“It was only for added protection. Should any enemy sneak up upon them—”
“They would first believe they were dealing with helpless women, yes, I get it. You realize, of course, the irony of that ruse.”
“What do you mean?”
“You are using men’s beliefs of helpless females against them.”
“Hey, if they’re dumb enough, use whatever you have.”
“We have ten men imprisoned. Those who Mordred and his men caught with that ruse.”
“Cool! Now let’s hope that many others are enticed to stop long enough to taste the pastries and mead.”
“They are men galloping into battle.”
“Well, even men galloping into battle get hungry and thirsty.”
“Mordred is quite proud, Isabel. He, I am thinking, feels he has accomplished an amazing feat this day.”
“He has. Good for him. Now, I have another thought.”
He stared at her. “Why does this worry me?”
“Because you are so accustomed to traditional blood and guts warring that you don’t get the fine art of trickery.”
“And what trickery have you in mind, now?”
“Well, not trickery, perhaps, but a form of defense.”
“And that would be?”
“Light a fire. A big one.”
“I will not burn down Camelot, Isabel.”
“No, no, I don’t mean here. I mean far enough in the forest to cut off all trails leading to Camelot. Those not dumb enough to stop to take advantage of our lovely food and drink gifts will be stopped by a wall of fire. You gave me the idea when you warned Lance not to start a fire he could not contain. If you start a fire, a contained fire, blocking their way to the castle, you cut them off before they can even invade.”
Arthur looked down at this woman, this utterly amazing woman. “And your plans?”
“Will not work should we leak them. Trust me, Arthur, no women will be harmed during the making of this battle.”
“What?”
“Never mind, was just a joke.”
“You are so strange, Isabel.”
“But you love that about me.”
“I am utterly perplexed by that about you.”
“At least I’m not boring.”
“That, Countess Isabel, is the truest of truths.”
Again he kissed her, as fiercely as he had just hours ago. Then he took her hand, leading her back out of his study.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“To start a fire. And you are going back to continue planning. That room, that table, was first meant for something completely different. But now I see so clearly that it has value so deeper than that. And, by the by, you love me, in case you needed to be reminded.”
“I do, and I didn’t.”
She began walking back to the round table room when she heard him call, “I love you!”
And then, “Oh, for crying out loud, Frederick. I meant her, not you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
THE battle, thank the gods, never happened.
Not a single sword had to be used, not a single arrow fired. In the day following the attack that failed, Arthur’s men combed the trails and discovered the bodies of many men, one of them Richard of Freemont, who turned out to be a fat pig who would never turn down the thought of pastry or mead.
Isabel, Mary, Jenny and Gwen were once again gathered in Isabel’s chambers, as Mary attempted to fix the hair of those she’d had to butcher.
Jenny and Gwen had supported the cause, as had Mary, who chopped her own hair to help make the braids.
“You did not hear this from me, Countess,” Jenny said, “but the speaking around the castle is that the women were disappointed they did not get the opportunity to thwack a single bad man.”
“We can only be happy about that. But I will thwack you if you continue to refuse to call me Isabel.”
“Give it up, Jenny,” Mary said as she worked on Gwen’s hair. “You will not win. Isabel will wear you down.”
“And I want you all to please call me Gwen.”
Jenny froze. “What?” she said, looking around at them. “I have already asked this of you two. I am now asking this of Jenny. What is the problem with this?”
“You are the queen,” Jenny whispered.
“Who is sitting upon the floor, having fun with women she has come to see as friends. I would like you to view me as the same.”
“Mary,” Isabel said. “Get that razor out of the way.”
Mary sat back, the razor in the hand behind her.
Isabel leaned forward and pulled Gwen into a hug. “You are a friend, Gwen. And a very good one.”
She sat back and pointed. “Now you and you. Admit you consider Gwen a great friend. After all, we have shared pickle stories. Only friends do that.”
“Oh, James would just die if he knew,” Mary said, and then hugged her queen. “I very much consider you a friend, my queen.”
“Mary,” Isabel growled.
“Gwen,” Mary answered, although it was an obviously trying moment for her. “Will take some time to get used to that.”
“It will just be among the pickle sisters,” Isabel said.
They all fell over laughing. It took minutes for them to sit back up, although they were all holding their tummies.
“Your turn, Jenny,” Isabel said. She pointed at her chest. “Isabel.” She pointed at Gwen. “Gwen. Now go ahead, spit it out. Or the three of us might be forced to describe the two walnuts you can expect to find under that pickle.”
Jenny stared, but then joined in the laughter. “I wish an explanation first, afore I concede.”
“Oh, good gods, no, Jenny,” Gwen said. “These are treasures you must find for yourself.”
“Oh, a treasure hunt? I love a treasure hunt. I am very good at those.”
“We must get this girl married,” Isabel said. “So she may go hunting.”
“Ashton wants her,” Mary said, “but she has refused. At least three times, right, Jenny?”
Jenny blushed. “Yes, that is true.”
“Why?” Isabel asked. “Do you not care for him? I met him just yester morning . . . in a way . . . and I must say he is a very handsome young warrior.”
“It is just that I feared ...”
“What?”
Jenny looked at Gwen. “I feared losing my position as the queen’s servant.”
“What?” Gwen and Isabel said at the same time. “Why would you believe this, Jenny?” Gwen finished.
“You told me so, Your Highness.”
“When did I e’er say such a thing?”
