Goddess of Legend (5 page)

“Why me?” Isabel asked, even as she tried not to show watery eyes. She was so not a crybaby, unless it was over the tragedy of a sweet and heroic man in Afghanistan or the birth of a kitten.

Coventina squeezed Isabel’s hand even more, although strangely it didn’t hurt, but felt like energy being exchanged between them. “Because you were the woman I was looking for. I asked the gods for one who was beautiful, smart and, I’m sorry to say, about to die. And what was a must for me was a woman who had an, as you put it, ‘shoulda.’ One who mourned in her last moments that she’d never found true love.”

“What makes you think I’ll find it here, Cov—”

“Call me Viviane. Merlin is the only one who ever has, but I’d like if you would as well. Because I believe you will be the one who brings him back to me.”

“Okay. What makes you think I’ll find it here, Viviane? And how do I bring Merlin back?”

“I cannot be certain. But if I do not try, I have not done enough to win back the man I love. And this isn’t acceptable to my heart, or my waters. I fear what will happen if my unhappiness roils the waters that sustain me.”

Isabel glanced over at the lake to see it suddenly making waves when moments ago it had been calm, clear and as blue as Viviane’s eyes. Now it was uneasy, gray, unhappy. And it churned in her the memory of Grand Lake, which had seemed angry at her just at the moment that she and her car had taken a decidedly ungraceful dive into its unsettled depths.

She looked back to the woman, wondering just when she’d wake up from this dream. Until she did, she’d try to help. “My camera equipment?” she asked.

Viviane shook her head. “There’s nothing like that in this time. This place.”

“Okay,” Isabel said, but mourned that she couldn’t capture the beauty all around her, the beauty of this woman . . . who’d make her rich were she to sell the Lady’s pictures to
People
magazine . . . the amazing truth of Camelot. “Who, pray tell, am I supposed to fall for? Or who do you hope might fall for me? What if I accidentally fall for, say, the court jester?”

Again that musical laughter filled the air, and it seemed that the birds in the trees joined in. “Hester the Jester? I pray you have better taste than that.”

Isabel grinned. “Then who, my lady?”

“Why, Lancelot, of course.”

“You’re kidding, right? If I remember correctly, Gwen almost burned at the stake for getting involved with him. I didn’t almost drown to live to see fire in my future.”

“But you shan’t. You are Lady Isabel, come to Camelot as Countess from Dumont to discuss the sharing of land for mutual benefit of all of Briton.”

“So I’m just dropping in? Uninvited?”

Viviane hesitated a moment, then pulled a necklace from what must have been a pocket in her gown. It was a stunning piece, what at first appeared to be a sapphire to Isabel. But as she fingered it, she realized it was more a heart-shaped droplet, made of some kind of glass, with a blue liquid inside. It was amazing and would have brought a pretty penny at Sotheby’s.

“Oh, Viv, I may call you Viv?”

The Lady sniffed. “No, you may not.”

Isabel shrugged. “I just figured that Viviane’s a mouthful, but fair enough. This is so lovely! What is it?”

The Lady put it around Isabel’s neck, and it fell right above her heart and barely confined boobs. “This piece is somewhat magical, Isabel. Upon seeing it, those who would be suspicious of your arrival and your motives will no longer. Inside are my tears, dropped when I had no choice but to allow Merlin to leave me.

“It does contain abilities, but I’ll not let you know what they are. For there is a price to pay for any use of it. Be wise with it and it will be your ally. Use the powers foolishly, and you will pay the price.”

“Do you have any rules written down? A cheat sheet? Like could I use it to suddenly make plumbing and real toilets available?”

Viviane laughed as it seemed so did the lake. “You could indeed. And then you might find yourself not being able to use the facilities.”

“Yipes.”

“Yes, please see what I mean. There is a price whenever you choose to invoke the power of my tears. If you must needs use it, remember there is a cost. And one more thing, Isabel. Never allow anyone to take it from you.” Viviane seemed deep in thought for a moment, then spoke:

Viviane threw her arms wide, and clouds that had been gathering broke apart and rained all over the lake, all over them. Isabel wasn’t into getting showered on as a rule unless she was actually in a shower, but for some reason the drops felt warm and comforting when she was feeling a little scared and definitely out of her element.

Was this a death dream? Is that how it happened? She was singing the signature song to
Camelot
when she’d taken a header. She’d been thinking of the Lady of the Lake when she’d been struggling in the water.

Seems she’d taken way too many mythology classes in college.

Well, if it was a death dream, it was a pretty damn cool one. Where else would she want to land than at Camelot? Except for the plumbing thing. But hey, they managed; she’d managed the conditions in Afghanistan; she could find a way to live without her Kohler deluxe shower. But . . . “For how long, Viviane?”

“Until we’ve both accomplished our goals.”

“Just to be clear, am I dead at the end of this picture? Not that I’m complaining, mind you, since you saved me and everything, but do I die when Mission Impossible is over?”

“I assure you that once you’ve achieved this Mission Impossible—as you call it, but I will not—your fate will be in your hands.”

“So if I decide I really don’t want to die?”

“Your fate will be yours to decide.”

“If I decide I want to return to plumbing and electricity? And my photography?”

“Your fate will be in your hands, Isabel.”

“All righty, then,” Isabel said, testing the necklace, and sure enough it wasn’t letting go. “Is there any place I can write a Post-it on those words I need to spake?”

“You will remember them should you need them.”

“Another question. If I need help or advice, may I come visit you?”

“Always.”

“How will I find you?”

“Just ask in your mind, Isabel. I will answer.”

“Okay, just so I’m sure about my assignment. Try to seduce Lance away from Gwen so Arthur and Gwen stick to the happily-ever-after plan. And this will help the king to save Camelot?”

Viviane laughed, and the clouds and rain instantly disappeared. Isabel envied that power, wishing she’d known how to do that with a couple of boyfriends. “Yes, that’s the plan. But plans sometimes go awry.”

“Oh, goody.”

“You have the necklace. Use it judiciously, and you will—how do you say it in your time?—kick aces?”

“Close enough, if you’re a betting woman.”

“I’m betting on you, Isabel. I’m betting on love for you. The one you ‘shoulda’ had in your time.

Isabel was kind of regretting the last thoughts of shouldas at this point. Maybe she should have been concentrating on the
shouldn’t haves
. “How am I supposed to find the castle again?”

The Lady dipped her hand into the water and threw a handful into the air. They looked like drops of silver mercury as they hung for a while, and then one by one dropped back into the lake.

Viviane pointed behind Isabel. “Your horse awaits.”

Isabel looked around and there stood the most beautiful white Arabian horse, standing, snorting, impatient. Isabel tilted her head and looked down below. Definitely a female, as nothing dangled.

“Okay, Viviane, let’s get something straight,” she said. “First, I’m a good rider. In fact, my favorite is bareback. But I know a sidesaddle when I see it, and there’s not a chance in hell I know how to handle a horse that big sidesaddle.”

The Lady laughed again, then dipped her fingers into the lake and tossed drops of it onto Isabel’s face, then did the same to the horse’s, who took it much better than Isabel did.

“And now you know, Izzy, how to ride sidesaddle. And you and Samara will be fast friends. Now ride to Camelot. You are needed. And I grow impatient for my Merlin.”

“How come you get to call me Izzy, and I’m not allowed to call you Viv?”

The Lady stood. “Who is the goddess here, Izzy?”

“Okay, good point.”

CHAPTER FOUR

IZZY? Only her best friends and her father ever called her Izzy. But she supposed arguing with a goddess who’d just saved her life wasn’t necessarily in her best interests. As Isabel and Samara picked their way through the forest that would bring them to Camelot, Isabel pondered on just how deep a dream this was.

After all, as Viviane had predicted, she and Samara became fast friends, and Isabel rode sidesaddle as if she’d been doing it all of her life. How could that be?

Or was this truly an afterworld that no one still alive could even imagine? Was this how the universe worked? It dropped you off into a different place and time? Already she’d had to stop Samara twice to take care of business in the middle of woods, wondering if baring her butt was illegal in Camelot.

Strangely enough, every time she needed to stop, she’d find something akin to toilet paper waiting for her. She kept whispering, “Thank you, Viviane.” And she could swear that the trees whispered back, “No problem.”

And Samara was something else. The first time Isabel stopped, she’d roped the reins around a tree. Samara snorted in what was apparent disgust. When Isabel returned, Samara nearly sent Isabel flying several yards away. Isabel picked up that cue fast, and at the second stop, she left Sam alone. No messing with Sam’s trust or freedom. Isabel was rewarded by that trust when Sam leaned down to help her up into the saddle easily. After the first time, when she’d had to look around for a stump to step on, and Sam had kept kicking it over.

The turrets of the castle loomed ever closer, and Isabel found herself clutching the necklace so often it felt like it was even getting impatient with her.

Viviane was on her side, but she wasn’t by her side, which would have made her much happier.

“Looks like it’s you and me, Sam.” Other than her first misstep, it was amazing the bond they’d found together almost instantly. She didn’t need to kick, she didn’t need to slap the reins. Just a word and Samara understood her.

“So, whatcha think, Sam? Are we going to accomplish our mission?”

Samara snorted and nodded her head. But then she suddenly stopped and her ears perked. A crackling in the leaves from their left had Isabel’s heart racing. Lions and tigers and bears, oh my.

Isabel held on to the necklace and called out, “Who goes there?” Which was about the dumbest thing she could possibly say, especially if she was talking to a people-eating critter, but it just sort of came out.

A man appeared from around the side of an enormous oak. He bowed deeply, then straightened. “Relax, my dearest countess, ’tis just I, come to give you formal escort to the castle.”

Isabel’s heart dropped right to her vagina and started throbbing there. Now
this
was a beautiful man. His hair was dark but cut quite short. His lips whispered sex, his smile screamed it. His eyes were as deep mossy green as the lush forest around them. He had a goatee, which she normally hated, but on him it worked.

He was wearing what appeared to be some sort of flexible chain mail over his chest that fell almost to his knees, he held a hunter’s bow in his left hand and had a quiver strapped across his chest, the arrows apparent behind his really broad shoulders. Underneath the armor he sported a pair of tight black leggings.

The man stepped closer, his gaze dipping to her necklace, then back to her face. “’Tis unseemly to be traveling this forest alone. Where are your men? Where are your traveling trunks?”

Good question, for which she didn’t have a good answer, until she touched her neckpiece. “Oh, yes, well, they are a beat or ten behind me. I was feeling a bit restless at the plodding pace of the wagon and sporting a need for a bit of privacy. But they should be catching up shortly. Shouldn’t they?” she asked the trees. The trees above shivered, and she took that as a yes. After all, Viviane wouldn’t have sent her to this place without more than one gown, would she? And of course it would seem unimaginable for a woman to be traveling alone.

“I’m honored that you feel safety in the forests of Camelot, Countess, but even here there is danger.”

The only danger she felt at the moment was her attraction to this man. To change the subject, fast, she said, “I’m afraid, sir, that I’m at a disadvantage. You appear to know of me, you appear to have had advance warning of my pending arrival, but I know naught of you.” Isabel felt a giggle bubble in her chest and was certain its source was Viviane’s. It suddenly occurred to her that she was speaking and understanding Old English just fine. What a really cool dream this was turning out to be.

“Having a fair idea of your impending arrival time, I’ve had my men watching out for your entourage so that you would have proper escort to Camelot. Imagine my concern when news was brought to me that you appeared to be alone. And that none of your men had ridden ahead to announce you. I worried dearly that some mishap had befallen your detail.”

Imagine mine, too,
Isabel thought. And she wondered just how alone she’d been when she’d had to stop to empty her bladder. She felt her cheeks heat up at the idea.

“My sincerest gratitude for your concern and care.”

“My sincerest gratitude for your gracious acceptance to visit us at Camelot.”

“Then, I suppose, we’re all happy campers! Once again, sir, I have yet to know to whom I speak. Are you, perchance”—
let us pray
—“Sir Lancelot?” Even as she asked, she was fairly certain she couldn’t be that lucky. This man was older by a decade or more than the young knight she’d read about. He was seasoned just right, with laugh lines around his eyes and brackets around his mouth that bespoke of harder, longer living. And there was a wisdom and even hint of weariness in his eyes.