Goddess of Legend (14 page)

Isabel sucked in a breath and removed her robe, tossing it onto her bed.

She pulled the gown over her head as fast as she could, covering her butt, her breasts and her “stuff” as fast as possible. But it wasn’t cooperating as much as she’d like. This was the most embarrassing moment of her life. Well, this life. She had a more embarrassing story in her older, or newer, life. That streaking incident in ’85, for example. And the first time she allowed Jimmy Zwersky to partially undress her in fifth grade so they could compare.

Gwen laughed. “You are a shy woman, Isabel.”

Isabel turned, even as she was still struggling to get the dress over her head, so her voice was muffled. “I prefer to dress alone.”

“Would you prefer I leave, Isabel?”

“No, I’m good now,” Isabel said as she finally got the freaking gown down over her body. God damn, she did
not
want to talk to the perfect Gwen about body issues. It was pretty obvious that the queen had none to worry about.

“May we please continue to discuss other matters?” Isabel asked, as Mary began working on the damn lacing process.

“Most assuredly, Countess,” Gwen said. “You seem to feel discomfort in your gowns.”

Isabel gritted her teeth. “In my land we allow women to wear much more comfortable clothing.”

“Truly? Such as?”

“Well, because we enjoy gaming, we allow our women to wear pants, such as men do. We do not force ourselves to wear gowns at all waking hours.”

“You wear men’s breeches?”

“Yes and no. They are made for women. For the comfort and sporting fun of women. They are not so tight. But they allow the freedom to engage in events that they could not possibly do in gowns.”

Gwen smiled and clapped. “So intriguing! I must learn more of this women sporting idea. And these ‘pants,’ did you say?”

“Show me the women who make the clothing, and I will be happy to guide them on how to create them. I realize many will not be comfortable in even trying them on, but they may warm to the idea once they have a chance to try them.”

“Yes, yes! And guide us in the sporting?”

“Here’s how we do it, Gwen. We allow all women at least an hour to play in whatever sport they choose to engage in on any particular day. They may wear those pants or breeches things for that playtime. They are given a time out from the backbreaking work they engage in for the rest of the day. If they are shy, as I am, they wear smocks or aprons or whatever they like overtop their shirts and tights.”

Gwen’s eyes were lit up like silver stars. “And the men make no objections?”

“First off, Your Highness, the men not only do not object, they must be ordered away from the ladies’ playground, as they tend to ogle. Second, when the women are happier at the end of the day, it follows that so are the men, if you understand my meaning.”

Gwen laughed. “I understand. And do so recognize the sheer genius of the plan. We must needs implement this at Camelot.”

“I am so glad you see how this benefits your female staff. May we take up this conversation later? I have a morning breakfast meeting to attend.”

“With Arthur?” Gwen asked.

Isabel nodded. “And others. It is nothing intimate, Gwen. It is a strategy meeting.”

“’Twas once upon a time that I was welcomed at such meetings,” Gwen said.

“Then, for goodness sake, we will go together. No one forbade you, correct?”

Gwen hesitated. “But I was not invited to the meeting.”

“I believe your thoughts on the matters facing us all are most definitely important. I invite you.”

Gwen smiled. “I most assuredly recognize why Arthur appreciates you, Countess.”

Mary finished lacing Isabel’s dress, then turned to them. “My queen, Countess, may I ask you to keep a secret for me?”

“Of course,” they both said.

“I would very much appreciate that the news of James and me not get out to others in the castle. Not just yet.”

“Your secret’s safe with us, is it not, Gwen?”

“’Tis. But, Mary, why?” Gwen asked.

Mary blushed again. “There be many other girls who have set their sights on him, and I prefer not to upset them until we announce the news to all.”

The idea that the human equivalent of bigfoot would be such a catch kind of boggled Isabel’s mind. But she nodded. “Is this why you have kept him so . . . shaggy, Mary?”

Mary giggled. “When you see him shorn and well dressed, you will understand.”

Not in a million years. Well, maybe, under all of that fur he was something of a handsome giant. And he had a gentle touch for someone who had been trained to fight and kill. “How soon do you turn fourteen, Mary?” Isabel asked.

“In two sennights, m’lady. We plan to marry days following.”

“Don’t you have to post banns, or some such thing?”

“Banns?”

Probably a little before the banns time. History was getting muddled in Isabel’s mind.

The thought of a girl of just barely fourteen entering into marriage really gave Isabel the willies. But she understood. Sort of. She glanced at Gwen. “This is cause for celebration, right? I mean, James is Arthur’s most trusted man.”

Gwen hesitated, but then looked cheerful. “Yes, it indeed should be a day of celebration! What shall we do?”

“How about we put the other servants to good use? Part of their playtime can be helping create decorations. It will be fun.”

“No, I cannot even ask for this,” Mary said.

“Who asked you to ask, Mary?” Isabel said. “It is what people do for their friends.”

Mary, who had been fussing with Isabel’s gown and hair, stood up straight, bringing her to about five feet tall. Which made her about a foot and a half shorter than her future husband. Her blue eyes welled up with tears. “Friends?” she asked in a shaky voice.

“Yes, friends,” Isabel said, then raised her brows at Gwen for confirmation.

“Yes, Mary. Friends,” Gwen agreed.

 

 

ISABEL and Gwen headed down the steps together, but Isabel stopped her halfway down. “We need to have a bridal shower for Mary.”

“A bridal shower? What would this be?”

“You know, where you celebrate the upcoming marriage of the bride.”

“I have ne’er heard of such.”

“Trust me, it will be fun. Kind of like a slumber party for the girls to share in the joy of Mary’s upcoming wedding.”

“Slumber party?”

This language barrier was getting on Isabel’s nerves. “Trust me, it will be fun.”

Gwen squeezed Isabel’s arm. “Then we shall have it. Is there planning involved?”

“Of course. But it must be kept secret from all the men, and from Mary. It will be a surprise. But we will have to engage the help of some of the servants.”

“I know just the ones to ask to help in this adventure. I so look forward to it.”

Isabel swallowed, then said, “Do you mind if I create the menu, Gwen? I mean, I am not dissing your cooks, but truly, if I see one more pickled eel placed before me, I most definitely will lose my cookies.”

“Lose your—”

“Have need to run so that I might empty the contents of my stomach.”

Gwen laughed. “Oh, I see. Eel does not appeal to you.”

“I honestly cannot believe that eel appeals to anyone.”

“Truth to tell, I am not fond of it myself, but ’tis a favorite of many of the men. Arthur is not one. He prefers greens and the cheeses made from goat milk.”

Of course he does. One more reason to fall for him. If Isabel was ever going to find a reason to reject him, she had to find
something
that disgusted her.

And if she were ever to find a reason to be disgusted by Gwen, she needed to find a flaw. Other than the fact that she thought Gwen was an idiot to desire Lancelot over Arthur, she couldn’t think of a thing. Although that was a biggee.

Yet she found herself really enjoying Gwen. The woman was open to new ideas, was even excited about them. Gwen was way ahead of her time. She would be thrilled living in Isabel’s lifetime.

The fact that she was an adulteress was kind of a minus, though. Then again, the fact that King Arthur had somewhat accepted it was a bit of a plus.

Not the Lady of the Lake’s plan, however.

Isabel couldn’t even begin to express the joy she felt at Viviane’s leap of faith, no matter how misplaced it might be. She had trouble believing in herself. But with Viv’s confidence—

—Viviane’s help, she just might pull it off.

“May we discuss a few matters?” she asked Gwen.

“We may discuss anything.”

“First, what do you think of Mordred?”

“He is a young beast. He has caused nothing but heartache for Arthur. I try not to hate, but my feelings for him come very close.”

“Oh, we so agree on that one. How is it possible that a man as kind as Arthur had a child such as he?”

“Arthur knew not of him until it was too late to change the boy’s hatred.”

“Why doesn’t Arthur just ban him, then?”

Gwen stopped her and looked into her eyes. “The young man is his son. You have not known Arthur long, but you should already know the answer.”

“Right, I get it. But the boy needs to be . . . I don’t know . . . have his ass kicked.”

Gwen laughed. “Indeed. I have heard you did a good job last eve.”

“News travels fast,” Isabel said.

“I do have my sources, Isabel. May I have my turn at this question and answer?”

“Of course.”

“Do you realize that my husband is enamored with you?”

Isabel froze. “I realize that your husband loves you.”

Gwen smiled and nodded. “He does. He has a large heart. But he was very plain when speaking of our situation. He no longer cares as he once did.”

“Do you?”

“I love him very much.”

“Wrong answer.”

“I still care very much.”

“But you are in love with another.”

Gwen decided to stare up at the ceiling. “I care about another.”

“Wrong answer.”

“I share deep feelings with another.”

“There you go! Right answer. Truth, Gwen. It makes so much more sense.”

“Then tell me true, Isabel. Are you wanting my husband?”

Truth sucked sometimes. “Not at the expense of hurting your marriage.”

“’Twas not my question.”

“Fine. If he wasn’t married, yes, I would attempt to pursue him. But he’s married.”

“To a woman who is craving another.”

“Which, to tell you the truth, I find dumbfounding. But then, I don’t blame you for being attracted to Lancelot.”
Stupid as all hell, but who was she to judge?

Gwen took her arm and led her farther down the stairs. “We are in a . . . what are we in, Countess?”

“A pickle?”

Gwen laughed. “We share a common language, and yet we do not. But, yes, we are in somewhat of a pickle.”

“I must tell you that I will enjoy any vegetable that is pickled. But please, no more—”

“Eel,” they both said at once.

“I will see what I can do with the people in the cooking rooms,” Gwen said.

“I have a suggestion.”

“Then I must hear it.”

“Trevor should be made top chef. When I couldn’t stomach last night’s meal, he fed me foods that kept me from starving.”

“Then you are in luck, as Trevor is in charge of the morning meal.”

“Please, no eel omelet.”

Gwen laughed. “Learn to just say no. And, by the by, Trevor is also not a lover of eel.”

“Thank heavens.” They hit the bottom of the staircase and headed to the formal dining room, where the meeting was to take place. “Okay, Gwen, here we go.”

“Yes, Isabel, here we go. Would have been better had we tipped a bit of wine first.”

“Wow, really early for that, Gwen. But okay, let’s do it,” Isabel said as she and Gwen veered from the hall and into the kitchen.

CHAPTER TWELVE

ISABEL knew instantly that inviting Gwen to the meeting had been a bad idea. The look on Arthur’s face told her so.

But she was rather puzzled why, since she’d had the impression that he’d always kept his queen involved in the politics of his kingdom. Gwen seemed so in tune with the intricacies of Camelot. It was something Isabel had rather admired last evening, when Gwen had seemed right up to date.

Gwen, too, obviously recognized that her husband had not expected her to join this party. Once she graciously greeted all at the table, including Lancelot, she took her leave.

All the men had stood and bowed, but holy cow!

Isabel felt at a loss. She was the only woman among a dozen burly and apparently a bit unhappy men, and she’d have liked Gwen to be there so she didn’t feel so out of her element. So alone.

How strange that she’d so quickly bonded with the woman who she had been asked to betray in one way and ended up betraying in another. What the hell was wrong with her? Suddenly she felt like shit and wanted to run. Only Arthur’s eyes meeting hers kept her from tearing away from the room.

Isabel touched her necklace and smiled at the men. “Please, sirs, take your seats. It seems to me we have much to discuss. And I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. So let us break fast and stuff ourselves with food and ideas.”