Betrothal (Queen’s Honor, Tales of Lady Guinevere: #1), a Medieval Fantasy Romance NOVELLA

by Mande Matthews

  Chapter 3

 

 

  "King?" Again my words raced before any ladylike demeanor managed to surface.

  I meant to continue with, what rights do you bear to possess the title of King? But Elibel stepped between us with all the grace of a diplomat.

  "Indeed, My Lady, King Arthur's countless deeds and victory at Mount Badon have been memorialized by the bards. He is the only Briton to push the Saxon invaders back and bring peace to the land."

  Of course I'd heard of King Arthur's exploits, though, admittedly, I didn't pay close attention to the stories, assuming exaggeration. Had I been a bear I would have growled at my cousin. Instead, I mumbled, "I know who King Arthur is," under my breath, to no concealment, apparently, as "King" Arthur replied.

  "And yet you did not recognize me, Lady Guinevere. I fear my reputation requires enhancement. Perhaps I shall employ a painter to distribute my likeness."

  Whether he meant it as a jest or in truth, I did not know, but his speech possessed all the earmarks of arrogance to me. He leaned over and gave me his hand as an invitation to mount behind him.

  "Does your bird bite?" He asked, throwing a cautious glance at Aethelwine.

  I stared at him without answering.

  "Perhaps he should travel of his own accord. We could tie a message to his leg and send him to your father to let him know we have arrived."

  "Aethelwine does not fly."

  "No?"

  "No."

  "How curious."

  "Why do you find that peculiar?"

  "To keep a creature that serves no function? I cannot fathom your reasoning."

  "Ah, I see. Kindness, in order to rescue one in need, escapes you."

  He threw back his head and laughed again, his golden curls dancing around his head like a halo lit on fire.

  "No, I dare say, My Lady, rescuing those in need seems to be my specialty today."

  I rolled my eyes, but he ignored my exaggerated expression and prodded my compliance by waving his arm for me to come to him.

  "Where are we going?"

  "To get help for your father."

  I reasoned, by his words and gesture, he was no threat—unless proximity to his conceit could be construed as harmful to one's personal integrity. Plus his offer to assist my father was my only foreseeable option.

  After fighting down the rebellion that threatened another round of ill-advised speech, I conceded, stepping forward and clasping his arm.

  He gripped me so tightly I thought my wrist would break as he swung me into motion over the back of his steed. Aethelwine's talons pierced through my gown, poking into my skin with his efforts to hang on. I guided my falcon onto my leather glove, and wished, for all of Camelaird, that Aethelwine would bite.

  Glancing back, I caught sight of Elibel. The mysterious knight that I had noted upon King Arthur's arrival dismounted and maneuvered in front my cousin. He wrapped his hands around each side of Elibel's tiny waist, while managing to keep his stallion's reins secured and his beast steady. I found those hands peculiar—broad and strong as if he could crush rocks with his fists, but the way he touched my cousin as if she were a petal from a summer rose made my heartbeat quicken. He lifted her with such gentleness that a pang of jealousy for her position surged, causing my teeth to grind. She glided through the air, guided by the man's strong arms, and onto the back of his stallion. Her emerald and silver skirts flared; she looked like the perfect portrait, stroked from the brush of a master. The knight swung up behind her, securing an arm around her waist as he nudged his mount into a walk. From her side-saddle position, Elibel swiveled her neck far enough around to glance up at him through her black lashes. He acknowledged her with a brief bob of his chin then directed his gaze to the horizon with a dutiful stare as my cousin's cheeks bloomed with a rush of pink.

  My jaw tightened as I stared at the two of them, until Arthur broke my concentration.

  "You realize, I did not ask to be King." The strength of his voice carried his words to me even though he kept his head forward.

  He replaced his headgear, which scrunched and hid his halo of curls, then nudged his warhorse into a trot, taking the lead. His knights fell back into rank behind him. I grudgingly worked my free arm around his waist to keep my seat.

  At my feeble grasp, he peered back at me and flashed a smug smile as he continued, "I was awarded the title of King after my victory in Mount Badon."

  "You mean your conquest."

  "I mean my rescue and subsequent protection of thousands of Britons, who, otherwise, would have lost their lives to murderous Saxon invaders."

  I started to reply but King Arthur kicked his mount into a gallop. We surged, and I lurched forward, burrowing into Arthur's back. I loved horses: feeding them ripe carrots and nuzzling the supple fur of their nostrils, but riding them? The ground rushed beneath me. Every rock poked up from the ground, seeming a potential hazard to split my head if I fell. I focused my concentration on staying atop the beast as a wave of terror seized my chest. We bobbled along as my rump slid and bounced over the creature's wide hips. I tightened my grip around Arthur's middle, feeling his hard armor against my clenched arms. Arthur's ribs shook at my grip and I realized he was chuckling at me as we ran across the sloping spring meadows of Camelaird.

  Risking a glance backwards, I sighted his retinue speeding along with us. Elibel, cradled within the mysterious knight's hold, resembled a babe rocking in a basket. I reckoned I appeared as a bouncing sack of potatoes with the seams splitting and readying to burst. We must have traveled over a half a league with me struggling to hang on, and nearly fainting from fear, when we crested one last hill. Arthur's steed slowed then pranced in place. My intention had been to continue my argument on King Arthur's "conquest" at Mount Badon as compensation for his laughter at my expense, but my words caught in my throat before they formulated.

  Beneath us spread an army of hundreds upon hundreds of men. Banners in red and gold, depicting the cross and dragon flew in all corners of the gathering. A cavalry unit, some hundred or more horses strong, occupied the back quarter of the troops, while tents with sentries crammed the middle. Ten catapults on wheels towered toward the front, while stock piles of arrows, rocks and barrels were crammed atop wagons that were pulled by sturdy shire horses. A menagerie of pack mules and ponies were tethered to carts. Never in my life had I seen so many soldiers assembled in one place. My father's men looked no more than a gathering of villagers in comparison.

  And I realized as I surveyed Arthur's massive army beneath me that I would be solely responsible for the blood shed that day.