Embark (King Arthur and Her Knights Book 4) (7 page)

“Thanks,” Britt said, sagging. “It’s just—it’s been a tough day, and I
really
hate Lancelot.”

Merlin patted her shoulder. “There, there. What would you say to a day trip…two days hence?”

“A day-trip?” Britt perked.

“Yes. I was going to visit my mentor—Blaise. You could come with. You would enjoy making his acquaintance, and you
have
been forced to put up with Lancelot and his antics recently. I suppose you deserve a break,” Merlin said.

“Really?” Britt said, her stance growing a little awkward when she realized just how close she and Merlin were standing with his arm affectionately draped over her. She was thankful for the heat of the day, which masked her self-conscious blush.

Merlin—oblivious as ever of the affect he had on her—chattered on. “I believe I’ve told you about him before. He’s a hermit, and he lives in a chapel that is only a few hours ride from here. We’ll have to set out early in the morning and warn the core of your knights—Sir Ulfius, Sir Bodwain and the like.”

“Okay,” Britt said, her heart beating erratically in her chest.

Merlin nodded in satisfaction. “It is settled. Perhaps Blaise will have some words of wisdom to share with you regarding your worries,” Merlin said, patting Britt once more before stepping away—to her regret.

“I’ve always been curious about the man who raised you. I will look forward to it,” Britt said.

“Wonderful. I may as well prepare Sir Kay, or it will be a traumatic experience for him,” Merlin winked.

Britt laughed. “He’ll insist on sending guards with us.”

“Unnecessary. You’re the best swordsman we have, and I’m a
wizard
!” Merlin scoffed.

“That’s sure to impress him,” Britt said.

Merlin grinned and said, “Be sure you are ready for your session in court later this afternoon. If you show up sweaty and in your practice armor I’ll have you dunked in a horse-trough.”

Britt rolled her eyes. “Yes, Merlin.”

“Enjoy the matches, lass,” Merlin said. He winked and strode away, humming a song under his breath.

Britt watched the wizard go with a fond smile. She knew her adoration—she
refused
to call it love—for Merlin was horribly one-sided. The wizard probably didn’t even really
think
of her as a girl, and even if he was vaguely aware of it, he would never enter into a relationship that could jeopardize his precious plan for King Arthur’s rule. Britt doubted Merlin would ever really
love
a woman anyway. He was too focused on his goal, and too driven.

She sighed. “Still, it’s disappointing.”

As an adult—being in her early twenties—Britt was satisfied to say that her crush on Merlin was not the all-consuming, dramatic passion of a teenager, which meant she could live with it. Britt was content to act as King Arthur—treasuring her few moments with Merlin—and live with her new friends and adopted family.

Britt slapped dust off her thighs and looked to the jousting field. “If Sir Bodwain is still jousting I should watch a match,” she said, craning her neck.

Behind Britt there was a sharp, whistling noise and a thud.

“
MY LORD
!” someone shouted, and Britt was hit by what felt like a train.

Britt groaned and coughed, the air knocked out of her.

“Sorry, My Lord, are you unhurt?” Sir Ywain asked, peering dolefully down at Britt, even as he held her pinned to the ground.

“Ywain,” Britt coughed. “
What
are you doing?” she asked, barely audible over the womanly screams of shock and the hoarse shouts of several knights ringing around her.

Ywain didn’t answer and looked over his shoulder.

“Arthur!” Sir Ector said, using his jolly belly to bulldoze his way through the crowd. “Are you alright, boy? Are you injured?”

“I’ve been flattened,” Britt said, wincing as she tried propping herself up on her elbows. “What happened?”

“Arthur,” Merlin said, his faced lined with worry as he and Sir Ulfius joined Sir Ector and Ywain. “It missed you—thank God.”

“
What
missed me?” Britt asked, starting to grow irritated.

“A stray shot,” Sir Ywain said, finally moving aside so Britt could see the arrow that was embedded in the ground a few feet away.

“It was a near miss,” Sir Ector said, his face white.

“We should have taken the threat more seriously. Can you stand?” Merlin grimly asked.

“I’m fine,” Britt said, rolling to her feet when Ywain moved aside.

“Move!” Sir Kay snapped before he—led by a panicked Sir Griflet—broke through the crowd that encircled Britt.

Lancelot was only a few paces behind him. “My Lord!” he said, his voice dramatic.

“I’m fine,” Britt repeated for her incoming foster-brother’s sake. “I wasn’t hit, just a little jarred. There’s no harm done,” Britt said, brushing grass off.

“I apologize. I didn’t get to you until after the arrow was shot, but I worried there would be more,” Sir Ywain blushed.

Britt slapped Ywain on the shoulder. “There’s nothing to apologize for. Instead I should be thanking you. It was a smart move.”

“Aye,” Sir Kay echoed.

“It is a lucky thing it missed you,” Lancelot said. “To think, it came so close!” The knight shook his head—the image of horror—and could only be consoled by several ladies who gathered around him to reassure him.

“It’s one of the practice arrows from the archery range,” Sir Ector said, plucking the arrow out of the ground. “I don’t think it’s poisoned tipped. What do you say, Merlin?” Sir Ector asked, passing the arrow to Merlin.

“I’ll have to take it to my study to be certain, but it does not seem that it is,” Merlin said, gravely studying the dirty arrowhead.

“What should we do, Sir Kay?” Sir Ywain asked, looking to stormy seneschal.

“Get Arthur inside. I’ll have a squadron of guards meet you in the keep,” Sir Kay said, his voice tight.

“Don’t you all think you are over-reacting?” Britt asked. “Someone at the archery range probably just misfired.

“My Lord, the archery range faces the
opposite direction
,” Sir Ulfius said.

“Oh,” Britt said.

“Whatever black-knight that did this shall be caught! He will pay for his misdeed against King Arthur,” Lancelot declared, and was generally ignored by those closest to Britt.

Kay was already talking to a guard—who nodded as the knight gestured at the crowd. Merlin and Sir Ulfius were hunched over the arrow, carefully studying it.

“Better do as Kay says and go inside, Arthur,” Sir Ector suggested.

“But—,” Britt started.

“Yes, Sir,” Sir Ywain and Sir Griflet said.

To Britt’s shock the two knights grabbed her by each arm, and dragged her back to the keep—their grasp light but surprisingly
strong
. “You don’t have to tote me like a doll,” Britt said, trying to yank herself from their grasp without any success.

“We do, or you would never go with us, My Lord,” Sir Griflet cheerfully said.

A smile broke through Britt’s stormy countenance and she looked at the two knights and realized—with a start—that they had both grown, and now had broader shoulders and a wider chest. Britt was still taller than them—just barely so—but they escorted her as if she had the strength of a helpless kitten.

“Thank you, you two,” Britt said when they left the practice grounds behind. She glanced over her shoulder—Merlin was shouting at all the knights who had been at the archery range—and shivered.

“You’re safe now, My Lord,” Sir Ywain said as they stomped through the Camelot’s gates.

“Indeed,” Sir Griflet said. “No one will reach you in Camelot.”

Chapter 6

Blaise the Hermit

The marksman of the stray arrow was not found.

The episode nearly put Britt’s day-trip with Merlin in jeopardy, until Merlin reasoned that it might be safer for Britt to leave Camelot and the public eye for a day, which was how, a week later, Britt found herself in a charming cottage, owned by Blaise—Merlin’s mentor, and a renown hermit.

“You’ve recorded everything Merlin’s ever done in these books?” Britt asked, paging through the crude, leather books with awe.

“I have,” Blaise smiled. As Merlin’s mentor, Britt should have known Blaise would also scorn most concepts of hermits and wise men. Blaise wore a bright green tunic, and had well-combed, bark-brown hair. His beard was trimmed and orderly, and he was built more like a knight than a holy man.

“So, this is like a baby book,” Britt said in delight.

“A what?” Merlin frowned.

“A baby book? I love it,” Blaise said, his laughter was loud and booming. “The future has such wonderful ideas,” he said. (As Merlin’s mentor, the wizard had naturally told the hermit everything, so Blaise was aware of Britt’s gender
and
her origins.)

Britt tilted her head and studied an illustration. “…Is that Stonehenge?”

“Merlin knocked one of the formations over when playing with magic. We had to get a giant from France to set it right again,” Blaise said.

“Wait, so it’s here? It’s already been built?” Britt asked.

Blaise nodded. “Indeed. I believe those responsible for keeping it breathed a sigh of relief when Merlin finally grew old enough to control his magic.”

“They did not,” Merlin scoffed.

“I want to visit it,” Britt said. “In my time it was considered a marvel of the world. Merlin, we have to go see it.”

Merlin rolled his eyes to his mentor. “Do you see what you have done?”

“I won’t apologize,” Blaise laughed. “Flip a few pages forward, Britt. You’ll find the time Merlin was practicing shape-shifting and accidentally got stuck in the form of an old woman.”

“You can shape-shift?” Britt asked, eagerly flipping pages to look at the colored illustrations.

Merlin made a face like a puckered lemon. “I
used
to. It is a practice I avoid at all costs.”

“Wise choice,” Blaise said, standing to lift a pot of boiling water off the fire. “Would either of you like blueberry tea? I use fruit and mint leaves for flavoring.”

“Yes, please,” Britt eagerly said, looking up from the book.

“Tell me, Britt. How do you like being King of England?” Blaise asked, pouring the hot water into three mugs.

“I can’t say it was ever a personal aspiration, but I’m getting used to it,” Britt said, she thoughtfully leaned back in her chair. “I’ve been very lucky. I’ve made so many friends, and Sir Ector and his wife and Sir Kay welcome me like I am a real member of their family.”

“You do the role justice. Better, I am forced to admit, than the real Arthur would,” Merlin said.

“You just mean I listen to you. The real Arthur probably wouldn’t,” Britt said.

“No, he would, he was merely too impulsive to make a well-thought decision—as made obvious by his choice to run off with a shepherdess,” Merlin said.

“I would take the compliment, Britt. Merlin doesn’t dole them out often—it’s as if he’s afraid someone might think him a nice person, or something equally as horrid,” Blaise winked.

Merlin sniffed in distaste. “What I meant is Britt is the best-possible person for this job. Obviously, as it was
my
spell on the sword in the stone that selected her,” he said, accenting his words with a smile.

“You copied most of that spell from a faerie magic book,” Blaise said.

Merlin shot his mentor a look. “How quickly I remember why I don’t visit you very often,” he said.

“I apologize, lad,” Blaise said, solving Britt’s puzzlement over Merlin’s use of lad and lass in medieval England. “It is merely that I don’t often meet someone who can rile you as much as I can,” Blaise said before turning to Britt. “Merlin was an awkward child. He was too smart, and found it difficult to get along with others his age. I’m glad he has found you—even if he had to look through centuries to find someone who could stand on equal ground with him.”

“Blaise!” Merlin said.

“Thank you,” Britt said, leaning her elbows on the table. She took the mug Blaise gave her, sniffing the mint scented steam that rose from it.

“Our partnership works only because Britt acts more like a man than a woman,” Merlin said. “She has never displayed any of the usual symptoms of an irrational woman—which I am thankful for.”

Britt eyed Merlin. “If you don’t stop talking, I will be forced to kick you on behalf of all the feminists in the twenty first century.”

“Careful—it’s hot. You shouldn’t drink it for a few minutes,” Blaise warned, putting a mug in front of Merlin. “Did you put water in the horse trough when you arrived?”

“I did, but they could probably use a refill,” Merlin said, groaning as he stood and brushed off his baggy cloak.

“Still wearing that thing, are you?” Blaise asked, shaking his head at the cloak.

“It’s for the effect,” Merlin said. “To make my role appear more authentic.”

“Maybe it would have worked with young Arthur, but your current King has more of a refined look to her.”

Merlin looked to Britt, his eyebrows furrowed. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he admitted. “She looks faerie enough to stand with the Lady of the Lake.”

“It’s something to think about,” Blaise shrugged.

Merlin grunted. “I’ll see to the horses,” he said, making for the cottage door. He paused in the doorframe. “If you show her your illustrations about
you know what
, I will come back here at night and shave your beard off as you sleep,” Merlin warned before ducking outside.

“What’s
you know what
?” Britt asked when the young wizard was gone.

Blaise snickered, but he shook his head. “Even I’m not that cruel, lass. Now, tell me about you. In his last letter, Merlin mentioned there was a threat against your life. How are you coping?”

“Well enough,” Britt shrugged. “It’s not really anything new. Even if Merlin forgets, I always have it at the back of my mind that Camelot eventually splinters. What’s an attempted murder or two next to that?”

“Ahh yes, your knowledge of King Arthur comes into play,” Blaise said, sipping his tea. “You do realize that as you are the king, it is
you
who creates the legends? That is to say, perhaps you could keep your kingdom from suffering.”

“Merlin has told me as much, and he pointed out that the ending as I know it—where Camelot is split because of the love affair between Lancelot and Guinevere—doesn’t have to happen to me. I mean, I’m a female and I don’t give two hoots about Guinevere. But…”

“It still bothers you,” Blaise guessed.

“Yeah.”

“Tell me, Britt. What do your legends of the future say about Merlin?” Blaise asked.

“Well…that he’s a wise old wizard. He usually has a super long white beard and looks more like a mischievous grandpa. I think…at some point he’s killed or something. I don’t remember, I just know he wasn’t with Arthur when Lancelot and Guinevere started their little escapade,” Britt said.

Blaise nodded. “And is that true?”

“About him dying?”

“No, about who he is.”

“No,” Britt slowly admitted.

“Did Merlin ever tell you I’m something of a seer? I can see into the future—farther and with more clarity than most,” Blaise said. “I’ve seen this America of yours.”

“Really?” Britt asked, straightening in her chair.

Blaise took a sip of his tea and nodded. “It’s also come to my attention that Britain and Europe—when compared to the Middle East and places like Greece or Egypt—are particularly
bad
at recording history. Our culture is more about oral tradition—right now, anyway,” Blaise said.

“I could see that,” Britt nodded. she took a sip of her blueberry tea, enjoying the berry and mint flavor.

“So even if you
are
the same king all the King Arthur legends are about, don’t you think your story would morph over the centuries?” Blaise asked.

“What do you mean?” Britt asked, her tone guarded.

“Say all of the stories you heard about Arthur are about you. Pieces of them might be true—like Sir Ector and Sir Kay adopting you. Other parts the storytellers might change for the sake of their audience. Right now everyone knows of Merlin and respects him, in spite of his age. But a hundred years from now, will people still believe a young wizard and a time-traveling woman were responsible for the best kingdom in ancient England? I find it unlikely.”

Britt was quiet as she thought.

“Stories—and history—are not unbiased. Each new generation will put their own thoughts and feelings into the past so over the years a fact that was inconsequential—like the age of a certain wizard—is changed. Perhaps a generation after you, storytellers will feel the need to reinvent King Arthur, and they will make Merlin young, or Sir Kay cruel to you.”

“So you’re saying I can’t trust the legends I know, because they have been changed,” Britt said.

“In a way,” Blaise said. “After all, have you ever even considered befriending Lancelot? The way Merlin says it, you win men for your cause like a faerie lady wins hearts.”

Britt made a face. “Have you
met
Lancelot?”

Blaise laughed. “Then don’t befriend him. All I am saying is rule with your gut, and use that sharp mind of yours. Your kingdom isn’t the one you’ve heard of—at least, not in its entirety.”

Britt was silent and drank her tea.

“Have I at all changed your thoughts on the subject?” Blaise asked.

Britt hesitated, something—like an inkling of hope—was forming in her mind. “If my story is changed to suit storytellers…does this mean…one day, I might go home?” Britt asked, raising her eyes to meet Blaise’s gaze.

Blaise gave Britt a sad smile. “I don’t know, lass. I can see the future of technologies and countries, but individuals slip past my eyes,” he hesitated. “I doubt you will. Only a few of the faerie have such powerful magic, and they would have to be absolutely desperate before they would use it. Do you still want to leave that badly?”

“I don’t know anymore,” Britt admitted. “Sometimes I’m so happy here I could never picture being anywhere else. Other times…I want to be back in my time so badly it makes me sick.”

“Such is the unfortunate burden of a time traveler. You are blessed—and cursed—to stand between two times, and two very different groups of people who love you. Yours is not an easy road.”

Britt traced the rim of her mug with her thumb.

“But, cheer up. You are respected—and adored. Now, since Merlin seems to be taking his time I shall tell you about
you know what
.”

“DON’T even dwell upon it!” Merlin barked, throwing open the door.

“I was starting to wonder if you had fallen in the trough,” Blaise chuckled. “Sit, and we’ll have some lunch.”

“You cannot mollify me with offerings of food,” Merlin said, ignoring Britt’s thoughtful gaze as he sat down.

“He’s right,” Britt finally said, swapping her solemn expression for a grin. “If you want to sooth him, you’ll have to compliment his magical powers.”

“Merlin’s powers are very great,” Blaise said.

“Thank you,” Merlin sniffed.

“Especially now that he has them under control. He came to me a toddler—those were dark times in my life as a result,” Blaise said, winking at Britt.

Britt laughed, egging on Merlin to accuse the hermit of being nothing but a boring bachelor before his arrival—getting a larger laugh out of Britt.

The witty conversation continued well into lunch, and ended only when Britt choked on her drink in her mirth.

In the mid afternoon Britt and Merlin, reluctantly, admitted it was time to go. Britt saddled the horses while Merlin consulted with his mentor on several matters. By the time they were finished, Britt had already mounted Llamrei and was waiting for Merlin outside the cottage.