needs a brace on that knee.”
Arthur took Mordred’s waist, then hoisted him up into his arms.
“Father! I cannot be seen carried this way.”
“Do you think you will be able to navigate those long steps on your own? I assure you that I will set you down should I hear another coming along. To keep up appearances, of course, that father and son are just upon a walk, discussing father and son things.”
He swiveled, his son cradled close, as he so wished he had been able to do since Mordred was a babe. “Isabel?”
She turned, just as she was about to reenter her quarters. “Yes?”
“Do you know the whereabouts of your healer, Dick? I know that mine is far off this day, visiting the outlying huts of our farmers.”
“Last I heard, he was cracking the necks and backs of many of your men. He is in what I believe you call the healing quarters.”
“Thank you,” he said, and it held meaning much beyond just directing him to her own healer. He had high hopes that she understood just how much.
“You are welcome. And again, sorry, Mordred, though you had it coming.” Then she looked again at Arthur. “Yes, I do understand.”
She stared at Mordred, cradled in his father’s arms. “And you, you little jackass, try to figure out who is caring for you right now. He loves you, more than you know. Without his love for you, there would be a ton of his loyal men and women who would have demolished you by now. Including me.”
As they navigated the steps that would take them to the healing rooms, Mordred looked up at Arthur. “She is a fierce warrior, Countess Isabel.”
Arthur nodded, trying not to show strain. After all, Mordred was no babe at this time. “That she is, most when those she holds dear are threatened or hurt. Did you harm her horse, Mordred?”
“I ne’er meant it to be a lasting injury.”
“’Twas a nasty, horrid thing to do.”
“Yes, I understand now.” He laid his head against Arthur’s face, which was such a feeling unlike any Arthur had ever felt afore with his own son.
“Are you going to banish her for attacking your son?”
Arthur stopped for a moment, then kept taking the steps. “Yes. The same day I charge you with attacking her horse.”
“So you would choose her horse over me?”
“No, Mordred, I choose good over evil.”
“Do you call my actions evil?”
“I am sad to say that, yes, I do. You attacked an innocent animal. To what purpose, Mordred? To what gain?”
Arthur needed to shift Mordred in his arms. “Please, son, help me understand your purpose.”
“The countess threatened us, Father.”
“How? She is nothing but kind.”
“You are carrying me to the healer, my father.”
“You provoked, harming her animal.”
Mordred said nothing for moments. “I feel she is a threat to our dynasty.”
“’Twas the closest Arthur had ever come to wanting to toss someone down a staircase. And his son, no less. But he held on and kept moving. “Why the countess? She comes in peace. She comes to make treaties that will benefit us all. Why, Mordred, is she such a threat?”
“Because you are clouded by your feelings for her.”
Arthur stopped again, this time considering stomping his own son. “You know this how?”
“By the way you reacted when I made a pass at her.”
Arthur laughed. “Son, if that is your belief of a pass to a woman, I have much to teach you.”
“She means more to you than Gwen.”
Again, Arthur was stopped, but only in his head. “I have known her but awhile. I know not what I feel about anything. ’Tis very dangerous to judge afore an assessment has been made. It is the fatal flaw of any losing battle.”
Again, silence as they descended, and Arthur felt his arms might well give up the fight all too soon. He strained to keep his son secure.
“Is all she said true?” Mordred asked, breaking the silence.
“Who? Countess Isabel?”
“Yes, is what she said the truth?”
“It is.”
“Why did you never just explain this afore?”
“Son, I have told you this many times over the years. Yet you refused to believe me. How is it that hearing it from the countess finally got through to you?”
“Perhaps because she was so fierce in the telling, whilst you always just spoke quietly.”
“Ahh, I must keep this in mind. To get through to you I must begin shouting.”
Steps from below had Arthur placing Mordred back on his feet, so that his son would feel no shame. ’Twas the young girl, Mary, skipping up the stairway. She stopped short as she encountered them. “My pardons, my king and ...”
“My son, Mordred.”
She curtsied. “Sir.”
“Are you off to Isabel’s room, Mary?”
“Yes, my king. With herbs and flowers for her bath. Is that . . . acceptable to you, sirs?”
“Absolutely,” Arthur said. “And should you have a chance, please pick flowers just for her pleasure.”
“Yes, my king. May I . . . may I pass?”
“Of course.”
Mary smiled and skipped right on by. As soon as she reached the top of the steps and turned the corner, he again heaved his son up and into his arms. “You are most assuredly a man, Mordred. You are heavy beyond measure.”
They traveled several more steps before Mordred mumbled, “She was protecting you. I believe she cares for you very deeply.”
Arthur did not have to ask from whence that thought appeared in his son’s head.
“As do I for her, Mordred. She is a fascinating lady.”
“When did you and the queen lose that love? When the countess arrived?”
Arthur nearly tripped. “As I have said, Isabel and I have not been lovers. We have just met.”
“I believe this. But that was not my question.”
“Mordred, you are my son. Whether you believe it or not—and at this moment you should believe as my arms may never survive this journey—there are pieces of life that are private to every individual, whether he be king or serf. This is a part of my life that I must ask you to allow me to keep private.”
They were almost there, thank the gods.
“I say only this, Father, I would not place blame. The countess speaks her mind.”
“You touch her horse again, Mordred, and she will speak with a knife. Or worse. And I do not believe you want to come face-to-face with worse.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MARY all but cartwheeled into Isabel’s room not five minutes after she’d sent Arthur and Mordred on their way.
