“Steady running for long distances.”
He laughed. “And you accomplish this in gowns?”
Now here was an opening she’d been waiting for. “Actually in Dumont the women who enjoy such exercise wear smaller versions of men’s leggings.”
“Pardon?”
“We believe women have as much right to exercise their passions as men. Can you possibly imagine women who love to run, doing so in gowns? Preposterous. So in Dumont, when women have the need or desire to stretch and strengthen their muscles, they wear what we call sporting gear.”
Arthur stroked his beard and she had the feeling he was trying to keep himself from laughing. “And what, pray tell, do you . . . they wear upon their upper halves?”
She figured a sports bra was probably going a little too far. “We wear things called T-shirts. A sort of oversized tunic, made of soft fabric for comfort.”
Arthur shook his head. “Apparently my men left much out in their reports from Dumont.”
“Setting aside the fact that you sent men to spy on me, let me ask you this: What kind of hobbies or pleasures do you afford your female servants?”
“Hobbies? Pleasures?”
“You allow Gwen to indulge in her pleasures.”
“Of course. She is my queen and my wife.”
“And yet all of your servants are not permitted to indulge in things that make them happy? You truly believe that because of their station they may not participate in activities they might truly enjoy?”
“My people are not unhappy. Are they? Have you heard grumblings?”
“No, sir, I have not. But would any voice them in front of me?”
His worried frown saddened her. “Do they appear unhappy to you?”
“Again, no. In fact they appear very loyal to their king. But consider the possibilities of allowing them just, say, a small portion of a day to follow their own dreams. To play with their own favored hobbies. How much happier they might be to go about the routine tasks they are required to do day in and day out when they know they have that small portion of time to just play. You may even find that their hobbies reap rewards that you and Camelot have never envisioned.”
Arthur sat down with a thump, seeming deep in thought. “You give me much to ponder.”
Isabel took his hand. “Ponder this. A happy castle staff makes for a happy Camelot. You and Gwen and your highest men enjoy the fruits of the servants’ labors. How about allowing the servants to enjoy some of those fruits for themselves? Why are you, Gwen and I allowed to follow our hearts, and those who work for us not permitted to follow theirs?”
He puffed up like a blowfish. “I do not disallow my staff from pursuing their own desires! Have you not seen the many children about?”
Isabel wanted to laugh but controlled herself. “Lovemaking and childmaking is going to happen no matter what else is happening. I’m talking about other pleasures.”
“What other pleasures are there?”
“Oh, please. Lovemaking is certainly a big one. But there are others. Gwen loves to garden. My chambermaid loves to dress hair. I love to run. I love to draw. The possibilities are endless. We could conduct a poll and find what really makes them happy. And then allow them the opportunity to pursue those dreams.”
“A poll?”
“A chance for them to speak up about what they enjoy. And possibly allow them to voice what they don’t.”
The beard scrubbing was gone. He’d moved on to standing and rubbing his temples. This was a natural progression in Isabel’s life, so she wasn’t exactly surprised. Next he’d be begging for a drink. She’d bet money on it.
“You are an unusual woman, Isabel,” he finally said. Then he stepped to his left and knocked on a bell. Within seconds Tim appeared. “Wine, please, Timothy. And two goblets.”
She needed more wine like she needed more eel. But what the hell? “I promise that you are not the first to tell me this. About being unusual, I mean.”
“But I swear ’tis in a very intriguing way.”
“Right, one that drives men to drink.”
“One that drives men to ponder as they enjoy an evening libation.”
Isabel tried hard to resist, for Viviane’s sake. “Should you not be sharing this with the queen?”
“Gwen enjoys evenings to . . . pursue those”—he waved his hands vaguely—“things women like to do.”
“She’s very sweet,” she said instead, fingering her necklace. “You must love her very much.”
His hesitation was palpable as his eyes seemed fixated on her chest. “As I’m bound to do. She is my wife.”
He sat down, then immediately stood again and started pacing. Then he suddenly stopped and turned to Isabel, his green eyes searching. “Have you loved, Countess?”
“You’re asking why?”
“You have never married.”
“I haven’t? I mean, of course I haven’t. But Arthur, you seem to know much about me.” A whole helluva lot more than she knew about her countess self, as a matter of fact. Until just now, she’d had no idea whether she’d ever been married or not.
Apparently not.
“How is it that you’ve come by all of this information about me?”
He looked adorably confused. “I’m not certain. It must have been details my men gathered whilst they were checking upon Dumont.”
“Why would you have private investigators checking on me?”
Chagrin looked cute on him, too. “My apologies, Countess. But I would be amiss should I not have knowledge prior to your arrival.”
They were temporarily interrupted by Tim, who arrived with a tray loaded with two goblets. He offered the tray first to her and then Arthur, bowed as they thanked him and silently took his leave, his face betraying no sign of suspicion at what had to be an unusual situation. Isabel wasn’t a connoisseur, but she was pretty sure the liquid in her goblet was either brandy or cognac or the medieval equivalent. It certainly didn’t look or smell like wine.
Arthur swirled his drink before taking a sip. “How could a man not take control of your heart?”
“I haven’t said that my heart has never been engaged, sir.” In fact it felt quite a little too engaged at the moment, and she’d known this man for less than twenty-four hours. “I’ve just not met one who has made me want to be taking those vows,” she said, smiling. “I take them too seriously to say them without meaning them.”
As soon as the words were out, she wanted to kick herself. The pained expression on his face nearly sliced up her heart. “But,” she added quickly, “I feel certain I’ll know him and that elusive thing called love when I see him.”
He looked down. “That makes sense to me. You are, what do they say? Particular?”
“You could say that. Why, Arthur, are you asking me these questions?”
He looked down at her necklace then up, and those gorgeous eyes drilled into her. “Because, madam, I have wanted to kiss you from the moment we met. And I know this is so wrong. My wife’s lips should be the only ones that touch mine. And yet, yours beckon me.”
He turned his back to her. “That was so inappropriate. Please, forget I even uttered such nonsense. I do not understand why I cannot seem to control my tongue around you.”
She had a good feeling she knew why. There was a price to pay for the power of the necklace. And