Embark (King Arthur and Her Knights Book 4) (9 page)

“The hound,” Lem hissed.

“Right, if you would bring out the hound, please,” Sir Tor called.

The white hound—leashed by a servant—trotted into the feasting hall, wagging his tail and looking as jolly as Sir Tor.

“Well done, Sir Tor,” Britt said as everyone admired the dog.

“Getting the dog was the easy part. Keeping it? That was a little more difficult. First, I accidentally got us lost trying to get back to Camelot, but then the knight that kidnapped the hound from these very halls found us and demanded that we give the dog back. I refused, so we fought. It was a close match—I was beaten quite soundly—but I managed to turn it around at the last minute. I regret to say the knight didn’t ask for mercy—he didn’t want it—so I had to kill him,” Sir Tor said, looking sad for a moment. “He injured me pretty badly, so Lem insisted that we stay at a small chapel we found until I could ride without falling off. That’s it.”

“That still is quite the tale,” Britt said loud enough for all to hear as the hound was led from the room. “You have done well for yourself, Sir Tor. You have made me proud to have you within the ranks of the Round Table.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” Sir Tor said before sitting and attacking his food with relish.

Britt leaned closer and said to the young knight, “Did you keep the recreant knight’s armor and horse?”

Sir Tor swallowed the wad of food in his mouth. “I did, My Lord. You were right. I didn’t need to worry about money to keep my squire. T’was quite enjoyable to quest. I would like to do it again soon—though I think I need more training.”

Behind Sir Tor, Lem grunted in agreement.

Britt grinned and leaned back in her chair, slipping a bit of her dinner to Cavall. “Well done, Sir Tor,” she repeated in her announcer’s voice. “Nephew, it’s now your turn.”

Sir Gawain sighed and stood up, as if it pained him. “My quest was to track the white hart, and to bring it back to Camelot. It was a fiercely swift creature, and it took me days to catch up with it. During that time I fought a rogue knight who was demanding compensation from peasants for so-called protection—of which he offered no such thing. I defeated him. He asked for no mercy, so I gave him none.”

“Well done, Sir Gawain,” Britt said, although it was with sad eyes that she looked back and forth between Sir Gawain and Sir Tor. She didn’t think questing would be so…bloody. “Although it seems there are more evil knights in the world than I thought,” she added.

Sir Gawain nodded and squared his shoulders. “I eventually tracked the white hart to a castle, where I captured it and brought it home.”

As Sir Gawain spoke, the white hart was led into the room by a man. The room buzzed with whispers and murmurs as they studied what Britt recognized to be an albino deer. It was a beautiful animal, and in spite of the huge amount of people present, it calmly looked about the room—much like a dog—and wore a scarlet red halter.

“I’m impressed. I wasn’t sure you would be able to actually
bring
the deer back. Well done, Sir Gawain,” Britt said.

Sir Gawain shook his head. “It is not so, My Lord.”

“Why?” Britt asked.

“I did something most dishonorable—especially given the vows I swore at the Round Table,” Sir Gawain said. “When I tracked the hart to the castle, a knight rode forth to match me in combat. I was…angered, and so I fought him with much hatred, first in a jousting match—in which I knocked him from his horse—and then in a sword fight. The knight—Sir Athmore—was…proud, and did not wish to lose to me, though I was steadily winning. His lady was present, and called for him to yield. As a knight of the Round Table I should have known better. I should have offered him mercy even though he would not ask for it. Regardless I was too angry and too eager to end his life.”

Sir Gawain was silent.

Britt patiently waited.

“The lady could see as much,” Sir Gawain finally continued. “So when I disarmed him, and moved to smite him…she stepped in between us. I-I could not stop the blow in time, and I slew her,” Gawain said, swallowing with difficulty.

The hall was silent.

“I brought dishonor to you, and dishonor to Camelot with my actions, My Lord. And I am sorry for it,” Sir Gawain said.

For a while, Britt didn’t know what to say. Gawain—the sweet, loyal knight—had killed a woman? “What happened to Sir Athmore?” she asked.

“He immediately regretted his actions—our actions—for he deeply loved his lady. He bid me to slay him, but I could not. It was he who led forth the white hart,” Sir Gawain said.

Britt nodded. “And why did you fight him with such anger?”

Gawain lowered his eyes and could only whisper the words. “He killed one of the hounds you gave me, My Lord.”

That made Britt feel a little better. She knew Gawain had a complex about pets—given to him by his pig of a father, King Lot. Still… “It is no excuse to kill an innocent, Gawain.”

“I know,” Sir Gawain said. He squared his shoulders and looked out at the feasters. “I am prepared to face the consequences of my terrible actions, My Lord. Should you choose to strip me of my knighthood and exile me from Camelot, I will understand. Now, at least, I will accept the consequences with honor.”

Britt tapped her fingers on the chair.

What was she supposed to do?

Britt knew Gawain wasn’t a killer. The boy was sick with guilt. It was clear he hadn’t enjoyed the experience. But she was trying to hold her knights to a higher level of integrity. That was why she established the Round Table. What would the legends have her do?

Britt rolled her head as she thought. The legends would probably have her temporarily exile Gawain, but he wasn’t even 20-years-old yet, and he had gone through so much under his tyrant of a father before arriving at Camelot. It was incredible he had retained his gentleness.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered. Even though it was barely above a hushed utterance, it was loud in the silent hall.

Britt ignored him.

Blaise said to rule with my gut and my head. Very well, let’s try it
.

Britt slid Cavall’s head off her lap and stood. The sound of her chair scraping on the ground was ominous in the oppressive silence. Britt crossed the short distance between herself and Sir Gawain.

She stared at the young knight, who looked back at her with trust and despair.

“Sir Gawain, prince of Orkney,” Britt started, drawing whispers from the crowd. “You have made a bad choice and spilled the blood of an innocent. In accordance with your actions, I will place upon you a ruling as your King,” Britt said.

“Yes, My Lord,” Sir Gawain said, his eyes falling.

The hall fell silent when Britt smoothed Gawain’s hair from his face and—in the most grave, elegant way she could—kissed his forehead. “I grant you a boon: a gift of mercy,” Britt said, smiling fondly. “For I know you, Sir Gawain, and I know that you will not make this mistake again, and that you will spend the rest of your life struggling to make amends for it. I only strip knighthood from those who take delight in wrongdoings. That is not you,” Britt said. “Instead, I dub you—evermore—the Ladies’ Knight. You will be charged with fighting for those who have no one to speak for them. You will oversee their quarrels, and act as the champion for any lady who requests it. Finally, I tell you to be known as the most merciful knight in my Kingdom. These things I charge you with, and I congratulate you on successfully retrieving the white heart. Well done, Sir Gawain.”

The hall exploded into cheers. Sir Gawain, weak kneed, dropped to Britt’s feet. Britt crouched and hauled him upright, holding him aloft. “What do you say, ladies of Camelot. Do you accept your champion, and agree to his charge?”

The ladies whispered and looked wide-eyed at each other—shocked, apparently, to be so openly addressed for their opinion.

“We accept,” Queen Adelind said, standing to address the hall. “Arthur is wise beyond his years, for Sir Gawain is a good knight and will do us justice. But, let there be no more bloodshed of the innocent.”

“Agreed!” Guinevere said, also standing, though she nervously licked her lips and looked to Britt.

“Then it is settled. Ladies, I give you your champion,” Britt said, raising Gawain’s arm in the air, inciting a new wave of cheers.

“You don’t have to do this, My Lord. I don’t deserve it,” Sir Gawain said to Britt over the roar of the crowd.

Britt gave Sir Gawain her truest smile. “People usually don’t deserve it, that’s why it’s called mercy. I hope you will remember this feeling, and offer mercy to others as a result—even when they hurt you and cause you pain.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” Gawain said.

Chapter 8

Northern Visitor

The following day Britt, Sir Kay, and Sir Ector were in the stables, brushing out their horses after a short ride.

“You should let me ride Roen more often, Kay. He’s getting jealous,” Britt said, caressing the neck of her black gelding before taking a comb to Llamrei’s mane.

“The bigger problem seems to be that he is growing fat from a lack of activity,” Sir Ector said, peeking over the stall door to study the gelding.

“Llamrei is the superior riding horse, My Lord,” Sir Kay said.

“Yeah, but isn’t there a death threat against me? Riding a horse that will fight to protect me might be safer,” Britt said.

“Who told you of a death threat, My Lord?” Sir Kay asked.

“Merlin,” Britt said, tossing the wooden comb in a box.

“You two are talking again?” Sir Ector asked, scratching his beard.

“No, he told me before I left on the quest with Sir Gawain, Sir Tor, and King Pellinore,” Britt said.

“Oh. That’s a shame,” Sir Ector sighed.

“What made you come to blows?” Sir Kay asked.

“Let’s just say Merlin has made it abundantly clear to me where we stand,” Britt said.

“On the ground?” Sir Ector said.

“Merlin gave us a similar non-answer,” Sir Kay said, wiping down his horse’s bridle.

“Whatever the cause, I wish you two would end the quarrel,” Sir Ector said. “It’s not good for a King and his Chief Counselor to be at odds.”

Before Britt could reply, a page hurried into the stables. “My Lord,” he said, sketching a bow to Britt. “A guest has just arrived at Camelot. A
Royal
guest—a lady!” the young boy said, looking horrified.

Britt held back a groan, but couldn’t stop her expression of disdain. “Inform the lady I am busy with kingly affairs and send Merlin to greet her.”

“Merlin already has greeted her,” the page said, his eyes bulging. “She hit him with a club.”

“Never mind, I shall meet this curious lady myself,” Britt said, brushing horse hair from her clothes. “Do either of you wish to join me, Sir Ector, Sir Kay?”

Kay, shy and wary of women as he was, ducked behind his horse and kept brushing.

“I’ll come with you, Arthur. Better to go in strong numbers lest this lady thinks to take something to your head, too,” Sir Ector said, waddling past Britt and Llamrei. “Put away the horses, Kay, would you?” Sir Ector called over his shoulder as he led the way.

Britt looked down at her dirty leather jerkin and boots and grimaced, but she followed Sir Ector—and the page—out of the stables and into the open courtyard between the keep and inner walls.

There she saw Merlin—in his cliché gray cloak—sitting on the steps and holding a hand to his skull. Standing not far away from him—one hand planted on her hip, the other hefting a sturdy looking staff—was a woman with silky brown hair pulled in an elaborate braid. She wore a wine red overdress and a white kirtle, and looked like she was roughly Britt’s age. Her stance was elegant—if not forceful—and her expression was apathetic as she watched Merlin nurse his head.

When Britt entered the courtyard, the woman looked up. The smallest hint of a smile tugged at her lips. “Arthur?” she asked.

Britt tipped her head in a shallow bow. “I am. Welcome to Camelot, Lady.”

“Thank you,” the woman said, taking a few liquid steps in Britt’s direction. “Brother,” she added before hugging Britt.

Britt tried to puzzle through the implication and stiffened at the close contact. She was surprised Merlin was not swooning—in spite of their argument keeping Britt’s secret was his goal in life. But all of Britt’s questions were answered when the beautiful woman pulled back and gave Britt her hint of a smile again.

“It is I—Morgan le Fay—your half-sister. Our sister, Morgause, wrote to me and told me
everything
about you,” Morgan said.

Britt’s worry cleared and she smiled in real delight. “Morgan! Our sister…spoke of you. I’m so glad you have come to Camelot! Did dear Morgause send you?” she asked.

Queen Morgause was married to King Lot of Orkney and was mother to Gawain and his brothers: Agravain, Gareth, and Gaheris. Morgause was also aware of Britt’s gender—although she didn’t know Britt was from the future.

If Morgause told Morgan everything, that meant Morgan also knew Britt was female.

On the steps Merlin moaned, but both of the women ignored him.

“Last year she suggested that I visit you, but I’m afraid this was the first time I have found myself free of responsibilities and able to make the journey,” Morgan said.

“I’m glad you could make it,” Britt said, glancing at her foster-father when he shuffled. “Ah, excuse my gracelessness. Sister, this is Sir Ector of Bonmaison—my beloved foster-father.”

“Lady,” Sir Ector said with a grave bow.

“Sir Ector,” Morgan said, curtsying. She looked to Britt—who was still smiling fondly at Sir Ector—before she added, “I have heard much about your courage and strength in the battle for Arthur’s throne. Your support of my brother is truly a gift from Heaven.”

It was the perfect thing to say to Sir Ector. The older knight beamed and—in a gesture Kay inherited—smoothed the upper lip of his beard. “You are too kind, lady.”

“Many of our nephews are here—I am sure they’ll be thrilled to hear you’ve arrived. Please, come inside,” Britt said, leading the way to the keep. “Sir Ector, would you like to join us?” she asked when she realized Morgan was following but Sir Ector was not.

“Nay, Br—Boy. Enjoy yourself. I’ll see to the horses with Kay and tell him he needn’t…er…worry,” Sir Ector said, glancing at Morgan before his face split in a grin again.

“Thank you, father,” Britt said before entering the keep.

“You will not inquire after the wizard Merlin?” Morgan asked.

“Merlin can rot,” Britt said.

Morgan chuckled—a low, husky sound.

“We should find Sir Ulfius—he’ll get a room ready for you,” Britt said, changing her plotted path and starting up a winding staircase. “What brings you to Camelot?”

“I was visiting faerie folk in the area and thought to seek you out. My sister’s description of you piqued my interest. Morgause also asked me to visit for the sake of checking on Gareth and Gaheris,” Morgan said.

“I hope you enjoy your stay here. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to sit with me for meals.”

“I am honored to be considered your guest.”

Britt laughed. “Well, because of that, too. But I’m desperate for decent dinner conversation. I’ve been forced to sit with no one but Guinevere and Merlin at my table for days, and it’s getting boring.”

“Morgause told me you and Merlin got along quite well. Is this no longer true?” Morgan asked.

“As long as Merlin is acting like a mule, yes,” Britt said, starting down a hall that branched off the stairs.

“I see.”

“Morgause didn’t get along with him. I take it you bear a grudge against Merlin as well?”

“I would not go so far as to say a grudge. I find Merlin…acceptable. However, it seems that whenever I first see him, I must always remind him that I am a powerful sorceress—not a petty hedge-witch.”

“Nice,” Britt said, glancing at the staff Morgan held with a newfound respect.

“It usually works quite nicely,” Morgan humbly said.

“I’m glad someone is able to knock some sense into him,” Britt said, stopping outside the chamber Sir Kay and Sir Ulfius shared to store their records and supplies. “Thank you for coming.”

“It is my pleasure.”

Britt rapped on the door. “Sir Ulfius? I have another guest I need you to prepare a room for.”

In the late hours of the night, Britt sat in a garden, holding a red rope that was attached to the white hart’s rope halter. She was alone—mostly. Sir Kay’s required squadron of guards were with her, but since she was in a garden as opposed to walking the walls, they stuck to the shadows of the castle. It was unusual for Britt, in her insomnia—brought on by dreams and memories of her friends and family from the twenty first century—to do anything besides walk the walls. But, for a change of pace, Britt decided to check in with her horses. When she slunk off to the stables—her guards shadowing her—she had found the deer housed in a horse stall, and felt bad for it.

“So Gawain tracked you down for his quest. Great. Now
what
am I supposed to do with you?” Britt asked the deer, watching it in the sputtering torchlight.

The buck wiggled its pink nose and stretched its head in her direction.

Britt passed it a cabbage leaf, which the buck delicately tugged from her hand. “There’s absolutely no way you’re becoming dinner, and I’m not going to have you slaughtered and stuffed.”

The deer finished its cabbage leaf and inquisitively nosed Cavall, who was lying down at Britt’s side.

“Oh no. I have enough pets already. I am not adding you to my menagerie,” Britt said.

The buck ignored her and nibbled on grass.

Britt sighed propped her head up on her arm. “Dang it. Fine, but I’m naming you Rudolph.”

Cavall sneezed.

“I don’t care if it’s silly! He’s my stinking albino deer, and I’m sick of suppressing my twenty first century knowledge. I can call him whatever I want!”

The newly named Rudolph stared at the pile of cabbage leaves mounded next to Britt.

“Greedy thing,” Britt said, passing him another leaf. “No wonder no one wants to play any reindeer games with you. You—,” Britt stopped talking when Cavall turned to look behind Britt.

Britt also turned around—hoping that, out of all people, it wouldn’t be
Lancelot
who would find her talking to a quest animal in the middle of the night. Her good cheer sunk.

It was worse than Lancelot. It was Merlin.

Britt didn’t say anything to acknowledge the wizard. Instead she turned back to Rudolph and gave him another cabbage leaf.

Britt was silent until she heard his footsteps lead away from the small garden. Britt craned her neck to look for him, but he wasn’t visible after leaving the light shed by the torches Britt’s guards had posted. When he was gone she sighed, her shoulders slumping. Her eyes stung, and Britt looked at Cavall and Rudolph before giving them a wet laugh.

“I miss him,” Britt quietly admitted to the animals. “I miss him calling me lass, and giving me the evil eye for doing something wrong. I
really
miss his smiles—those were
fine
!” Britt said with a grin. The grin faded and she shook her head. “He could have just said no, but instead he stomped all over me. How are you supposed to come back from that? How can I ever look at him as a friend? As who I
thought
he was?”

Britt was silent for several heartbeats. “And why is it that I
still
harbor something for him?” When a few teardrops spilled over Britt sighed in irritation. “And here I thought I was all grown up, and not the least bit weepy. I guess that goes to show me,” Britt said, wiping the tears from her eyes.

She cleared her throat and gave the deer another cabbage leaf. “So, Rudolph. Do you play fetch? What do deer even do? I only knew dogs were supposed to play fetch because I saw Beethoven a hundred times as a kid.”