by P. C. Cast
“I forget the answer,” she finally said.
“I will repeat. ‘The woman who Arthur, King of Camelot, has come to love so much that he will do anything to protect her from harm.’” He grinned. “The first response was slightly insulting, as it was a slobbering dog. I will, however, forgive that one and allow another choice.”
“Who is Countess Isabel?” she whispered.
“Oh, so correct, Isabel.”
“I have one for you.”
He smiled. “As you say many a time, hit me.”
“The woman who refuses to allow you to give up your lands, your dream, your love just for her. The woman who is so ready to follow you into battle to keep the dream of Camelot alive.”
He took her face in his hands. “The question would be, Who is the one I would hold captive afore I e’er allowed her to run into harm’s way on my behalf? It will not happen, Isabel. I cannot even believe of such.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that women could actually help behind the lines? Allow us to take part.”
“No. I will not have women harmed. And you . . . I could not live if you were harmed. I just could not.”
“And yet you expect me, or any of us, to stand by and watch you be injured, or worse?”
“I do. It is what I must do. Please, Isabel, do not make me worry about you, should it come to this. I could not do my job.”
“Is it coming to this?”
He hesitated, but finally nodded. “It appears a possibility. Those not invited to the table have banded together, according to reports. We must prepare.”
“Then we will.”
“Isabel, no.”
“I will not allow anyone to harm you without a fight. Wouldn’t you do the same for me?”
“’Tis not the same.”
“It is exactly the same. If you think women are incapable of doing what they must to protect their king, their castle, their life, then you are underestimating us all.”
“I do not underestimate. I have need to protect. You, most of all.”
“How much time do we have?” she asked.
“Isabel—”
“How much time, Arthur?”
“My best estimate with my men’s information is three weeks. We believe they plan to attack when all of the knights invited to the table have gathered.”
“That sounds like a pretty stupid plan to me.”
“Not should there be traitors sitting amongst us.”
“Do you know which?”
“I have a fair idea.”
Isabel growled. “The women will not only aid, we are going to kick ass.”
“Isabel.”
“Yes, Arthur?”
“You excite me and drive fear into me at one and the same time.”
“I hope you bring the excitement with you this evening. The fear, allow me to take care of that.”
“Isabel, I am to protect you.”
She thumped his arm. “Just for once, Arthur, get used to the idea that women can be very useful in taking care of their men. Just once.”
“I will not allow you to go into battle, should this attack occur. Isabel, please, I cannot even stomach the possibility. I love you. Do you not ken?”
“Oh, yes, I ken. How about if I promise that none of us, not a single woman, actually enters any type of battlefield?”
He peered at her. “You have a sneaky plan, Isabel.”
She offered him the falsest innocent face imaginable. “I swear, I truly swear, that we will not enter the field of battle.”
“You have another plan.”
“I swear, I swear we will not enter the field of battle.”
“I do not know whether to laugh or shake with worry.”
“I choose Laugh for one thousand, Alex.”
“Isabel, I could not bear if anything happened to you. The love I have for you is . . . just so . . . I cannot even describe the feelings. I only know that should I lose you after I have just found you, I . . . I cannot imagine going on.”
She chuckled as she looked up into his hard, warm, worried face. “I am not the one readying herself for battle, Arthur. How do you think I feel, knowing you are?”
“’Tis what I do.”
“Oh, yes, ’tis what you do. And I am supposed to smile, pack you a lunch, send you off and say, ‘Hope you’re still alive by supper, Arthur. It would be such a shame to waste your favorite meal. However, Pix might enjoy it.’”
He glared at her for a moment, and then just laughed. He pulled her close. “This has been the strangest conversation I have e’er had. I love you so much.”
“As you should,” she said, still feeling grumpy and afraid. She’d had no idea that danger might be close at hand. He had managed to keep that little piece of information close to the vest. Or tunic. Or chain stuff. “We will not sit by, Arthur. We have ways.”
“Should it come to this, I will not allow women to rush in. And most definitely not my woman.”
“Women will not join in the stupid wars you men fight.”
“Meaning what?”
“We are much more resourceful than you think.”
“Betimes you worry me, Countess.”
“I should worry you at all times.”
“This is what concerns me.”
“As well it should.”
“May I see you tonight?” he asked.
“What is, ‘The woman who wants to be with Arthur tonight more than any other on this earth.’ For a thousand, Alex.”
He grinned down at her. “I have yet to figure a thousand what. However, I just won them.”
“For a thousand. I really, truly want to hear it from your lips.”
“Who is the woman Arthur loves and desires beyond all others?”
“Oh, that is so correct. Double bonus for you.”
“Tonight, then, Isabel?”
“Oh, yes, please.”
As he left the room, she heard him say, “I do hope your toes have dried by now, Mary. And yours as well, Gwen.”
“WE must move up the date of your wedding, Mary,” Isabel said, even as she was getting over total embarrassment. Good gods, they had been right outside of the door. Both, however returned as if they had heard nothing. And then the three of them looked at each other, and once again could not contain their humor. They laughed, but then sobered when she said, “The women of Camelot . . . and guests such as myself,” she added, nodding to Gwen, “need to prepare to protect the men. I have a plan. Or a partial one. We need to scheme, and we need to involve all of the servants to pull it off.”
She held up her hand. “Are we in?”
“I am,” Mary said, joining hands.
“As am I,” said Gwen, clasping both of her hands around theirs.
“Good, because, Gwen, to pull this off, I need you to put on that crown and use it for all it’s worth.”
“Consider it donned.”
“Good. Mary, how would you like to marry James day after tomorrow?”
Mary’s eyes widened. “Are you jesting?”
“No. Your dress is ready, is it not?”
“It is.”
“I can take care of the feast,” Isabel said. “Gwen, you have such a touch with flowers and decoration. You can make the hall lovely, I trust.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Excellent. Tomorrow, I fear, game time is going to be spent airing out those rushes and scrubbing the great hall. When Mary and James exchange vows, it is going to smell like spring, not like a sty.”
They both nodded. “Mary, I fear you are going to have to work tomorrow. James needs a haircut, and so does Arthur.”
“And Lance,” Gwen said.
“And Lance. Although I must say he looks kind of cute shaggy,” Isabel said.
Gwen smiled while still admiring her toes. “Yes, he does. Yet a trim could not hurt.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“M’LADY,” a man said as he passed Isabel in the great hall, where she was on her knees, scrubbi
ng the floor.
She glanced up, down, up, down, then up again. “James?”
He stopped, his face, free of hair, went a little red. “Yes, Countess.”
She jumped up, pulling his burly self around to face her. “James! Oh, good gods, look at you!”
“I am not able to do that, Countess, as I am looking at you.”
She laughed and wiped her brow. “Why in the world have you been hiding that handsome face behind so much . . . fur?”
“I . . . Countess, are you jesting? I feel almost disrobed.”
“Holy smokes, James,” Isabel said, truly shocked. Without all of that hair, he looked like a young Clooney, albeit beefier. About a foot taller. And way better. “Why have you been hiding your good looks? I mean, truly.”
She was sincerely almost at a loss for words.
“I did not know I was doing such. But I appreciate it, Countess. Yet right now I feel as a newborn babe,” he said, rubbing his jaw.
“Mary takes no prisoners.”
“Oh, she does indeed. Right now her prisoner is the king.”
She smiled. “Now I see what Mary has always seen. What a lucky bride to have such a handsome groom.”
“I am the lucky one, Countess.” He glanced around. “And her toes are pretty,” he whispered.
“As is she.”
He got a moony look on his face. “She is. I cannot thank you enough for the kindness you have shown her. She is very excited about this gown.”
“She is the best kind of friend, James. I am guessing she will be that much of a friend to you, as well as your life mate.”
He rubbed at his eyes. “We cannot thank you enough for your generosity.”
“All I want is for the two of you to be happy. I would plant a kiss on your cheek, if I had a ladder that would help me get up there.”
He surveyed the room again, and then said, “A kiss from a countess would be an honor.”
He bent down and she kissed his cheek. “All good wishes, James.”
“All good wishes to you and my king, Countess. I have feelings, and I know this feeling is right. You are meant for one another. As Mary and I are.”
He strode away before she could utter a single word.
She shook her head and went back to scrubbing the floor. Gwen was out with several servants, all of them beating the rushes to, she hoped, a merciful death.
Although Gwen had sworn she had a formula to also relieve their miserable selves from stinking.
“Isabel!”
She nearly fell over from the shock. She looked up, and there was Arthur, clean-cut and gorgeous. “Wow,” she said, standing up. “You, sir, are the most handsome king I have ever seen in my life.”
“And how many kings have you seen exactly?” he asked.
None, other than Arthur of course. “Naked, you mean? That would be one.”
He tried not to smile and failed miserably. “Isabel, why are you down on your hands and knees?”
“I’m cleaning. Trust me, this hall needs it badly.”
“There are people to do this.”
“Right. Like me. I am capable, Arthur. By the way, you look luscious.”
“Do not try to distract me with words I do not ken,” he said. “I want you not down on the floor.”
“Too freakin’ bad. I can help clean as well as anyone.”
“We have people who—”
“Arthur! If I am not willing to help, what does that say about me? Do not, and I mean really, do not give me trouble for helping clean this hall.”
“But there are people—”
“Do not even go there. Do you stand around as your men work out?”
“No, but—”
“Do you stand by while your men fight your battles for you?”
“No, but—”
“Then please don’t be upset when I do what needs to be done. I am no better than anyone because I happened to be born into royalty.” She had no idea if that was true in this alter reality, but she was going with it. “Are you any better than others because you managed to pull a sword out of a stone?”
“No, but—”
“We all bleed red, Arthur. We are the same.”
“Yes, but—”
She waited, but he seemed to be stumped. “Yes, but what?”
“You missed a spot over here, Isabel.”
And he walked away, into his study.
Good gods, she loved that man. She was going to kick his ass to be sure. But in the most loving way. She moved over and started scrubbing the spot she had missed.
* * *
THE wedding vows between James and Mary had Isabel almost crying. They were so true and heartfelt and Mary was a beautiful bride.
Gwen had truly outdone herself. The hall was spectacular with candles and flowers everywhere. In Isabel’s day, Gwen would probably be the most successful party planner in the entire state of Oklahoma.
The results were truly breathtaking.
Isabel, obviously, had never witnessed such a ceremony. It wasn’t religious, but so very spiritual.
“I do thee vow,” James said.
And as his second man, Arthur stepped before them. “You will honor your wife.”
“I will.”
“Protect her and keep her at all costs.”
“I will.”
“Isabel?” he said.
She moved in front of the two and twined their hands, as was the custom.
“You will honor your husband?”
“I will.”
“Protect and keep him at all costs?”
That was way off script. The wife was supposed to honor his wishes and obey his demands. But she could not have possibly choked that out of her mouth.
“She will,” James chimed in before protests could begin.
“I will,” Mary said.
“Excellent,” Isabel said. “You are so going to live happily together.” She bent and kissed Mary’s cheek. “He is a lucky man, m’lady,” she whispered.
Mary looked up at her and grinned. “Yes, he is.”
Arthur closed the ceremony and then called for all to celebrate.
* * *
“WHAT in Hades was that?” Arthur asked Isabel, when he finally managed to corner her.
“What?”
“’Twas not as ceremonies go. You—”
“Went off script, yes, I know. But it was so much more truthful.”
“Truthful?”
“Arthur, had you and I ever married—”
“You must mean when we marry.”
“Okay, dream on. When we marry, there is no way in hell I’m promising to obey you. And there was no way I was going to ask Mary to vow to do such a thing. So I improvised.”
He stared for a moment, then broke out laughing. “Oh, Isabel, you are a puzzle. And a constant delight.”
“I’m taking that as a compliment. I think.”
“Take it as a compliment. I think.”
“Then we’re good to go. Now let’s go celebrate.”
THE reception lasted well into the night. The food, wine and mead disappearing as fast as it was produced. To the credit of all who had to work the party, they seemed genuinely happy for Mary and James. If not, they put up a really good front. And Isabel had the feeling she knew who to thank for that.
She walked over to Gwen, who seemed to be giving Jenny a pep talk. Jenny was ringing her hands and nodding.
“Your voice is beautiful, Jenny. You will do just fine,” she heard Gwen say. “Just sing it like you did this morning.”
Jenny nodded a final time, then ran off.
“I must say, Lady Guinevere, your throw one hell of a party,” Isabel said.
Gwen smiled at her. “We throw one hell of a party. I could not have done this without you.”
“Or without a gazillion people helping.”
Gwen laughed. “That, too.”
They both looked as Jenny began singing. Oh, it was so beautiful. Isabel didn’t know the song
, but she knew a voice like no other when she heard it. All clapped at the end, as well they should have.
Wow! Impressive didn’t even begin to describe it.
“She’s good!”
“In many ways. She sings to me during bathing.”
“Wow, lucky you!”
“Indeed.”
“Speaking of which, just what did you say to the staff?” Isabel asked.
“I am certain I know not what you mean,” Gwen said, swirling the wine in her goblet.
“I am certain you do.”
Gwen smiled, then sipped at her wine. “I merely mentioned how thrilled I was for Mary and James, and would it not be shameful if others did not share in their joy this night.”
Isabel nodded. “Very tactful. And effective. That was such a nice thing to do.”
“’Twas the very least I could do.”
“This is not the wine talking, this is me.” Isabel said. “I really enjoy and admire you, Gwen. When you step up, you really step up.”
Gwen’s eyes welled. She glanced around. “This is not the wine talking,” she said softly, “this is me. I understand, completely, why Arthur is so taken with you.”
Okay, it was Isabel’s turn to blink back tears. “No matter what the future holds, I hope we will always be friends, Gwen.”
“That is my hope as well. Perhaps even one day pinky-finger friends.”
Isabel nearly coughed up a mouthful of wine. When she finally managed to swallow, she said, “How do you like Lance’s hair?”
Gwen’s eyes went straight to her lover. “He does look exceedingly handsome, does he not?”
If you preferred the young pretty-boy types. Isabel figured that tastes differed drastically. She thought Arthur, with his rugged and oh-so-handsome good looks, was so much sexier. But at the moment she was thrilled that her idea of attractive and Gwen’s were from completely different planets. “He does, indeed,” she said, diplomacy being the better part of not getting her hair pulled out.
“And how about James?” she added.
“Who knew?” Gwen said.
“Mary did. She saw past all of that to his heart. But truly, he’s a very attractive giant.”
Gwen giggled. Then she said, “Even Mordred appears more handsome.”
“He needs a few years to grow into his looks, but he really lucked out in the gene department. I look at him and see Arthur at his age.”