Goddess of Legend

“What, no wine?” Isabel asked, motioning Mary in.

The girl tried to curtsy, which made everything on the tray wobble precariously. “On its way, m’la—”

“My name is Isabel, Mary. If I may call you Mary, please call me Isabel.”

“Oh, no, m’lady! I could not possibly.”

“Oh, yes, Mary, you could. In fact I insist.”

“Please, Countess, I cannot.”

Isabel smiled down at the girl, who couldn’t be older than thirteen. Mary had long, bright red hair that would have made Ronald McDonald jealous. She had freckles racing all over her nose and cheeks. But Isabel couldn’t figure out the color of her eyes because Mary was intent on staring at the floor.

“Fine, then. I won’t ever ask you to do something that makes you uncomfortable. Countess will work for me if it works for you.”

“Yes, mum. Countess, mum.”

“Then we’re all set. Please, bring on the goodies.”

Mary stumbled through the room into the dressing area, set everything down just so, then turned with her empty tray. “Shall I order water for a bath, m’lady?”

“That sounds heavenly.”

Finally Mary raised her eyes to meet Isabel’s. They were the exact sapphire color of the necklace of tears.

Isabel grinned. It was an omen. “I think you and I are going to get along just fine, Mary.”

“I believe so as well, m’la—Countess.”

“I would love a bath. But before that, could you please help me find the pink gown among this mess?”

“Pink?”

“Pale red?” Isabel tried.

Mary gnawed at her bottom lip, obviously still not understanding.

“You know the color that your cheeks turn, when you’re flattered by a boy? Or embarrassed by something you think you’ve done?”

“Oh! Oh, yes. Although, mum, in my instances, that would be a deep red.” She glanced down and then up again, a twinkle in her eyes. “I must admit it does not go well with my hair.”

“I doubt that, Mary. My guess is that your blush turns many young men’s heads.”

Mary blushed.

And boy, was she right. Almost fire-engine red on those cheeks.

“That’s so kind of you to say, Countess.” Mary headed straight for the third trunk and pulled out a beautiful gown. “That’s more rose than pink, Mary.”

“This is not your . . . pink?”

Is this your idea of pink, Viviane?

So a shade here and there. Stop quibbling.

“I think this will compliment your fair skin, Lady. Any shade lighter and ’twould not do your beauty justice.”

Now that’s what Isabel liked. A chambermaid with excellent taste. “Yes, you and I are going to get along really well, Mary.”

“I am assured we are, m’lady.”

Isabel didn’t even need to ask who, or what, assured Mary as Isabel again touched her necklace. “Bring on the wine and the bath.”

“Done.”

“How are you with hair, Mary?”

“Do you need me to be good with hair, Countess?”

“I really do.”

“Then, yes, m’lady, I am very good with hair.”

As primitive as this all was, Isabel felt amazingly pampered. The gallons of bath water carted to her room had been too hot at first, but Mary had sprinkled lavender and rosemary in the tub. It was wonderfully soothing. Afterward Mary made good on her promise, roping Isabel’s hair and then wrapping it into something of a bun, but with a twist, then a long, elaborate ponytail.

Mary had also added a brass broach to the left side of Isabel’s waist. By the time Tom and Dick escorted her down to the dining area, she felt almost queenlike. Time to meet the real queen. Wonderful.

ISABEL met both Lancelot and Guinevere at supper that night. Gwen, as King Arthur called her, was as nice as nice could be. She was a beautiful young thing; young being the operative word. Her hair was auburn, pulled back in an elaborate bun, a circlet of tiny gems gracing her disgustingly devoid-of-a-single-wrinkle forehead.

Isabel wanted to ask what face cream she used, until it occurred to her that Gwen was still nearly a child. Isabel wasn’t allowed to date at her age, much less marry and cheat on her husband. If Gwen hadn’t been so sweetly gracious, Isabel would have loved to hate her. The queen had the scent of rose petals emanating from her, which was a welcome smell compared to the sweat and animal odors that invaded even this dining room.

Of course, there were sweaty men and dogs hanging around here, too, so no big surprise there. Isabel wished she’d paid more attention to the ingredients in Oust to see if she could replicate the product here.

Gwen’s dress was a shimmery silver, with an elaborate chain belted around her disgustingly tiny waist. Isabel guessed that belt wouldn’t fit around half the beefy men’s arms who were standing at the huge rectangular dining room table.

“’Tis an honor to have you grace our hall, Countess,” Guinevere said. “We have been anticipating your arrival with much gladness. My husband informs me that this will mean a great and mutually beneficial treaty between our two lands.”

Oh, great, so Gwen wasn’t a twit. She kept her pulse on politics, too. Was there nothing Isabel could find to dislike about her? Other than the fact that Gwen had the luxury of sleeping every night beside the one man who so far floated Isabel’s longship?

She felt a thump on her chest.

Could you stop doing that?

Pull it together, dear. Bow to the queen and leave the lust for later.

Isabel attempted another deep curtsy, which would have failed miserably if Tom and Dick hadn’t held on. She really needed to practice this bowing thing. “I’m honored to have been invited to Camelot, Your Highness. Your hospitality is much appreciated.”

Gwen laughed softly, which was also disgustingly perfect. “Please, Arthur and I do not ken to the formalities. Unless you want that I should bow to you as well when we meet.”

Horror of horrors. Isabel had a flashback of being in the Far East with the “you bow, I bow, you bow, I bow, who gets to bow last” thing. “That works perfectly for me,” Isabel said, then nearly groaned at the shocked look on the faces around her. “What I mean, your Highness, is that we should give our knees a break.”

Gwen actually grinned. “Methinks it is an excellent suggestion. Perhaps all of that bowing is also to blame for so many back ailments among our men?”

“Methinks, you might be correct,” Isabel said. “Perhaps a good chiropra—”

Thump.

Isabel worked hard not to react to the bang to her chest. “What I meant to say, is that my man, Dick, here, is a wonder with back problems.” Very true. He was her chiropractor in the normal world and a miracle worker, considering how much she had to contort her body to get the right shots. “Perhaps he could work some magic on your ailing men.”

Many men standing by the table rubbed their backs and finally smiled their half-toothless smiles at Dick. Even a few of the serving maids took a second glance.

Dick kicked Isabel in the leg while smiling wildly. Then he bowed again and said, “At your service, Your Highness. And might I add that Tom, here, is a specialist with teeth? Should you have anyone in the castle who must needs tooth attention, he would be more than willing to offer assistance.”