by K. M. Shea
Though his praise warmed her heart, Britt deflected it. “You’re giving me too much credit.”
“No, it is rather that I don’t give you enough credit. You understand your men, and you work with them. Your vision for Camelot is idealistic—overly so—but the camaraderie you have with your knights is unmatched throughout history.”
Britt ripped her gaze from the red knight, trusting Roen to keep walking, and met Merlin’s gaze. Her heart thumped in her throat at the unfathomable expression in his eyes. She swallowed hard and tried to think of something to say.
Naturally, Lancelot had to ruin it. “Merlin, Sir Galahad!” he called, remembering to use Britt’s alias. “You must come listen to Sir Pelleas’s tale of woe!”
Merlin winked at Britt, then switched his attention to the red knight. “Sir Pelleas, I do not believe I have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, though I’ve heard much about you. I am Merlin, chief counselor to King Arthur, High King of Britain. This is Sir Galahad, one of the best knights of the Round Table, and for certain the purest.”
“Greetings, Sir Pelleas,” Britt said. She pulled Roen to a halt just short of Percival’s horse.
Sir Pelleas bowed his head. “It is my honor to meet you all.”
“Please, tell us your story,” Merlin said. Based on the kindness in his voice, Britt guessed that Sir Pelleas must’ve been a knight of relative renown.
Sir Pelleas sighed and covered his eyes with an arm. “It is a story that will one day kill me. For I love with great passion the beautiful Lady Ettard.”
Merlin’s blue eyes narrowed with cunning. “Lady Ettard…the heiress who owns the lands upon which we stand?”
“Yes. I love her with the burning passion of a wildfire,” Sir Pelleas declared. “Her eyes sparkle with such beauty the sun nor moon can compare. Her laughter is sweeter than the trill of a songbird, and there is no piece of music that can compare to the sweetness of her voice.”
Britt was beginning to wish she had asked for the “too long, didn’t listen” version of the story. Just as Sir Pelleas begin to praise the fineness of Lady Ettard’s hair, Britt saw a small frown crest Gawain’s lips. She maneuvered her horse next to his. “Something wrong?”
“I don’t recall Sir Pelleas being quite so…demonstrative,” he said.
“Interesting,” Merlin said, popping up behind them.
Britt tuned back in to Sir Pelleas’s spiel. He still hadn’t moved past Ettard’s hair, so when he paused to take a breath, Britt was quick to interject, “I understand you are filled with great admiration for the beautiful Lady Ettard. But why should this cause you sadness? Love should bring joy and happiness.”
“Alas,” Sir Pelleas sighed, “she does not return my affection. Nay, she can barely stand the sight of me. She will not let me into her castle, nor will she allow me to speak to her, unless her men take me captive and bring me before her themselves.”
“Unfortunately, it seems like Lady Ettard’s men are growing weary of playing messenger,” Sir Percival said, greatly shortening the conversation. “No longer will they take Sir Pelleas captive and into their lady’s castle.”
Britt shot the young knight a thankful look. “I see. I believe I understand your plight, Sir Pelleas.”
“Is your heart not moved, Sir Galahad?” Lancelot asked. “Are you not filled with the desire to help this fellow man?”
“Not really,” Britt said. She never had much patience for dramatic love affairs. It’s why she had such little sympathy for Tristan and his love potion. Even when she had first fallen for Merlin, she would not let herself sink into a pit of despair when he rejected her.
“But you are the purest of us all. Can you give him no insight to the female heart?” Lancelot asked.
Britt was filled with the desire to kick Lancelot, but unfortunately, he was stationed across the little circle into which their group had gathered. “Females, in case you did not know, Lancelot, are all individualistic. I could give romantic advice, but that doesn’t mean this particular lady would appreciate what I advise.”
“Is there no way we can help him?” sweet Percival asked.
Britt swiveled to Merlin and raised her eyebrows.
Merlin shifted in his saddle. “We have unadorned armor we can lend him. We could travel to Lady Ettard’s castle and smuggle him inside with our group.”
“A brilliant idea!” Lancelot proclaimed.
“What happened to rabbit-trail-side-quests?” Britt asked.
“It is just as well. I have a contact in Lady Ettard’s castle with whom I would like to speak. He can send off word of our findings to some of my other men,” Merlin said.
“Indeed, it is a wise plan.” Gawain gestured to the horizon. “It looks like rain will soon be upon us.”
Out of nowhere, an angry black cloud had rolled in. It looked like it would catch up with them in an hour or two and open up a downpour over their heads.
“Very well,” Britt said. “Let us see this Lady Ettard. Perhaps we can help you, Sir Pelleas.”
“If I only gaze upon her, I will be filled with enough happiness to sustain me for the rest of my life,” Sir Pelleas said. “But I would not refuse any help you may lend me to bring her eyes to alight favorably on me.”
Britt stared at him. “Right. Well. Let’s go. But first, Sir Pelleas, you had better change out of that eye-catching red armor.”
Chapter 6
Lady Ettard and Sir Pelleas
As Britt and the knights approached Ettard’s castle, the gray raincloud had opened up and began splattering them with fat raindrops.
Britt peered up at the cloud and almost snorted a raindrop. She sneezed and moved Roen closer to the castle so it blocked the worst of the weather.
The castle portcullis—a rusted metal grate—was dropped down into place. Two guards were stationed inside the gatehouse, and they peered outside as Britt and the knights crowded around the gate.
“We are Knights of the Round Table from Camelot. We ask that you would grant us shelter for the night,” Gawain said.
One of the guards approached the portcullis and peered out at them. “Camelot…. That’s King Arthur’s castle, is it not?” His fellow guard joined him. “You are King Arthur’s knights?”
An icy cold raindrop slid down the back of Britt’s neck, making her teeth chatter with the cold. “Yep. That would be us.” She carefully avoided looking at Sir Pelleas, who wore plain armor and was packed into the middle of their little group, lest someone recognize his horse.
The first guard looked them over as the pitter-patter of rain hitting their armor broke the silence. He nodded at the second soldier, who trotted off, then returned his gaze to them. “Lady Ettard would be glad to host Knights of the Round Table.” He retreated around the corner of the gatehouse, and a few shouts—muffled by the falling rain—sounded up and down the walls before the portcullis creaked as it was slowly raised up.
Britt, Merlin, and the knights nudged their horses and entered the castle.
Lady Ettard’s castle was small and comfortable. It contained only a large keep and gardens, no city like Camelot or—on a smaller scale—Camelgrance. As Britt peered around, she saw brightly colored banners hung from windows, carefully manicured ivy tendrils climbing up the walls, and well-maintained buildings. Quaint was the word she would use to describe it. The gardens, still dead from winter, were quite large and impressive given the size of the castle.
Britt slipped from Roen’s back and landed on the ground with a grimace. She refrained from rubbing her posterior, as she dearly wanted to, and patted her horse’s damp neck.
Three stable boys came to collect the mounts, taking the horses with little bows to both the knights and the horses.
Britt rested her hand on the hilt of Excalibur as she watched Roen be led to the stable.
“This way, if you please, sirs,” the portcullis guard said.
He led them down a tidy stone pathway, all the way up to the front door of the
keep.
Britt sighed with relief when they entered the keep, finally leaving the dreary drizzle of rain. She was starting to wish she had worn her helm, as her damp hair kept shedding cold raindrops down the collar of her armor.
“Knights of the Round Table, I welcome you to my humble castle.”
Britt swung around to face the newcomer, a genteel lady who was perhaps a little younger than her.
The lady, assumedly Lady Ettard, was pretty with dark brown hair that was plaited in a complex braid and dropped down her back. She did not look cruel or snotty, as Britt had pictured. In fact, already smile lines began to play around the set of her mouth. However, she was unusually matchy-matchy with her blue-green dress that complemented her blue-green jeweled necklace.
Britt smiled and did her best not to squelch all over the castle’s stone floor. “We thank you for your kindness and generosity…” She trailed off when Percival, closely followed by Gawain, knelt almost reverently before Ettard.
“My Lady,” Percival said worshipfully. He opened his mouth to say more, but his shy nature around women got the best of him, and he blushed and looked away.
Gawain was not quite so calf-eyed, but still just as admiring. “I have heard of your kindness and beauty, Lady Ettard. The rumors did not give you enough credit.”
Britt had to reach out and grab Sir Pelleas by the shoulder as he lurched towards the twitterpated knights. She pulled him back and slipped in front of him when Lady Ettard glanced in their direction.
The sudden onset of Percival and Gawain’s affections made Britt slightly suspicious, as Ettard, though pretty, was not as beautiful as Guinevere. She turned to look at Merlin and Lancelot with dread.
Merlin was entirely unaffected. He was too busy scratching his side and giving the castle a calculating look, probably trying to weigh out Lady Ettard’s net worth.
Lancelot’s brow was unusually puckered, and his eyes were slightly narrowed, though a clear smile played at his lips. “Your lands are lucky to have such a splendid lady ruling them?” Usually he would’ve said the statement in an utterly smarmy tone, but instead it came out a question, and he tilted his head like an unsure cocker spaniel.
Ettard, it seemed, did not notice anything unusual about their party’s reaction. She smiled serenely and folded her hands in front of her. “May I inquire which knights I am addressing?”
Percival leapt to his feet. “I am Sir Percival, oldest son of King Pellinore of Anglesey.”
“My name is Sir Gawain, and I’m the oldest son of King Lot of Orkney.” Gawain also stood, but he gave Ettard a bow to decorate his words.
Lancelot’s fake smile was back in full force, for he lived for introductions. “I am Sir Lancelot, the best knight of Camelot, the Champion of the Queen, and the son of King Ban across the sea.”
Britt rolled her eyes, but she forced a smile when Ettard looked expectantly to her. “I am Sir Galahad. This is Merlin—Chief Counselor of King Arthur himself, and Sir...” She had to put an arm in front of Sir Pelleas to keep him from lunging at Percival and Gawain as she scrambled internally for a fake name. “Sir John. Wayne. John Wayne. He’s taken a vow of silence.”
She cut herself off to scrabble with Sir Pelleas.
“I hope you find peace during your stay here,” Ettard said. “My servants will show you to your quarters, but I assume you will dine with me this evening.”
“The honor would be ours,” Gawain said with another bow.
Ettard smiled, though Britt noticed her eyes looked tired rather than joyful, and her shoulders heaved a little in a barely imperceptible sigh. “Wonderful. I have long been an admirer of King Arthur and the Knights of Camelot. I will look forward to this evening with great anticipation.” She gestured down the hallway, where a female servant waited patiently.
Britt grabbed Sir Pelleas by the arm and hauled him in the servant’s direction. It was much harder than she thought, as Sir Pelleas was quite solid and practically a wall of muscle. But with a surly clang, he followed her. Merlin was not far behind them, but Gawain, Percival, and Lancelot could only be persuaded to leave Ettard with much bowing, smiles, and statements of regret.
The servant girl showed them their rooms, but as their bags and supplies had not yet arrived, Britt followed Merlin into his room and gestured for the knights to join them.
As soon as they were safely absconded in the room and the door closed, Sir Pelleas shucked his helmet and tossed it aside. “You blackguards!” He roared. He unsheathed his sword and strode towards Percival and Gawain.
Lancelot moved to intercept him, plucked his sword from his hand, and tossed it aside.
“You swore you would help me secure Ettard’s affections. Instead, you stabbed me in the back and admire her with your own designs and intentions,” Pelleas said.
“Sir Pelleas, we—” Gawain started.
Pelleas held up a hand to forestall him. “No, you revealed your true intentions in that hall. I will listen to no excuse.”
Britt itched to strip her soggy underclothes and spattered armor, but she couldn’t risk it with Pelleas in the room. She settled, instead, for sitting in a wooden chair. “Is charming Lady Ettard part of your plan to aid Sir Pelleas, Gawain, Percival, and Lancelot?”
“Lady Ettard is beautiful and good.” Though he praised her, Sir Percival did not smile, and instead pushed his damp hair from his eyes.
“Truthfully, I don’t know why I am so taken with her,” Gawain said. He studied the greaves of his gauntlet with a frown.
Lancelot picturesquely arranged himself by the lit fireplace. “Something is afoot,” he said.
Britt unhooked Excalibur from her belt and used what small patch of dry cloth her cloak had left to mop it dry. “What, you were surprised she didn’t fall at your feet?”
“Not at all,” Lancelot said. “My heart was actually moved when I saw her.”
Britt’s eyebrows almost leaped all the way up to her hairline. “That is incredibly strange.”
“Galahad…” Merlin’s voice held a trace of a warning.
“What? Lancelot has the loyalty of a tomcat. If he’s moved, Ettard is either one knockout girl, or we’ve entered the Twilight Zone.”
“Twilight zone?” Percival asked.
“Ettard is worthy of all praise,” Pelleas insisted, though he shot Percival and Gawain a dark look. “I find it no surprise many should adore her, but I thought your word would hold you to true conduct.”
Britt rubbed her nose, the pervasive smell of wet horse still invading the air. “What do you think, Merlin? You didn’t seem at all affected.”
Merlin shrugged. “I am not going to dally in this romantic affair. My priority is to make contact with my man. You yokels may do as you please.”
Britt flicked raindrops from her armor. “I guess we will see more tonight, when we dine with Lady Ettard.” She glanced at Gawain and Percival with some worry. “I’ll admit, I didn’t think the two of you were the type to fall in love at first sight.”
“What about me?” Lancelot asked.
“What about you?”
“Do you not believe that I am loyal enough that I would not fall for such a romantic dalliance?” He gave Britt the clear smile that he used whenever he was trying to make her heart flutter.
Unfortunately for him, usually it filled Britt’s heart with the desire to deck him. “You are exactly the type of person who would frequently fall in love at first sight,” she said caustically.
“No matter the outcome, Sir Pelleas, you have my word that I will do my best to aid you,” Sir Gawain said.
Pelleas glared at him with suspicion and folded his arms across his chest. “I’m afraid I don’t believe you after witnessing your conduct in the hall. It appears I will have to stay close to Ettard so as to make certain you do not act unchivalrously towards her.”
“Sir Gawain would never!” Percival glared at him, and his fingers twitched for his sword.
“At least Gawain and Percival don’
t act like love rivals,” Merlin said as he leaned against Britt’s chair.
“Thank heaven for small miracles,” Britt said. “Why is it that whenever we set out on a quest, really weird and bizarro things happen?”
Merlin shrugged. “This is England. Faerie folk and magic rub shoulders with nobles and peasants alike. The land itself is quite unpredictable.”
“I guess.” Britt was still dissatisfied, but at that moment, there was a shy tap on the door.
Gawain opened the door for a servant bearing Merlin’s bags.
Britt straightened in her chair. “Have all of our bags been delivered?”
The servant bowed slightly. “Indeed, they are all in the hall.”
Britt bolted. “Excellent! I am most eager to shed this armor before it rusts. Men, I will see you tonight. Don’t kill each other while I’m gone.”
The following morning, Britt sat on a stone bench in the large gardens, gnawing on a loaf of sweetbread for breakfast.
The sun was playing peek-a-boo in the clouds, and the air was fragrant with the smell of growing plant life, but Britt was absolutely enthralled with her bread.
“Do you really find bread to be that tasty?” Merlin asked. He sat on his own bench, papers spread around him as he shuffled through the information his contact had given him.
“The bread of Camelot is so tough, it almost cuts your gums and cheeks when you eat it,” Britt said. “This stuff is light, airy, and has just a hint of sweetness. It’s lovely.”
Merlin slightly shook his head as he flipped a paper over.
She sighed. “This must be because a woman owns the castle. I swear, with all the knights holed up in Camelot, all they want to eat is meat, meat, and more meat. I’m so sick of venison and fowl—especially in stew. I’m almost desperate enough to eat a dandelion salad. But this bread!” Britt held the half of the loaf that remained aloft, as if it were a gift from Heaven.
“I’m glad to see there’s something that can tempt your appetite,” Merlin muttered.