Goddess of Legend (28 page)

“You are giving me an excuse, when I have none. No, you would not have done the same. You would have listened. But, Arthur, I was so afraid that what we had . . .”

“I know, love, I know,” he said as he pulled her into his arms.

“Why are you so forgiving when I don’t deserve it?”

He chuckled into her hair. “Perhaps because it is the kingly thing to do?”

“No, the kingly thing to do is telling people to do this, or people to do that.”

“Then perhaps it is something a man does when he loves a woman.”

“I’ll take that one for a thousand, Alex.”

He grinned, brushing her hair from her face as he kissed her temple, her forehead, her nose. “I know not what that even means, and I find I do not care. I know not who this Alex is, but I do not care. What matters most to me is that we clear this misunderstanding betwixt us.”

“Oh, Arthur,” she said, wrapping her arms around him, standing on tiptoe to rain kisses over his neck. “I am so very sorry.”

“As am I. I am certain that there should have been a much better way to relate the events.” He smiled down at her. “Okay, I fibbed. I am curious as to what you will trade for a thousand whate’ers. And who this Alex is.”

“It is a game we play at home. It is a reverse thing. You, the player, will be given the answer, and then you will formulate what the question would be.”

“Pardon?”

“Exactly. Although actually it would be, ‘What is pardon?’ ”

He shook his head. “I am baffled, love.”

“For example, someone would say, ‘The land that King Arthur loves passionately.’ Then you would respond, ‘What is Camelot?’ ”

“This is a game you play in Dumont?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then,” he said. “I believe I understand the rules.”

She laughed. “Okay, the answer is, ‘The woman who is crazy about King Arthur.’ What is the question?”

“I am hoping the question is, ‘Who is Countess Isabel?’”

“Correct!”

“Then I have one for you.”

“Lay it on me, big boy.”

“The kingly thing Arthur is about to tell his woman—as is his right, mind you, as kingly matter involve telling you to do that and you to do this—to do.”

“What is take off the king’s kingly clothes?”

“Not exactly the one I was going for, but it very much works for me, Isabel. So I will give you a correct on that one.”

Isabel went to work obeying his kingly command. “You know, every once in a while there is more than one right response.”

“Good. My question was, ‘What is allow the king to help the countess in taking off her clothes?’”

“See, more than one right response,” she said.

 

 

MARY and James walked down the hall hand in hand, both grinning. “We may be in so much trouble,” Mary said.

“Did you hear a single thing shatter?”

“I did not.”

“Then I believe we are safe,” James said.

“Isabel would ne’er hurt me. I am certain. No matter the outcome, good or bad, she will forgive me. But King Arthur?”

“Would ne’er hurt you, Mary. Nor me.”

She stared up at her giant of a future husband. “How do you know?”

“Because he is the kindest man I have e’er met. He is tough in the battle training, no question. But always, always fair to all. No matter the outcome, he will most assuredly forgive us for he will realize our good intentions.”

“Then we did okay.”

“We did better than okay. Last I heard they were sharing laughter.”

Mary stopped James. “There is a ritual in Isabel’s land where you celebrate success.”

“What is it?”

“It is called a high five.” She held up her palm and waited for him to follow suit. He stood looking confused.

“Hold up your hand!”

He did, and Mary smacked it, grinning. “High five!”

“What does this mean?”

“It is a sign of success. I am guessing that the two are making up as we speak.”

James grinned down at his love. He held up his palm. She looked at him curiously but smacked palms with him.

“High five,” she said. “What was that one for?”

“For my luck that the lady I love returns those feelings. And that I will soon be the happiest husband alive.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

AT the sound of the knock, Gwen glanced up from her bed to find the countess standing there, looking quite beautiful in a wine-colored gown.

In comparison, Gwen knew she most likely appeared pale and disheveled and that this bed gown was not at all flattering. “Please,” she said, running her fingers through her hair, “enter.”

Isabel stepped into the room and that was when Gwen realized Isabel was holding some sort of black garment in her hand. “How are you feeling this morning, Gwen?”

“I believe somewhat better,” Gwen said. Which was a bit of a lie. In truth, other than a lingering tenderness in her chest, she felt just fine. However, as long as she was abed, she knew that Arthur would continue to visit her, and she might have time to change his mind.

’Twas not that she had stopped loving Lance. Truth was, she loved him desperately. But she feared the loss of her husband just as desperately.

She was being so very selfish, she knew. And deep inside she felt such shame. But since she had been so very young when Arthur had courted and then married her, she knew no other life. And fear of the unknown was a powerful thing.

“What have you there?” she asked, nodding at Isabel’s hands.

“We’ll visit that in a moment. I spoke with Tom this morning as we broke fast. He tells me that he sees no reason why you are not up and about by now.”

“What business is it of yours?”

“Probably none. But the day-to-day running of Camelot is your business. And your servants are feeling lost without your steadying presence. They are concerned and confused. They need you, Gwen.”

“You know this how?”

“During our daily recesses I hear things.”

Gwen sat up further in her bed. “You have continued with the recesses without my consent?”

“You were in no shape to give consent.”

“Does Arthur know about this?”

“He does. He has no objections. But the point is, your people miss you, Gwen. It would do them a world of good to see you up and about.”

“Why has Arthur not voiced this opinion?”

“Because he is concerned for your health. He is not a healer. He doesn’t know that, for whatever reason, you are staying abed long after you have needed to do so.”

“But you do.”

“Well, Tom does.”

“My chest is still quite sore, and I hear I have you to thank for that.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I did not mean that in a nice way.”

“I knew that. I recognize sarcasm when I hear it.”

Gwen knew she was being petty. In fact, she was aware that if not for this woman’s ministrations, she might not have survived. She lowered her eyes. “I am so sorry. That was mean.”

“No apologies necessary. I understand that illness tends to make people not themselves. You are a very nice woman, Gwen, with a big heart. I . . . we . . . that is Tom does not understand why you are not itching to get out of that bed and get back to the business of being queen.”

“Why does this matter to you?”

“Because I hate to see your servants worry. They feel adrift without their queen’s guiding hand.”

“I will consider what you say. However, I would like to hear the same from Arthur’s lips.”

“Arthur is not going to demand that you get up. He also has his hands full preparing for the meeting of the knights. But he could certainly use your help in that matter.”

Gwen nodded. “I see.”

“There is also the matter of the wedding between James and Mary. Plans to be made. A menu to prepare. Tell me, is there nothing more fun than helping a bride to prepare for the most important day of her life?”

“’Tis a lot of fun,” Gwen said.

“It sure is. Do you really want to miss out on that?”

Gwen cocked her head. “Tell me, Countess, why you have never married.”

“I’m very picky.”

“Does that mean you do not ever want to be wed?”

Isabel seemed to hesitate. “I don’t rule anything out. Perhaps. Someday.”

“Just waiting for the right man?”

“Something like that.”

“All right, Countess, you have made your point and I have much to mull over. Now please tell me what is in your hands.”

Isabel held up the black garment. “Your breeches.”

Gwen nearly choked. “Breeches?”

“Yes, remember, right before you became ill, you had the seamstresses busy making breeches for the women?”

Gwen frowned. “Yes, yes, I have a vague memory of that.”

“Well, these were made for you, in case you decide to join us at recess.”

Rubbing her temples, Gwen asked, “Remind me again why we decided breeches for women was a good idea.”

“So that they have more freedom during their morning recess. They do not have to worry about displaying more of their legs or worse while they play.”

“Do you wear these breeches?”

Isabel grinned and lifted her skirts. Yes, indeed, she was sporting a pair of these things. She laid the pants at the foot of Gwen’s bed. “We will be gathering in the bailey in a short while, should you decide to join us.” She nodded her head and moved to leave.

“Isabel?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“May I ask a favor?”

“Of course.”

“Can you find Jenny and let her know I have need of her services?”

Isabel smiled. “Gladly. Welcome back, Gwen.”

“Thank you.”

 

 

“SO?” Mary asked as the women gathered round.

Isabel shrugged. “We shall see.”

“Whate’er,” Madeline, one of the cooks said. “We thank you for trying.”

“Thank me if it works.”

“What are we doing today, mum?”

“We are playing a thing called baseball. Well, a Camelot version of baseball,” she amended.

As she went to place the four small rushes around the yard, she explained, “We will divide into two teams. The teams take turns being the ones trying to score points and the ones trying to keep the other team from scoring points.

“The team trying to score points will send one player at a time to here,” she said, dropping one of the rushes on the ground. “This is called home base. The player will toss a rock as far as she wants, but try to keep it from heading straight to a member of the other team, who will be scattered around the other bases, trying to defend—”

“Mum!” Mary squealed, then nodded her head toward the far side of the bailey. “The queen. She is coming.”

Sure enough, Gwen came running over, holding up her skirts just enough that Isabel caught a glimpse of black beneath them.

Everyone in the bailey seemed to freeze as they watched their queen join the ladies.

They all curtsied and remained in that position, heads down.

“Please rise,” Gwen said. “We have games to play. So what have I missed?”

 

 

JAMES came rushing into Arthur’s working study without knocking. Arthur was about to chastise him for the unannounced interruption, but the look on his man’s face stopped him. “What is it?”

“Sir, you must come see this.”

“What?”

“I cannot explain. Well, I might try, but trust me, you will want to witness for yourself.”

Arthur rose quickly and followed James out the door and through the great hall and out into the bailey.

He stopped short as he watched one young girl running around in a circle while others around her tossed a stone to one another and tried to chase the girl down.

There were squeals of delight and clapping and cheering. It appeared to be some sort of game Arthur had ne’er before seen.

His eyes sought out Isabel, because as certain as he was breathing was he that this was her doing. She was clapping, then cupped her hands around her mouth. “Try for third, Sarah! You can make it!”

The running girl, who was also laughing with glee, touched her foot on a mat of sorts and then kept on running as the stone was thrown all about. “What in blazes are they doing, James?”

“’Tis a game the countess calls Camelot baseball.”

“Camelot baseball,” Arthur repeated.

Over the last several days, he had watched as Isabel had engaged the servants in increasingly stranger and stranger play. This one, by far, was the strangest.

And yet the ladies appeared to be having such fun. “You were right, James, you could not have described this to me. It is too priceless not to see it for myself.”

Without taking his eyes from the bizarre scene before him, he asked, “Is it true that our men seem to be happy with this playtime arrangement?”

“Oh, indeed, sir. They report that their wives and sweethearts seem to be in much happier moods, that they seem to have an extra skip to their steps.”

“Do you see this in Mary?”

“My Mary has always had a skip to her step, but yea, I see her joy and excitement when she tells me of her day. She also reports that productivity in the kitchens, in the laundering rooms and in the sewing room has risen, as the women get back to work with a newfound vigor. I would report, sir, that this recess time appears to be a great success.”

“Leave it to Isabel,” Arthur said, smiling slightly. “She seems to infuse enthusiasm wherever she goes with her creativity.”

He almost laughed out loud at the understatement. As much as he woke each morning, excited to get to work, to start a new day afresh, he also could not wait for night to fall, so that he could join Isabel in her quarters. And ’twas not just the lovemaking that he treasured, but also the times when they lay in each other’s arms, speaking quietly of their days. He found himself more and more seeking her counsel on matters important to him. She was an avid listener, with a quick mind, grasping concepts he was certain she had never needed to confront or consider in the peaceful lands of Dumont.