“You had better not!” It was juvenile, Isabel knew, but she felt so close to Mary already, almost as if they’d known each other forever. Had it only been a couple of days?
She held up her pinky finger. “We will be pinky-finger friends for life, should you agree.”
Mary stared, obviously confused. But finally it seemed to dawn on her. She held up her pinky finger, and the two hooked them together.
“Pinky finger friends for life, Mary. The most important bond.”
“Friends for life,” Mary said.
Isabel held back tears. Finally she stood, pulling Mary up with her. “And now, miss, please go sweetly ask others to bring me lots and lots of hot water.”
Mary stared down into the tub. “Isabel, what if . . . ?”
“The queen ingested it, Mary, she didn’t bathe in it.”
“You are certain of this?”
“According to Jenny, who came with news, Tom is. He helped her to vomit it out of her system.”
“That is unpleasant.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I will have hot water brought to you as soon as possible.”
“Thank you, Mary.”
They smiled a wonderful friendship smile before Mary turned to leave. But she surprised Isabel by turning back. “I was more than a bit proud of you today, Isabel.”
Isabel, feeling so drained she bet she could sleep for a week, smiled. “Thanks, Mary. It was just training I learned in my youth.”
And wished desperately that she could have used it on Curtis in Afghanistan. But there had been so much blood.
“And, Isabel?” Mary said once again.
“Yes, Mary?”
“The king was quite worried about you.”
“Me?”
“’Tis not as if he was not worried for the queen. Just a thing that I recognized as he was standing outside fretting. He was asking of you.”
“Thanks for letting me know. I will reassure him at supper that all is well.”
AFTER her long, luxurious bath, Isabel got out, feeling somewhat refreshed, yet still drained. A day full of such promise had gone horribly wrong.
Mary, who had the uncanny ability to know exactly when Isabel would be needing her, came in to help her dress and fix her hair. Today she formed it into a simple long braid that she somehow managed to work so that the braid curled around Isabel’s neck to rest against her chest.
“I picked some flowers this morn, deciding I would weave them into your hair for the afternoon and evening; however, after today ...” She shuddered.
“Mary, we don’t even know if it was any type of flower that made the queen ill. And as we have discussed, she would have had to eat or drink whatever was harmful.”
“Does not hurt to be cautious a’ times.”
Superstitious was more likely, but Isabel didn’t voice it.
“I have a message for you from your healer, Tom, mum,” Mary said as she stood and admired her own handiwork. “He asks that you meet him in the queen’s bedchamber.”
Isabel stood. “By all means, lead the way.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
TURNED out that the royal chamber was not all that far from her own, relatively speaking. Mary informed her that the proximity was deemed to be an honor. The more important the guest, the closer their quarters to the king and queen’s.
The royal bedchamber was exactly that: royal. Tapestries covered much of the walls, the coat of arms of Camelot, she suspected, being the one hanging above the head of the bed.
The bed itself was canopy style, with hunter green silks covering it and draping down the sides. Right now the silks were pulled back and held with gold sashes so that Gwen was visible in the massive bed, appearing pale and frail.
Tom sat dozing in an oversize chair near the crackling fireplace, lending a warm, rosy glow to the room. Seeing no one else in the room to give her leave to enter, Isabel stepped quietly across the huge space and gently shook Tom.
He awoke with a start and a snort, then sat up and blinked. “Oh, Isabel. Good, it’s you.”
He stood up then pulled and tugged at his leggings, grimacing. “My kingdom for a nice pair of chinos and a polo,” he said.
She hugged him, laughing softly. “You do look kind of ridiculous.” Then she stepped back and searched his face. “Are they treating you well? I have rarely seen you except at meals.”
“If this were a medieval Hilton, I’d give it five stars. Yes, they’ve been very accommodating to all three of us. But thank goodness the Lady was kind enough to allow us to bring a few luxuries from home.”
“Really? Such as?”
“Harry found a deck of cards in his trunk. After we send the servants to bed for the night, we get together for a few rounds of poker.”
“Hey, next time invite me.”
He grinned. “We’ve been avoiding it. I think you put yourself through college stealing our money.”
“Oh, bull . . . oney.”
Still, they grinned at each other. She and Tom had dated a couple of times in college, until they’d decided they made much better friends. Then it became their sworn duty to find each other’s soul mates, forcing each other on more blind dates than either cared to remember. Isabel won when she’d fixed Tom up with Brenda Newesome, a sweet girl she’d met when they’d both been waiting tables to help pay tuition.
It was love at first sight, and Tom and Brenda had been together ever since, with three kids—twin boys and an adorable little girl.
“Oh, Tom, I’m so sorry. Brenda and the kids. I hope they aren’t going crazy with worry.”
“Hey, I’m a doppelganger, remember? The Lady assured us all that life is going on as usual back home. You are the only one here for real.”
Isabel wondered if anyone missed her back in Oklahoma. Were people looking for her? Had they found her body?
Isabel truly wanted to get away from accolades. She was happy to have helped another human in distress, but this was feeling like something she’d continue to need to live up to. She knew her own life, her own faults. Perfection wasn’t even in the Isabel dictionary. In the “How Many Times Can You Possibly Fuck Up Your Life?” category in Guinness, her name could be prominently displayed. In bold.
She mentally shook herself. “How’s your patient?” she asked.
“Ah, yes.” They both moved to her bedside. Gwen had been changed into nightclothes at some point. Isabel found herself irrationally hoping that Tom, with the help of Gwen’s maid servant or lady in waiting or whatever they were called, were the two to have disrobed and redressed her, and not Arthur.
It was a ridiculous thought since the king had obviously seen his wife naked plenty of times.
