Endeavor (King Arthurs and Her Knights Book 6) (11 page)

“Shall we, Guinevere?” Britt asked, smiling at the younger girl.

Guinevere glowed with happiness. “Yes!”

Britt nodded to Vivien, then headed for the castle keep, Guinevere still holding her arm and gliding along beside her.

“I have so much to tell you, Arthur,” Guinevere started as they drew closer to the castle doors. “Blancheflor, Clarine, and I went to the lake where the Lady of the Lake calls home. We, we didn’t see her…”

“Yes?” Britt patiently asked.

“But, but…” Guinevere said, stumbling.

“Guinevere, are you alright?” Britt asked, pausing when she realized the girl was gasping oddly.

“I don’t feel very well,” Guinevere said before dropping like a rock.

“Guinevere! Merlin, Morgan, help!” Britt shouted. She caught the younger girl before she hit the stone ground and gently laid her down. Guinevere’s eyes were shut, and her chest heaved oddly.

“Move,” Morgan ordered, crouching at Guinevere’s side.

“What happened?” Merlin demanded.

“I don’t know. We were going inside, and she collapsed,” Britt said, panic beating in her heart.

“You, get ground horseradish—the kitchens have it. Hurry!” Morgan barked at Sir Lionel.

“Yes, lady,” Sir Bors—who was standing next to his brother—said before he ran for the herb gardens.

“Can you tell what’s wrong with her?” Britt asked with wide eyes. She barely noticed when Merlin strode away from her.

“She’s having trouble breathing,” Morgan said.

Britt hadn’t felt so helpless in a long time. Since arriving in medieval England she had been, for the most part, able to physically beat down her opponents. But this?
We need modern medicine
.

Brit knelt next to Morgan. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No. There’s nothing
I
can do either,” Morgan said, sounding panicked.

“She has to pull through,” Britt said, a numb feeling spreading through her body. “The little idiot
has
to make it.”

Morgan said nothing as Guinevere turned white.

“Here, horseradish,” Bors said, passing a wooden bowl to Morgan, his body heaving with the effort of sprinting.

Morgan smeared the horseradish on Guinevere’s neck and chest. The plant smelled strongly, but it did nothing to ease the young lady’s gasps.

Britt’s heart thundered in her ears. “It’s not helping,”

“I know!” Morgan said, her voice tight.

All of a sudden, Guinevere gave a deep gasp—as if a hand had been clutching her lungs and had finally let go. She coughed and breathed more easily when Britt strong-armed her so she was sitting up. She took heaving breaths for a few seconds before saying, “I smell horrid—no one will want to sit by me for dinner, now.”

Britt laughed as she hugged Guinevere. Morgan gave them a tired smile and pushed some of her hair out of her face. “I think you’ll manage,” she wryly said.

“My dress is filthy, too,” Guinevere frowned as she started to stand. “This is embarrassing.”

Sir Lionel lunged forward to help Guinevere rise. “You look lovely, Lady Guinevere,” he said, earning himself a bright smile.

Britt also stood—taking care to dust herself off—and looked around. Merlin was standing in the middle of the courtyard, a grim look fastened upon his face.
I’ll talk to him about this. He knows something
.

“Are you coming, My Lord?” Guinevere asked.

“Yes—I know, the papers await me.” Britt turned on her heels and entered her castle.
Later.

CHAPTER 10

A Storm of Feelings

Excalibur flashed as Britt moved through her warm-up practice pattern. Torches crackled, but they weren’t entirely necessary as the full moon lit up the sky so brightly it gave her a shadow.

Britt moved down the castle wall, stretching her muscles and wielding Excalibur with deadly precision. When she finished the exercise, she turned, intending to walk back up the wall to begin the pattern all over again.

“If I could have a moment, My Lord.”

Britt almost dropped Excalibur in surprise when she saw who addressed her. “Of course, Sir Mordred.”

He climbed two stairs to join her on the castle wall and looked up and down the pathway. “You practice here every night?”

“Nearly,” Britt said as she sheathed Excalibur.

“Do you never sleep?” he asked, tilting his head like a dog.

Britt laughed. “Not often. How can I help you?”

“This might be uncalled for, My Lord,” Mordred began, “but I wished to speak to you about my loyalties.” His face was unusually somber, and his green eyes glittered.

“Oh?” Britt asked, glancing at the knight. Merlin was right. Mordred was probably going to swear his loyalties to her. She had been planning to extend him an invitation to the Round Table, but she was surprised he was swearing service to her in the middle of the night, when none would see. Usually knights chose public settings so all would know.

“Yes,” Mordred said. “I see what is happening.”

Britt turned to look out over the patchwork of farmland that covered the plains behind Camelot. “And what
is
happening?

“The Knights of Camelot are departing.”

His observation made Britt’s heart go still, but he continued.

“Your kingship has been established, and your enemies are beaten. The knights no longer remain cloistered in Camelot, but they go questing and return home to manage their lands. Most notably, your favorites—your best knights—are gone,” Mordred said. “Gawain is out questing most of the year; Ywain will now be tied to his lands, and Griflet comes and goes like the wind.”

“Are you trying to convince me I’m alone?” Britt frowned.

“No, quite the opposite,” Mordred said. “I wish to offer you my loyalty.”

“You wish to take the oath to become my knight?” Britt turned from the beautiful view to face him.

“Yes. I vow to protect you and serve you,” Mordred said. “But, if you would have it, I would give you more than that.”

Britt rested a hand on Excalibur’s hilt. “Yes?”

“I wish to be your sword and shield,” Mordred said. “Instead of traveling, I would rather remain in Camelot—like Kay and Bedivere—and help you in any way I can.”

Britt stared at him, and tried to think of something to say.

“I do not seek a position in your court. The men who serve you are trustworthy, and I have nothing beside my own word to recommend me. I ask only that you would allow me to support you.”

“Why?” Britt asked.

Mordred scratched his chin and gave her a thoughtful look. “It is difficult to be a leader. And I imagine it is very lonely. I do not know this from experience, but from what I have seen when visiting other courts. I wish to serve in Camelot because I believe
you
need knights you can trust in your own castle as well as in the field.”

Other courts? He must have powerful connections.
Britt studied him, trying to detect any shard of dishonesty in his features. He looked intent and earnest.

“I know it will take time to prove my loyalties, and I do not seek to replace those who are gone,” he continued. “I don’t have to be first in your affections, My Lord. I just want to be a support to you.”

Words entirely failed Britt. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. As her knights were growing older, and those she most cherished grew up and left her, Mordred—the knight she suspected had a hand eventually in Arthur’s death—was the one who offered such loyalty?

He was right. She could use another close friend. Gawain was gone most of the time, as was Griflet, and Britt had noticed the way Kay and Morgan interacted more these days. Britt wouldn’t have it any other way—she
wanted
Kay, Griflet, Gawain, Ywain, and everyone to achieve happiness. But it felt like time was moving for everyone except for her.

There was a catch, though. He didn’t know she was a woman. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I appreciate your loyalty, Mordred, and I do not doubt it, but there are things about me…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Mordred said.

I should talk to Merlin about this first. Even now he still doesn’t want me spouting off my secret to anyone.
Britt fiddled with Excalibur and tried to buy herself some thinking time.

Mordred, apparently sensing her hesitation, smiled. “Perhaps it would be best if there were a trial period,” he said. “Allow me to serve you, and if you cannot stand me, you are free to send me on a year-long quest.” He smiled.

Britt laughed in relief—a “trial period” would let her push the issue off and bring it before Merlin. “I’m more worried that you will be disappointed when you see more of me.”

“Never, My Lord,” Mordred said, shaking his head.

“As you say. Very well—we may begin a trial,” Britt agreed.

“Excellent. Let us begin now,” Mordred said. “I was recently informed you practice swordsmanship here until the early hours of the morning. Please allow me to serve as your practicing partner.”

Britt grinned. “That would be great. I’ve been looking to face off against someone—it’s been hard trying to find opponents.”

“I am hurt, My Lord,” Lancelot’s lofty voice came out of nowhere as he climbed the last few stairs and joined them. “If I had known you longed to cross swords, I would have offered my services.”

“Lancelot,” Britt said, her tone flat.

“Indeed, it is I! If Sir Mordred does not mind, could I claim a practice match against you as well?”

Mordred grinned. “Our King hardly needs
my
permission to enter a fight—particularly one he is assured of winning.”

Lancelot’s sour look made Britt laugh. “Fine, I’ll fight you, Lancelot—but no stabbing this time.”

“My Lord, if I live to be a hundred, I will never regret enough losing my temper that day,” Lancelot said, sighing with a great deal of dramatized sorrow.

Britt ignored him and retreated down the wall with Mordred.

“You will not lament this trial, My Lord,” Mordred said. “I will do my best to fill in the gaps—especially when Merlin leaves.”

Britt stopped and stared at the young man. “When he
what
?”

“When he leaves. He has been shadowing Lady Vivien quite a lot—” Mordred fell like a sack of flour when Lancelot casually grabbed him by the pauldrons and threw him down.

Britt scowled. “Lancelot!”

“Sorry, Mordred. I can be so clumsy,” Lancelot said, helping the knight stand.

Mordred watched Lancelot for a moment, his hand hovering near his sword. He shook off the moment of seriousness and smiled. “Of course, no harm done.”

Not so easily pacified, Britt clenched her hands into fists to keep herself from placing them on her hips as she glared Lancelot down. The flirtatious knight returned Mordred’s smile and then pinned his green eyes on Britt.

“Never mind Merlin, My Lord. Are you ready for a match?” he asked.

In that instant, Britt realized…
he knows.
Lancelot knew of the affection she harbored for Merlin. She had no idea how he had figured it out, or how he would use it, but it was unnerving that he was aware of the situation.
He’s going to try to use it to his advantage…but how? What merit was there in silencing Mordred’s thoughts about Merlin?

“Are you alright, My Lord?” Mordred asked.

“Of course. Come, Lancelot. Give me your best—
chivalrous
shot.”

“When will you cease reciting my sins, My Lord?”

“Probably never. Here we go!”

Merlin was more than a little irritated that Vivien—an upstart with a bit of black magic to help her—was able to perform a black spell no less than two horse lengths away from him, nearly killing Guinevere. It was inexcusable.

“I don’t care if Sir Bodwain and Sir Ulfius disagree. I’m going to dislodge her. Of course, it will take some footwork, but this is no good. At this rate, she’s going to kill someone in her anger, and with the knights still renewing their feelings of loyalty for Britt, it’s a dangerous time to take a tumble.”

Merlin sighed and sat down in a chair. Britt was the real root of the issue. Vivien was a danger to her, yes, but there were a few other ways the witch could be eliminated. All of them, however, required a sacrifice from Britt.

“She has sacrificed enough,” Merlin said firmly as he reached for his goblet of wine. “She doesn’t know the cost she has paid…”

Guilt wedged a nail in Merlin’s heart. He knew he had ruined Britt Arthurs’ life. He had stolen her home and family from her, required her to put forth enormous effort as King, and perhaps worst of all, he had stolen her mortality. Several conversations with Blaise had proved it. When Britt Arthurs traveled back to their era, her time started to stand still because of the faerie spell Merlin had employed to accomplish the task.

“I sound like a lunatic,” Merlin snorted into his drink. “People dream of immortality…but not Britt.”

To Britt, her friendships and relationships were her life. He realized that when he saw her panic over Guinevere—a girl she didn’t even like all that much. And he had effectively sentenced her to make friends and watch them die again and again, for thousands of years.

“It’s already affecting her. Time is starting to blur,” Merlin almost threw his wine cup when his thoughts lingered on Britt’s laughter and enchanting smile.

She was the best person he had ever known and the only friend he had let past his emotional defenses, and he had
ruined her life.
He tapped his goblet as he thought. “Yes, distracting Vivien is the least I can do. I can handle a puffed-up
girl
. And when Britt has Ireland secured, I will eliminate Vivien.”

Merlin abandoned his chair and peered outside to watch the sun rise. “Yes. I better start wooing her today.” That was his plan, to make Vivien think he had fallen for her seduction spell. All he had to do was behave like an empty-headed fool, and she would never think he was acting.
But Britt…
“She’ll know I’m faking it,” Merlin said, trying to make himself feel better. “But…maybe I should tell her. While I’m acting, I’ll have to stay away from her, after all. Yes, I’ll tell her. It’s dawn. She will have just gotten to bed only two or three hours ago,” Merlin said, rubbing the rim of his cup and feeling surprisingly chirper considering his all-nighter. “I shall go wake her. She’ll be so furious—it will be fun!” he decided. He banged out of his study and strolled through the quiet castle.

A few minutes later, he stopped outside Britt’s door. “Arthur,” he said, banging on the door with his free fist. “Arthur, wake up!” he shouted before downing the rest of the wine in his cup.

“
I’m going to kill you
.”

“Ahh, that is Britain’s High King. Rise.”

“
We don’t have mass today. Go away.
”

“True, but we have much to discuss.”

“
Like your death?
”

“You don’t sound like you’re getting out of bed.”

“
I’m not. Get lost.
”

“Are you dressed?”

“
No, I spent the night dancing naked on the castle walls
,” she hissed.

Merlin chuckled and threw her double doors open. Cavall growled at him, but he paid the huge dog no mind as he shut the doors behind himself and padded across the room.

Britt was a lump buried under blankets.

“Wake up. I have important news to share,” Merlin said.

Britt poked her head out of her blanket roll—her blonde hair ruffled and her eyes bleary. To Merlin’s liquored eyes—good heavens, he
hoped
it was the wine, or his situation was direr than he thought—she looked adorably disheveled.