by K. M. Shea
Merlin rummaged around in his cloak for a moment before sprinkling herbs on top of the juice and swirling the cup.
“Great. Thanks for ruining my drink,” Britt frowned as the cider went from a tangy, amber color to muck brown.
“Guards, arrest these fiends from Orkney!” Merlin shouted.
“What?” Agravain growled, leaping to his feet.
“Merlin. You’ve hit your head and have lost part of your mind. What are you doing?” Britt asked.
“Your drink has been poisoned,” Merlin snapped.
“Check the jug, then. If my cider is bad, so is everyone else’s,” Britt said.
“Guards!” Merlin shouted. His cries brought guards and a number of knights meandering to the garden.
Britt growled in her throat as she saw Lancelot, his cousins, and a few of their lady friends whispering and watching.
“Stand down,” Britt said to the guards before picking up a wooden tray and turning to the Orkney princes and Morgan le Fay. “I’m sorry for ruining our morning. You’ll have to excuse me,” Britt said, taking cups of cider from Agravain and Morgan. “Sorry, Gareth, Gaheris. Cavall, come,” Britt said, her days of waitressing as a teenager coming back to her as she carried the tray in one hand and the jug of cider in the other. “Merlin, now!” Britt snapped in a much less pleasant tone.
Merlin tilted his head at Britt’s supposed relatives before nodding to the guards and following Britt.
Britt and Merlin were quiet as they entered the keep through a side door and made their way to Merlin’s study.
Britt kicked the door open and roughly slammed the jug and tray on one of his workbenches before she turned around and folded her arms across her chest. “Explain to me what just happened,” she ordered.
“You were nearly poisoned by Gawain,” Merlin said, setting down what was supposed to be Britt’s goblet.
“No, I wasn’t,” Britt said shaking her head.
“You were. The reaction of these herbs prove your drink was tampered with,” Merlin said, stabbing a finger at her cup.
“Fine, maybe the cider was spiked, but Gawain didn’t do it. None of them did. They were drinking the same thing I was drinking! Check their cups,” Britt said.
Merlin frowned but sprinkled herbs in the other cups. After he swirled the herbs around, the contents of each cup turned muck brown.
“SEE!” Britt shot.
Merlin didn’t respond and instead poured out some of the cider in a spare cup from another workbench, testing it with the herbs.
Again, the cider turned muck brown.
Merlin sighed. “I have a man skilled with poisons. I’ll get him up here to see if he can identify the type.”
“Oh no. No, no, no. You are not just going to sweep your wrongful accusations under the rug without another word. That may be how dudes from medieval times do it, but that is not how I roll! We are going to talk this over, and you are going to apologize to Gawain if I have to hold a dagger to your back to make you utter it,” Britt said.
Merlin rubbed his forehead as if he were tired. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” he finally said.
Britt was silenced out of sheer shock. She didn’t think it would be so easy to get him to admit he was wrong! “I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” Britt stiffly said.
“No, I meant I’m sorry for everything. For the words I said to you as we returned from Blaise’s, for accusing Gawain of murder, all of it,” Merlin said, swiping a hand through the air.
“Why are you sorry?” Britt asked.
“I should have known better with Gawain. He would sooner cut his own throat than hurt you—as would any of his brothers. And if Morgan wanted you dead, she has far more subtle ways to kill than a mass poisoning. Pellinore overheard a plot about a knight from the north you are well acquainted with who was going to poison you. The knight wasn’t named, and I didn’t think. I lost all common sense.”
“A plot?” Britt frowned. “Are there any other knights close to me from the north?”
“No, now that I study it, I expect the threat was never from the north to begin with, but someone hoped to implicate the Orkney princes,” Merlin said. “No conspirators would be stupid enough to trumpet the homeward location of their inside man—especially in a forest that is home to the faerie folk. Have you seen anyone you didn’t recognize this morning? A new servant, perhaps?”
Britt shook her head. “We ran into Lancelot and his cronies when the servants were helping us carry our food and drink to the gardens. That was all.”
The echo of a faint smile flashed across Merlin’s lips. “It wasn’t Lancelot, lass.”
“One can hope,” Britt grinned. Her smile faltered when she realized she and Merlin were joking—like they used to.
As if he could read her discomfort, Merlin said, “I meant what I said earlier. I’m sorry for my careless words. I know you, and I know that you are strong of heart and mind. I just…” he trailed off. “It cannot be,” he finally said.
“I know,” Britt said. She felt awkward and uncomfortable as her heart twisted in her chest, so she stared at the stuffed owl sitting on one of Merlin’s bookshelves instead of watching the wizard himself.
“We’re making real progress. You’ve established your code of chivalry and your courts. Questing was an excellent idea to spread word of Camelot near and far. In a year or two, we should think about facing the threat of Rome—they are still trying to dig their heels into Britain. Nothing can change, and I—”
“I know,” Britt said, speaking quickly before Merlin could fill in the gap. She stared harder at the owl, as if she expected it to move.
Merlin would never see her as a romantic interest. She was his friend, his pawn, and his conspirator, but never his love.
Britt cleared her throat and stared harder. Nope, the owl still wasn’t moving. “I’ve always known. That’s why I never brought it up and never planned to.”
“You hid it well,” Merlin said. “I never guessed, which is why I was caught off guard and I...I acted like a donkey’s colt, as Blaise would say,” Merlin grimly said. “I apologize, Britt. My words were false, and you didn’t deserve them. I have never thought you to be weak. Forgive me?” Merlin asked.
Britt dropped her gaze from the unmoving, stuffed owl. “In time,” she said, offering Merlin a quick, lean smile before she looked past him at the cups. “You’ll let me know what your poison-finder friend learns?”
“Of course,” Merlin said. His tone said he was disappointed but understanding.
“Thanks,” Brit said, moving for the door. “I’ll go find out what the guards did to the Orkney princes.”
“That would be wise,” Merlin said, already looking to the cups.
Britt hesitated in the frame of the door. “Say, Merlin,” she said, biting her lip. “Do you think, maybe, you could tell Sir Kay about this after I go out for a morning ride?”
Merlin laughed for several minutes.
“I didn’t mean to be funny,” Britt muttered.
“No, you just know your foster-brother. I doubt I can keep the news from him—Pellinore might have already found him. But if you leave shortly, you’ll likely be able to get out of Camelot before he is able to place more severe restrictions on you,” Merlin advised.
“Good idea. Thanks,” Britt said before making her exit—her heart lighter than it had been since the fight.
Britt arrived at the feasting hall early so she could arrange her table as she pleased. King Pellinore and Queen Adelind would be sitting with her, as would Morgan le Fay, Merlin, and Guinevere.
“Seat Morgan between Merlin and me, please,” Britt said to Sir Ulfius as she nursed a cup of wine.
“I was under the impression you two had reconciled,” Sir Ulfius said, pausing behind what was to be King Pellinore’s chair.
“We have, but…just put Morgan there, please.”
“As you wish, My Lord.”
“Thanks, Sir Ulfius,” Br
itt smiled.
“My Lord?”
Britt peered over her table to spy Sir Griflet waiting at the base of the raised platform.
“Griflet, what can I do for you?” Britt asked, gliding down the stairs.
“I was wondering, My Lord, if you would bless Sir Ywain and I, and give us permission to go on a quest,” Sir Griflet bowed. “Now that the threat has passed.”
Britt blinked. “Threat?”
“Indeed—the threats against your life have ceased, have they not?” Sir Griflet brightly asked.
“They have, but how did you know about them?” Britt asked, narrowing her eyes as she studied her faithful knight.
“Ywain and I…er…that is to say, we, ah, overheard your discussion with Merlin in your room the night you left to follow the Quest of the White Hart,” Griflet said.
“You what?” Britt said.
“We made it our personal, local quest to see that you were safe!” Griflet proudly said.
Britt tipped her head back and recalled the past few weeks. Ywain and Griflet had been skulking after her like a pair of terrible gumshoe detectives. They were there when the arrow almost hit her, just as they were there when she and Merlin came back from visiting Merlin’s mentor. “Griflet,” Britt said, unable to keep the amusement out of her voice. “I have guards to protect me. You didn’t have to.”
“No, but we wanted to! Indeed, Ywain does not think we should stop guarding you—which is why I approach you alone,” Griflet said. “He does not know I am here.”
“Do you have a goal in mind—for your quest, I mean,” Britt said, sipping her drink.
Griflet nodded. “I have—or I hope—to secure the favor of a most wonderful lady. She is the pinnacle of all that is light and lovely. Her hair is like sprigs of flowers in the summer air. Her eyes shine forth like the white wool of little lambs!”
“What is the pinnacle of all that is light and lovely called?” Britt asked.
“Blancheflor,” Griflet sighed in wonder.
“Blancheflor,” Britt said, trying to bring the proper lady to her mind. The girl, while not one of Lancelot’s ardent fans, often admired the knight. She seemed to be silly but sweet—a good match for Griflet’s flair for drama. “You’re going to try and steal her away from Lancelot?”
“Sir Lancelot is very noble indeed, and excluding a few, he has no peer among us knights. But I hope that with my devotion—and love—I can bring Blancheflor to love me,” Griflet confided.
“I see. So you’re going to go do deeds in her name, then?”
“Yes!”
“Does Ywain have a lady he wants to impress, too?”
“No, not yet,” Griflet said, preening a little. “I am ahead of him.”
“I see,” Britt said, a fond half smile twitching on her lips. “Very well. Yes, I give my leave for both of you to go questing. Stick to the Forest of Arroy, though. Do not venture far from it,” Britt warned, privately resolving to pay Nymue a visit to ask her to keep an eye on the two young knights. “And you have to convince Ywain to go with you before I will publicly send you off,” she added as an afterthought.
“Thank you, My Lord! I shall do many great deeds in my lady’s name, and in yours!” Griflet said, giving Britt another bow before he hurried off through the mostly empty feasting hall. A few knights were starting to trickle in and take their seats. Griflet almost ran two over in his enthusiasm to find Ywain.
“Young love,” Britt said, shaking her head and smiling before she sipped her drink again.
“My Lord?” Sir Gawain cautiously asked.
“Sir Gawain, I’m glad to see you’re not at all worse for the wear. I still apologize for yesterday morning,” Britt said, taking a few steps closer to the younger knight.
“It was unexpected,” Sir Gawain said, his voice was calm and guileless.
“It’s kind of you to say it so nicely. Merlin was an idiot, but that’s not the point. I suppose I was being an idiot, too,” Britt said, turning to look out at the feasting hall.
“Were any additional discoveries made on the issue?” Sir Gawain asked, joining Britt to look out at the celebrators who were seeping into the hall for King Pellinore’s celebration feast.
Britt shook her head and sipped her drink. “No,” she said after swallowing. “Merlin’s man took a look at the cider. He was able to conclude it was not a deadly poison and would only have made a drinker ill. It mostly would have given us all a case of stomach cramps since it was so diluted.”
“It seems odd that a person would go through so much trouble only to give you stomach cramps,” Sir Gawain said.
“That occurred to Sir Bedivere and Merlin as well. They are certain it was a set up,” Britt said, glancing at Sir Gawain’s wrinkled forehead before she amended her words. “A ploy. They think the culprit wanted to stir up distrust and never meant to kill me from the start.”
Sir Gawain shook his head. “Strange and still dangerous.”
“I agree. Whoever it is, they have a mean streak,” Britt said.
“Is there no possible way to track the person down?”
“Not really,” Britt said, her eyebrow twitching in irritation. She had suggested everything from finger printing to DNA, but none of the techniques she knew of from crime investigation shows were helpful in this age. “I guess the medieval times just had a lot of unsolved crimes,” Britt muttered.
“What did you say, My Lord?”
“Nothing of importance. It seems that the troublemaker will go free. For now,” Britt said.
“I don’t think he will evade Merlin for long,” Sir Gawain softly said.
“There is that, I suppose, if he decides to break out his magic,” Britt agreed. “We’ll see.”
Sir Gawain nodded and exhaled. Britt smiled and tried to slap his back in a manly sort of camaraderie before she sipped her drink.
Britt grimaced when a great number of people entered the hall—Guinevere and Lancelot among them—significantly raising the sound level.
Guinevere arrived with her three ladies in waiting, her eyes bright and a smile already flashing. When she saw Britt, she perked up even more—if that was possible. Behind her, Lancelot seemed to call her, for he smiled charmingly when she turned to face him. He said something to the princess, but Guinevere smiled and shook her head before she hurried towards the front of the room—towards Britt.
“My Lord, is this not exciting? I heard there was to be a fire breather tonight,” Guinevere said, her eyes sparkling.
She makes me feel old, Britt thought before she said, “Yes, I believe there is. Pellinore is also sure to give us a good story—he better, anyway. He took so long, I’m surprised his wife didn’t flay him alive.”
“Quests seem to be exciting! I hope more knights go out on quests. It’s so romantic!” Guinevere said, clasping her hands to her heart.
“I guess,” Britt said, sipping her drink. “I’ve had a knight approach me about it. I expect after King Pellinore is celebrated tonight another knight or two will want to go out as well. That reminds me. Sir Gawain, do you have any idea what deer eat in the winter? The stables have informed me Rudolph doesn’t eat hay.”
Gawain frowned. “Rudolph, My Lord?”
“The white deer. Hart,” Britt said.
“I’m not certain, My Lord. It isn’t often a kingdom keeps a hart for a pet,” Sir Gawain said. “You could try—”
“Oh my,” Guinevere breathed. “Is that Merlin?”
Britt and Gawain looked in the direction Guinevere pointed, and Britt almost dropped her goblet.
It was Merlin alright, but unlike Britt had ever seen him. Gone was the stereotypical storm-gray cloak. Instead, he wore clothes of black and gold. The outer layer was a black robe with gold embroidery. The robe snugly fit his waist, back, and shoulders, but had wide, drooping sleeves. A hood lined with gold embroidery fell over his back, making his fine hair appear white rather than blonde. Under the robe, he wore a tunic that matched the brilliant blue o
f his eyes, black chausses, and—to Britt’s shock—a pair of leather boots styled exactly like hers.
Britt took a deep sip of her drink to hide her shock.
“He looks…impressive,” Sir Gawain finally said.
“I think he looks like a faerie lord—a good foil to your Elfking look, Arthur,” Guinevere said. “Before he looked like a wise hermit. Now he’s…”
“He’s got a dangerous edge—like you do, My Lord, when you’re fighting like a dragon,” Sir Gawain said.
“I don’t think I ever look quite like that,” Britt said, jabbing a finger at the well-clothed wizard, who was slowly approaching them.
“Nay, My Lord. You do whenever you hold Excalibur at a man,” Sir Gawain quietly said before Merlin edged into their conversation.
“Arthur, are you ready to begin the feast? Pellinore and Adelind just arrived,” Merlin said, acting like nothing had changed.
It took Britt a few moments to reply. “Yeah, sure. There’s enough people here.Why not?” she said before she turned to climb up the dais stairs, shaking her head. “Men,” she muttered, “I’ll never understand them.”
Chapter 10
Thoughts of Men
A few paces away, Lancelot du Lac watched King Arthur stop at the top of the dais when Merlin yanked on his doublet. The young king pushed his hair out of his face and retreated back down the stairs to offer his arm to Guinevere before climbing the stairs again.
“So, it didn’t work. That’s a shame,” Sir Lionel said looking up and down the table—his eyes hinged on the various dishes and platters. “Seemed like it was working for a bit—something made him sour towards Merlin. But whatever damage was done has been repaired.”
“Thankfully,” Sir Bors frowned. “It would not be good for Camelot if the King and his Chief Counselor fought.”
“You worry too much,” Sir Lionel snorted.
“Enough,” Lancelot growled.
“You’re in a bad mood, are you?” Sir Lionel said. “You probably shouldn’t have started by targeting Gawain. ‘Specially after Arthur gave him the boon of mercy at Gawain’s feast.”