One Knight (Knights of Caerleon Book 2)

by Ines Johnson

  Their first time, they’d both been in a hurry and things had escalated quickly. After that first time, they came together again. The second time was slow. They both spent time exploring the other, kissing every patch of skin, tasting every crevice.

  Lance had spent an ample amount of time on both of her breasts. Gwin had squirmed and undulated until her body shook with a release. Then he’d entered her, pumping deep and long until she’d found another release alongside him.

  They'd rested for a few hours, wrapped inside each other's embrace. Then they'd join together again, seeking not only another release but the familiarity of each other that they'd been denied for so long.

  This was the life she’d always wanted. The life she hadn’t dared to dream could be hers. Lance had given her his vow, fastening their hands together, entering her body, and binding them for an eternity.

  With that thought, she realized waking up to this new day, the first day of her new life, was an occasion for celebration. When she opened her eyes the sun’s rays didn’t greet her. Instead, fire did. Fiery, red hair and blue eyes so clear they rivaled the sky.

  Lance’s entire face was so bright as he looked down at her. His brows were tall peaks that sang her praises. His lips stretched wide, ready to take hers or whisper more vows. But he said nothing.

  Like always they didn’t need words between them. The truth of his love was clear. The heat of his desire was evident.

  His hand idly caressed the flesh at her hips. Her fingers rested on his chest, playing in the fine hairs there. Those hairs weren’t red upon closer examination. The hair on his chest was golden.

  “One of us should say something,” she whispered into the silence.

  “You just did. What would you like me to say?”

  “Tell me you love me.”

  “You know that. You’ve always known that.”

  “I’ve only heard you say it once,” she said. “And you were cross with me at the time.”

  Lance slid his large palm down her back until it rested at her sacrum. He pulled her close until there was no breadth between their bodies. Gwin felt the strength of his erection, the heat of his body, the beat of his heart.

  “I love you. I was born for the sole purpose of loving you.”

  She felt like she was going to burst. There was so much happiness inside of her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged him down. But he leaned back.

  “We have to get up, my love,” said Lance. “We have to save the world.”

  “Can’t it wait another hour?”

  “You wanted to be a hero,” he said pulling away from her. “This is a part of the job description.”

  Gwin watched him as he left the bed. She would’ve blushed to see a naked man that wasn’t Merlin only a day ago. So much had changed in a day and a night.

  She’d nearly died more than once.

  She’d become a hero.

  She’d lost her virginity.

  And finally, she had the man of her dreams in her arms.

  If the world did end today, she’d die a happy woman.

  She immediately retracted that thought. If the world ended today, she would go kicking and screaming. One night was not enough.

  Gwin left the bed. She washed Lance’s body with the cold water from last night. With the cloth heated from his warmth, he washed her skin. They helped each other dress between kisses. Then they entwined their hands and left the room.

  After a hearty breakfast, which the old couple insisted on, they drove them into the town square in their carriage. Lance went to get the gas, using cash from the couple which he insisted he’d pay back, while Gwin went inside to use the phone. The first ring barely finished before Morgan came on the line.

  “Tell me you did the deed,” said her sister.

  Gwin expected her cheeks to flame, but they didn’t. For years, decades, she’d listen as married women and widows talked in code about their amorous activities. Gwin had always remained silent and demure, politely declining to talk about her bedsport. Never letting on that there were no games being played in her bedroom.

  Now, Gwin let out a very long, very deep, very telling sigh.

  “That good?” Morgan squealed. “Go, sis!”

  Gwin eyed Lance out the window of the storefront. She watched him move now realizing the power of that body. “Nope. Better.”

  "I'm so proud of you. I've gotta text Loren."

  “Morgan, no.”

  “She’s going to find out.”

  Now the dread spread through Gwin. She’d talked a good game about shouting from the rooftops about her relationship with Lance. But she knew that he still wanted discretion when it came to their newfound affair. “Are people talking? Do they suspect?”

  Morgan snorted. “You, Miss Virtuous, and Lance, the Pinnacle of Chivalry? No. No one’s said a word. And that’s really sad. The only one that’s even asked about you was the old ball and chain.”

  “How is he?” Gwin asked about her soon to be ex-husband.

  “Dying,” was Morgan curt reply. “There’s nothing anyone can do to save him. He’s going to die whether you’re here to tend to him or not. It’s what he deserves.”

  "I know." She did know, and for the first time, she didn't feel the weight of responsibility on her shoulders. Instead, she looked again at Lance and his shoulders that she'd found comfort in, support in, love in.

  Gwin had never had any of that with her Merlin. She gave and he took. All their lives, Lance had given to her any piece of himself that he could pass along, and she’d done the same to him. Now, they would hold firm to each other out in the open.

  “Take your time in Paris,” said Morgan. “Everything’s under control here. Go see the sights.”

  “We’re not in Paris. We’re just outside Arville. We went to the Perceptory there. We found Jacques de Molay’s journals, the last Grand Master of the Original Order of the Templar Knights. Morgan, the curse, it’s real.”

  “The stone curse?”

  Gwin nodded, though she knew her sister couldn’t see the gesture. “I cast it.”

  “You did?” Morgan’s voice raised an octave like it did when she got excited about a new scientific find. “How? Tell me.”

  “Morgan, what this means is there are potentially hundreds of Templars frozen in stone.”

  “Do you know where?”

  “They could be anywhere? Likely in Paris where they were imprisoned. We’re headed back there now, back to Notre Dame.”

  “I’ll tell Arthur. We’ll meet you there.”

  “What do you think Arthur will do when we find them? Do we free hundreds of our enemies? Or do we leave them encased in stone?”

  “I don’t know?” said Morgan.

  Neither did Gwin. What she’d read of de Molay’s journals led her to believe that he was not corrupted by the crown and church. Maybe many of his followers were. There was the caveat that only one born with magic and in possession of the same metal that all swords of Camelot were wrought from. So, maybe they were all on their side.

  Then again, her own magical husband had betrayed them all. They really had no way of knowing. She supposed they’d cross that bridge once they found them. Hopefully, they’d find those men before Malegant did.

  27

  The smell of gas fumes was in the air. No wonder with the five-gallon container in the bed of the truck. Lance wasn’t taking any chances anymore.

  The drive to Paris would take three hours. Shorter if he kept the pedal to the metal. But his foot kept easing off the gas as he relaxed into the comfortable silence with Gwin.

  They’d never needed words. Now they didn’t need glances, just this nearness. Their fingers entwined until he needed to maneuver the wheel with two hands. On the winding roads, she’d rest her hand on his knee until they reconnected.

  His mind should’ve been on the mission at hand, but it was squarely focused on his future with the woman beside him. His woman, his wife.

  They’d exc
hanged vows and sealed the contract with deeds, again, and again, and then again. There would be no contesting this union.

  “What wing will we take?” he asked. “The Galahad wing or the Lancelot one?”

  Lance’s hand covered Gwin’s. As his fingers slid between the webbing of her pinkie and ring finger, his palm met with cold metal. They both stiffened as he grazed her wedding band.

  Gwin unraveled her fingers from his. She rolled the car window down. Slipping the wedding ring off her finger, she tossed it out of the window.

  With her bare fingers, she relinked their fingers and leaned into him. Her sigh of contentment rushed into his skin and settled into his heart. That was that.

  “I don’t care,” she said scooting even closer to him. “I’ll move into the stables if that’s where you are.”

  “I’d be outnumbered in the Galahad wing.”

  Though Morgan spent her nights in Arthur’s bed, there was still Loren. Lance had no desire to be awakened each morning to the discordant, electric tones of 80s music. Or worse, 90s music. Or even worse, John Hughes films on repeat. Dame Galahad was a pop cultist.

  “I’m sure I’m the only lady in history to go from the Galahad wing to the Pendragon wing, only to go back to the Galahad wing and now I’ll be in the Lancelot wing. I’ve striven to be a proper lady all of my life, a paragon of virtue. But I’ve turned out, by most standards, to be a whore.”

  Gwin’s shoulders shook with laughter. The sounds of her giggles went over Lance’s head. He’d been smacked hard in the face by her use of that harsh, improper word.

  “That’s not funny.” Lance’s tone was entirely devoid of humor. “I gave you my vow. I sealed it. This is not adultery.”

  “I know,” Gwin soothed, her face turning sober and contrite.

  “I don’t want you tainted by my beginning.”

  “There is no taint on you. We’ve both spent our entire lives in pursuit of high ideals. We’ve sacrificed so much. I dare anyone to say a single negative word against us. In fact, Morgan told me not a single bit of gossip has been uttered about us being away together.”

  The mere thought of gossip about Gwin made Lance’s insides quiver. He could handle the whispers about himself. His blood boiled to think they could be about her.

  “Maybe we should wait until you are a widow,” he said.

  “I can’t be a widow to a man who was never truly my husband. Besides,” she took a deep breath and let it out on a shudder that lowered her voice to a whisper, “Even now, I might be pregnant with your child.”

  Lance’s foot stomped down on the brake. They both jolted forward into the dashboard. “Oh, God. Are you okay?”

  “Sure.” Gwin rubbed at her chest. "Just your everyday bit of whiplash from my lover finding out he might be a dad."

  Lance managed to steer them over to the side of the road. Once in park, he couldn’t catch his breath. A child. There could be a child.

  He looked up to see that they’d stopped beside a graveyard. All life beneath those stones was still. But there might be a new life growing inside of the woman he loved. If not now, then soon.

  “Do you want a child?” she asked. Her voice was quiet. A little tremor quivered her lower lip. She bit at the trembling flesh with her tooth.

  Lance lifted his hand to her face. He cupped her chin and thumbed away the uncertainty from her lip. “I want everything with you. I want a grand wedding. I want a celebration that lasts for days. I want enough children to start an army.”

  Gwin smiled so wide and bright it caused another tremble. She overstretched her lips into a brilliant light of happiness. “Me too.”

  “But I want all of our children to be recognized by everyone. I want us to be legally married first.”

  Her overlarge smile snapped into a frown. Not one of disappointment. It was resignation. “Fine. All right.”

  Lance leaned forward to capture her lips. She tasted of happiness and hope. Before he could delve further into her, the prepaid phone he’d picked up at the town’s gas station rang. He’d texted Arthur the number before getting on the road.

  “We’re in Paris,” Arthur said through the speakerphone. “We just left the cathedral. What exactly are we looking for? Stone men?”

  "There are a lot of statues all over this city," came Tristan's voice. "Mostly in graveyards."

  “No, not statues,” said Gwin. “When Lance and Sir Darvill were petrified, the stone formed around them.”

  “She’s right,” said Lance, remembering the stone cold closing around him. “The markers will be tall, like a boulder with no form.”

  “Boulders?” Percy’s gruff voice came through the line. “Like a stone circle?”

  “There are no stone circles in Paris,” said Arthur. “Only graves and gargoyles.”

  “Could it be a formation, like Stonehenge?” asked Percy.

  “That wouldn’t make sense,” said Gwin. “Perhaps they’re in England. There was something in de Molay’s journal. About a parlay between the Templars and King Edward of England.”

  “That’s not likely,” said Arthur. “Edward seized much of the Templars wealth after the massacre. My grandfather and father spent many years getting magical artifacts back from both the British and French royalty.”

  “But de Molay mentioned the King in his journals,” said Gwin. “He wrote that he’d sent an envoy to Carnac.”

  “Did he specifically mention the name of the king?” asked Arthur.

  Lance watched Gwin’s eyes fog over, going into her memory.

  “No,” she said.

  “Do you think he was referencing your grandfather, Arthur the first?” asked Lance.

  “It’s possible,” said Arthur. “Camelot and the original Templars were still in contact before the massacre. Though rifts had already been formed. There were still a few trusted Templars.”

  “You said Carnac,” said Tristan. “There are thousands of stones there, some dating back to 3300 BCE. I remember reading tales of Pope Cornelius turning pagan soldiers into stone in the first century. Even some tales of Merlin turning people to stone.”

  “I’ve been to Carnac,” said Percy. “I’ve seen those stones. They’re not Sarsen. They’re tall. Some are in straight, even lines. Like soldiers lining up.”

  There was a long pause of silence on both ends of the phone. Then everyone spoke at once.

  “We need to get to Carnac.”

  28

  Gwin’s fingers dug into Lance’s thigh. It wasn’t a ploy at seduction, unfortunately. It was to hold on as he took one after another hairpin turn on the roads to Carnac.

  Once again, they found themselves watching the sun tuck its rays beneath the horizon. They’d had to reroute their journey from Paris to Carnac, which was at the edge of Brittany just before the land fell into the sea.

  There was no ley line access to the area that they knew of. Arthur and the others were making the same trek via vehicle across France. Since Lance and Gwin had to detour, the others would most certainly arrive first.

  “When we get there,” said Lance, “I need you to stay back.”

  They were within the city limits. The last few rays of the sun painted the horizon a shade between orange and red. To Gwin, it looked bruised and battered, but still a lovely sight.

  “I understand,” said Gwin. “But don’t worry. If Malegant is there, he can’t break the curse.”

  “No, he’d need a witch.” Lance looked at her pointedly. “Which is why I need you to stay back. I’d rather put you up in a hotel. Or better yet, find a church on a ley line and send you home.”

  Gwin did not like that idea. “I’m not leaving you.”

  Lance opened his mouth to protest but she cut him off.

  “Believe me, I’ve had enough adventure for a long while. I’ll stay out of the way. I’ll stay safe, I promise. But Lance, you realize nothing in our lives has worked out the way we’ve planned. I’ve spent too many days away from you. This won’t be one of those days.
”

  His jaw clenched. The muscle in his thigh tensed. But he didn’t argue.

  "Besides, Arthur, Percy, and Tristan will be there ahead of us. Four knights against whatever is left of Malegant’s army is nothing.”

  Though when they pulled up, Arthur and the others weren't there. But there were hundreds of stones. It looked to Gwin like the sea of them, rising and sinking down on its own horizon.

  Lance parked in the quiet village. Part of the town was a family seaside resort. It was after dark. So, most visitors and residents alike were inside for the night.

  “There’s magic here,” said Gwin. “I can feel the energy.”

  Lance's hand tensed around hers. "At some point, the Templars turned on Camelot. What if these are the turncoats? What if they were mounting an offense against Camelot? It's just a boat ride across the Celtic Sea to Cardiff.”

  "We can't leave human beings trapped in stone for all time. They should at least be set free to meet their God-given end."

  “More wounded souls for you to tend to in the infirmary?” There was an air of annoyance in his voice.

  “Men aren’t born bad. It’s a decision they make and keep making every day until they change their minds.”

  Lance and Gwin were at the edge of the field where the town turned to what was effectively large gravestones if there were beings encased in the stones. Who knew if the men were even alive after hundreds of years? Just as Percy had said, the stones were lined up like soldiers, giants in neat formations.

  Gwin put her hand to a tall boulder. It was faint, but she felt the pulse of magic within. Lance pulled her hand away. When he did, the jagged rock took a piece of his flesh leaving behind drops of blood on the rough surface.

  “Let me see that.” Gwin reached for Lance’s wound.

  Lance gave her his hand. She pushed her healing magic into him. It was a familiar gesture, but now she couldn’t tell her energy from his. It was as though they were one.

  Which was why she felt his apprehension before she heard the shuffle. Lance pulled her behind the boulders. Shadows moved in the dark. Voices carried.