“—my land, I mean, it means having your period. That time of the month when you . . . bleed . . . down there.”
“It is quite about that time.”
“See? Hormones are a bitch.”
“Who are hormones? Are they people I should know?”
“None you really want to.”
Gwen hiccupped into her chest. “How could you possibly know these things?”
“Trust me, I know, Gwen. I’m famous for pounding men over their heads with copper pots at that time of month.”
Gwen giggled. “Truly?”
“Truly. We need to go back to my room and have Mary bring you some tea. Possibly filled with some parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.”
Gwen looked up at her. “Truly?”
Isabel shrugged. “It worked for Simon and Garfunkel. It has to work for us.”
“And then, we might just order wine.”
“Hey, that might work, too.”
ISABEL found herself practically dragging Gwen to her chambers. By the time they reached the room, Mary was there, sprinkling things into the tub.
Mary stood straight, glancing with fear from Gwen to Isabel. “My apologies, mum! I was merely preparing your bath. I will return when you are ready.”
“We need tea, Mary,” Isabel said.
“I am so very sorry, Mary,” Gwen said, “for ruining a fun day. And we do not want tea, we want wine.”
Isabel figured the last thing Gwen needed was wine, but try to talk to a woman going through PMS. She nodded at Mary, mouthing, “I’m sorry!”
“The dark or the white kind?” Mary asked.
“Both,” Isabel said. “And please, some cheese and meats and lots and lots of bread to soak up the aftermath.”
Mary curtsied, and then Isabel curtsied, and then Mary ran from the room before they got into another battle and giggling fit.
“I do not feel able to climb up on that bed, Isabel.”
“How about we just plop down on the floor, Gwen? We can talk and chat like teenagers as if we’re having a sleepover.”
Gwen slipped to the floor without argument. “What is happening to me, Isabel?”
“Trust me, you will be feel so much better in the morning.” Wait, PMS. Maybe in a couple of days without a pharmacist around to help. “Or very soon.”
MARY was so busy keeping the overloaded tray in her hands steady, she nearly ran head-on into King Arthur. She stopped as fast as she was able, which made the tray that much more dangerous.
She attempted to curtsy even as she babbled out her apology.
The king helped her steady the tray, then took it from her hands. He had a smile that could fell a bull. “’Tis all right, Mary. My deepest apologies for startling you.”
It took her many moments to collect her breath.
“The queen is no longer up with the seamstresses, King Arthur, if that is where you’re headed.”
“I was not. Was I supposed to be?”
It appeared that Lily had failed to find him. “No longer. Sir, I, sir, I, Your Highness, sir, I am so deeply sorry for my clumsiness.”
He chuckled softly. “’Twas not your clumsiness at fault here, Mary. ’Twas mine.” He glanced down at the tray, with the two goblets, the two wines, and the assortment of meats, cheeses and breads. “Are you headed to the Countess Isabel’s quarters?”
“I am, sir.”
“So she is entertaining?” he asked.
“She is, sir.”
Mary had not been in the king’s company for long, but she very much understood the appearance of a man hurt by news. ’Twas the same jaw-ticking, eyes-dropping look she had received the first two times she had refused James’s proposals.
She weighed loyalties, and just had to believe that she was not betraying Lady Isabel. “She is entertaining the queen, m’lord.”
He glanced up, the light that had extinguished from his eyes only moments ago returning. “She is with Gwen?”
“Yes, m’lord.” She felt like skipping. ’Twas twice today that she had made a royal happy. ’Twas a happy day indeed. She could not wait to find a moment to tell James.
“Then by all means, Mary, allow me to carry this tray to the door for you.”
“But, sir!”
“Shhh! We shall be extremely stealthy as we approach. And I will leave prior to your entrance. They shall never be aware that I was near.”
“But I cannot allow you to carry this tray, my king. ’Tis my job.”
“We shall keep it a state secret,” he said, with a quite fetching smile. “James would ne’er forgive me for not treating his lady as the lady she is.”
“I am no lady, m’lord, I am but at your service.”
As they walked up the stairs and down the halls, her king said, “All who toil at Camelot are men and women, nothing less.”
Mary smiled. “You and my lady Isabel would get on well. She said much the same thing just an hour ago in the sewing room about treating all in the castle with respect.”
“Did she now?”
“She is amazing, m’lord. She has treated me with nothing but kindness and generosity, and if truth be told, she makes me laugh.”
He nodded. “I see, so she is perfect.”
“Well ...”
“Find me a fault, Mary.”
Mary hesitated. The king grinned at her. “Go ahead. Name one.”
“She is a bit picky about the tools I have brought her to clean her teeth and cleanse her breath. She mumbles often about a thing called Listerine. And she wishes for a thing called floss.”
Mary stopped him a few steps away from her mistress’s doorway. “I have most likely spoken out of turn. I very much want the countess to believe in me.”
The king nodded at her. “If the condition of her teeth is the most you have to say about the countess, do you not realize just how loyal you are to her?”
“There is nothing, sir, to report otherwise. Although I must admit, should there be something else, I believe I would not say so. And I will not apologize for this. Yet I apologize. Yet there is nothing else. But if it were so . . .”
He grinned and whispered, “I get it, Mary.”
“She is standing at my side at my wedding, sir.”
“And I will be standing at James’s side.”
Mary felt her heart jump. “This is true?”
“He asked, I accepted. Is that a problem?”
“No, sir. No, not at all. Although after the queen demanded that Isabel leave, I believed that perhaps we would need to travel to Dumont to say our vows. James does not know this yet. But I believe his love for me is enough that we may exchange vows in any land of our choosing.”
