“It is a game we play at home. It is a reverse thing. You, the player, will be given the answer, and then you will formulate what the question would be.”
“Pardon?”
“Exactly. Although actually it would be, ‘What is pardon?’ ”
He shook his head. “I am baffled, love.”
“For example, someone would say, ‘The land that King Arthur loves passionately.’ Then you would respond, ‘What is Camelot?’ ”
“This is a game you play in Dumont?”
“Yes.”
“Okay then,” he said. “I believe I understand the rules.”
She laughed. “Okay, the answer is, ‘The woman who is crazy about King Arthur.’ What is the question?”
“I am hoping the question is, ‘Who is Countess Isabel?’”
“Correct!”
“Then I have one for you.”
“Lay it on me, big boy.”
“The kingly thing Arthur is about to tell his woman—as is his right, mind you, as kingly matter involve telling you to do that and you to do this—to do.”
“What is take off the king’s kingly clothes?”
“Not exactly the one I was going for, but it very much works for me, Isabel. So I will give you a correct on that one.”
Isabel went to work obeying his kingly command. “You know, every once in a while there is more than one right response.”
“Good. My question was, ‘What is allow the king to help the countess in taking off her clothes?’”
“See, more than one right response,” she said.
MARY and James walked down the hall hand in hand, both grinning. “We may be in so much trouble,” Mary said.
“Did you hear a single thing shatter?”
“I did not.”
“Then I believe we are safe,” James said.
“Isabel would ne’er hurt me. I am certain. No matter the outcome, good or bad, she will forgive me. But King Arthur?”
“Would ne’er hurt you, Mary. Nor me.”
She stared up at her giant of a future husband. “How do you know?”
“Because he is the kindest man I have e’er met. He is tough in the battle training, no question. But always, always fair to all. No matter the outcome, he will most assuredly forgive us for he will realize our good intentions.”
“Then we did okay.”
“We did better than okay. Last I heard they were sharing laughter.”
Mary stopped James. “There is a ritual in Isabel’s land where you celebrate success.”
“What is it?”
“It is called a high five.” She held up her palm and waited for him to follow suit. He stood looking confused.
“Hold up your hand!”
He did, and Mary smacked it, grinning. “High five!”
“What does this mean?”
“It is a sign of success. I am guessing that the two are making up as we speak.”
James grinned down at his love. He held up his palm. She looked at him curiously but smacked palms with him.
“High five,” she said. “What was that one for?”
“For my luck that the lady I love returns those feelings. And that I will soon be the happiest husband alive.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
AT the sound of the knock, Gwen glanced up from her bed to find the countess standing there, looking quite beautiful in a wine-colored gown.
In comparison, Gwen knew she most likely appeared pale and disheveled and that this bed gown was not at all flattering. “Please,” she said, running her fingers through her hair, “enter.”
Isabel stepped into the room and that was when Gwen realized Isabel was holding some sort of black garment in her hand. “How are you feeling this morning, Gwen?”
“I believe somewhat better,” Gwen said. Which was a bit of a lie. In truth, other than a lingering tenderness in her chest, she felt just fine. However, as long as she was abed, she knew that Arthur would continue to visit her, and she might have time to change his mind.
’Twas not that she had stopped loving Lance. Truth was, she loved him desperately. But she feared the loss of her husband just as desperately.
She was being so very selfish, she knew. And deep inside she felt such shame. But since she had been so very young when Arthur had courted and then married her, she knew no other life. And fear of the unknown was a powerful thing.
“What have you there?” she asked, nodding at Isabel’s hands.
“We’ll visit that in a moment. I spoke with Tom this morning as we broke fast. He tells me that he sees no reason why you are not up and about by now.”
“What business is it of yours?”
“Probably none. But the day-to-day running of Camelot is your business. And your servants are feeling lost without your steadying presence. They are concerned and confused. They need you, Gwen.”
“You know this how?”
“During our daily recesses I hear things.”
Gwen sat up further in her bed. “You have continued with the recesses without my consent?”
“You were in no shape to give consent.”
“Does Arthur know about this?”
“He does. He has no objections. But the point is, your people miss you, Gwen. It would do them a world of good to see you up and about.”
“Why has Arthur not voiced this opinion?”
“Because he is concerned for your health. He is not a healer. He doesn’t know that, for whatever reason, you are staying abed long after you have needed to do so.”
“But you do.”
“Well, Tom does.”
“My chest is still quite sore, and I hear I have you to thank for that.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I did not mean that in a nice way.”
“I knew that. I recognize sarcasm when I hear it.”
Gwen knew she was being petty. In fact, she was aware that if not for this woman’s ministrations, she might not have survived. She lowered her eyes. “I am so sorry. That was mean.”
“No apologies necessary. I understand that illness tends to make people not themselves. You are a very nice woman, Gwen, with a big heart. I . . . we . . . that is Tom does not understand why you are not itching to get out of that bed and get back to the business of being queen.”
