The Last Knight (Pendragon Book 1)

by Nicola S. Dorrington

  “Sorry?”

  He smirked, as though he knew exactly what I’d been thinking about. “I said, I’ve just moved here. Me and my family.”

  “Right.” I nodded, trying to get my mind back on track. It wasn’t like me. Boys didn’t normally faze me. In fact I normally ignored they even existed. “And you’re already volunteering at…” I couldn’t bring myself to say the name, but he seemed to understand.

  One of his shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Gets me out of the house, and looks good on university applications.” He suddenly glanced around. “Shouldn’t we be getting to class?”

  The corridor ahead of us was empty, although in the distance I could still hear the sound of closing doors.

  “Shit.” I glanced up at him. “What subjects are you taking?”

  “History, Literature and Art.”

  I frowned. “Same as me.”

  He shrugged again.

  “So you’ve got Lit with Mr. Mackay first lesson as well. Come on.”

  I set off down the corridor with the new guy on my heels. We took the shortcut through the courtyard into a corridor lined with lockers and arrived breathless outside the right door. As I pushed it open the entire class turned to look at me and I flushed with embarrassment.

  “Miss Page. You’re late again.” Mr. Mackay was perched on the edge of his desk, and he didn’t look happy. “That’s the third time this week. I’ve got little choice but to give you detention.” Mackay was probably the most popular teacher in school. He wore jeans to class and a pair of designer glasses, and unlike most teachers who tried to be ‘cool’, somehow it worked for him. Unfortunately he hated me. Said I never put enough effort into my work. He wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t stop me hating him right back.

  “It’s my fault, Sir.” The new guy spoke before I could even open my mouth.

  Mackay’s eyes flicked behind me. “And you are?”

  “Lance Filwer. I just started here. I was lost and Cara helped me.” Lance glanced down at me and gave me a shadow of a wink.

  “Oh.” Mackay frowned, almost disappointed I had a valid reason, and looked back at me. “All right. But take this as a warning, Cara. Turn up late for class one more time and you’re in detention.”

  I nodded thankfully and hurried to my seat at the back of class. Lance started to follow me, but there were no empty seats near me. Glancing back at him I saw a flash of consternation in his eyes. I understood that. Even if I had smacked him with a door, I was the only person there he knew. With a tiny shrug in my direction he took the only empty seat across the other side of the classroom, stretching his long legs out under the desk.

  I got through my English Literature class in my usual way, by keeping my head down. Drawing attention to myself was something I’d learnt not to do. Instead, as Mackay droned on about the wonders of Shakespeare, I doodled on my notepad, the same strange little design I drew on everything. Dad said it looked Celtic, I just thought it was pretty. Either way it adorned every notebook, binder and textbook I owned.

  When the bell rang at the end of the double period I packed my books away as soon as I could, glancing up just in time to see Lance getting hustled out of the classroom by the ‘twins.’

  They weren’t twins, they weren’t even related, but Samantha and Rebecca certainly seemed like two halves of the same soul; identical dark hair, in the same popular style, the same irritating voices, and the same obsession with gossiping and boys. I’d shared it once, just like once it had been the three of us, not the two of them, but that seemed like another life to me now.

  I should have expected it, I thought as I watched Samantha fluttering her eyelashes up at Lance. As ignorant of the opposite sex as I normally was, I was well aware Lance was quite easily the best looking guy I’d ever seen in real life. The dark, slightly curly hair, the blue eyes, the solid muscles…

  I pushed those dangerous thoughts out of my head and left the classroom at a safe distance from the rest of them, trying to ignore the way Rebecca was giggling and tossing her hair.

  Lance glanced back over his shoulder once or twice, but I didn’t delude myself thinking he was looking for me, though it was a nice idea. I wasn’t unattractive, but I was the school freak.

  I had the next period free and found a quiet corner of the courtyard to read the book we’d just started in class. It was icy cold, but there was no way I was venturing into the Sixth Form common room. As far as I was concerned it was one of the circles of hell.

  “So, Cara, getting in with the new boy I see,” a familiar voice drawled from above me.

  “Go away, Anderson.” I didn’t look up from the page of my book, even though I wasn’t seeing the words anymore.

  The bench creaked beside me. “Well, that’s not very friendly, is it?”

  I finally looked up when I felt his thigh smack against mine as he sat down. James Anderson. Brown haired, green eyed, and Captain of the school rugby team. My ex-boyfriend and bane of my existence, and the person who still made my heart clench painfully every time I saw him.

  “What do you want?”

  He smiled. To anyone else it might have looked like a friendly grin, but I knew the viciousness lurking behind it.

  “Can’t I just be friendly?”

  “You’re never friendly. Least, not to me.”

  Looking away from me, out across the courtyard, he shrugged. “Maybe I’ve changed my mind about you.”

  I snorted. “Bullshit.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. You know me too well.” He paused, a smirk playing on his lips. “Bet you were excited about the new guy. Did you think maybe you’d finally found a friend? Someone who didn’t know what a crazy, psycho bitch you are?” He spoke so calmly, making it sound like a statement of fact rather than an insult, but it didn’t stop it stinging like he’d just slapped me.

  So that’s why he was here. To let me know they’d already told Lance all about me. To let me know that making my life miserable was still top priority.

  “I don’t care.” I said the words, but I didn’t mean them. I did care. I cared a lot. Too much probably. It was hard to believe I’d been in love with Anderson once. It was a misplaced love, and the trust that went with it, that turned me into a social outcast and the betrayal still hurt like hell.

  “Oh, come on, Cara. Samantha and Rebecca were just doing their civic duty. Got to warn the poor guy about you after all.”

  “They didn’t have to,” I muttered.

  “No, but they wanted to.” Anderson smiled down at me, but his green eyes were cold.

  As I looked up at him I wondered again what had possessed me to trust him. But I had. I’d told him everything. About my mum, and my dreams.

  It might’ve been all right if I’d kept it vague. He might’ve thought I just had a wild imagination, that maybe I was an attention seeker. But I hadn’t, I’d told him about the latest dream, the dream about his sister and the car crash. He’d told me I was sick and refused to answer my calls or texts.

  It might have ended there, but four days later his thirteen year old sister had been killed in a horrific car accident, and every time I thought about it I felt sick to my stomach.

  When Anderson had returned to school after his sister’s funeral he’d told the whole school about my crazy mother, and that I was crazy too. Of course, in his version I’d made up the dreams after the accident. I still didn’t know if he really believed it, if somehow he’d twisted it in his own memory because it made more sense, or if that little flash of emotion I saw in his eyes sometimes was fear. Fear because he alone knew even if I was crazy, I wasn’t lying. I really had seen the future, and he blamed me for it.

  He was still looking down at me. I blinked first and looked away, and he chuckled, pleased with even that small victory. Leaning back on the bench he stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankle, the picture of ease.

  “Do you think you’ll start hearing voices soon, like your mother? ‘Cause I really want to be
around when they cart you off to the mental institute.”

  I stood abruptly. “Go to hell, Anderson.”

  “Only to watch you rotting there,” he called after me as I stormed away.

  The thought of hiding away in the bathroom for the rest of the day appealed to me. It wouldn’t have been the first time. I knew it was what Anderson wanted though. Torturing me was his idea of fun. He’d been doing it for two years. So after I’d locked myself in a cubicle for ten minutes sobbing, I forced myself to come back out and face the rest of the day.

  I barely recognised the face in the mirror, with the blotchy skin and red-rimmed eyes. I’d never been one of those girls who could cry prettily. Splashing water over my face helped a little, but I still looked a mess. Not a lot I could do about that.

  The hallways were teeming as I pushed out of the bathroom door. I must have missed the bell for lunch. Food wasn’t high on my list of priorities right then, but it was one of those things the school had been told to watch out for. If I didn’t eat lunch it got reported to my father.

  He was paranoid I’d turn into my mother. I’d accepted that long ago. It was the first sign that something had been seriously wrong with her. She’d stopped eating, turning skeletal before our eyes. Then she’d stopped doing pretty much anything, like washing, or talking.

  So I trudged after the hordes of kids towards the lunch room. The school dinners they served were disgusting, swimming in grease or barely cooked, and I point blank refused to eat them. Dad always made me a sandwich, so I bypassed the long queue at the food counter, neatly avoiding any encounters with Anderson or the twins.

  I nodded at the teacher on lunch room duty and she nodded back, her expression bored as she returned to scowling at a group of Year Eights. As long as they saw me there, they weren’t too fussed. A small table in the corner was empty and I headed there, pulling out my book and sandwich as I sat down. I’d only just opened the book when a shadow passed over the table.

  “Do you mind if I sit here?”

  I jumped and looked up. No one ever wanted to sit with me.

  Lance stood looking down at me, a tray in his hands and a smile on his lips.

  “I…you want to sit here?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t want to sit anywhere else.”

  Over his shoulder I could see Anderson, the twins, and the rest of their little group glaring my way. There was a conspicuously empty chair at their table, and Samantha looked like she’d just bitten into a lemon.

  I copied his carefree shrug. It didn’t look as good on me. “Sit where you like, it’s a free country.”

  He hooked the chair with his foot and pulled it out. The tray clattered as he dropped it on the table then he simply stared at me. I tried to ignore him, but I could feel his eyes on the top of my head. After a few minutes I sighed and looked up from my book.

  “If you’re sitting here just to see if the crazy girl’s going to do anything psycho, you’re out of luck.”

  He cocked one eyebrow. “That’s disappointing.”

  There was amusement in his tone, but he wasn’t mocking me. He was teasing, but there was nothing malicious in it. It made an unusual change.

  I cracked a half smile. “Sorry.” I wondered why he was bothering until I remembered he volunteered at Snedham. If he thought I was going to be his good deed for the day I wasn’t going to stop him. It was nice, having someone to sit with for a change. Maybe that made me needy, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t a loner by choice.

  “I guess if you’re not going to do anything crazy, we’ll just have to talk. Like normal people. Want a chip?” He held out his plate.

  I shook my head.

  “I don’t blame you,” he said, putting it back down. “They’re a little soggy.” He tapped the top of his can of drink, watching me from under lowered eyelashes. “So – Cara – short for Caroline I take it?”

  I snorted. “I only wish.”

  His look was one of polite confusion and I sighed, resigned to explaining.

  “It was my mum’s choice. My full name is Caronwyn. It’s Celtic. Apparently.”

  A strange smile curved Lance’s lips. “Beautiful, loved one,” he murmured so softly I barely heard it. “It suits you.”

  I blinked in surprise. “How did you know that?”

  He chuckled. “I come from that part of the country. It’s a beautiful name. But you don’t like it,” he added astutely.

  “It’s not that I don’t like the name,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “I just hate having to explain it, and spell it out to everyone. But Mum,” and I stumbled over the word as I said it, I talked about her so little, “and Dad let me shorten it to Cara years ago.”

  “Still a beautiful name.”

  He caught and held my gaze for such a long moment the heat began to rise in my cheeks. I tore my eyes away from his and focused on the sandwich in front of me. An awkward silence filled the air between us like a tangible force.

  “Do you like Shakespeare then?” he said suddenly, nodding towards the book on the table.

  “I guess,” I replied, relieved at the change of subject. “I don’t like this one though.”

  “I thought all girls liked Romeo and Juliet,” he seemed surprised. “Isn’t it the ultimate love story?”

  I laughed. “They both kill themselves. It’s the ultimate in stupidity – not love.”

  “I’ll give you that one.” He smiled, and I noticed again how nice his teeth were. His smile softened his face, making him look younger. “So which is your favourite?”

  Scrunching up my nose, I thought about it for a minute. “Midsummer’s Night Dream. I like Puck; he’s such a trouble maker.”

  “You like the bad boys then?”

  I gave a non-committal shrug. I didn’t really. I’d gone the whole bad boy route with Anderson, and it hadn’t exactly turned out well. But something about Puck had always appealed to me. He’d always struck me as the actual hero of the story, hidden beneath the trouble making exterior, and I did have a thing for the hero type.

  “I’ll introduce you to my brother, Wyn, sometime.” Lance drew me back to the conversation. “He’s the biggest trouble maker out there.”

  “You have a brother?”

  “Two actually.” He smiled at my surprise. “They’re older though. Wyn and Percy. What about you?”

  I shook my head. “It’s just me and Dad. I always wanted a brother or sister though – someone to share things with – who’d accept you no matter what.”

  I didn’t quite manage to keep all the bitterness out of my voice and Lance’s eyes flicked towards the table where Anderson and the others sat. “You shouldn’t let them get to you.” He paused. “Do you think you’re crazy?”

  I wished I could have said no without thinking about it. But the truth was, after years of dreams, I was starting to doubt my sanity.

  “No,” I said at last. “I’m not crazy.”

  Those deep blue eyes sparkled. “That’s good enough for me.”

  There was a strange feeling of nervous excitement in the pit of my stomach as I walked to school the next morning. I didn’t want to admit it, even to myself, but I was looking forward to school for the first time in years. Even yet another bad dream the night before couldn’t bring me down. Though it was a strange one. It felt like all the others, the vividness and quality that I associated with the true ones, but it had just been Lance standing on a street corner, hands dug deep in his pockets, his eyes unreadable. Maybe it was just a normal teenage dream, but it hadn’t felt like one.

  Art was my first class on Fridays, and the room was already half full by the time I got there. Miss Fairfax gave me a bright smile as I slipped through the door and headed for my usual desk. She was one of the few teachers who liked me. She never minded when I was late.

  Someone was already sat at the table by mine. No one had sat in that seat all year. Lance looked up as I approached, raking one hand through his curly hair as he shot me a grin.


  “Morning.”

  I smiled back, a little hesitantly, my stomach giving a funny little flip. “Hi.” My bag thudded onto the table and I started unpacking my art supplies, watching Lance out of the corner of my eye. He was in the same jacket as the day before; the leather was worn and cracked around the elbows. His jeans had a rip in one knee.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  His voice startled me, and I realised I’d been staring at him again. I answered his question without thinking about it. “Not great, no.”

  He looked like he wanted to say something, but changed his mind and busied himself unpacking his own art supplies.

  I forced myself to ignore him. I still had a lot of work to do on my art project before it was ready to be submitted. As much as I disliked school I needed good grades if I wanted to get in Newcastle University to study History.

  An hour later my neck was starting to ache and I put down my paintbrush to stretch. As I leant back on my stool I peered across the aisle at the canvas on Lance’s easel.

  I was curious. Art was the best way I knew of expressing myself, and I wondered what Lance’s art said about him. For some reason I was expecting something classic, like a portrait, I couldn’t imagine him doing something abstract or modern.

  The canvas was blank. In the entire hour we’d been in class, he hadn’t done a thing. Not a single pencil line.

  “Lacking inspiration?” I asked, not bothering to keep my voice down. Miss Fairfax was laid back as far as teachers went. As long as we were working she didn’t care. Quite a few of the others in the class had the white buds of their iPods in their ears, and one girl was munching on a chocolate bar as she painted one handed.

  Lance glanced up at the sound of my voice, momentarily confused, then looked back at the blank canvas.

  “I guess.” He held a pencil in one hand, but made no attempt to sketch. Shifting in his seat, he leant across to take a look at mine.

  It wasn’t very exciting. I’d painted it from a photograph of our front garden in winter. Completely composed in black and white and shades of grey, the dead rosebushes were stark against a light blanket of snow. It meant a lot to me though, it almost felt like a reflection of my life, like I was dormant, just waiting for the fresh start of spring.