prefaced a sentence with, “This might sound quirky, but hear me out ...”
More often than not, her thoughts made him laugh, but then the more he pondered, the more he would see the merit in them. Or at least slight variations. But they always, always provoked thought.
He loved that so much about her. He also loved her passion in bed sport. One touch from him in just the right place and she would immediately turn into the eager lover. He craved the moment he would get her naked, save for that blue necklace, which as far as he knew, she never, ever took off.
Her skin, so soft and creamy—
He realized suddenly that James had said something and he had not heard.
“I am sorry, what?”
“I said do you see, sir, anyone else familiar amongst the women?”
Arthur peered closer at all the others. Most were familiar, of course. He had too many servants to count, but he made it a mission to know as many by name as possible. To his way of thinking, they deserved that much, if not more, from their king, who they served so faithfully and with little complaint.
“I see many familiar faces, James. Anyone in particular you would like me to notice?”
“Look at the one in the pale yellow gown. The one chasing Mary at the moment.”
Arthur glanced at the woman. And froze. The long auburn hair, the slight figure. “Gwen?”
“Indeed, my king. The queen has arisen from her sickbed.”
“Oh, thank the gods,” Arthur said, his voice low.
But her obvious good health was a bit too suspiciously miraculous. As he did every morning afore he headed off to exercises, this morn he had stopped by to inquire of her health. Just as the mornings before, she had appeared pale and fragile and acted as if she felt too weak to rise up and dress and go about her duties as queen. Although, as was the case day in and day out, she made attempts to lure him into her bed with her.
It was becoming increasingly difficult to mask his revulsion at the thought. When had all attraction for his wife dried to nothing but a pile of dust? He knew not. He could not lay it all on Isabel’s door, as he had already begun to lose interest before Isabel’s arrival. The hurt had remained, but the desire had waned before. Because as sure as he knew his own name, he knew that if he had still been passionate about Gwen, he would not have given Isabel a second glance. He was a one-woman man that way, always had been. Once his heart was engaged, he had eyes for no woman save the one who held his love and desire in her hands.
He shook his head.
On the one hand, he was relieved that Gwen had regained her good health. However, knowing she was bedridden had given him the freedom to move about as he pleased. Now that she was back on her feet, he knew that his movements would be watched much more carefully by his wife. ’Twas a conundrum. He would need to discuss it with Isabel later.
“Well, it is good to see she is better,” he said. Then he looked closer. “Ye gads. She is also wearing those black leggings things that the others wear during sport.”
“Mary told me this morn that Isabel was determined to lure Gwen up out of her bed and hoped that the leggings would entice her to rise up and join the staff for the recess time.”
“Hmm, I wonder why?” he mumbled, not realizing he’d actually spoken aloud until James answered him.
“It seems that the servants met and discussed the problems with their queen. Since Isabel is the one that they have been turning to to find answers for questions that arose around the castle, they believed perhaps Isabel would be the logical choice to approach the queen.”
“Isabel has been handling some of Gwen’s duties?” Arthur asked.
“You have not noticed?”
“I must be blind,” Arthur said, wanting to kick himself in the ass. “No, I did not notice, and Isabel has made not a single complaint at being forced to take over tasks that are not her concern. She is a guest at this castle, for Thor’s sake.”
“I do not notice the countess complaining about much,” James offered. “Save perhaps whatever happened betwixt the two of you, nights ago.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Do you know what a major fault of mine is, James?”
“No, King Arthur, I know of none.”
“That I allow my most trusted men to speak their minds.”
James roared with laughter. “My apologies,” he said. “For speaking out of turn.”
Arthur looked at him. “You appear not one whit sorry.”
“I will work on my contrite expression.”
Arthur clapped James on the back. “You do that. ’Twill probably take years of practice.”
With one last glance toward the women, lingering longest, of course, on the one with long blond hair who was now being chased down by several of the servants, Arthur turned and headed back to his study, James’s laughter still ringing in his ears. Yes, indeed, he and Isabel had much to discuss this evening. Should he be able to get her alone.
The thought that he might fail in that endeavor was truly depressing.
THERE was a time when Gwen would have thought nothing of entering Arthur’s study without announcing herself, but she was acutely aware that many things had changed between them. So even though his door was open, she knocked. He glanced up from a scroll he was studying intently. The parchment appeared to be a detailed drawing of a map.
He rolled it up, set it aside and stood. “Gwen,” he said, gesturing her in, “it is good to see you up and about. I trust you are feeling better.”
“Very much, Arthur, thank you.”
He waved her into a chair, waiting for her to be seated before he returned to his own seat. “What, do you suppose, helped . . . cure you of your ailments?”
“I am certain the countess has already informed you of our chat.”
“Actually, no. I have not spoken with Isabel at all since breaking fast.”
“Oh.”
“Why, what has she to do with your recovery?”
Truth was truly Gwen’s only choice. Arthur could always tell when Gwen was hiding something from him. He had known, almost immediately, about Lance. Oh, not that she and Lance had become . . . intimately involved, but he had known there was something amiss. “She came to see me in our . . . in my chambers this morning. We had a talk.”
“Talking cured you, then? We must bottle this and sell it to our healers.”
“Please, Arthur, do not make this harder than it is.”
He nodded. “My apologies. That was uncalled for. Do you wish to share what transpired?”
“She . . . made me very aware that I was letting you down. I was letting Camelot and its people down by shirking my duties.”
“Do you feel she overstepped her bounds?”
“Yes. I mean no.” She shook her head. “She appears to be the only one brave enough to tell me some truths I needed to hear.”
Arthur peered at her. “I could swear there is a veiled insult toward me in there somewhere, but as you have just recovered from a nasty poisoning, I will overlook it.”
“No, no, ’twas not meant as one at all. You are trusting, Arthur. If I tell you I am still not feeling well, you will accept it to be so.”
“Why the ruse, Gwen? What was there to gain?”
She stared down at her hands. “Perhaps to gain your attention.”
“You did not have to feign illness, Gwen. You have but to ask.”
“I am asking.”
“And at this moment,” he said, rising and moving to the door, closing it, “you have my undivided attention.” He returned to his desk and sat. “What is on your mind?”
“You have been a wonderful husband, Arthur. Loving and attentive, patient as I learned the ways of the crown. You have been nothing but good to me.”
