Goddess of Legend

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“M’LADY,” a man said as he passed Isabel in the great hall, where she was on her knees, scrubbing the floor.

She glanced up, down, up, down, then up again. “James?”

He stopped, his face, free of hair, went a little red. “Yes, Countess.”

She jumped up, pulling his burly self around to face her. “James! Oh, good gods, look at you!”

“I am not able to do that, Countess, as I am looking at you.”

She laughed and wiped her brow. “Why in the world have you been hiding that handsome face behind so much . . . fur?”

“I . . . Countess, are you jesting? I feel almost disrobed.”

“Holy smokes, James,” Isabel said, truly shocked. Without all of that hair, he looked like a young Clooney, albeit beefier. About a foot taller. And way better. “Why have you been hiding your good looks? I mean, truly.”

She was sincerely almost at a loss for words.

“I did not know I was doing such. But I appreciate it, Countess. Yet right now I feel as a newborn babe,” he said, rubbing his jaw.

“Mary takes no prisoners.”

“Oh, she does indeed. Right now her prisoner is the king.”

She smiled. “Now I see what Mary has always seen. What a lucky bride to have such a handsome groom.”

“I am the lucky one, Countess.” He glanced around. “And her toes are pretty,” he whispered.

“As is she.”

He got a moony look on his face. “She is. I cannot thank you enough for the kindness you have shown her. She is very excited about this gown.”

“She is the best kind of friend, James. I am guessing she will be that much of a friend to you, as well as your life mate.”

He rubbed at his eyes. “We cannot thank you enough for your generosity.”

“All I want is for the two of you to be happy. I would plant a kiss on your cheek, if I had a ladder that would help me get up there.”

He surveyed the room again, and then said, “A kiss from a countess would be an honor.”

He bent down and she kissed his cheek. “All good wishes, James.”

“All good wishes to you and my king, Countess. I have feelings, and I know this feeling is right. You are meant for one another. As Mary and I are.”

He strode away before she could utter a single word.

She shook her head and went back to scrubbing the floor. Gwen was out with several servants, all of them beating the rushes to, she hoped, a merciful death.

Although Gwen had sworn she had a formula to also relieve their miserable selves from stinking.

“Isabel!”

She nearly fell over from the shock. She looked up, and there was Arthur, clean-cut and gorgeous. “Wow,” she said, standing up. “You, sir, are the most handsome king I have ever seen in my life.”

“And how many kings have you seen exactly?” he asked.

None, other than Arthur of course. “Naked, you mean? That would be one.”

He tried not to smile and failed miserably. “Isabel, why are you down on your hands and knees?”

“I’m cleaning. Trust me, this hall needs it badly.”

“There are people to do this.”

“Right. Like me. I am capable, Arthur. By the way, you look luscious.”

“Do not try to distract me with words I do not ken,” he said. “I want you not down on the floor.”

“Too freakin’ bad. I can help clean as well as anyone.”

“We have people who—”

“Arthur! If I am not willing to help, what does that say about me? Do not, and I mean really, do not give me trouble for helping clean this hall.”

“But there are people—”

“Do not even go there. Do you stand around as your men work out?”

“No, but—”

“Do you stand by while your men fight your battles for you?”

“No, but—”

“Then please don’t be upset when I do what needs to be done. I am no better than anyone because I happened to be born into royalty.” She had no idea if that was true in this alter reality, but she was going with it. “Are you any better than others because you managed to pull a sword out of a stone?”

“No, but—”

“We all bleed red, Arthur. We are the same.”

“Yes, but—”

She waited, but he seemed to be stumped. “Yes, but what?”

“You missed a spot over here, Isabel.”

And he walked away, into his study.

Good gods, she loved that man. She was going to kick his ass to be sure. But in the most loving way. She moved over and started scrubbing the spot she had missed.

THE wedding vows between James and Mary had Isabel almost crying. They were so true and heartfelt and Mary was a beautiful bride.

Gwen had truly outdone herself. The hall was spectacular with candles and flowers everywhere. In Isabel’s day, Gwen would probably be the most successful party planner in the entire state of Oklahoma.

The results were truly breathtaking.

Isabel, obviously, had never witnessed such a ceremony. It wasn’t religious, but so very spiritual.

“I do thee vow,” James said.

And as his second man, Arthur stepped before them. “You will honor your wife.”

“I will.”

“Protect her and keep her at all costs.”

“I will.”

“Isabel?” he said.

She moved in front of the two and twined their hands, as was the custom.

“You will honor your husband?”

“I will.”

“Protect and keep him at all costs?”

That was way off script. The wife was supposed to honor his wishes and obey his demands. But she could not have possibly choked that out of her mouth.

“She will,” James chimed in before protests could begin.

“I will,” Mary said.

“Excellent,” Isabel said. “You are so going to live happily together.” She bent and kissed Mary’s cheek. “He is a lucky man, m’lady,” she whispered.

Mary looked up at her and grinned. “Yes, he is.”

Arthur closed the ceremony and then called for all to celebrate.

“WHAT in Hades was that?” Arthur asked Isabel, when he finally managed to corner her.

“What?”

“’Twas not as ceremonies go. You—”

“Went off script, yes, I know. But it was so much more truthful.”

“Truthful?”

“Arthur, had you and I ever married—”

“You must mean when we marry.”

“Okay, dream on. When we marry, there is no way in hell I’m promising to obey you. And there was no way I was going to ask Mary to vow to do such a thing. So I improvised.”

He stared for a moment, then broke out laughing. “Oh, Isabel, you are a puzzle. And a constant delight.”

“I’m taking that as a compliment. I think.”

“Take it as a compliment. I think.”

“Then we’re good to go. Now let’s go celebrate.”

THE reception lasted well into the night. The food, wine and mead disappearing as fast as it was produced. To the credit of all who had to work the party, they seemed genuinely happy for Mary and James. If not, they put up a really good front. And Isabel had the feeling she knew who to thank for that.

She walked over to Gwen, who seemed to be giving Jenny a pep talk. Jenny was ringing her hands and nodding.

“Your voice is beautiful, Jenny. You will do just fine,” she heard Gwen say. “Just sing it like you did this morning.”

Jenny nodded a final time, then ran off.

“I must say, Lady Guinevere, your throw one hell of a party,” Isabel said.

Gwen smiled at her. “We throw one hell of a party. I could not have done this without you.”

“Or without a gazillion people helping.”

Gwen laughed. “That, too.”

They both looked as Jenny began singing. Oh, it was so beautiful. Isabel didn’t know the song, but she knew a voice like no other when she heard it. All clapped at the end, as well they should have.

Wow! Impressive didn’t even begin to describe it.

“She’s good!”

“In many ways. She sings to me during bathing.”

“Wow, lucky you!”

“Indeed.”

“Speaking of which, just what did you say to the staff?” Isabel asked.

“I am certain I know not what you mean,” Gwen said, swirling the wine in her goblet.

“I am certain you do.”

Gwen smiled, then sipped at her wine. “I merely mentioned how thrilled I was for Mary and James, and would it not be shameful if others did not share in their joy this night.”

Isabel nodded. “Very tactful. And effective. That was such a nice thing to do.”

“’Twas the very least I could do.”

“This is not the wine talking, this is me.” Isabel said. “I really enjoy and admire you, Gwen. When you step up, you really step up.”

Gwen’s eyes welled. She glanced around. “This is not the wine talking,” she said softly, “this is me. I understand, completely, why Arthur is so taken with you.”

Okay, it was Isabel’s turn to blink back tears. “No matter what the future holds, I hope we will always be friends, Gwen.”

“That is my hope as well. Perhaps even one day pinky-finger friends.”

Isabel nearly coughed up a mouthful of wine. When she finally managed to swallow, she said, “How do you like Lance’s hair?”

Gwen’s eyes went straight to her lover. “He does look exceedingly handsome, does he not?”

If you preferred the young pretty-boy types. Isabel figured that tastes differed drastically. She thought Arthur, with his rugged and oh-so-handsome good looks, was so much sexier. But at the moment she was thrilled that her idea of attractive and Gwen’s were from completely different planets. “He does, indeed,” she said, diplomacy being the better part of not getting her hair pulled out.

“And how about James?” she added.

“Who knew?” Gwen said.

“Mary did. She saw past all of that to his heart. But truly, he’s a very attractive giant.”

Gwen giggled. Then she said, “Even Mordred appears more handsome.”

“He needs a few years to grow into his looks, but he really lucked out in the gene department. I look at him and see Arthur at his age.”

“What did you do, Isabel?”

“What do you mean?”

“Something happened. Until recently he seemed to live to torture his father. But suddenly they are laughing and embracing. I saw them even exercising in the sword sport together just this morn. I just have this feeling that you had something to do with this transformation.” She paused, sipped. “And perhaps something to do with that knee injury.”

“Perhaps,” Isabel said.

They glanced at each other and both started giggling. Isabel raised a fist, pinky finger out. Gwen stared for a moment, then mimicked with her own. Then they hooked up.

“This means the world to me, Isabel.”

“And to me.” Isabel laughed. “Is this the strangest friendship ever?”

“Very possible,” Gwen said. “But rather fun, do you not think?”

“No one would ever believe it.”

“Which is why it is fun.”

A banging sound had them both nearly jumping out of their slippers. They looked over, and Arthur was standing on one of the long tables, getting attention by clanging a utensil against his stein.

“Please, may the happy couple step forward?” he boomed.

Isabel looked up at him and her heart nearly exploded. He was such a larger-than-life presence, so big and strong and, good gods, handsome. And he loved her. He desired her. He wanted to hold and protect her.

Maybe over time she’d be able to get him to be just a little less chauvinistic, but it really did, at this moment, strike her to the core all that he was, all he represented. He was a king, yet he was no dictator. He treated all equally. He valued every person at Camelot, treated them as family. And all here, as far as she had seen so far, adored him and admired him in return. Wonder of wonders, he loved her. She had no idea why, but then again she was not about to question it.

She could barely breathe just staring up at him.

“Please, have all of the servants come join us,” he said. “They have worked so hard to make this night a success.”

There was a moment of silence as Mary and James stepped up to the table and the staff filed in from all parts of the castle.

Arthur glanced around, his eyes squinting. “Well, I know that they are here, but at the moment, I cannot find them. But, James and Mary, you very likely have been too excited and busy to take note, but the queen and the countess worked as hard as all to make this night as memorable for you as is possible.”

Cheers nearly broke Isabel’s ear drums. She grabbed Gwen’s hand and they squeezed. What a strange alliance.

James rumbled up atop the table as well, and Isabel thought all held a collective breath, wondering if there was a table on earth that could hold him. Kudos to the carpenter, this one held under his weight.

“I, too, would care to thank everyone,” James said. “And I, too, thank the queen and the countess for their hard work to make my new life with my beautiful wife, Mary, start with such great joy. Our king may not ken that I saw all that you did, but I indeed was witness to it. And Mary and I cannot even begin to show our gratitude.” Big, large, no, gigantic James had to wipe his eyes. “Our everlasting appreciation. Is Camelot not the greatest kingdom of all?”

Again, the cheers nearly shook the rafters. Actually, Isabel thought, did castles have rafters? Exactly what were rafters, anyway?

“And should there be a greater king to serve than Sir Arthur?”

Again, deafening cheers.

Arthur looked like he wanted to pound his stein over James’s head.

“James, you are my best mate,” he said, “but I fear if you do not climb down from this table, the both of us will crumble in a sea of splintered wood.”

“To King Arthur!” James said, before he not so elegantly began to climb down.

“To our king!” the entire hall cheered.

“Criminey!” Arthur said. “This is about our newlywed couple! Let us keep the eye on the prize, everyone.”

“What?” Gwen said.

Isabel looked down. Arthur was picking up way too many phrases she happened to blurt out at any given moment.

“Mary and James,” Arthur said, “here are the door keys to your cottage. A very, very happy night for you both.”

“Oh, sir, that is a wonderful gift.”

“Where is the queen?” Arthur asked. “Queen Guinevere, please come forward to tell them the rest.”

Gwen again squeezed Isabel’s hand. “This should be you.”

Isabel shook her head. “No, you are the queen, Gwen. Go!”

Gwen walked forward, and Arthur stepped down from the table to greet her. They made such a beautiful couple, Isabel was ready to shoot them both.

Gwen smiled as she took center stage, her crown glistening atop her head.

And then she said, “No, I cannot take credit for the gift that comes next. It is Isabel, Countess of Dumont, who was insistent. Please, Countess, come here to tell Mary and James.”

Isabel wanted to disappear, literally and figuratively.

She shook her head. “No!”

Gwen pointed at her. “Go get her, James.”

Being dragged center stage, at least a foot off the ground, was not exactly her idea of making a grand entrance. But that was exactly what James did, Mary clapping and laughing the entire time.

“My pardon, Countess,” James said as he set her down. “But you have been summoned by the queen.”

“I will get you for this. I don’t know when, I don’t know how, but I will get you,” she said to Mary’s new husband. “So watch your back.”

“I will, Countess. I am truly shaking.”

She wanted to glare at him, but how could she? “Bend down,” she said.

He did and she kissed his cheek. “Happy days, James. You make her happy or you answer to me.”

“Now that truly frightens me,” he said.

“Good.”

“This is ridiculous,” she told the crowd. “Your king and queen are responsible, not me.”

“Not true,” Arthur said. “As we all pondered gifts for Mary and James, it was the countess who suggested the one the queen and I offer. So, Countess, please let them know.”

Isabel turned to the couple, then she couldn’t help it. She held up her pinky finger to Mary. Mary laughed and the two hooked up. And then Isabel looked at Gwen. “Your Highness?”

“You know I dislike when you call me that,” Gwen said, but smiled and wrapped her little finger around theirs. “Friends!” the three said, holding their entwined fingers in the air.

They broke apart, laughing. When Isabel finally glanced up, she saw just about everyone in the hall gaping at them. Including Arthur.

Isabel ignored him and cleared her throat. “What the king and queen are too modest to admit is that their gift to Mary and James is not merely the cottage for the night. The gift is the cottage, for the two of them to live in as long as they desire.”

Mary gasped. James staggered a bit. The stunned expressions on their faces were priceless. Good gods, she wished she had her camera.

Mary reached for her and Isabel held her, waiting for Mary’s heaving sobs to settle.

“Mary, it isn’t my gift. It is from the king and queen. You should be thanking them.” She pulled the hanky from her wrist and wiped Mary’s eyes. “Mary. King. Queen. Gift. From them.”

Mary pulled herself together and turned to Arthur and Gwen. She tried to curtsy, but her legs were obviously a little shaky.

Arthur took her arm. “Enough of that.”

“We cannot,” Mary hiccupped, “thank you enough.”

“You may try,” Arthur said, grinning. “I will not be offended.”

Isabel shot him a disgusted look, but then he pulled the big move on her. He winked. And once again she was a goner.

DEAD on her feet did not even begin to describe how Isabel was feeling.

Without Mary there to help her out of this gawdawful gown, she was in trouble.

She contemplated just dropping down in bed, gown or not, when there was a knock on her door. “Thank you, Jenny, I need so badly help out of these clothes. Come in.”

And in walked Arthur. “I am not Jenny, but I will gladly help you undress.”

She smiled, but it was pretty weak. “Arthur, I am so exhausted, but I will gladly accept your help out of this contraption.”

“My pleasure, madam.”

She turned her back to him so he could work the back laces. “This could be a problem. Jenny might show up here at any moment.”

“I gave Jenny the night off.”

“Jenny is Gwen’s girl.”

“She is. Gwen gave Jenny the night off an hour ago. Just afore Gwen and Lance disappeared.”

“Oh, I am so sorry.”

“For what reason are you sorry?”

“That Gwen . . . that Lance . . . that you . . . oh, hell, I’m just sorry.”

He flipped her back to face him. “Why are you sorry, Isabel? Tell me.”

“I guess, just that it still has to hurt at some level.”

“Do you know what hurt tonight? That I was unable to introduce you as my love and my wife. And that this pretense is killing me. That you are not my queen.”

“I do not give a flying fig about being a queen, Arthur.”

“Do you give a flying fig about being my wife?”

She gaped at him. “News flash. You are already married.”

“Let us just pretend for a moment. If I were not already married and I asked for your hand, would you say yea or nay?”

“Are you asking me to pretend whether I’d marry you?”

“Of a sort,” he said, although his expression was a wee bit wary. “If I were able to ask, would you accept, Isabel?”

“That depends.”

“Upon?”

“Whether you would really want to marry a woman who is not a virgin.”

He seemed to ponder. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“I suppose on how much I crave that woman.”

“Craving and loving are two different issues.”

“Not necessarily,” he said, holding up a finger. “If the craving is born from the feelings, the loving, then they are intertwined.”

She hated when men made sense. They were supposed to be idiots.

“Okay,” she admitted. “That is one logic point for you.”

He looked mighty pleased with himself. He kissed her senseless, which was also a foul in her book. Senseless was not a good place to be when scrambled brains did not work in her favor.

Catching her breath, she said, “Arthur, this is a moot point.”

“It is not. It is a simple enough question, Isabel. Will you marry me?”

She stared at him. “Are you serious? Or are we still pretending?”

“I am serious.”

“Since you’re already—”

“No! Today, now, we are both free to marry.” He stopped. “Okay, that’s a little bit of pretend since it would not exactly be today. But it can be soon. Would you agree to be my wife? Will you marry me, Isabel?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “In a heartbeat.”

He smiled, picked her up and twirled her around until she almost fainted. “See, was that such a hardship?”

She was still seeing stars. “Parts of it, yes.”

He set her back on her feet. Isabel had to hold on to his arms for balance.

He kissed her again, then held her face. “Do you mean it, Isabel? Truly?”

She took his hands and pulled them from her head. “Arthur, please tell me what this is all about. You are not free to marry me. Not even free to ask, actually.”

He grinned. “I might be. Very soon.”

“How so?”

“I poured over the legal papers pertaining to this matter. I may not divorce her without cause. That cause being infidelity, which, as you know, would have serious consequences.”

“Yes, I believe death would qualify as fairly serious.”

“But,” he said, “she may divorce me.”

“On what grounds?”

“Neglect, physical abuse, infidelity and a few other horrid crimes I forget at the moment.”

“You aren’t guilty of any of those!” Isabel said. “Okay, maybe one, but she started it!”

“What does it matter? We can agree on whate’er she wants to claim.” He stopped. “With the exception of infidelity, because I will not allow you to be involved.”

“Arthur, do you hear what you’re saying? You are going to allow her to accuse you of crimes you have not committed?”

He waved. “I care not what accusation she decides upon. The people who know me will realize ’tis not true. The point is that Gwen is free to dissolve our marriage with no harm to her or Lance, and I will be free to make you my wife, which, Isabel, is what I desire most in the world at the moment.” He smiled. “I want to proclaim to the world that you are mine, that we are one. I no longer want the pretense of what we had to endure this eve.”

“You would rather endure being labeled a wife beater?”

“I do not care! People may call me anything they want. I will be free to marry you.”

Isabel didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Arthur, I love you so much.”

He looked down at her and his smile disappeared. “I’ll take Do Not Care to Hear a ‘But’ After That Sentence for a thousand, Alex.”

Well, damn, but was exactly the next word on her tongue. So she rearranged the sentence.

“I don’t want you taking the blame for something you didn’t do, Arthur.”

“If it wins me freedom to marry you, it matters not.”

“It matters to me.”

He shoved his hand through his hair. “Dammit, Isabel, what do we do? I do not want to hide my feelings for you. I do not want to pretend to be happy in a marriage that is a sham.”

“Change the law,” Isabel said softly. “You are the king, it shouldn’t be that hard.”

He rubbed his neck. “Harder than you think, Isabel. I cannot take out my sword and whisk it around and say, ‘I have changed the laws of the land because it suits my purposes and desires.’”

“Too bad, huh?” Isabel said. “Being king is not all it’s cracked up to be.”

He shrugged. “I suppose I could do it, but ’tis not fair to the rest of the people of Camelot. What does that make me, Isabel, if I change laws to suit my own needs?”

“That would be called a dictator.”

“A what?”

“An evil ruler who changes laws for his own gain.”

“I do not ever care to become one of those.”

“Arthur, if you were, there is no way I could possibly love you. It is the man you are that I love. We’ll figure this out. We will.”

If you want, Isabel, to be with your desire, find a way to make him more than your lover.

And how, Lady, do you make this true? Should I break the necklace and ask for this, too?

No, Isabel, the necklace is not for that. The tears inside will not bring what you want.

You are making no sense, Viv, and I’ve decided I’ve earned the right to call you that. So don’t give me any grief. Just tell me what the hell I’m dealing with here.

Follow your heart, as I have followed mine. All things will reconcile in time.

That made plenty of sense. She banged her head to get herself back into reality. Or at least this reality.

“Tell me this, Arthur. What brought this on?” Isabel asked him

He sat down on her bed. “As I witnessed the vows betwixt James and Mary, I was envious, wishing that it was you and me in their place. Do not mistake me, I am very, very happy for those two. But I could not help but feel that it should have been us.”

She sat down beside him and took his hand, intertwining their fingers. “I felt that way as well.”

“It grows worse,” he said, his thumb caressing her palm as he seemed to always do. And which she loved. “When I called Gwen up as my queen and wife, I nearly spoke your name.”

“Oh, Arthur!”

“It was so wrong, Isabel. All upside down. It should have been you standing aside me. ’Twas you who scrubbed and directed the kitchen staff and—”

“Hold on, sport. Gwen worked her tail off, too, to pull this off in record time. Please don’t discredit her part.”

“No, I do not. I know that Gwen worked very hard as well. It is just that you received so little recognition for all you did. I was forced to call Gwen up to stand with me. And as much as I admire Gwen’s contribution, I only know that the woman I wanted at my side, nay, the woman I wished was standing afore me exchanging those vows, was Isabel. I know it is very nasty I would feel this way, and I am ashamed. But ’tis how I feel right now, and the funny part of this is, you are the only one I feel safe admitting this to. When it is your heart that I hope to win. Stupid way of going about that, is it not?”

“Perfect way of going about that.”

He glanced at her sideways. “Am I batty or are you?”

Her free hand slid up his arm. “Probably both of us.” She settled farther back on the bed. “Look, I believe that what attracted us to one another was our ho—”

Whoa, she backed up on that one. Her entire life here was a lie. “Was that we could be honest about our feelings.”

He was still staring down, but he grinned. “It did not hurt overmuch that I thought you the most beautiful woman I had e’er laid eyes upon.”

“You definitely need to get your vision checked, Arthur.”

He chuckled. “My eyesight is just fine, Countess. It might have improved since you arrived.”

“Flatterer.”

He shook his head, still laughing softly. “Oh, Isabel, you have no idea the amount of my men that James and I have had to ward off from you.”

“James and you?”

“James has my back. He knows my feelings and he anticipates what I care for. He would no more allow anyone at Camelot to try to court you than he’d allow someone to look at his Mary.”

“But—”

“He believes we belong together, Isabel. Is he wrong?”

“No.”

They sat together in silence for several minutes. Finally Arthur rose. “I realize how exhausted you are. I will not bother you any more tonight, beautiful lady.”

“Wait!”

“Yes, love?”

“I still need help out of this freaking gown. And . . . and, it’s true I’m too exhausted to even consider making love. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to hold me. Please stay.”

His grin was exhausted as well, but he pulled her up and turned her around. “I will take the Two Words I Wanted to Hear from Isabel’s Lips for a thousand, Alex.”

“What is, ‘Please stay.’”

“Correct!”

She was naked and in bed fast. It took Arthur a while longer as he was wearing what she decided was a medieval tuxedo. All decked out for the ceremony this evening. Good lord he’d looked so freaking handsome.

He climbed into the bed and held her, his body heat and delicious male scent pure heaven.

“I could get so used to this,” she whispered. “I could become addicted to this.”

“Isabel?”

“Yes?”

“I say it now and I will utter it with my dying breaths, I do thee vow.”

Her drooping eyes shot open.

Viviane? Please, please help me. Please tell me you aren’t taking Arthur from me.

No answer. Nothing. Nada.

Thanks a lot, she thought.

“I do thee vow,” she whispered. But his deep breathing told her he was already sound asleep.

WHEN Isabel woke in the morning, Arthur was gone. It was a lonely, achy feeling to turn over and have the other side of her bed empty. But she shouldn’t have been surprised. The man was up before dawn, worked until the breaking of fast, then straight to work out with his soldiers. Still pissed her off. Yet at the knock at her door, she was reminded she also had a to-do list a mile long today.

“Please enter.”

Jenny peeked her head in the door. “’Tis me, mistress.”

“Thank goodness. Tea, Jenny?”

Jenny grinned and entered, her tray full of all kinds of delicious-smelling goodies, as well as tea.

“What is this, breakfast in bed?”

“The master said you had such an exhausting evening that you might prefer to just laze a bit, mum.”

“Oh, the master is wonderful.”

“He truly is, mum,” Jenny said.

“I am so sorry you have to pull double duty, Jenny.”

“Oh, I do not mind at all. Mary has taken over my duties many times when I was . . . ill.”

“Ill. Right.”

Isabel drank the heavenly tea, almost moaned at the pastries and dug into delicious scrambled eggs. “This is so good,” she said after a long sip of tea.

“I am so glad, Countess.”

“My name is Isabel.”

“Oh, I could not!”

Déjà vu.

“Would you enjoy a morning bath, Countess?”

“You know, I think I would prefer an afternoon bath today, Mistress Jenny. But thank you for asking.”

Jenny giggled. She was tall and thin with really long brownish black hair. She could be a Paris runway model with a little makeup . . . and a better wardrobe.

“If I may say, Countess, Mary has had nothing but wonderful praises upon you.”

“Thank you, Jenny! That is so sweet. I adore her.”

“She says that you have a way of making toenails look pretty.”

“It’s a girl secret, but if you want me to paint your toenails, I will be happy to.”

“Truly?”

“Truly. Especially if you call me Isabel.”

“Oh, I could not!”

Good lord, even one at a time was tiring. She wondered if she could talk Arthur into passing a law that all servants were allowed to call people by their damn freaking names.

She smiled at runway-model Jenny. “Please go wash your feet. Scrub them and then dry them. Then come back and I will paint them for you.”

Jenny’s grayish eyes shined. “Thank you so much, m’lady! I will. And, oh, I forgot, Queen Guinevere would appreciate a word.”

“She is welcome anytime.”

And just like that, a knock on the door.

“Come on in, Gwen,” Isabel called.

Except it was Mary who sailed in, her eyes glowing.

Isabel nearly jumped out of bed until she realized she was naked. So she just grabbed the top fur and wrapped it around her. “Oh, Mary, you look wonderful! I assume—”

“Isabel?” Gwen said. “May I come in?”

“Perfect timing,” Isabel said.

“No! I am going to miss all of the good stuff!” Jenny said.

“Hurry,” Isabel said. “We will engage in idle chitchat until you return. In fact, I’ll put clothes on before you return.”

Jenny raced from the room.

“Plop down on the floor, ladies, while I don a nightgown.”

“I’VE promised Jenny to do her toes,” Isabel said. “And she very much wants to be here for girl chat. Do either of you have a problem with that?”

Mary and Gwen both shook their heads.

“Jenny is one of the few who has never, ever turned on me,” Mary said. “I trust her almost as I trust you.”

“And I trust her with all things,” Gwen added.

But Isabel couldn’t help it. She kept looking into Mary’s sparkling sapphire eyes and she fell on her side, laughing. “That good, Mary?”

“Oh, Isabel, I had no . . . It was . . . Did you guys know they have these big picklelike things?”

Gwen and Isabel looked at each other, then both fell over—Isabel again—laughing.

Jenny came running back in the room. “Oh, no! What did I miss?”

“We were discussing pickles,” Gwen choked out.

“What is so funny about that?”

“I did not say pickle!” Mary said. “I said picklelike. It sort of sticks out like this, and it’s kind of wrinkly and—”

“Stop!” Isabel said. “I’m going to split my spleen.”

It took a while, but Gwen and Isabel finally stopped laughing, although they had to avoid looking at each other to accomplish that feat.

When Isabel finally got it together, she looked at Mary. “So?”

“I have a new found appreciation for pickles. The big ones.”

They all busted up all over again, even Mary and Jenny. They were all on the floor laughing. Isabel managed to hug Mary and say, “I am so happy for you. Even though I’ll never get that image out of my mind.”

Mary looked at her. “Isabel, neither will I, as I will be facing it every night.”

Isabel had to hold her tummy to keep it from exploding.

“Countess!”

Isabel was too busy laughing to hear.

“Countess!”

Jenny shook her shoulder. “I believe the king is speaking to you, mum.”

Isabel sat up. “Your Highness?” she said, all laughter gone at the look on his face. “What may—”

“A word?”

“You may speak freely here, King Arthur.”

“A private word.”

She wasn’t even dressed yet. But she rolled to her feet and followed him out to the hallway.

He pulled her, and not even gently, away from her door.

“What, Arthur? What is it?”

“I want you to pack and go.”

“What? What did I do?”

“Camelot is soon to be under siege, and I need you safe, Isabel. I want you back, safe in Dumont.”

She glared up at him. “No. I am staying and fighting with you.”

“You will not. You will slip out to the west and then head north. I have already mapped your safest route with Dick.”

“Oh, have you?”

“We have.”

“Too damn bad. I am not leaving.”

“Isabel, listen to me,” he said, gripping her shoulders. “We are about to head into battle. Should we fail, we have no defense for the women.”

“You dumbshit. Do you not think women can battle in our own ways? We are an asset, if you are not stupid enough to overlook us.”

“Good gods, Isabel,” he said, staring up at the heavens. “I do not have time for this. Do you not understand? I need you safe. Please!”

“How much time before they invade the lands of Camelot?”

“Five hours, maybe six.”

“Perfect.” She tried to wrench free. “Do not pull the bully tactic on me, Arthur.”

“I cannot let you be harmed. Do you not see that?”

“And I refuse to lie over your dying body while you tell me ‘to thee I vow.’ When you say those words, we will be happy and alive.”

“I want you alive.”

“As I do you. And guess what, so does Merlin!”

“Merlin? How do you know of Merlin?”

“Do you mind if I explain that later? Right now, we have bread to bake.”

She wrenched out of his arms and began running. She turned back for one moment. “By the way, I love you. Do not die, dammit. I will be really pissed off if you die.”