The girl named Jenny curtsied and disappeared.
“Mordred! Oh, good to see you up and about.” She glanced down at his leg. “Appears, however, that Dick trussed your leg like a goose’s, or something.”
“I wish to be of service in any way I may, Countess.”
She nodded. “Then how about you lead the way so that no one else impedes Gwen’s transport back to her own bed?”
“My pleasure, Countess,” Mordred said.
Arthur almost grinned as he saw his son appear to beam with pride at having a mission to accomplish. Arthur should have kicked his son in the ass a long time ago. With one swift and most amazing kick, Isabel had done all he had failed to do.
“Arthur!”
He shook his head, trying to rid it of all regrets. “Yes, tell me what I should do.”
Isabel stared up at him, and there he felt a bond. But he had not time to reason it out now. “Is she able to travel?” he asked.
“Yes, and Mordred will forge the way.”
Arthur bent to Gwen, who still appeared sickly. “Are you able to wrap your arms around my neck, Gwen?”
“Lance?” she asked in a very small voice.
Arthur almost dumped her on the spot.
But Isabel took hold of his arm. “No one but you and I heard that, Arthur. Just pick her up and carry her to your bed.”
“Her bed. It is no longer mine.” But he picked her up regardless. “Mordred, my son, I believe you are our escort.”
“Yes, sir, although possibly a slower one than you prefer.”
Arthur turned back before leaving the chamber. “I thank you for saving the queen.”
Isabel smiled at him. “Never a dull moment at Camelot.”
He winced as Gwen clawed at his neck. “You realize that had the positions been reversed, she might well have not worked so hard to save your life as you did hers.” “I like to think that she would.”
Arthur shook his head but smiled. “When we get over this crisis, I must needs speak to you of a place I like to call la-la land.”
As he carried Gwen from the room, he heard Isabel’s musical laughter fill his ears.
“MUM, had it been you!” Mary said, bursting into her room. She threw herself at Isabel, nearly dropping her.
“It wasn’t me, Mary. What I’d like to know is who and what it was.”
Mary straightened up, scrubbing her eyes against her apron. “I do not know. But it shall not happen to you.”
Mary sailed straight for the tub and began scooping up all of the herbs and flowers.
“Mary.”
“I will not allow anyone to poison you, Isabel. I will not.”
Isabel grinned. She’d bet good money that Mary forgot she forbade herself to call Isabel anything but countess or madam or whatever the hell.
“Mary.”
“What if it were meant for you? What if I had served you something that made you ill? How would I possibly be able to do what you did to save the queen?”
She turned back to Isabel, who was still getting over the shock of whatever had happened to Gwen. Mary’s apron was filled with all the herbs and flowers that she’d sprinkled just a while ago to make Isabel’s bath heavenly.
“Dump them back in the tub, Mary.”
“No, I will not,” Mary said, her freckles looking angrier than the rest of her face. “They might well be dangerous.”
“Please, Mary. I am asking, not demanding.”
“And if I refuse?” Mary asked, chin raised high.
“Then I will ask you to go pick more so that I enjoy my bath.”
Mary’s shoulders deflated, but she turned and dumped the contents of her apron back into the tub. “But how do I protect you from poisons?”
Isabel grinned. “Want to hop in the tub before me?”
Mary giggled. “If you wish, countess.”
“Want to drink the bathwater?”
Mary giggled more and couldn’t seem to stop. She sank to the floor. “Only if ’twould turn me as beautiful as you . . . Isabel.”
Isabel stood stunned for a moment. Which had zapped her more, Mary finally daring to call her by her first name or Mary saying such a sweet thing, she didn’t know. But that verbal taser only lasted for a moment. She laughed and dropped down to the floor with a still giggling Mary. Isabel grabbed and hugged her.
Then they laughed together for a while before Isabel took Mary’s shoulders and pushed her back. Then she laced her hands through Mary’s hair, shoving it back as well.
“Mary, you are such a beautiful young lady. I
Mary shook her head. “No . . . what?”
Oh, good gods, she couldn’t remember. She knew they called her something that led to a bloody nose or two, but she was spacing on her nickname.
“They called me stick chick. It hurt a lot.”
“I do not even understand what that means,” Mary said.
“I was tall for my age and quite skinny. So the boys teased me mercilessly. But what it really means is that nasty people say nasty things to make themselves feel better. I got over being stick chick a long time ago. If any have ever said mean things to you, I promise you they are just being petty. Their comments mean nothing and are unfounded. You are a beautiful young woman. You are marrying a man very high up in the realm of Camelot. And I guarantee he did not ask for your hand because he finds you less than beautiful. Are you not happy about that?”
Mary bowed her head. “I wish betimes that James was not so high up in the realm.”
“Because?”
“Because then my friends would not have turned against me so fast.”
“They’ve turned against you?”
Mary nodded, and a teardrop landed on her knee. “And then I was assigned to be your servant, and even more turned away.”
Isabel saw the heartbreak in Mary’s eyes and wondered what kind of world this girl lived in where she had to choose between friends and her man. Or between success in whatever form, rather than remaining stagnant. She supposed in her own day that sort of thing still happened. For example, a stupid, bigoted jackass of a father who would rather see his daughter dead than marry outside her race or religion. But this. This was just wrong.
“Mary, do you love James?”
“Oh, yes, I very much love him.”
“Good. Then remember those friends who are happy for you after you marry. And once you do marry and your station rises, bring them with you. You forget those whose envy and jealousies colored their judgment, and do what you will. Forgive them or ignore them. But never, ever forget those friends happy for you, okay?”
“Countess Isabel, I will ne’er forget you.”
