One Knight (Knights of Caerleon Book 2)

by Ines Johnson

Morgan had placed herself first all her life. Her sister was carefree and happy and now she’d found the love of her life. Loren did the same. She put her needs first and went on adventures. She was never want for male attention and company. Neither of them ever wore a fake smile or shouldered more weight than they could bear.

  What would that be like?

  Gwin could run barefoot through the castle halls and out to the grounds. She could leave the ledgers until it was time to pay taxes. She could have ice cream for breakfast and pancakes for dinner.

  She could step into the embrace of a certain knight. She could do it when he had no wound. She’d finally be allowed to tend to his heart. She wouldn’t have to hold back when her lips ached to kiss his. She would lean in and claim him.

  The sound of coughing broke her dream. Gwin looked up to see that her feet had taken her straight to the infirmary. Inside the open door she spied her husband. Merlin wheezed and hacked as though he were on his deathbed. Because he was on his deathbed.

  Gwin stared at her husband from the doorway. Had she ever loved him? No. She had not. Had she ever cared? Yes, she had.

  Merlin’s frail body shook hard with the next batch of coughs. Just like it had when he was a young man. When she had first met Merlin, Gwin had been sitting near him in the Great Hall. She’d watched his mother tend to him, concern etched on Lady Merylin's pretty face.

  Something had pulled young Gwin, just at the tender age of ten, to the two of them. Perhaps it was the magic inside her wanting to help? Perhaps it was the unconditional love on Lady Merylin’s face?

  Gwin had made her way over to the pair. She’d placed her hand on Merlin’s heart. She’d pulled the illness out of him.

  Merlin had looked down at her in wonder. Lady Merylin had too. She’d gathered Gwin to herself and hugged her. The embrace had at first startled, and then delighted, Gwin. Her mother wasn't the affectionate type. There were only nods of acknowledgment. Never embraces.

  Merlin’s illness was soul deep. The healing magic had been a temporary fix. One that she would repeat a countless number of times in the next fifty years of their life together; siphoning off energy from him. It was her special talent; releasing the burdens of others.

  Now, on the metal frame bed of the infirmary, Merlin’s body shook once more. She’d never seen him get this bad. What if this was it? What if this was his end? What if he were about to die?

  Gwin moved to take a step into the room, but her foot wouldn’t settle over the threshold.

  If she went into that room and saved him, it would be another day, another week, another month with the burden of him. If he slipped away she could be at peace, she could have a new life. The life she’d only ever dreamed about.

  No one would miss him. He’d murdered witches to stay alive. Yet here she stood preparing to drain herself to save him again.

  His eyes found hers. A cruel smile slivered across his pale, thin, cracked lips. “So, you’re finally going to do it. You’re finally going to let me die.”

  Merlin chuckled but it was an awful, creaking, wheezing sound.

  “Then you and your lover can come out of the shadows and dance on my grave.”

  Gwin stormed into the room. “Lance and I have never-”

  But her words were lost as Merlin hacked and coughed. Gwin balled her fists. The magic in her ached to reach out and correct what was wrong with a suffering soul.

  They had been friends once. Hadn’t they? She was no longer certain.

  Had they always been more nurse and patient? Lady Merylin was the only one who had asked Gwin if she was certain of the pairing. Whatever answer Gwin gave satisfied the mother. It was that satisfaction that Gwin held onto through the first months of her marriage as Merlin’s cruelty surfaced.

  Gwin had thought she wore a facade. It had nothing on the facade her husband cloaked himself in. Merlin’s mask had even fooled his own mother.

  Still, Gwin thought the light within her would win. That it would heal the wounded beast that showed its dark colors. She’d been wrong. Merlin had crushed her like a firefly only to watch the light die out in his palm.

  “Heal me, damn you,” he said now. “It is your duty as my wife.”

  For the first time in her life, Gwin’s palms cooled. Her skin itched to maim instead of burned to aide. “You were never a true husband to me. Not in any sense of the word.”

  “Careful how loudly you say those words. You don’t want them to know, do you?”

  Gwin hugged her arms to herself, empty hands spanning her forearms. It was the only time she was hugged outside of the children in the town. Once Lady Merylin passed away, her husband never once offered an ounce of affection.

  “You don’t want them to know you’ve been living a lie all this time. That you’re not really what you say you are. You are not the Lady of the Castle.”

  “And whose fault is that?” She wrenched her arms from herself, unleashing a deep well of anger and sorrow. “I offered you all of myself.”

  “More lies. You kept your heart away.”

  “You didn’t want my heart,” she said. “All you ever wanted was my magic.”

  “All you ever wanted was my title. We both got what we wanted out of this sham of a union.”

  “I wanted to love you. I tried. I wanted children. But you—”

  Merlin’s eyes cut to her, and Gwin jerked back. He was helpless on the bed, but he still had the power to make her cower.

  “Be grateful for what you have now,” he said. “Once I die, it will all be taken from you. You will no longer have your title. If you’re not careful, I’ll take your respect away too when I die. I’ll let the whole town know that you’ve been perpetrating a lie for a century. I’ll let them know this marriage was never consummated, that there is no bond.”

  It was true. Gwin had come to Merlin on their wedding night ready to perform her duty as a wife. But he’d been sick. So it continued on for months. Until finally she learned the truth. Merlin could not perform as a husband would with his wife.

  She kept his secret. Like she kept all his secrets. Now she stood in the artificial light of the sick room. Her light dimming as his mere presence continued to crush her spirit.

  Merlin had stopped coughing. He was gasping for breath now. His face turning pale and now blue.

  Nausea rolled through her body as she watched him convulse. She couldn’t take watching another creature suffer. She had to do something.

  But if she let this happen, if she let his illness consume him, it would end all her suffering. And maybe his as well.

  But no. Not like this. She couldn’t countenance this type of pain on even her worst enemy, and her husband was the villain of her life.

  And so Gwin reached for him. Merlin’s eyes bulged out of his head with his next cough. Even though her hands were on him, he felt beyond her reach. The pain was too intense, even for her. It rattled her as she dug deep inside herself to give him what he needed to live.

  “Not like this,” she cried. “I’m sorry. Come back. I’ll fix it. Come back.”

  Merlin gasped in a breath. His eyes opened and he looked at her with hatred and accusation. Then his eyes rolled back in his head. He’d passed out, but he was alive.

  Gwin sighed. In relief? In defeat?

  She lifted her head to find Lance standing in the door.

  7

  Lance walked into the infirmary on stiff and weary legs. He carried a heavy load on his back. He set Simon Accolon down on one of the beds. The man jostled. Accolon had been out of it as Lance had carried him up the stairs. But now the scientist’s curious eyes were open and rapt on Gwin.

  Lance, himself, was still dazed at the sight he’d walked in on. Merlin had been on his deathbed for months now. The only thing keeping him in this world was Gwin.

  As Lance had come into the infirmary, it looked as though the sycophant was making his final exit. That was until Gwin yanked him back on the stage.

  With his back released from the
heavy burden, Lance’s shoulders drooped. A numbness settled over his shoulder blades. It was her right to save him. Her duty as a healer… and as his wife. She had the power to give him new life.

  Still, Lance died a little every time she reached out to save the miserable man’s life.

  Gwin lifted her gifted hands and made her way to Lance. She moved hesitantly. Like she was a doe approaching danger.

  Didn’t she know he would never do anything to harm her? His feelings wouldn’t allow it. Beyond his vows, his heart, his mind, his body was hers to command. He’d fall on his sword if she asked him. It would likely hurt less than the agony he felt in this moment.

  His heart yearned to reach out to her as she came near. He ached to pull her into his arms and offer her more than his sword for safety. He wanted to offer her his body for comfort. His soul for refuge.

  He looked away, as he often had to when they weren’t alone. At the moment, every feeling was clear on his face. If she looked into his eyes, she’d see. She’d see all of his desires and his pain. She didn’t need that burden on top of all her others. He fastened his gaze to the floor.

  “Lance—” she began but was cut off.

  “How did you do that?” Accolon asked through his wheezing. “How did you heal that man? Is it a direct energy transfer?”

  Both Gwin and Lance focused on the inquisitive human sitting erect on the infirmary bed across from Merlin’s. It was safer to give Accolon his attention than for Lance to address Gwin directly.

  “He’s having some sort of allergic reaction,” Lance said.

  “Are you able to create the energy within yourself?” Accolon continued. “Does your skin open when the elemental substance comes out of you?”

  Gwin walked calmly over to Accolon. She placed her hand on the man’s shoulder. Instantly, he stopped talking. Lance felt the pulse of magic extend through her fingertips. There was a quiet thud. Accolon’s eyes closed, and he slumped down into slumber.

  Merlin slept peacefully too. Alive and peaceful after Gwin’s desperate plea and hasty treatment.

  “Lance, I—”

  “I’ll leave you to your duties, my lady.”

  Lance turned on his heel but he couldn’t move. Gwin had grabbed his bicep. The wound from earlier had long since healed. There was no reason for her to touch him, except that she wanted him to stay and hear her.

  He could’ve easily broken her hold. But she held too much power over him. Besides, a chivalrous man never gave his back to a lady.

  He turned back around. But he kept his gaze on the floor.

  “I almost let him die.”

  Her voice was shaky. The desperation of her tone had him looking up. Gone was the vibrant creature of his waking dreams. What was left was a shell, a frail woman. Lance did not like it one bit.

  “I was going to let him go,” she said, looking down at her hands. “He’s caused so much pain.”

  “That’s not who you are,” he said.

  “No,” she agreed, meeting his gaze. “It’s not who I am. This isn’t who I want to be.”

  Gwin stepped closer to him. Her gaze dipped to his chest. Her hands came up to his heart, but they did not land yet. Lance’s heart pounded hard against its cage to get at its master.

  And then, with the lightest of touches, Gwin’s gentle fingertips crashed into him. Her feather-light touch nearly knocked him over. But that wasn’t the end of it.

  Lance could only watch the descent of her head. It was like an earthquake when her blonde head landed at the center of his chest. It knocked his world off kilter.

  She looked so exhausted, so in need. Lance didn’t hesitate. His arms were around her in the next instant. Gwin sighed into him, and he knew heaven.

  He’d been this close to her before. The first time they’d met. They’d had a few occasions to dance at balls in the Great Halls and festivals in front of the whole town. She’d come close to harm’s way once or twice, and he’d used his body to shield hers.

  But this was different. Now she sought comfort, not entertainment or protection.

  “I ruined my life when I chose him,” she said. “If only you had come along earlier. We could’ve been together.”

  Was this real life? Had he fallen asleep while walking into the infirmary? He was living his fantasy. Or perhaps he was under a cruel spell now?

  These were the words he’d dreamed of hearing for decades. But now they sailed to his ears from her lips. Not from his heart to his deepest desires.

  “We could be together now.” Gwin lifted her head and gazed up at him.

  Like always, Lance became lost in those blue eyes. He always had trouble sailing because the sea reminded him of her eyes. He’d become lost in the churning of the waves.

  “My husband is dying.”

  Lance nodded at that fact. He felt no shame for his joy in it. Merlin was a scourge. Lance had seen it the first moment he’d met the man. He knew it for certain as he’d watched Gwin over the years pulling on a brave front while shackled to a monster.

  “I want to be with you.” The words left her lips, but reached him over a vast and tormented sea.

  Even in his wildest dreams, he'd never taken things this far. But Gwin was not done living out his fantasy. Her hands were moving. They left his heart and were climbing his chest, up over his shoulders.

  “I don’t want to wait any longer for my life to begin.”

  Her fingers brushed the hairs at the nape of his neck, and his knees buckled. She gave a tug of his head, and he obeyed. Lance bent his head down to her, to hear whatever her lips wanted to tell him. What her lips had to say was in a kiss.

  The scent of flowers distracted him. He’d sometimes walk the halls of Camelot at night, taking the paths she frequented. He did this searching out a hint of that delicate scent that was hers alone. When he found a trace, he’d fill his nose. The scent always went straight to his head and clouded his judgment.

  If this were a battle, he’d have been outmatched before he’d ever drawn his weapon. Her lower lip struck him first, brushing softly against his upper lip. Some small voice inside of him told him to retreat, that this was a losing battle, and the scars that resulted would never heal.

  The voice went mute when Gwin lunged past the millimeter of space between them and closed the distance. Her slender arms came up behind his head and struck down around his neck. Lance’s hands rose to parry the attack, capturing her slender waist and pulling her flush against his body.

  They held like that for seconds, for moments, for the century they’d been denied this closeness. The kiss remained a light brushing of lips. Her lips caught his upper lip in a pliable hold. His lower lip cradled hers in a supple grip.

  And they held. Barely breathing. Not moving. As though they both were afraid that any minute shift would break the moment and rob them of this small slice of pure, unadulterated bliss.

  “Gwin, we’re about to head out to look at linens for the reception. You have to come and save me from mother—Oh!”

  Gwin jerked away from him. But Lance, who had excellent reflexes, was slow to react. His hands didn’t release her. His lips still buzzed from the kiss. His gaze was hazy as he reluctantly moved from the dream world back to reality. When he opened his eyes the younger Galahad sister came into focus.

  Morgan’s blue gaze was a few shades darker than Gwin’s. Now her eyes were bright with shock. Then her lips split into a grin. “Do not let me interrupt.”

  Morgan stepped forward and held up her hand in a fist to dap her sister. But Gwin turned away, her face flushed. Undaunted, Morgan winked at Lance. Then she turned and walked out of the infirmary pulling the door shut.

  The door snicked closed. Lance stared at the closed door that concealed them. He jumped when Gwin reached out to him. Her cheeks were flushed with red. Not the pink of embarrassment. The shade was the color of shame.

  “It was only Morgan,” she said. “No one else saw.”

  Lance stepped back. Her words were an
unexpected punch to his gut, followed by a stunning slice to his heart.

  “Lance?” Gwin stepped to him. Her hands were raised, aimed for his heart. Her eyes were imploring, pleading her case to his soul. Perfect, proper, poised Lady Gwin fumbled over her words as she spoke. “I want to be with you.”

  “I have to go.” He spoke the words as though he were a disembodied spirit. He did not feel in control of his body, or his emotions, or his thoughts. Nothing made sense.

  Gwin’s shoulders slumped forward as though his words hit her hard. Her face fell. The redness returned. It was a lighter shade this time. A delicate pink whose hue spoke of self-consciousness and not guilt.

  The weight settled on her shoulders and she hunched. But he couldn’t lift this burden. Not with her. Never with her.

  His love for her was pure. She was the best thing in his life. The reason he knew he was good.

  And she’d kissed him.

  She’d kissed him while her husband lay dying in the bed behind them. She’d kissed him in secret behind a closed door. She’d kissed him and didn’t want anyone else to know.

  Lance walked away from her, pulling the door open, and shutting it and her behind him.

  8

  Gwin had just kissed Lance.

  She’d dreamed of it for years. Not during the day while the sun shone and everyone saw her face. But every night as darkness fell, the dreams came to her.

  They were pretty PG dreams. She knew what happened between a man and a woman in the bedroom, of course. She was a witch, after all. Witches were taught from a young age that their bodies were temples and worthy of praise and adoration and pleasure.

  However, learning about a process and experiencing the process were two entirely different things. She'd read about the press of lips to another's, but the feeling in real life was unexpected. Lance's mouth had been pillow soft and warm. At the same time, his lips had been firm and unyielding. The two polarities fascinated her as they wouldn't fit in neat compartments in her brain.

  She’d fit snug in the cage of his arms. She’d found a quiet peace in the pounding of his chest.