King Me!

by Deborah Blake

  In the silence that followed, Charles rose to his feet. “Well, why don’t you think about what I’ve suggested, Mr. King. I’ll be in touch in a day or two.” He pulled some paperwork and a card out of his briefcase and put them on the coffee table. “But don’t be too hasty in saying no to this opportunity.” He gave Arthur an enthusiastic smile. “Just think of all the good you could do if you were in a position of power. Your slogan could be, ‘Chivalry is not dead’—it would be a huge hit with the people.”

  With that parting shot, he let himself out of the front door, leaving Arthur and Morgan sitting in stunned silence in his wake.

  “It’s out of the question.” Morgan said an hour later for at least the fifth time. “I can’t believe you’re even considering this. Are you out of your mind?”

  Arthur paced up and down her small living room, his large body dodging obstacles as he went. He’d been back and forth on the same path so many times that Young Angus had tired of trying to lick him as he passed, and now merely watched the king walk, furry head propped on dusty black paws. ET peered out at the king from under the sofa, occasionally letting out a sympathetic “mew.”

  “You question my sanity?” Arthur said, the bitterness in his tone echoed in his clenched fists and furrowed brow. “After you pull me from my own time, subject me to this futile search for my wizard and insult me at every turn, it is a wonder I have any mind left.” He sat down hard onto the edge of the futon, his long legs causing his knees to stick up into the air as he flattened his palms against them.

  Morgan softened her tone. “Look, Arthur, I know this is hard for you. And I’m really, really sorry that I brought you here against your will. You have to believe me when I tell you that I never would have done it on purpose.” She got up from her chair and sat down next to him, putting one graceful hand gently down on top of his larger, callused one.

  “I do believe you,” Arthur said. “And yet, here I am.” He turned to her, pain visible in his brown eyes. “Have you thought of what will become of me if we cannot find my wizard? Or if, should we find him, even his magic is not great enough to return me to my own time? What do I do with my life then?”

  Morgan shook her head. Of course she’d thought about it. She just hadn’t allowed herself to believe poor Arthur would be stranded here in the 21st century—because of her. Surely the gods couldn’t be so cruel. Not that she’d mind so much if he stuck around…she’d kind of gotten used to having the big doofus underfoot. In fact, she couldn’t quite remember what her house, and her life, had been like before he arrived. But of course it wouldn’t be fair to him if he was forced to stay in this strange time and place that he manifestly disliked. With a woman who clearly drove him crazy.

  She sighed deeply, causing her shirt to heave in a way that distracted Arthur so much that he momentarily lost track of the conversation. But her next words brought him back to reality quickly enough.

  “You can’t possibly be considering taking that slimy little man up on his offer,” Morgan added, ruining the previously conciliatory nature of her speech. “It’s completely impossible. I won’t allow it.” Oops. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew she’d made a mistake, but the damage was already done.

  “You won’t allow it?” Arthur thundered, his face suddenly as red as his hair. “You won’t allow it?” He stood up, towering over her as if to demonstrate how unlikely it was that she could actually prevent him from doing anything he put his mind to. “And what makes you think you are in a position to tell me, Arthur Pendragon, King of the Britons, what I can and cannot do?” His hands clenched spasmodically at his sides and one vein pulsed in the side of his neck.

  Morgan swallowed. “I didn’t mean—that is, of course I can’t tell you what to do. I realize that.” She waved her hands at him in a placating motion. “Please sit back down, Arthur.” She looked up at him pleadingly. “I swear, I’m not trying to pick a fight. I’m just worried that you’re getting into something that’s over your head.”

  Arthur scowled at her and put his hands on his hips. “I fought armies and ruled a kingdom. Do you really think I cannot handle one manipulative schemer?”

  “Arthur,” she said, “I am quite sure that you could handle anyone or anything you came up against.” She patted the couch next to her and gazed at him steadily until he sat down again. “I just don’t think you understand what politics is like in my time. There are rules you never had to deal with back in your era.”

  Arthur looked at her, a slight smile causing the corners of his mouth to turn up. “You mean I can no longer just whack someone with my sword because he disagrees with me?”

  Morgan snorted. “Yeah, well, that would be one rule.” Then she sobered. “But politics these days can be a vicious game. People don’t always play nice or have the same concept of right and wrong that you do.”

  He laughed right back at her. “Morgan, what do you think affairs of state were like when I was king? It does not sound to me as if there is much difference between your time and mine. Perhaps we were more likely to settle things on the jousting field than your leaders are now, but there were always those who refused to act with honor or who made up the rules to suit themselves.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Men have always contended with one other for power. It is the way of the world. I do not see why I could not adjust to the manner in which such things are done nowadays.”

  Morgan gritted her teeth. “Well, for one thing, Mr. ‘I can adjust,’ you might want to keep in mind that it isn’t just men contending for power in this day and age. Women run the government now, too.”

  Arthur gave her a purposefully bland look, accompanied by one raised eyebrow. “Really, women in power? No wonder your country is in such a mess.”

  Now it was Morgan’s turn to do a Broadway-quality imitation of a beet. “Why you, you—“ she stuttered. “Go ahead, run for office, you giant, misogynistic ape. I wouldn’t vote for you if you were the last Democrat on the planet!”

  From her unobtrusive spot in the corner, Granny guffawed. This was better than her soap, it was.

  “What’s a Democrat?” Arthur asked.

  “Argghhhh!” Morgan threw her arms up in defeat. “How do you expect to succeed in politics if you don’t even know the terms for the parties who run the country?”

  Arthur shrugged again, probably because he knew it infuriated her. “I am certain that Charles Snodgrass would gladly teach me all I need to know. If I could rule all of Briton, surely I could master the intricacies of your country’s laws.” He suddenly moved closer to her and stopped teasing. “Do you not see—I might be able to do some good here…make something worthwhile of my life if I am given no choice but to stay in your time.”

  He lifted her chin in one large hand so she had to look into his eyes. “I cannot live in your house and eat your food forever, Morgan, as grateful as I am to be able to do so. I am a man who must have a purpose to his life or wither up and die.”

  She stared at him, eyes reluctantly filling up with tears.

  “ I realize that this may be a foolish endeavor, doomed to fail. I know I may be gone long before Snodgrass can put his plan into motion or that people might somehow discover the truth of my origins and cause me trouble because of it. But I must do something with my days, and this seems as favorable a possibility as I may get to do some good in this time. I do not see how I can turn my back on it.”

  Morgan bit her lip and Arthur raised one surprisingly gentle finger to her mouth. Then, before she knew what was happening, he was kissing her. His lips were warm and firm on hers, his arms wrapped around her with barely restrained strength. For one moment, she let herself sink into his embrace, breathing in his scent and reveling in the touch of his mouth on hers, his tongue delicately sliding against hers in a dance as old as time.

  Then he pulled away and smiled down at her. “So, it is settled, yes? I will tell this Snodgrass I agree to his proposition and you will help me to study your politics when we a
re not searching for Merlin.”

  She placed both hands on his massive chest and shoved the once and future king away from her. “You have got to be kidding me!” she shrieked, hitting a shrill note usually reached only by birds and overtired children. “One kiss and you think I’ll agree to anything you say?” She yanked herself up off the couch, so angry her body shook from head to toe. “Does that usually work for you, Your Royal Studliness?”

  Then she stalked out of the room, wiping her lips off with the back of her hand, offended dignity written in every rigid line of her body. In a moment, there was the sound of a slamming door upstairs, followed by the unmistakable crash of flying objects hitting a wall. Granny sighed.

  “Well, my boy, ye could have handled that one better, could ya not?” she said, coming up next to Arthur and patting him sympathetically on the arm.

  Arthur gave her a bemused look. “What did I do wrong?”

  The old woman rolled her eyes. “Feh. It’s clear to see that some things have stayed the same over the years. You’re an ignorant lot, you men, every last one of you.”

  ET gave Arthur a disgusted look and sauntered out of the room to hide until his mistress calmed down or until he got hungry, whichever came first. The king looked after him with dismay. Even the cat was against him?

  Granny heaved a deep sigh. “I can see I have my work cut out for me, what with the two of you both as stubborn as Highland cattle.” She gave him a gentle but authoritative push in the direction of the kitchen. “Why don’t ye go fix yerself another cup of tea while I try to calm that mulish granddaughter of mine.”

  “But, Madam Granny—“ Arthur still looked completely befuddled.

  “Tch. Never ye mind,” she said pityingly. “I could try to explain it until ye are as old and gray as I am, and ye probably still wouldn’t understand, man that ye are.” She gave him a steely look from under flyaway white brows. “Just believe me when I say that it’s better to settle an argument and then kiss the girl than it is to try to kiss the girl in order to settle an argument. That way will only get ye in trouble.”

  She started to walk out of the room, then paused for one parting comment. “Ye may be a king, my boy, but you’re also a man dealing with a passionate woman. And if you think you can win that battle, ye must have been hit o’er the head one too many times.” With that, she winked at him and vanished up the stairs.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Later that week, Morgan came home from work and walked into chaos. Or maybe her living room, it was hard to tell the difference.

  People occupied both couches and what looked like all the chairs she owned. They were sprawled on the floor and one man even sat cross-legged on the corner of her desk, displacing what had been a neatly organized pile of unpaid bills. Some talked urgently into cell phones, others folded letters and stuffed them into envelopes, while a few pecked feverishly at laptops.

  Morgan stared in disbelief. She had been looking forward to coming home and putting her feet up, having a glass of wine and maybe enjoying a game of chess with Arthur. (She’d even come close to beating him the last time they’d played. Sweet.) This three-ring circus was definitely not what she’d had in mind.

  She glanced around for someone to yell at then jumped when Granny appeared by her elbow. The woman moved uncannily fast for someone so old. Young Angus stayed close to her ankles, obviously alarmed at the tsunami of people.

  “Stop yer scowlin’,” Granny said briskly, scrawny arms akimbo. “Yer face’ll stick like that, and then where will ya be?”

  “Ha!” Morgan said. “I don’t even know where the heck I am now.” She turned her head, trying to spot a familiar face amid the strangers currently camped out in her personal space. “I thought this was my house, but clearly I was mistaken.” She raised her voice pointedly. “Since my house doesn’t have seventy billion people in it.”

  Charles Snodgrass popped his head in from the kitchen and peered near-sightedly across the room at her. “Ah, Ms. Fairfax, you’re home. How nice.”

  “It was supposed to be,” Morgan muttered. Then added more loudly, “Mr. Snodgrass. I should have known you had something to do with this…this…convention. Would you like to tell me what’s going on here?” She gave him a look that had quelled even the most boisterous of teenagers back in the days when she’d been a school librarian, but it didn’t seem to have much effect. Morgan was fairly certain the political heavyweight was immune to anything short of a nuclear blast. Kind of like a cockroach.

  Snodgrass made his way across the room to her, absent-mindedly patting people on the back as he passed them, or murmuring thanks for a job well done. Morgan’s toes curled in her shoes as she fought the urge to kick someone. Preferably in a place she couldn’t mention in polite company.

  “So,” he said cheerfully as he reached her and Granny, “what do you think of our little task force? Pretty impressive for a last minute effort, eh?”

  Morgan spoke through gritted teeth. “Very. Impressive. What are they doing in my house?”

  Granny patted her arm, leaving a smudge of flour. Morgan’s arrival home had apparently interrupted a cookie-making binge. If she was trying to feed the cast of thousands, Morgan thought, the old woman was going to be at it for a while.

  “They’re here to help Arthur,” Granny said, patting another spot and leaving another white smudge. “All these folks volunteered to make phone calls and mail letters to the governor, askin’ him to give Arthur the position of Senator. Isn’t that nice?”

  Morgan looked steadily at Snodgrass. “Is that right, Mr. Snodgrass? All these nice people just volunteered to help Arthur? How remarkable.”

  Snodgrass gave her a tight smile and ran one manicured hand over the top of his already smooth hair. “Well, of course, there are a few professional campaigners from my office, Ms. Fairfax. Just to keep things organized and working smoothly, you understand. But many of these folks actually are volunteers—they saw Arthur on the news last week and actually contacted either the local Democratic office or someone who knew to send them on to me.” He sounded bemused at the genuine enthusiasm of some of the workers.

  “I’m baking cookies for everyone,” Granny added helpfully, wiping her floury hands on Morgan’s apron, which wrapped almost twice around her diminutive frame. “And some of the girl’s are helping.”

  “Oh, great,” Morgan muttered. “Make that a cast of a thousand and two.” She turned back to Granny and tried to act more cheerful. “Who’s here? And where’s Arthur?” She couldn’t believe he’d allowed all these strangers to invade her house. What kind of a knight in shining armor was he, anyway?

  “Arthur’s in the kitchen with the twins,” Granny answered, grabbing Morgan by the sleeve and towing her through the crowd in that direction. “Come say hello.”

  “I’ll be back to talk to you in a minute,” Morgan said over her shoulder to Snodgrass. “And I want these people out of here in half an hour.” She gave him her best evil eye imitation. “Or else.” He shrugged in response, obviously unimpressed. Damn, she was really going to have to work on her threatening glare; it just didn’t work the way it used to.

  A minute later, she practiced it on Charlotte and Clarice. The tattoo artists stood, one on either side of Arthur, each trying with blinking eyelashes to convince him to try a cookie from her tray. Clarice was wearing a hot pink tank top that showed off most of her tattoos and clashed badly with her bright green hair. Charlotte, on the other hand, had apparently tried to go for the demure look in a Laura Ashley sundress she must have found in one of her favorite vintage stores. The frilly lace clashed almost as badly with her piercings as Clarice’s hair did with her shirt.

  As far as Morgan was concerned, they had both lost their ever-loving minds. Seriously—going to all that trouble just to impress Arthur? Sure, he was a stud muffin, well, a royal stud muffin. But that was no reason to get carried away. She smoothed her own sundress self-consciously. Of course, she had been dressing a little better than she
usually did, but he was her guest. Right?

  “Hello ladies,” she said dryly. “What’s cooking?”

  Both Clarice and Charlotte giggled at her pathetic attempt at humor, but Arthur stood up straighter, clearly detecting the steel in her tone the others had missed. He stepped away from the twins with their trays full of temptation and crossed the kitchen in two long strides.

  “Good evening, Morgan,” he said. “How was your day?” He gave a slight bow to Granny who flushed with pleasure all the way to her white hairline.

  “Swell,” Morgan replied. “Until I got home and found the entire road company of Jesus Christ Superstar in my living room.”

  Arthur looked confused, and Granny said, “Now dear, don’t be takin’ the Lord’s name in vain.”

  Morgan sighed. “I was hoping to come home and relax. But there are people here. Lots and lots of people.” She pulled the bobby pins out of her hair and shook it loose, about the only part of her that wasn’t still wound in a knot. “I can’t believe you let all these people come in and take over my house.”

  “I apologize, Morgan,” Arthur said, his face grave. “When Charles informed me he had gathered a force to assist with our task, I assumed you would not begrudge us the use of your to home. I am sorry if I was incorrect.” He looked so disappointed, Morgan felt a twinge of guilt for her crabbiness. “If you like, I will send them away.”

  Morgan shrugged, grabbing a cookie from each twin’s tray and dropping hairpins on the floor at the same time. Oh, well, the place was a mess anyway. She nudged them under the table with the toe of her shoe and took a big bite of cookie.

  “I guess since they’re here already they might as well stay and finish up,” she said after chewing, kissing her quiet night goodbye. “If you’re still determined to do this—“