“It’s possible you are misreading him. Could it have been strength and determination you saw? Lancelot, in his world you are but a legend, something he has to live up to.”
“A legend? Really?” He chuckled “I hardly think myself legend material.”
“You don’t know his world. I lived there, remember? He has very big boots to fill.”
He lifted one leg and wiggled his foot. “Aye, they are rather large are they not?”
“You’re impossible!” She slapped him lightly on the back.
“Aye, but you love me that way.” He winked at her over his shoulder. He pulled off his boots and set them next to the bed. Standing, he removed his pants and draped them over his armor with his tunic. Climbing into bed, he pulled her close and placed a kiss on the top of her head.
“Lancelot?” Her fingers traced little circles on his chest.
“Hmm?”
“When can I see Christian?”
He smoothed her long braid with his palm. “I think it would be wise to leave him be for a few now. He needs training, not mothering.”
She frowned against his skin and pushed up on her elbows to glare at him in the firelight. “You would deny me seeing my son? A son I gave up willingly to the Lady, mind you. Do you think I’m a distraction? He is my son too, Lance. I should be able to see him.”
“Elaine. This is not up for discussion.”
“The hell it isn’t.”
“Elaine.”
“Lancelot.”
“Ach, woman! Why can you not see what he needs?”
“What he needs? He needs his family, Lancelot. The last time I checked I was his mother.”
“You are that. But, he was brought back to train, not for a family reunion and certainly not to be coddled. Can you not trust me on this? You will be able to see him, when the time is right.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to let this go, Lancelot.”
He sighed. “Aye, I know.”
“You have a fortnight. Nothing more.” She rolled away from him and pulled the covers tight, tucking them under her chin, ending the conversation.
Lancelot stared at the ceiling. Why is something so simple becoming so complicated?
~ ~ ~ ~
Her head down, Elizabeth kept her eyes focused on the cold stone floor. She could feel Sir Galahad’s gaze on her, but refused to look up. It was bad enough her uncle, the King, was angry with her. She didn’t want to see the disappointment on Galahad’s face as well.
“What were you thinking, Elizabeth? This escapade of yours was beyond foolish.” King Arthur paced the floor of his chamber. Every so often, he paused, looked in her direction, shook his head in disbelief and continued. “Do you have any idea what could have happened if the Lady Semiramis and her charge had not found you?”
She took a chance and met the King’s eyes. Mistake. Big mistake.
Arthur stopped pacing and held her gaze. His tone softened. “Child, there are many out there who would love a chance to harm this kingdom. You, dear girl, are an important part of it. You are Guinevere’s niece, my family. I could not bear to see anything happen to you.”
“I know, Majesty. I am sorry.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I only meant to be gone for a mere hour, no more.”
“An hour too long. We cannot have this happen again. In a short time, you will be meeting your betrothed. It would be beneficial for the bride-to-be to arrive unharmed.” The King placed his fist gently under her chin, thumb brushing away a stray tear sliding down her cheek. “For your own good I am ordering you to have a guard present at all times.”
“Uncle, this is not necessary.”
Holding up a hand, he silenced her. “You have no say in this, Elizabeth. Sir Galahad will be your escort during the daylight hours. When you retire for the night, there will be another at your door. There will be no more wandering about the castle or vanishing to the tower. You will obey and do as you are told.”
The King inclined his chin to Galahad, who stepped forward without hesitation. “Return Lady Elizabeth to her chamber. She has had an eventful evening, and I am sure she needs her rest.”
“Aye, Your Majesty. I shall stand guard until sunrise and then escort my lady to break her fast.” He held out his arm to Elizabeth. She wrapped her hand through the crook of his elbow, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief.
“No, Galahad. You will deliver her and then find your own bed. There is already a guard waiting there. You have a busy day ahead of you.” Arthur’s lips curved. “I do believe you have an early engagement on the training field on the morrow. Your brother is in need of lessons in swordplay.”
Galahad frowned. “Aye, Sire. That he does. Sleep well, Majesty.” He steered Elizabeth to the hall and toward her chamber.
Lady Elizabeth chewed her lip. How had this night gone so wrong? She was sure tonight was the night she would find the source of her infatuation. However, now, with a guard watching her every move, there was no way that would happen. She would never be able to escape again.
Escape. That’s was exactly what she wanted, to escape. She did not want to wed a stranger. She did not want to be something to barter for peace. She wanted to be loved. She wanted to . . . . she honestly didn’t know what she wanted.
They arrived at her door. “My Lady, are you well? Did you get hurt this night? Do I need to fetch the healer?” Concern was written all over his face.
“Nay, Sir knight. I am tired, nothing more.” She gazed up into his bright blue eyes. How different they were from his brother’s hazel ones. While Galahad’s were kind and concerned, Christian’s were animalistic and alert. She didn’t know what to make of the two of them. “I only wish to go to bed and forget this night ever happened.”
“Understood, My Lady.” He placed a chaste kiss on her fingertips. “Until the morrow. I shall find you after my turn on the training field, unless His Majesty would allow you to witness my brother’s first lesson.”
Elizabeth gifted him with a tired smile. “Your brother may surprise you. He rescued me from two thieves and a wolf. I’ve seen his skill with a bow and dagger.”
“Two thieves and a wolf, you say? I cannot wait to see how he fares with a sword.” He winked. “Sleep well Lady Elizabeth.”
She ducked inside her chamber, closing the door quietly and leaning back on the worn wooden surface. Elizabeth brought the hand he kissed to her cheek and closed her eyes. “Sleep well, Galahad.”
Seven
Lance groaned and pulled the goose down pillow over his head. The crash and hiss from swordplay below drifted through his window. It’s way too early for this shit. He didn’t even get an hour’s worth of sleep. Who could sleep under these conditions anyway? The straw mattress rustled beneath him. What he wouldn’t give for his memory foam bed right about now.
Pulling the wool blanket closer, he tried to get warm. Who the hell forgot to pay the heating bill? Why did Sam take away his ability to shift? At least as the wolf he could endure the elements in this god-forsaken land.
A soft knocking started on the door. “M’lord Du Lac? You are needed on the training field. Sir Lancelot awaits.”
Seriously? “Go away.”
The knocking persisted. “But m’lord, he bid me not to return without you.”
He could hear the urgency in the page’s voice, but didn’t care. “If he wants me down there he can come and get me himself.”
The page gulped. “I cannot tell him that m’lord. Please. . . .”
Rising from the bed, the wool blanked still pulled around him, Lance stalked toward the door, yanking it open. The boy’s eyes grew wide. “Listen, kid, I only got here four hours ago and maybe had two hours of sleep tops. Not to mention I damn near froze my balls off.”
“But m’lord. . . .” The poor kid looked horrified.
“No buts. Sir High and Mighty wants me down there, he can come get me himself. Now, I’m going to try and catch a few more z’s. Have a lovely day.” Lance slammed the door
in the page’s face. Turning, he collapsed onto the straw bed, curling into a tight ball. In a matter of minutes, he was out cold again.
~ ~ ~ ~
Quivering, the page stood before the First Knight. He stared at the ground before him, unwilling to meet the rage brewing in the eyes of his Lord. “Aye, Sir, that is what he bid me tell you.”
Lancelot took a deep steadying breath. “Lad, go find you something to eat. I shall deal with my son myself.”
The boy glanced up, bowed and ran for cover in the castle.
Galahad stepped forward. “Father, maybe it would be best if we gave him a bit of time. After all, he did only get here a few hours ago.”
“A bit of time? He has had more than enough time to prove himself, yet here he is. It is obvious I sent the wrong son to the Lady.” He started for the keep, tossing his sword to Sir Geraint. Stepping inside, he felt a hand upon his shoulder. Lancelot spun and grabbed the person by the throat, pinning them to the stone wall. “I will take care of him.”
Galahad smirked and eased his father’s grip from around his throat. “That is what I am afraid of. He is not used to the way things are done here. If you beat the bloody pulp out of him now, you will only succeed in making Christian resent being here. How would that be beneficial?”
“Aye, but it would do wonders for my mood.” Lancelot frowned. “What would you suggest then?”
Laughing, Galahad slapped his father on the shoulder. “Save it for training. I shall get him to you, and in one piece. We shall make a warrior out of him. You have my word.”
“If he is not down here in under an hour, I will be coming for you both.” Lancelot glared at his son. After a heartbeat he turned on his heel and left.
Galahad watched his father retrieve the sword Sir Geraint held. If the concealed anger on his father’s face were any indication, the knight didn’t stand a chance. “Better him than my brother. At least Geraint can handle father’s wrath.”
Taking the stairs two at a time, Galahad made is way to the second floor of the castle. His brother’s room was not far from his own making it rather convenient that he didn’t have to search the whole keep to find him. Rounding the corner he arrived at Christian’s door. He knocked twice and met with no answer.
Easing the door open quietly, he spied the large lump beneath the covers and chuckled. Galahad swiftly crossed the room and flipped the bed over, tossing his brother to the floor. He then grabbed the bowel of ice-cold water from the table by the window and dumped it over his brother’s head.
Lance sputtered on the cold stone floor. What the hell happened? Pushing the mattress off him, he sat up, scanning the room. His gaze fell on Galahad’s laughing face. His eyes narrowed.
“What the hell did you do that for?” He slid out from under the remains of his bed.
“I have strict orders to get your sorry arse down stairs. I will not leave here without you. Unlike the page, I am a bit more persistent.” His brother smirked, replacing the now empty bowl on the table and leaned against the doorway.
Getting to his feet, Lance assessed the distance between him and the dagger across the room. It would only take him a second to reach it. He’d love to cut the guy once, for waking him up.
“Whatever it is you are thinking? I can assure you will not work. And for the future, keep your dagger beneath your pillow, much quicker access.” Galahad folded his arms over his chest. “Get dressed and we can be on our way.”
“Fuck you.”
Galahad frowned. “I can tell by your tone, I should be insulted. Strangely, I do not care.” He pushed away from the door to stand eye to eye with Lance. “Christian, I would like to be your ally. I want to help you. If you cannot find it in yourself to work with us, then this is all a lost cause, and I pity you for the lack of faith in yourself.”
Lance gritted his teeth. “Give me five minutes.”
“Aye. Do not take too long. If we are not downstairs in a descent amount of time, ‘tis both of our arses on the line.” Galahad nodded and retreated into the hall, closing the door behind him.
Imagine that. The one person he figured would love to see him fail wanted to help him. Maybe he did have a chance in Camelot. On the other hand, maybe he was being set up. That notwithstanding, the only way to find out was to get downstairs and let the training begin.
Lance righted the bed and sat on the edge. He should have gotten up the moment the page arrived rather than pissing everyone off. But where was the fun in that?
You pissed off the person who will train you. Smooth move, ex-lax. What will you do for an encore? Get yourself beheaded?
Most likely, if he didn’t get moving.
He pulled on his tunic and boots, slipped the dagger back into its hiding spot inside his boot. Crossing to the pitcher and bowl across the room, he poured more water and splashed it over his face. Using the threadbare rag left for him, he toweled off and looked at his reflection in the bowl of water.
How hard could this be? Really? You have to ask?
Lance picked up the sword leaning against the wall. Examining it, he realized it was the one he used when fighting Zephyr. Thank you Sam for small favors. At least he would have one specifically made for him while here. He slipped it into the sheath and buckled the belt around his hips opening the door.
His brother smirked. “Ready?”
Lance nodded. His jaw set in determination. “As I’ll ever be. Let’s do this.”
“Let us see how you feel after you face our sire.” He gave Lance a shove toward the stairs. “I can tell you he’s not in the best of moods this morning. I think it was not entirely your fault.”
As they descended to the main hall and out to the courtyard, Lance contemplated what his brother said. “What do you mean not all my fault?”
Galahad shrugged. “I think it was our mother who put him in the foul mood, though I am not sure over what. Poor Geraint has been taking the brunt of his attack. Perhaps the old man will be exhausted by the time we arrive.”
They passed through the open doors from the great hall to the courtyard, Lance stared, awe stricken. Across the field their father sparred with another knight. There he was, the Queen’s Champion, in all his glory, blade singing through the air, clashing with his opponent. He drove the poor sap backwards until Geraint tripped over his own feet, landing hard in the dirt. When the dust cleared, the tip of Lancelot’s sword hovered above the knight’s throat. Geraint surrendered and the crowd of onlookers cheered.
Lancelot took the praise in stride and held a hand out to the knight on the ground. Pulling him to his feet, they laughed and congratulated each other on a good match.
“Exhausted? That’s exhausted?” Lanced gaped.
His brother shrugged. “I did say perhaps, did I not?”
“That was amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone fight like that before.”
“Aye, he is a formidable presence, our father. You do not want to be on the wrong end of that sword in battle. Not a pretty place to be.”
Galahad continued forward as the crowd thinned out until it was only the three of them standing in the courtyard. “As I promised father, Christian is ready for his first lesson. In one piece, I might add.”
Lance raised a brow. “In one piece?”
“Aye, I was well prepared to drag you kicking and screaming if need be, but you came along peacefully, so no need.” His brother shrugged. “I shall leave you two and settle in to watch. Good luck, brother.” His brother smirked and sauntered off to a bench by the castle wall.
“Yeah, thanks.”
Father and son stared at each other. Each had said things they didn’t necessarily mean the night before. Lance honestly regretted his words. His father was another matter. The man’s hard gaze spoke volumes. There didn’t seem to be a hint of apology there.
Extending his hand, Lance made the first move to reconcile. “I was wrong last night. I was brought here for a reason. I am not about to fail.”
Ignoring his so
n’s hand, Lancelot inclined his chin. “If you expect me to believe that, you will stop acting like a spoiled child. I am not here to befriend you. If you are going to have anyone’s back, mine included, we must make sure you can cover it.” He held out his hand. “Your sword.”
Lance gritted his teeth and offered over his blade. His father lifted it, inspecting the craftsmanship.
“A little light.” Lancelot twirled it and sliced the air between them. He looked over his son, sizing him up. “It will do, considering.”
“Considering what? That sword was made to specifications unique to me.” Lance snatched back the sword.
“Aye? Were those for a woman? There is no weight to the blade. How can you possibly use that in battle?” His father scoffed.
“I don’t expect you to understand the way things are made in the twenty-first century. Believe me, this steel is stronger than it looks and feels.”
“We shall see.” Lancelot drew his sword and held it ready. “Attack me.”
“Me? Attack you? No way.” He propped the blade on his shoulder. “I saw what you did to the other guy, and I’m nowhere near as good as he is. Hell, I’m lucky to not get a mouthful of grass on a good day.”
“Christian, do not try my patience. I said, attack me.” Lancelot pointed the tip of his sword mere inches from Lance’s face.
Still, Lance didn’t make a move to attack.
“Very well, then.”
His father immediately went on the offensive. His attack swift and fierce. It all happened too quickly for Lance. One moment he struggled to block every strike from his father’s sword. The next, he watched his blade fly across the training field, where it embedded tip-first in the dirt.
His father swept Lance’s feet out from under him. He hit the ground on his back, the breath knocked out of him. Blinking away the dust, he found the business end of his father’s sword touching the tip of his nose.
“Never underestimate your opponent.”
Beyond Time: A Dark Order of the Dragon Novel (The Dark Order of the Dragon Book 2) Page 5
