Goddess of Legend

CHAPTER SIX

OKAY, so she was a little tipsy. But not so much that she didn’t notice that Gwen and Lancelot had excused themselves almost at the same time. They didn’t even try to pretend. It broke Isabel’s heart for Arthur. He had to know. And yet he didn’t seem to know. Or care.

“Would you enjoy a tour of the castle, Countess?” Arthur asked her, as the evening meal had thankfully concluded.

Thank God for Mary, who had met her in the garderobe, carrying a bowl of mint. Otherwise she’d be afraid that her breath would topple trees.

“I would love it, sir.” What she wanted was a tour of his body, but the castle would have to do for now.

“The gardens,” he said. “They mean much to Gwen. For a reason I cannot fathom, she tends to them almost daily, even though we have many, many gardeners to do such things.”

“We all have our favorite hobbies.”

“And what would be yours, Countess?”

Photography immediately came to mind, but she doubted she could explain that one. Sex was also high on her list, or it had been back in the day. Or forward in the day. She’d love to experiment here, but unfortunately not with Lance, but with the king. “I very much enjoy exercise. Sporting, as it were.”

The surprise on his face was so adorable, she wanted to kiss those raised eyebrows. “Sporting? Such as exercising the horses?”

“Well, yes, but much more than that. For example, I love jogging.”

“Jogging? What is this jogging?”

“Steady running for long distances.”

He laughed. “And you accomplish this in gowns?”

Now here was an opening she’d been waiting for. “Actually in Dumont the women who enjoy such exercise wear smaller versions of men’s leggings.”

“Pardon?”

“We believe women have as much right to exercise their passions as men. Can you possibly imagine women who love to run, doing so in gowns? Preposterous. So in Dumont, when women have the need or desire to stretch and strengthen their muscles, they wear what we call sporting gear.”

Arthur stroked his beard and she had the feeling he was trying to keep himself from laughing. “And what, pray tell, do you . . . they wear upon their upper halves?”

She figured a sports bra was probably going a little too far. “We wear things called T-shirts. A sort of oversized tunic, made of soft fabric for comfort.”

Arthur shook his head. “Apparently my men left much out in their reports from Dumont.”

“Setting aside the fact that you sent men to spy on me, let me ask you this: What kind of hobbies or pleasures do you afford your female servants?”

“Hobbies? Pleasures?”

“You allow Gwen to indulge in her pleasures.”

“Of course. She is my queen and my wife.”

“And yet all of your servants are not permitted to indulge in things that make them happy? You truly believe that because of their station they may not participate in activities they might truly enjoy?”

“My people are not unhappy. Are they? Have you heard grumblings?”

“No, sir, I have not. But would any voice them in front of me?”

His worried frown saddened her. “Do they appear unhappy to you?”

“Again, no. In fact they appear very loyal to their king. But consider the possibilities of allowing them just, say, a small portion of a day to follow their own dreams. To play with their own favored hobbies. How much happier they might be to go about the routine tasks they are required to do day in and day out when they know they have that small portion of time to just play. You may even find that their hobbies reap rewards that you and Camelot have never envisioned.”

Arthur sat down with a thump, seeming deep in thought. “You give me much to ponder.”

Isabel took his hand. “Ponder this. A happy castle staff makes for a happy Camelot. You and Gwen and your highest men enjoy the fruits of the servants’ labors. How about allowing the servants to enjoy some of those fruits for themselves? Why are you, Gwen and I allowed to follow our hearts, and those who work for us not permitted to follow theirs?”

He puffed up like a blowfish. “I do not disallow my staff from pursuing their own desires! Have you not seen the many children about?”

Isabel wanted to laugh but controlled herself. “Lovemaking and childmaking is going to happen no matter what else is happening. I’m talking about other pleasures.”

“What other pleasures are there?”

“Oh, please. Lovemaking is certainly a big one. But there are others. Gwen loves to garden. My chambermaid loves to dress hair. I love to run. I love to draw. The possibilities are endless. We could conduct a poll and find what really makes them happy. And then allow them the opportunity to pursue those dreams.”

“A poll?”

“A chance for them to speak up about what they enjoy. And possibly allow them to voice what they don’t.”

The beard scrubbing was gone. He’d moved on to standing and rubbing his temples. This was a natural progression in Isabel’s life, so she wasn’t exactly surprised. Next he’d be begging for a drink. She’d bet money on it.

“You are an unusual woman, Isabel,” he finally said. Then he stepped to his left and knocked on a bell. Within seconds Tim appeared. “Wine, please, Timothy. And two goblets.”

She needed more wine like she needed more eel. But what the hell? “I promise that you are not the first to tell me this. About being unusual, I mean.”

“But I swear ’tis in a very intriguing way.”

“Right, one that drives men to drink.”

“One that drives men to ponder as they enjoy an evening libation.”

Isabel tried hard to resist, for Viviane’s sake. “Should you not be sharing this with the queen?”

“Gwen enjoys evenings to . . . pursue those”—he waved his hands vaguely—“things women like to do.”

I’ll bet. Isabel rather liked mornings for those types of pursuits but decided not to mention that.

“She’s very sweet,” she said instead, fingering her necklace. “You must love her very much.”

His hesitation was palpable as his eyes seemed fixated on her chest. “As I’m bound to do. She is my wife.”

He sat down, then immediately stood again and started pacing. Then he suddenly stopped and turned to Isabel, his green eyes searching. “Have you loved, Countess?”

“You’re asking why?”

“You have never married.”

“I haven’t? I mean, of course I haven’t. But Arthur, you seem to know much about me.” A whole helluva lot more than she knew about her countess self, as a matter of fact. Until just now, she’d had no idea whether she’d ever been married or not.

Apparently not.

Good God, Viviane, I am no freaking virgin.

’Tis true, Isabel, do you not consider that win-win?

He thinks I am at this stage.

Then consider yourself a hussy, and stop worrying about age.

“How is it that you’ve come by all of this information about me?”

He looked adorably confused. “I’m not certain. It must have been details my men gathered whilst they were checking upon Dumont.”

“Why would you have private investigators checking on me?”

Chagrin looked cute on him, too. “My apologies, Countess. But I would be amiss should I not have knowledge prior to your arrival.”

They were temporarily interrupted by Tim, who arrived with a tray loaded with two goblets. He offered the tray first to her and then Arthur, bowed as they thanked him and silently took his leave, his face betraying no sign of suspicion at what had to be an unusual situation. Isabel wasn’t a connoisseur, but she was pretty sure the liquid in her goblet was either brandy or cognac or the medieval equivalent. It certainly didn’t look or smell like wine.

Arthur swirled his drink before taking a sip. “How could a man not take control of your heart?”

“I haven’t said that my heart has never been engaged, sir.” In fact it felt quite a little too engaged at the moment, and she’d known this man for less than twenty-four hours. “I’ve just not met one who has made me want to be taking those vows,” she said, smiling. “I take them too seriously to say them without meaning them.”

As soon as the words were out, she wanted to kick herself. The pained expression on his face nearly sliced up her heart. “But,” she added quickly, “I feel certain I’ll know him and that elusive thing called love when I see him.”

He looked down. “That makes sense to me. You are, what do they say? Particular?”

“You could say that. Why, Arthur, are you asking me these questions?”

He looked down at her necklace then up, and those gorgeous eyes drilled into her. “Because, madam, I have wanted to kiss you from the moment we met. And I know this is so wrong. My wife’s lips should be the only ones that touch mine. And yet, yours beckon me.”

He turned his back to her. “That was so inappropriate. Please, forget I even uttered such nonsense. I do not understand why I cannot seem to control my tongue around you.”

She had a good feeling she knew why. There was a price to pay for the power of the necklace. And apparently she was not the only one who might have to pay it.

Oh, great, Lady, I want it, too. What do I do?

Well, crap. This is not going as I’d foreseen.

I will do what I can to resist.

The Lady seemed to ponder for a while, but it was probably less than a nanosecond because Arthur hadn’t moved, as if the Goddess had frozen him in time as she thought things through.

It seems, Isabel, there’s a fork in this road, one that carries a heavy load. This way or that, which will it be? When Merlin’s happiness is what matters to me.

But—

Wait a moment, I’m not done, Isabel, as your happiness and Arthur’s matter as well. I fear in my selfishness I’ve not thought this through. I now believe you do what you must do; that fork in the road I spoke of afore, I feel you must choose the one that matters more. ’Tis Arthur’s happiness that is paramount to my man; choose your path, Isabel, and do what you can.

Well, that cleared things up. Not. So the goddess was leaving it up to her? What if she screwed it up and everyone lost? She’d feel just horrible. Or maybe if she really screwed it up, she wouldn’t feel anything because she’d be dead at the bottom of Grand Lake.

Isabel had never shied from responsibility before. But this was kind of a heavy load for which she wasn’t certain she was prepared.

She squared her shoulders and walked up behind Arthur, touching his shoulder. Finally he stirred and turned back to her, the regret in his eyes clear.

She smiled gently. “Please, don’t apologize, Arthur. I would be lying if I didn’t find your admission both flattering and exciting. I felt exactly the same when you materialized from behind that tree.”

“You are being kind.”

Isabel laughed. “That’s a word that doesn’t often show up in a sentence about me. But no, sir, kindness has nothing to do with it. You were truthful to me, and I owe you at least the same.”

“Then may I? Just this once?” he asked.

“But your love of your wife, Arthur? Is this not a betrayal to her?”

He snorted. “Betrayal. That is a word I have come to know well.”

“Meaning?”

“I may seem the fool, Isabel, but I assure you, I am not. I am not blind to what is going on around me. Perhaps I am all well too aware.”

Since she’d just arrived, there would be no way for her to actually know about Gwen and Lancelot, unless she’d been listening to the servants’ gossip. And she wasn’t about to get that darling Mary in trouble for something Mary didn’t do. So she feigned ignorance. “I know naught of what’s troubling you, Arthur, so I have no words to comfort you.”

His chuckle was tinged with bitterness. “I have said more to a woman who is a virtual stranger to me than I’ve e’er said to my most trusted men.”

Isabel stepped back to the bench and sat, then patted the place beside her. “Please, join me. I might have a theory on the matter.” She took a healthy glug of her drink, and surprisingly it was rather good.

“By all means,” he said, taking a seat beside her. “Please, let me hear this theory of yours.”

Isabel toyed with her necklace, making certain his attention was drawn there for a moment or two, hoping the power of the teardrop would work here. “I believe, sir, that it is sometimes much easier to unburden one’s troubles to the ear of someone who isn’t so intimately involved in the situation. A nonpartisan view, as it were.”

“Nonpartisan?”

“One who has little if any stake in the matter. One who has not chosen sides.” Which was a bit of a lie, because if Isabel was going to choose which fork in that road to take, she had a lot at stake in this matter. Not to mention, as nice as Gwen was, Isabel was firmly in Arthur’s court, so to speak.

The early summer night was warm and mixed with the fragrance of lilacs and oil from the two tall lamps set on either side of the mossy path that led into the gardens. The moon was lovely in the clear night sky but not much help as it was only at about its quarter stage. Night critters filled the air with chirps and chitters that sounded comforting somehow.

Arthur didn’t seem to be taking in the atmosphere as he was still staring from her face to her necklace and back again. “And you would be this . . . nonpartisan person?”

“Should you want me to be.” Oh, great, she’d just signed up to be his sounding board. His psychologist. Freud would be spinning right about now. However, maybe what he spilled would revolt her so much that she’d stop obsessing over his big, swarthy hands. His lips. His eyes.

“How do I go about this?” he asked, looking lost.

“However you would like. Wherever and whenever.”

He stood again and paced. Oh, man, nice butt, thighs and shoulders. His men obviously weren’t the only ones who worked out hard while he sat on his throne.

Finally he stopped and faced her. “I had this idea. I thought it was one that would benefit all; those in Camelot and those in all of the surrounding lands. To bring all of the knights of all of the realms together to meet, to discuss how we might find a way to create treaties that would benefit us all and allow us to live prosperously, peacefully and happily.”

“Sounds like a great plan to me.” Impossible, probably, but hey, maybe someday.

He threw his free arm wide. “And to me as well. I was hoping—perhaps in my arrogance—that this might define my legacy as king.”

“There is nothing arrogant about wanting to leave a mark on the world, sir. Is it not what we all hope to accomplish during our time on this earth? To leave it better because of our actions?”

His hand went to his hip. “I most certainly want to kiss you, Countess.”

Oh, me, too. Come on, come on, spill something that will disgust me.

She smiled. “Your tale is in its beginnings. Please, go on. We’ll discuss that other part once you’ve unburdened what brings that sadness to your eyes.”

He returned to the bench and sat down, taking a long sip from his cup before setting it down. Then he took her hand, running his thumb over her palm.

Isabel should have objected, should have pulled away, but it felt really gentle and she had the willpower of a moth to one of those lanterns.

He kind of shook his head. “The responses from the knights were positive. We are to meet here in the next sennight. I asked you to arrive early because our lands border one another, and I wanted us to have discussions over farming before all arrived. And,” he added, looking her in the eyes, “because perhaps the knights would not ...”

“Accept a woman at the negotiating table?”

He nodded. “I am so sorry.”

“Not a problem. We’ll deal with that later. So what’s so sad about this great response to your offer of negotiations? I don’t get it.”

“This is where Lancelot comes in.”