I push open the door and burst inside. As my eyes adjust to the darker room, I scan the scene—a cozy little space with simple wooden furniture and a roaring fire in its stone fireplace. The queen is at the far end, seated by the fireplace, staring into the flames. Lancelot is nowhere to be seen.
"Where's Lancelot?" I demand. Guenevere whirls around, startled. Her face breaks into a huge smile.
"Kat!" She jumps from her seat and runs over, throwing her arms around me in a big hug. "How ever did you find me? I'm so glad you did. I did not mean to run off and not tell you, of all people, where I was to go. But I fear 'twas a rash decision and there was no time. I meant to send a messenger at first light; really I did."
She's happy to see me? She's been fornicating with my boyfriend, and she gives me this kind of welcome? I bite at my lower lip and repeat my question: "Uh, where's Lance?"
She beams. I try to discern whether it's "an innocent beam or a you-mean-the-man-who-just-made-love-to-me? one. "He's out hunting for dinner and should be back very soon. You will stay for dinner, will you not?" she asks.
"Uh, yeah, sure," I mutter. "Oh, your servant Ina's outside, by the way."
Guenevere's face lights up again. "Really? Oh, Kat, you are too wonderful to bring her here. There is a caretaker who could serve me, but she is old and half-blind—nothing like my wonderful little Ina. I must go out to greet her at once." The queen brushes past me in her haste to go see her maid friend.
Left alone in the cottage, I immediately start my sex investigation. Of course, I can't look for used condoms in the trash or anything like I would have back in my own time, but there's got to be some evidence of the dirty deed around.
I find a bedroom and start my search there. The bed's made—a good sign. Still, the furs could have been smoothed over afterward. I pull down the covers and take a sniff. No hint of Lancelot's patchouli scent—just a musty, old smell. No one's slept here for a while. I look for abandoned clothing on the floor. Nope.
Maybe they haven't had a chance yet. But are they planning to? That, as Hamlet might say, is the question. Still, Guenevere did seem pretty happy to see me. Would she be that overjoyed if she were planning a lovers' tryst with my boyfriend? After all, she knows we're a couple.
Do I have this all wrong? Hope surges through me. Oh, please, please let me be wrong.
"What are you doing here?"
I whirl around and smack into the hard chest of Lancelot. I look up, right into his puzzled blue eyes. He looks so good. I can't believe I've actually missed him in the short time he's been gone. I want to wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him senseless. Throw him on the bed and have my way with him, enjoying each and every one of his two thousand body parts, as they say in the Lever 2000 commercial.
I shake my head clear. There will be no two-thousand-part explorations until he comes up with a damn good explanation as to why he took off with the queen to a remote cabin in the woods. And his answer had better be good.
"The real question would be, what are you doing here?" I demand, hands on hips, trying not to care so much. This is why I never get into serious relationships. I hate this powerless, desperate feeling. I take a step back, trying to stop the electricity that crackles between us.
He sighs, scratching his chin. "I am sorry about that. I had no choice."
No choice? There's always a choice. "You could have at least told me you were going."
"I tried," he says, and I can't help notice how tired his eyes look, crinkling at the corners. "Your maid, Elen, told me you were sleeping and were not to be disturbed. She is rather firm, that one. When I tried to protest, she threatened to call a guard. Because of the queen's situation, I could not draw more attention to myself."
I frown. "I am so firing her when I get back."
"My darling," he says, stepping toward me and reaching up to stroke my head with his hand. I pull away, taking another step back. He sighs and withdraws his hand, a defeated look on his face. "I am sorry my leaving troubled you so. I would have been back for you as soon as the queen settled in."
"Yeah, but why'd you have to go in the first place?" I ask sulkily, flopping down on the bed.
He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. " ‘Tis my job, woman. I told you before. This is the very reason Arthur asks that his knights stay celibate and loyal to the order." He's pacing now, staring at the floor.
"What, so they can run off with his wife?" I'm being difficult, but I don't care. I'm mad. Mad at him for being loyal to the queen. Mad at myself for being mad that he is.
"Kat, listen to me." He kneels at my feet, taking my hand in his. "I care for you deeply. But my position requires I be loyal to my queen above all."
"And what position might that be?" I ask, ripping my hand away. "Doggy style? Missionary? Oh, wait, you're more of a standing-up-against-a-tree kind of guy. Does Guenny like that one?"
He looks horrified, and rightly so. I'm such a bitch. He's done nothing to suggest that he has any sexual intentions toward the queen. Nothing. But I, knowing the future, can see what lies deep in his heart, even if he's unwilling to admit it. And that puts me in a tough spot.
"I do not understand," he moans. "Why are you saying all of this? Have I done anything to make you doubt me?"
I can't take it anymore and decide to come clean. "Look, Lance. I'm from the future, right? Well, I know exactly what happens in the legend of Camelot." I rise from the bed, my hands fisted in fury. I stare down at him. "You and Guen hook up. You become lovers. So whatever you're feeling for me now, forget about it. You're supposed to love Guenevere, not me."
"Lady, how can you say this?" he cries, scrambling to his feet. "Guenevere is the queen. Arthur's wife. She and I could never become lovers, even if I wanted it. Which I do not," he adds quickly.
"Yes, you can. And you do. Of course, it leads to the destruction of the whole kingdom, and Guenevere gets sentenced to death. But hey, don't let a little death and devastation distract you from your destiny."
"I don't want Guenevere. I want you." He grabs me by the waist and pulls me tight against him. His face is desperate, anguished. "Why can you not accept that? Why must you torture me with your words?"
I feel the tears start welling up in my eyes, and I angrily try to squeeze them away. But it's no use, and they start to flow.
"Let me go." I try to squirm out of his hold.
"How can you punish me for something I have not done?" Lancelot asks, refusing to acknowledge my request to be freed. "A thing I swear to you now I'll never do?" He wraps me in his arms and I give in, pressing my face into his warm chest, trying to choke back my sobs. "Please believe me."
"I want to. I do," I say. It's true. I do want to believe him. But how can I when I have this major Cassandra complex? It's not like I suspect a boyfriend's cheating through women's intuition. This case of infidelity is on record in a hundred historical texts.
Texts that have not yet been written.
Have I changed the future? Is Lancelot being honest? Will he love me until his dying day and never once steal a lustful glance at the queen? Or should I go with the destiny theory? Is Lancelot predestined to fall in love with Guenevere? In that case, why do I even bother trying to stop it? I should walk away now and save myself any future pain and suffering.
But I can't. I'm in too deep now. I love him. I need him. I want him with me for as much or as little as he can give. I wrap my arms around him, allowing my fingers to caress the small of his back, rejoicing in his hard, muscular body.
"I'm sorry," I whisper.
He turns a bit, deftly shutting the door without letting me go. Then he picks me up in his arms, as if I weigh nothing, and carries me over to the bed.
"Let me prove my loyalty to you," he murmurs, laying me down on top of the furs. "If it takes all night, I promise
"What about dinner?" I ask as he traces my lips with his linger.
He smiles. "There is a cook. The queen will be well fed."
"And you? Won't y
ou be hungry?"
"I have all the sustenance I need right here beneath me," he says, his mouth leaning down to devour mine.
Ditto.
###
After hours of yummy lovemaking followed by even yummier hours of lying together, caressing each other tenderly, I’m about convinced that my knight really does have no interest in the queen and was merely doing his job.
“What are we going to do about Guenevere?" I ask, tangling my fingers in his chest hair. "I hate to see her so unhappy. And she certainly can't live here forever."
Lancelot sighs, staring at the ceiling. "I do not know. Mordred's arrival came as a terrible shock to her."
"That's the understatement of the millennium. I thought she'd keel over right then and there." I shake my head. "Poor thing."
Lancelot props himself up on his side, meeting my eyes with his own. "I wish she could be as happy as I am right now.”
Aw. I smile and drop my gaze. He's so sweet I can't stand it. Once upon a time I'd be horrified to be this doted on. I always went by the Groucho Marx theory of never wanting to join a club that would welcome me as a member. In the same vein, a guy who was in love with me must be a loser. I was always looking for the one who was out of reach. As if his acceptance of me could make me cool. Of course, if he ever did by some remote chance fall for me, then he automatically slipped into the uncool category. So basically there was no winning.
But this, for some indescribable reason, is different. I still respect, desire, and, yes, love Lancelot, even though he constantly declares his feelings for me. Is this how it's supposed to be when you find "the one"?
It would be my luck. Spend my whole life searching for "the one," only to find out the reason I can't find him is because he lived and died over a thousand years before I was born. Figures. I wish someone could have told me that from the get-go. It would have saved me the agony of a lot of awkward blind dates and tears from reading "Dear Kat" breakup letters.
I just feel so comfortable around Lance. So safe. So warm and fuzzy. He's amazing in bed. He's strong. Protective. Loving. Sexy as hell. Sweet. Caring. Did I mention sexy?
He leans into me, kissing the hollow of my throat. My breath hitches. Here we go again. But wait....
I gently push him away. "We haven't finished talking about Guenevere."
"I want to talk about this," he says, planting a kiss on my nose. "The most wonderful nose I have ever had the pleasure of kissing. Wherever did you acquire it?"
I giggle. "Stop changing the subject."
"Or mayhap we should speak of your ear." He traces the outside with his index finger, sending chills down my spine. "A maddeningly beautiful receptacle for sound."
"Stop it!"
"Or"—he grins wickedly—"let us speak of your mouth." He gently pinches my lower lip with two fingers and pulls it down. Then he leans in, his tongue running along the inside of my lip. "The most luscious instrument of all."
I erupt in giggles, destroying the moment. I roll over onto my back. "Guenevere. We must talk about Guenevere."
"What is there to speak of?" he asks, reluctantly resigning himself to the task at hand.
"How can we make her happy?"
"I do not know."
"Well, are you happy?"
“Aye, very." He smiles. "Happy with you in my bed." He leans in to kiss me again, but I playfully push him away. He groans.
"Focus, Lance," I scold. "Now, we're both happy cause we have each other. Therefore, we need to find Guenevere a lover to be happy with." I roll onto my side to face him. "You know anyone single at the castle? I know Mordred is, but that might be a little awkward, him being her husband's son and all. I'm thinking we should probably be steering the love away from the family. They've got enough insider trading going on as it is."
"But Guenevere cannot take on a lover," Lancelot says in a horrified voice. "She is married to the king."
Of course. He's exactly right. Duh. What on earth was I thinking? I succeed at keeping Guen and Lance from getting together, only to get her burned at the stake because she fell in love with some other random dude that I set her up with? Think, Kat
An idea comes to me. "Maybe we should try to get her back together with Arthur. I was talking to him in the banquet hall today, and he was pretty adamant about how much he loves her. If we could get the two of them together, maybe they could make up for lost time or something. If Guen would forgive him for the whole Mordred thing...."
" Tis not an easy thing to forgive."
"Is it, though? I mean, he did it way before they were married. It's a little disturbing; don't get me wrong. But he swears he hasn't cheated on her."
"That’s true…."
"Here’s what we do. We work to get Guen and Arthur back together. It'll be good for everyone. Them and the whole kingdom."
"And us." Lance grins. "For I will no longer have to accompany her when she decides to abandon the castle."
"Yes. And I won't have to come track you down," I admonish him, poking my ringer into his chest.
"But I like when you do that," he says saucily. "Very much indeed."
"Oh, really?" I ask, pressing my lips against his. "What about this?" I say, coming up for air after the kiss. "Do you like when I do this?"
He groans. "Very, very much." He leans in for a second taste.
Talking time is now officially over.
###
A rooster crows, effective as an alarm clock with a broken snooze button, and I groggily crawl out of bed. Lancelot is evidently a deep sleeper—the annoying rooster doesn't rouse him. Careful not to wake him, I tiptoe to the door, pull it open, and slip out into the main room of the cottage.
Guenevere rises from her seat at the table and smiles at my approach. "Kat," she greets me. "Good morn. I trust you slept well. Or," she adds with a wink, "not at all?"
I snort at her not-so-subtle implication.
"The caretaker's wife has not yet risen," Guen says. "So there is no food prepared. I can wake her if you like."
"No need." I slip onto the bench beside her. "I'm not really hungry."
"I should think you would be famished after the night you had with Sir Lancelot," Guenevere teases.
I grin sheepishly. "Yeah, yeah."
"Kat, I am thankful to have you here, but why did you come?" she questions.
My face heats. I can't tell her the real reason. It's too embarrassing, for one thing. I mean, what am I supposed to say? "I came here to make sure you don't seduce my boyfriend like history says you do"?
"Arthur sent me,"" I lie.
Guenevere furrows her brows. "He did?"
"Yes." I nod enthusiastically, a plan forming in my head. "He was quite upset when he learned you had taken off."
"Then why did he not come after me himself?" she asks. "Too busy with his sister?" She spits out the last word. Ouch.
"No way, Guen." I shake my head. "He's got no time at all for that witch. In fact, the only reason he hasn't kicked her out of Camelot yet is 'cause he's afraid she'll put an evil spell on you."
Guenevere's eyes widen. Did I mention I'm a damn good liar? I had lots of practice in high school with my strict curfew-setting mom. "What kind of spell?"
I hate follow-up questions that require additional lying. "I don't know, Guen. He didn't say. A bad one, I'm sure. Real bad. Like turning-you-into-a-frog bad."
"That was good of Arthur to protect me, then," Guenevere says thoughtfully. "He has always been a good protector." She stares into the distance.
"He loves you, Guen," I say—truthfully this time. "He told me so. He called you the sunshine of his dark life. Said he couldn't bear to live without you. And he swears he hasn't taken on any lovers the whole time you've been married."
Guenevere turns to look at me, and I realize her eyes are glistening with unshed tears. "Really?" she asks. "He said that to you? Tell me the truth, Kat. I cannot bear to be lied to again."
"I am telling the truth." At least about the last part. "Look
, Guen. The whole thing with Mordred happened ages ago. You can't really hold that against Arthur, can you? In my time it's really common for people to bring kids from other marriages into the relationship. Sure, it's tough, but a lot of time the kids and the stepparent become really close."
"I did feel bad for Mordred," Guenevere admits. " 'Tis not his fault, and he looked so lost standing there. So confused. Like a lamb on slaughtering day."
Knowing Mordy a little better, I don't share her fond recollections, but I keep my mouth shut.
"What about Arthur?" I ask, trying to steer the conversation away from the kid and back to the relationship.
Guenevere stares down at her hands. "I was always scared to let myself care for him. After all, our partnership was formed to secure the kingdom, not for of any notion of love. Though I do know he reserves fond thoughts of me. After all, he kept me as his wife even after it became apparent that I could not conceive the heir he wanted. Most men would have put me away in exchange for a more fertile spouse. But love me?" She looks up, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I never dared dream that he would love me."
I smile, placing my hand over hers. "He does love you, Guen. He just doesn't know how to express it. You know how men are. Well, maybe you don't, actually." A thought strikes me. "Never fear. I can explain the mystery of men to you right here, right now."
"You can?" Guenvere's eagerness shines through her tears. She leans forward in anticipation of my words.
"Yes," I say, suddenly feeling quite wise. "All the complexities of mankind can be boiled down to one simple statement."
"They can?" I think the queen's actually holding her breath.
"Yup. Guenevere, my darling, all you need to know is this: Men are from Mars, and women are from Venus...."
Chapter 15
After my quite detailed paraphrasing of the main points of the John Gray classic and several other best-selling self-help books, I manage to convince Guenevere that trying to make her marriage work instead of running away over something that happened years ago might be a good long term strategy to save her marriage. By the time Lancelot wakes, she's already packed and ready to move back to Camelot.
A Connecticut Fashionista In King Arthur's Court Page 20