“May I speak now?” he asked, his eyes still glittering with humor.
“You may.”
“You are correct, but you missed one important point.”
“Which is?”
“Because I believe this is Gwen and Lance’s trysting spot, I did not want to come here alone. I feared I might do something rash, and I wanted a voice of reason beside me to keep me from acting on impulse.”
“I see.” Isabel stopped him. “Arthur, you have a good six inches on me and probably at least half again my weight. What makes you think I could possibly stop you from doing anything you set your mind to?”
“Well, for one thing, I witnessed how you handled Mordred.”
“Arthur, you were holding on to him at the time. Not the same thing.”
“And second, your words are more powerful than any weapon. I can face a sword, but I have very little defense against your words, your thoughts.”
That admission truly stunned Isabel. Would that she had that much power over any human. “You give me way too much credit, Arthur.”
“We shall see when my desire to burn that cottage to the ground overwhelms me.”
“Well, I have a good argument against that drastic measure right away. If you cannot contain the fire, you are in danger of destroying much more than just that structure.”
“Now see, that is the cool-headed thinking that needs to be drummed into my simple and short-sighted thinking.”
“Taking it out on a perfectly innocent cottage is not going to change what happened there, Arthur. The cottage did not cause the events.”
He took her elbow and they continued walking. “Do you believe in fate, Isabel?”
“Yes, I do. Although I truly admit that sometimes fate takes some funny turns at times.”
“How so?”
“Well, for example, I believed my purpose in coming to Camelot was one thing, but I believe fate conspired to make it something totally different.”
“I still see the mutual benefit of our adjoining lands as a priority for Camelot and Dumont.”
She hadn’t even been thinking of that, but she didn’t correct him. “I agree. And I still see it as wholly attainable.”
“But now you believe fate had something more in mind?”
“I do.”
“What would that be?”
“This is going to sound very conceited.”
“I am listening.”
“I believe I’m here to, I don’t know, do whatever is in my power to help you save Camelot from those who wish to bring you down.”
“That is not boastful. In truth, it touches me greatly. But my theory is slightly different.”
“Okay, let’s hear yours.”
“I believe you were sent here to save me.”
Oh boy, he kind of hit that nail on the head. Well, not exactly. The ultimate purpose as far as the Lady was concerned was to save Merlin. But that truly meant saving Arthur first. “You?” she asked carefully, though her heart began drumming.
“Yes, do you not see it? Even as I was building this dream of bringing knights to the table, my marriage was in deep trouble, and I was too exuberant about the future of Camelot, of all of Briton, to see it.
“But just as the awful stench of betrayal began to be near to unbearable, you showed up. Fate stepped in and gave you to me.”
Isabel laughed.
“You are to me.”
She had no answer to that. “How far to the cottage?” she asked instead.
“Why, Countess Isabel, I believe I have achieved what heretofore I believed to be the impossible. I have left you speechless.”
She desperately searched for something to say, something witty, wise, dumb, it didn’t matter. But Arthur was right. She was speechless.
A gift? No one had ever considered her a gift before. A curse, maybe.
Arthur chuckled. “Come, Isabel. ’Tis just around the bend.”
They were nearing the curve in the path when Arthur raised his arm as a barrier, then put a finger to his lips. For a moment Isabel was confused, probably still dazed by Arthur’s sweet admission.
But then she heard it, too. A rustling up ahead. In one swift move Arthur pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back, then raised his bow and armed it. “Stay here,” he said softly.
Like a lethal panther he began silently moving forward toward whatever prey he might encounter.
Isabel’s heart just about pounded out of her chest. Fear for Arthur had her nearly hyperventilating. She clasped the teardrop necklace in her hand, wondering if now would be the time to invoke its power.
Wow, Viv, was really dipping low into the rhyming pool.
Arthur took cover behind a large pin oak, then slowly peered around it, his bow still raised in the direction of the noise.
His body was taut, tense, and Isabel caught a small sampling of what it must be like to watch this man head straight into a battle, ready to take on whatever enemy he would encounter beyond.
But then, just as suddenly, his shoulders relaxed, and he lowered his bow, removing the arrow and shoving it back into the quiver.
“Lance,” he called, “’tis I, Arthur.”
“My lord,” Lance responded, “I did not hear you approach.”
Arthur looked back and waved Isabel forward. “Actually, ’tis both the Countess Isabel and I, Lance, come to search for ...” His voice trailed off. Isabel joined him and understood why. In the clearing in front of a charming wooden cottage was Lancelot on his knees, savagely pulling mushrooms from the ground and adding them to a very large pile beside him.
The cottage itself showed signs of Gwen’s touch. Flower boxes hung in places along the outer walls, filled with colorful marigolds and pansies, miniature snapdragons and petunias. Wildflowers flourished on either side of the structure. A slight flowery scent managed to hit her nose, but it was quite overwhelmed by the dank scent of vegetation from the forest and, right now, overturned earth. The clearing looked almost like a mine field.
At the sight of Isabel, Lance scrambled to his feet and bowed, but not before she caught a glimpse of his tear-stained face. “Countess,” he said, then attempted to swipe at his cheeks.
Arthur again took Isabel’s elbow and they moved farther into the clearing. “I am going to assume, Lance, that you have been made aware of the dangers those mushrooms present.”
“They almost killed her,” Lance said, his voice choky.
“But they did not, thanks to the quick wits of—”
“My healer, Tom,” Isabel interrupted.
Lance glanced at the mushroom still in his hand and crushed it savagely before adding it to the pile.
“Your healer, Countess, relates a slightly different tale. I cannot express my . . . I mean we, on behalf of the king, owe you much gratitude.”
“No, no you don’t.”
“We were scouting for the culprits ourselves, Lance,” Arthur said, “but I had planned to then direct one of my gardeners to come and destroy them. It appears you have saved us that trouble.”
“It is . . . it is my pleasure to do so, sir. I feared that perhaps another who stumbled upon them might make the same mistake as . . . as the queen, and heaven forbid it be one or more of the children.”
“Heaven forbid, indeed. What plans do you have for that pile, once you have finished pulling all you find?”
