Embark (King Arthur and Her Knights Book 4) (10 page)

Merlin stood on the walkway of Camelot’s inner wall, scowling as he studied the guard formations posted on the outer walls—which were hued pink in the growing light of dawn. “Two threats in the span of a few weeks, and a near miss with an arrow. I don’t like it,” Merlin said.

“I beg your pardon?” the guard standing with Merlin said.

“Nothing. Just musing on our odds,” Merlin said. “The brush with the arrow happened roughly a week after I first received news that someone was out for Arthur. I received word of a second threat the day I returned from Blaise’s hermitage. It’s been a week since then. Kay has the king swaddled inside, so there is no risk of action now, but…”

“It’s a lucky thing Morgan le Fay arrived when she did,” said the guard—one of the regulars who stood with Britt during her nightly bouts of insomnia. “If King Arthur was not so busy entertaining her, I think he would be climbing the walls.”

“Yes, that
is
a lucky thing,” Merlin said. He folded his arms and frowned at the guard formation again. “Double the guards at the gate,” he finally said. “If the guards do not recognize whoever is seeking entrance, ban them from entering until their identity can be confirmed.

“As you wish,” the guard said, bowing.

“Merlin—you fiend. I’ve been looking all over for you,” King Pellinore called as he climbed the last few steps, gaining admittance to the walkway.

“King Pellinore, you have returned. I trust your quest was victorious?” Merlin asked, his eyes sweeping King Pellinore’s dusty clothes.

“It was. I found the maiden and brought her to Camelot. She is being reunited with her hound as we speak—though that wasn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Excellent. I’m sure Arthur will throw you a feast tonight—have you told him you’ve returned?” Merlin said, only half-listening.

“No, I
need
to speak to you,” King Pellinore said.

Merlin tilted his head at the spark of worry he heard in the king’s voice. “What is it?”

“While returning to Camelot, I spent a night in a glade not too far from here,” King Pellinore said. “In the middle of the night I found myself unable to rest, and I thought to get a drink from a nearby stream. It was there that I overheard a plot against King Arthur.”

Merlin was silent as he fiercely concentrated on the king and waited for him to continue.

“The perpetrators were two men—though I would not know or recognize them again as I could not see them in the darkness of night. They spoke of how they had, under instructions from the north, smuggled a poison south.”

Merlin’s tension eased. “Poison is better news than I feared,” Merlin said. “The staff at Camelot is without doubt loyal to Arthur. I will put them on alert. Thank you for the intelligence, King Pellinore,” Merlin said.

With the kitchen staff keeping an eye on Britt’s food, even if an enemy managed to sneak into Camelot he would be unable to poison her. Merlin started to relax, until King Pellinore shook his head.

“One of the men explained to the other that he had successfully delivered it to Camelot,” the king said. “Into the hands of a knight from the north who King Arthur greatly cherishes and trusts. That knight will poison him.”

Merlin heard church bells of alarm ring in his ears and he stared unseeingly at Pellinore.

“I came as soon as I could for—though I am at loathe to say it—but Arthur loves Sir Gawain—” Pellinore said.

Merlin interrupted him. “Guards—have any of you knowledge of where your sovereign is?”

“I believe he planned to break his fast with the lady Morgan le Fay and his nephews,” a guard said.

Chapter 9

Forgiven

Merlin ran down the walkways, his cloak grabbing at his legs like desperate hands. His heart pounded as he raced down the stairs that were pressed snug against the castle wall. He couldn’t hear anything. He couldn’t think. His sharp mind was incapable of anything besides absolute panic.

Britt
!

“I’ll kill her,” Merlin said as he jumped the last few steps. “If she gets herself offed—I’ll
KILL
her!”

Merlin tried to think of a strategy. He tried to think of a plan. Instead all he could picture was Britt with her cursed-beautiful smile, grinning at Gawain as the knight fed her poison.

She would die.

Britt
would die!

She was an idiot who would trust her life with anyone she was fond of. “
Stupid,
stupid, stupid
girl!” Merlin muttered as he burst into the keep. “Where is Arthur?” He roared at the nearest guard.

“He called for food in the queen’s garden,” the guard said, naming a small, cheerful garden planted directly outside what was to be the queen’s quarters.

Merlin darted back outside the keep, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest. He ran up a corridor, passing Sir Lancelot and a gaggle of knights

He barreled around the corner, almost skidding out when he hit the green lawn of the queen’s garden.

Britt was there, laughing and passing Morgause’s two youngest brats a grubby beanbag—which they threw for Britt’s mastiff.

Merlin relaxed for the barest moment, until he saw Britt reach out and take a goblet from Sir Gawain. She smiled at him and said something to Morgan le Fay as she raised the cup to her lips.

“BRITT!” Merlin shouted. “NO!”

“We should have thought of this ages ago,” Britt said, patting Cavall as Morgan le Fay slathered butter on a piece of bread and passed it to Agravain. “This is much nicer than eating with everyone else.”

“I never cared to break my fast with soup,” Morgan acknowledged.

“My Lord, can we—did you bring Cavall’s bag?” Gareth asked.

“Yes, thank you for reminding me. Here. Have fun,” Britt chuckled, passing the spitty beanbag to Gaheris.

The two little boys ran a few paces away and threw the beanbag.

Cavall went and fetched it for them, and was exuberantly rewarded with crusts of bread.

“My Lord, are you thirsty?” Sir Gawain asked, holding out a goblet of what looked like apple cider.

“Parched, thanks, though my teeth won’t thank you for this,” Britt said, taking the goblet. “I trust you slept well, Morgan?” she said, finally remembering her manners as a host before raising the goblet to her lips.

“BRITT! NO!”

Britt jumped and sloshed some of the juice. She owlishly blinked and looked up. “…Merlin?”

The wizard stormed towards them, his normally brilliant blue eyes were tumultuous—like hurricanes.

“He looks angry,” Agravain observed.

“No kidding,” Britt frowned.

“What did he mean—shouting Britt?” Gawain asked.

“Who knows, probably some weird, wizard thing,” Britt said as the wizard drew closer. “Merlin—what’s the matter with you? Normal people don’t
shout
like that—hey!” Britt objected when Merlin plucked her goblet from her grasp.

Merlin rummaged around in his cloak for a moment before sprinkling herbs on top of the juice and swirling the cup.

“Great. Thanks for ruining my drink,” Britt frowned as the cider went from a tangy, amber color, to muck brown.

“Guards, arrest these fiends from Orkney!” Merlin shouted.

“What?” Agravain growled, leaping to his feet.

“Merlin. You’ve hit your head and have lost part of your mind.
What
are you doing?” Britt asked.

“Your drink has been
poisoned
,” Merlin snapped.

“Check the jug, then. If my cider is bad, so is everyone else’s,” Britt said.

“Guards!” Merlin shouted. His cries brought guards and a number of knights meandering to the garden.

Britt growled in her throat as she saw Lancelot, his cousins, and a few of their lady friends whispering and watching.

“Stand down,” Britt said to the guards before picking up a wooden tray and turning to the Orkney princes and Morgan le Fay. “I’m sorry for ruining our morning. You’ll have to excuse me,” Britt said, taking cups of cider from Agravain and Morgan. “Sorry, Gareth, Gaheris. Cavall, come,” Britt said, her days of waitressing as a teenager coming back to her as she carried the tray in one hand, and the jug of cider in the other. “Merlin, now!” Britt snapped in a much less pleasant tone.

Merlin tilted his head at Britt’s supposed relatives before nodding to the guards and following Britt.

Britt and Merlin were quiet as they entered the keep through a side door and made their way to Merlin’s study.

Britt kicked the door open, and roughly slammed the jug and tray on one of his workbenches before she turned around and folded her arms across her chest. “Explain to me what just happened,” she ordered.

“You were nearly poisoned by Gawain,” Merlin said, setting down what was supposed to be Britt’s goblet.

“No, I wasn’t,” Britt said shaking her head.

“You were. The reaction of these herbs prove your drink was tampered with,” Merlin said, stabbing a finger at her cup.

“Fine, maybe the cider was spiked, but Gawain didn’t do it.
None
of them did. They were drinking the same thing I was drinking! Check their cups,” Britt said.

Merlin frowned but sprinkled herbs in the other cups. After he swirled the herbs around, the contents of each cup turned muck brown.

“SEE!” Britt shot.

Merlin didn’t respond and instead poured out some of the cider in a spare cup from another workbench, testing it with the herbs.

Again, the cider turned muck brown.

Merlin sighed. “I have a man skilled with poisons. I’ll get him up here to see if he can identify the type.”

“Oh no. No, no, no. You are
not
just going to sweep your wrongful accusations under the rug without another word. That may be how dudes from medieval times do it, but that is
not
how I roll! We are going to talk this over, and you are going to apologize to Gawain if I have to hold a dagger to your back to make you utter it,” Britt said.

Merlin rubbed his forehead as if he were tired. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” he finally said.

Britt was silenced out of sheer shock. She didn’t think it would be so easy to get him to admit he was wrong! “I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” Britt stiffly said.

“No, I meant I’m sorry for everything. For the words I said to you as we returned from Blaise’s, for accusing Gawain of murder, all of it,” Merlin said, swiping a hand through the air.

“
Why
are you sorry?” Britt asked.

“I should have known better with Gawain. He would sooner cut his own throat than hurt you—as would any of his brothers. And if Morgan wanted you dead, she has far more subtle ways to kill than a mass poisoning. Pellinore overheard a plot about a knight from the north you are well acquainted with who was going to poison you. The knight wasn’t named, and I didn’t think. I lost all common sense.”

“A plot?” Britt frowned. “Are there any other knights close to me from the north?”

“No, now that I study it I expect the threat was never from the north to begin with, but someone hoped to implicate the Orkney princes,” Merlin said. “No conspirators would be stupid enough to trumpet the homeward location of their inside man—especially in a forest that is home to the faerie folk. Have you seen anyone you didn’t recognize this morning? A new servant, perhaps?”

Britt shook her head. “We ran into Lancelot and his cronies when the servants were helping us carry our food and drink to the gardens. That was all.”

The echo of a faint smile flashed across Merlin’s lips. “It wasn’t Lancelot, lass.”

“One can hope,” Britt grinned. Her smile faltered when she realized she and Merlin were joking—like they used to.

As if he could read her discomfort, Merlin said, “I meant what I said earlier. I’m sorry for my careless words. I know you, and I know that you are strong of heart and mind. I just…” he trailed off. “It cannot be,” he finally said.

“I know,” Britt said. She felt awkward and uncomfortable as her heart twisted in her chest, so she stared at the stuffed owl sitting on one of Merlin’s bookshelves instead of watching the wizard himself.

“We’re making real progress. You’ve established your code of chivalry and your courts. Questing was an excellent idea to spread word of Camelot near and far. In a year or two we should think about facing the threat of Rome—they are still trying to dig their heels into Britain. Nothing can change, and I—”

“I know,” Britt said, speaking quickly before Merlin could fill in the gap. She stared harder at the owl, as if she expected it to move.

Merlin would never see her as a romantic interest. She was his friend, his pawn, and his conspirator, but never his love.

Britt cleared her throat and stared harder. Nope, the owl still wasn’t moving. “I’ve always known. That’s why I never brought it up, or did much besides acknowledge it.”

“You hid it well,” Merlin said. “I never guessed, which is why I was caught off guard and I...I acted like a donkey’s colt, as Blaise would say,” Merlin grimly said. “I apologize, Britt. My words were false, and you didn’t deserve them. I have never thought you to be weak. Forgive me?” Merlin asked.

Britt dropped her gaze from the unmoving, stuffed owl. “In time,” she said, offering Merlin a quick, lean smile before she looked past him at the cups. “You’ll let me know what your poison-finder friend learns?”

“Of course,” Merlin said. His tone said he was disappointed, but understanding.

“Thanks,” Brit said, moving for the door. “I’ll go find out what the guards did to the Orkney princes.”

“That would be wise,” Merlin said, already looking to the cups.

Britt hesitated in the frame of the door. “Say, Merlin,” she said, biting her lip. “Do you think, maybe, you could tell Sir Kay about this
after
I go out for a morning ride?”

Merlin laughed for several minutes.

“I didn’t mean to be funny,” Britt muttered.

“No, you just know your foster-brother. I doubt I can keep the news from him—Pellinore might have already found him. But if you leave shortly you’ll likely be able to get out of Camelot before he is able to place more severe restrictions on you,” Merlin advised.

“Good idea. Thanks,” Britt said before making her exit—her heart lighter than it had been since the fight.

Britt arrived at the feasting hall early so she could arrange her table as she pleased. King Pellinore and Queen Adelind would be sitting with her, as would Morgan le Fay, Merlin, and Guinevere.

“Seat Morgan between Merlin and I, please,” Britt said to Sir Ulfius as she nursed a cup of wine

“I was under the impression you two had reconciled,” Sir Ulfius said, pausing behind what was to be King Pellinore’s chair.