Endings (King Arthurs and Her Knights Book 7)

by K. M. Shea

  “Indeed.” Vivien smiled and shifted her hold on his arm. She chattered on, but Merlin only half listened.

  It took every scrap of his self-control to keep from shaking Vivien off and demanding that the search party leave that instant.

  Britt.

  His heart beat her name. He had fallen for her in a million ways without his knowing—or her knowledge. It was the moments like this—when she was gone and he feared for her safety—that he felt the true depths of it.

  “Merlin, are you listening?” Vivien asked.

  “Of course,” Merlin said. “I was merely awed by your beauty and charm.”

  Vivien giggled.

  A half sigh leaked out of Merlin, as he made himself concentrate. It would do no good to be wistful in a time like this. They needed to move…for who knew what sort of scrape Britt was in.

  Britt folded her arms across her chest and stared at the door of her makeshift prison cell.

  Yesterday, after being kidnapped, she’d woken up on the saddle of the knight in the black armor riding his red roan horse. She fought him, kicking and elbowing him—she would’ve bitten him if he wasn’t wearing armor—with such exuberance that the knight gagged her, tied her up, and tossed her in the back of a wooden cart. They arrived at an unknown castle shortly after sunset, and Britt had been unceremoniously dragged up a tower and stuffed into a small bedroom.

  She was locked in, and no one had visited her since dumping her on the straw mattress the night before.

  Britt’s stomach growled, and she rubbed her arms as a light breeze from the small window chilled the air. She scowled at the door, then edged towards the window and peered outside. Her tower bedroom was only on the second floor, but even though Britt suspected she could have safely jumped from the window without breaking anything, it was no use. The window was too small for her to fit her shoulders through—she’d already tried. Outside the courtyard was abuzz with activity, like a child’s ant farm. Guards and commoners alike swarmed the area, going about their daily business as she watched longingly.

  She leaned against the stone wall, resting her forehead on the cold rock. “It’s safe to assume they believe I am a lady, not a king in disguise, or I don’t think they would’ve put me in a bedroom.”

  The last time Britt had been kidnapped, she’d woken up in a dungeon. The bedroom, though small and unadorned, was a significant upgrade from the dank prison cell. It was a great encouragement, for Britt would much rather they underestimate her and remain ignorant of her role in medieval England than understand exactly who they had in their clutches.

  But the whole experience was rather alarming. “I feel like I was targeted, but I don’t think it’s because I’m Arthur.” She turned away from the window and scowled at the door again. “But who would go around kidnapping ladies from Camelot?”

  The black armored knight’s unconfirmed identity ate away at her. She vaguely recalled seeing similar armor, and a red roan horse, but she couldn’t place where…

  As if on cue, the black knight flung open the door and strode inside. He closed the door behind him and stood between it and Britt, cutting off her only exit. “Guinevere, I assume?”

  Britt blinked, surprised anyone would mistake her for Guinevere. (Not only was Guinevere’s hair more of a red gold, and Britt’s a true blonde, but Britt had several inches on her, not to mention pounds of muscle the dainty princess lacked.) But, it was likely in her best interest to play along, so she tilted her head and asked, “And whom am I addressing?”

  The knight removed his helm, revealing dark, narrow eyes and dirty blonde hair. “It is I, Duke Maleagant.” He smiled so sharply, it was more of a leering grimace.

  Duke Maleagant. Combining his name with the memory of his armor and unusually colored horse, Britt finally recalled the circumstances of meeting the unpleasant man. Duke Maleagant was the rogue noble who had attacked King Leodegrance and demanded Guinevere’s hand in marriage. Britt, acting as Guinevere’s champion, had defeated him twice before running him off Leodegrance’s lands.

  Britt growled. “You.”

  Maleagant’s smile turned into a smirk. “Yes, me.” He squinted at her. “But you really are Guinevere?”

  The question caught Britt off guard. She would’ve thought that Maleagant, having demanded Guinevere’s hand in marriage, would have known she was not the beautiful princess. It seemed, however, that luck was on her side. Copying a gesture she had seen Guinevere perform multiple times, Britt placed her hand over her heart. “How can you fail to recognize me? Don’t you recall? You saw me when you invaded my father’s lands.”

  Maleagant shrugged. “I do not waste my time on silly girls.”

  “You wanted to marry me!” Britt squawked.

  “I wanted your lands that come with you as a dowry,” Maleagant corrected. He sneered, an upper lip curling. “You mean nothing to me.”

  “If that is so, why have you kidnapped me?” Britt moved to put the bed between them as she eyed the unpleasant man.

  “Because you are Arthur’s love. I have a score to settle with your wretchedly righteous king.” Maleagant’s smile made its second appearance. “With you in my clutches, he will not fail to come to my lands.”

  Britt tugged on the end of the braid in which her hair was secured. “You seem to mistakenly think he would come here alone. Don’t you know that by kidnapping me, you will have brought the wrath of Camelot down upon you?”

  The statement was truer than Maleagant knew. Britt was certain that Kay and Merlin were amassing an army to bring her back home.

  Maleagant hooked his thumbs on his sword belt. “It does not matter how many men Arthur brings with him. My fight with him is a matter of honor, a battle between two men.”

  He’s probably still ticked about being beaten at Camelgrance. Sore loser. “What makes you so sure Arthur will agree to fight you again? He’s already beaten you twice. There’s no need for him to prove his superiority to you a third time.”

  The verbal blows seem to needle Maleagant, as she had intended. He growled under his breath, then snarled at her. “He is not my superior. And if he loves you as much as it is claimed, he will fight. Or I will marry you.”

  The threat did more to cow Britt than he could have known. “You still seek after my lands?” They were Guinevere’s lands, really, but she might as well play the part if she was going to let them think she was the princess anyway.

  Maleagant meticulously smoothed his hair. “Of course. After my honor, my main concern is expanding my kingdom.”

  Britt blinked. “But you’re a duke, not a king.”

  Maleagant angrily frowned, his dark eyebrows furrowing into a tight V shape. “Arthur must be a spineless mongrel of a man if he is so deeply in love with you—a shrew with the tongue of a snake.”

  “He still beat you in combat, twice,” Britt reminded him.

  She regretted her words when Maleagant drew his sword from its scabbard and chopped down on the wooden bed frame. His shoulders heaved with anger, and he seethed. “You are lucky I need you alive to lure in Arthur. But remember...I will beat him and be the victor in this final battle. Then you will become my bride. You would do well to mind your tongue, if you wish for our marriage to be a pleasant one.”

  Maleagant swept from the room, slamming the door shut behind him and locking it before Britt could react.

  She listened to his footsteps stomp down the hallway and shivered. Lesson learned. I probably shouldn’t push him again until I’m out of his reach or confront him as Arthur.

  Still, his visit had somewhat heartened her. If he didn’t plan to do anything until “Arthur” showed up, as long as she didn’t run her mouth too much, she’d be safe. All she had to do was wait to be rescued by her knights.

  The thought didn’t sit too well with Britt—she hated to sit around and wait for help when she was capable of doing something herself—so she was still stewing over her options when a male servant opened the door and put a tray of food on
a small end table. He didn’t even glance at her or seem concerned that she might bolt from the room while his back was to her.

  Britt waited until he left before she snatched a hard roll off the tray and began sampling the dishes. So, they don’t see me as a threat, do they? Then this damsel should be able to cause some serious distress…

  Merlin stroked the sleek, glossy shell of the strange machine Britt called an iPod. She’d given Merlin the apparatus many seasons ago, and though Merlin had spent hours studying it, he found it as confounding as its previous owner.

  Still, he found reassurance in clenching it as he stared at the backs of his horse’s ears and followed the knights leading the way.

  I wonder if Britt could tell me what strange materials were used to make this contraption.

  Merlin’s thoughts were interrupted when Ywain turned his horse in a circle and announced, “I’m going to part ways with you all for a bit. We’re so close to my lands, I feel I should stop and check in with Laudine.”

  Merlin adjusted his hold on his reins and eyed the young knight. “Do you care to share why you fought, fussed, and kicked up a mess to make sure you were included in this group, only to abandon us before we reach our goal?”

  “I would never abandon My Lord!” Ywain said indignantly. “Actually, I’m stopping only because Britt instructed me to. It’s been some weeks since I’ve seen my wife, and My Lord suggested I return home to make sure all is well. Laudine is quite skilled at running the lands, so I am certain it will be a short stop.”

  “Of course it will,” Merlin griped.

  Ywain didn’t seem to hear him as he turned his charger in another circle.

  “Safe travels,” Percival said. “May all be right with your home.”

  “I’m certain it is. I will catch up with you all before you reach the blackguard who has kidnapped our king!” Ywain departed, nudging his horse off the path and charging into the woods. He raised his hand in farewell and swiftly disappeared into the trees.

  Gawain watched his cousin go before returning his attention to his conversation with Kay. “You believe we will find her soon?”

  “We are close to their camp, if not the place in which they are holding her.” Kay smoothed his mustache as he considered the dirt road on which they traveled. “Based upon the time at which they left yesterday, I believe they would’ve run out of sunlight at this point in their travels.”

  “Can you be certain?” Percival directed his horse so it walked shoulder-to-shoulder with Gawain’s. “We don’t know how fast they were traveling.”

  “Ahhh, but we do.” Merlin smiled wryly. “If you recall, Lancelot found tracks that indicated whoever kidnapped Britt eventually joined this road with a cart. As carts are not made for speed, it is safe to assume they were not able to move much faster than a quick walk or trot.”

  Gawain stroked his horse’s glossy neck. “Using that logic, wouldn’t the cart indicate they were bound for a destination, not a camp?”

  “That is certainly my hope,” Merlin said, “for it would mean she cannot be too far.”

  The conversation reached its natural conclusion when the sound of pounding horse hooves drew the party’s attention. Up ahead, Lancelot and Mordred thundered down the road on the backs of their warhorses.

  “Trouble!” Lancelot shouted. “Trouble, ahead.”

  Kay’s hand strayed to his sword. “What sort of trouble?”

  Mordred halted his horse, which pawed at the ground. “The sort that wears uniforms and carries weapons,” he said grimly.

  “Soldiers?” Gawain asked.

  Lancelot and Mordred nodded.

  Merlin tucked Britt’s iPod into a pocket of his tunic. “Show us.”

  It was just as they promised. Not a mile up the road—and a short ride off the trail—soldiers swarmed a meadow. The orange and green banding of their uniforms made them look like pox marks dotting the area. Several flags fluttered in the wind, declaring their allegiance.

  Gawain peered around a tree trunk. “Those are King Ryence’s colors and coat of arms.”

  “Perhaps,” Merlin said, “but those are not British soldiers.” He squinted, making out the short, squarish shapes of the swords the soldiers carried. The breeze carried some of the guards’ shouts to his ears. Recognizing the foreign tongue in which they spoke, dread hit Merlin like a hammer. “Those are Roman centurions.”

  Kay sucked air in between clenched teeth. “You are certain?”

  Merlin shifted from a crouch to a kneeling position. “I’d stake my life on it.”

  “Perhaps our little king is in more trouble than we initially estimated,” Lancelot said.

  “Or perhaps the soldiers are unrelated to Britt’s kidnapping,” Mordred said.

  Merlin tore his gaze from the blot the soldiers made on the landscape and raised an eyebrow at the young knight. “What makes you say that?”

  “Because we are about to enter King Bagdemagus’s lands, and though he is not allied to Camelot, he is famous for his hatred of foreigner legions.”

  Gawain straightened, alarmed by the realization. “King Bagdemagus? Is he not the father of Duke Maleagant, the, the…”

  Merlin rubbed his chin. “The rogue Britt beat to save King Leodegrance, Guinevere, and Camelgrance? Yes, that would be him. Come, it would be wisest if we didn’t pause to discuss the dangers of this new revelation this close to the enemy.”

  Merlin and the knights, hidden by the underbrush of the forest, stole their way back near the road, where Percival waited with their mounts.

  “Was it an army?” Percival asked.

  “Yes.” Merlin took the reins to his long-legged gelding. “A Roman one.”

  Percival swore under his breath and shook his head. “This is an awful time for our king to be missing.”

  “Awful and dangerous,” Kay said as he swung up into the saddle.

  Gawain offered Percival a wan smile. “I hope your watch was an uneventful one?”

  Percival handed off the last horse, a flighty dapple gray, to Lancelot. “Yes, though I believe I heard something that might encourage us all.”

  “And what might that be?” Mordred asked.

  Percival brandished a finger in the air. “A cart.”

  “What are we waiting for?” Lancelot demanded. “That may be the very same cart that transported our dear king. After it!” He kneed his horse, who took off down the road in a great blur.

  The other knights hurried after him, but Merlin took a moment to gather his reins before following. “I’m beginning to see why Britt is always so eager to kick him out of Camelot.”

  It took only a few minutes to catch up with the cart, which was a large vehicle of conveyance made with rough, rickety boards that were dubiously nailed together. When Kay confirmed that it was the approximate size of the cart that may have carried Britt to her destination, Lancelot lost no time in prancing up to the farmer driving it and smiling.

  “Greetings to you, good man. On the day of yesterday, did you happen to take on a passenger? A beautiful young lady, by perchance?”

  The farmer, a swarthy fellow who looked old enough to be Lancelot’s grandfather, frowned. “What?” He shouted above the rumblings of the cart.

  Lancelot, his smile still in place, spoke louder. “Last night did you transport a young lady?”

  “What?” the farmer shouted again.

  Lancelot yelled in return. “Last night! Young lady! Did she ride in your cart?”

  The farmer shook his head. “I can’t hear a thing over this cart. If you want to gab, you’ll need to hop on.”

  The fashionable knight gaped at the farmer in horror, but rallied enough air to his lungs to shout, “Can you not pull over?”

  The farmer shook his head. “Fraid not. I’ve got to get this hay to Gorre, and I won’t make it tonight if I stop.”

  Lancelot almost recoiled in horror and balked at the farmer’s refusal. “I-I…” he stammered.

  Merlin rolled his eyes. The
Romans can invade, and King Arthur herself can go missing, but God forbid Lancelot lower himself to the dishonor of riding in a cart.

  All the other knights were already moving to dismount their horses, but Merlin was the fastest. He popped off his slender gelding, tossed the reins to Kay, and hopped up in the cart before Lancelot had the chance to look ashamed.

  “Good day to you, master farmer,” Merlin began. “Can you tell me, were you in these parts yesterday?”

  The farmer nodded and adjusted his scarf and cloak. “Sure was. This area is short on hay. I’ve been driving it in every day from other lands.”

  “Did you happen to see a young lady clothed in a blue dress? She was likely in the company of a knight,” Merlin said.

  The farmer draped his reins so they brushed the rumps of the furry mules that pulled the cart. “Indeed, I have. I saw such a lady traveling with Duke Maleagant. He had me cart her back to his father’s castle.”

  Merlin almost stooped with relief. “Did she look well?”

  The farmer considered the sky. “Well enough, though she must’ve fought like a bear. He had her trussed up, and he warned me she scratched. And kicked.”

  His relief swiftly turning into glee, Merlin smiled broadly. If Britt felt well enough to put up a fight, she was likely doing just fine. “Are you certain she remained at Duke Maleagant’s castle?”

  The farmer leaned close so he didn’t have to shout over the rumblings of the cart. “Can just about guarantee it!”

  “Excellent!” Merlin clasped the farmer on the shoulder. “Thank you for your assistance. I wish you well on your excursion.”

  The farmer shrugged as Merlin hopped out of the cart and swiftly mounted his horse again.

  “Well?” Percival asked.

  “It seems this is all Duke Maleagant’s work,” Merlin said.

  “Then we must be nearly at the end of our journey,” Gawain said. “For his lands aren’t far from here.”

  Kay nodded in agreement.

  “What are we waiting for? “Lancelot asked. “We must charge forward, for our king!” Once again, he heeled his horse into a canter, quickly overtaking the farmer and his cart, and galloping down the road.