Lancelot stares at the wall, evidently lost in thought. "I do not know," he says at last. "Perhaps we should wait and see if the rumor spreads. A few loose tongues do not the end of a kingdom make. I will stay clear of the queen for the next moon, and there will be no new stories to feed the fire. Thus, 'twill die out."
"I know, but…" I pace the floor, trying to quell the nervous ache in my stomach. What he's saying makes sense, but at the same time, knowing how the legends are supposed to play out, it still makes me nervous.
"Besides," Lancelot adds, "they have no proof to their claim. For a case of treason to be substantiated, they must catch us in the act. Which," he says with a grin, "certainly will never happen."
He's got a point there. According to the legends, the knights catch him and Guen in bed together. They don't burn Guen on account of a rumor. Maybe I'm overreacting.
Then again, maybe I'm not.
* * *
The next month goes by quickly. Lancelot and I spend many hours discussing our future together. I inform him of everything a man needs to know about twenty-first-century life: what he'll wear, how he'll talk, what he'll eat. I teach him about never wearing navy blue with black, the importance of shaving regularly, and how to make a perfect dirty martini. When I get through with him he'll be a regular metrosexual.
I also talk to Merlin and ask him if it's possible for Lance to come back with me. He says yes—once the portal has been opened, anyone can step through. In fact, the old magician is more than thrilled at the idea of Lancelot taking off with me. This way, he says, there'll be absolutely no chance the queen and her knight could ever get together once I'm gone. I think about mentioning the rumor I heard, but since it seems to have died down, I figure it's not worth it.
I tell Guenevere that Lance is coming back with me, and she's totally psyched, though a little sad for herself, being left behind and all. She will miss me, she says. I have become her best friend. I ditto that. If she wasn't all in love with Arthur, I'd suggest she come back too. She'd adore the twenty-first century—I know she would. But she'd never leave her true love. That's for sure.
Not that Arthur's been spending much time at the castle lately. His dealings with the lords and other kings over how to keep the precarious Saxon peace are taking up a lot of his time. He's hardly ever home, and I know Guen misses him dreadfully.
Of course, there's now a proxy king in place at Camelot. Whether officially sanctioned or not, Mordred has stepped up to the plate and embraced his role as heir to Arthur's often-vacated throne. He talks a good game—of action, battles, and blood. In reality, the dude's probably never picked up a sword in his life, but his ideas ignite a fire under the knights' feet, and they become restless. Fighting breaks out frequently between those still loyal to Arthur and Mordred's growing regiment.
Guenevere is especially worried at Mordred's popularity. She obviously has no interest in seeing her husband's throne usurped and has sent messages to London on several occasions to try to convince Arthur to return and reclaim his kingdom. But when Arthur does return for short periods of time, he laughs at Guenevere's worries and insists his son is simply exerting the power of his birthright and has every right to do so. In fact, I think he's kind of proud of the prince. I guess it's a dad thing. Or maybe one where love is blind. Oh well, what do I care? I'm leaving soon anyway. I'm simply looking out for Guen.
Three nights before summer solstice, I find myself in Lancelot's chambers. Our last night in the castle. Lance, Guen, and I have decided to leave for Stonehenge a couple of days early so she can practice her spell casting. She's extremely nervous about messing it up, which, of course, puts me on edge too. I don't want to have it fizzle and end up stuck in Camelot for another year.
"Are you excited, my darling?" Lancelot asks, pulling me into his arms. We've just made love, and I'm feeling warm and fuzzy all over.
"You don't know the half of it," I purr. "Just think, the next time we get it on, we'll be in the twenty-first century."
"Aye," he whispers, dragging a finger down my bare shoulder. "And I am sure you will feel as delicious."
I roll over to face him. "Do you have any regrets?"
He shakes his head, and I see his eyes are clear, with no worry or doubt clouding their brilliant blue. "Nay," he says, leaning over to give me a soft kiss on the lips. "In fact, I'm greatly looking forward to it—to spending the rest of my life with you."
"Ditto." I sigh contentedly. "This has worked out perfectly. I only wish I had a chance to thank Nimue personally."
"Nimue?" Lancelot's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. I gulp. Oops. I forgot for a moment he doesn't know Nimue and Merlin's plot. Major duh. "Why would you thank her?"
"Er, um…" Come on, Kat, think! "I would thank her for, um, saving my life when I was ill."
Lancelot frowns, sitting up in bed, and taking my hand. "You are a terrible liar, Kat. What is it you are not telling me?"
"Nothing. Really." I pull my hand away and stare at the ground. What am I supposed to say? That I was brought back in time to make sure he stays away from Guenevere? I can't tell him that now! He'll totally freak.
"Kat…" His voice sounds a stern warning. "What are you keeping from me?"
"Keeping from you?" I ask, laughing nervously. "I would never keep anything from you."
"Woman, I am leaving my whole world for you. It is not fair for you to keep a secret from me."
"I know." I sigh, resolving to tell him the truth. He deserves to know. Besides, he's usually very understanding. In fact, I don't know why I'm even nervous about it. "Um, well, it turns out I didn't travel back in time randomly. Evidently I was sent for by Nimue and Merlin."
Lancelot's eyes widen. "What? What ever for?"
Okay, here goes. "For you. They say I'm the only one you would fall in love with."
"And they would care about my love life why?" he asks in a tight voice. Uh-oh. The hands-balling-into-fists thing he's got going on is not looking good. But it's too late to turn back now.
"So you wouldn't fall in love with Guenevere and thus start the roller-coaster downfall of Camelot and the rise of Christianity." I try to make it all sound very casual, no big deal.
"You knew of this?" Lancelot says in a loud and very angry voice. "So that means you seduced me on purpose in order to help them in their political gain?" He rises from the bed and grabs his tunic, throwing it over his head. This is not going well—at all.
"No!" I cry. "That's not how it was!" I get up from the bed and try to pull him back. "Sit. Let's talk about this," I beg.
He shrugs my hand away. "When did they tell you this?" he demands, grabbing me by both shoulders. "How long have you known of their plan?"
I know I should be lying through my teeth at this point—like, say I found out yesterday. But stupidly, the truth spills from my lips. Blame it on love, I guess, but something inside me insists he deserves to know everything. "When I was sick. At Avalon. Nimue told me."
"So all these moons you have been deceiving me?" Lancelot says in a furious tone, dropping his hands. "By the goddess, this all makes perfect sense. Your jealousy and suspicion of the queen and me. Your following us to Camelot Cottage and accusing me of lying with her. Your insistent attempts to save the marriage of Guenevere and Arthur. Your begging me to come back to the twenty-first century." He slams his fist against the wall, actually cracking the stone with the force of the gesture. "What did Nimue promise you in exchange?"
I bow my head. I'm a loser. A total loser. "She said she would send me back to the twenty-first century." My heart aches as I see his face turn white with rage. The man I love more than anything now thinks I hooked up with him only to secure my one-way ticket back home.
"Of course. You would sacrifice anything to get back to your precious twenty-first century." He paces the room, his steps eating up the distance between walls. "What would you have done when I got to your world, Kat? Deserted me? Left me to fend for myself in a foreign land?"
"Lance
, it wasn't like that!" I cry, desperate to explain. I grab his hand, try to still his pacing, but he shrugs away. "I fell in love with you. It was never a lie. It was a total coincidence that Nimue asked me to seduce the one man I already wanted. And besides, it's for the best. If you and Guen got together, history says you'd be caught by the other knights. And Guen would be tried for treason and burned at the stake. You would be cast out of Camelot forever. This is a much better scenario."
"Maybe you should have murdered me in my sleep," he growls. "Then I would not have gotten together with the queen as well, and 'twould have spared me this agony."
"Please try to understand. I didn't manipulate you. I realize I should have told you, but I didn't know how. I was worried that you'd act like you are acting now. And I thought that, since I really do love you, it didn't make any difference in the end."
"It makes a great difference. How can I ever trust you now?" He turns and stares at me, and I ache to see the hurt and confusion in his eyes. "I would have gladly given you my life, Katherine. Instead, you have torn out my heart while I still live."
Tears blur my vision as my mind races for a way to explain, to make him see that he's taking it all wrong. How can I convince him that I love him so much? That the times we have spent together have been the best of my life?
"Lance…" I try, not knowing what I'm going to say. "Please try to—"
Suddenly, there's a knock on the door. We both stare at it.
"That will be the queen," Lance says in a low voice. "Dress yourself. And if you have any love for her in your heart, do not tell her what you have told me. I would spare her that pain."
"But—"
"If you keep silent, I will continue to offer you my protection by accompanying you to Stonehenge. If you speak out, I will leave you to fend for yourself."
Well, that's something, I guess. That'll give me a couple more days to convince him I'm telling the truth about my feelings for him.
And besides, he's right. I can't let Guen in on the whole thing so she starts hating me too. I throw the dress over my head and allow him to open the door to let the queen in.
"Greetings! I have come to see if you are ready to leave for Stonehenge," Guenevere says, stepping into the room, completely oblivious to what has transpired. "Ina arranged for the horses. Everything is in order."
"Actually we're not quite ready," I say, hoping to stall her. I have to talk to Lancelot—to make him see that I really do love him, that I need him and can't live without him. "Can you come back in, like, an hour?"
"What, so you can crawl back into bed?" Guenevere scolds, hands on her narrow hips. "You will have plenty of time for that when you reach your new life."
Oh, if only she were right. But the look on Lancelot's face tells me that as far as he's concerned, he'd rather share his bed with a cockroach.
"Go now, and get your things," Guenevere commands. "We will wait here. But hurry. I have slipped the outer guards a sleeping draft, and I do not know for how long 'twill work."
I look at her and then at Lance. He turns his head, refusing to meet my eyes. What am I supposed to do? I swallow hard. It'll have to wait until we get to Stonehenge. I still have three days, I remind myself. Plenty of time.
"Okay. I'll be back in, like, five minutes."
I rush back to my chambers and grab my purse. Then, remembering my cell phone, I run to the other end of the castle to Merlin's tower to retrieve it from the old magician. After all, I'll need it if I have to call for a cab when we get back. Who knows how much time will have passed? The fair may be gone, my car towed. Luckily, the old magician willingly gives it up this time and wishes me good luck.
"You have done well, Kat," Merlin says, actually smiling. "Nimue was right to have chosen you to save Camelot."
If only you knew, I think as I smile back and thank him before heading back down to Lancelot's room. I've now screwed up everything. In fact, if I don't make things right, for all I know, once I'm gone Lance and Guen will turn to each other for comfort. And then this whole year will have all been wasted.
No. I can't think like that. I have to have confidence that I can convince Lancelot that the whole Nimue thing doesn't matter a hill of beans. That I would have fallen in love with him anyway. That he is my soul mate, my true love. That no one else fills the void in my life like him. I feel a tear slip down my cheek. It really hurts to know that right now he thinks I've completely betrayed him.
What's that up ahead? Flickering lights? Is someone shouting? I squint, trying to make it out. I definitely need to visit the eye doctor when I get back to the twenty-first century. Is someone up and about? I don't want to run into anyone, like last time. Especially not creepy-king-in-training Mordred. At least I'm not wearing that stupid veil. I tiptoe down the hall to keep my presence unknown as I scope out the situation.
I turn the corner, and my eyes widen as I realize the hallway is alive with torchlight, flames casting dancing shadows on the otherwise darkened walls.
Guards. Shouting. Screams. Swords drawn. Chaos everywhere.
I see a porter rushing by. "What's going on?" I demand, grabbing his sleeve.
"Treason," he answers, his eyes wide. "The queen has been caught with her favorite knight. With Lancelot."
"What?" I cry. "But you've totally got it wrong. They were just waiting for me to come back."
"No mistake, lady." The porter shakes free of my grasp and runs down the hall.
I run to Lance's room at the far end of the hall. Gawain stands at the door, sword drawn, his eyes red and wild. He stares into space as if he's lost his mind and is waiting for the men in white coats to show up and take him away.
"Gawain!" I cry. "You guys are making a huge mistake."
He doesn't answer. Doesn't acknowledge me at all. It's as if he can't even hear me.
"No mistake," a cold voice corrects, stepping out from the chambers. Gawain flinches as Mordred, dressed entirely in black, puts a white hand on his broad shoulder. The prince's piercing blue eyes stare right through me, and I stifle a shiver. He looks evil. Powerful. Ruthless. He may never be a warrior, but he has learned the look of a king.
An evil king, that is.
"Lancelot and Guenevere were caught together in his chambers," Mordred says in an icy tone. "They have betrayed their king. The whore has shared her bed with a man other than my father. Now she must pay for her sins with her life."
"But—"
"That is not all," the boy king interrupts. "In his haste to escape, Lancelot attacked my half brother. By his very hand, Agravaine is dead."
Gawain lets out a tortured moan at the sound of his brother's name. No wonder he looks so crazy. I feel kind of bad for him. I mean, Agravaine was a total jerk, true, but he was still Gawain's brother—and a Knight of the Round Table. What was Lancelot thinking? Did he try to talk his way out first? Explain that things weren't as they seemed?
"Where's Lance now?" I demand.
Mordred frowns. "He has fled Camelot like the coward he is, leaving his whore to stand alone for their sins."
This is not good. This is really, really, really not good! I taste blood in my mouth and realize I've been biting down too hard on my lower lip, piercing the skin the same way I want to pierce Mordred's black heart. I squeeze my hands into fists and wonder what I should say, what I should do. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. Flying off the handle and sputtering the truth is not going to help anyone's case.
I look past Mordred into Lancelot's chambers. The bed is just as we left it—unmade, rumpled, probably reeking of the musky smell of sex. I can see why they assumed something went on here, and, of course, they're right. It just wasn't with who they think it was. And there can be no DNA testing in this time to prove it.
I pull my eyes away from the bed and scan the room. I see Agravaine's limp body on the floor, practically floating in a large pool of crimson. My stomach heaves at the sight of it, and I swallow back the bile that rises in my throat.
I raise my eyes and see, at the far end of the room, Queen Guenevere standing with her head bowed, her golden hair covering her face. I look down at her hands. They've been tied in front of her. Two guards flank her on each side, swords drawn.
"Guen!" I cry. She looks up, tears staining her white cheeks, a defeated look on her face. I attempt to go to her, but Mordred raises his sword, effectively stopping me in my tracks.
"Stand back!" he commands.
"But she didn't do it!" I sob, losing my self-control, my resolve to stay calm. Seeing the queen there, in shackles, has completely freaked me out—mostly because I know the part of the story that comes next. I dreamed it a thousand times.
Guenevere to be burned at the stake. For treason. For sleeping with Lancelot.
But she didn't sleep with Lancelot! I did! How can I convince them of that? And what will they do to me if they believe me? Will I end up serving as their human marshmallow instead?
It doesn't matter. I have to take the risk. I can't let Guenevere take the fall for something I did. She'll lose her true love, Arthur, over this. She may even lose her life. And all the people will lose their kingdom of Camelot.
I take in a deep breath and look Mordred straight in the eyes.
"It wasn't her. It was I!" I proclaim, forcing my voice to stay calm. "I slept with Lancelot. He's not really my brother at all. It was a lie to throw you off track. I'm his lover, not the queen. If anyone should be burned, it should be me."
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Mordred laughs, a venomous, cold sound that gives me the chills down to my toes. He addresses the guards waiting with Guenevere. "Take her away. To the dungeons."
He turns to Gawain. "My dear half brother, I beg you go to Bishop Mallory and see that he comes to perform last rites on our poor, dearly departed brother."
Gawain nods, agreeing like a mindless puppy dog and scampering off to do his fool's errand.
Now, alone with me, Mordred turns and smiles. "What was it you were saying, my dear?"
I let out a breath. "I am the one you should be arresting. I slept with Lancelot. Not Guenevere."
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