A Connecticut Fashionista In King Arthur's Court

by Mari AKA Marianne Mancusi

  "It makes a great difference. How can I ever trust you now?" He turns and stares at me, and I ache to see the hurt and confusion in his eyes. "I would have gladly given you my life, Katherine. Instead you have torn out my heart while I still live."

  Tears blur my vision as my mind races for a way to explain, to make him see that he's taking it all wrong. How can I convince him that I love him so much? That the times we have spent together have been the best of my life?

  "Lance ..." I try, not knowing what I'm going to say. "Please try to—"

  Suddenly there's a knock on the door. We both stare at it.

  "That will be the queen," Lance says in a low voice. "Dress yourself. And if you have any love for her in your heart, do not tell her what you have told me. I would spare her that pain."

  "But—"

  "If you keep silent I will continue to offer you my protection by accompanying you to Stonehenge. If you speak out I will leave you to fend for yourself."

  Well, that's something, I guess. That'll give me a couple more days to convince him I'm telling the truth about my feelings for him.

  And besides, he's right. I can't let Guen in on the whole thing so she starts hating me, too. I throw the dress over my head and allow him to open the door to let the queen in.

  "Greetings! I have came to see if you are ready to leave for Stonehenge," Guenevere says, stepping into the room, completely oblivious to what has transpired. "Ina arranged for the horses. Everything is in order."

  "Actually we're not quite ready," I say, hoping to stall her. I have to talk to Lancelot—to make him see that I really do love him, that I need him and can't live without him. "Can you come back in, like, an hour?"

  "What, so you can crawl back into bed?" Guenevere scolds, hands on her narrow hips. "You will have plenty of time for that when you reach your new life."

  Oh, if only she were right. But the look on Lancelot's face tells me that as far as he's concerned, he'd rather share his bed with a cockroach.

  "Go now, and get your things," Guenevere commands. "We will wait here. But hurry. I have slipped the outer guards a sleeping draft, and I do not know for how long 'twill work."

  I look at her and then at Lance. He turns his head, refusing to meet my eyes. What am I supposed to do? I swallow hard. It'll have to wait until we get to Stonehenge. I still have three days, I remind myself. Plenty of time.

  "Okay. I'll be back in, like, five minutes."

  I rush back to my chambers and grab my purse. Then, remembering my cell phone, I run to the other end of the castle to Merlin's tower to retrieve it from the old magician. After all, I'll need it if I have to call for a cab when we get back. Who knows how much time will have passed? The fair may be gone, my car towed. Luckily the old magician willingly gives it up this time and wishes me good luck.

  "You have done well, Kat," Merlin says, actually smiling. "Nimue was right to have chosen you to save Camelot."

  If only you knew, I think as I smile back and thank him before heading back down to Lancelot's room. I've now screwed up everything. In fact, if I don't make things right, for all I know once I'm gone Lance and Guen will turn to each other for comfort. And then this whole year will have all been wasted.

  No. I can't think like that. I have to have confidence that I can convince Lancelot that the whole Nimue thing doesn't matter a hill of beans. That I would have fallen in love with him anyway. That he is my soul mate, my true love. That no one else fills the void in my life like him. I feel a tear slip down my cheek. It really hurts to know that right now he thinks I've completely betrayed him.

  What's that up ahead? Flickering lights? Is someone shouting? I squint, trying to make it out. I definitely need to visit the eye doctor when I get back to the twenty-first century. Is someone up and about? I don't want to run into anyone, like last time. Especially not creepy-king-in-training Mordred. At least I'm not wearing that stupid veil. I tiptoe down the hall to keep my presence unknown as I scope out the situation.

  I turn the corner, and my eyes widen as I realize the hallway is alive with torchlight, flames casting dancing shadows on the otherwise darkened walls.

  Guards. Shouting. Screams. Swords drawn. Chaos everywhere.

  I see a porter rushing by. "What's going on?" I demand, grabbing his sleeve.

  "Treason," he answers, his eyes wide. "The queen has been caught with her favorite knight. With Lancelot."

  "What?" I cry. “But you've totally got it wrong. They were just waiting for me to come back."

  "No mistake, lady." The porter shakes free of my grasp and runs down the hall.

  I run to Lance's room at the far end of the hall. Gawain stands at the door, sword drawn, his eyes red and wild. He stares into space as if he's lost his mind and is waiting for the men in white coats to show up and take him away.

  "Gawain!" I cry. "You guys are making a huge mistake."

  He doesn't answer. Doesn't acknowledge me at all. It's as if he can't even hear me.

  "No mistake," a cold voice corrects, stepping out from the chambers. Gawain flinches as Mordred, dressed entirely in black, puts a white hand on his broad shoulder. The prince's piercing blue eyes stare right through me, and I stifle a shiver. He looks evil. Powerful. Ruthless. He may never be a warrior, but he has learned the look of a king.

  An evil king, that is.

  "Lancelot and Guenevere were caught together in his chambers," Mordred says in an icy tone. "They have betrayed their king. The whore has shared her bed with a man other than my father. Now she must pay for her sins with her life."

  "But—"

  "That is not all," the boy king interrupts. "In his haste to escape, Lancelot attacked my half brother. By his very hand, Agravaine is dead."

  Gawain lets out a tortured moan at the sound of his brother's name. No wonder he looks so crazy. I feel kind of bad for him. I mean, Agravaine was a total jerk, true, but he was still Gawain's brother—and a Knight of the Round Table. What was Lancelot thinking? Did he try to talk his way out first? Explain that things weren't as they seemed?

  "Where's Lance now?" I demand.

  Mordred frowns. "He has fled Camelot like the coward that he is, leaving his whore to stand alone for their sins."

  This is not good. This is really, really, really not good! I taste blood in my mouth and realize I've been biting down too hard on my lower lip, piercing the skin the same way I want to pierce Mordred's black heart. I squeeze my hands into fists and wonder what I should say, what I should do. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. Flying off the handle and sputtering the truth is not going to help anyone's case.

  I look past Mordred into Lancelot's chambers. The bed is just as we left it—unmade, rumpled, probably reeking of the musky smell of sex. I can see why they assumed something went on here, and, of course, they're right. It just wasn't with who they think it was. And there can be no DNA testing in this time to prove it.

  I pull my eyes away from the bed and scan the room. I see Agravaine's limp body on the floor, practically floating in a large pool of crimson. My stomach heaves at the sight of it, and I swallow back the bile that rises in my throat.

  I raise my eyes and see, at the far end of the room, Queen Guenevere standing with her head bowed, her golden hair covering her face. I look down at her hands; they've been tied in front of her. Two guards flank her on each side, swords drawn.

  "Guen!" I cry. She looks up, tears staining her white cheeks, a defeated look on her face. I attempt to go to her, but Mordred raises his sword, effectively stopping me in my tracks.

  "Stand back!" he commands.

  "But she didn't do it!" I sob, losing my self-control, my resolve to stay calm. Seeing the queen there, in shackles, has completely freaked me out—mostly because I know the part of the story that comes next. I dreamed it a thousand times.

  Guenevere to be burned at the stake. For treason. For sleeping with Lancelot.

  But she didn't sleep with Lancelot! I did! How can I convince them of that? And
what will they do to me if they believe me? Will I end up serving as their human marshmallow instead?

  It doesn't matter. I have to take the risk. I can't let Guenevere take the fall for something I did. She'll lose her true love, Arthur, over this. She may even lose her life. And all the people will lose their kingdom of Camelot.

  I take in a deep breath and look Mordred straight in the eyes.

  "It wasn't her. It was I!" I proclaim, forcing my voice to stay calm. "I slept with Lancelot. He's not really my brother at all. It was a lie to throw you off track. I'm his lover, not the queen. If anyone should be burned, it should be me."

  Chapter 21

  Mordred laughs, a venomous, cold sound that gives me the chills down to my toes. He addresses the guards waiting with Guenevere. "Take her away. To the dungeons."

  He turns to Gawain. "My dear half brother, I beg you go to Bishop Mallory and see that he comes to perform last rites on our poor, dearly departed brother."

  Gawain nods, agreeing like a mindless puppy dog and scampering off to do his fool's errand.

  Now, alone with me, Mordred turns and smiles. "What was it you were saying, my dear?"

  I let out a breath. "I am the one you should be arresting. I slept with Lancelot. Not Guenevere."

  He laughs again. "It makes no difference to me who did the actual rutting, my sweet. It is enough that the people believe 'twas the queen."

  Huh? "What are you talking about?" I demand.

  "Well, you see, now my dear father is put in a rather bad position," Mordred explains. "If he pardons his true love, he will turn his people against him. After all, how can an old cuckold who cannot bring order to his own household control a kingdom? Arthur stands for the law, and even the king is not above the law. Therefore she must be held accountable for her sins. And once she's out of the way," he sneers, baring his crooked teeth, "he will be too distraught to rule." He cackles, evidently pretty proud of his plan. "Cast your lot with me, Lady Kat," he says with a wink. "For I am the future of Camelot."

  "Never!" I cry, hoping I sound braver than I feel. This is bad. Really, really bad. The dream is over. Camelot is done for. I have no idea whether or not I'll ever see Lance again. Without Guenevere's spell casting, there's no way I'm going back to the twenty-first century. Could things get any worse? And here is this little twerp who thinks he's so cool, actually trying to get me to join his team. Yeah, right. He's got a better chance of raising the Titanic. (Which, considering it hasn't even sunk yet, would be extremely challenging.)

  "You do not have to decide now," Mordred informs me oh-so-graciously, "But when I take the throne, I shall need a queen by my side. I see no reason it could not be you."

  What? And here I thought he hated me. "How romantic," I spit out sarcastically. "But don't you think you're counting your chickens before they hatch? And forgetting one very big contingency to your taking-over-Camelot plan? Namely Lancelot."

  Mordred's eyes darken. Evidently I've struck a nerve. But he quickly regains his composure. "That coward?" he sneers. "He took off faster than a hart being chased by the hounds."

  "Ah, good comparison. You being a dirty dog and all." I'm sorry, but he walked right into that one.

  He frowns. "Watch yourself, lady," he suggests with a gleam in his eye. "I can easily have you join your little friend down in the dungeon."

  Okay, he's got a point there. Guess I should behave. There will be time for heroics later. Like when he's not wielding a big sword, for example. "Sorry, Your Highness," I apologize, backtracking like crazy. "I meant no offense."

  "Very well. But remember what I said." He sheaths his sword into a jeweled scabbard slung low on his waist. "We could rule Camelot, you and I. Together."

  "Okay. Definitely a tempting offer. I'll think long and hard about it. Um, catch ya later." I back away, and then turn and try to casually walk down the hall without breaking into a run. As I round the bend, I drop all decorum and sprint to my chambers, my heart beating wildly.

  What now? What now? Think, Kat! I've got to make this right. Make sure Guenevere doesn't get burned at the stake. This is all my fault. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

  I reach my chamber door and throw it open. Elen takes one look at my crazed face and backs away, her own face draining of its color in reaction to my fright.

  "What is wrong, lady?" she asks.

  "Guenevere. She's been caught with Lancelot. They are going to burn her at the stake for treason."

  "That is insane," Elen scoffs.

  I stare at her, uncomprehending. "What?"

  "Well, 'tis very apparent that Lancelot has eyes for you alone."

  My mouth drops open. "You know?"

  Elen sniffs. "I may be a servant, but I am not blind, milady. I should think anyone could see how he looks at you. Kin or nae, the two of you are in love. He has no business with the queen."

  I sigh and flop down on a chair, scrubbing my face with my hands. "He's not really my brother."

  "I did have a feeling 'twas the case." Elen walks over and squeezes my shoulder affectionately. I regret all the mean things I've said about her. "Where is Sir Lancelot now, milady?"

  I look up at her, my vision blurred by fresh tears. "I don't know. He evidently killed Agravaine and took off. I'm sure it was self-defense. But now he's like an outcast. And I have no way to reach him."

  I take back all the times I've complained about people using cell phones everywhere. I'd give every shoe in my closet to equip Lancelot with one so I could get hold of him, work out a plan. But now I'm completely on my own.

  Fear claws at my heart as reality sinks in. Everything's completely messed up. I'm going to miss the portal to go back to the twenty-first century. Guenevere, even if Lancelot does rescue her from burning, is never going to be able to return to Camelot. Neither is he, for that matter. Even if I can convince him I love him, what will we do?

  Maybe we can all be banished roommates together. But where will we live? Will we be poor? Will Lancelot have to become a mercenary just so we'll survive? The careers for women in this day and age are few and far between, and certainly not high paying. How long will we have to wait till the next portal? Is there one every year, or is this a once-in-a-blue-moon type of thing?

  The thoughts are too much. Nausea consumes me, and my stomach heaves. Elen grabs a chamber pot and thrusts it under me just in time. "I'm sorry," I moan after emptying my stomach's contents into the vessel.

  "'Tis perfectly normal, given the circumstances." Elen shrugs.

  "If only I could find Lancelot," I moan. "Elen, if you were a knight in shining armor on the run, where would you hide?"

  "Well, if I were Sir Lancelot, I guess I would go to my castle," she says matter-of-factly, answering my rhetorical question.

  I look up. "Castle?"

  "Joyous Garde."

  "The guy has a freaking castle?" I cry. "He never told me that."

  "Having been in the service of King Arthur, he has likely not been there in many a summer. However, he was bequeathed a castle long ago. A place to retire to when his servitude to the king is completed."

  "How do you know all this?"

  "Again, you underestimate me because I am a servant," Elen rebukes me with a frown. "Before you I served a lady named Elaine. She was much in love with Sir Lancelot." The maid looks somber. "She died by her own hand when he would not return her devotion."

  Ah, I remember Nimue talking about her. The first attempted hookup to keep him away from Guen. Poor girl. "And she told you about the castle?"

  "Aye. And," Elen adds with a gleam in her eye, "sent me to deliver messages to him. So I well know the path to get there."

  "That's great!" I say, scrambling to my feet. "What are we waiting for? Let's go!"

  Suddenly a loud rapping sounds on the door. Elen and I exchange worried glances. I point at my inner chamber and to myself. She nods. I rush into the other room and shut the door. Please don't let it be Mordred.

  I press my ear to the door to listen to the c
onversation. "The lady is not in," I hear Elen say. "Nae, you cannot enter. Sir, I am sure ..." Uh-oh. Sounds like the unwelcome guest is giving her a hard time. Who could it be?

  I hear a shuffling and then a knock on my door. "Milady, there is a cloaked gentleman here to see you," Elen whispers. "He will not give his name; nor will he go away. Should I call for the guard?"

  Could it be Lancelot? My heart pounds in my chest. I take a deep breath and decide to face the unknown visitor. I open the chamber door.

  "See him in."

  Elen nods and opens the door. A tall man dressed in a long black' cloak enters the room. Not Lancelot. I'd know my knight's walk and build anywhere. Not Mordred either. That twerp's much smaller than the guy standing before me. So who...?

  After Elen closes the door behind him, the visitor pulls back his cloak. I gasp in surprise.

  King Arthur.

  "Your Majesty," I say, dropping to my knees. He reaches down and takes my hands, pulling me up again.

  "I do apologize for the intrusion, Lady Kat," he says in a hoarse voice. "But I must speak with you."

  "Of course." I motion for him to sit on one of the chairs while Elen discreetly exits the room.

  Once seated, he clears his throat before speaking. "You may well have heard the rumors by now. My wife and your brother, Lancelot, were discovered together in his chambers." He sighs deeply. "The knights believe they are lovers."

  "They also believe the world is flat!" I burst out, wringing my hands together in anger. "Listen, Your Majesty, I hope you don't believe any of this bull. Lance and Guen are so not lovers. She loves you. Like, with all her heart. In fact, it's almost nauseating to hear her go on and on about how much she adores you."

  "It is lovely for you to say so, my dear," Arthur says in a tired voice. "After all, I have never wanted anything but for my beautiful wife to feel the same way about me as I do her." He smiles a half smile. "But the bedding does not lie. ‘Tis clear a relationship has been consummated in Lancelot's bed."

  "Well, yeah, sure. That's true," I say, shifting to the edge of my seat. "But not Lance and Guen. Lance and me. We're lovers, he and I. And have been for months."