by Ines Johnson
“Your swords,” said Gwin. “They are all the same steel of the magical swords of Camelot.”
Each man’s blade glistened in the moonlight, vibrating with the same magic that ran in their bones.
“You are all descendants of witches and wizards,” Gwin continued. “It’s why you survived. Every living thing has a little magic in them. It’s what we’re all made of. But you all have more than most.”
Rex’s jaw went taut. His gaze hooded as though hiding something.
The man at Rex’s right looked doubtful. Teodbald, the Blue, he’d called himself. “My mum is a farmer’s wife. Was …”
Teodbald looked back toward the town and its bright lights of electricity. He jerked as a plane flew overhead. Then made the sign of the cross over his chainmail.
"She plowed fields alongside my father her whole life,” he said, after his silent prayer. “There was no magic in my home. You must be mistaken, my lady.”
Gwin knew the man was wrong. It was faint, but she felt the magic in his blood. She felt the magic in all of the survivors’ blood. They were all sons of Camelot. They just didn’t know it.
“We’ve come for you now,” said Arthur. “We’ll take you home to Camelot to heal and figure out what to do next.”
“What of the rest of the order?” said another Templar. “What became of them?”
“The Order is not what you remember,” said Arthur. “The corruption spread. The original Knights Templar ranks were decimated. You are the last of your kind.”
The silence was deafening. Even the stones underfoot were silent as the men realized their fate.
Figures moved in the distance towards them. The weary knights came up on shaky legs. A dozen swords drew to the ready.
“At ease, men.” The Templars instantly responded to Arthur’s commanding tone.
Percy and Tristan emerged from the darkness. They’d gone to charter a boat to cross the channel and had met with success. Even though it was late at night, money would rouse anyone from their bed, and the Knights of Camelot had plenty of funds. Gwin knew, she did the books.
After some cajoling, they piled the Templars into two trucks parked at the road and headed toward the water. Gwin sat in the front seat, sandwiched between Percy in the driver’s seat and Lance at the passenger window.
“So …” said Percy. “What’s new?”
Gwin and Lance stared over at the knight.
She felt Lance's exhaustion alongside her own. Neither of them was in the mood for Percy's antics.
“I don’t know…” Percy continued. “There’s something different about you two? You look mature somehow. New haircut?”
They both decided to ignore the knight. Percy could be tactless. It was easier just to pretend they didn’t hear him than to indulge him.
Percy snorted as if to tell them this was far from over.
They parked at the dock and unloaded. Percy and Tristan had chartered a ferry that could easily fit them all. They all climbed on board and Tristan, the son of a Norseman, took the boat’s helm.
“Go below and get some rest,” Arthur ordered the Templars.
Although Sir Rex was the clear leader of the men, the man had no qualms about listening to Arthur. As the leader of Camelot, Arthur outranked him. The Templars marched below as though they were headed off to battle. In a sense they were. It was a new world they’d face in the light of the new day.
Rex watched his men go below. Before he followed, he turned to Gwin. “Thank you, my lady. For finding us, releasing us, and for the gift of your healing power.”
And with a bow, he left.
“Gwin,” said Arthur, “Take the main cabin. You need the rest.”
Like Rex, Gwin did not argue with her leader. She reached down and laced her fingers with Lance. She gave a tug but Lance didn’t budge.
She looked up to find Arthur’s brow raised at their connection. The leader of Camelot, Lance’s best friend, the man who was both of their boss, their commander-in-chief whose respect they cared most about, tilted his head in what could only be read as disapproval at their union.
Gwin's heartbeat at the base of her throat. The thuds knocked her chin up in defiance. The pounding opened her throat to shout her love for Lance as loud as she could. But she went mute at the look on Lance’s face.
She’d seen that look more times than she cared to count. It was the face she’d seen when his father had called him a bastard. It was the look she’d catch when the few unkind citizens of Camelot whispered as he walked by. Just as much as her heart beat loudly, she felt the tightening of Lance’s chest in the face of this predicament.
She prepared herself to release her hold on him. She took a deep inhale, readying her chest to slink into itself when he let her go. Then she gave another tug, this time of her own hand and not his.
Lance jerked, as though being awakened from a nightmare. He glared down at their still entwined hands, as though looking for a foe. Seeing none, he glanced up at her, confusion on his brow.
“Did you think I would leave you?” His voice quaked with emotion.
Gwin relinked her fingers with his. She wrapped her free hand around his forearm. Though she felt the tremor in his hand, Lance's hold on her was absolute. When he spoke again his voice did not waver.
"Good night, Arthur. We'll see you in the morning."
And with that, Lance turned them both around. He walked on sea legs even though they were still docked. Once behind the closed door of the cabin, he slumped against the frame.
“You okay?” she asked.
He’d been looking down at the floor. Suddenly, blue eyes arrested her. Lance’s gaze upon her made her pounding heart stop. There was something predatory about his stare. It was something primal.
“I would never abandon you,” he said in a voice that wasn’t his own. “I am not my father.”
“I know,” she tried to soothe.
“Even if I could not touch you, I would never leave your side. I gave you my vow.”
“And I gave you mine. I’m yours.”
“You’re mine.”
He took a step toward her. Something in his gaze made her gasp. Gwin’s fight or flight responses told her to flee. She doused that instinct with witch fire. With her magical fire out, a more primal need took over.
Lance caught her lips with his. His kisses before had been gentle, careful. This kiss claimed her body and soul.
His hands were everywhere. On jean buttons, on shirt hems, on elastic bands of panties. In a blink, she was naked and beneath him. In a breath, he was sheathed inside of her. Then her entire world began to rock.
Gwin had no idea if it was the boat. She didn't care. She undulated beneath Lance, beside Lance, on top of Lance. He was no longer hiding, not from anything or anyone as he pressed his body into hers.
His cries of passion would easily be heard above deck. Gwin's moans of ecstasy would easily reach across the waves to be heard. When they both reached their climax, it would no doubt be clear to all on board—hell, all across France and England—what they were doing, what they had done, and what they meant to each other.
They were together. And now everyone knew it. Nothing could break them apart.
31
It wasn’t quite dawn when wakefulness tugged at Lance’s attention. He didn’t open his eyes. He kept them closed as he waited for the weight of shame to hit his chest.
There would be no escaping it. Everyone on board would have heard what he and Gwin had gotten up to last night. Everyone would know about their affair.
Their adultery.
Lance didn’t so much as hear the word as see it flash across his mind’s eye. Only the light wasn’t glaring. It was soft, more of a shadow than a light really. And it faded so quickly, he questioned if he’d actually seen it at all.
His chest felt light, free of any constrictions. His heart beat a steady rhythm, no skipping about or accelerating. His mind was clear, alert.
Lance opened his e
yes to a dark room, but he saw clearly. Blonde hair shimmered across his chest. One of Gwin’s legs was thrown across his thighs.
Looking down, Lance saw the lush curve of her ass. His own hand rested at the fleshiest part of that curve. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Because it was the most natural thing in the world. Shame and guilt had no place in this bed. Adultery was an antonym to what lay between them.
For all intents and purposes, Gwin was his wife. He’d given his vow and staked his claim, as medieval as that sounded. But it was the way of things. And soon, right now, in fact, everyone would need to know that she was rightfully his.
Gwin shifted in his arms. Lance brought her closer to him, erasing the few millimeters of space that dared separate them. She didn’t stir when he pressed a kiss into her hair. She didn’t rouse as he extracted his body from hers. She didn’t wake as he went through the task of dressing.
With the last button in its catch, Lance took another moment to smile down at Gwin. She clutched at the pillow he’d vacated. Her porcelain skin glimmered in the dark room. His eyes traveled up the pale pink of her toes, over her slim calves, lingered on the treasure that was her behind, before fighting hard to tear his gaze away from the pink nipple of her right breast.
If he wanted to, he could return to the bed and capture that breast. He could take her lips. He could undo his pants and sink back into the wonder of her.
But he didn’t. Not now. There was no rush. He could be with her later, once they returned home safely and figured out how to explain their union to everyone.
First, he had to explain it to the most important person. Lance opened the door as quietly as possible and closed it with a snick. To his ears, that quiet snick sounded loud. His senses went on high alert. His senses told him that danger lurked around the corner.
Lance fingered the brooch pinned to his shirt. He knew with three other knights and a couple dozen Templars on board, that this was the second safest place in the world. The logic didn’t assuage his anxiety. Something wasn’t right.
Stepping up into the fresh air, he saw that the coast was in sight. However, the land seemed higher on the horizon than it should be. Water lapped against the side of the ship. Spray from a few of the waves splashed at his boots.
Before he could ponder it, something parted from the shadows. Lance reached for his sword but immediately stayed his hand.
“A word.”
Lance sighed. He’d known this was coming last night when Arthur had raised his brow as Lance and Gwin walked off together. Originally, Lance had hoped The Talk would wait until they were back on dry land. Maybe even a few days after they were home.
But no. It would happen now.
Arthur and Lance walked a few steps away from the cabin. Arthur’s footfalls were heavy, much like a church bell calling out the hour of doom. Up ahead, Lance spied Percy and Tristan trying and failing to look inconspicuous so that they might eavesdrop.
It was easy for many to believe that women was a gossipy lot, but they had nothing on the knights and squires of Camelot. Gathering, honing, and aiming the right bit of hearsay about another man could easily do more lasting damage than an injury from a blade.
Men didn't gossip for something so simple as power over each other. No, they slandered to embarrass, to annoy, and to humiliate in perpetuity. This set-down that Lance was about to receive would spread around the circle of the Round Table before they touched land.
“What were you thinking?” Arthur growled when they’d moved a sufficient distance from the cabin where Gwin still slept peacefully after a night of vigorous devil-may-care lovemaking.
“I was thinking that she is the love of my life,” Lance offered. “That she is my life.”
Arthur pushed his hands through his hair. Before he could get out any more admonishments, Lance continued.
“I have been nothing but honorable my entire life. I have stood by while the woman I love has been used by the entire town for her abilities. I have stewed in silence as she’s been wrung dry by your brother.”
“My brother; her husband. They took those vows and promised to stand by them.”
Lance wanted to shout the truth; that those vows, that promise, had never been fulfilled. But it wasn’t his truth to tell.
So, he’d let Arthur think the worst of him. He’d let everyone believe what they would. He no longer cared. The only person whose opinion he cared about was down the hall, and she knew the whole truth.
"I know how you feel about her," said Arthur. "Hell, everyone knows how the two of you feel. But she made a choice long ago, and she has to stand by that choice until death."
Lance grit his teeth. He’d said the same thing to Gwin only a day ago. That they could be together when Merlin died. But that leech was holding on to life with everything he could. At this rate, it would be another century before she was free.
“Look,” said Arthur. “I’m Team Lance and Gwin. Or, Gwince? Or is it Lawin?”
The popular modern notion of merging two individuals’ names together had to be Morgan’s idea. She had deemed herself and Arthur Morghur. The name, fortunately, had not stuck. Lance doubted Gwince or Lawin would be very popular either.
“But you know how this looks,” said Arthur. “After your father—”
“Lance is not his father.” Gwin appeared at the side of the boat. Her hair was mussed, her clothing rumpled. The always poised Lady of the Castle looked as though she’d been tousled good. Lance couldn’t hide the carnal smile of pride from his face.
“And I’m not married,” she said as she marched up to Lance and Arthur.
She took Lance’s arm and laced her fingers with his. Blue eyes shone up at him with a love so bright it nearly knocked Lance off the side of the boat. He felt the spray of the water tickle the backs of his shins.
“Not married?” Arthur frowned down at Gwin. “What are you talking about?”
Gwin took a deep breath, and then she spilled the awful truth. “My marriage with Merlin was never consummated. Your brother couldn’t get it up.”
“Ahh, Gwin!” Arthur groaned, closing his eyes and turning away from any knowledge of his brother’s sex life.
In the distance, Percy and Tristan snickered. Even though Merlin wasn’t a knight or a warrior in any sense, this was still good fodder for the game room.
“So, you see,” Gwin continued, “Merlin never kept his vows. Not any of them.”
Her chin had been high during the declaration. Now it dipped. Lance felt a shiver go through her body as she took a breath to begin her next confession.
“I’ve been living a lie. I’ve never truly been the Lady of the Castle. I don’t deserve that title.”
Arthur’s face went through a number of emotions in a few seconds. From anger, to grossed-out, to surprised, and finally to compassion. "What are you talking about? You are the best thing that's ever happened to the castle. The entire town would fall apart without your leadership."
“But the covenant, the spell that binds my magic with the Pendragons and Tintagel, it never truly manifested because there was no true bond. Don’t you see; I’ve kept the whole town in danger for a century by living this lie. We had the only ever breach last year because of me.”
Now Lance went through a myriad of emotions. He never knew she felt this way, that she felt this level of responsibility.
"Gwin," Arthur took her hands in his, "we had a breach because Merlin betrayed us. He betrayed his wife, his family, and his entire people. That is not your fault. You are a treasure to us all. Your strength heals and soothes all who come in contact with you. Lance is right. If anything, it is all of us who have failed you. My family, in particular, put Merlin's health and wellbeing above your own. For that, I am ashamed."
“Well,” she bit at her lower lip. "I'll forgive you if you'll forgive me."
Gwin stepped into Arthur’s arms. He gave her a squeeze and a peck on the forehead. But she wasn’t done.
&nbs
p; “And Lance,” she said. “You’ll forgive Lance, too.”
Arthur turned his glare back to Lance. “Lancelot still took advantage of an innocent.”
“He didn’t take advantage of me,” said Gwin. “I’ve been trying to seduce him for days. And besides, we were both virgins until two nights ago.”
“Ahh, Gwin!” Now it was Lance’s turn to groan.
He closed his eyes and turned away from his leader and his brothers as his face turned redder than his hair. It didn’t save him from the sounds of Lance and Percy guffawing with mirth. This bit of gossip was gold and would be aimed at him repeatedly for the next century.
Gwin threw up her hands. “Men.”
The sun was rising higher on the horizon. A horizon that was a bit askew. Lance’s entire world was off balance now with his heart so full of this woman. His feet were no longer firmly on the ground and he felt himself rocking in place with the pounding of his heart.
He’d been caught bedding the woman he loved, the woman he would spend the rest of his life with. Lance pulled Gwin into his arms but frowned when he saw that he didn’t have her full attention.
“Men,” she repeated. “Where are the men? Where are the Templars?”
Lance looked down toward the passageway that would lead them below deck where the Templars had spent the night. His feet sloshed around in water that was at least an inch high and rising. He noted that the boat wasn’t moving forward. It felt like they were sinking.
There should not be this much water on the floorboards. The others noted it too. Just as Lance and Gwin hadn’t often needed words during their lives, Lance and his brothers-at-arms didn’t need them during times of crisis.
They looked up at each other soundlessly. Without a word, they each drew their swords from their magical hiding places. As a unit, they all moved toward the entryway to the lower decks.
They went down below, but they didn’t get beyond the door. Boulders blocked their way. Wrenching the door open, they saw that dozens of boulders blocked their way as water seeped in the room.