by Ines Johnson
"You want to forsake all others and stay with me until death do us part?” she asked.
"Yes, Morgan. That is what I'm offering."
“If that’s the case …” She yanked her hands out of his hold. “… then the answer is absolutely, unequivocally, no."
11
Arthur’s grip on Morgan’s forearm was ironclad. He tried to tell himself to gentle his touch, to not scare her. But what he really wanted to do was shake her.
And so his fingers dug into the flesh of her armpit. It couldn't be helped. He frogmarched Morgan out of the ballroom and into the Throne Room. It was the first time in his life that he’d manhandled a witch.
What had he been thinking asking her to marry him? And in such a public fashion. Morgan had always been ornery and unpredictable. She'd likely said no just to spite him.
The problem was she didn't have a choice. Neither of them had a choice any longer. Not now that they'd been caught in an embrace. Not once, but twice.
Arthur had strung up men for less, for daring to defile a lady under his care. And now he was the defiler. And like all the men he’d forced into matrimony, he too would do his duty. And so would she, if she knew what was good for her.
He let go of her arm the moment they crossed into the Throne Room. Then he paced away from her. His body was tense as his muscles quivered with anger.
Morgan stared at him, dark blue eyes as wide as saucers. Lips parted in a frightened O. Yet no words escaped her. She hadn’t said anything since her rejection. That, her silence, unnerved Arthur the most.
He kept a fair amount of distance between them as he paced. He was unsure of himself, uncertain what he'd do to her.
He'd gotten down on his knee like some lovesick squire, for God’s sake. It had to be the hart. That was the only logical explanation. The hart and its magical pheromones were affecting his judgment.
Morgan finally gathered herself to speak. “I don't know what I did to piss you off—"
"Language!"
Morgan grit her teeth. "I don't know what archaic rule I broke, or what etiquette I stepped on, but I think humiliating me in front of the whole town was a bit too far.”
“Humiliate? You?” He had to take a breath between each word. Both came out in a huff that would’ve blown down a house of sticks.
“Yes.” She held her chin high. “With that spectacle of getting down on your knee and making a show of a proposal. That was an inventive punishment, for sure.”
"Punishment?" he said. He needed to stop parroting her. She had somehow frogmarched him into her crazy. "You think that was a punishment?"
“Well …” She waggled her head, as though trying to shake out any other sensible answer. “What else could it have been?”
“A proposal.”
Morgan snorted. “You weren't serious.”
Arthur dragged his hand over the back of his neck and through his hair.
“You know I believe courtly love is a crock of crap.”
Arthur felt his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he tried to swallow past the lump in his throat and failed.
“You can’t possibly want to marry me."
Arthur stopped pacing and faced Morgan.
Morgan lowered her chin and stared at him.
The two stood before each other. Light and dark eyes roamed the other, searching for any other answer. But when Arthur’s gaze met Morgan’s there it was. The same answer as before.
"Perhaps this is salvageable,” said a voice from far away.
Arthur turned to see Sir Bors coming up close. Behind him were Gwin and Lance. Lance shut the door so that the village onlookers wouldn't get any more drama.
"If the lady does not wish to marry," said Bors, "then we cannot force her."
All eyes went to Morgan, but she looked at Arthur, as though he were a puzzle whose edges she had long ago completed, and she was now trying to suss out the middle portion. She was likely wondering if he could force her. She’d thought he was trying to punish her? A life with him would be punishment in her eyes?
"There are other ladies who do wish for the role,” Bors continued.
All eyes now swayed to Arthur. Bors was right. He could salvage this. He could marry Lady Constance. It had been a moment of madness when he’d dropped to his knee before Morgan.
"Lady Morgan's reputation will be ruined,” Arthur said. “We were seen embracing twice."
"Pfft," said Morgan. "I don't care about my reputation.”
“I care about your reputation,” said Arthur. “You’re under my care.”
“I don’t want to be under your care. I want to go to school.”
“Not this again.” Arthur pinched the bridge between his nose. Then he scrubbed his fingers through his beard. “It’s too dangerous— Wait. Where, exactly, did you go in Cardiff?”
“I went to Cardiff University, to the Science Department. I had an interview. Well, actually it wasn’t an interview. It was more of a meet and greet because they’d already decided they want me.”
“Want you?” Arthur felt something heating up his blood. He felt the urge to reach out to Morgan, to snatch her back into his embrace. He wanted to hunt down these scientists who wanted her and help them understand exactly who she belonged to. He took a step back from her and that insane urge.
“They offered me a fellowship on a research team,” Morgan was saying.
And then the squeeing began. Gwin and Morgan bounced around like two school girls. Their high pitched wails assailed his ears causing him to rock back on his heels.
Arthur braced himself for a headache. But it didn’t come. The smile on Morgan’s face washed over him and took control of his senses again. As she shone bright, Arthur's mouth watered.
“Oh, Gwin, the campus was magical. Everyone with their heads in books. And the science department …” Morgan paused, her eyes rolling back in her head in ecstasy.
Arthur’s pants tightened. He needed to look away from her or to at least stand behind something so as to not further embarrass himself. But he couldn’t move. She was already too far away from him.
He wanted to take the necessary two steps to bring her back within his reach. Then he would snake his arms around her back and pull her to him. But before he could enact that irrational idea, someone put a hand on his arm.
“Are you truly considering her for your Lady, my Lord?” asked Bors.
It was madness. Morgan could barely keep her room straight much less run a castle. That silver tongue of hers, which never edited the words of her head as they came out of her mouth, would leave diplomacy in tatters. But those hips, he knew they’d offer him a path to heaven and in return give him strong sons.
“She has no magic,” Bors continued. “She’s not a true witch any longer. How can she expect to run the castle?”
“Gwin is still the Lady of the Castle, so long as my brother lives,” Arthur said. “The title could remain hers after, unless she remarried.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Lance stiffen. Arthur couldn’t blame his friend. What he’d said, what he was contemplating was a dick move. Couldn’t be helped. That’s all he was thinking with at the moment.
The two Galahad girls chattered on, ignoring the men deciding their fate.
“It’s not too late,” said Bors, dropping all pretense at diplomacy now. “You can still choose my daughter.”
Arthur could scarcely think of … who was his daughter again? All that filled his mind was the raven-haired witch, smiling and squeeing with delight. It was already too late. Arthur’s mind was made up.
12
The sun greeted Morgan the next day. She'd had the weirdest dream. Atoms had flown about in her resting mind. They’d been sliced open by a sword to reveal their protons and electrons. Then fused together with things that shouldn't be unified. It had been weird.
Looking out the window, Morgan saw a rainbow appear in the distance. She wasn't the romantic sort, but she took the refracted light display as
a sign. She was on the right path.
For years, she'd hidden away in this castle. But today, she was going to start showing her colors. Unlike the rainbow, she would be within reach. In fact, she'd be reaching the pot of gold.
Okay, not the best comparison. What she meant was she was going for it. She was joining Simon Accolon’s team whether Arthur liked it or not.
She fired up her computer and shot an email to Simon. A moment later his reply came back. It was done. She was now a member of the Science Department at Cardiff University. She’d start on Monday.
Yesterday had been absurd. Arthur on his knee asking her to marry him. All because of an embrace or two. Sure, they had been nice embraces. She didn't have much to compare them to. None of the knights or squires had ever offered her anything than a pat on the back or a squeeze in greeting.
Arthur had embraced her. Held her close like she'd seen lovers do. It had been a mistake. And it was just the way of Camelot that a mistake carried with it dire consequences. Just another reason why it was absurd to ever consider her for the role as the Lady of the Castle.
Morgan pulled on a t-shirt. This one listed the chemical elements Beryllium, Nickel, and Cerium. Their elemental names spelled “Be Nice.” She slipped into a peasant skirt and boots and headed out of her room.
Gwin was already up and about her business. Loren still wasn't back from her latest quest. Morgan knew her cousin would get a kick out of yesterday's events. She pulled out her cell phone to shoot off a quick text. Somehow, there was access to Wi-Fi in Asgard.
Giles and Niles Fletcher chased after each other, nearly colliding into Morgan. They pumped their feet to stop before slamming into her.
“Sorry, my lady.”
“How do you do this morning, my lady?"
Morgan frowned at the two. The kids all knew she much preferred Miss Morgan to being called a lady. "What's this all about? What mischief are you up to?"
"No mischief,” said Niles. “You're going to be the Lady of the Castle now.”
“Mother says we need to mind ourselves around you,” said Giles.
Morgan opened her mouth, but shock filled her jowls. Before she could exhale and get words out, the two brothers were off. By the time Morgan had recovered her wits, they were gone. Annora Godfrey made her way around the corner.
"Oh, Lady Morgan,” Annora gushed. “I heard everything. Was it terribly romantic when Lord Arthur proposed? I heard he went down on one knee."
In Annora’s hands was a bridal magazine of all things. Beneath it was a science journal. Morgan snatched the trashy mag from the top of the pile leaving behind the more appropriate intellectual one.
"I'm not marrying Arthur,” she said.
"Of course you are,” Annora frowned. “He asked you."
"We don’t have to do things just because a man tells us to."
"But he's not a man. He's a lord. He's our lord."
Osbert Clarke turned the corner, coming near them. “Good morning, Lady Morgan. Congratulations on your engagement.”
“I’m not engaged,” Morgan huffed.
“But Arthur asked you.”
“I said no,” Morgan insisted. “And, besides, he didn’t mean it. It was just his archaic sense of duty. Lucky for him, I’m a modern girl.”
“Oh, okay,” said Osbert, not sounding at all convinced. “Well, then. Oh, hello, Annora. I didn’t see you there.”
Annora only gulped. Without another word, Osbert took off with a friendly wave.
Once he was out of earshot, Annora gripped Morgan’s forearm and whispered in desperation. “He barely knows I’m alive. You have to tell me what you did to win Lord Arthur’s attention. Was it the whole pretending to not be interested in him thing?”
“I wasn’t pretending.”
“But it worked. Was it the whole arguing like cats and dogs thing? I’m good at debate. But only with facts.”
This was why Morgan wanted to teach science. Girls needed their heads filled with things other than courtship.
"You want to know what I did to curry Arthur's attention? I used my brain instead of following along blindly. When he said something that wasn’t logical I challenged him at every turn."
"That certainly did get my attention."
Morgan grimaced not wanting to turn around and face her nemesis. Because that’s what Arthur was to her; a nemesis, not a hero.
But she had to face this. This fallacy couldn’t go on any longer. They needed to set the record straight.
And so Morgan turned to find the dark knight looking not at her but at Annora. He had a brilliant smile for the young lady. It caught Morgan off guard. She was so used to seeing him looking sternly at her.
Arthur bent down to be on Annora’s level. "Lady Morgan is right. A man needs a woman to challenge him every once in a while. He needs to remember that she's worth the fight.”
Arthur glanced up at Morgan on that last statement. Morgan's flight or fight instincts kicked in. Her mind told her to flee this danger. But her reaction was too slow. By the time Arthur straightened, she still hadn't taken off.
"May I walk with you?" He offered his arm.
Morgan stared at the proffered limb.
"It's not a trick, Morgan."
"Why don't I believe you?"
"You know I don't lie."
No. But was he telling the whole truth? Only one way to find out; test the hypothesis.
Arthur grinned. "Are you weighing the variables out in your head?"
She frowned at him. Then she took his arm out of spite. "Are you going to try to change my mind about marriage?"
"Yes. But not right now. I wanted to know more about your research. You said you were offered a -a fellowship was it? For nuclear science, if I heard you and Gwin correctly? I thought your field was chemistry."
"It is. It was. I've dabbled in chemistry, physics, and biology."
"Dabbled? I would've expected you to say you mastered them."
They turned a corner and came to a small crowd of townsfolk. Mostly women. The others pretended not to stare, but no one ever said a witch was a good actress. They looked away too quickly and whispered just a touch too loudly.
Morgan hated gossip. When it was about her. She could talk smack about others for days on end, so long as her name was left out of it.
"What are these human scientists interested in?" Arthur asked as he led her outside.
"They're trying to add to the Periodic Table of Elements. They're on the path to discovering a new element. The Periodic Table is—"
"I know what the Periodic Table is, Morgan. The known list of natural and synthesized elements all organized by atomic number.”
"They're close to finding more, and I think I know a way to help them."
"Would these be nuclear elements?"
Ah. Now she saw the trajectory of this conversation. “Don’t let the term nuclear put you off. Those elements have been used to power whole cities and help fight against cancer.”
Morgan lifted her gaze, expecting Arthur to be gazing down upon her with skepticism. But his gaze was thoughtful. Interested. A small smile played at the corner of his lip.
"I never get to see this side of you,” he said. “The passionate side."
"Because you're not interested in science."
"That's not true. Math was my best subject in university even though I was a history major."
Morgan knew Arthur’s degree was in Military History. But she hadn’t known that bit about math. “You took math beyond the required freshman math?”
“I gained enough credits for it to be a second Minor.”
"You actually studied math?”
Arthur laughed. When he did, that small grin split wider. But it was lopsided. The side closest to her opened wide and Morgan felt the sensation that he might eat her up. And still, she didn’t run.
“I studied calculus,” he said. “Before you were born. I've just never had a cause to use it here.”
"Calculus is around
us every day. It's used in web searches on the internet. Meteorologists use it in weather forecasts. You see it in architecture. It stops the spread of some infectious diseases. I could go on."
Arthur waited patiently, as though he’d actually like her to go on. He’d usually stop her talking by now. His eyes would darken; his mouth would set in a firm line of disapproval. But his gray eyes were soft now. His lips pulled back in that small, lopsided grin.
"Did you know your eyes light up when you talk about science?” he said. “Like a blue fire."
"Blue is the hottest part of the flame."
Arthur stared deeply into her eyes. Morgan felt her entire face heat, as though his eyes were a flame and its rays were touching her cheeks.
"I've never considered putting your talents to use,” he said. “I apologize for that. You must've felt useless all these years."
“I … I …” She had no words. She had no idea what was happening here. All logic and processes failed her.
"I'll do better," he said. He'd stopped walking. He faced her and held her hands, the same way he’d done last night. Morgan looked from his hands to his eyes, and then down at his knees.
Was he going to get down on his knee again and propose? Did she want him too?
He didn't bend the knee. He rubbed the rough pads of his fingers over the backs of her knuckles. It was surprisingly soothing.
"I'm not going to ask you that question again,” he said, as though he were reading her mind.
"Oh?" Morgan felt the disappointment crash in the pit of her stomach.
"Not until I earn it."
"Earn it? You mean like in some courtly love quest where you go on crazy impossible challenges to prove your devotion?"
"I was going to do this the hard way and ask you on a date. But if you want a quest, I'd prefer that challenge. Those are easy."
He was serious. He wasn’t taking it back. He was going to go forward with this idea that they should be married.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said. “We could just tell everyone it was a mistake and they’ll believe us.”
Arthur shrugged, but he didn’t disagree.
