by K. M. Shea
Chapter 8
Northern Visitor
The following day, Britt, Sir Kay, and Sir Ector were in the stables, brushing out their horses after a short ride.
“You should let me ride Roen more often, Kay. He’s getting jealous,” Britt said, caressing the neck of her black gelding before taking a comb to Llamrei’s mane.
“The bigger problem seems to be that he is growing fat from a lack of activity,” Sir Ector said, peeking over the stall door to study the gelding.
“Llamrei is the superior riding horse, My Lord,” Sir Kay said.
“Yeah, but isn’t there a death threat against me? Riding a horse that will fight to protect me might be safer,” Britt said.
“Who told you of a death threat, My Lord?” Sir Kay asked.
“Merlin,” Britt said, tossing the wooden comb in a box.
“You two are talking again?” Sir Ector asked, scratching his beard.
“No, he told me before I left on the quest,” Britt said.
“Oh. That’s a shame,” Sir Ector sighed.
“What made you come to blows?” Sir Kay asked.
“Let’s just say Merlin has made it abundantly clear to me where we stand,” Britt said.
“On the ground?” Sir Ector said.
“Merlin gave us a similar non-answer,” Sir Kay said, wiping down his horse’s bridle.
“Whatever the cause, I wish you two would end the quarrel,” Sir Ector said. “It’s not good for a King and his Chief Counselor to be at odds.”
Before Britt could reply, a page hurried into the stables. “My Lord,” he said, sketching a bow to Britt. “A guest has just arrived at Camelot. A Royal guest—a lady!” the young boy said, looking horrified.
Britt held back a groan but couldn’t stop her expression of disdain. “Inform the lady I am busy with kingly affairs and send Merlin to greet her.”
“Merlin already has greeted her,” the page said, his eyes bulging. “She hit him with a club.”
“Never mind. I shall meet this curious lady myself,” Britt said, brushing horse hair from her clothes. “Do either of you wish to join me, Sir Ector, Sir Kay?”
Kay, shy and wary of women as he was, ducked behind his horse and kept brushing.
“I’ll come with you, Arthur. Better to go in strong numbers lest this lady thinks to take something to your head, too,” Sir Ector said, waddling past Britt and Llamrei. “Put away the horses, Kay, would you?” Sir Ector called over his shoulder as he led the way.
Britt looked down at her dirty leather jerkin and boots and grimaced, but she followed Sir Ector—and the page—out of the stables and into the open courtyard between the keep and inner walls.
There she saw Merlin—in his cliché gray cloak—sitting on the steps and holding a hand to his skull. Standing not far away from him—one hand planted on her hip, the other hefting a sturdy-looking staff—was a woman with silky brown hair pulled in an elaborate braid. She wore a wine-red overdress and a white kirtle and looked like she was roughly Britt’s age. Her stance was elegant—if not forceful—and her expression was apathetic as she watched Merlin nurse his head.
When Britt entered the courtyard, the woman looked up. The smallest hint of a smile tugged at her lips. “Arthur?” she asked.
Britt tipped her head in a shallow bow. “I am. Welcome to Camelot, Lady.”
“Thank you,” the woman said, taking a few liquid steps in Britt’s direction. “Brother,” she added before hugging Britt.
Britt tried to puzzle through the implication and stiffened at the close contact. She was surprised Merlin was not swooning—in spite of their argument, keeping Britt’s secret was his goal in life. But all of Britt’s questions were answered when the beautiful woman pulled back and gave Britt her hint of a smile again.
“It is I—Morgan le Fay—your half-sister. Our sister, Morgause, wrote to me and told me everything about you,” Morgan said.
Britt’s worry cleared, and she smiled in real delight. “Morgan! Our sister…spoke of you. I’m so glad you have come to Camelot! Did Morgause send you?” she asked.
Queen Morgause was married to King Lot of Orkney and was mother to Gawain and his brothers: Agravain, Gareth, and Gaheris. Morgause was also aware of Britt’s gender—although she didn’t know Britt was from the future.
If Morgause told Morgan everything, that meant Morgan also knew Britt was female.
On the steps, Merlin moaned, but both of the women ignored him.
“Last year, she suggested that I visit you, but I’m afraid this was the first time I have found myself free of responsibilities and able to make the journey,” Morgan said.
“I’m glad you could make it,” Britt said, glancing at her foster-father when he shuffled. “Ah, excuse my gracelessness. Sister, this is Sir Ector of Bonmaison—my beloved foster-father.”
“Lady,” Sir Ector said with a grave bow.
“Sir Ector,” Morgan said, curtsying. She looked to Britt—who was still smiling fondly at Sir Ector—before she added, “I have heard much about your courage and strength in the battle for Arthur’s throne. Your support of my brother is truly a gift from Heaven.”
It was the perfect thing to say to Sir Ector. The older knight beamed, and—in a gesture Kay had inherited—smoothed the upper lip of his beard. “You are too kind, lady.”
“Many of our nephews are here—I am sure they’ll be thrilled to hear you’ve arrived. Please, come inside,” Britt said, leading the way to the keep. “Sir Ector, would you like to join us?” she asked when she realized Morgan was following but Sir Ector was not.
“Nay, Br—Boy. Enjoy yourself. I’ll see to the horses with Kay and tell him he needn’t…er…worry,” Sir Ector said, glancing at Morgan before his face split in a grin again.
“Thank you, father,” Britt said before entering the keep.
“You will not inquire after the wizard Merlin?” Morgan asked.
“Merlin can rot,” Britt said.
Morgan chuckled—a low, husky sound.
“We should find Sir Ulfius—he’ll get a room ready for you,” Britt said, changing her plotted path and starting up a winding staircase. “What brings you to Camelot?”
“I was visiting faerie folk in the area and thought to seek you out. My sister’s description of you piqued my interest. Morgause also asked me to visit for the sake of checking on Gareth and Gaheris,” Morgan said.
“I hope you enjoy your stay here. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to sit with me for meals.”
“I am honored to be considered your guest.”
Britt laughed. “Well, because of that, too. But I’m desperate for decent dinner conversation. I’ve been forced to sit with no one but Guinevere and Merlin at my table for days, and it’s getting boring.”
“Morgause told me you and Merlin got along quite well. Is this no longer true?” Morgan asked.
“As long as Merlin is acting like a mule, yes,” Britt said, starting down a hall that branched off the stairs.
“I see.”
“Morgause didn’t get along with him. I take it you bear a grudge against Merlin as well?”
“I would not go so far as to say a grudge. I find Merlin…acceptable. However, it seems that whenever I first see him, I must always remind him that I am a powerful sorceress—not a petty hedge-witch.”
“Nice,” Britt said, glancing at the staff Morgan held with a newfound respect.
“It usually works quite nicely,” Morgan humbly said.
“I’m glad someone is able to knock some sense into him,” Britt said, stopping outside the chamber Sir Kay and Sir Ulfius shared to store their records and supplies. “Thank you for coming.”
“It is my pleasure.”
Britt rapped on the door. “Sir Ulfius? I have another guest I need you to prepare a room for.”
In the late hours of the night, Britt sat in a garden, holding a red rope that was attached to the white hart’s rope halter. She was alone—mostly. Sir Kay’s required squa
dron of guards were with her, but since she was in a garden as opposed to walking the walls, they stuck to the shadows of the castle. It was unusual for Britt, in her insomnia—brought on by dreams and memories of her friends and family from the twenty-first century—to do anything besides walk the walls. But, for a change of pace, Britt decided to check in with her horses. When she slunk off to the stables—her guards shadowing her—she had found the deer housed in a horse stall and felt bad for it.
“So, Gawain tracked you down for his quest. Great. Now what am I supposed to do with you?” Britt asked the deer, watching it in the sputtering torchlight.
The buck wiggled its pink nose and stretched its head in her direction.
Britt passed it a cabbage leaf, which the buck delicately tugged from her hand. “There’s absolutely no way you’re becoming dinner, and I’m not going to have you slaughtered and stuffed.”
The deer finished its cabbage leaf and inquisitively nosed Cavall, who was lying down at Britt’s side.
“Oh no. I have enough pets already. I am not adding you to my menagerie,” Britt said.
The buck ignored her and nibbled on grass.
Britt sighed propped her head up on her arm. “Dang it. Fine, but I’m naming you Rudolph.”
Cavall sneezed.
“I don’t care if it’s silly! He’s my stinking albino deer, and I’m sick of suppressing my twenty-first century knowledge. I can call him whatever I want!”
The newly named Rudolph stared at the pile of cabbage leaves mounded next to Britt.
“Greedy thing,” Britt said, passing him another leaf. “No wonder no one wants to play any reindeer games with you. You—” Britt stopped talking when Cavall turned to look behind Britt.
Britt also turned around—hoping that, out of all people, it wouldn’t be Lancelot who would find her talking to a quest animal in the middle of the night. Her good cheer sunk.
It was worse than Lancelot. It was Merlin.
Britt didn’t say anything to acknowledge the wizard. Instead, she turned back to Rudolph and gave him another cabbage leaf.
Britt was silent until she heard his footsteps lead away from the small garden. Britt craned her neck to look for him, but he wasn’t visible after leaving the light shed by the torches Britt’s guards had posted. When he was gone, she sighed, her shoulders slumping. Her eyes stung, and Britt looked at Cavall and Rudolph before giving them a wet laugh.
“I miss him,” Britt quietly admitted to the animals. “I miss him calling me lass and giving me the evil eye for doing something wrong. I really miss his smiles—those were fine!” Britt said with a grin. The grin faded, and she shook her head. “He could have just said no, but instead he stomped all over me. How are you supposed to come back from that? How can I ever look at him as a friend? As who I thought he was?”
Britt was silent for several heartbeats. “And why is it that I still harbor something for him?” When a few teardrops spilled over, Britt sighed in irritation. “And here I thought I was all grown up and not the least bit weepy. I guess that goes to show me,” Britt said, wiping the tears from her eyes.
She cleared her throat and gave the deer another cabbage leaf. “So, Rudolph. Do you play fetch? What do deer even do? I only knew dogs were supposed to play fetch because I saw Beethoven a hundred times as a kid.”
Merlin stood on the walkway of Camelot’s inner wall, scowling as he studied the guard formations posted on the outer walls—which were hued pink in the growing light of dawn. “Two threats in the span of a few weeks and a near miss with an arrow. I don’t like it,” Merlin said.
“I beg your pardon?” the guard standing with Merlin said.
“Nothing. Just musing on our odds,” Merlin said. “The brush with the arrow happened roughly a week after I first received news that someone was out for Arthur. I received word of a second threat the day I returned from Blaise’s hermitage. It’s been a week since then. Kay has the king swaddled inside, so there is no risk of action now, but…”
“It’s a lucky thing Morgan le Fay arrived when she did,” said the guard—one of the regulars who stood with Britt during her nightly bouts of insomnia. “If King Arthur was not so busy entertaining her, I think he would be climbing the walls.”
“Yes, that is a lucky thing,” Merlin said. He folded his arms and frowned at the guard formation again. “Double the guards at the gate,” he finally said. “If the guards do not recognize whoever is seeking entrance, ban them from entering until their identity can be confirmed.”
“As you wish,” the guard said, bowing.
“Merlin—you fiend. I’ve been looking all over for you,” King Pellinore called as he climbed the last few steps, gaining admittance to the walkway.
“King Pellinore, you have returned. I trust your quest was victorious?” Merlin asked, his eyes sweeping King Pellinore’s dusty clothes.
“It was. I found the maiden and brought her to Camelot. She is being reunited with her hound as we speak—though that wasn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Excellent. I’m sure Arthur will throw you a feast tonight—have you told him you’ve returned?” Merlin said, only half-listening.
“No, I need to speak to you,” King Pellinore said.
Merlin tilted his head at the spark of worry he heard in the king’s voice. “What is it?”
“While returning to Camelot, I spent a night in a glade not too far from here,” King Pellinore said. “In the middle of the night, I found myself unable to rest, and I thought to get a drink from a nearby stream. It was there that I overheard a plot against King Arthur.”
Merlin was silent as he fiercely concentrated on the king and waited for him to continue.
“The perpetrators were two men—though I would not know or recognize them again as I could not see them in the darkness of night. They spoke of how they had, under instructions from the north, smuggled a poison south.”
Merlin’s tension eased. “Poison is better news than I feared,” Merlin said. “The staff at Camelot is without doubt loyal to Arthur. I will put them on alert. Thank you for the intelligence, King Pellinore,” Merlin said.
With the kitchen staff keeping an eye on Britt’s food, even if an enemy managed to sneak into Camelot, he would be unable to poison her. Merlin started to relax, until King Pellinore shook his head.
“One of the men explained to the other that he had successfully delivered it to Camelot,” the king said. “Into the hands of a knight from the north whom King Arthur greatly cherishes and trusts. That knight will poison him.”
Merlin heard church bells of alarm ring in his ears, and he stared unseeingly at Pellinore.
“I came as soon as I could for—though I am at loathe to say it—Arthur loves Sir Gawain—” Pellinore said.
Merlin interrupted him. “Guards—have any of you knowledge of where your sovereign is?”
“I believe he planned to break his fast with the lady Morgan le Fay and his nephews,” a guard said.
Chapter 9
Forgiven
Merlin ran down the walkways, his cloak grabbing at his legs like desperate hands. His heart pounded as he raced down the stairs that were pressed snug against the castle wall. He couldn’t hear anything. He couldn’t think. His sharp mind was incapable of anything besides absolute panic.
Britt!
“I’ll kill her,” Merlin said as he jumped the last few steps. “If she gets herself offed—I’ll KILL her!”
Merlin tried to think of a strategy. He tried to think of a plan. Instead, all he could picture was Britt with her cursed-beautiful smile, grinning at Gawain as the knight fed her poison.
She would die.
Britt would die!
She was an idiot who would trust her life with anyone she was fond of. “Stupid, stupid, stupid girl!” Merlin muttered as he burst into the keep. “Where is Arthur?” He roared at the nearest guard.
“He called for food in the queen’s garden,” the guard said, naming a small, c
heerful garden planted directly outside what was to be the queen’s quarters.
Merlin darted back outside the keep, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest. He ran up a corridor, passing Sir Lancelot and a gaggle of knights.
He barreled around the corner, almost skidding out when he hit the green lawn of the queen’s garden.
Britt was there, laughing and passing Morgause’s two youngest brats a grubby beanbag—which they threw for Britt’s mastiff.
Merlin relaxed for the barest moment, until he saw Britt reach out and take a goblet from Sir Gawain. She smiled at him and said something to Morgan le Fay as she raised the cup to her lips.
“BRITT!” Merlin shouted. “NO!”
“We should have thought of this ages ago,” Britt said, patting Cavall as Morgan le Fay slathered butter on a piece of bread and passed it to Agravain. “This is much nicer than eating with everyone else.”
“I never cared to break my fast with soup,” Morgan acknowledged.
“My Lord, can we—did you bring Cavall’s bag?” Gareth asked.
“Yes, thank you for reminding me. Here. Have fun,” Britt chuckled, passing the spitty beanbag to Gaheris.
The two little boys ran a few paces away and threw the beanbag.
Cavall went and fetched it for them and was exuberantly rewarded with crusts of bread.
“My Lord, are you thirsty?” Sir Gawain asked, holding out a goblet of what looked like apple cider.
“Parched, thanks, though my teeth won’t thank you for this,” Britt said, taking the goblet. “I trust you slept well, Morgan?” she said, finally remembering her manners as a host before raising the goblet to her lips.
“BRITT! NO!”
Britt jumped and sloshed some of the juice. She owlishly blinked and looked up. “…Merlin?”
The wizard stormed towards them, his normally brilliant blue eyes were tumultuous—like hurricanes.
“He looks angry,” Agravain observed.
“No kidding,” Britt frowned.
“What did he mean—shouting Britt?” Gawain asked.
“Who knows, probably some strange, wizard thing,” Britt said as the wizard drew closer. “Merlin—what’s the matter with you? Normal people don’t shout like that—hey!” Britt objected when Merlin plucked her goblet from her grasp.
