[King Arthur and Her Knights 01.0 - 03.0] Enthroned, Enchanted, Embittered

by KM Shea

  Guinevere’s tears dried. “He what?” Her forehead creased with an emotion Britt couldn’t put her finger on.

  “He summons you and desires to speak with you and your honorable mother,” the lady’s maid said.

  No one noticed as Britt started to edge away.

  Guinevere looked down and stared at the garden path.

  “I wish you well, Lady Guinevere,” Britt said, safely on the other side of the fountain. She bowed and fled, not taking the chance to look over her shoulder to see the ladies’ reaction.

  She had a bad feeling she knew why King Leodegrance was calling Guinevere.

  “As shallow as she is, I don’t think any girl deserves to be stuck with Duke Maleagant,” Britt said, ducking into the courtyard.

  She walked past the stables and yelped when someone grabbed her and dragged her inside.

  Britt grappled for Excalibur as a hand covered her mouth.

  “I ought to kill you, you stupid lass,” a rough voice hissed into her ear.

  Britt looked up, and to her surprise found herself standing eye to eye with Merlin.

  “Merlin?” Britt said, her words muffled by his hand.

  “Yes,” Merlin said, removing his hand.

  “Merlin! Finally, something is going right.” Britt said, throwing her arms around the wizard and leaning into him.

  “No thanks to your hard work,” Merlin wryly said, although he fixed an arm around her waist and patted the back of her head.

  Britt sagged against Merlin’s chest, breathing in the woodsy scent of his robe. He was warm and steady. Even better, with Merlin around, Britt knew she would be safe.

  Merlin pressed his cheek to her head, and for a brief moment everything was right in the world. Then Britt felt him stiffen, and he abruptly pushed her back. “See here, now. If someone sees us, there will be questions we cannot answer.” He shook out his robe before leading the way down the stable aisle. They ducked out a far door, joining a crowd of farmers who were grimly setting up camps in the castle courtyard.

  “How did you know I would be here?” Britt asked.

  “King Pellinore. When Kay discovered you were missing this morning, Pellinore told us he might know where you ran off to,” Merlin said. “Gawain, Lancelot. I found him.”

  The two knights were standing in the shadows of a wall. They both looked up when Britt and Merlin approached them.

  “My Lord,” Gawain bowed.

  “I am glad you have been found, My Lord,” Lancelot declared.

  Britt ignored the foreign knight’s greeting. “Hello Gawain. Did the three of you make it into Camelgrance before the portcullis closed for Maleagant?” Britt asked.

  “No,” Merlin said. “We saw Maleagant issue his warning to King Leodegrance though.”

  Britt frowned. “If you didn’t get in before, how did you make it inside?”

  Gawain looked queasy. “Magic,” he said.

  “Merlin is quite the impressive wizard,” Lancelot added, for once somewhat subdued.

  “Indeed. I was going to bring Sir Kay and Gawain with me, but at the last minute, Lancelot pushed Kay back just before I finished the spell to get us through—King Pellinore was holding back Ywain as he was hotly demanding he come—getting the spell cast on him. So, I had no choice but to bring Lancelot in Kay’s place,” Merlin said, sounding just the smallest bit disgusted.

  “I find myself gladdened by this news,” Britt said.

  Merlin raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Are you?”

  Lancelot beamed. “I am pleased my presence delights you, My Lord.”

  “It’s not that. Since you kept Kay from coming to get me, in all likeliness that means you are now higher on his list of people to maim than I am,” Britt said.

  Merlin coughed to cover a laugh, but Gawain seriously considered Britt’s words. “He has a list?”

  “What do you think he’s always writing in that logbook of his?”

  Gawain nodded. “You must be right, My Lord.”

  “So what’s the plan?” Britt asked.

  “For what?” Merlin said.

  “To leave Camelgrance?”

  “There is no plan.”

  “Can’t we go out the way you came in?” Britt asked.

  “No,” Merlin said as Gawain shuddered behind him. “It took a lot of magic to get us in. I certainly don’t have enough to get four of us out until I recover a bit.”

  “We could always leave Lancelot behind,” Britt mumbled before Merlin elbowed her.

  “Sir Bodwain is riding back to Camelot as we speak. He means to muster an army to aid King Leodegrance and free us,” Gawain said.

  “In the meantime, we will sit tight,” Merlin added.

  “We shall have to stay on the streets with the rest of these poor outcasts,” Lancelot said, benevolently looking at the peasants crowding the courtyard.

  “Not on your life. I have several contacts living in Camelgrance. We will stay with one of them.” Merlin set off towards another part of the castle. “Follow me.”

  Merlin’s contact was a short, skinny merchant who seemed to be scarcely less intelligent than Merlin himself. He agreed to host them and provided beds and food for all four of them. Merlin spent most of the afternoon closeted with the merchant, leaving Britt with Lancelot and Gawain.

  Due to a particular member of her company, Britt had a headache by the time night fell. When the midnight watch called, the headache still hadn’t left. Rather than wake her companions, Britt told the merchant—who was wide awake and inspecting his wares—she was going to take a walk.

  He insisted she wear a short, hooded cloak, which Britt put on before she slipped out of the house and wandered Camelgrance freely. They have quite lax security here considering it’s under siege. Britt nodded to a patrolling soldier—who didn’t even stop to question her reason for being out at such a late hour.

  Britt’s wanderings eventually brought her to the keep. As she passed near the stables, she thought she heard crying. She followed her ears to the castle garden. Keeping to the shadows, she stopped when she saw the sobbing came from Guinevere.

  The younger girl had cast herself face-down on the lip of the fountain. Her normally glossy, braided hair was a wild bush around her, and instead of her beautiful dress, she wore a plain kirtle.

  “Probably agonizing over a handsome face,” Britt muttered. Her heart softened, though, when she remembered Leodegrance’s trouble. In all likelihood, Leodegrance had told Guinevere she was going to marry Maleagant.

  Britt sighed and pulled up the hood of her cloak, making sure it covered her golden hair. “What troubles you, My Lady?” Britt asked in the gruffest voice she could muster.

  “What? Who is there?” Guinevere said, wiping tears from her red eyes.

  “I mean you no harm,” Britt said, hoping the princess wouldn’t call for guards.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m…the gardener,” Britt said.

  Guinevere wiped her nose on her sleeve. “What would a gardener care about the troubles of a silly girl?” Guinevere harshly laughed.

  “I care for the troubles of most people. Silly girls included. Now, what troubles you, My Lady?” Britt patiently asked.

  “You must have heard. Father must give me to Duke Maleagant, or the duke will bring war upon us.”

  “Does he have no allies he can turn to for help?”

  A bark of laughter escaped from Guinevere’s throat. “He does, but that is hardly any better.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “His only ally that seems even remotely inclined to aid him is King Arthur, and if he does rescue us, my father will see me married to him.”

  Obviously Guinevere hadn’t heard the rumors of how handsome and loved ‘King Arthur’ was. Feeling slightly offended, Britt said, “And marrying King Arthur would be just as bad as marrying Duke Maleagant?”

  “No,” Guinevere said, shifting until she sat on the brim of the fountain. “He’s a great deal younger
, and I’m sure he’s not as rotten as Maleagant. He’s also richer. I would have more jewels and clothes if I were to wed him,” Guinevere said.

  Just as Britt thought the girl was nothing but a mindless mercenary, Guinevere added, “But the only reason Father wants me to marry Arthur is because of my lands.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “How long have you served us? Don’t you know that when my mother dies, I shall inherit all the lands my Father gained when he married her?”

  “I, um, of course know of this. I fail to see what your inheritance has to do with King Arthur,” Britt said.

  “Arthur is richer than my father, and he doesn’t need more land holdings. He wants some stupid table, so Father would get to keep my lands,” Guinevere bitterly said. “Father doesn’t care whom I marry, so long as he profits the most from the union.”

  “And what do you want?”

  “Pardon?”

  “What would you like to do?”

  It was a long time before Guinevere responded. “I just want everything to stay the same,” she whispered. “I want to go on picking flowers, and laugh and talk with my friends, and choose pretty dresses to wear. I don’t want to be a wife yet; least of all to a man I do not love.”

  “You do not get to chose whom you marry?”

  “Of course not. I am a bargaining chip for my father to use. I will marry whomever he chooses. The only variable is the beauty of the cage in which I will be locked and the kindness of the gatekeeper.” Guinevere laughed. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this. I suppose it’s because you’re the first person to ever ask.”

  “And you have no one to fight on your behalf?” Britt asked. Guinevere was a pretty thing. Surely there was a knight somewhere who would fight for her.

  “What do you mean?”

  “No knight has pledged himself to serve you?”

  “No. Why should one? Knights only serve in times of war,” Guinevere sniffled.

  Britt frowned for a moment. Now that she thought of it, Guinevere was right. In Camelot, all the young knights who were supposed to be off questing and having adventures hung around the courts. The knights who were older and married were at home, seeing to their families and lands.

  Lancelot and his piggy cousins, in fact, were the first knights Britt had come across who had gone on quests—if one excluded King Pellinore and his romps after the Questing Beast.

  Why was that?

  From what Britt could recall, chivalry and questing and doing great deeds for King Arthur or a favored lady was the very foundation of the Round Table.

  Guinevere stood, fumbling to push her wild hair over her shoulder. “I thank you for your kindness, gardener, but I must depart. I have much to prepare,” she said, her lower lip trembling.

  Britt studied the genuinely upset princess. This was not the falsified moroseness she had tried to trick Britt with earlier in the day. Guinevere was struggling. “Have hope, My Lady,” Britt said.

  Guinevere laughed harshly. “Hope in what?”

  “In mankind.”

  “Mankind is no comfort. Every man only cares for himself. Those of us who are weak, those of us who are powerless will never be saved.”

  “Then hope for a future where that is not so. Hope that somewhere in Britain there is a person who is willing to fight for the weak and the powerless,” Britt said.

  Guinevere turned to face the keep, placing her back to Britt. “If such a person, no, if such a being existed, whether they be faerie, man, woman, or saint, life would not be like this,” she said. “Good night, gardener.”

  Britt watched the princess leave. “This country needs King Arthur. The real King Arthur, not a fake. They need a hero.”

  “There is something on your mind.”

  Britt stirred at Merlin’s words. “It is nothing. I’m just tired.”

  It was mid-morning. King Leodegrance had a few scant hours to make his decision. Merlin had sent Gawain and Lancelot up the castle walls to see if they could spy any sign of an army—Britt’s or Maleagant’s. With their merchant host gone to see what kind of profit he could turn in the chaos, Merlin and Britt were alone in the small home.

  “No,” Merlin said. “When you are tired, you yawn more and shut your eyes. You are thinking.”

  Britt stared at Merlin in surprise, eliciting a smile from the cunning man. “I know your habits, lass. You can’t hide much from me. Now, what is the problem?”

  “This is wrong. Guinevere being forced by her father to marry Maleagant or me, Maleagant cornering Leodegrance, it’s all wrong.”

  “The world is filled with evil men, lass. Not everyone is as good of a person as you are. Camelot is blessed that the Sword in the Stone chose you as King,” Merlin said.

  “I know that. Not about me, about bad people. I know some people are just downright evil. That’s not what I’m protesting. Where are the champions? There should be a dozen knights doing good deeds in Guinevere’s name. My lands shouldn’t be the only ones free of trouble. Why aren’t knights doing anything?”

  “You mentioned something similar to Ywain months ago. What do you mean?” Merlin thoughtfully asked.

  “In my time, most of the stories and legends about King Arthur are about his knights. They were always off doing a good deed or following some long-winded quest to bring honor to their name, their lord’s name, or their lady’s name. They served people.”

  “Unfortunately, it’s not like that, lass,” Merlin said.

  Britt twirled a lock of hair around her finger and thought. Ywain wasn’t the only person she had discussed the role of kings, knights, and courts with. She had a similar talk with his aunt, Queen Morgause. Before the Orkney queen left Camelot after an extended stay, Britt promised that she would try to improve the living conditions for mankind—women in particular.

  Since making that promise, she had done very little to make it a reality.

  Yes, this was her chance to change history, to kick out Lancelot and avoid Guinevere altogether. But the sound of Guinevere’s heartbroken cries and her hopeless laugh echoed in Britt’s ears. Britt opened her eyes. “Then I will make it be so.”

  A slow smile spread across Merlin’s lips. He leaned in so close Britt could feel his breath on her face. “There’s my red dragon. What did you have in mind, oh King?”

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  “Try me.”

  “I’m going to challenge Maleagant.”

  “WHAT?”

  “I have a white charger as well. He is well trained and has been used in tournaments by some of the greatest knights. I paid a pretty price for him,” the merchant—Merlin’s Minion—said as Gawain buckled pauldrons on Britt’s shoulders.

  “I don’t intend to joust. It will be a trial by sword,” Britt said, adjusting her gauntlets. The armor she was borrowing from Merlin’s merchant friend was lovely—polished to shine and inlaid with gold—although it did not fit her as well as the suit of armor the blacksmiths of Camelot had forged for her over the winter months. What was important, though, was that the armor had no marks of any kind. Britt’s personal armor was etched with red dragons. Her borrowed armor was beautiful and provided anonymity with its lack of decoration.

  “Even so, you will still need a horse, My Lord,” Gawain quietly said, checking the snugness of the pauldrons.

  “You will look a great deal more poetic riding a charger up to Duke Maleagant rather than walking, My Lord,” Lancelot said.

  “All of you hush up. Arthur hardly needs more encouragement,” Merlin complained.

  “I’m going to be fine, Merlin,” Britt said.

  Britt had confidence in her sword skills. She was a greatly celebrated swordsman in the twenty-first century, but it had taken some months of living in Camelot before Britt was convinced she was still considered devastatingly skilled even several hundred years earlier.

  Merlin approached her, twitching the faulds covering her thighs into place. “I know you have a r
ight to be confident, Arthur, but one day you’re going to meet someone who is a better swordsman than you,” Merlin said.

  “Unlikely,” Gawain said.

  “I cannot wait to observe your skills, My Lord. I heard much of your prowess with the sword during my stay at Camelot,” said Sir Lancelot. “Although I am disappointed it will not be a jousting match. T’would be much more fitting.”

  “My Lord’s skill with Excalibur is more beautiful than a joust,” Gawain said, fiddling with armor.

  Britt slipped on the gauntlets. “I’ll be fine,” Britt said to Merlin. “I doubt Maleagant has had the time to practice as I have.”

  Merlin pressed his lips together but said nothing.

  Lancelot filled the silence with no difficulty. “This is exciting. I think one day it shall be made into a song the troubadours will sing of for eons. How often does a king ride off to save his beloved and challenge a blackguard duke to battle for her hand?”

  “Wait a moment. I never said Guinevere was my beloved,” Britt said.

  Lancelot stared at Britt. “She’s not?”

  “Of course she isn’t,” Britt said as Gawain checked the last of her armor. “To begin with, she’s a silly little thing who is overly concerned with wealth. And I’ve only seen her three times. That is not enough time to get to know her and fall in love with her.”

  “But what of love at first sight? Did she not enthrall you with her beauty?” Lancelot persisted.

  Britt narrowed her eyes at the vivacious knight. “Why do I suspect you have already thought yourself to have fallen in love numerous times?”

  Merlin eyed Britt in warning as the merchant guffawed. Gawain ignored the situation and bent over to check the plate mail covering Britt’s feet.

  Lancelot blinked. “Women are meant to be admired.”

  Britt was grateful Lancelot was standing far across the room. If he was any closer, she would be too tempted to smack him.

  “So, you will need the charger?” the merchant asked.

  Britt looked to Merlin, who nodded almost imperceptibly. “Yes, please. You’ll have him prepared?”

  The merchant sketched a bow. “I expected My Lord’s need of a mount and sent word to the groom when I sought out the armor.”