by P. C. Cast
Isabel saw the heartbreak in Mary’s eyes and wondered what kind of world this girl lived in where she had to choose between friends and her man. Or between success in whatever form, rather than remaining stagnant. She supposed in her own day that sort of thing still happened. For example, a stupid, bigoted jackass of a father who would rather see his daughter dead than marry outside her race or religion. But this. This was just wrong.
“Mary, do you love James?”
“Oh, yes, I very much love him.”
“Good. Then remember those friends who are happy for you after you marry. And once you do marry and your station rises, bring them with you. You forget those whose envy and jealousies colored their judgment, and do what you will. Forgive them or ignore them. But never, ever forget those friends happy for you, okay?”
“Countess Isabel, I will ne’er forget you.”
“You had better not!” It was juvenile, Isabel knew, but she felt so close to Mary already, almost as if they’d known each other forever. Had it only been a couple of days?
She held up her pinky finger. “We will be pinky-finger friends for life, should you agree.”
Mary stared, obviously confused. But finally it seemed to dawn on her. She held up her pinky finger, and the two hooked them together.
“Pinky finger friends for life, Mary. The most important bond.”
“Friends for life,” Mary said.
Isabel held back tears. Finally she stood, pulling Mary up with her. “And now, miss, please go sweetly ask others to bring me lots and lots of hot water.”
Mary stared down into the tub. “Isabel, what if . . . ?”
“The queen ingested it, Mary, she didn’t bathe in it.”
“You are certain of this?”
“According to Jenny, who came with news, Tom is. He helped her to vomit it out of her system.”
“That is unpleasant.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I will have hot water brought to you as soon as possible.”
“Thank you, Mary.”
They smiled a wonderful friendship smile before Mary turned to leave. But she surprised Isabel by turning back. “I was more than a bit proud of you today, Isabel.”
Isabel, feeling so drained she bet she could sleep for a week, smiled. “Thanks, Mary. It was just training I learned in my youth.”
And wished desperately that she could have used it on Curtis in Afghanistan. But there had been so much blood.
“And, Isabel?” Mary said once again.
“Yes, Mary?”
“The king was quite worried about you.”
“Me?”
“’Tis not as if he was not worried for the queen. Just a thing that I recognized as he was standing outside fretting. He was asking of you.”
“Thanks for letting me know. I will reassure him at supper that all is well.”
AFTER her long, luxurious bath, Isabel got out, feeling somewhat refreshed, yet still drained. A day full of such promise had gone horribly wrong.
Mary, who had the uncanny ability to know exactly when Isabel would be needing her, came in to help her dress and fix her hair. Today she formed it into a simple long braid that she somehow managed to work so that the braid curled around Isabel’s neck to rest against her chest.
“I picked some flowers this morn, deciding I would weave them into your hair for the afternoon and evening; however, after today ...” She shuddered.
“Mary, we don’t even know if it was any type of flower that made the queen ill. And as we have discussed, she would have had to eat or drink whatever was harmful.”
“Does not hurt to be cautious a’ times.”
Superstitious was more likely, but Isabel didn’t voice it.
“I have a message for you from your healer, Tom, mum,” Mary said as she stood and admired her own handiwork. “He asks that you meet him in the queen’s bedchamber.”
Isabel stood. “By all means, lead the way.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
TURNED out that the royal chamber was not all that far from her own, relatively speaking. Mary informed her that the proximity was deemed to be an honor. The more important the guest, the closer their quarters to the king and queen’s.
The royal bedchamber was exactly that: royal. Tapestries covered much of the walls, the coat of arms of Camelot, she suspected, being the one hanging above the head of the bed.
The bed itself was canopy style, with hunter green silks covering it and draping down the sides. Right now the silks were pulled back and held with gold sashes so that Gwen was visible in the massive bed, appearing pale and frail.
Tom sat dozing in an oversize chair near the crackling fireplace, lending a warm, rosy glow to the room. Seeing no one else in the room to give her leave to enter, Isabel stepped quietly across the huge space and gently shook Tom.
He awoke with a start and a snort, then sat up and blinked. “Oh, Isabel. Good, it’s you.”
He stood up then pulled and tugged at his leggings, grimacing. “My kingdom for a nice pair of chinos and a polo,” he said.
She hugged him, laughing softly. “You do look kind of ridiculous.” Then she stepped back and searched his face. “Are they treating you well? I have rarely seen you except at meals.”
“If this were a medieval Hilton, I’d give it five stars. Yes, they’ve been very accommodating to all three of us. But thank goodness the Lady was kind enough to allow us to bring a few luxuries from home.”
“Really? Such as?”
“Harry found a deck of cards in his trunk. After we send the servants to bed for the night, we get together for a few rounds of poker.”
“Hey, next time invite me.”
He grinned. “We’ve been avoiding it. I think you put yourself through college stealing our money.”
“Oh, bull . . . oney.”
Still, they grinned at each other. She and Tom had dated a couple of times in college, until they’d decided they made much better friends. Then it became their sworn duty to find each other’s soul mates, forcing each other on more blind dates than either cared to remember. Isabel won when she’d fixed Tom up with Brenda Newesome, a sweet girl she’d met when they’d both been waiting tables to help pay tuition.
It was love at first sight, and Tom and Brenda had been together ever since, with three kids—twin boys and an adorable little girl.
“Oh, Tom, I’m so sorry. Brenda and the kids. I hope they aren’t going crazy with worry.”
“Hey, I’m a doppelganger, remember? The Lady assured us all that life is going on as usual back home. You are the only one here for real.”
Isabel wondered if anyone missed her back in Oklahoma. Were people looking for her? Had they found her body?
No, Isabel, you have not been found. Your penchant to disappear on assignment is renowned. As events in Camelot come to unfold, your story at home will to all be told.
Thank you, Viviane.
Thank you, Isabel, for the pride I feel for choosing a woman who is Arthur’s ideal.
Isabel truly wanted to get away from accolades. She was happy to have helped another human in distress, but this was feeling like something she’d continue to need to live up to. She knew her own life, her own faults. Perfection wasn’t even in the Isabel dictionary. In the “How Many Times Can You Possibly Fuck Up Your Life?” category in Guinness, her name could be prominently displayed. In bold.
She mentally shook herself. “How’s your patient?” she asked.
“Ah, yes.” They both moved to her bedside. Gwen had been changed into nightclothes at some point. Isabel found herself irrationally hoping that Tom, with the help of Gwen’s maid servant or lady in waiting or whatever they were called, were the two to have disrobed and redressed her, and not Arthur.
It was a ridiculous thought since the king had obviously seen his wife naked plenty of times.
“I had the distinct pleasure of attempting to discern the contents of the queen’s stomach, once she’d expelled them.
What became abundantly clear was that she had recently ingested some form of wild mushroom. I learned from the cook who prepared her morning repast that the queen had recently discovered them and requested that they be served in her eggs this morning.”
“Poisonous mushrooms?”
“Would be my best guess, yes.”
“It would account for her hallucinations? Her irrational behavior? Her . . . heart attack?”
“As far as I can tell, considering the appalling lack of equipment, it wasn’t a heart attack per se, just pure and unadulterated poisoning. You saved her life giving her CPR and keeping her alive long enough to let me help, Izzy.”
Isabel smiled. “CPR. Which you taught me a long time ago.”
“Who knew you were such a good student? I thought you were just amusing me when you agreed to be my test dummy.”
“How did you get her to vomit?”
Tom grimaced. “The old-fashioned way. The super-model special.”
“Two fingers down her throat?”
“Exactly. She wasn’t exactly happy about it. Almost bit my fingers off. But if not for you, Izzy, she would not be here.”
ARTHUR could not believe the jealousy that had turned his stomach over as he stood in the doorway and witnessed Isabel’s familiarity with the tooth doctor. He should be worrying about his wife. He should be considering the idea of a possible murderer wishing harm to Gwen or any at Camelot. But his mind only saw the touching between Isabel and another man. He strode into the room, attempting to keep his need to rid the tooth doctor of all of his own teeth under control.
“And I bore witness to it all,” he said.
They both turned.
“Arthur!” Isabel said.
“King Arthur,” toothful Tom said, offering something of a clumsy bow. There must not be much formality in Dumont, because all seemed out of practice.
“I bore witness to many things today,” he added. “And I know no way of repayment that will be good enough to express my gratitude.”
Tom and Isabel glanced at each other, grinned, then said at the same time, “Hey, it’s what we do.”
They both chuckled as Arthur frowned in confusion.
Isabel smiled, then took Tom’s arm in hers and bumped against him playfully. “We have been friends for many, many years, since we were both in school back in Ok—”
“Dumont,” Tom interrupted.
“Yes, Dumont.”
Arthur stared at their hooked arms, and Isabel detached and stepped slightly aside.
The king looked down at Gwen. “Will she recover?”
“Fully. She needs bed rest, plenty of water in small amounts. If she feels an insatiable need to keep drinking, she needs to be stopped. Small quantities in everything. She needs to be reintroduced to food gradually. Chicken or beef broth at first, maybe rice or bread pudding. Nothing greasy or heavy for quite some time. But give her a few days and she should be good as new.”
“I must needs relay all of this information to her servant, Jenny.”
“Already done,” Tom said. “I gave her the drill. I then sent her to rest because she herself was quite shaken. But she will be here to relieve me shortly.”
“So the mushrooms were the poisonous substance, as you suspected?” Arthur asked.
“I am nearly positive that must have been it. Nothing else in her routine had changed, according to Jenny.”
“And Gwen brought these mushrooms to the cook herself?”
“She did. There was nothing nefarious here, King Arthur. It was just a horrible accident.”
“I wonder where she came upon these mushrooms? I have seen nothing like this on the property or in the gardens. Then again, I suppose I do not monitor such details as I should.”
“She found them at the farthest cottage at the southeast end of the grounds,” Tom said. “At least, that’s what she told me in between . . . expelling some.”
Arthur’s eyes first rounded, then narrowed. “I know the cottage of which you speak.”
“Then I suggest you get your gardeners out there to pull and dispose of them as soon as possible. Before someone else sees them as potential delicacies and not the deadly poisons they might be.”
Arthur nodded, then glanced down again at his wife. He should have felt a need to stroke her pale face, to pull a chair to her bedside and sit vigilance.
“If you would like us to leave the two of you alone, Arthur,” Isabel said, “we will be happy to give you privacy.”
“No need,” Arthur said, as he stared at his wife. “She appears to be in much better care than I am capable of providing.” He took Tom’s hand and shook it. “My eternal gratitude.”
Isabel was a bit shocked. She had not witnessed handshakes in the normal form since she’d been here. She’d assumed such a practice had not been invented yet. Just ring kissing and groveling and manly grunts of approval between the men.
“I cannot begin to repay you. Either of you. For saving her, I mean.”
“No need, sir,” Tom said. “It’s—”
“—what you do,” Arthur finished, a slight smile tipping up his lips. “I am very grateful that you are here to have done it.”
“You’re welcome.”
“May I escort you out, Countess?” Arthur asked.
“You may,” Tom said before Isabel could reply. “And don’t forget, Izzy, we still have that bet.”
“I know this is an unseemly request,” Arthur said as they walked the never-ending steps down to the great hall, “but would you agree to walk with me to the cottage where I believe Gwen found her mushrooms?”
“The scene of the crime?” Isabel teased. Then seeing Arthur’s confusion, she sighed. “Yes, I will be happy to help you find the poisons.”
They strolled down winding mulch paths, the vegetation becoming much more dense the farther they walked. The quick flash of the earlier thunderstorm had passed, and the sun was shining once again.
Both were silent for a while before Arthur finally said, “I assume you consider me a bastard for not sitting by Gwen’s side.”
“It’s not my place to judge, Arthur.”
“Yet you have opinions on all things, Isabel, you must have one on this.”
She stopped and faced him. “You truly want my opinion? No matter what?”
He actually grinned. “Yes, Countess, I really do.”
“Great, then gird it up, tough man. Here’s what comes to mind, just off the top of my head.”
“I am girded.”
“I believe we are heading to the cottage where Lance and Gwen meet. I think after their last meeting she found the mushrooms. I believe you are not sitting by her side right now because you refuse to be a hypocrite. You have made certain that she is in no danger of dying, and you have those around her making certain she is well taken care of.”
“So far, you are correct.”
“Don’t stop me, I’m on a roll.”
He continued to grin, and damn, she loved that grin. But he kept silent.
“You asked me here to not just help you, but because you wanted us to be alone in a beautiful, isolated spot. You wanted to tell me things you could not say inside the castle. In short, Arthur, you wanted to get me alone.”
“May I speak now?” he asked, his eyes still glittering with humor.
“You may.”
“You are correct, but you missed one important point.”
“Which is?”
“Because I believe this is Gwen and Lance’s trysting spot, I did not want to come here alone. I feared I might do something rash, and I wanted a voice of reason beside me to keep me from acting on impulse.”
“I see.” Isabel stopped him. “Arthur, you have a good six inches on me and probably at least half again my weight. What makes you think I could possibly stop you from doing anything you set your mind to?”
“Well, for one thing, I witnessed how you handled Mordred.”
“Arthur, you were holding on to him at the time. Not the sam
e thing.”
“And second, your words are more powerful than any weapon. I can face a sword, but I have very little defense against your words, your thoughts.”
That admission truly stunned Isabel. Would that she had that much power over any human. “You give me way too much credit, Arthur.”
“We shall see when my desire to burn that cottage to the ground overwhelms me.”
“Well, I have a good argument against that drastic measure right away. If you cannot contain the fire, you are in danger of destroying much more than just that structure.”
“Now see, that is the cool-headed thinking that needs to be drummed into my simple and short-sighted thinking.”
“Taking it out on a perfectly innocent cottage is not going to change what happened there, Arthur. The cottage did not cause the events.”
He took her elbow and they continued walking. “Do you believe in fate, Isabel?”
“Yes, I do. Although I truly admit that sometimes fate takes some funny turns at times.”
“How so?”
“Well, for example, I believed my purpose in coming to Camelot was one thing, but I believe fate conspired to make it something totally different.”
“I still see the mutual benefit of our adjoining lands as a priority for Camelot and Dumont.”
She hadn’t even been thinking of that, but she didn’t correct him. “I agree. And I still see it as wholly attainable.”
“But now you believe fate had something more in mind?”
“I do.”
“What would that be?”
“This is going to sound very conceited.”
“I am listening.”
“I believe I’m here to, I don’t know, do whatever is in my power to help you save Camelot from those who wish to bring you down.”
“That is not boastful. In truth, it touches me greatly. But my theory is slightly different.”
“Okay, let’s hear yours.”
“I believe you were sent here to save me.”
Oh boy, he kind of hit that nail on the head. Well, not exactly. The ultimate purpose as far as the Lady was concerned was to save Merlin. But that truly meant saving Arthur first. “You?” she asked carefully, though her heart began drumming.