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Chapter Ten
ISABEL couldn't sleep. The bed was more than comfortable, although she had a feeling PETA would not approve of the fur blanketing it. She'd flopped from one side to the other, from her back to her tummy, but no position seemed to allow her mind to stop whirling and fall into slumber, peaceful or not. Oh, for some sleep meds right about now.
Her door opened silently, only the light from the hallway lanterns slicing across the room alerting her. She sat up, alarmed, but then recognized Mary, the young girl's arms filled with a couple of new logs for the fire.
"Oh, you startled me!"
Mary froze. "Countess, my apologies," she said with a small curtsy. "I thought you would be deeply asleep by this hour."
"The question is, why aren't you?" Isabel asked. "You are way too young to be working such long hours."
As Mary carefully laid the logs on the dying embers and waved to flame the fire, she said, "'Tis my pleasure to serve you, Countess." She stood and turned, an impish smile on her face. "And truth be told, when you have no need of me, I slip in a nap or two during the day. I receive plenty of sleep."
"I'm glad to hear that, but answer me this, Mary. What do you really do for pleasure?"
"M'lady? I'm not sure I understand your question."
"You and your friends. What do you do? Do you play games? Play sports?"
"There's not much time for such things."
"So many chores, so little time, eh?"
"Something like that, yes, mum."
"We'll see about that," Isabel murmured.
"Pardon?"
"Nothing, nothing, Mary." Isabel threw her covers aside and stood. "Listen, I just cannot sleep. Maybe a short walk would do me good. Is there a way to the south gardens without going down and through the great hall?"
"Yes, there be, Countess, but the back staircase is for servants, not for the likes of royalty."
"Tonight, I am a servant, then. Please help me find my long cloak, and show me the way."
MARY led Isabel to the gardens she had shared with Arthur several hours earlier. Luckily, they encountered no one along the way. The castle seemed to be sound asleep.
Isabel thanked Mary profusely and tried to tip her with one of the hundreds of coins she'd discovered in a pouch in one of her trunks. Mary stared at it in horror and backed away. "No, Countess, I cannot. If this be found, I may be accused of theft."
"How, when I will readily tell one and all that it was a gift from me for your excellent service?"
"I am not permitted to accept such gifts."
Wow, tell that to the service personnel on cruise ships. They whistled in the air while holding their palms out at every opportunity. Isabel vowed to herself that she'd find a way to repay Mary for her help and kindness in ways that would not get the girl in trouble.
"Apparently another faux pas on my part. I apologize if I've offended you, Mary."
"Fo paw?"
"Never mind, another word apparently exclusive to my land. Please, go to bed, and thank you for helping me."
Mary curtsied, which was beginning to get on Isabel's nerves. But she bit her tongue and wished Mary a good night. "I will find my way back, Mary. I have no need for help until the morning bath."
"Thank you, mum. And I do so hope you find the peace you are searching for."
Isabel wished for the same thing but was afraid peace eluded her at the moment.
"I see that neither of us are finding that peace tonight."
Isabel practically jumped to the turrets. She twisted around to find the source of her torment leaning against an apricot tree. "Arthur, good gods, you just scared the living . . . daylights out of me."
He bowed slightly. "My apologies, Isabel. 'Twas not my intention."
Her eyes narrowed. "Are you following me?"
He pushed off from the tree with his shoulder then stepped forward, that catlike silence of his movements almost eerie. "I believe you have followed me, as I have been wandering the gardens for some time."
"I had no idea," she said, affronted. "I just could not find sleep." Then she thought of something. "This is not Mary's fault! I demanded that she help me find my way back here in a way that would not bring us through the great hall."
"On my oath, I will assure Mary is rewarded, not punished, for her actions. In truth, she has demonstrated more loyalty to her king than I have witnessed from many others in a very long time."
He stepped around that magical bench and took Isabel's hand. "Please join me and tell me why it is that you cannot sleep, Countess Isabel."
"I am afraid I don't know."
"Are the accommodations less than satisfactory? I will have anything done to make you more comfortable."
More comfortable would mean having him sharing her bed. His warmth, his hard body, his scent. Which, come to think of it, was vastly different than earlier. He had obviously bathed and washed his hair. She couldn't identify the spicy scent, but it was delicious.
She sat down on the bench, acutely aware that she was wearing only a nightdress and a cloak. How she wished she'd found some jeans and T-shirts stuffed in those trunks.
He stood in front of her, not joining her, just shaking his head. "I told her, Isabel."
She stared into the troubled green eyes of her dream man, her heart aching. "Guinevere?"
"Yes."
"And you told her what? Your bowling score? Your credit rating? How to work a Clapper?"
Arthur grinned and sat down. "You have a way of making me smile, Countess, even during a sad time."
"Well, that's dandy, but what are you talking about?"
"I told her that I was aware of this thing betwixt and between her and Sir Lancelot."
"Oh boy. Why?"
"Why? You advised me to talk to her."
Oh freaking boy. "I meant that as a sort of get-back-together type of thing. Or at least I thought I did."
Didn't I, Lady?
Did you, Isabel? 'Twould seem that only time will tell.
Breaking up their marriage was not my intent; I'll feel like shit if this is why I've been sent.
I sent you here to make happy both Arthur and Merlin. To satisfy them both is no such sin.
Once again Arthur began pacing in front of her, something she'd already noticed was a habit he had when he was deep in thought. Or possibly looking deeply into his own soul.
"From the moment I set eyes on Gwen, I have ne'er felt lust for another. Not even after I had learned the truth. Ne'er."
He stopped pacing and faced her directly. "And then our meeting in the forest. And I found myself suddenly wanting a woman who was not my wife."
"I'm so sorry."
He laughed once again. "You apologize for this? You are apologizing for being beautiful? For being . . . you?"
"I have no desire to be part of the crash and burn of a marriage."
"Crash and burn? Has it not already crashed and burned?"
"You tell me, Arthur."
He had that come-and-get-me smile on his face. Isabel was certain he didn't realize that was what he was transmitting, but it was still like a huge Jump Me sign to her. "You opened my eyes tonight, Countess. You are so lovely and blunt, and that mouth of yours spouts fierceness, and yet your actions show compassion."
Well, that was as clear as quantum physics. "Thank you. I think. And how did this little chat with Guinevere go?"
His hands waved in the air. "She did not deny. She did not beg for mercy for herself, but for Lancelot. She hoped that his punishment would merely be banishment."
"I'm so sorry."
Once again his deep grass green eyes lifted to hers. "And your thoughts?"
Therapist, she decided, was not her forte. Especially when she wanted this man. And she was so wanting to jog down that one path that led straight to her own selfish desires.
"Please tell me you are not going to out them."
"Out them?"
"Gwen and Lancelot. Hurt them. Have them punished?"
"Never. However, much is out of my hands. I can protect both only so far."
"So then let's protect them."
"My pardon, Isabel?"
"You love them both, yes?"
"Most assuredly. Not as afore, but still, they mean much to me."
"You have decided, in your soul, that you do not want to punish them, correct?"
"I have."
"Then we need to come up with a plan. A battle plan, as it were."
His laughter was rich, and once again it reached down into her body. "You are a constant amazement, Countess."
"Hey, what the hell, let's get this done. We might all come out of this with what we want."
"What I want right now is to feel your lips."
"Keep your eye on the prize, Arthur."
"You have said this afore on our ride to Camelot. However, the prize, as you call it, has changed."
"You want to keep Camelot and all of your people safe. That has never changed."
"I cannot deny that. I can, however, change what this prize I want most desperately might be."
"THE plan, Arthur. We must work on the plan," Isabel said, while Arthur was unforgivably debating another plan. Although the servants had doused the garden lanterns for the night, he'd lit them again when he'd come out to ponder the future. It was all a jumble of what he had always envisioned, expected and desired. So much of it all had gone awry. When had he lost control? For some time he had wanted to keep it all together, running smoothly. And then the gods had made a mockery of his dreams and desires.
Or had they?
Isabel sat staring at him intently, her blond hair shimmering from the lantern lights, her eyes so large and inquisitive.
"I love her. I know that I do. But what does it say about me that I am not stopping what I see happening and that I have this attraction to another woman? How is it possible that I felt a desire for you on first sight?"
Wow, this honesty thing that the Lady's necklace brought about was a lot more powerful than she'd thought.
"Perhaps, just perhaps, that you fell for a beautiful woman who was just a teeny bit too young for you?"
He again shook his head. "Which makes me an old fool?"
"Arthur, you are neither old, nor a fool. Gwen is a lovely young woman. And I do believe she loves you as well. I see it when she looks at you. She respects and admires you, and is proud to be your queen."
"Do you see love or desire when she gazes upon me?"
"I haven't been around long enough to discern such a thing."
That was the biggest bunch of bullshit she'd had to gag out. All she'd noticed was lust and desire when the queen had kept sneaking peeks at Lancelot.
"Bullshit. Apologies for that word and for using it in your presence. I made it up at one point when I felt I was being deceived. You are not giving me truth."
She stared at him for a second, then broke out laughing. "You, sir, are quite honest."
"You, madam, are skirting the issue that you've promised to help me work out."
Isabel wished she could have gone back and majored in psychology. But she had nothing but basic logic to go on now. And the Lady, who she hoped would kick her in the chest if she went wrong.
"May I be blunt?"
"Blunt?"
"Truthful to the point that it might cause you pain."
"Then be blunt, Countess."
"I think you love Gwen enough to allow her happiness. I think you shield her from gossip because you want her to go about this tryst if it allows her to find her joy. I think you don't banish Lancelot because you know that the two find joy together. Would you like me to go on and have you banish me?"
"I would fight my own men to keep you here, Countess."
"Ask yourself, why do you permit this?"
"Happiness is a fleeting thing, do you not think? Am I the arbiter of happiness? The crown does not grant me the right to determine who should and should not find theirs, wherever it leads." He once again cocked his head sideways. "The truth is, I honestly know not. Strange as it seems, I want Gwen to be happy."
"You're a good-hearted man, Arthur."
"With many, many flaws it appears."
"Such as?"
"Poor judgment, perhaps?"
Isabel stood. "Are you saying poor judgment would be wanting to kiss me?"
"No, madam, that would most likely be one of my best judgments."
"No offense, but do you consider yourself good at this?"
His eyes glittered and he shrugged. "'Tis a mystery. Mayhap I am mistaken and overly boastful in that skill. How shall I ever know?"
"Sir, I'm well schooled in certain arts. Perhaps I can determine if this is a deadly fault of yours?"
Isabel waited for the thump, but it never came.
He went still. "Madam, I would most certainly accept your honest opinion."
They looked at each other for a long time before he finally lowered his head. Their mouths met tentatively at first, but the fire lit up fast. Before she could even think, his one hand thrust itself through her hair and his other went to the small of her back, pulling her closer. He broke the kiss long enough to stare into her eyes and whisper, "I must do better."
If he did any better, Isabel was going to get seared. His mouth came down on hers again, and he played so many million tricks on her lips that she needed him to hold her up. He tasted like sex, he played her mouth like sex, he nipped her lips lightly like pure sex.
By the time he was done with her mouth, the rest of her body was churning.
Arthur broke the kiss and cupped her face, which left the rest of her body in peril of dropping straight to the ground. Her knees certainly weren't helping to hold her up. She began to sink, but he quickly grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back up. "That bad?" he asked.
She knew her eyes and brain were both glazed. Her vocal chords were also in peril.
Isabel cleared her throat. "Sir, where I come from," she whispered, "we grade our students from A to F, A being awesome, F meaning failure. B, C, and D fall in between."
"And where do I fall, Isabel?" he asked, still grilling her with those mossy green eyes.
"Not only would you make the dean's list, you'd probably make valedictorian."
He shook his head. "I'm sorry? Betimes our languages do not match."
"My apologies, sir. What I'm saying is you get an A-plus."
He smiled. "And this is good?"
"Valedictorian material, Arthur."
"What is higher than this valedictorian? I would very much like to achieve it."
"I'd very much like for you to try."
"You are very beautiful, Isabel. Your hair is as soft as is your skin, and you smell so sweet."
"You're talking way too much, Arthur, when in truth, I'd prefer you just shut up and kiss me again."
But instead of covering her lips with his, his head raised and he almost slapped a hand over her mouth. "Shhh, lady. Something is amiss," he whispered.
Not the rabbit again. Or maybe it would be better if it were another rabbit.
Before she knew what was happening, Arthur had shoved her behind his back as he faced the darkness of the shrubbery down the garden path.
"Present yourself!" he demanded. "Are you friend or foe?"
A voice beyond the light of the lanterns replied, "'Tis only, I, my king. 'Tis James."
James, Isabel remembered, was the huge burly guy who was the king's first man. She didn't know whether to run and hide, or pretend to be a fence post. Arthur didn't give her a choice. He held on to her so tightly that she couldn't have moved if she wanted to.
"Come, James. Tell me why you are up and about. And why you have come looking for me."
James came rumbling in, and yet strangely he walked as softly as a ballerina. He, too, had learned how to walk softly but carry big - really big - bulk. He reminded Isabel of Shrek, and yet when she peeked out beside Arthur's side, his expression turned from worried to kind.
"M'lady Countess," he said, bowing.
