by P. C. Cast
More comfortable would mean having him sharing her bed. His warmth, his hard body, his scent. Which, come to think of it, was vastly different than earlier. He had obviously bathed and washed his hair. She couldn’t identify the spicy scent, but it was delicious.
She sat down on the bench, acutely aware that she was wearing only a nightdress and a cloak. How she wished she’d found some jeans and T-shirts stuffed in those trunks.
He stood in front of her, not joining her, just shaking his head. “I told her, Isabel.”
She stared into the troubled green eyes of her dream man, her heart aching. “Guinevere?”
“Yes.”
“And you told her what? Your bowling score? Your credit rating? How to work a Clapper?”
Arthur grinned and sat down. “You have a way of making me smile, Countess, even during a sad time.”
“Well, that’s dandy, but what are you talking about?”
“I told her that I was aware of this thing betwixt and between her and Sir Lancelot.”
“Oh boy. Why?”
“Why? You advised me to talk to her.”
Oh freaking boy. “I meant that as a sort of get-back-together type of thing. Or at least I thought I did.”
Didn’t I, Lady?
Did you, Isabel? ’Twould seem that only time will tell.
Breaking up their marriage was not my intent; I’ll feel like shit if this is why I’ve been sent.
I sent you here to make happy both Arthur and Merlin. To satisfy them both is no such sin.
Once again Arthur began pacing in front of her, something she’d already noticed was a habit he had when he was deep in thought. Or possibly looking deeply into his own soul.
“From the moment I set eyes on Gwen, I have ne’er felt lust for another. Not even after I had learned the truth. Ne’er.”
He stopped pacing and faced her directly. “And then our meeting in the forest. And I found myself suddenly wanting a woman who was not my wife.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He laughed once again. “You apologize for this? You are apologizing for being beautiful? For being . . . you?”
“I have no desire to be part of the crash and burn of a marriage.”
“Crash and burn? Has it not already crashed and burned?”
“You tell me, Arthur.”
He had that come-and-get-me smile on his face. Isabel was certain he didn’t realize that was what he was transmitting, but it was still like a huge Jump Me sign to her. “You opened my eyes tonight, Countess. You are so lovely and blunt, and that mouth of yours spouts fierceness, and yet your actions show compassion.”
Well, that was as clear as quantum physics. “Thank you. I think. And how did this little chat with Guinevere go?”
His hands waved in the air. “She did not deny. She did not beg for mercy for herself, but for Lancelot. She hoped that his punishment would merely be banishment.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Once again his deep grass green eyes lifted to hers. “And your thoughts?”
Therapist, she decided, was not her forte. Especially when she wanted this man. And she was so wanting to jog down that one path that led straight to her own selfish desires.
“Please tell me you are not going to out them.”
“Out them?”
“Gwen and Lancelot. Hurt them. Have them punished?”
“Never. However, much is out of my hands. I can protect both only so far.”
“So then let’s protect them.”
“My pardon, Isabel?”
“You love them both, yes?”
“Most assuredly. Not as afore, but still, they mean much to me.”
“You have decided, in your soul, that you do not want to punish them, correct?”
“I have.”
“Then we need to come up with a plan. A battle plan, as it were.”
His laughter was rich, and once again it reached down into her body. “You are a constant amazement, Countess.”
“Hey, what the hell, let’s get this done. We might all come out of this with what we want.”
“What I want right now is to feel your lips.”
“Keep your eye on the prize, Arthur.”
“You have said this afore on our ride to Camelot. However, the prize, as you call it, has changed.”
“You want to keep Camelot and all of your people safe. That has never changed.”
“I cannot deny that. I can, however, change what this prize I want most desperately might be.”
“THE plan, Arthur. We must work on the plan,” Isabel said, while Arthur was unforgivably debating another plan. Although the servants had doused the garden lanterns for the night, he’d lit them again when he’d come out to ponder the future. It was all a jumble of what he had always envisioned, expected and desired. So much of it all had gone awry. When had he lost control? For some time he had wanted to keep it all together, running smoothly. And then the gods had made a mockery of his dreams and desires.
Or had they?
Isabel sat staring at him intently, her blond hair shimmering from the lantern lights, her eyes so large and inquisitive.
“I love her. I know that I do. But what does it say about me that I am not stopping what I see happening and that I have this attraction to another woman? How is it possible that I felt a desire for you on first sight?”
Wow, this honesty thing that the Lady’s necklace brought about was a lot more powerful than she’d thought.
“Perhaps, just perhaps, that you fell for a beautiful woman who was just a teeny bit too young for you?”
He again shook his head. “Which makes me an old fool?”
“Arthur, you are neither old, nor a fool. Gwen is a lovely young woman. And I do believe she loves you as well. I see it when she looks at you. She respects and admires you, and is proud to be your queen.”
“Do you see love or desire when she gazes upon me?”
“I haven’t been around long enough to discern such a thing.”
That was the biggest bunch of bullshit she’d had to gag out. All she’d noticed was lust and desire when the queen had kept sneaking peeks at Lancelot.
“Bullshit. Apologies for that word and for using it in your presence. I made it up at one point when I felt I was being deceived. You are not giving me truth.”
She stared at him for a second, then broke out laughing. “You, sir, are quite honest.”
“You, madam, are skirting the issue that you’ve promised to help me work out.”
Isabel wished she could have gone back and majored in psychology. But she had nothing but basic logic to go on now. And the Lady, who she hoped would kick her in the chest if she went wrong.
“May I be blunt?”
“Blunt?”
“Truthful to the point that it might cause you pain.”
“Then be blunt, Countess.”
“I think you love Gwen enough to allow her happiness. I think you shield her from gossip because you want her to go about this tryst if it allows her to find her joy. I think you don’t banish Lancelot because you know that the two find joy together. Would you like me to go on and have you banish me?”
“I would fight my own men to keep you here, Countess.”
“Ask yourself, why do you permit this?”
“Happiness is a fleeting thing, do you not think? Am I the arbiter of happiness? The crown does not grant me the right to determine who should and should not find theirs, wherever it leads.” He once again cocked his head sideways. “The truth is, I honestly know not. Strange as it seems, I want Gwen to be happy.”
“You’re a good-hearted man, Arthur.”
“With many, many flaws it appears.”
“Such as?”
“Poor judgment, perhaps?”
Isabel stood. “Are you saying poor judgment would be wanting to kiss me?”
“No, madam, that would most likely be one of my best judgments.”
“No offense, but do you consid
er yourself good at this?”
His eyes glittered and he shrugged. “’Tis a mystery. Mayhap I am mistaken and overly boastful in that skill. How shall I ever know?”
“Sir, I’m well schooled in certain arts. Perhaps I can determine if this is a deadly fault of yours?”
Isabel waited for the thump, but it never came.
He went still. “Madam, I would most certainly accept your honest opinion.”
They looked at each other for a long time before he finally lowered his head. Their mouths met tentatively at first, but the fire lit up fast. Before she could even think, his one hand thrust itself through her hair and his other went to the small of her back, pulling her closer. He broke the kiss long enough to stare into her eyes and whisper, “I must do better.”
If he did any better, Isabel was going to get seared. His mouth came down on hers again, and he played so many million tricks on her lips that she needed him to hold her up. He tasted like sex, he played her mouth like sex, he nipped her lips lightly like pure sex.
By the time he was done with her mouth, the rest of her body was churning.
Arthur broke the kiss and cupped her face, which left the rest of her body in peril of dropping straight to the ground. Her knees certainly weren’t helping to hold her up. She began to sink, but he quickly grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back up. “That bad?” he asked.
She knew her eyes and brain were both glazed. Her vocal chords were also in peril.
Isabel cleared her throat. “Sir, where I come from,” she whispered, “we grade our students from A to F, A being awesome, F meaning failure. B, C, and D fall in between.”
“And where do I fall, Isabel?” he asked, still grilling her with those mossy green eyes.
“Not only would you make the dean’s list, you’d probably make valedictorian.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry? Betimes our languages do not match.”
“My apologies, sir. What I’m saying is you get an A-plus.”
He smiled. “And this is good?”
“Valedictorian material, Arthur.”
“What is higher than this valedictorian? I would very much like to achieve it.”
“I’d very much like for you to try.”
“You are very beautiful, Isabel. Your hair is as soft as is your skin, and you smell so sweet.”
“You’re talking way too much, Arthur, when in truth, I’d prefer you just shut up and kiss me again.”
But instead of covering her lips with his, his head raised and he almost slapped a hand over her mouth. “Shhh, lady. Something is amiss,” he whispered.
Not the rabbit again. Or maybe it would be better if it were another rabbit.
Before she knew what was happening, Arthur had shoved her behind his back as he faced the darkness of the shrubbery down the garden path.
“Present yourself!” he demanded. “Are you friend or foe?”
A voice beyond the light of the lanterns replied, “’Tis only, I, my king. ’Tis James.”
James, Isabel remembered, was the huge burly guy who was the king’s first man. She didn’t know whether to run and hide, or pretend to be a fence post. Arthur didn’t give her a choice. He held on to her so tightly that she couldn’t have moved if she wanted to.
“Come, James. Tell me why you are up and about. And why you have come looking for me.”
James came rumbling in, and yet strangely he walked as softly as a ballerina. He, too, had learned how to walk softly but carry big—really big—bulk. He reminded Isabel of Shrek, and yet when she peeked out beside Arthur’s side, his expression turned from worried to kind.
“M’lady Countess,” he said, bowing.
“How’s it going, James?” she said, for some reason liking him, once again thinking Arthur had surrounded himself with kick-ass people.
“I am afraid I must needs have a word with the king, Countess Isabel. A private word.”
“What you have to say to me you may say in front of the countess, James. I trust her with news. As I trust you with my life.”
Well, that was really sweet. But out of the blue. She couldn’t be certain she’d trust Arthur with all of her news after such a little time, and a lot of lust. She finally disengaged from Arthur and moved to his side. “I am certain what James has to say is no business of mine. Please, let me leave you two to privacy.”
Arthur grabbed her hand, holding tight, but not to the point of pain. “No, madam, whate’er the news, I know it be safe with you.”
James had huge brown eyes and hair that appeared not to have been combed since he’d been a child. To anyone who didn’t know him well, which she didn’t, he appeared menacing. But as he glanced back and forth between them, Isabel could tell he was not mean. Just very fierce looking. Which probably was what had earned him this gig.
“I’m leaving,” Isabel said, and once again tried to disengage.
“Please do not,” Arthur said, holding tight to her hand. “What news, James?”
James hesitated, but then shrugged his huge shoulders. “Mordred has arrived, sir.”
ARTHUR was not certain whether to celebrate or worry over the news. “In the middle of the night?”
“’Tis, as you are well aware, his usual practice.”
“Mordred?” Isabel asked.
Arthur hung on to her hand even tighter, just hoping he was not hurting her. But his need of her burned more now than ever afore. “Have you given him accommodations?” he asked James.
“I knew not where to put him. I knew not whether he was welcome.”
“You know that I cannot turn him away. But of course make him welcome.”
“He is demanding help for his horse, who he assures me has come up lame from the travel through the forest.”
“Wake up Harry,” Isabel said. “He will tend to the horse. But for goodness sake, someone tell me who Mordred is.”
James went instantly mute and looked away.
For a reason Arthur could not fathom, he could not lie to this woman. “He is my son.”
Isabel stared at him, then back to James, whose head was low but who nodded in agreement.
“I so should have paid more attention in Mythology.”
“My pardon, madam?” James said.
“Since this news seem happy for neither of you, I’m assuming Mordred’s arrival is not a cause for celebration? The truth, Arthur.”
“Mordred loves me not,” Arthur said. “He feels I’ve wronged him.”
“Have you?”
“He has not!” James boomed. “He has done everything for that ungrateful little—”
“James!”
“My pardon, sir.”
“Finish your thought please, James,” Isabel said.
“Do not,” said Arthur.
James pressed his lips together. Obviously king trumped countess. Since he was Arthur’s man, she would have expected nothing less.
What am I missing here, Goddess?
The blood between Arthur and Mordred is shared, but Mordred’s intentions should have everyone scared. He’s a child born of young love and lust, yet his mother understood Arthur must do what he must. The child, however, never forgave; his hatred has driven him to make Arthur his slave.
Isabel tasted blood. Little fucking bastard.
Bastard indeed, but here is the thing: Mordred will not rest until he is king.
Isabel digested this for a moment, not able to even meet Arthur’s eyes. “Fine,” she finally said to Arthur and James. “How about I go wake Harry so he may care for Mordred’s horse?”
“No!” they both yelled at once. Arthur tried to grab her, but she was already slipping away back into the castle. He should have held tight to her hand.
“What now, sir?”
“She will confront Mordred. ’Tis in her nature, James. She is the type to want to know everything. She is, what one would call . . .” A word would not come to him.
Nosy? Protective? Caring?
Arthur k
new not where these thoughts were coming from, but they all seemed to be accurate. Although he had no idea what the word nosy meant.
Arthur, if you do not protect Isabel, Merlin cannot live.
Merlin? What know you of Merlin? And who are you, speaking in my head?
Figure it out. Just go protect Isabel. If you haven’t noticed, she is able to raise hell.
“Do I not know that,” Arthur muttered.
“My pardon?” James said.
Arthur shook his head. He was either addled or . . . no, there was no other choice. He was addled.
“Confronting him will put her in danger,” James said.
“It will, we must put a stop to this. She knows the back staircase, James,” Arthur said. “I shall try to stop her there, you go and guard the stables.”
James actually smiled. “We will catch her, my lord. But I must say, I enjoy the thought of the countess taking on the lad.”
“Oh, I do not. She knows not who she faces.”
“Methinks the lady has mettle.”
“Perhaps too much for her own welfare. Mordred’s dislike of women is well documented.”
“She cares about you, m’lord, which is more than I am able to say—”
“Do not finish that thought, James. Please just help me find her.”
“Yes, m’lord.”
“You to the stables, I will try to find her at the back of the castle afore she makes a run.”
Arthur ran, even knowing he had witnessed another smile upon his man’s face. What flummoxed him was that he felt a grin forming on his own, even as he attempted to head off disaster. Isabel against Mordred. He could not even conceive of which of the two might win such a battle. Well, yes, he might. Were it a battle of words and wit, his coins would be placed on Isabel. However, Mordred relied on neither, instead preferring to use much nastier weapons.
The thought of Mordred harming Isabel had him taking the steps two at a time. No! If Mordred even attempted to lay a hand to Isabel, he would take down the lad himself, blood or not.
JAMES caught Isabel and Harry as they were halfway to the stables. He held out his arms and prided himself on being able to step side to side to effectively block their paths.
Harry adjusted the green and white nightcap on his head and growled, “I have a patient that needs attending.”
