Goddess of Legend (16 page)

He opened his mouth, but a sound from above stopped him and they both looked up. Gwen had been heading down the stone steps from the castle, a basket of sorts hanging from her arm. She froze.

Isabel slipped her hand out of Arthur’s. They all were stunned silent for a moment before Gwen found her voice. “My . . . apologies for interrupting. I was just coming to gather some herbs. But I can return at a later time.”

Isabel shot to her feet. “No, Gwen, please don’t let us stop you. I was just regaling Arthur with a story from my misspent youth. I should really go . . . do something else.” Well, she couldn’t get much lamer than that, could she?

“I shall escort you back to your . . . something else, Countess,” Arthur said.

“No, thank you. Once I figure out what that something else might be, I’m certain I’ll be able to find my own way. If you’ll please excuse me.” She lifted her skirts in an effort to hightail it out of there as fast as these damn slippers would let her.

 

 

ARTHUR and Gwen stared at one another before she made the first move by heading down the steps. “My apologies for the interruption, Arthur.”

“’Twas nothing of great importance, Gwen. We were merely engaged in an enjoyable conversation.”

“Something that seems to be sorely lacking between the two of us of late.”

“Yes, well, there seems not to be much to share these past days.”

She took another step forward, her expression pained. “I have given a vow to stop—”

He held up a quelling hand. “Please do not make any more vows you are unable to keep. It cheapens even further what was once good and bright.”

“What is it you want from me?”

He stared at her. She was at once beautiful and fragile, a woman who begged for a man’s strong arms to shield her from harm. ’Twas once such an alluring thing, as he so wanted to be her shield, her protector, her husband and her lover. His views had reversed course after meeting Isabel, who would likely jump into battle against anyone who would harm those she held dear. Isabel would not ask for assistance but would take on enemies, insisting she was quite capable of fighting her own battles.

Night and day, day and night. ’Twas not that he found fault with Gwen, for it was how she was raised. ’Twas just that Isabel’s strength of a sudden he found much more admirable.

“What I want, Gwen, is your happiness. I am being truthful when I say this. Your happiness is very important to me. But no longer at the cost of mine.”

“Then there is no going back?”

“I fear not, nor should there be. To attempt to reclaim the past when so much has happened between then and now is as attempting to save a snowflake on your tongue from melting. ’Tis, quite frankly, not possible. I am not and refuse to be another Billy Thornton.”

“Billy Thornton? I do not recognize the name. Have I misremembered? Have we entertained him?”

“No, but he quite entertained me.”

She wore a confused frown on her face, but then let it go. “So where do we go from here, Arthur? I cannot bear to disgrace you.”

“As I said, Gwen, discretion. Always discretion. We keep up appearances as long as we are able. It is very important for the sake of our kingdom. And then I shall study this no-fault dissolution of marriage that they practice in Dumont. Perhaps we may adopt such a law in Camelot. ’Twould most definitely cut down on the frying pan injuries several of my men suffer many times a year.”

“No-fault what?”

He waved. “A law they have in Isabel’s land where neither man nor woman are held responsible for the . . . irreparable damage to the marriage. It is a way to save harm falling upon both husband and wife. They agree that they have recognized they are no longer suited.”

Gwen smiled as she met him at the bench. “Please sit with me for a moment. I have discussed several ideas with Countess Isabel myself that I believe show much merit.”

He nodded as he took her elbow and helped her to sit. “And here is where we will most assuredly find some common ground.”

 

 

 

Isabel wasn’t so sure, but she took a little comfort in the reminder that the marriage had been in trouble before she showed up. Although she didn’t have a single clue how she could be Arthur’s savior in any way.

Good gods, she couldn’t even help herself.

She heard the soft lilting sound of Viviane’s laughter in her ear.

Isabel wasn’t certain she could count it as a match at the moment. It was only a certain . . . attraction between them so far.

Wow, not even close to rhyming. Viviane was not herself.

There was a knock on Isabel’s door and then it opened and Mary came bustling in, a tray filled with cheeses and bread on it, along with a stein of what was most likely mead. “Hello, mum,” she said cheerfully. “’Tis a lovely day, is it not?”

Isabel smiled. “It is indeed. And you too are looking full in bloom. What brings such lovely radiance to your face?”

Mary laid down the tray then clapped and nearly jumped in the air. “James has agreed, Countess!”

“Agreed?” Isabel asked, reaching for a piece of goat cheese. “I thought that was already taken care of. You will be wed shortly after you strike the ripe old age of fourteen.”

“No, no! He has agreed to allow me to cut his hair.”

Isabel dropped the cheese and jumped up, grabbing Mary’s hands. “That is
wonderful
, Mary! Truly, truly wonderful! Oh, he will look so handsome at your ceremony.”

“And that is not all. It seems that the king has suggested that all of his men follow suit, so that they all appear—what was the word?—receptacle as well!

Isabel nearly choked. Hell, most of them already looked like receptacles. “I think you mean respectable.”

“Yes, that.”

“Oh, Mary, that is such good news!” She raised the stein in toast, even if Mary had nothing to toast with. “Here’s to a beautiful wedding.” She took a sip, but a small one. She wasn’t used to the strong brew and wasn’t certain she’d ever get used to it.

Either it was the mead or her feeling of pride that Arthur had listened and requested that his men clean up their acts that was warming her insides. Most likely the latter. She held up the stein to Mary. “Are you permitted to drink this swi—er, mead, Mary? If so, please join me.”

Mary’s freckled nose wrinkled. “’Tis permitted, mum, but I care not for the taste.”

“Then share some bread and cheese?”

Mary shook her head. “Thank you again, but no. I do not want to add any bulk to my body afore my wedding day.”

Isabel chuckled. Every bride’s nightmare. At least that was something that hadn’t changed over time. She racked her brain, wanting to do something for Mary to celebrate.

Then it hit her. “Mary, do you already have the gown you are to wear on your special day?”

“No, mum, but I hope to engage the help of our seamstresses in the next couple of days. The queen has demanded that the men who I shear offer a small payment for my services. With what I save, I am hoping to be able to afford to purchase a very special dress for the occasion.”

Isabel walked over to the wardrobe. “Take your pick,” she said, pointing at her gowns. “Any one you want, it is yours.”

“Oh, I could never!”

“Oh, but you can! I insist. It is my marriage gift to you. And you cannot refuse a marriage gift, now can you? That would just be plain rude.”

Mary glanced longingly at the dresses, then turned back. “But, mum, you are so much taller than I. And so much more . . . bountiful up here,” she said, cupping her own breasts.

“What are seamstresses for if not to do a little nip and tuck work to adjust gowns to fit the bride? And you can save what you earn from going into the haircutting business to help you and James save up for your own private cottage on the estate. Win-win.”

Mary’s eyes filled with tears, and she tried to blink them away. “Really, mum, I just don’t know.”

“I do. Choose. And tomorrow we’ll go down or up to the sewing department, or whatever you call it, and we’ll start on the alterations.”

“What if I choose one you especially love?”

“Then I’ll especially love seeing it on you during the best day of your life.”

Mary stood mute for a moment, then flung herself into Isabel’s arms. “Oh, mum, this is the nicest thing anyone has e’er done for me.”

Isabel hugged her back, feeling tears attempting to spill from her own eyes. “I am so happy to do this small thing, Mary. And now let’s pick out a dress.”

She looked up and went still when she found Arthur lounging in the doorway, arms crossed, staring at her intently. She wondered if she was in big trouble for stepping over some kind of line until his lips lifted in a slow smile. He nodded.

She returned a shaky smile, then gave him the “shoo-shoo” gesture so he wouldn’t freak Mary out. He nodded and retreated, but not before mouthing, “I shall return shortly.” Whether to chew her out or kiss her, she had no idea. She didn’t care. Just having him back was good enough for her.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

TRUE to his word, Arthur returned less than an hour later. “May I enter, Countess?”

She finished brushing—or twigging—her teeth, stuffed a bunch of mint in her mouth and turned. “Yes, sir, you may.”

“Has the vow-day dress been decided upon?”

“After a little argument over color, it has indeed.”

“Color?” he asked, as he walked in, a flask of wine and two goblets in his hands.

“She had her heart set on the red, but I talked her into the green. The red kind of clashed with her hair. The green complimented her coloring much better.”

He set the goblets down and filled them. “I believe you have a better eye for such things than most.” He handed her one of the goblets.

“How long were you standing there?” Isabel asked, accepting the wine.

“Long enough to recognize why I have these feelings for you, Izzy.”

She lowered her head hiding her grin. “You do know I only afford those closest to me to call me Izzy.”

“I do.”

“So you are assuming I have allowed you into my circle of closest friends?”

“I have high hopes, and so I am taking the chance. Have ne’er waited in my life to be invited. I have this tendency to barge in. ’Tis a terrible fault of mine.”

“Yes, you brute!”

“My belief, beautiful lady, is that you can handle the brute.”

The look in his eyes told her his intentions were so very not honorable. Which was as sexy as sexy could be.

She backed up. “Mary could return at any moment.”

“She could,” he said as he backed up and kicked the door closed and then turned the lock. “But she would have a very terrible time entering.”

“I don’t suppose you put the Do Not Disturb sign out there?”

“No one will disturb us. At the risk of being beheaded.”

Isabel gulped. “You’re teasing, yes?”

“You tell me, Isabel. Am I teasing?”

“You would never hurt anyone like that. So, yes, I know you’re teasing.”

He held up his goblet. “To the most unusual woman I have e’er met, Isabel. And the most full of heart and care and passion. I am so happy to have met you.”

They clinked and drank, and then she answered, “And to the most compassionate and loving man I have ever met, Arthur. This journey has been strange and long, but had I not traveled it, and not met you, I feel it would have been such a loss. You really have been a new treasure to me.”

They sipped again, green eyes locked on blue.

Then they sat in the respective chairs, which was probably a much better idea than throwing the goblets aside and jumping into bed. Although she wasn’t quite certain at the moment why that was a better idea.

“You entrance me, Isabel,” Arthur said. “Everything about you calls to me. I will not deny it. I also will make no apologies for it. This feeling is somewhat beyond my ken. I happened to be at the door from near the moment you wanted to do something special for Mary. ’Twas very special. As are you.”

She sipped her wine again. “As was I with Mary’s news that you had ordered your men to clean up for James and Mary’s wedding. It was a wonderful thing for you to do.”

“First, I did not order it, Isabel. I merely suggested. In battle, I order. At Camelot, I suggest.”

She nodded. “Also that Gwen
suggested
that the men pay her for her services.”

“We have always encouraged all of our people to offer services for pay.” He waved a hand. “Should a person provide a special service, should he or she not be awarded for such? Seems only fair. There must be a name for such a practice, but I know not what it would be.”

“In my land it is called capitalism.”

“I have ne’er heard of such, but any word will do.”

“Whatever. I thank you and Gwen for promoting capitalism. It honestly makes your men and women work harder at their tasks, and be rewarded.”

“I would like to hear your suggestions of how to bring more of this capitalism into the workings of the castle.”