Endings (King Arthurs and Her Knights Book 7)

by K. M. Shea

  Britt straightened and brushed Cavall hairs off her chestplate. “Ahh, yes. The love potion. How exactly did that happen again?”

  “Iseult was meant to give it to King Mark, but, alas, when we were partaking in a luncheon together on the ship, an ignorant servant mixed some of it into our drinks,” Tristan said.

  Britt quirked an eyebrow. “Some of the potion? There’s a bit left?”

  “Indeed. I brought it with me.” Tristan pulled a crystal vial out of a satchel. When Britt held out her hand, he stood and deposited it in her palm.

  She studied the amber liquid in the bottle, then discreetly glanced at Merlin.

  Though they weren’t publicly fighting, he had severely diminished his role in Britt’s court as a way to wall off Vivien, so he wasn’t forever opening his mouth and blasting Britt like he used to. However, she still needed his advice—particularly on matters of magic. Thankfully, they knew each other well enough that Britt could read the slant of his eyebrows like a book.

  The pinched set of his lips and the haughty light in his eyes told Britt the potion was most likely a fake.

  Britt swirled the vial so the liquid in it churned. “I don’t know that I believe this is a true love potion, Tristan.”

  “But it must be, for the love I share with the beautiful Iseult sprouted the moment it touched my lips!” Tristan said.

  She shrugged. “Then let’s test it.” Before anyone could stop her, Britt uncorked the bottle and took a swig.

  Her knights shouted in protest as Britt swished the fruity liquid around her mouth and tried to place the sweet flavor. She swallowed it and glanced down at Cavall, fondly petting his head. “I assume—if it’s real—it would make me fall in love with the first man I set eyes on, yes?”

  Tristan made a strangled noise of affirmation.

  Britt tugged on her cuirass—the armor piece that encased her torso. One of the leather straps that held it shut had slipped, and the buckle was stabbing her side. “Right. Then Mordred or Gawain, if one of you would oblige me.”

  A chair scraped, and Britt was about to turn in that direction—she thought it was Mordred who stood—when someone grabbed her chin and forced her face up.

  Britt blinked as she stared into Lancelot’s dreamy green eyes. A muscle in her cheek twitched in irritation—of course he would try to make her fall in love with him! Since the reveal of her gender, he had done his best to “seduce” her—which did little besides feed her flames of righteous indignation.

  Rather than yell at him, as she normally would, she waited several long moments to be certain that the drink really was a fake, and not even a short-term love charm. (If it was, she would kill Lancelot the moment it wore off.) As her irritation and rage level didn’t so much as budge, it was safe to assume the drink was harmless.

  Lancelot, unaware of her inner musings, smiled handsomely and reached out to tuck a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear.

  Britt whacked his hand away with a scowl. “Since when is your name Mordred or Gawain?”

  “I was closer,” he pointed out.

  Britt rolled her eyes. “Woe befall my closest knights if I ask them to stand up. Go away.” She poked him in the chest with a finger, prodding until he backed out of her personal space. She then turned to face Tristan. “I hate to break it to you, Tristan, but I think you’ve been duped. That was definitely apple cider.”

  Tristan shook his head. “How could that be? Lady Iseult said it was a love potion!”

  “Then either she was duped as well, or she’s purposely lying so she has an excuse to bat her eyelashes at you.”

  Tristan plopped down in his chair. “What do you mean?” he asked bewilderedly.

  “She might have developed feelings for you and so badly wanted you to return her affection that she lied to you. You are, after all, astoundingly loyal to King Mark. If she hadn’t fed you the line about the potion, I doubt it would have occurred to you to see her romantically.” She set the crystal vial on the Round Table with a tap.

  “Or perhaps she’s an innocent party as well,” she continued. “It’s likely that whoever gave her the drink meant it to be a harmless way to help her feel better about her impending marriage to an unknown man. I know little of the plight of a genteel lady from these times, but based on what I do know, it’s safe to assume she was afraid King Mark wouldn’t like her, and her life would become unpleasant.”

  “My uncle would never treat a lady so shabbily,” Tristan declared.

  Britt ignored the comment and concluded, “I haven’t met the lady in question so I could not say for sure which one it is. I would hope for the latter, but the former may be just as likely.”

  Tristan stared at the vial with a disgruntled expression. “It really is only apple cider?”

  “Do I look overtaken with love for…Lancelot?” Britt spat the knight’s name out with a shiver.

  Tristan frowned, but Lancelot’s cousin, Sir Lionel, hooted. “Nope! You still look at him like he’s a bat or a rodent of the night.”

  A smile tugged on the corners of Britt’s lips. “And there you have it. If it makes you feel any better, it’s very delicious apple cider.” Judging by Tristan’s troubled frown, it wasn’t much of a consolation.

  She glanced around the large chamber at the hundred or so knights who were present and planned her next move. They had nothing more to discuss, and she’d like to spare Tristan any further public display if she could, so she pushed her chair in. “I think we should end our meeting of the Order of the Round Table for now. As much as I long to continue our discussion and revel in our camaraderie, we all have responsibilities to see to.” She smiled, pleased with her announcement. Though she still broke into slang and modern language occasionally, the flowery language most of the knights used was coming to her more naturally these days.

  The knights gathered in clumps as the meeting disbanded. Sir Percival—the son of King Pellinore—and Sir Agravain—Gawain’s little brother—patted Tristan on the back, doing their best to raise his flagging spirits.

  Britt briefly considered joining her favorite trio, Sir Mordred, Sir Gawain, and Sir Kay. However, all three knights were eyeing the crystal vial containing the fake love potion. Judging by the quirk of Kay’s mustache, Britt was willing to bet a lecture about consuming unknown substances was in her future, so she turned her back to them and pretended not to notice.

  Lancelot gave her a smile as smooth as cream and started to approach her again.

  “Nope!” Britt cheerfully said. She walked quickly—Merlin would have probably complained it was an unkingly pace—aiming for the giant doors that led out of the hall.

  She successfully slipped out before Lancelot could catch her, almost bowling over Guinevere.

  “Good day, Arthur!” Guinevere said in her sing-song voice. Her reddish-blonde hair glowed in the torchlight, and her smile was sappy but genuine.

  Guinevere was the daughter of King Leodegrance, one of Britt’s allies. While the old king was not unkind, he had made it clear he saw Guinevere’s future marriage as a bargaining chip and was not opposed to wedding her to a less-than-savory character if it meant saving himself.

  As a result, Britt had begrudgingly invited the silly girl to Camelot, even though she had long loathed Guinevere almost as much as she disliked Lancelot.

  “Good day to you, Guinevere. I hope you weren’t waiting for me too long,” Britt said.

  “Not at all! Besides, I knew if I didn’t catch you now, I would be unlikely to get a moment with you all day. Sir Kay said today you are holding meetings to discuss what castle construction and expansion you will make when spring comes again!” Guinevere latched on to Britt’s arm and leaned into her.

  Britt, tipped off by Guinevere’s clinginess, glanced down the hallway and caught sight of Vivien.

  Though Britt initially had little patience for Guinevere when she first arrived, the young girl had become a great boon. She was one of a small handful of ladies who knew Britt’s real
gender, and she happily played the role of romantic interest for Britt to keep the general population assured, and also to keep females clear. One of those females was the wildcat Merlin was forced to moon over, Vivien.

  Britt nodded to Vivien, who wore a magnificent velvet dress and jewels woven through her hair, but kept her attention on Guinevere. “I am honored you would take the trouble to learn my schedule,” she said.

  “Of course!” Guinevere chirped. “When do you think you will hold the feast for Sir Tristan, welcoming his return to the Round Table?”

  Britt cringed. “I’m not certain…he probably doesn’t much feel like celebrating at this moment.”

  “Why-ever not?” Guinevere asked with wide eyes.

  Britt set a hand on Excalibur’s hilt and considered her words.

  “Merlin! I have so languished without you,” Vivien proclaimed.

  Against her will, Britt turned to watch the vile maiden greet Merlin.

  Vivien’s smile was victorious as she clasped hands with Merlin and leaned into his chest.

  He chuckled and smiled down at her, making Britt’s heart crack. “And I have missed you.”

  “Will you not stay with me for the rest of the day?” Vivien asked, her voice sickeningly sweet.

  “If you wish it, I shall command it!” Merlin said.

  Though she knew it was an act, a pang pierced Britt’s chest like an arrow.

  “Arthur?” Guinevere squeezed her hand, then smiled when Britt met her gaze. “Can we walk?”

  “Yes, yes! Was there something you wished to discuss?” Britt forcibly turned her back to Vivien and Merlin, and she started walking arm-in-arm with Guinevere. She winced when Vivien’s tinkling laugh nipped at her heels as she and Merlin fell in line behind them.

  “Blancheflor, Clarine, and I ventured outside Camelot yesterday. The weather is finally settling, it was not quite so windy!” Guinevere chattered.

  “I see,” Britt said.

  Behind them Vivien giggled. “Oh, Merlin. You are so handsome and so talented!”

  “I am, aren’t I?” Merlin said.

  Britt realized she was clenching her teeth and forced herself to relax her jaw. “Did you ride or walk?”

  “We walked. But I wanted to speak to you…”

  Britt was only half listening as she tried to block out Merlin’s and Vivien’s conversation. “Hmm?”

  “I’ve been outside Camelot several times this winter, and whenever I venture past the walls, I feel…watched,” Guinevere said.

  Britt honed in on Guinevere’s words. “What?”

  “My friends and I have heard horses in the woods, and Blancheflor even saw a man once. It feels unsafe.”

  Britt mulled over her words. Men in the woods? Who would be so stupid to lurk so close to Camelot? Due to the knightly practice of questing, most recreant knights had been cleared from the surrounding area.

  Guinevere looked up at Britt with wide eyes. “I do not mean to burden you or bother you. Please, forget my words.”

  Britt winced again, this time bothered by guilt. When Guinevere had initially arrived, Britt had very little patience for her and did her best to avoid her at all costs. Her conscience had been bothering her about it ever since Guinevere happily consented to their act.

  “No, I believe you,” Britt said. “I’ll speak to Kay about it and see to it that something is done.”

  Guinevere’s slight frown was transformed into a bright smile. “Thank you, Arthur!” She hugged Britt’s arm. Judging by the deepness of her sigh, the issue had probably been bothering her for a while.

  Britt absentmindedly patted Guinevere on the hand, mentally adding the teenager’s worry to her list of things to discuss with Kay.

  Behind her, Merlin and Vivien laughed, an audible reminder that she couldn’t turn to Merlin for help as she usually would. (Though Kay would probably fill the wizard in later.)

  “Men in the woods?” Sir Kay asked.

  “That’s what she said.” Britt sat on a padded chair, crossing her legs at the ankles in as manly a fashion as she could. “She was pretty upset about it.”

  Sir Bodwain, Britt’s constable, tapped his craggy nose. “Has anyone else received similar reports?”

  The other men, Sir Ulfius—her chamberlain—and Sir Bedivere—her marshal—shook their heads.

  “The commoners have not reported any problems, nor have the farmers,” Sir Bedivere said.

  Sir Kay smoothed his mustache. “The guards have not witnessed anything unusual, but they’ve only been out on their customary rotations.”

  “Perhaps it is a black-hearted man seeking out fair maidens, or perhaps even a faerie,” Sir Bedivere speculated.

  Sir Ulfius snorted. “Not likely. No faerie would bother us as our lands border the Lady of the Lake’s, and she is the most powerful faerie in the area. And it would take a new brand of fool to drool over the women of Camelot from the shadows. Knights come and go at all hours of the day, exercising their horses, hunting, and training.”

  “I agree.” Britt stared at the glowing coals of the cheerful fire that crackled in the fireplace. “I doubt there is such an intruder, but I want to take Guinevere’s worry seriously. She’s done a lot for me.”

  “I’ll have the forest searched,” Kay said.

  Britt offered her foster-brother a smile. “Thank you, Kay. I’ll mention it to some of the knights. They’re starting to get rowdy after being stuck indoors for so long.”

  “They can earn their keep,” Kay grunted. (Kay was somewhat famous for agonizing over the upkeep the knights cost Britt and was always happy to put them to use.)

  “But what if whoever or whatever this shadowy figure is, is only after females?” Sir Bedivere asked.

  “You mean because only women have seen any signs of it?” Sir Ulfius asked. “I wouldn’t put much stock in it. You said so yourself none of the commoners have reported anything. There are plenty of commoner women who venture outside of Camelot during the day.”

  “Bedivere has a point, though,” Britt said. “Yes, there haven’t been many witnesses, but they’re all female.”

  “Send Morgan out,” Sir Bodwain suggested.

  Kay frowned. “Why?”

  “She is of the female persuasion, and she could blast any man who dares lay a hand on her,” Sir Bodwain said.

  “We would be poor hosts to ask our guest to risk her life,” Kay said.

  Britt raised an eyebrow, taking in his unusual interest in Morgan. Since summer, she had idly wondered if Kay felt more for the sorceress than he let on. She was beginning to suspect she was correct.

  Sir Ulfius, on the other hand, was not bothered by Kay’s darkening eyes. “It’s hardly risking her life,” he said. “All she will have to do is stand in the meadow.”

  Kay’s brows lowered alarmingly, so Britt intervened. “I would prefer not to ask Morgan for help. First, because she is gone visiting one of her sisters and won’t return for two weeks. Second, because it is well within our means to take care of this ourselves.”

  Kay nodded.

  Sir Bodwain picked up a goblet of cider. “Whom, then, do you suggest we use?”

  Britt smiled. “Myself, of course.”

  “No,” Sir Kay said with a chopping motion.

  “My Lord, you couldn’t possibly put yourself in such danger,” Sir Bedivere protested.

  “It wouldn’t be wise,” Sir Ulfius added.

  “And Merlin would have our heads.” Sir Bodwain eyed the empty wooden chair that Merlin, before he had to dance attendance on Vivien, used to frequently occupy.

  “Did we not agree that there is no proof of any threat?” Britt asked coaxingly.

  The knights exchanged looks.

  “Yes,” Sir Ulfius grudgingly said.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Kay insisted.

  “I’ll be just outside Camelot,” Britt said.

  “You were just outside Camelot when Sir Damas kidnapped you last summer,” Kay said.

  “Y
es, but that was an unusual circumstance,” Britt said. She was quick to add, “and if you want to be angry at anyone over that event, Lancelot is the guy who deserves it.”

  Sir Bodwain pinched his eyes shut. “My Lord.”

  “He stabbed me. After I had already won the match!”

  Sir Ulfius shifted in his chair and looked pained. “I suppose I could procure feminine clothes for you to wear—for you must leave Camelot in disguise. We wouldn’t want anyone to recognize you.”

  She brightened. “Then I can do it?”

  The three knights looked to Kay, who scowled. “I don’t like it.”

  “The guards and knights can clear the forest first,” Britt offered.

  Kay sighed. “Very well. But I want a week for the knights and guards to search the surrounding area.”

  Britt, elated she had actually won for once, smiled broadly. “Of course! Though an entire week seems a bit overkill.”

  Sir Bedivere tilted his head. “Overkill?”

  “Umm…overly protective.”

  “Considering the threat is probably nonexistent, yes,” Sir Bodwain rumbled. “But it’s just as well. It will make Merlin feel better.”

  “You’ll tell him our plans?” Sir Bedivere asked.

  “Of course,” Sir Bodwain said.

  Sir Ulfius took a slug of his drink. “I don’t envy you.”

  “He has a week to adjust to the idea. I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Britt said. The rest of the knights looked unconvinced, so Britt thought it would be prudent to move on. “What is the next order of business?”

  “Merlin wishes for us to discuss the threat from Rome,” Sir Bodwain said.

  Britt groaned. “Not again!”

  “His fears are well founded,” Sir Ulfius said. “Rome has frequently been a disease on our lands.”

  Britt was tempted to roll her eyes, but she kept her disdain to herself and forced herself to listen to her knights as they meticulously reviewed the case for expanding her kingdom.

  Chapter 2

  The Return of Duke Maleagant