by K. M. Shea
“Yeah. I’d kill for ice cream or a Big Mac, but this bread is right up there.” She took another bite out of it, almost humming when the subtly sweet taste—it had to be honey—hit her tastebuds. She looked out over the gardens and shook her head with affectionate frustration as Lady Ettard—with Percival, Gawain, and Lancelot trailing behind her—strolled a short distance away.
All three men were trying to resist in their own way. Gawain, in fact, was still doing his best to aid Sir Pelleas’s cause.
“My Lady, I have heard you have previously entertained Sir Pelleas. He is a great man—though he cannot compare to your good nature.” Gawain shook his head, as if trying to clear his words.
“I do know Sir Pelleas.” Wrinkles spread across Ettard’s forehead.
“He is most skilled in combat, is he not?” Gawain continued to try and press his argument, though he couldn’t seem to help blurting out, “though you deserve a champion of the highest quality and caliber.”
“Lady Ettard, you are so beautiful and graceful, you must have faerie blood in your veins,” Lancelot said. “Tell me, were any of your ancestors enchanters or enchantresses?” Though he asked the question in a honeyed tone, Britt could see the glitter of cunning in his eyes.
Ettard laughed. “You overestimate my charisma, Sir Lancelot. I’m afraid both myself and my ancestors are all perfectly human.”
Lancelot lifted his chin. “I see…”
Ahhh, so Lancelot thinks he’s under a spell, does he?
“Will you not sing for us, Lady Ettard?” Percival asked. He fought whatever attraction he felt for Ettard by hanging the farthest back, and on more than one occasion, Britt had seen him bite his own knuckle to keep from speaking.
Britt scooted to the end of her bench so she could address Merlin in a quiet voice. “Do you really think this is okay? You don’t see a need to intervene?”
Merlin flicked his blue eyes up as the wind ruffled his fine blonde hair. “You are wondering if this is an enchantment, like the one Morgause held over your knights?”
“The thought occurred to me,” Britt admitted.
“If it is, it’s not anything high-leveled or black.” Merlin turned his gaze to appraise the lady and the knights. “No married man fawns over her, and it appears that the majority of her servants, advisors, and guards are also unaffected.”
“So it’s harmless?”
“Relatively so. Unless one is obsessive, like Sir John Wayne over there.” He nodded to where Sir Pelleas skulked in the shadows, his hand resting on his sword.
Britt had no doubt that he was stewing over Lancelot, Gawain, and Percival’s actions. She thoughtfully chewed some more on her sweetbread.
“Excuse me.”
Britt turned curiously to face the speaker.
A subtly beautiful woman bowed at her. “Am I addressing King Arthur?”
Britt almost choked on her precious bread. “No, no. I’m afraid I’m only Sir Galahad.”
“Then you are King Arthur.” The woman was fair skinned, with long, shiny black hair that reminded Britt of a river at midnight, and the blue eyes of the clear lake. “I am Ragnelle, handmaiden to the Lady of the Lake. She instructed me to find you and ask for your assistance.”
Britt breathed easier with the introduction. The Lady of the Lake, Nymue, was a close friend of Britt’s and was also aware of Britt’s alias as Sir Galahad. “Oh. That does change things. What’s the problem?”
Ragnelle tilted her head. “I believe you will need assistance in fulfilling my Lady’s request.”
“Not surprised,” Britt muttered. She brushed breadcrumbs from her lap and stood. “Sir Gawain!” She called. “You mind coming over here for a moment?”
Gawain bowed to Ettard and joined Britt. “Yes, Sir Galahad?”
“This is Ragnelle. She works for my old pal Nymue. She needs our help. As the Ladies’ Knight, I thought you were best suited to lend me a hand.” Britt gestured for Ragnelle to continue her story.
Ragnelle nodded serenely to Sir Gawain. “I was instructed to pass along a specific message that outlines the task. What follows are my lady’s exact words.” Ragnelle took a breath and spoke without any facial expression whatsoever. “Britt—you selfish loafer—I’m calling in one of the favors you owe me. Sources tell me you’re currently at the castle belonging to Lady Ettard. This lady has something that belongs to one of my handmaidens—a necklace with a blue-green jewel. My handmaiden set it down on the lakeshore while entertaining Sir Pelleas as he passed through. She promptly forgot about it, and he took it. But rather than return it—as he should have—he gave it to Ettard. By the by, if you see Sir Pelleas, warn him to stay away from water.”
The message was delivered with Nymue’s exact inflection and wording, though Ragnelle was blank-faced as she recited it. “Normally I don’t care about little trinkets like necklaces, but this particular piece is faerie marked. It makes any eligible young man fall in love with the lady who wears it. There are some exceptions—if a man is already in love or is particularly unromantic, it won’t work.”
Ragnelle continued. “Get that necklace back and hand it off to my handmaiden, or so help me, I will leave the Lancelot Hate Club.”
Britt’s frown sharpened. “Now she’s just playing dirty.”
Gawain kept his face suspiciously placid with this reveal, but Merlin heaved his eyes to the heavens. “Behold, even the faeries know how you disdain Lancelot. It’s a miracle his father has not sent us a nasty correspondence yet.”
Britt ignored Merlin’s complaint. “Is that the entire message, Ragnelle?”
“Indeed, it is, Sire.” She curtsied with great elegance and glanced almost curiously at Gawain.
“I am relieved to hear there is a reason for my disreputable actions,” Gawain said, relaxing his stance.
“It explains why Merlin isn’t affected either,” Britt added.
“Why?” Merlin stood abruptly, disturbing his papers.
Britt blinked in surprise. “Because you’re excessively unromantic,” she said slowly.
“Oh. Yes. Of course.” Merlin adjusted his blue and silver tunic, then sat down again.
“Lancelot was probably only half affected because everyone knows he’s mostly in love with himself.” Britt traced Excalibur’s hilt as she studied Lady Ettard and her worshippers. “You think she knows?”
“Wouldn’t she have to?” Merlin’s voice was crusted with open disdain. “I’m sure her sudden popularity made her pause to think, and she always wears the necklace in public.”
“True…. Which also means she’s unlikely to hand it over if we ask, and if we do ask, that will reveal our hand.” Britt smiled when she noticed Ragnelle still standing at her side. “I’m sorry, Ragnelle. Did you need something more?”
“No,” the water faerie said. “But I would like to offer my assistance, should you need it.”
Gawain blessed her with one of his sweeter smiles. “That is very kind of you, lady, but it is our task to complete.”
Ragnelle demurely lowered her eyes.
“If we’re going to snatch it, we need to do it soon. Aren’t we leaving shortly?” Britt asked.
Merlin shook his head. “I’d like to rely on Lady Ettard’s good will for another night while I wait for responses. Moreover, we need to restock our supplies, and the lady seems willing enough to share.”
“She’s not an ally, is she?” Britt asked. “I don’t remember you ever mentioning her.”
“She swore allegiance to you when you were first crowned king,” Merlin said.
“If we are to remain here another night, I believe our best chance will be this evening, after dinner,” Gawain said. “If we can lure her out to the gardens, it will be dark and should be easier.”
“That’s a good idea.” Britt brushed her bangs out of her eyes. “You’ll have to be the one to do the luring, I think. She’ll find it suspicious if I suddenly act all amorous when I haven’t yet.”
Gawain bowed sligh
tly.
“Do you think you’ll be able to do it? Act against her while still under the influence of the necklace, I mean,” Britt said.
“I believe so. Though I find it hard to resist admiring her, my loyalty to you, My Lord, far outweighs mere attraction. I will not let you down.”
Britt placed her hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Thank you, Gawain.”
“Sorry to break the touching moment,” Merlin said wryly, “but is there anything else you can tell us about the necklace, Ragnelle?”
Ragnelle knitted her hands together as she considered the question. “Only that if a man is already in love with the woman before she puts on the necklace, it causes the love to become obsessive.”
“And there would be the explanation for Sir Pelleas-the-stalker. Got it.” Britt squared her shoulders and smiled at her companions. “Tonight, we steal!”
Britt’s legs started to burn as she crouched behind a bush and waited for Gawain to lure Lady Ettard outside. A leaf tickled her cheek, and she batted it away.
Britt was almost gleeful that she was the one who got to snatch the necklace. Merlin had to stay out of the grab so he could fish Britt out of the dungeons if they were found out, and Lancelot and Percival were busy keeping Sir Pelleas occupied. (With the knight being as passionate as he was for Lady Ettard, he was likely to strike out when he realized they were taking the necklace he gave her.)
She didn’t mind being the one to do the dirty work. She so rarely got to, it was actually a bit of a thrill.
It’s a good thing Kay is not along, or he would have a heart attack.
Her calves started to quiver from the strain of doing a continuous squat, so Britt was extremely happy when she saw Gawain, arm-in-arm with Ettard, saunter into the garden.
“Thank you for accompanying me on the stroll, Lady Ettard,” Gawain said. “A walk in the gardens is always pleasant, but it is even more pleasurable when I have you as a companion.”
Britt felt slightly scandalized at Gawain’s smooth words. He was not a player like Lancelot; he was far too sweet for that. But there was no denying he definitely had the makings of a ladies’ man. The thought boggled Britt’s mind, for when he first came to Camelot, he was still a teenager and had a bit of a parental complex.
She struggled to try and pinpoint exactly how many years ago that had been. By now, Gawain was probably about 20 years old. Where has the time gone?
As the pair drew closer to Britt, Lady Ettard gave Gawain a wavering smile that looked a little forced. “I am happy to oblige. What kind of hostess would I be otherwise?”
Ettard’s conduct was a bit of a puzzle. Other girls who flung around love spells, like Vivien, usually reveled in the attention they received. But though Ettard received the attention gracefully enough, she also seemed perpetually tired.
Gawain stopped walking directly in front of Britt’s bush. “I have a gift for you.” He reached into the small pouch fastened to his sword belt and pulled out a simple gold chain decorated with a golden lily pad charm. Ragnelle had lent it to them for this event.
“You are too kind,” Ettard said with a gracious smile. “I could not possibly accept. Would not a lady at Camelot be a better recipient?”
“I have gone on many quests and performed many deeds for the ladies of Camelot under the blessing of King Arthur. I proudly wear the title he gave me as the Ladies’ Knight. And that is why I insist, you must take this necklace.” His words were loaded with more meaning than Ettard knew.
“Very well, I thank you for your kindness.”
Gawain held up the necklace and undid the clasp. “May I put it on you?”
“I would be honored.” Ettard turned her back to Gawain, revealing her neck to the sputtering torch light in the gardens.
Gawain deftly draped the necklace into place, then worked quickly to undo the clasp of the enchanted necklace. “I beg your pardon!” Gawain exclaimed as the necklace slid from her neck. He deftly twitched it so it fell to the side.
Safely hidden behind her bush, Britt snatched it up and began her hasty retreat.
“My necklace,” Ettard said in a tight voice.
“Let me grab a torch, so we may inspect the ground with more clarity,” Gawain said before they fell out of Britt’s hearing range.
Britt maneuvered around the twiggy skeletons of the last few hedges, then slipped inside the castle keep. Her heart thumped with extra adrenaline, but this was far more fun than skulking through Duke Maleagant’s castle, somewhat afraid for her life.
She turned the necklace over in her hands, studying the blue-green jewels with curiosity. “I guess things haven’t changed much. In both ancient Britain and modern-day America, everybody’s foremost concern is love and battle.”
She trotted up the well-lit hallway, picking up her pace when she heard guards leave Lady Ettard’s feasting hall behind her. She darted around a corner, losing her sense of adventure when she heard guards approach her hallway from the opposite direction.
Sandwiched between two sets of guards, someone was bound to notice she was carrying the necklace that Lady Ettard perpetually wore.
Britt hastily searched for a hiding spot in her clothes. She had stupidly left her cloak behind—she thought she would catch attention if she insisted on wearing it to dinner. But as her tunic and stuffed doublet lacked pockets, there was a limited number of places she could hide the necklace.
No pockets! That has got to be one of the most simplistic things that I miss. Considering how logical these people are, you’d think they’d see the value of having pockets in your tunics, but no.
As the stomp of the soldiers’ footfalls drew closer, Britt, egged on by sheer desperation, slung the necklace around her neck, hooked it so it wouldn’t fall, then pulled up the collar of her doublet to hide it.
Breathing easier with the eye-catching jewels out of sight, Britt resumed her walk down the hallway, going so far as to nod at the oncoming guards when they met. She took pains to walk casually all the way back to Merlin’s room.
She busted in without any hesitation, almost slamming the door shut. “Merlin, we have got to do something about the lack of pockets in this era.” She sat down on one of the wooden chairs with a plop, sagging with relief. “Or purses! Pouches on the belt are great and all, but they kind of drag your tunic down. I should speak to a tailor about designing a purse when we get back to Camelot.” She looked around and realized that Ragnelle, who was supposed to pick up the spelled necklace, was not present.
Merlin stood in front of his lit fireplace, holding a small scrap of paper that had probably been delivered by pigeon. Unnervingly, his eyes seemed just as brilliant as the fire as he stared at her, an odd combination of fascination and frustration flickering on his face. “Britt,” he said, his voice a little huskier than usual. “You’re wearing the necklace, aren’t you?”
“Oh yeah.” Britt fumbled to take the trinket off. “I was nearly discovered by guards, and I didn’t have a pouch—or pocket—to hide it in.”
“I see.” The lightness had returned to Merlin’s voice as she removed the necklace and slapped it on the chest at the foot of his bed. She leaned back in her chair and yawned, just as a gentle tap sounded on the door.
Britt reluctantly got to her feet and opened the door for Ragnelle. “I got it. It’s over there on the chest.” She nodded at the spelled jewelry.
“I thank you for retrieving it.” Ragnelle reclaimed it, then glanced from Merlin to Britt. “Where is Sir Gawain?”
Britt tugged on her doublet, hitching it back into the right spot. “He’s probably still entertaining Lady Ettard.”
Merlin frowned. “Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Britt asked.
Merlin held his finger to his lips, and Britt could faintly hear the echo of a roar traveling up the hallway. It grew louder until the door to Merlin’s bedroom was slammed open.
“You craven heathens!” Sir Pelleas declared as he stormed into the room. “Are you no
t Knights of Camelot, bound by the Oath of the Round Table? Yet you steal from ladies?”
Ragnelle, Britt was relieved to see, tucked the necklace up her wide, drooping sleeves before the knight noticed it.
“Calm yourself, Sir Pelleas,” Merlin said.
“I will not!” Sir Pelleas said. “I accepted the help of your party because I thought you were honorable, just men. Thus far you have made eyes at my lady, robbed her, and taken advantage of her offer of shelter.”
Britt considered arguing, but the furious knight was actually correct. “How did you hear her necklace had been stolen?”
“I was speaking with your treacherous Sir Lancelot and Sir Percival when I heard the guards’ shout.” Sir Pelleas breathed like a dragon.
Fantastic. That was just her luck. She was wondering how to settle his rampant emotions when an equally angry howl rippled down the hallway.
“Sir Pelleas!”
Merlin’s quarters became quite crowded as Lady Ettard stormed in, Lancelot, Gawain, and Percival on her heels.
Interestingly, Lady Ettard showed more ire and rage than she had when Gawain “lost” her necklace. “Have I not tossed you from my halls dozens of times? Why do you play these games?” she hissed.
“They are not games!” Sir Pelleas bowed his head and laid his right hand over his heart. “The heavens as my witness, I swear my eternal love for you.”
“Come off it!” Lady Ettard snapped. “I’m not wearing the necklace now. There’s no need for you to fawn over me any longer.”
Sir Pelleas furrowed his brows. “I beg your pardon?” He shook his head. “That is right! One of you must’ve stolen the necklace, jealous of the symbol of my affection on the beautiful Lady Ettard.” He stabbed his finger at Gawain, Lancelot, and Percival.
Percival smiled and replied evenly, in the kingly aura he had inherited from his father, “Lady Ettard is truly a lovely noblewoman. But I can now say with certainty, Sir Pelleas, that you are the only knight in this room who seeks her favor.”
Sir Pelleas frowned. “What? How can you say that after you spent all day mooning over her?” He started to draw his sword, an action Lancelot was only too eager to copy. “Defend yourselves, you disloyal knaves!”