Goddess of Legend

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

MARY all but cartwheeled into Isabel’s room not five minutes after she’d sent Arthur and Mordred on their way.

The only thing stopping her from acrobatics was the tray in her hands. More delicious-smelling herbs, flowers and those damn twiggy things she was forced to use to clean her teeth.

“Hello, Mary,” she said, smiling at the young girl’s exuberance.

“Good afternoon, mum!”

Mary looked around for a place to set the tray, as the table was still filled with remnants of other trays. “How about on the bed, Mary?” Isabel suggested.

Mary turned, but stopped. “I was certain I had made up your bed finely this morn.”

Whoops! She and Arthur hadn’t gotten very far, but far enough to dishevel the coverlet. “It was my fault, Mary. I was . . . restless.”

“No worries, mum, I will tidy up.”

Isabel sat her butt down beside the tray, then patted the bed on the other side of the tray. “If you can manage to sit long enough, please tell me what has you so excited.”

“Gilda says she can easily fix the gown to fit me! Is that not wonderful?”

“Oh, Mary, it truly is! But I had no doubt.” She grabbed Mary’s hand. “You will make such a beautiful bride.”

“Thanks to you, Countess.”

“Hey, my gown had nothing to do with that. It is you. You are a lovely young lady, and you would shine, even in a burlap sack.”

Of course, Mary looked confused. But before Isabel could attempt to explain, Mary—bless her heart—shrugged off what she failed to understand, apparently trusting that Isabel had given her a compliment.

“Leastways, mum, I have a missive as well. From the queen, no less!”

“From the queen, no less! Impressive. And what does the queen have to say to me?”

“She would like you to meet her in the loft where the seamstresses work.”

“To what purpose?”

Mary giggled. “She is attempting to teach them how to make man breeches for ladies. Yet she has no stitching skills, lady. None at all.”

“There is no difference other than size, Mary, but I will happily meet her, for this might be a very good day for us all. Let’s go.”

Isabel took Mary’s hand and then led her through the door. “Show me the way.”

Mary began leading her through a labyrinth of stairways and hallways. “May I ask, m’lady, what kind of play we will be engaging in wearing these garments?”

“Whatever floats our boat.”

Mary giggled again as they ran up more steps. “Betimes I do not understand your meaning, Countess, but I do not question because you are so much fun.”

Isabel stopped her. “You, Mary, are the little sister I wish I had.”

“Oh, mum, that means more to me than I can possibly say.”

“Good. Will you now finally call me Isabel?”

“No, mum.”

Isabel grinned. “Yes, indeed. The stubborn little sister I always wanted.” She glanced upward. “Beat you up the stairs.”

“When it snows in Hades,” Mary said as they raced.

MARY and Isabel were both still a little out of breath by the time they arrived in the huge seamstress room. It was truly amazing! There were at least fifty women, stitching at a pace that would make a Singer proud.

Some appeared to be working on new tunics for the men, many appeared to be sewing up pants, others working on plain muslin gowns, a few on basic aprons.

Mary grabbed Isabel’s hand and dragged her to a woman who was the spitting image of Betty White. This must be Gilda, the woman who was working on Mary’s wedding gown.

Isabel grinned and held out her hand. “You must be Gilda.”

“That I am, mum,” she said, staring at Isabel’s hand as if it were a boa. She set everything aside and attempted to stand.

“No, no! Please sit,” Isabel said. “I didn’t mean to disrupt.”

“She speaks a fair bit different from the rest of us, Mary.”

Mary huffed out. “She be from a different land and ’tis how they speak in hers. But she is also a countess and deserves your respect.”

Gilda grunted but went right back to stitching.

Mary stomped her foot. “She gifted me this dress.”

“Let’s hit the road, Jack,” Isabel said, trying to walk away as fast as possible.

Mary stood her ground, grabbing Isabel’s arm and holding on tight. “Would James want you to act thusly to the woman who gifted his son’s future wife with something so beautiful?”

The woman stopped stitching and looked up slowly. “’Twas a very nice thing you did, m’lady. I thank you on behalf of James and Mary.”

“And?” Mary prodded, still with the death grip on Isabel’s arm.

“And my future daughter would be ever so proud to have you stand aside her at her vow ceremony. Even as I have told her the foolishness of the request.”

“I would be proud to stand beside Mary.”

Gilda looked up, her huge brown eyes full of surprise. “In truth?”

“Of course! Mary is my friend.” She turned to Mary, who was nearly jumping up and down. “Don’t you have closer friends you would prefer, Mary?”

Mary stopped bouncing on her toes. “I do, m’lady. Or I did. But my choice is you. If it does not upset you.”

“If I agree, will you agree to call me Isabel?”

“No, mum.”

Isabel laughed. “I didn’t think so. Yes, I happily agree. It would be an honor beyond any requests I have ever been asked to perform.”

Before they turned from Gilda’s workstation, Isabel glanced down to see a slight smile on the woman’s face.

They walked away, and Isabel whispered, “You have your hands full.”

Mary grinned at her. “Or perhaps, it is she who will need to keep a watch.”

“My money’s on you, babe,” Isabel said.

“Here is the queen, madam, the purpose for your visit.”

“Your Highness,” Isabel said, then whispered to Mary, “I wager I am able curtsy lower than you.”

“Ha!”

They both dropped into low, then lower, then even lower curtsies. Mary beat her again, and Isabel fell over on her, where they laid laughing. “By the end of our bets, Mary, you will own everything I have.”

“I do so want that necklace, Countess.”

“I bet you do,” Isabel said. “However, it’s the one thing I’m unable to give up. Try again.”

“Rise now,” Gwen demanded.

Isabel sat up but didn’t get to her feet. “In a nicer tone, Gwen, I’ll consider whether or not to agree to such a rather rude demand. Until then, we are having a very good time down here.”

Although Mary obviously had stopped having a good time. She attempted to stand, but Isabel held her down.

Gwen looked shocked. “’Twas not a demand, Countess, ’twas but a request.”

“Sounded more like a demand, Your Highness. I’m so not into that haughty holier-than-thou thing.”

The entire room went completely silent, as if sound had been sucked from it.

“I ne’er meant it as such,” Gwen said.

“Then in a nicer tone,” Isabel suggested, staring up at the woman who had first won Arthur’s heart. And then shattered it. Isabel liked Gwen and disliked her all at once, and wasn’t certain which of the pieces of this amazing puzzle fell into which category.

“I need not be nice,” Gwen said, her eyes suddenly squinty.

“Not part of your job description? What, you only need to be gracious to those of your station and bitch queeny to all else?”

Isabel ignored the gasps.

She got to her feet, pulling Mary up with her. But she kept Mary behind her. “Until you learn to have fun with the people who work so hard to make your pampered life comfortable, you will never connect in an important way. These people work their asses off to make your life glorious. Treat them like shit, and you receive the love and respect of no one. You haven’t earned it.”

“Off with her head!” was the next thing Isabel expected out of Gwen’s mouth. But the queen seemed to be speechless.

So far Isabel’s head seemed to be secure.

“You are such a kind lady, Gwen. What the hell? What is wrong? I thought you asked me here to show me something really nice. What is it?”

Gwen rubbed her temples. “Yes, we are here to see . . . What are we here to see, Jenny?”

A young girl, probably a year or two older than Mary, stepped forward. “We are here to see the women’s leggings, as you had requested.”

“I suggested, I did not request. But I find it wonderful that you have set it in motion, Gwen.”

“You have attempted to take over Camelot, Countess,” Gwen said.

“Excuse me? I had nothing to do with this. We had a good chat and you thought it was an idea to pursue.”

“Liar! The marriage of James and Mary was my idea. This,” she said, waving around vaguely, “this was all my idea! You stole it. You stole it all from me.”

“Okey-dokey, then. It’s all your idea. No problem. No patents happening here.”

Isabel glanced around and every single face was frozen in shock. Hers probably was as well.

“Do you know if she’s had a little too much wine this morning, Mary?” She watched Mary and the girl called Jenny exchange worried glances, and then Jenny shook her head no and shrugged.

“Heretic!” Gwen yelled.

“I don’t have my handy dictionary with me, Mary, but isn’t that a word that means witch or something?”

“I am not sure of the word witch,” Mary whispered, “but I believe it means you are of the underworld. Of the dark forces.”

“So I’m guessing it isn’t a compliment?”

Mary was apparently too afraid to laugh.

“Gwen, how about you and I take a walk and talk about this?” she said, figuring she’d direct Gwen straight to the first pond and dunk her face in it until the woman sobered up.

“You will walk me straight into hell! You want my husband and my crown and my throne, and I see it all now.”

Isabel turned to the closest seamstress. “Please go find the king. Find my man Tom if you can. But most importantly King Arthur. He will know who else needs to be here.”

The girl hesitated. “The king will not trust my request.”

“Please. Tell him that Isabel requests it. It is an emergency. He will thank you. Now run behind me and out as fast as you can.”

The girl glanced from her to Mary. Mary must have given her some signal, as the girl nodded and said, “Yes, m’lady.”

Had to give her credit, that little girl had lightning speed.

But apparently Gwen caught it, and caught it in LSD time.

Or so Gwen appeared. “That was beautiful,” she said. “All others are allowed to leave as well. They are innocent and have not tried to harm me. You have.”

“Then allow them to leave. You and I can speak privately.”

“No! They have work to do.”

“It appears, Gwen, this is personal. Just you and me. No reason to involve anyone else.”

“You stole James.”

“James? You mean Mary’s James? I don’t even know the man, other than he’s my friend’s future husband and your husband’s most trusted soldier.”

“You would steal him from Mary as you stole Arthur from me.” Gwen shuddered and then seemed to whither. She took several labored breaths before lowering her accusing arm. “I am so sorry. I do not know what is the matter.” She shook her head. “Isabel, I wanted to show you the progress we have made on the breeches for women.”

Okay, this wasn’t crazy and this wasn’t drunk. And this was so very far out of Isabel’s knowledge and comfort zone.

“I have been watching, Gwen, and I’m very impressed. And I thank you for taking my suggestion and running with it.”

“Your suggestion?” Gwen nearly screeched. “’Twas my idea. Mine.”

At this point Isabel was hoping for medieval doctors to come in and take Gwen off to the loony bin. No such luck.

“And you will in no way be part of the ceremony between James and Mary,” Gwen said. “All was my idea. And I will have it as I see fit. Or they will not have it at all.”

Isabel felt slapped in the face. At this point Mary was shaking. Isabel held on to her hand. “Should you in any way harm Mary because of my words or actions, I will most definitely take her and James back to the safety of Dumont. Mary has done nothing but be my lady in waiting, or whatever you would call her, and, I would hope, friend. I will not allow you to punish her for actually having fun doing her job. And doing it well. Now you tell me, Queen Guinevere, how you want to play this.”

Again, Gwen was silent for quite some time. And then she did the funniest thing. She bent over in laughter, which shocked Isabel, and probably everyone in the room.

GWEN finally reined in her mirth, but in truth, it took some time. She had just been told to go to Hades by a woman who had walked into her castle and in less than two nights had won over the hearts of more castle staff than Gwen had been able to in the years she had been queen.

The countess had been rolling on the floor with a servant, the two so happy.

Gwen had ne’er ever been close to such a relationship. Truth be told, it had ne’er even entered her mind. And right now her mind felt not so well. She could not seem to control her emotions.

“You may stop protecting Mary, Countess. I have no plans or desires to harm her well-being. This I swear. We are going to have a lovely ceremony in the great hall for Mary and James.”

Isabel, who was standing as a guard against harm, seemed to settle. “We accept that promise, Your Highness.”

The countess turned to Mary. “Want a two-for-one bet on the best curtsy, Mary?”

Mary’s red curls went wild as she shook her head. “No, mum, I believe we have strained the queen’s patience as is.”

“Truth told, you have not,” Gwen said. “I apologize if I sounded impatient. I was anxious, only, to show you, Countess, what we . . . what these talented seamstresses have put their hands to.”

Isabel looked around. “Most appear to be making great progress.”

Gwen smiled. “Yes, for the women. They should be ready by the morning fast.”

It was quite satisfying to Gwen to see the look on Isabel’s face. “You are attempting to take Arthur from me.”

“Are you serious?” Isabel asked. “I was attempting to bring the two of you back together.”

“That is true, my queen. James heard as much,” Mary said.

“Liar!”

Isabel and Mary looked at each other.

“You call her a liar, you call me a liar,” Isabel told her.

Gwen ignored this. “We begin my idea of playtime for all women one hour after breaking fast on the morrow.”

She glanced around the room, and the workers who had stopped in midstitch for some reason immediately returned to their work in earnest.

“Oh, Gwen, thank you!” Isabel said, lunging forward and hugging her. “And I am so sorry for being snippy with you.”

Gwen was taken aback, as she had ne’er seen such joy from another woman so blatantly displayed. But truth be told, she felt so very happy inside.

“So what will our first playtime involve?”

“Wow, you have caught me off guard, Gwen. I never thought you’d pull this off so fast.” Isabel peered across the room, then clapped. “My apologies for disrupting you ladies, but I’d like to have a vote.”

“A vote, mum?” Mary asked behind Isabel’s back, as a certainty still afraid to come forward and face her queen. ’Twas a sad thought that Gwen had not treated the servants better. They had alas been tools to forward her desires and needs. She could not even begin to name many of them. Not even the young lady who fled from the room. ’Twas sad and humiliating. She was a failure as a queen. In many more ways than one.

“How many of you want to participate tomorrow morning?” Isabel asked. “Please don’t raise your hand if you don’t mean it. Please only raise your hand if you are truly interested. And there is no punishment should you decline, yes, Queen Guinevere? It is not demanded of them.”

“They are free to choose, Isabel.”

“The queen has said so. You may choose yes or not, with no repercussions whatever you decide. Should you choose not to play, then that hour will be yours, free to do whatever. As long as you do it making yourself happy. Hell, you can get naked for your men.”

Many giggled.

“What play will this be?” a lady, who did not even look up from her stitching, asked.

Gwen looked at Isabel, as she had no idea. “Countess Isabel, I am certain, must needs answer this one.”

Isabel glanced around and finally said, “It all depends on the weather tomorrow.”

At that very moment, the clouds opened up and a rumble of thunder shook overhead.

“Should it be inside the castle, then so be it. Have any of you heard of Duck, Duck, Goose?”

“As in the menu?” one asked.

“As in the game.”

ISABEL and Gwen strolled down the stairs. “Duck, Duck, Goose?” Gwen asked, with a smile.

“You have to start small with women who have never known real play.”

Gwen took a few steps before turning to her. “My deepest apologies for my surly mood back there.”

Isabel nodded. “What was that all about, Gwen? I haven’t known you long, but long enough to feel it was so unlike you.”

“You two, you and . . .”

“Mary. Her name is Mary. And she is about to marry Arthur’s first man.”

Gwen blushed. “Yes, yes, Mary. You were making a mockery of the curtsy to the queen.”

Isabel’s head dropped back so that she had a great view of the ceiling “Oh, please, get over yourself. We were having fun. It was no slight to you. We were in a contest.”

“It felt to me as a slight to my stature.”

“Give me a freaking break, Gwen. Since when did you really care about that? To this date, I have seen you only as gracious to one and all. Yet today your claws came out. For no good reason.”

Gwen looked down, then her knees seemed to give out. She sat down on the steps, and Isabel sat with her. “What is it, Gwen?”

“I’m jealous, Isabel.”

“Of what exactly? If you mean this morning, nothing happened between Arthur and me.”

Not exactly true, but almost nothing happened. Much to her disappointment.

“This morning?”

Isabel wanted to shake herself. “What I mean is that we talked. As we always do, we talked.”

There, that was true enough. They’d talked. Kissed and came close to naked and hot, sweaty sex, but those points didn’t need to be included.

“’Tis not what is between you and Arthur that upsets me.”

Oh, excellent! Was that a green light?

“Then what?”

“I saw the funning between you and . . .”

“Mary. Her name is Mary!”

“Yes, I am so sorry, Mary. I witnessed how happy she appeared in your company, and I felt the envy claw at me.”

“Why?”

“Because I ne’er had such a friendly exchange betwixt any of my servants and me.”

“Hey, they’re still loyal to you.”

“’Tis not the same. As castle servants, loyalty is to be expected.”

“I believe true loyalty ought to be earned not just expected or required.”

“What have I done wrong?”

“Nothing much different than what royalty has been doing forever. Princess Di, was an exce—” Her necklace thumped. She sighed. “You view them as tools, not as people. Should you actually learn their names and anything about their loves and lives, you could do something like—gasp!—befriend them individually.”

“You have been here naught but two nights, and yet you have already managed to accomplish that.”

Isabel took Gwen’s hand. “The men and women who serve you are loyal, Gwen. And trust me, you could be much worse. You could, for example, be Hitler.”

Thump.

“But you are not. From what I’ve heard, all who work in the castle have much respect for you. If not for that respect, you and Lance would have been outed a long time ago.”

Gwen’s head snapped up. “My pardon?”

“Oh, please, Gwen, about the only ones in this castle unaware are the dogs and the chickens. And I wouldn’t put half the dogs on the stand.”

“What you speak is befuddling. I . . . have always taken my vows to Camelot seriously.”

“To Arthur, not so much. You broke that one when you strayed on your husband. It’s a credit to him that he is forbidding those who know—and trust me, everyone knows—to speak of how you’ve broken your vows.”

Gwen stood. “That is not true.”

Isabel looked up at her. “Which, that you’ve broken vows or that everyone knows about it?”

Gwen glared down at her. “You have, Countess, overstepped your bounds and my hospitality. I request that you and your retinue prepare to leave Camelot.”

Isabel, studied her nails, which truly needed a manicure. She vaguely wondered if Mary was good at that, too. Or if Mary had a friend with the skill. “Are you having your period, Gwen? Or getting close? Because you’ve been acting PMS-y all day. Up-down, up-down. You can barely keep your emotions under control.”

“Get out.”

“Go get Arthur to tell me this, and I will most definitely grant your wish.” Isabel stood up and was at least six inches taller than that ethereal queen who had turned into a dragon in a nanosecond. PMS for sure. “Until he also agrees that I should leave your kingdom, I’m not going anywhere. Mary asked me to stand beside her at her wedding, and I plan to be there, standing with her. If you and Arthur both object, I will give her my apologies.”

Gwen collapsed onto the steps again, breaking into sobs. “What is wrong with me?”

Isabel’s heart broke, and she sat down and cradled Gwen. “About to have that time of month?”

“Time of month?”

“I honestly do not know what you call it. In my time—”

Thump.

“—my land, I mean, it means having your period. That time of the month when you . . . bleed . . . down there.”

“It is quite about that time.”

“See? Hormones are a bitch.”

“Who are hormones? Are they people I should know?”

“None you really want to.”

Gwen hiccupped into her chest. “How could you possibly know these things?”

“Trust me, I know, Gwen. I’m famous for pounding men over their heads with copper pots at that time of month.”

Gwen giggled. “Truly?”

“Truly. We need to go back to my room and have Mary bring you some tea. Possibly filled with some parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.”

Gwen looked up at her. “Truly?”

Isabel shrugged. “It worked for Simon and Garfunkel. It has to work for us.”

“And then, we might just order wine.”

“Hey, that might work, too.”

ISABEL found herself practically dragging Gwen to her chambers. By the time they reached the room, Mary was there, sprinkling things into the tub.

Mary stood straight, glancing with fear from Gwen to Isabel. “My apologies, mum! I was merely preparing your bath. I will return when you are ready.”

“We need tea, Mary,” Isabel said.

“I am so very sorry, Mary,” Gwen said, “for ruining a fun day. And we do not want tea, we want wine.”

Isabel figured the last thing Gwen needed was wine, but try to talk to a woman going through PMS. She nodded at Mary, mouthing, “I’m sorry!”

“The dark or the white kind?” Mary asked.

“Both,” Isabel said. “And please, some cheese and meats and lots and lots of bread to soak up the aftermath.”

Mary curtsied, and then Isabel curtsied, and then Mary ran from the room before they got into another battle and giggling fit.

“I do not feel able to climb up on that bed, Isabel.”

“How about we just plop down on the floor, Gwen? We can talk and chat like teenagers as if we’re having a sleepover.”

Gwen slipped to the floor without argument. “What is happening to me, Isabel?”

“Trust me, you will be feel so much better in the morning.” Wait, PMS. Maybe in a couple of days without a pharmacist around to help. “Or very soon.”

MARY was so busy keeping the overloaded tray in her hands steady, she nearly ran head-on into King Arthur. She stopped as fast as she was able, which made the tray that much more dangerous.

She attempted to curtsy even as she babbled out her apology.

The king helped her steady the tray, then took it from her hands. He had a smile that could fell a bull. “’Tis all right, Mary. My deepest apologies for startling you.”

It took her many moments to collect her breath.

“The queen is no longer up with the seamstresses, King Arthur, if that is where you’re headed.”

“I was not. Was I supposed to be?”

It appeared that Lily had failed to find him. “No longer. Sir, I, sir, I, Your Highness, sir, I am so deeply sorry for my clumsiness.”

He chuckled softly. “’Twas not your clumsiness at fault here, Mary. ’Twas mine.” He glanced down at the tray, with the two goblets, the two wines, and the assortment of meats, cheeses and breads. “Are you headed to the Countess Isabel’s quarters?”

“I am, sir.”

“So she is entertaining?” he asked.

“She is, sir.”

Mary had not been in the king’s company for long, but she very much understood the appearance of a man hurt by news. ’Twas the same jaw-ticking, eyes-dropping look she had received the first two times she had refused James’s proposals.

She weighed loyalties, and just had to believe that she was not betraying Lady Isabel. “She is entertaining the queen, m’lord.”

He glanced up, the light that had extinguished from his eyes only moments ago returning. “She is with Gwen?”

“Yes, m’lord.” She felt like skipping. ’Twas twice today that she had made a royal happy. ’Twas a happy day indeed. She could not wait to find a moment to tell James.

“Then by all means, Mary, allow me to carry this tray to the door for you.”

“But, sir!”

“Shhh! We shall be extremely stealthy as we approach. And I will leave prior to your entrance. They shall never be aware that I was near.”

“But I cannot allow you to carry this tray, my king. ’Tis my job.”

“We shall keep it a state secret,” he said, with a quite fetching smile. “James would ne’er forgive me for not treating his lady as the lady she is.”

“I am no lady, m’lord, I am but at your service.”

As they walked up the stairs and down the halls, her king said, “All who toil at Camelot are men and women, nothing less.”

Mary smiled. “You and my lady Isabel would get on well. She said much the same thing just an hour ago in the sewing room about treating all in the castle with respect.”

“Did she now?”

“She is amazing, m’lord. She has treated me with nothing but kindness and generosity, and if truth be told, she makes me laugh.”

He nodded. “I see, so she is perfect.”

“Well ...”

“Find me a fault, Mary.”

Mary hesitated. The king grinned at her. “Go ahead. Name one.”

“She is a bit picky about the tools I have brought her to clean her teeth and cleanse her breath. She mumbles often about a thing called Listerine. And she wishes for a thing called floss.”

Mary stopped him a few steps away from her mistress’s doorway. “I have most likely spoken out of turn. I very much want the countess to believe in me.”

The king nodded at her. “If the condition of her teeth is the most you have to say about the countess, do you not realize just how loyal you are to her?”

“There is nothing, sir, to report otherwise. Although I must admit, should there be something else, I believe I would not say so. And I will not apologize for this. Yet I apologize. Yet there is nothing else. But if it were so . . .”

He grinned and whispered, “I get it, Mary.”

“She is standing at my side at my wedding, sir.”

“And I will be standing at James’s side.”

Mary felt her heart jump. “This is true?”

“He asked, I accepted. Is that a problem?”

“No, sir. No, not at all. Although after the queen demanded that Isabel leave, I believed that perhaps we would need to travel to Dumont to say our vows. James does not know this yet. But I believe his love for me is enough that we may exchange vows in any land of our choosing.”

The king set down the tray. “When did the queen ask for Isabel to leave Camelot?”

Mary felt her face go from the norm to red-hot fire in a short instant. She should not have overheard that exchange between her queen and her countess on those steps. She had only followed to be certain that Isabel—oh, goodness, she was thinking of her as Isabel—had all that she needed.

She could not face the king. “I cannot say, sir.”

The king took her shoulders. “When, Mary? Please tell me.”

Her slippers were about the only thing she felt good about paying attention to. “I ne’er meant to hear this conversation.”

“Please tell me.”

“The countess and I were having fun in the sewing room. I know naught what upset the queen. But upset she was, and then the next thing I remember is that the queen was laughing and then weeping, and the countess was helping her. I was not trying to listen, I was trying to see if the countess had need of me. The queen, well, she did not seem well. My countess did not have need of me so much. The queen had need of her. They were sitting on the steps and talking. And then Isabel . . . I mean the countess . . . held her up and led her to the room. The queen, I fear was just not quite right. And my countess was trying to help.”

He nodded. “Go on.”

“Countess Isabel ordered tea, but the queen demanded wine. So Isabel ordered that and cheeses and meats and breads to soak them up, as she said. I do not know what is happening in there, sir, but I know that when I left them, they appeared happy enough together. I do not fear for the countess’s life, or I would be the first to intrude.”

“You feared for the countess earlier?”

“I did, sir.”

“From Gwen? From your queen?”

“I cannot answer that question. Even Countess Isabel would ask me not to answer.”

Arthur nodded. “Your lack of an answer speaks louder than any other. It also speaks to loyalty, Mary. So very important. James is a lucky man.” He picked up the tray and handed it to her, holding on until she was steady, which took a moment because here was the king helping her.

“Mary,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes, “I ask you not to spy, only to inform me as soon as possible if you sense anything wrong.”

“Such as?” she asked, feeling a quakiness in her knees once again.

“Such as a threat from one person to another.”

“The countess would ne’er harm ...” She stopped herself. “I cannot imagine either harming the other.”

“’I am going to stay here in the hallway, and I am asking for a report of what you see and feel inside. I do not want details, I do not expect any wrong happening in there, but I must know before I charge in on my own.”

“You would do such?”

“If Gwen is planning to harm Isabel, yes, I would.”

As Mary headed to the door, it came to her thinking that the king had not worried about Countess Isabel harming the queen. Then again, it had not occurred to Mary, either. Very strange indeed that both of them were much more concerned about the welfare of the countess than the queen.