Embark (King Arthur and Her Knights Book 4) (11 page)

BOOK: Embark (King Arthur and Her Knights Book 4)
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“We have but…just put Morgan there, please.”

“As you wish, My Lord.”

“Thanks, Sir Ulfius,” Britt smiled.

“My Lord?”

Britt peered over her table to spy Sir Griflet waiting at the base of the raised platform.

“Griflet, what can I do for you?” Britt asked, gliding down the stairs.

“I was wondering, My Lord, if you would bless Sir Ywain and I, and give us permission to go on a quest,” Sir Griflet bowed. “Now that the threat has passed.

Britt blinked. “Threat?”

“Indeed—the threats against your life have ceased, have they not?” Sir Griflet brightly asked.

“They have, but how did
you
know about them?” Britt asked, narrowing her eyes as she studied her faithful knight.

“Ywain and I…er…that is to say, we, ah, overheard your discussion with Merlin in your room the night you left to follow the Quest of the White Hart,” Griflet said.

“You what,” Britt said.

“We made it our personal, local quest to see that you were safe!” Griflet proudly said.

Britt tipped her head back and recalled the past few weeks. Ywain and Griflet had been skulking after her like a pair of terrible gumshoe detectives. They were there when the arrow almost hit her, just as they were there when she and Merlin came back from visiting Merlin’s mentor. “Griflet,” Britt said, unable to keep the amusement out of her voice. “I have guards to protect me. You didn’t have to.”

“No, but we wanted to! Indeed, Ywain does not think we should stop guarding you—which is why I approach you alone,” Griflet said. “He does not know I am here.”

“Do you have a goal in mind—for your quest, I mean,” Britt said, sipping her drink.

Griflet nodded. “I have—or I hope—to secure the favor of a most wonderful lady. She is the pinnacle of all that is light and lovely. Her hair is like sprigs of flowers in the summer air. Her eyes shine forth like the white wool of little lambs!”

“What is the pinnacle of all that is light and lovely called?” Britt asked.

“Blancheflor,” Griflet sighed in wonder.

“Blancheflor,” Britt said, trying to bring the proper lady to her mind. The girl, while not one of Lancelot’s ardent fans, often admired the knight. She seemed to be silly but sweet—a good match for Griflet’s flair for drama. “You’re going to try and steal her away from Lancelot?”

“Sir Lancelot is very noble indeed, and excluding a few he has no peer among us knights. But I hope that with my devotion—and love—I can bring Blancheflor to love me,” Griflet confided.

“I see. So you’re going to go do deeds in her name, then?”

“Yes!”

“Does Ywain have a lady he wants to impress, too?”

“No, not yet,” Griflet said, preening a little. “I am ahead of him.”

“I see,” Britt said, a fond half smile twitching on her lips. “Very well. Yes, I give my leave for both of you to go questing. Stick to the Forest of Arroy, though. Do not venture far from it,” Britt warned, privately resolving to pay Nymue a visit to ask her to keep an eye on the two young knights. “And you have to convince Ywain to go with you before I will publicly send you off,” she added as an afterthought.

“Thank you, My Lord! I shall do many great deeds in my lady’s name, and in yours!” Griflet said, giving Britt another bow before he hurried off through the mostly empty feasting hall. A few knights were starting to trickle in and take their seats. Griflet almost ran two over in his enthusiasm to find Ywain.

“Young love,” Britt said, shaking her head and smiling before she sipped her drink again.

“My Lord?” Sir Gawain cautiously asked.

“Sir Gawain, I’m glad to see you’re not at all worse for the wear. I still apologize for yesterday morning,” Britt said, taking a few steps closer to the younger knight.

“It was unexpected,” Sir Gawain said, his voice was calm and guileless.

“It’s kind of you to say it so nicely. Merlin was an idiot, but that’s not the point. I suppose I was being an idiot, too,” Britt said, turning to look out at the feasting hall.

“Were any additional discoveries made on the issue?” Sir Gawain asked, joining Britt to look out at the celebrators who were seeping into the hall for King Pellinore’s celebration feast.

Britt shook her head and sipped her drink. “Nope,” she said after swallowing. “Merlin’s man took a look at the cider. He was able to conclude it was not a deadly poison, and would only have made a drinker ill. It mostly would have given us all a case of stomach cramps since it was so diluted.”

“It seems odd that a person would go through so much trouble only to give you
stomach cramps
,” Sir Gawain said.

“That occurred to Sir Bedivere and Merlin as well. They are certain it was a set up,” Britt said, glancing at Sir Gawain’s wrinkled forehead before she amended her words. “A ploy. They wanted to cause distrust in me, and never meant to kill me from the start.”

Sir Gawain shook his head. “Strange and still dangerous.”

“I agree. Whoever it is they have a mean streak,” Britt said.

“Is there no possible way to track the person down?”

“Not really,” Britt said, her eyebrow twitching in irritation. She had suggested everything from finger printing to DNA, but none of the techniques she knew of from crime investigation shows were helpful in this age. “I guess the medieval times just had a lot of unsolved crimes,” Britt muttered.

“What did you say, My Lord?”

“Nothing of importance. It seems that the troublemaker will go free. For now,” Britt said.

“I don’t think he will evade Merlin for long,” Sir Gawain softly said.

“There is that, I suppose, if he decides to break out his magic,” Britt agreed. “We’ll see.”

Sir Gawain nodded and exhaled. Britt smiled and tried to slap his back in a manly sort of camaraderie before she sipped her drink.

Britt grimaced when a great number of people entered the hall—Guinevere and Lancelot among them—significantly raising the sound level.

Guinevere arrived with her three ladies in waiting, her eyes bright and a smile already flashing. When she saw Britt she perked up even more—if that was possible. Behind her Lancelot seemed to call her, for he smiled charmingly when she turned to face him. He said something to the princess, but Guinevere smiled and shook her head before she hurried towards the front of the room—towards Britt.

“My Lord, is this not exciting? I heard there was to be a
fire breather
tonight,” Guinevere said, her eyes sparkling.

She makes me feel old
, Britt thought before she said, “Yes, I believe there is. Pellinore is also sure to give us a good story—he better, anyway. He took so long I’m surprised his wife didn’t flay him alive.”

“Quests seem to be exciting! I hope more knights go out on quests. It’s so
romantic
!” Guinevere said, clasping her hands to her heart.

“I guess,” Britt said, sipping her drink. “I’ve had a knight approach me about it. I expect after King Pellinore is celebrated tonight another knight or two will want to go out as well. That reminds me. Sir Gawain, do you have any idea what deer eat in the winter? The stables have informed me Rudolph doesn’t eat hay.”

Gawain frowned. “Rudolph, My Lord?”

“The white deer. Hart,” Britt said.

“I’m not certain, My Lord. It isn’t often a kingdom keeps a hart for a pet,” Sir Gawain said. “You could try—”

“Oh my,” Guinevere breathed. “Is that
Merlin
?”

Britt and Gawain looked in the direction Guinevere pointed, and Britt almost dropped her goblet.

It was Merlin alright, but unlike Britt had ever seen him. Gone was the stereotypical storm gray cloak. Instead, he wore clothes of black and gold. The outer layer was a black robe with gold embroidery. The robe snugly fit his waist, back, and shoulders, but had wide, drooping sleeves. A hood lined with gold embroidery fell over his back, making his fine hair appear white rather than blonde. Under the robe he wore a tunic that matched the brilliant blue of his eyes, black chausses, and—to Britt’s shock—a pair of leather boots styled exactly like hers.

Britt took a deep sip of her drink to hide her shock.

“He looks…impressive,” Sir Gawain finally said.

“I think he looks like a faerie lord—a good foil to your Elfking look, Arthur,” Guinevere said. “Before he looked like a wise hermit. Now he’s…”

“He’s got a dangerous edge—like you do, My Lord, when you’re fighting like a dragon,” Sir Gawain said.

“I don’t think I ever look quite like that,” Britt said, jabbing a finger at the well-clothed wizard, who was slowly approaching them.

“Nay, My Lord. You do whenever you hold Excalibur at a man,” Sir Gawain quietly said before Merlin edged into their conversation.

“Arthur, are you ready to begin the feast? Pellinore and Adelind just arrived,” Merlin said, acting like nothing had changed.

It took Britt a few moments to reply. “Yeah, sure. There’s enough people here, why not?” she said before she turned to climb up the dais stairs, shaking her head. “Men,” she muttered, “I’ll never understand them.”

 

Chapter 10

Thoughts of Men

A few paces away Lancelot du Lac watched King Arthur stop at the top of the dais when Merlin yanked on his doublet. The young king pushed his hair out of his face and retreated back down the stairs to offer his arm to Guinevere before climbing the stairs again.

“So it didn’t work. That’s a shame,” Sir Lionel said looking up and down the table—his eyes hinged on the various dishes and platters. “Seemed like it was working for a bit—something made him sour towards Merlin. But it whatever damage was done has been repaired.”

“Thankfully,” Sir Bors frowned. “It would not be good for Camelot if the King and his Chief Counselor fought.”

“You worry too much,” Sir Lionel snorted.

“Enough,” Lancelot growled.

“You’re in a bad mood, are you?” Sir Lionel said. “You probably shouldn’t have started by targeting Gawain. ‘Specially after Arthur gave him the boon of mercy at Gawain’s feast.”

“That’s why it
had
to be Gawain,” Lancelot growled, briefly rearranging his handsome features to smile at a lady before he returned his attention to his cousins. “Their relationship makes me ill. What did Gawain do to afford such esteem? He is a green knight and has done nothing to expand Arthur’s kingdom.”

“Sounds like jealousy to me,” Sir Lionel grinned.

“It’s not jealousy. It’s irritation at this incompetence. By all rights
I
should be standing with Arthur. I am the best knight there is in these halls. He should place such trust in
me
,” Lancelot said.

Sir Lionel shrugged. “He’s seemed quite set against you since you first arrived,” he said, brutally honest as usual.

“I heard the Lady of the Lake fancies him. Maybe she has told him tales of us?” Sir Bors suggested.

“Or perhaps old Morgause. Found out from a lovely lady that our King exchanges letters with her still,” Sir Lionel said, winking at a lady who flounced past them.

“Whatever it is, I will right his thinking, or King Arthur will learn to regret the day he scorned my friendship,” Lancelot said, glaring at the bright king and the mystic-looking wizard.

“Calling it friendship might be a bit much,” Sir Lionel said before Sir Bors elbowed him hard.

You will call me your friend,
Arthur
, Lancelot promised himself.
You will recognize me, or I will ruin you
.

Standing on the inner walls, Merlin watched the bright spot on the outer walls that signaled where Britt was standing with her guards that evening. It was well after the midnight hour, but Britt was still up, battling her insomnia.

Merlin could see the flashes of Excalibur’s blade as the girl swung her sword around her in a difficult, complex practice pattern.

Merlin curled his hands into firsts, squeezing them so tightly they shook. “It’s ruined,” he whispered.

Merlin thought apologizing to Britt would fix the upheaval of the courts. He thought renewing their friendship would fix the discomfort he encountered when they fought, and he was right. It did.

Britt was smiling at him again. Granted, her eyes were more guarded, but she no longer fled from him, and was talking again.

But.

BUT
.

Things had changed. It wasn’t the fight, or even the silence that stretched between them during their quarrel. It was stupid Pellinore and his stupid, overheard plot.

Merlin knew that the way he reacted, the
terror
he felt—the loss of sense he had to shout her real name!—all of those were symptoms of a much bigger problem. The root of which was this: when Pellinore relayed the plot, Merlin feared not for Camelot, not for his scheme to have one king rule Britain, but for
Britt
.

The life of the time-traveling woman meant more to him than the whole of Camelot.

The thought terrified him, because that wasn’t how it was supposed to be! Merlin had to be dedicated, no,
obsessed
with King Arthur’s reign. It was the only way his plans and ideals could be realized. He couldn’t spare the room in his heart for a single girl, much less allow himself to put the
whole plan
at risk for her!

“She means more to me than I thought, and far more than I ever wanted her to,” Merlin grimly said as he pulled up his hood. “If she hadn’t interrupted me…I don’t know what I would have said.”

So Merlin watched Britt as she practiced with her magical sword late into the night, resolving to stamp out all affection for the laughing girl-king.

But in the back of his mind, Merlin knew trouble was brewing. Britt was too well liked, and if
he
was struggling against such powerful feelings, what would the rest of her knights do if they discovered she was a woman?

 

The End

 

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