A slight sag brought down the edges of his smile. "Not for me, but for those I protect."
"And why not you?"
“I do not deserve such a life.”
The remorse in his tone told me a long ago hurt lay beneath his answer.
Lancelot straightened and maneuvered to my side. He reached over, placing his hand atop my own and guided the brush to Clover's mane, helping me stroke the thick salt and pepper-colored hairs. The knight's skin on mine warmed my entire body.
As we progressed from mane to back and continued to run the brush over the stallion’s side, Clover let out a lazy moan that lasted for several breaths.
I giggled, and Lancelot laughed with me.
"So Clover has won your heart; you don't look afraid of horses anymore."
"Oh, it's no longer horses I'm afraid of."
Our eyes met again, and a spark of heat ignited between us.
"What do you fear then?"
Our faces hovered close to one another.
"I fear you'll never claim happiness for yourself, choosing to bury your own needs under other peoples’ wants for the rest of your life. Everyone deserves love and happiness, Lancelot." My familiar use of his name sounded soothing to my ears even though I realized I crossed a boundary with the use of it.
"I gave up that privilege a long time ago, Guinevere.”
His return usage of my familiar name caused my chest to quiver.
“My sister should have prospered had I not failed to protect her. With my immediate family gone, I give my service to others in hopes they may find peace and happiness, thus Clover's name."
"That's why you fight for Arthur."
It wasn’t a question, but a realization. His reasons for service were seeded as deep as my own. An overwhelming rush of compassion for him flooded me, and I fought the desire to reach toward his face and caress his cheek.
Aethelwine shifted on my shoulder. His movement reminded me of how inappropriate my proximity to Lancelot had become. I needed to find the strength to leave before I acted on my growing urges; they prompted me to drive this newfound closeness to a more intimate destination—one I knew neither of us could risk.
I handed the brush back to Lancelot.
"I should go."
"Where?"
"I need to…" I couldn't admit I must run from him before I did something entirely ill-conceived, so I said, "Go to the creek."
"I will accompany you."
"No!" My heart hammered. I wanted his company. I wanted to fight my logical mind that kept telling me I was betrothed and represented a long line of noble blood, but I had to remind myself—this man was off limits. I backed up and started to turn.
"I must. I am your escort."
"Yes, but—"
"It's my duty to see you unharmed," he persisted.
"But I need to be alone." I took a few more steps away from him.
"Do not fret, I will allow you privacy to speak with your cousin."
"Elibel?" Confusion swamped me until I realized my excuse to approach him had been to find my cousin.
"I know her behavior has caused you grief."
He noticed? Here I had thought he overlooked me, and yet he detected the subtle strain developing between Elibel and me.
“Have you spoken with her about what ails her?”
“She doesn’t seem to want to talk.”
“I see,” he said. “To heal a relationship, one requires the truth on both sides of the situation. If she doesn’t want to tell you, then the burden is on her. You’ve done your best to do what you thought was right for her, Guinevere. Ease your mind that you’ve done what you could until she decides to tell you her troubles.”
No one had ever discerned my situation like Lancelot just had. All my rationalities and status-imposed restraints left me. I placed Aethelwine on a nearby tree branch. My legs pumped into a quick gait as I closed the short distance between us. He caught me around the waist as I forced my way into his grip.
I stared up at him, my eyes searching—seeking—his own. A light fired in his eyes, and I thought his emotions ran as passionately as mine. His hands tightened around me—broad, gentle hands—hands I longed to feel upon me. Every bit of my skin ignited at his touch.
His tenderness made me want to weep, not because of our inappropriateness, but because, for once, someone had recognized my pain and reached out to sooth it. My entire body loosened at his proximity, and I pressed into him, my mouth brazenly seeking his.
Unlike my kiss with Arthur, there was no hesitation. I hungrily sought him; my mouth parted. He pursued me, matching my appetite for him with cravings of his own. I spiraled into passion—thirsting for him, desiring him to consume me. His arms tightened around me, kneading my back and squeezing me close. I responded with the same fervor as if neither of us could get close enough to the other. My chest pressed against his. Our hearts hammered in rhythm. My entire body combusted as if flames burned in every private place.
Then he pulled away. His eyes filled with disbelief. "Forgive me."
The heat still rushed me, and I wanted to reach out and pull him back, but the shock in his stare kept me from acting on the impulse.
"I never meant to lose control." He reeled backwards as if our act was an abomination.
I sucked in a breath, trying to catch the spiral of emotions threatening to break.
As he staggered away, I fought for words. Nothing came but a pang of rejection.
"This can never be," he whispered, his speech faltering.
Then Sir Lancelot stumbled out of my sight, into the blanket of the night.
I sat there, heaving in deep breaths, until tears leaked down my face—tears of embarrassment and humiliation, but mostly of hatred for my momentary loss of control.
Suddenly, a cawing noise came from overhead. When I looked up, I spotted a raven sitting on a branch and stifled my sobs.
"Morgaine?" I asked.
But the raven flew off at my question. Perhaps, there was no raven present—only my surging guilt fueling a hallucination.
Aethelwine squawked from his perch. I forced my limbs to carry me back to him. He hopped onto my arm and climbed to my shoulder, nestling his beak in my hair. His concern caused another wave of sobs before I managed to stifle my outburst.
Then I cleaned my face with the back of my hand, straightened and pushed one foot in front of the other until I made my way back to the campsite. Father’s words, Promise not to disappoint me, haunted each and every step, and I swore to myself that I would be stronger from now on.
Chapter 5
"Arise, Lady Guinevere."
My eyes burned from the restless sleep the carriage provided; Lancelot had insisted upon riding straight through after our first and only overnight stop. The bumpy road kept my head thumping against the leather seat whenever I tried to doze, and I remained mostly alone during daylight hours.
I had wanted to talk to Elibel, and tell her what had happened, but I was too ashamed. Plus, her general avoidance of me told me she needed her distance, and with the recent turn of events, I needed time to get my thoughts straight, too. My emotions were raw from both Lancelot’s rejection and my shame over throwing myself at him like a presumptuous chit. Consequently, any conversations between my cousin and me remained infrequent over the journey as she stayed, for the most part, in the company of the horseback riding soldiers.
Lancelot evaded me as well, which brought the occasional sting of tears to my eyes. I sucked those down with the determination that we would arrive at Camelot soon, and I would be married, and none of what happened between us would matter. But I knew that was a lie—what happened would never stop mattering. Ever.
Aethelwine and my harp had been my only constant traveling companions. Exhaustion, or perhaps loneliness, had finally taken me late the night before, allowing me to nod off.
I awoke with my cheek pressed against the seat, a river of drool escaping my open mouth, and the brightest beam of sunlight, seemin
g straight from the lands of fey, streaming through the carriage doorway to accost my sleep-ridden eyes. Pushing myself upright, I wiped my lips, and squinted at the figure standing in the door frame.
The figure jostled me with a hand on my leg.
"You must prepare, My Lady."
"Elibel?" My voice garbled with morning lethargy and too much saliva.
"We have arrived, Lady Guinevere."
My vision cleared; the figure was indeed my cousin. Her tone sounded more mannerly than usual, which was quite a feat for a woman of flawless enunciation, and I realized a few strangers stood behind her. The women giggled and covered their mouths at the sight of me. Apparently, my salivating and unladylike appearance made quite the impression.
Elibel caught my gaze, scrunching her eyebrows in slight warning. "King Arthur sent ladies in waiting to help you prepare for your arrival to Camelot."
I sat motionless, trying to orient myself until my cousin took my hand and guided me from the carriage, as if I were an invalid—as if I couldn't outrun her in a full-on race. I would have been annoyed had I not been so famished for her attentions, so I allowed the action without a fuss.
No doubt Elibel's conduct doubled in proper etiquette with Arthur's ladies examining her every move. They curtsied with flawless perfection as I exited, spreading generous folds of their satin gowns over the ground as they did—each dress far more fashionable than anything my cousin owned, or I did, for that matter.
If Elibel noticed her inferior attire, she made no indication. In fact, she glowed with sheer beauty as if she rose before dawn and groomed herself for hours. She had let loose her braid and a cascade of dark ringlets sprung down her back. Her cheeks shone with a delicate peach tone, and her already wide eyes seemed accentuated by the generous frame of her curls. She donned her best gown—a purple overdress with silver lacing down the arms, paired with a flowing lace underskirt. The hue of the gown contrasted the hazel color of her eyes, enhancing them; I felt like a toad in her presence.
With all the grace of a queen, Elibel introduced my new ladies.
"Rhosyn, Crystin, and Aerona, all from the Kingdom of Ceredig, one of King Arthur's strongest allies. Rhosyn is King Ceredig's niece and Crystin and Aerona are King Ceredig’s cousins on his mother's side."
Each woman curtsied with the proper amount of respectability, giving me a moment to memorize them. As cousins they bore a resemblance to one another in coloring and stature—all golden-haired, all well-formed, but each exhibited a specific characteristic I could glean.
Aerona spoke first, "A pleasure, My Lady. I am pleased to make your acquaintance." Her lips and cheeks matched in color—bright berry red—and her features were rounded, giving her an almost child-like appearance.
"By the grace of Mary, Joseph and Jesu, I am honored to be in your service." Crystin curtsied deeply and stared at the ground when she spoke. A bejeweled Christian cross dangled from the chain belt hung loosely around her waist.
Rhosyn, by far the most beautiful of the three with comely features and startling blue eyes, said, "Delighted," with a tad too much disdain to find her statement believable. I thought her beauty marred with a thorny attitude.
As they made their introductions, my gaze swept the perimeter, compulsively searching for Sir Lancelot, but as usual, I found him absent. Until Elibel pinched me. Hard.
My cousin turned into me, hushing her voice for my ears alone, "Behave, My Lady. They dissect you like a festival day hen."
Elibel led me into a tent where a bath awaited. The ladies treated me like a rag doll as they pulled off my dress; Aerona and Crystin proceeded to sit me in the tepid water, then scrub my back as if, along with the travel grime, my skin needed removing, while Rhosyn poured in scalding water. Though her face seemed docile enough, a wicked smile appeared each time I jumped with the new addition of burning water, and she'd smile and say, "The heat is needed to loosen the dirt, My Lady."
The scent of the bath was pleasant enough—perfumed with dried wild rose petals—but my thoughts soured. Lancelot's rejection—the shock in his eyes—still burned within, yet I sat in a rose scented bath, preparing for my husband-to-be. For the first moment, I considered what happened after our marriage. I would be expected to perform wifely duties—womanly duties. Had it been Lancelot, my anxiety would be laced with longing and expectation, but with Arthur? I cringed.
When I was dressed in my finest silks, hair strung with pearls and sapphires, and my crown upon my head, we departed from the tent and started the processional towards Camelot.
"Wait!" I yelled. "Where's Aethelwine?"
"Still in the carriage, My Lady," replied Elibel.
"I must fetch him." I started to hike up my skirts, but Elibel grabbed my elbow, holding me back. Rhosyn turned around, managing to smile and scowl at the same time.
"It would not be proper," Elibel whispered.
"But I can't leave him."
Then my body heated, and I knew Lancelot neared. I swiveled and caught sight of him riding up, atop Clover. His armor shone in the morning light and blinded me for a few breaths. Aethelwine sat on his hand, blinking in my direction. "No fear, Lady Guinevere, I will mind Aethelwine while you join your king."
I thought I detected emphasis on the words "join your king" but with Sir Lancelot, it was hard to tell, especially since his words had become more cloaked since our kiss.
Turning, I continued to walk. Elibel tore away from me as if to join the other ladies who strolled ahead of us. I coaxed her back by her sleeve; she stiffened as I pulled her nearer.
"I know some upset has captured you, Cousin. But please know that I am here for you if ever you wish to discuss the matter."
She didn't acknowledge me, keeping her concentration on the walk ahead.
As we cleared our campsite, Camelot spread before us. The city sprawled alongside a river; a massive stone bridge acted as an entrance to the towering walls encircling hundreds upon hundreds of buildings and streets. Spires and church steeples jutted from the wall line as if to touch the sky; it dwarfed Camelaird in comparison. The sheer mass and opulence of Camelot overwhelmed me. Though I possessed the legitimacy to an ancient right for kingship that Arthur desired, Arthur's riches and power were far beyond any I could have fathomed. Elibel’s bard was correct in his praises, and I wondered what that meant about his accuracy of Arthur. Why couldn’t I see him the way others did? My life would ease in complications if only I could.
Our procession led us across the bridge where a regiment of knights awaited, forming a double line facing one another. Ordinary folk waited at the other side, climbing scaffolding or leaning over the edges of the turrets, vying for a view. A proliferation of flags adorned with Arthur’s signet of the dragon and the cross flew from the walls and standards. As we approached, the knights’ swords crossed, clanking in the air to form a tunnel for us to proceed down.
I pulled Elibel in tighter to me. I wanted to beg her to tell me what nagged at her heart, and assure her I would do my best to help fix it. But the enormity of the moment, of marrying a king—a man I didn't love—my longing for another, and of performing not only a queen's duty, but a wife's, overtook me.
My voice shrank. I whispered to my cousin, "I am frightened."
Her huge eyes turned on me, softening. "There is nothing to fear, Guin. Soon you will be Queen."
Elibel slid away from me, joining the other ladies. Lancelot dismounted with Aethelwine and led Clover behind us. Even though he had rejected me, his presence provided strength until Arthur came into view.
King Arthur stood at the end of the procession, just beyond the gates to Camelot, decked in gold and rubies. He spread his arms out to me as if greeting a long-lost love. His smile beamed like sunlight, and the beauty of him knocked the breath out of me.
Not too many days ago, I thought if I just looked long enough, I’d discover qualities worth loving and fall for the man who would be my husband and king. But try as I might, I could not see him in that way, and
besides, my kiss with Lancelot changed everything.
Chapter 6
I proceeded down the aisle formed by the knights. My legs wobbled beneath me, and I fought to keep upright. All the while, Arthur stared at me as if I were the only person in the world.
When I reached him, he enveloped me in a hug. His arms snuggled around me; his energy sent a jolt to quicken my nerves.
"I missed you!" he whispered in my ear, his lips grazing my skin.
I wanted to push away from him, but held steady. His enthusiasm for my arrival sparked all new waves of guilt, but after my intimacy with Lancelot, my body rejected Arthur's proximity; I fought the urge to turn and run.
Arthur guided me out of his embrace, and examined me.
"Let me look at you! The prize of Britannia—you are a beauty to behold."
He whirled me around to face the crowd, and raised my arm in the air alongside his. The gathering stretched the streets of Camelot, spilling out of every street and building as people pushed into one another to get a better view. Within the city’s walls, the opulence of my first view disintegrated as the details of the crowded mud-laden streets, garbage heaps, and smells of too many people in one place took over.
"Camelot! Behold! My bride, the Lady Guinevere, daughter of King Leodegrance of Camelaird and your soon-to-be queen!"
A cheer rose, sounding like the roll of thunder. Arthur's excitement seemed infectious. I managed to smile at the gathering too, which incited another round of cheers.
Arthur leaned in and whispered, "They love you already."
He squeezed my hand and added, “And though I promised not to say those words until I truly meant them, I am growing rather fond of you as well.”
His smile suggested intimate expectations—if fact, had we not been betrothed, I would have sworn his grin hovered in the realm of a leer—and I swallowed hard against the implication.
"Now!" Arthur strutted in front of his people commanding their attention with the power of his voice. "In honor of our union tomorrow, I set forth a quest!"
Quest Page 3
