by P. C. Cast
“What did you do, Isabel?”
“What do you mean?”
“Something happened. Until recently he seemed to live to torture his father. But suddenly they are laughing and embracing. I saw them even exercising in the sword sport together just this morn. I just have this feeling that you had something to do with this transformation.” She paused, sipped. “And perhaps something to do with that knee injury.”
“Perhaps,” Isabel said.
They glanced at each other and both started giggling. Isabel raised a fist, pinky finger out. Gwen stared for a moment, then mimicked with her own. Then they hooked up.
“This means the world to me, Isabel.”
“And to me.” Isabel laughed. “Is this the strangest friendship ever?”
“Very possible,” Gwen said. “But rather fun, do you not think?”
“No one would ever believe it.”
“Which is why it is fun.”
A banging sound had them both nearly jumping out of their slippers. They looked over, and Arthur was standing on one of the long tables, getting attention by clanging a utensil against his stein.
“Please, may the happy couple step forward?” he boomed.
Isabel looked up at him and her heart nearly exploded. He was such a larger-than-life presence, so big and strong and, good gods, handsome. And he loved her. He desired her. He wanted to hold and protect her.
Maybe over time she’d be able to get him to be just a little less chauvinistic, but it really did, at this moment, strike her to the core all that he was, all he represented. He was a king, yet he was no dictator. He treated all equally. He valued every person at Camelot, treated them as family. And all here, as far as she had seen so far, adored him and admired him in return. Wonder of wonders, he loved her. She had no idea why, but then again she was not about to question it.
She could barely breathe just staring up at him.
“Please, have all of the servants come join us,” he said. “They have worked so hard to make this night a success.”
There was a moment of silence as Mary and James stepped up to the table and the staff filed in from all parts of the castle.
Arthur glanced around, his eyes squinting. “Well, I know that they are here, but at the moment, I cannot find them. But, James and Mary, you very likely have been too excited and busy to take note, but the queen and the countess worked as hard as all to make this night as memorable for you as is possible.”
Cheers nearly broke Isabel’s ear drums. She grabbed Gwen’s hand and they squeezed. What a strange alliance.
James rumbled up atop the table as well, and Isabel thought all held a collective breath, wondering if there was a table on earth that could hold him. Kudos to the carpenter, this one held under his weight.
“I, too, would care to thank everyone,” James said. “And I, too, thank the queen and the countess for their hard work to make my new life with my beautiful wife, Mary, start with such great joy. Our king may not ken that I saw all that you did, but I indeed was witness to it. And Mary and I cannot even begin to show our gratitude.” Big, large, no, gigantic James had to wipe his eyes. “Our everlasting appreciation. Is Camelot not the greatest kingdom of all?”
Again, the cheers nearly shook the rafters. Actually, Isabel thought, did castles have rafters? Exactly what were rafters, anyway?
“And should there be a greater king to serve than Sir Arthur?”
Again, deafening cheers.
Arthur looked like he wanted to pound his stein over James’s head.
“James, you are my best mate,” he said, “but I fear if you do not climb down from this table, the both of us will crumble in a sea of splintered wood.”
“To King Arthur!” James said, before he not so elegantly began to climb down.
“To our king!” the entire hall cheered.
“Criminey!” Arthur said. “This is about our newlywed couple! Let us keep the eye on the prize, everyone.”
“What?” Gwen said.
Isabel looked down. Arthur was picking up way too many phrases she happened to blurt out at any given moment.
“Mary and James,” Arthur said, “here are the door keys to your cottage. A very, very happy night for you both.”
“Oh, sir, that is a wonderful gift.”
“Where is the queen?” Arthur asked. “Queen Guinevere, please come forward to tell them the rest.”
Gwen again squeezed Isabel’s hand. “This should be you.”
Isabel shook her head. “No, you are the queen, Gwen. Go!”
Gwen walked forward, and Arthur stepped down from the table to greet her. They made such a beautiful couple, Isabel was ready to shoot them both.
Gwen smiled as she took center stage, her crown glistening atop her head.
And then she said, “No, I cannot take credit for the gift that comes next. It is Isabel, Countess of Dumont, who was insistent. Please, Countess, come here to tell Mary and James.”
Isabel wanted to disappear, literally and figuratively.
She shook her head. “No!”
Gwen pointed at her. “Go get her, James.”
Being dragged center stage, at least a foot off the ground, was not exactly her idea of making a grand entrance. But that was exactly what James did, Mary clapping and laughing the entire time.
“My pardon, Countess,” James said as he set her down. “But you have been summoned by the queen.”
“I will get you for this. I don’t know when, I don’t know how, but I will get you,” she said to Mary’s new husband. “So watch your back.”
“I will, Countess. I am truly shaking.”
She wanted to glare at him, but how could she? “Bend down,” she said.
He did and she kissed his cheek. “Happy days, James. You make her happy or you answer to me.”
“Now that truly frightens me,” he said.
“Good.”
“This is ridiculous,” she told the crowd. “Your king and queen are responsible, not me.”
“Not true,” Arthur said. “As we all pondered gifts for Mary and James, it was the countess who suggested the one the queen and I offer. So, Countess, please let them know.”
Isabel turned to the couple, then she couldn’t help it. She held up her pinky finger to Mary. Mary laughed and the two hooked up. And then Isabel looked at Gwen. “Your Highness?”
“You know I dislike when you call me that,” Gwen said, but smiled and wrapped her little finger around theirs. “Friends!” the three said, holding their entwined fingers in the air.
They broke apart, laughing. When Isabel finally glanced up, she saw just about everyone in the hall gaping at them. Including Arthur.
Isabel ignored him and cleared her throat. “What the king and queen are too modest to admit is that their gift to Mary and James is not merely the cottage for the night. The gift is the cottage, for the two of them to live in as long as they desire.”
Mary gasped. James staggered a bit. The stunned expressions on their faces were priceless. Good gods, she wished she had her camera.
Mary reached for her and Isabel held her, waiting for Mary’s heaving sobs to settle.
“Mary, it isn’t my gift. It is from the king and queen. You should be thanking them.” She pulled the hanky from her wrist and wiped Mary’s eyes. “Mary. King. Queen. Gift. From them.”
Mary pulled herself together and turned to Arthur and Gwen. She tried to curtsy, but her legs were obviously a little shaky.
Arthur took her arm. “Enough of that.”
“We cannot,” Mary hiccupped, “thank you enough.”
“You may try,” Arthur said, grinning. “I will not be offended.”
Isabel shot him a disgusted look, but then he pulled the big move on her. He winked. And once again she was a goner.
DEAD on her feet did not even begin to describe how Isabel was feeling.
Without Mary there to help her out of this gawdawful gown, she was in trouble.
She conte
mplated just dropping down in bed, gown or not, when there was a knock on her door. “Thank you, Jenny, I need so badly help out of these clothes. Come in.”
And in walked Arthur. “I am not Jenny, but I will gladly help you undress.”
She smiled, but it was pretty weak. “Arthur, I am so exhausted, but I will gladly accept your help out of this contraption.”
“My pleasure, madam.”
She turned her back to him so he could work the back laces. “This could be a problem. Jenny might show up here at any moment.”
“I gave Jenny the night off.”
“Jenny is Gwen’s girl.”
“She is. Gwen gave Jenny the night off an hour ago. Just afore Gwen and Lance disappeared.”
“Oh, I am so sorry.”
“For what reason are you sorry?”
“That Gwen . . . that Lance . . . that you . . . oh, hell, I’m just sorry.”
He flipped her back to face him. “Why are you sorry, Isabel? Tell me.”
“I guess, just that it still has to hurt at some level.”
“Do you know what hurt tonight? That I was unable to introduce you as my love and my wife. And that this pretense is killing me. That you are not my queen.”
“I do not give a flying fig about being a queen, Arthur.”
“Do you give a flying fig about being my wife?”
She gaped at him. “News flash. You are already married.”
“Let us just pretend for a moment. If I were not already married and I asked for your hand, would you say yea or nay?”
“Are you asking me to pretend whether I’d marry you?”
“Of a sort,” he said, although his expression was a wee bit wary. “If I were able to ask, would you accept, Isabel?”
“That depends.”
“Upon?”
“Whether you would really want to marry a woman who is not a virgin.”
He seemed to ponder. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“I suppose on how much I crave that woman.”
“Craving and loving are two different issues.”
“Not necessarily,” he said, holding up a finger. “If the craving is born from the feelings, the loving, then they are intertwined.”
She hated when men made sense. They were supposed to be idiots.
“Okay,” she admitted. “That is one logic point for you.”
He looked mighty pleased with himself. He kissed her senseless, which was also a foul in her book. Senseless was not a good place to be when scrambled brains did not work in her favor.
Catching her breath, she said, “Arthur, this is a moot point.”
“It is not. It is a simple enough question, Isabel. Will you marry me?”
She stared at him. “Are you serious? Or are we still pretending?”
“I am serious.”
“Since you’re already—”
“No! Today, now, we are both free to marry.” He stopped. “Okay, that’s a little bit of pretend since it would not exactly be today. But it can be soon. Would you agree to be my wife? Will you marry me, Isabel?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “In a heartbeat.”
He smiled, picked her up and twirled her around until she almost fainted. “See, was that such a hardship?”
She was still seeing stars. “Parts of it, yes.”
He set her back on her feet. Isabel had to hold on to his arms for balance.
He kissed her again, then held her face. “Do you mean it, Isabel? Truly?”
She took his hands and pulled them from her head. “Arthur, please tell me what this is all about. You are not free to marry me. Not even free to ask, actually.”
He grinned. “I might be. Very soon.”
“How so?”
“I poured over the legal papers pertaining to this matter. I may not divorce her without cause. That cause being infidelity, which, as you know, would have serious consequences.”
“Yes, I believe death would qualify as fairly serious.”
“But,” he said, “she may divorce me.”
“On what grounds?”
“Neglect, physical abuse, infidelity and a few other horrid crimes I forget at the moment.”
“You aren’t guilty of any of those!” Isabel said. “Okay, maybe one, but she started it!”
“What does it matter? We can agree on whate’er she wants to claim.” He stopped. “With the exception of infidelity, because I will not allow you to be involved.”
“Arthur, do you hear what you’re saying? You are going to allow her to accuse you of crimes you have not committed?”
He waved. “I care not what accusation she decides upon. The people who know me will realize ’tis not true. The point is that Gwen is free to dissolve our marriage with no harm to her or Lance, and I will be free to make you my wife, which, Isabel, is what I desire most in the world at the moment.” He smiled. “I want to proclaim to the world that you are mine, that we are one. I no longer want the pretense of what we had to endure this eve.”
“You would rather endure being labeled a wife beater?”
“I do not care! People may call me anything they want. I will be free to marry you.”
Isabel didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Arthur, I love you so much.”
He looked down at her and his smile disappeared. “I’ll take Do Not Care to Hear a ‘But’ After That Sentence for a thousand, Alex.”
Well, damn, but was exactly the next word on her tongue. So she rearranged the sentence.
“I don’t want you taking the blame for something you didn’t do, Arthur.”
“If it wins me freedom to marry you, it matters not.”
“It matters to me.”
He shoved his hand through his hair. “Dammit, Isabel, what do we do? I do not want to hide my feelings for you. I do not want to pretend to be happy in a marriage that is a sham.”
“Change the law,” Isabel said softly. “You are the king, it shouldn’t be that hard.”
He rubbed his neck. “Harder than you think, Isabel. I cannot take out my sword and whisk it around and say, ‘I have changed the laws of the land because it suits my purposes and desires.’”
“Too bad, huh?” Isabel said. “Being king is not all it’s cracked up to be.”
He shrugged. “I suppose I could do it, but ’tis not fair to the rest of the people of Camelot. What does that make me, Isabel, if I change laws to suit my own needs?”
“That would be called a dictator.”
“A what?”
“An evil ruler who changes laws for his own gain.”
“I do not ever care to become one of those.”
“Arthur, if you were, there is no way I could possibly love you. It is the man you are that I love. We’ll figure this out. We will.”
If you want, Isabel, to be with your desire, find a way to make him more than your lover.
And how, Lady, do you make this true? Should I break the necklace and ask for this, too?
No, Isabel, the necklace is not for that. The tears inside will not bring what you want.
You are making no sense, Viv, and I’ve decided I’ve earned the right to call you that. So don’t give me any grief. Just tell me what the hell I’m dealing with here.
Follow your heart, as I have followed mine. All things will reconcile in time.
That made plenty of sense. She banged her head to get herself back into reality. Or at least this reality.
“Tell me this, Arthur. What brought this on?” Isabel asked him
He sat down on her bed. “As I witnessed the vows betwixt James and Mary, I was envious, wishing that it was you and me in their place. Do not mistake me, I am very, very happy for those two. But I could not help but feel that it should have been us.”
She sat down beside him and took his hand, intertwining their fingers. “I felt that way as well.”
“It grows worse,” he said, his thumb caressing her palm as he se
emed to always do. And which she loved. “When I called Gwen up as my queen and wife, I nearly spoke your name.”
“Oh, Arthur!”
“It was so wrong, Isabel. All upside down. It should have been you standing aside me. ’Twas you who scrubbed and directed the kitchen staff and—”
“Hold on, sport. Gwen worked her tail off, too, to pull this off in record time. Please don’t discredit her part.”
“No, I do not. I know that Gwen worked very hard as well. It is just that you received so little recognition for all you did. I was forced to call Gwen up to stand with me. And as much as I admire Gwen’s contribution, I only know that the woman I wanted at my side, nay, the woman I wished was standing afore me exchanging those vows, was Isabel. I know it is very nasty I would feel this way, and I am ashamed. But ’tis how I feel right now, and the funny part of this is, you are the only one I feel safe admitting this to. When it is your heart that I hope to win. Stupid way of going about that, is it not?”
“Perfect way of going about that.”
He glanced at her sideways. “Am I batty or are you?”
Her free hand slid up his arm. “Probably both of us.” She settled farther back on the bed. “Look, I believe that what attracted us to one another was our ho—”
Whoa, she backed up on that one. Her entire life here was a lie. “Was that we could be honest about our feelings.”
He was still staring down, but he grinned. “It did not hurt overmuch that I thought you the most beautiful woman I had e’er laid eyes upon.”
“You definitely need to get your vision checked, Arthur.”
He chuckled. “My eyesight is just fine, Countess. It might have improved since you arrived.”
“Flatterer.”
He shook his head, still laughing softly. “Oh, Isabel, you have no idea the amount of my men that James and I have had to ward off from you.”
“James and you?”
“James has my back. He knows my feelings and he anticipates what I care for. He would no more allow anyone at Camelot to try to court you than he’d allow someone to look at his Mary.”
“But—”
“He believes we belong together, Isabel. Is he wrong?”
“No.”
They sat together in silence for several minutes. Finally Arthur rose. “I realize how exhausted you are. I will not bother you any more tonight, beautiful lady.”
