frown on her face, but then let it go. "So where do we go from here, Arthur? I cannot bear to disgrace you."
"As I said, Gwen, discretion. Always discretion. We keep up appearances as long as we are able. It is very important for the sake of our kingdom. And then I shall study this no-fault dissolution of marriage that they practice in Dumont. Perhaps we may adopt such a law in Camelot. 'Twould most definitely cut down on the frying pan injuries several of my men suffer many times a year."
"No-fault what?"
He waved. "A law they have in Isabel's land where neither man nor woman are held responsible for the . . . irreparable damage to the marriage. It is a way to save harm falling upon both husband and wife. They agree that they have recognized they are no longer suited."
Gwen smiled as she met him at the bench. "Please sit with me for a moment. I have discussed several ideas with Countess Isabel myself that I believe show much merit."
He nodded as he took her elbow and helped her to sit. "And here is where we will most assuredly find some common ground."
I need guidance here, Viviane. I am asking for a way to explain how I can care for two people, both and neither to blame.
What is it, Isabel, that you fear? That you have met two people who you now feel near?
I fear irreparably damaging a marriage that might be fixed, so my feelings are so terribly mixed.
The damage had been done long afore your arrival; as I see it all now, you could well be Arthur's survival.
Isabel wasn't so sure, but she took a little comfort in the reminder that the marriage had been in trouble before she showed up. Although she didn't have a single clue how she could be Arthur's savior in any way.
Just one last question, Goddess, and for this I won't rhyme: How is Merlin doing, and how are you at this time?
Good gods, she couldn't even help herself.
She heard the soft lilting sound of Viviane's laughter in her ear.
Truth be told, Isabel, he smiles when you and the king come together. I must believe that your match makes him feel so much better.
Isabel wasn't certain she could count it as a match at the moment. It was only a certain . . . attraction between them so far.
It is the only positive sign I have had from Merlin in the last days. Please, Isabel, he has need of your help.
Wow, not even close to rhyming. Viviane was not herself.
You have no idea.
There was a knock on Isabel's door and then it opened and Mary came bustling in, a tray filled with cheeses and bread on it, along with a stein of what was most likely mead. "Hello, mum," she said cheerfully. "'Tis a lovely day, is it not?"
Isabel smiled. "It is indeed. And you too are looking full in bloom. What brings such lovely radiance to your face?"
Mary laid down the tray then clapped and nearly jumped in the air. "James has agreed, Countess!"
"Agreed?" Isabel asked, reaching for a piece of goat cheese. "I thought that was already taken care of. You will be wed shortly after you strike the ripe old age of fourteen."
"No, no! He has agreed to allow me to cut his hair."
Isabel dropped the cheese and jumped up, grabbing Mary's hands. "That is wonderful, Mary! Truly, truly wonderful! Oh, he will look so handsome at your ceremony."
"And that is not all. It seems that the king has suggested that all of his men follow suit, so that they all appear - what was the word? - receptacle as well!
Isabel nearly choked. Hell, most of them already looked like receptacles. "I think you mean respectable."
"Yes, that."
"Oh, Mary, that is such good news!" She raised the stein in toast, even if Mary had nothing to toast with. "Here's to a beautiful wedding." She took a sip, but a small one. She wasn't used to the strong brew and wasn't certain she'd ever get used to it.
Either it was the mead or her feeling of pride that Arthur had listened and requested that his men clean up their acts that was warming her insides. Most likely the latter. She held up the stein to Mary. "Are you permitted to drink this swi - er, mead, Mary? If so, please join me."
Mary's freckled nose wrinkled. "'Tis permitted, mum, but I care not for the taste."
"Then share some bread and cheese?"
Mary shook her head. "Thank you again, but no. I do not want to add any bulk to my body afore my wedding day."
Isabel chuckled. Every bride's nightmare. At least that was something that hadn't changed over time. She racked her brain, wanting to do something for Mary to celebrate.
Then it hit her. "Mary, do you already have the gown you are to wear on your special day?"
"No, mum, but I hope to engage the help of our seamstresses in the next couple of days. The queen has demanded that the men who I shear offer a small payment for my services. With what I save, I am hoping to be able to afford to purchase a very special dress for the occasion."
Isabel walked over to the wardrobe. "Take your pick," she said, pointing at her gowns. "Any one you want, it is yours."
"Oh, I could never!"
"Oh, but you can! I insist. It is my marriage gift to you. And you cannot refuse a marriage gift, now can you? That would just be plain rude."
Mary glanced longingly at the dresses, then turned back. "But, mum, you are so much taller than I. And so much more . . . bountiful up here," she said, cupping her own breasts.
"What are seamstresses for if not to do a little nip and tuck work to adjust gowns to fit the bride? And you can save what you earn from going into the haircutting business to help you and James save up for your own private cottage on the estate. Win-win."
Mary's eyes filled with tears, and she tried to blink them away. "Really, mum, I just don't know."
"I do. Choose. And tomorrow we'll go down or up to the sewing department, or whatever you call it, and we'll start on the alterations."
"What if I choose one you especially love?"
"Then I'll especially love seeing it on you during the best day of your life."
Mary stood mute for a moment, then flung herself into Isabel's arms. "Oh, mum, this is the nicest thing anyone has e'er done for me."
Isabel hugged her back, feeling tears attempting to spill from her own eyes. "I am so happy to do this small thing, Mary. And now let's pick out a dress."
She looked up and went still when she found Arthur lounging in the doorway, arms crossed, staring at her intently. She wondered if she was in big trouble for stepping over some kind of line until his lips lifted in a slow smile. He nodded.
She returned a shaky smile, then gave him the "shoo-shoo" gesture so he wouldn't freak Mary out. He nodded and retreated, but not before mouthing, "I shall return shortly." Whether to chew her out or kiss her, she had no idea. She didn't care. Just having him back was good enough for her.