Gwen sat down, a goblet in her own hand. “I do.”
“But how?”
Mary’s eyes darted back and forth between them, filled with worry. “I do not know of what you speak,” she said, “but I swear, Isabel, that I have ne’er repeated a word of the talks between us to anyone. Save . . . oh, no! James?”
“Settle, Mary. ’Twas Arthur himself who told me,” Gwen said. “He was, as always, honest to a fault.”
Isabel nearly keeled over. Arthur admitted . . . she did not know what. Perhaps that they were merely lovers? That he—
“That he is in love with you, Isabel.”
Mary just stared, mute. Then she said, “Mayhap I should go check on . . . something.”
“Sit,” Isabel and Gwen said in unison.
Gwen laughed. “Betimes honesty is overrated, do you not think so? Today it was not. ’Twas what I needed to be told. He understood that, as he seems always able to do.”
“I am so, so very sorry, Gwen,” Isabel managed to squeak out. “I never meant . . . it was never meant ...”
“Sorry? For following your heart? For making a very wonderful man happy again, for the first time in many days? Do you think I fault you? Would I be here, sharing time with you if I had ill intentions or thoughts?”
It occurred to Isabel that Gwen had just recently insisted on pouring the wine. She looked down into her goblet.
Gwen watched with a smile on her face. Then she reached over and traded goblets, downing a good bit of liquid before trading back. “No, Isabel, I am not intent on poisoning you. Arthur made it clear that if he sees even a scratch upon your skin, he will make people pay. And by people, he means me. And by pay, he means with my life. As I have no desire to incur his wrath, please trust that I will ne’er, e’er harm you.”
“You will not,” Mary said hotly. “I will not allow it.”
That was a bold move for a servant at Camelot. Alarming in fact. “Calm down, Mary. Gwen is here to discuss your wedding, is that not right, Gwen?”
“That is right. However, I would very much love to get involved with this toe-painting thing afore we get to the specifics of the menu. I have a . . . meeting this night and would very much enjoy surprising him.”
Mary and Isabel exchanged glances. Finally Mary said, “Then, Your Highness, I suggest you remove your slippers.”
“If you are to paint my toes, Mary, I insist you call me Gwen.”
“As I have also insisted to Isabel, m’lady, only amongst us. Never, ever among others. Please do not insist so when the three of us are not alone.”
Gwen shot a questioning glance at Isabel.
“Her friends, if you can actually call them that, have been shunning her out of jealousy.”
“Jealousy?”
“They believe she is marrying above herself, as James is such a high-ranking soldier in Arthur’s army. And though Mary has never lorded it over them, they are still envious.”
Mary took a sip of wine. “Some also envy that I was assigned to look after the countess.”
“Like that’s been a real plumb job, eh, Mary?” Isabel teased.
“That is horrid!” Gwen said. “Oh, Mary, is there naught that I can do?”
“I believe we can shove that envy down their throats by throwing Mary and James a beautiful and unforgettable exchanging of vows.”
“And that we will do. Allow them to choke on their jealousy.”
Isabel raised her brows at Gwen.
“Hey!” Gwen said, holding her goblet in the air. “Have I poisoned you as yet?”
“Good point,” Isabel said, toasting and taking another sip of her wine.
BY the time the three of them had finished polishing their toenails, they had had interruptions from Jenny, James, Tom and Hester the Jester. Why Hester felt the need to interrupt, Isabel had no idea. They were all giggling, lying on their backs, flailing their legs in the air, trying to dry this homemade concoction.
When there was yet another knock, Isabel had just about had it. “What?” she yelled. “Good gods, it’s like Grand Central Station around here.”
“May I enter?”
The three looked at one another, obviously recognizing the voice. They all sat up and rearranged their skirts.
“Isabel, I need to see you, to talk to you,” Arthur said. “Please allow me entrance.”
“Come on in, Arthur,” she said. “It is unlocked.”
He opened the door and then nearly gaped as he took in at the sight of them all on the floor.
“I am sorry,” he said. “I did not mean to interrupt . . . whate’er this might be. I believe I do not even want to know what this might be.”
“Girly stuff,” Isabel said. “We have been planning Mary’s wedding.”
He looked as uncomfortable as a perfectly fat and healthy chicken inside a KFC.
Gwen stood up, a little wobbly, perhaps. “Mary and I were about to take a walk to finish drying our toes, were we not, Mary?”
She held out her arm, and Mary gladly, it appeared, grabbed hold. “I believe we were, Your Highness.”
Mary performed a quick curtsy as she passed by Arthur. “My king.”
“Oh, please, cut it out, Mary,” he said. “We are friends. Stop the groveling.”
She nodded. “I apologize, King Arthur.”
Arthur actually growled, but he held open the door as both Mary and Gwen ducked under his arm and, from the sound of it, ran down the hall. And then he nearly slammed it shut.
“What is happening, Isabel?”
“Mary and I were having a girlie moment, and Gwen asked to join. Why do you look so upset? Nothing wrong happened here. We were having fun.”
“Gwen knows of us.”
“And guess what, I know of that. She told me.”
“She did?”
“Indeed. In fact, she was very accepting of the situation. So why are you upset?”
“I feared . . . well, was concerned ...”
“Hey, I’m still here, Arthur. Gwen is not the murdering kind. You must know that. You would not have married a woman whose heart you believed to be cruel. You never would.”
“I would hope not. But with you I cannot begin to take the chance.”
“I love you, Arthur.”
“And I, you, Isabel.”
“Leg up?” Isabel asked, holding out her arm.
“What?”
“Just a saying. Meaning please help me to my feet.”
He took her arm, and as he brought her up to him, he wrapped an arm around her and lifted her.
Still inches from the ground, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.
“Oh, Isabel,” he said moments later. “To my dying breath, I will ne’er stop desiring your touch and your kisses.” He lowered her slowly, which was his intent, as she slid down the front of his body in the most sensual way.
“Why did you, Arthur?”
“Why did I what?”
“Why did you tell Gwen?”
He brushed hair from her cheek. “She deserved the truth.”
“You could have said nothing.”
“That might have been an option. But what does that say about me, Isabel? Would you have me hide my love for you?”
