A Connecticut Fashionista In King Arthur's Court

by Mari AKA Marianne Mancusi

  "The only thing we should not do is stop." I grin.

  "But the Lady Nimue—"

  Oh, yeah—he still doesn't know. He's going by what Nimue said down in the cave. But I know now that it was all a ruse—making it attractive forbidden love. I know that she wants nothing more than for us to have an affair.

  My joy dampens somewhat at the thought. But it's not like I'm tricking Lance. Not really. I started to fall for him long before I realized there was a conspiracy-theory plot for me to do so. Still, I feel like a total louse, and something inside gnaws at me, making me desperate to tell him the truth.

  At the same time I realize telling him everything would only hurt him in the end. He might begin to doubt my true feelings for him, think I've been in on the whole thing with Merlin and Nimue from the get-go. That I seduced him on purpose. How could I then explain that I really do care about him? That our relationship, if you can call it that, is extremely special to me? That I'm beginning to fall in love with him?

  Yes, I'm using the L-word. And I truly mean it, too. Lancelot's so unlike any guy I've ever met. I know I've said that before, but it's so true. Most twenty-first-century guys are crude, or selfish, or boring. Lance is none of these things. He's attentive, loving, sweet—a complete gentleman. At the same time, he's fun and sexy and completely entertaining. He's the kind of guy I'll want someday as a husband. The kind who comes around once in a lifetime.

  It's not that I don't want him with Guenevere because it means the end of Camelot. I don't want him with her because I want him with me. And so the question burns in my heart: when the time comes for me to go home, how am I ever going to leave him?

  "Look, Lance. Do you want me?" I ask, looking into his hungry eyes.

  He nods. "More than anything,” he says.

  "Are you married? Engaged to someone else?"

  "No."

  "Me neither. So we're both consenting adults. Don't fight it. What will be will be." I lean forward and kiss him, hoping my words and mouth will be enough to sate him.

  They are.

  Chapter 12

  The next day Nimue pronounces me well enough to travel back to Camelot and to my surprise, I find myself disappointed. I would have liked a few more days to master this horse thing, but Lancelot promises he will give me lessons back at King Arthur's pad. There, he says, he will find me a proper horse—no more ponies for me. I'm thrilled at the idea of having my own horse, and can't wait to get back in the saddle again.

  So we say our good-byes to Nimue, cross the misty waters, and rejoin our caravan on the other side of the lake.

  The ride back to Camelot is predictably long and rough. I want to ride on horseback, but Lancelot insists my ankle needs time to heal. Inside the litter I try to rest, hoping to regain my strength. Guenevere seeks to entertain me with more of her knight-in-shining-armor stories, and surprisingly I even find myself somewhat interested.

  "Can I ask you something, Guen?" I query between stories, as we bump along inside the litter.

  "Of course," she says promptly. "Anything at all."

  "Do you really love Arthur?"

  She smiles shyly. "Aye. With all my heart."

  I'm tempted to believe her. After all, I've never met such an honest, forthcoming girl. She's completely genuine, guileless. But appearances can be deceiving, and I remember the Lady of the Lake's words. I have to know the truth.

  "Nimue told me your marriage was a political arrangement. That you were sent to keep the Christians from taking over Britain."

  Guenevere's face falls. She stares down at her small white hands. "She told you that?" she asks in a quiet voice, the smile completely vanished from her face.

  "Yes. When I was sick."

  Guenevere sighs. "Aye. Then I guess 'tis all right to tell you. Tis true. I never thought I would know a man. I was trained as a priestess of Avalon. Chosen to become Lady of the Lake when Nimue grew too old for her duties." She picks at a fingernail. "But then one day Nimue called me to her chambers. She and Merlin were standing by the Pool of Dreams. They told me they had consulted the pool and that it prophesied a different fate."

  I try to hide my scowl at their obvious manipulation of the poor girl, who just sought a simple life.

  "All I wanted to do was stay at Avalon," Guen continues in a sad voice. "I love it there. It's so beautiful. So peaceful. But they gave me no option."

  "They ordered you to marry Arthur."

  "Yes. The Pool of Dreams foretold that I would become high queen and lead my people in the ways of the goddess." She looks up at me, her eyes wide with her innocence. "Truth be told, Kat, I was frightened to death. At only fourteen summers, I had yet to know a man. And now I would be sent to marry one I had never even met. And a king at that. It was not what I wanted, to be sure."

  Bastards. Anger bubbles in my stomach as I imagine how scared and confused she probably was. Why, she was just a child! When I was fourteen I hadn't even kissed a boy yet.

  "How much older is Arthur?"

  "He is ten summers older than I," Guenevere informs me. "When we were wed he was twenty-eight, and ready to take on a wife. I, on the other hand, came shyly to our marriage bed."

  That's like statutory rape—Nimue and Merlin pimping out the kid in order to further their religious goals. Horrible.

  "But," Guenevere continues, "do not think things are still as they once were. While at first I feared Arthur, I grew to love him in my own way. He is a kind, fair man, and has been very generous to me. He is also a wonderful king and has brought much peace to the tribes of Britain. If my company brings him pleasure, then perhaps in some small way I have contributed to my people's happiness as well."

  "Well, that's good." At least he's not some abuser. That I wouldn't stand for. Not after what my stepdad did to my mother. Yup, if Guen even hinted that Arthur treated her like shit, I'd find a way to kick his royal ass, high king or no.

  "But I feel I have failed them all," Guenevere continues, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye. "For I have never been able to grow the seed of Pendragon. Never been able to produce an heir."

  Hmm. I was kind of wondering about that. Years of sex with no birth control...

  "Oh, sweetie, don't cry," I say, reaching over to give her shoulder a comforting squeeze. "Lots of women can't have kids. Maybe you guys could adopt one."

  Guenevere looks up, puzzled. "Adopt?"

  "You know, like an unwanted orphan baby. A kid whose mom died in childbirth or something. You could raise him as your own."

  "Oh no." She shakes her head. "The child must be of Arthur's blood to pass down the royal line of the Pendragon. If I were never to bear a child, the line would end. Unless," she adds in an even more despondent voice, "he was to find another woman who could bear him the son he has always desired. I've heard the rumors, Kat. His advisers have suggested he put me away and choose a new wife. One who can produce an heir.”

  Poor Guen. Maybe Nimue should have considered bringing an infertility specialist back in time instead of me. I bet if she and Arthur had a kid, the girl wouldn't be so interested in straying. She'd be too busy with midnight feedings and diaper changes to carry out a romance on the side.

  I wish I could help her, but a degree in fashion doesn't really qualify me as a baby-making expert. Well, except when it comes to the old-fashioned way of doing it. There I could probably give her some pointers, as long as she promised not to practice on Lancelot.

  "I'm sorry, Guen," I say, trying to console her. But really, what can I say? That in the twenty-first century, women don't define themselves by their ability to get pregnant? That you can be a successful, childless woman with a full life? I'm not stupid. Right or wrong, she knows as well as anyone that her whole purpose in this medieval life is to have a kid—keep the royal gene pool alive. And who am I to say that's not important?

  At the same time, I don't want her beating herself up about it too much. After all, it could be Arthur's fault that they haven't conceived. Is it so outrageou
s to believe that the Once and Future King could have a low sperm count?

  "In truth, 'tis nice to have another woman to share this with," the queen says, smiling through her tears. "I must keep it a secret from the other ladies at court. For all they are to know, Arthur and I are deeply in love and plan to have many children in the near future. Were it to get out that my womb has shriveled, as I fear it must have, then it could lead to much unrest in the kingdom of Camelot. Others may begin to vie for their place as Arthur's successor."

  And lead you into the arms of Lancelot, I think. Talking to her gives me a much clearer picture of what must have transpired to instigate her betrayal of Arthur with Lance. The legends never made it clear, and until now it had always seemed stupid to me that'd she go off and cheat on dear, honorable Arthur.

  But now I hear a different story. First she gets married off to this dude she's never met at age fourteen. Then he pressures her to start popping out the kids before she even hits her twentieth birthday. And she can't even talk about it to anyone, 'cause if she admits it, the whole country could fall apart.

  No wonder Guenevere ends up falling for a dashing knight who smiles in her direction and wants nothing from her but love, sweet love. Who wouldn't? Makes me almost want to hook her and Lance up together.

  Almost.

  ###

  It's probably midnight by the time we arrive at Camelot's mighty stone walls. Since it is so late, Guenevere tucks me into one of her adjoining chambers, promising me a proper suite of rooms come morning. Not that I mind a bit. I could sleep outside on a rock at this point.

  The next morning a dark-haired woman wearing a plain-cut brown dress wakes me by opening my canopy bed's curtains and letting in the sunshine. After closing them again—a swift reaction to my sunlight-induced groans— she introduces herself as Elen and tells me she has been assigned to serve me during my stay at Camelot. Guenevere has instructed that she help me dress for court, which evidently will be in session any minute now.

  How cool. I've never had my own maid! Well, once my old roommate and I hired Merry Maids to clean our apartment before we moved out so we could get our security deposit back. The poor woman had to spend over ten hours sterilizing the place, and afterward I heard she quit her job and moved to Haight-Ashbury to live with the hippies, saying she never wanted to clean anything ever again. (Hey, creative people are never neat.)

  Anyway, now I have my own maid. My personal maid. Sometimes I feel this medieval world ain't half-bad. If only someone would invent low-fat frozen yogurt, I'd be all set.

  After choosing from an enormous variety of gorgeous gowns, I select a sky-blue one made of the softest silk. I've spent weeks wearing the same clothes over and over when I was sick, and it's refreshing to change into something new and clean, though I long to put on a comfy pair of Seven jeans and an old cotton T-shirt.

  Elen even brushes my hair and pulls it up into one of those pointy veiled hats, reminding me of the one Chrissie bought at the fair.

  It's funny, really. That day seems so long ago, almost like it was part of some other life. At times this world, with all its vibrant colors, magic, and romance, sometimes seems more bona fide than the actual millennium in which I have spent the majority of my existence.

  I am escorted down a winding staircase that opens into a long, rectangular stone hall with high ceilings and no windows. Well-dressed men and women line each side, socializing below colorful tapestries depicting dragons, unicorns, and the like. Down the center a red carpet leads from the main double-door entrance to the other end of the hall, where Arthur and Guenevere lounge on two enormous carved wooden thrones. To Arthur's right, a curious Merlin watches my approach from his own thronelike chair. I offer him a little wave and wonder whether he'll give me back my cell phone now—seeing as I'm on his and Nimue's payroll and all. I mean, sure, I can't actually call anyone with it, but my Candy Crush app sure would help pass the medieval time.

  Arthur looks noble, powerful in his simple red cloak draped over a plain-cut tunic. Even without the circle of gold around his head, I could have pegged him—he has this kind of air about him that screams king. At his side hangs a sword, a shining steel weapon encased in a jewel-encrusted scabbard—what I assume to be the legendary Excalibur. How cool is that? To see the actual Excalibur up close and personal! Just as long as he doesn't try to use it on me.

  Guenevere looks radiant in queenly purple silk, a heavy diamond-set tiara atop her blond head. She smiles and waves when she sees me. "Lady Kat!" she calls, gesturing for me to approach. I do, wondering if I should bow, and then decide to do so just in case. I sink to my knees in front of the throne, allowing the dirty floor to get the better of my elegant gown. Great. They obviously don't have dry cleaning here, and I don't know how the dress will stand up to being scrubbed in a nearby lake.

  "Your Majesties," I murmur, hoping I'm coming close in terms of what Arthur expects in greeting. I should have quizzed Guen the day before as to courtly manners.

  "Rise, Lady Kat," Arthur commands in a regal voice. I stand up again, looking at him. He's a pretty handsome guy, actually. Big, blond, blue eyed. Kind of Vikingish. "My queen tells me that you are the sister of my most valiant knight, Sir Lancelot."

  "Yes, my lord," I say demurely. I still don't like lying like this, but Lancelot and Guen both insist that if I can't name my parents and family lineage, the court will think I'm a foreign spy and will either lock me up or cast me out. And since the Jones family of Brooklyn won't fly in this case, I've got few options other than to pretend I'm Lancelot’s sis.

  I glance over at Merlin who has so far managed to keep his poker face. I doubt he'd be so silent and serene if I hadn't agreed to go along with him and Nimue's big plan. He totally looks like a sell-you-down-the-river-if-I-don't-get-my-way type of guy.

  "Any relative of Lancelot's is a friend to Camelot," Arthur says, breaking out in a huge smile. "Welcome, Lady Kat. You may stay with us as long as you desire. I know my queen, for one, has expressed hopes that your visit will be a long one."

  Guenevere grins broadly at the proclamation and looks so excited that for a moment I think she might jump out of her chair and hug me.

  "We are deeply regretful that we did not recognize you during your first visit to our humble kingdom," Arthur continues, "and hope you will forgive us for locking you in the tower. You must understand, we take the safety of Camelot very seriously here."

  "No big deal, don't..." I start before remembering my medieval grammar. I clear my throat. "What I mean to say is that I have already forgotten the incident,"

  "Still," Arthur insists, smiling over at his wife, "let us make it up to you. If it pleases my queen, I suggest a banquet be held tonight in Lady Kat du Lac's honor."

  I wonder what the heck he means by "du Lac," until I remember that's Lance's last name. You're his sister, I remind myself. And that means no lustful looks from across the hall. Must keep relationship secret.

  You know, I can already see how this setup could cause some serious problems. Sure, we agreed on the sister thing, but that was before Nimue said I needed to become romantically involved with him. I mean, how am I supposed to be his lover and his sister? This is going to be tougher than I originally thought.

  Merlin suddenly rises from his seat. "An excellent suggestion, your majesty," he says, clapping his wrinkled hands together. "A banquet would be most fitting for our honored guest. I shall see to the preparations myself." He bows low and before Arthur can open his mouth, the wizard flees the chamber through a back door. Almost as if he's in a hurry to get the hell out of Dodge. But why?

  As if in answer to my unasked question, the door at the far end of the hall swings open. I turn around to see a knight in full armor enter the throne room, followed by a heavyset woman dressed all in black. My first thought is: how can I get myself some of those black dresses? I'm sick to death of all the bright colors I'm stuck wearing.

  My second, more serious thought is: why has everyone in the court l
et out a simultaneous gasp of horror as she approaches the thrones? Who is she? I step aside, allowing her to stand tall in front of the king and queen. Looking over at Arthur, I can see he is no longer smiling, and his face has lost most of its color. His kind eyes have morphed to cold steel. Guenevere sits, looking confused, obviously also unaware why everyone seems so shocked at the visitor's presence.

  Hearing a noise, I look back to the doors and see a teenage boy, probably about eighteen years old, walk into the court, wearing matching black tunic and tights. He has a slight build, longish brown hair—sort of an early Beatles cut—chiseled cheekbones, and walks like he has a stick up his ass. My friend Serge back home would be absolutely dying (in a good way) if he saw this guy. Trust me, I have very good gaydar.

  The young man walks up to the woman and stands by her side. She smiles over at him in a motherly way and then turns to address the king. I notice she does not bother to bow.

  "Arthur, my dear little brother. It has been too long."

  "Morgause," Arthur notes, tight-lipped. "What brings you to Camelot?"

  Morgause? Uh-oh. Like King Lot's wife and Arthur's half sister, Morgause? Aka Morgan Le Fay, the witch whose husband I "accidentally" killed?

  Oh, shit.

  "Your brave knight Sir Lamorak brought news to the Orkneys that my husband, King Lot, has perished in battle," she says in a gravelly voice.

  I let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding. Phew. She has no clue I was the one responsible. So why is she here? I bite my lower lip. What's this woman going to say?

  "I am sorry for your loss," Guenevere offers, really looking as if she is. Guess Lance forgot to mention that little part of our adventure to her.

  Morgause shoots a blatant dirty look at the queen, then turns back to Arthur. "Since I have a champion no longer, I would hope thou, as my brother, would grant me one favor."

  "Anything," Arthur says, squirming on his throne. What's going on? What's he so afraid of? I know she's a witch and all, but what is it that she holds above his head? "Anything?" she asks, effectively dragging out the suspense.