“You told me that you dreaded the day that I wed, because ’twould mean you would need to find a new maid servant.”
Isabel nearly choked. “You told her that?”
“No! Well, it is possible. But if I uttered such a thing, what I was thinking was that once she married, she would become a wife and would no longer want or need to be of service to me. Jenny, I never presumed you would believe I meant marriage would be the end of my need for you. If anything, I was mourning the thought of ever losing you as servant and . . . friend.”
“Oh, Your Highness. I love being your servant and . . . and friend. I always have.”
“It’s going to take time to bring her around to the first-name-basis thing, Mary,” Isabel whispered, as Jenny and Gwen held on to one another.
“As I said, she is a tough nut to crack,” Mary whispered.
“A walnut?”
Isabel and Mary again fell on their sides.
“Countess,” Mary said, in between giggles. “Should this keep up, my stomach will ache forever.”
“Consider it good exercise for your abs. Then again, so is James.”
“DO you really, truly want to interrupt that?” James asked Arthur, poking his finger at Isabel’s door.
“If I heard correct, James, you have just been complimented on your skills beneath the furs.”
James looked away, attempting, Arthur guessed, to hide a proud smile.
Arthur began stomping his boots against the floor. “I am telling you, James,” he came near to shouting, “the women are in there. Possibly performing that toe-painting thing again.”
James nodded. “But should we interrupt, sir?” he shouted so loud the people in the outskirts of all Briton heard him.
Arthur shook his head, leaning against the wall. When James chimed in, he did it with gusto. “We have need of their help,” he said loudly. “How else will we be able to pull off tonight’s celebration?”
Arthur stomped some more before waving James forward to Isabel’s room.
He knocked.
“Come on in, Arthur. James.”
“How did you know ’twas us?” Arthur asked, feigning innocence.
“Wild guess,” she said.
He found four women sitting on the rushes as if they had just been in a solemn discussion of the merits of pickled eel.
“My apologies for the interruption, ladies. I hope that James and I did not disrupt more battle plans.”
“No, of course not. We were just discussing the merits of—”
“Picked eel?”
“Not quite, but you’re close. More like pickles and nuts.”
And Arthur stared as the three other women bent into laughter.
Isabel waved. “They are giddy with the happiness over winning the battle. Right, ladies?”
“Correct, Countess,” they all managed to choke out.
“I am so in trouble,” Mary said.
“No, you are not, Mary. Is she, James?”
“Should she be?” he asked.
“Depending on how long you two were standing there listening, I would say that you are the one who may be in trouble. But knowing Mary, she is much too sweet to exact revenge.”
She turned on Arthur, which was what he was so hoping to avoid. “You, on the other hand, do you really believe that fake stomping was going to fool anyone?”
“I had hopes,” he said.
“Arthur, I have seen you in action. You could come upon the most acute of cats without making a sound. And yet you stomp your way here?”
“Okay, that was probably dumb.”
“Probably? Please. Just say what you came here to tell us.”
“We wanted to hold a celebration this eve, for the successful events yesterday.”
“We wanted your help in making it as festive as possible,” James added, “as we were somewhat at a loss. We have the kitchens working, but the other details?”
“A party? Jeez, why didn’t you say so?” She looked around. “Ladies, I believe we have work to do.” She looked back. “Please tell me we will not be subjected to more Hester the Jester jokes.”
“’Twill break his heart, Isabel.”
“Okay, Hester’s in. But pickled eel ...”
“Oh, the king already took care of that, lady. He banned it from the night’s menu. I knew not why until this very—oof !” James rubbed his stomach. “He preferred not to offer such.”
Isabel glanced at Arthur, and his heart thrummed. Gods, he wanted her. Maybe this night. Perhaps, because battle had been averted, all nights of his life.
She smiled at him, and he knew she knew his thoughts. “I have one very special request, King Arthur.”
Oh, yes. She could ask for any star in the sky and he would find a way to snatch it for her. “Name it, Countess.”
She looked back at the women. “Gwen, I trust you are going to make the hall beautiful once again.”
Gwen rose, pulling Jenny with her. “Jenny and I will go pick the flowers right now and begin to decorate the hall.”
As they went to leave, Arthur stopped Gwen. “I am proud of you, Guinevere. As is Lance. He is a lucky and happy man. And afore you begin to decorate, perhaps visit him. He is at the cottage, cleaning up after helping to put out the fires.”
She looked up at him and smiled. “I am growing up, Arthur. With any hope, growing wiser. Thank the woman you love for that transformation.”
“I thank her for so many things. But learning wisdom comes from within. That is all you, Gwen. Take the credit for that. Now go see Lance. I am certain that Jenny can begin cutting flowers without you.”
WAS Isabel the only sane person in the room? She wasn’t certain, so she asked, “Am I the only sane person in this room?”
“Trust me, love, you are most likely the least sane person in this room,” Arthur said. He glanced at both James and Mary. “Anyone who considers Isabel the most crazed here, please raise your hands.”
James and Mary both rose their hands.
“Mary!”
“I love you, Countess, but you are a bit . . . wild.”
“Do you think I did wrong?”
“No way in Hades!” Mary said. “You were so earnest in your desire to save the king and Camelot. ’Twas something to behold. I aspire to that passion.”
“But it was crazy?”
“Only because the king said it was so.”
She glared at Arthur. “You, sir, are stacking the cards.”
He smiled. “I have no idea what that means, but I suppose you would say so.”
Isabel folded her arms over her ribs. “James?
“With all pardons, Countess, must I choose betwixt you and my king, I must land on the side of my king. And my wife. But you and the king are so in love, it seems that siding with one is also siding with another. Am I right, wife?”
“You are so right, husband.”
“Good gods, it’s the pickle factor,” Isabel murmured.
“I heard that, Isabel,” Mary said. “And, no, it is not. It is that we care very deeply about those we treasure most. James and I truly believe you two are meant to be with one another. So stop being dumb about it, and just trust your feelings. Come, James. I believe we have some time afore we need return to work. I will be back in . . .
