Goddess of Legend (15 page)

The necklace warmed comfortably against her chest.

“She does not speak as we do,” one giant said.

“Because she comes from a very different region,” Arthur said, coming to seat her. “’Tis why we need her. Her views are refreshing.”

As he helped seat her, he whispered, “May we speak privately after this meeting?”

“You betcha,” she said, “as long as there are none of these men following along.”

His low chuckle drummed right through her. He straightened and moved back to his own chair, his hands moving in a “sit, sit” motion to the rest of the men. Then he clapped. “Trevor! We are ravenous.”

“Oh, thank the gods,” Isabel murmured. No way was Trevor going to feed her pickled eel. When she and Gwen had visited the kitchen, Isabel and Trevor had made a no-eel deal.

 

 

“DID the meeting go well in your mind?” Isabel asked Arthur as they strolled through the bailey. Even now, warriors were hard at work, exercising their swording skills with one another. The clanging of steel on steel—at least she believed it was steel, but who the hell knew?—rang out through the air.

“You won over every one of my men with your unique thoughts and ideas, Countess. I particularly enjoyed your suggestion of an occasional fair held at our borders, so that we may continue to enjoy harmony betwixt our people.”

“Hey, a party is a party. Especially at peak harvest time.”

“And you want to call this Thanks and Giving?”

“Well, we can call it whatever you would like, Arthur.”

“I enjoy the Thanks and Giving notion.”

“Tell me this, Arthur. Why was Mordred not at the table this morning?”

“Because until he swears complete fealty to the kingdom of Camelot and disavows his allegiance with Richard of Fremont, he is disallowed at all brainstorming meetings.”

That stopped her short. “He is in league with that pig?”

“So my sources say.”

Isabel felt outrage bubble up. “How dare he come here, acting as if he’s just waiting for you to hand over the throne?”

“There are many words and actions Mordred has sprung upon me and all of Camelot that make no sense.”

“And yet you permit it. You invite him into your castle.”

“He is my son, Isabel. What would you have me do?”

“Giving him a good spanking would probably be at the top of my list.”

“A spanking?”

“A good whack or ten to his backside.”

“You mean whipping?”

“With spanking, you do not use a whip, you take him over your knee and spank with your hand.”

Arthur barked out a laugh. “’Twould seem he is a bit too old to lay him over my knee. But the image amuses me.”

“His actions gall me.”

“May we speak of more pleasant things? I do not wish to spend what time we have together on troublesome issues that I have brought on myself.”

She was about to argue that he hadn’t brought on this particularly bad-tasting piece of trouble, but stopped herself. “Yes, of course. It is too nice a day to waste.”

Arthur steered her toward the stables. “Would you care for a ride, Isabel?”

“Oh, I would love it.” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “Are they going to keep us company?”

Arthur glanced back at the men following close behind them. “Break off, sirs. I will meet up with you again shortly.”

As they entered the stable, it was obvious right off the bat that Harry was not a happy camper. “If you have come for a ride, I’m afraid Samara cannot be ridden, Izzy. She has been hurt.”

“Hurt how?” Isabel asked.

“Her leg has been lamed.”

“How?”

“I can only say that foul play may have been involved. I can’t see how she could possibly have caused this injury on her own.”

“That little sonofabitch!” Isabel said. She turned on Arthur. “That beloved son of yours is a mean, nasty little prick.”

Arthur grabbed her shoulders. “Hold off, Isabel. We do not know that this was the machinations of Mordred.”

She felt her eyes welling but did nothing to wipe away the tears. “Who else would want to harm Samara? You know the answer, Arthur. You just don’t want to see it.”

“How would he even know which horse is yours, Isabel?”

Harry cleared his throat and shuffled his feet.

“Harry?” Isabel said, looking over at him.

“Well, when he came to stable his horse, I overheard a conversation between him and one of the lads. Mordred commented on Samara’s beauty and apparent fine lineage and asked the boy if the king was considering breeding her. The lad told him that Samara belonged to the countess, not the king. And then Mordred said that perhaps he would discuss the possibility of a pairing between his steed and her mare.”

Before Isabel could indulge in another tirade, Arthur said, “I will have my men investigate, Isabel, I promise you this. And no matter where it leads, the person responsible will be held accountable, should it be a stable boy or even Mordred.”

She wrenched herself from his hold and ran to Samara’s stall. “Oh, my poor baby,” she said, opening the stall door and wrapping her arms around the horse’s neck. “I am so sorry.”

Samara nickered softly against her neck.

“Who did this to you, do you know?” she asked, stepping back and tickling Samara’s muzzle.

Samara nodded her head.

Isabel glanced down at Samara’s foreleg, which was wrapped in what looked like cotton cloth. Apparently that was about the only thing available in these times.

“Dick will be coming to massage her leg,” Harry said from behind her.

She whirled to see both Harry and Arthur standing outside the stall. “She knows who did this,” Isabel said. “We can bring Mordred down here and see how she reacts.”

“Isabel, you are not thinking clearly,” Harry said. “Samara is ornery with most of the stable boys. It even took me at least fifteen minutes to settle her down enough to allow me to examine her. And you well know that animals love me.”

She turned back to Samara, scratching her neck. “We will find who did this to you, I promise. Okay?”

Samara nodded her head again, then pressed her muzzle against Isabel’s chest in what one could loosely interpret as a “woe is me” gesture.

“Isabel, if you’d still like to take that ride, you are welcome to any number of my horses.”

Isabel wasn’t so sure that she could ride any other horse beside Samara sidesaddle. She’d hate to embarrass herself if the magic did not extend beyond her own horse. She shook her head as she left the stall and closed it. “I fear I’ve lost the desire for a ride.”

“A stroll, perhaps?”

As much as she craved time with Arthur, she just felt heartsick over what had happened to Samara. “I’m so sorry, but I don’t think I would be the best of company, Arthur.”

“I am guessing that even when you are not at your best, you are still the most worthy companion I could wish to be around.”

She smiled. “Okay, perhaps a short stroll.”

“Excellent.” He turned to Harry. “Sir, I wish for you to instruct the stable lads that Samara should be guarded at all times. If needs be, have one set up a bed of sorts in front of her stall so that none can disturb her again.”

“Sir, I’m sorry, but I do not feel all that comfortable giving orders to your servants. I have no authority here.”

“You have authority in the name of the king, Harry. I bestow it upon you.”

Harry bowed slightly. “As you wish.”

Arthur held out his arm and Isabel took it, loving the feel of his well-muscled bicep beneath her fingers.

“I just cannot understand, Arthur, the abuse of innocent animals.”

“Nor, I, m’lady, nor I. As you may have noticed, I have a love of dogs.”

“No, really? I could not tell, being too busy trying to keep from tripping over them all.”

Arthur smiled and squeezed her hand. “There, now that’s better. Now tell me, what is this Izzy thing?”

 

 

THE two ended up at the east gardens, which were just as beautiful as the others, but in a totally different way. There was a large pond here, teaming with bright, beautiful fish. And as far as Isabel could tell by the scents, this garden was made up mostly of fragrant herbs. It made sense, as the cookhouse was nearby, and beyond that were rows upon rows of plants, which she guessed would be producing fruits and vegetables very soon. And beyond that was an orchard in full bloom with the promise of apples and maybe apricots and cherries and peaches. She wasn’t certain just what types of fruit trees they had in this time. But all of the different fragrances were intoxicating.

“Camelot is lovely, Arthur. Truly.”

“My thanks, Countess. Although I cannot take credit for much of this. ’Tis the artistry of my people, and of course—” He stopped short and swallowed hard.

“And of course, Gwen,” Isabel finished for him. “You should not feel reluctant to speak of her, Arthur. We have spent but a short time together, but I really do like her. She’s a lovely lady, and I see perfectly why you fell in love with her.”

He led her to a concrete bench and they sat. “So you see how I cannot bring myself to condemn her?”

“Absolutely. As we have said before, the heart wants what it wants. Sometimes it’s a very fickle thing.”

“It would seem that mine is just as fickle.”

“As it can be for any human. Would you care to hear the story about the first boy I fell madly in love with?”

His sad eyes lit up with humor. “Oh, yes, madam, I would enjoy that very much.”

“Well,” she said, settling her skirts around her, “his name was Billy Thornton and we were in second grade.”

“Second grade?”

“We attended school together.”

“You do this in Dumont? School the young men and women together?”

“Indeed. So anyway, Billy and I sat side by side in class, at the back of the room, because we were both good students.”

“You were seated by how well you did in the learning?”

“Yes. The problem children were seated right up front, so the teachers could keep a closer watch on them.”

“Such different customs for two lands so close to one another.”

“Yes, I suppose, but anyway, it was obvious he had a crush on me. He pulled my pigtails all the time and—”

“This was a sign of affection?”

“Yes. When we were that young the only way to express if you liked a girl was to tease and taunt. If a boy ignored you, that was a sure sign he wasn’t interested at all. But if he teased, then you knew he liked you. Or at least wanted to grab your attention.”

“Ha! That is so true. That at least we have in common.”

“So then on Valentine’s Day”—she held up a hand to stop his question—“it’s a holiday we celebrate once a year, where sweethearts express their feelings for one another.” She figured discussing having a Hallmark moment would be too hard to explain so said, “Mostly by writing handmade notes to one another with all kinds of sappy tidings and pictures of hearts and things like that.”

He nodded. “This happens, too, at Camelot, yet we do not set aside a particular day for this.”

“I know, it’s possible we in Dumont overdo the holiday traditions.”

He was actually grinning now, which made Isabel feel all fluttery. She loved his smile, and she loved being the one who could put one on his face when his heart was heavy.

“So on Valentine’s Day, Billy slipped a note on my desk. It read, ‘Please be my valentine.’ I was really happy, as I had set my little girl’s heart on him as well.”

“I am certain that you were fetching even as a young girl. I do so wish I had also known the young lady you were then. I am certain that I would have battled with this Billy for your affections.”

“I’m not certain that he would have fought that hard for me.”

“Why is that?”

“Because at recess—the time we broke for the midday meal—all of the girls compared the notes we received that day. Imagine our surprise when Billy had offered the exact same Valentine note to six of us.”

Arthur chuckled. “And you say he was one of the brighter boys in this classroom of yours?”

“Okay, so he was probably a bit of a knucklehead in the romance department. I think he was hedging his bets.”

“And what was your reaction?”

“I was heartbroken. He was my very first crush.”

“But you did not retaliate?”

“Oh, sure we did. The six of us surrounded him at lunch.”

“And?”

Isabel once again didn’t think she could adequately explain what a wedgie was, so she improvised. “We took turns pouring our milk over his head and in his breeches.”

Arthur slapped his knee, laughing. “The ire of a mistreated woman is not to be taken lightly.”

His laughter was so rich and infectious, Isabel couldn’t help but join in. “Indeed. We can exact very creative revenge.”

“Remind me to never incur your wrath, m’lady.”

She leaned over and nudged his shoulder. “Should you do so, sir, you will most certainly know it.”

“You ne’er answered my question afore. Your men call you Izzy?”

She shook her head. “First of all, they are not my men, they are my friends. They are equals in every sense. They agreed to accompany me on this journey because they wanted to ensure my safety.”

“All right, yes, your friends. They call you Izzy?”

“It is a pet name they have given me since we were young. Very few are permitted to call me that.”

“I see. ’Tis a privilege one must earn.”

“Something like that.”

“I look forward to the day I am afforded that privilege, Isabel.”

“With the uncertainty that lies ahead, Arthur, who knows if that day will ever come?”

He took her hand. “I certainly hope to live to see that day.”

Wow, that sounded kind of doom and gloomy. Not a place she wanted to head right now. She squeezed his hand. “So how about you tell me of your first love?”