Goddess of Legend gs-7

by P. C. Cast

  This language barrier was getting on Isabel’s nerves. “Trust me, it will be fun.”

  Gwen squeezed Isabel’s arm. “Then we shall have it. Is there planning involved?”

  “Of course. But it must be kept secret from all the men, and from Mary. It will be a surprise. But we will have to engage the help of some of the servants.”

  “I know just the ones to ask to help in this adventure. I so look forward to it.”

  Isabel swallowed, then said, “Do you mind if I create the menu, Gwen? I mean, I am not dissing your cooks, but truly, if I see one more pickled eel placed before me, I most definitely will lose my cookies.”

  “Lose your—”

  “Have need to run so that I might empty the contents of my stomach.”

  Gwen laughed. “Oh, I see. Eel does not appeal to you.”

  “I honestly cannot believe that eel appeals to anyone.”

  “Truth to tell, I am not fond of it myself, but ’tis a favorite of many of the men. Arthur is not one. He prefers greens and the cheeses made from goat milk.”

  Of course he does. One more reason to fall for him. If Isabel was ever going to find a reason to reject him, she had to find something that disgusted her.

  And if she were ever to find a reason to be disgusted by Gwen, she needed to find a flaw. Other than the fact that she thought Gwen was an idiot to desire Lancelot over Arthur, she couldn’t think of a thing. Although that was a biggee.

  Yet she found herself really enjoying Gwen. The woman was open to new ideas, was even excited about them. Gwen was way ahead of her time. She would be thrilled living in Isabel’s lifetime.

  The fact that she was an adulteress was kind of a minus, though. Then again, the fact that King Arthur had somewhat accepted it was a bit of a plus.

  Not the Lady of the Lake’s plan, however.

  Plans do change, Isabel. Go with yours, I trust you well.

  Isabel couldn’t even begin to express the joy she felt at Viviane’s leap of faith, no matter how misplaced it might be. She had trouble believing in herself. But with Viv’s confidence—

  Viviane, you twerp.

  —Viviane’s help, she just might pull it off.

  “May we discuss a few matters?” she asked Gwen.

  “We may discuss anything.”

  “First, what do you think of Mordred?”

  “He is a young beast. He has caused nothing but heartache for Arthur. I try not to hate, but my feelings for him come very close.”

  “Oh, we so agree on that one. How is it possible that a man as kind as Arthur had a child such as he?”

  “Arthur knew not of him until it was too late to change the boy’s hatred.”

  “Why doesn’t Arthur just ban him, then?”

  Gwen stopped her and looked into her eyes. “The young man is his son. You have not known Arthur long, but you should already know the answer.”

  “Right, I get it. But the boy needs to be . . . I don’t know . . . have his ass kicked.”

  Gwen laughed. “Indeed. I have heard you did a good job last eve.”

  “News travels fast,” Isabel said.

  “I do have my sources, Isabel. May I have my turn at this question and answer?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you realize that my husband is enamored with you?”

  Isabel froze. “I realize that your husband loves you.”

  Gwen smiled and nodded. “He does. He has a large heart. But he was very plain when speaking of our situation. He no longer cares as he once did.”

  “Do you?”

  “I love him very much.”

  “Wrong answer.”

  “I still care very much.”

  “But you are in love with another.”

  Gwen decided to stare up at the ceiling. “I care about another.”

  “Wrong answer.”

  “I share deep feelings with another.”

  “There you go! Right answer. Truth, Gwen. It makes so much more sense.”

  “Then tell me true, Isabel. Are you wanting my husband?”

  Truth sucked sometimes. “Not at the expense of hurting your marriage.”

  “’Twas not my question.”

  “Fine. If he wasn’t married, yes, I would attempt to pursue him. But he’s married.”

  “To a woman who is craving another.”

  “Which, to tell you the truth, I find dumbfounding. But then, I don’t blame you for being attracted to Lancelot.” Stupid as all hell, but who was she to judge?

  Gwen took her arm and led her farther down the stairs. “We are in a . . . what are we in, Countess?”

  “A pickle?”

  Gwen laughed. “We share a common language, and yet we do not. But, yes, we are in somewhat of a pickle.”

  “I must tell you that I will enjoy any vegetable that is pickled. But please, no more—”

  “Eel,” they both said at once.

  “I will see what I can do with the people in the cooking rooms,” Gwen said.

  “I have a suggestion.”

  “Then I must hear it.”

  “Trevor should be made top chef. When I couldn’t stomach last night’s meal, he fed me foods that kept me from starving.”

  “Then you are in luck, as Trevor is in charge of the morning meal.”

  “Please, no eel omelet.”

  Gwen laughed. “Learn to just say no. And, by the by, Trevor is also not a lover of eel.”

  “Thank heavens.” They hit the bottom of the staircase and headed to the formal dining room, where the meeting was to take place. “Okay, Gwen, here we go.”

  “Yes, Isabel, here we go. Would have been better had we tipped a bit of wine first.”

  “Wow, really early for that, Gwen. But okay, let’s do it,” Isabel said as she and Gwen veered from the hall and into the kitchen.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  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 th
rough 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 up
on 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.”