He laughs again. "It makes no difference to me who did the actual rutting, my sweet. It is enough that the people believe 'twas the queen."
Huh? "What are you talking about?" I demand.
"Well, you see, now my dear father is put in a rather bad position," Mordred explains. "If he pardons his true love, he will turn his people against him. After all, how can an old cuckold who cannot bring order to his own household control a kingdom? Arthur stands for the law, and even the king is not above the law. Therefore, she must be held accountable for her sins. And once she's out of the way," he sneers, baring his crooked teeth, "he will be too distraught to rule." He cackles, evidently pretty proud of his plan. "Cast your lot with me, Lady Kat," he says with a wink. "For I am the future of Camelot."
"Never!" I cry, hoping I sound braver than I feel. This is bad. Really, really bad. The dream is over. Camelot is done for. I have no idea whether or not I'll ever see Lance again. Without Guenevere's spell casting, there's no way I'm going back to the twenty-first century. Could things get any worse? And here is this little twerp who thinks he's so cool, actually trying to get me to join his team. Yeah, right. He's got a better chance of raising the Titanic. (Which, considering it hasn't even sunk yet, would be extremely challenging.)
"You do not have to decide now," Mordred informs me oh-so-graciously, "But when I take the throne, I shall need a queen by my side. I see no reason it could not be you."
What? And here I thought he hated me. "How romantic," I spit out sarcastically. "But don't you think you're counting your chickens before they hatch? And forgetting one very big contingency to your taking-over-Camelot plan? Namely, Lancelot."
Mordred's eyes darken. Evidently, I've struck a nerve. But he quickly regains his composure. "That coward?" he sneers. "He took off faster than a hart being chased by the hounds."
"Ah, good comparison. You being a dirty dog and all." I'm sorry, but he walked right into that one.
He frowns. "Watch yourself, lady," he suggests with a gleam in his eye. "I can easily have you join your little friend down in the dungeon."
Okay, he's got a point there. Guess I should behave. There will be time for heroics later. Like when he's not wielding a big sword, for example. "Sorry, Your Highness," I apologize, backtracking like crazy. "I meant no offense."
"Very well. But remember what I said." He sheaths his sword into a jeweled scabbard slung low on his waist. "We could rule Camelot, you and I. Together."
"Okay. Definitely a tempting offer. I'll think long and hard about it. Um, catch ya later." I back away and then turn and try to casually walk down the hall without breaking into a run. As I round the bend, I drop all decorum and sprint to my chambers, my heart beating wildly.
What now? What now? Think, Kat! I've got to make this right. Make sure Guenevere doesn't get burned at the stake. This is all my fault. Stupid, stupid, stupid!
I reach my chamber door and throw it open. Elen takes one look at my crazed face and backs away, her own face draining of its color in reaction to my fright.
"What is wrong, lady?" she asks.
"Guenevere. She's been caught with Lancelot. They are going to burn her at the stake for treason."
"That is insane," Elen scoffs.
I stare at her, uncomprehending. "What?"
"Well, 'tis very apparent that Lancelot has eyes for you alone."
My mouth drops open. "You know?"
Elen sniffs. "I may be a servant, but I am not blind, milady. I should think anyone could see how he looks at you. Kin or nae, the two of you are in love. He has no business with the queen."
I sigh and flop down on a chair, scrubbing my face with my hands. "He's not really my brother."
"I did have a feeling 'twas the case." Elen walks over and squeezes my shoulder affectionately. I regret all the mean things I've said about her. "Where is Sir Lancelot now, milady?"
I look up at her, my vision blurred by fresh tears. "I don't know. He evidently killed Agravaine and took off. I'm sure it was self-defense. But now he's like an outcast. And I have no way to reach him."
I take back all the times I've complained about people using cell phones everywhere. I'd give every shoe in my closet to equip Lancelot with one so I could get hold of him, work out a plan. But now I'm completely on my own.
Fear claws at my heart as reality sinks in. Everything's completely messed up. I'm going to miss the portal to go back to the twenty-first century. Guenevere, even if Lancelot does rescue her from burning, is never going to be able to return to Camelot. Neither is he, for that matter. Even if I can convince him I love him, what will we do?
Maybe we can all be banished roommates together. But where will we live? Will we be poor? Will Lancelot have to become a mercenary just so we'll survive? The careers for women in this day and age are few and far between and certainly not high paying. How long will we have to wait till the next portal? Is there one every year, or is this a once-in-a-blue-moon type of thing?
The thoughts are too much. Nausea consumes me, and my stomach heaves. Elen grabs a chamber pot and thrusts it under me just in time. "I'm sorry," I moan after emptying my stomach's contents into the vessel.
"'Tis perfectly normal, given the circumstances." Elen shrugs.
"If only I could find Lancelot," I moan. "Elen, if you were a knight in shining armor on the run, where would you hide?"
"Well, if I were Sir Lancelot, I guess I would go to my castle," she says matter-of-factly, answering my rhetorical question.
I look up. "Castle?"
"Joyous Garde."
"The guy has a freaking castle?" I cry. "He never told me that."
"Having been in the service of King Arthur, he has likely not been there in many a summer. However, he was bequeathed a castle long ago. A place to retire to when his servitude to the king is completed."
"How do you know all this?"
"Again, you underestimate me because I am a servant," Elen rebukes me with a frown. "Before you, I served a lady named Elaine. She was much in love with Sir Lancelot." The maid looks somber. "She died by her own hand when he would not return her devotion."
Ah, I remember Nimue talking about her. The first attempted hook up to keep him away from Guen. Poor girl. "And she told you about the castle?"
"Aye. And," Elen adds with a gleam in her eye, "sent me to deliver messages to him. So I well know the path to get there."
"That's great!" I say, scrambling to my feet. "What are we waiting for? Let's go!"
Suddenly, a loud rapping sounds on the door. Elen and I exchange worried glances. I point at my inner chamber and to myself. She nods. I rush into the other room and shut the door. Please don't let it be Mordred.
I press my ear to the door to listen to the conversation. "The lady is not in," I hear Elen say. "Nae, you cannot enter. Sir, I am sure…" Uh-oh. Sounds like the unwelcome guest is giving her a hard time. Who could it be?
I hear a shuffling and then a knock on my door. "Milady, there is a cloaked gentleman here to see you," Elen whispers. "He will not give his name—nor will he go away. Should I call for the guard?"
Could it be Lancelot? My heart pounds in my chest. I take a deep breath and decide to face the unknown visitor. I open the chamber door.
"See him in."
Elen nods and opens the door. A tall man dressed in a long black cloak enters the room. Not Lancelot. I'd know my knight's walk and build anywhere. Not Mordred either. That twerp's much smaller than the guy standing before me. So who…?
After Elen closes the door behind him, the visitor pulls back his cloak. I gasp in surprise.
King Arthur.
"Your Majesty," I say, dropping to my knees. He reaches down and takes my hands, pulling me up again.
"I do apologize for the intrusion, Lady Kat," he says in a hoarse voice. "But I must speak with you."
"Of course." I motion for him to sit on one of the chairs while Elen discreetly exits the room.
Once seated, he clears his throat before speaking
. "You may well have heard the rumors by now. My wife and your brother, Lancelot, were discovered together in his chambers." He sighs deeply. "The knights believe they are lovers."
"They also believe the world is flat!" I burst out, wringing my hands together in anger. "Listen, Your Majesty, I hope you don't believe any of this bull. Lance and Guen are so not lovers. She loves you. Like, with all her heart. In fact, it's almost nauseating to hear her go on and on about how much she adores you."
"It is lovely for you to say so, my dear," Arthur says in a tired voice. "I have never wanted anything but for my beautiful wife to feel the same way about me as I do her." He smiles a half-smile. "But the bedding does not lie. 'Tis clear a relationship has been consummated in Lancelot's bed."
"Well, yeah, sure. That's true," I say, shifting to the edge of my seat. "But not Lance and Guen. Lance and me. We're lovers, he and I. And have been for months."
"But you are…" Arthur begins, evidently trying to put it delicately, even though he's no stranger to the kissing-cousins thing. "He is your…"
"Actually, he's not my brother. No relation whatsoever. First time I saw the guy was the day on the jousting field. Listen, Arthur, I'm sorry we lied to you. It started out as a small thing. To protect me, Lancelot said I was his sister, 'cause I have no family around, and everyone thought I was some spy. Then we started getting hot and heavy, and it was too late to go back and tell you we made it up. Though we should have, I guess. Then we wouldn't be in such a mess."
Arthur ponders my words for a moment. "It does make sense," he admits. "And it explains well why Lancelot was so quick to abandon his post when he believed you to be in danger."
"Exactly." I nod. "He loves me. I love him. There's nothing going on with him and your wife. The whole Lance-and-Guen thing is a total setup by Mordred. He even admitted it to me. He wants to make you look bad in front of your people so he can take over as king."
"I fear you may be right," Arthur says, rubbing his beard with his thumb and forefinger. "Guenevere and Merlin have been trying to convince me of Mordred's ill will for some time now. But I refused to see it. It is difficult for me to accept that my own flesh and blood, my only son, would seek to destroy everything I have worked my entire life to create."
"No offense," I say carefully. "He may be your kid and all, but he's got a heart as black as his mother's."
"Aye," Arthur agrees. He stares down at the floor, kicking the stone with his boot. "Mordred was conceived through deception. Now in life he has deceived me as well. He is not interested in a father. He wants a kingdom—my kingdom. And while I would happily give it to him in time, he is not content to sit idle, waiting for his turn." He curls his hand into a fist. "And now it is my love, my Guenevere, who pays the price for my stubborn blindness."
"But Arthur, you're forgetting one major thing here. You're king!" I remind him. "You can free her. Just say the word. Unlock her cell. Let her go."
He shakes his head. "It may seem that simple to you, Kat," Arthur says sorrowfully. "And how I wish you were correct in that assumption."
"What do you mean?"
"Mordred has hardened the hearts of my knights against me. He has told them that because I seek peace instead of war, I am weak. He promises them battles that will conquer nations and create a British empire as vast as the one Rome once held. They are bored, thirsty for blood, and he excites them with his boastful predictions."
"Guess the soccer matches aren't cutting it then, huh?" Obviously David Beckham isn't a descendent of the Round Table. "I was so hoping some team sports would give them a healthier outlet for their violent tendencies."
Arthur stares off into space as he continues: "Now Mordred has framed Guenevere and my last loyal knight. If I set her free, he will say I hold my own household to a different set of standards than my kingdom. He will use that to turn the people against me, as he has already turned my knights. He will demand I abdicate the throne, and I will have no army to defend my right to be king." Arthur sighs. "He knows well that I must choose: my Guenevere or my kingdom."
"Yeah, but that seems like a pretty easy choice. I mean, no offense, but material things aside—"
"You see this from your heart, not your head," Arthur interrupts, rising from his seat. He walks over to the window and stares outside. "Yes, if I give up the throne and live out my days with Guenevere, I will die a happy man. But there are thousands of serfs living on the land under my protection. Who knows the brutality they will suffer under Mordred's rule? He wants war, which costs money. He will tax them to death. Beat them and throw them in the prison. Force them to become soldiers, destined to die on the battlefield." Arthur clears his throat. "So I am left with the decision: do I save one or thousands? My people, whom I have vowed on my life to protect? Or my wife, whom I love above all?"
Okay, I can see where he's stuck between a rock and a hard place. Geez. No matter what the Mel Brooks movies tell you, it's not always good to be the king.
"If it makes you feel any better, Lancelot got away," I remind him. "I'm sure he's concocting a rescue plan at this very moment." Either that or he's off sticking pins in a voodoo doll that looks remarkably like me.
Arthur turns from the window, a dash of hope clear in his eyes. "That is why I have come to see you, Kat. To ask you and Lancelot's assistance in rescuing Guenevere. I can officially sentence her to death to save the kingdom, but I refuse to let her die. I will do everything in my power to aid you. You and Lancelot must see that she is safe." He swallows hard. "Even if I am never to see her again, it will be enough to know that she lives."
My heart aches in my chest as I see the love practically radiating from his bearish frame. He really, really cares about her, as much as Lancelot cares about me. Or did, before I opened my big mouth and let him think I was in it only for the time travel.
"Guen is my friend," I tell Arthur. "I will do everything in my power to save her."
Arthur rubs his chin, thinking. "Here is what we will do. I will schedule a public execution at high noon. I will leave the castle gates wide-open and schedule the weakest guards to stand watch—ones who can be easily manipulated or overpowered to gain entrance. In the stables, I will have the fastest horses saddled and ready to go. The other knights will be invited to stand at a place of honor on a high dais with me, so they will be nowhere near the pyre. This way, Lancelot will be able to swoop in without battle, rescue Guenevere, grab a horse, and go."
I have to admit it's not a bad plan. "But you can't let on that you're doing this," I remind him. "You've got to pretend you want her to die. Like you're a totally jilted husband pissed off at her infidelity." It'd better be an Academy Award-winning performance, too, if he wants to convince Mordred.
Arthur nods. "Aye. 'Twill be a hard act, to be sure. For the truth is, I want nothing more than to hold her in my arms once again. To love her as she deserves to be loved."
My heart aches for him. For all of us. Why has fate been so cruel? "You will," I assure him, lying through my teeth. The last thing he needs to hear is that, according to history, Guen's going to be spending the rest of her days in a convent. "Someday."
"Perhaps you are right," Arthur says with a fond smile. "While Christians believe in heaven, Guenevere is still fond of the old ways, where a circle of love may be reborn anew every generation. If matched with true love in one lifetime, so shall one be reunited in the next," he explains, eyes shining. "Perhaps in my next lifetime I will find her again. Love her again."
"Yeah, exactly," I say, not wanting to hurt his feelings but not believing any of this druidic nonsense about reincarnation either. "Still, maybe we should concentrate on saving Guen's butt this time around and not think too much about the future."
I know—that's rich coming from me, since I come from the future, and all I ever think about is returning. But now it seems I've got to straighten out this mess before I can go back. Besides, to tell the truth, even if there were a way to return to the twenty-first century without Guen's help,
I can't imagine leaving here without making sure she's okay. And, of course, I've got to straighten things out with Lance.
Arthur walks over to me and takes my hand. "You are right, Lady Kat," he agrees, pulling my hand to his lips and kissing it fervently. "And I am trusting you with her precious life."
Poor man. Such an awful position to be put in. This kind of thing used to always happen to Captain Kirk on Star Trek too. I'm glad I'm not the one stuck making the decision.
The annoying thing is, it could have all worked out so perfectly too, if not for a stupid case of mistaken identity. Lance and I could have gone back to the future. Guen could have lived happily ever after with Arthur. The people of Camelot could have been happy-go-lucky for the rest of their days.
Yup, it has to be said. Sometimes destiny sucks.
* * *
Dior is exhausted by the time we've galloped all the way to Joyous Garde to find Lancelot. At least Elen's directions are better than Google's, and we don't get lost once.
It's a beautiful castle, on the small side, and nearly hidden by a maze of climbing vines. But I'm not here to enjoy the architecture. I leap off my horse and run to the front door. Locked. I bang my fists against it, yelling. Please let him be here!
"Lance!" I cry. "Lance, are you there?"
The door creaks open. Lancelot stands on the other side. Unshaven. Dirty. I've never seen him look so tired. Old. Defeated. Not at all like a guy concocting a brave rescue plan.
"Kat," he notes, without a hint of enthusiasm in his voice.
I frown. "Lance, what are you doing here? They're going to burn Guen at the stake. We have to rescue her!"
He turns and walks back into the castle. I run after him. "Where are you going? Didn't you hear me?"
He slumps down into a chair and puts his face in his hands. "I should have listened to you when you told me about the rumors to begin with. Then none of this would have occurred."
I shake my head. "Doesn't matter now. Point is, unless we get back to Camelot, the queen's going to be executed."
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