Betrothal (8 page)

Love, honor and protection. The words buzzed through my head. Had this been my mother's message? At least he hadn't lied and professed a false love to me.

"I will marry you if you allow my father to rule Camelaird for as long as he is capable, and dispatch an army for Camelaird's protection under my father's rule. Camelaird will not be yours until my father either concedes or dies. After that, all rulings you make for Camelaird will be mutually agreed upon between you and I."

"As you desire," said Arthur. His gaze never wavered from my own as he made his promise. "You said conditions. What else?"

"I would ask that my lady-in-waiting, Elibel, be released from my service. She can stay as long as she wishes, and I will provide for her, but she may seek any love she desires—whether above or below her station—and when she chooses to leave me, she will be blessed in her choice of a husband and provided with a generous dowry to compensate them both for a lifetime."

I glanced backwards to catch sight of Elibel. Her cheeks reddened and tears welled at the corners of her eyes. I smiled at my cousin and she nodded back at me.

"I see," said Arthur, regaining my attention. "I agree to this condition." His eyes sparked with humor as I continued.

"And that Aethelwine will accompany me to Camelot and his care will never be questioned."

"I could grow enamored with your peculiarities."

"What do you mean?"

"Another in your position would have asked for jewels, or dresses, or riches, but you ask a favor for your servant and for sanctuary for your bird?" Genuine admiration played in his features as he continued, "You've asked of nothing for yourself. Isn't there anything I can give you?"

"Yes," I blurted without thought. Then I pressed my lips together to contain the run-away notion.

"Go on," he prodded.

Embarrassed at my desire, I tilted my head downward, but he caught my chin with his hand and lifted my face back up to meet his.

"Anything," he said. "Just ask."

"That you never say I love you, unless you mean it. Not love of my crown, or for what I represent, but love for who I am, in my heart. Promise you will never utter those words unless such affection has grown within you honestly and truly."

"Fair enough." He said, amused. "I will never say," Arthur paused, his eyes intensifying, "I love you..." He let another breath of silence dangle between us, which emphasized the "I love you" phrase as if it stood upon its own.

Hearing the words spoken by someone other than Elibel—a man, no less—made my chest wobble. For the first time, I realized how I longed to hear those words.

"…Unless," he teased, "I truly and honestly mean them. Then it is done. These are all your conditions?"

"All," I confirmed.

Arthur's hand moved back to cradle the side of my face, as his other hand drew in behind me and pulled me toward him. Both panic and expectation seized me; I froze, tensing at his touch. No one had ever kissed me, though I had imagined such a moment as all girls do. At my stiffening, Arthur drew down, meeting me, parting his lips. Like the touch of his hands, his skin against mine ignited sparks of energy inside me. For a moment, Lancelot's image flashed in my mind. I fought against the vision and squeezed my eyes shut. Arthur's embrace tightened; he pressed into me. The hardness of his breastplate pushed into my own flesh as the soft caress of his lips played over my own. The sensation of his lips on mine took over, and for the first time, I wondered if I could learn to love such a man.

Continuance
 

So this is how it began, how I became betrothed to the legendary King Arthur. It was unfair—that moment. I did not possess all the information I needed to make the decision, and yet I did. I truly believed my actions were in the best interest of everyone involved: my father, the people of Camelaird, Elibel, and all Britons. I had even convinced myself that I might be able to love a king who sought to bring peace to the land. But when I agreed to the betrothal, I did not realize Arthur's proclamation for the welfare of Britannia was tainted by ulterior motivations. Had I known what was to come, my decision would have been much different.

- Guinevere, Queen of Camelot

The 6
^th
day of November in the year of our Lord 536

Written from the abbey at Amesbury

Queen’s Honor Continues In Quest

Here’s a sneak peek of Quest, book two of the Queen’s Honor Miniseries.

Quest, Chapter 1

"Can you see him, Guinevere?"

I stiffened at the hushed tone of my mother's voice. Morning dew wore through my slippers, numbing my toes. Mother had not taken time to put on my leather overshoes when she dragged me from my bed, threw on my clothes, and rushed me to the meadow before dawn so Father would not notice our departure.

Though I followed the line of her finger as she pointed toward the hillside, nothing came into view; a gray mist clung over the fields.

"No, mamma, I cannot."

Mother's tresses dangled around her ermine-lined mantle as she knelt next to me, her skirts soiling in the moist grass as she slunk down to my height. I took comfort in the fact that the strands of her hair matched my own in color—brown, like the lighter shades of bark.

"Close your eyes little one, and think of nothing."

"But—"

"Quiet, child, and count to ten. Then open your eyes and tell me what you see."

I obeyed, counting to myself. When I reached ten, I opened my eyes and focused on the hillside.

"Oh!" A squeal escaped me. "I see him!"

Emerging from the haze, an enormous white hart lifted his head and turned toward us. His antlers razed the sky like a storm of tree branches, a dark tangle against the mist. A snort blew from his nostrils sending a puff of white to mingle with the cool morning air; his muscles rippled underneath his hide.

“Sometimes you can see beyond your normal vision—into the Otherworld, and other times, into the hearts of men. But most importantly, you must learn to see into the corners of your own soul.”

I didn’t know what Mamma meant, but I quivered, mesmerized by the majesty of the creature as if I had been captured by a fey. My childish mind scrambled with sightings of deer—all red or tawny, never shimmering like beads of fresh snow.

"Why is his fur white, Mamma?"

"Do you know who he is, Guinevere?" Her tone remained hushed and reminded me to lower mine as well.

I shook my head.

"The old ones called him the Lord of the Wild Things, and the new God heralds him the messenger of peace. It does not matter what he is called. What matters is we understand his essence—that he is immortal. He is goodness and light. When he appears, he reminds you a challenge is at hand, and in order to overcome the ordeal, you must stay pure of heart."

I thought for a moment, furrowing my brow. "Why would he remind us of such a thing, Mamma? Are our hearts bad?"

A knowingness flicked in her blue-gray eyes. She placed her hand over my heart and smiled—a sad but tender smile. The white hart pawed the ground behind us, then jolted, springing over the meadow; he vanished into the mist. Mother lifted her gaze to meet my own.

Elibel interrupted my mother’s reply with a sharp nudge of her elbow into my ribs, jarring me out of the long-ago memory.

"You gawk, My Lady," scolded Elibel.

"I do not—"

"You might as well drool, My Lady."

Then I understood: while the recollection had filled my mind, my gaze had wandered across the crowd to stare at one man—not my soon-to-be husband, but Sir Lancelot.

Quest, Chapter 2

The knight ignored me, or perhaps he did not notice I ogled him. Instead, Lancelot watched King Arthur with all the intensity of a gargoyle while we milled near the door to Camelaird's granary at my father's request.

"Straighten up and act your part, My Lady."

I turned toward Elibel as she scolded me, breaking my line of sight to the knight.

The largeness of my cousin's eyes narrowed into slits as she whispered, "I fear you will make an ill-suited queen if you can't restrain yourself and show a little decorum."

My fingers continued to trace the triquetra, circling each loop of the charm as it hung around my neck.

"I am sorry, Elibel. I didn't mean to stare. I was thinking about Father—"

“About how he’d flay you like a disobedient hound if he caught you salivating over a man who is not your betrothed?”

“No. About how clearly I can see events I could not remember before, as if something inside me seeks to find the truth.”

“Perhaps you should seek the truth of how dangerous your actions are.”

She turned her attention back toward Arthur, dismissing me. My chest tightened at her reproach and subsequent dismissal. Since I had agreed to become Arthur's queen, Elibel's rebukes about my demeanor had increased.

Despite the late day in May, a constant drizzle settled over Camelaird as we waited on my father. I tightened my arms around my waist, protecting myself from the dampness, and I suppose, from my cousin's coldness. The clamminess of my dress weighed down the already heavy velvet as it clung to my skin.

"King Arthur," my father began.

"Why so formal?" Arthur beamed at my father.

His blonde curls lit with a glow despite the morning's gloom. His good-looks held the crowd captive, but for whatever reason, he didn't stir tender emotions in me. I examined him, trying to discern what everyone else saw in him.

"We are soon to be family. Arthur will do. Or son if you prefer, for you have proven yourself as a father to me through our long-time alliance, and now by the hand of your daughter—the most enchanting woman in all of Britannia."

I rolled my eyes, but the sag of my father's eyelids lifted at Arthur's statement. The tiredness that stretched his features released as he stared up at the younger king; his eyes filled with hope.

"Son, then," replied Father.

A smile spread both men's lips. A twinge of regret for my earlier thought of Arthur's insincerity hit me, and I chided myself for my cruelty, this time, without the aid of Elibel.

"For my daughter's bride price, gold, jewels or cattle would not serve, for your wealth is far beyond my own. Alas, I thought, what could I offer so great a king that he did not already possess?"

Arthur's grin spread his entire face, magnifying his attractiveness; he relished my father's praise.

Elibel seemed dizzy at the sight of Arthur's beauty, though she tried to control her admiration by tightening the line of her lips.

While everyone remained under the spell of Arthur's charms, my gaze wandered back toward Lancelot. It wasn't as if I could control the matter. Whenever the knight was near, he drew me as if a string pulled me toward him without my consent. And when Lancelot was absent, my thoughts became obsessed with his whereabouts. Though I tried to withdraw, my instincts won out, and I found myself staring at him once more.

What tugged at me remained a mystery; he was attractive, but in a dark, enigmatic way, not like the flamboyant brightness of Arthur, and by all outward appearances, he discounted me. Yet there was something more, and that something nagged at my heart.

Elibel jabbed my ribs with such ferocity that I grabbed my side and swung my head back in her direction. Her eyes chastised me; she had caught me gawking. Again.

Shame flushed through my body, and I cast my eyes downward, studying the mud that clung to the hem of my dress and covered the pale blue of my shoes.

Father's gesture toward the granary took the edge off the moment; his soldiers swung open the doors at his command.

Arthur clapped, and I glanced up to see why he showed such excitement.

An enormous table, divided into twenty-four sections, sat in the center of the chamber beyond the reach of the doors. The cast of light from outside caught the inlaid silver and gold swirls, causing the circumference to glimmer.

"Your father, Uther Pendragon, commissioned Merlin for this table many seasons past. Your father gifted the table to me in hopes that I could unite the kingdoms of Britannia, but I never retained the loyalty of enough knights to fulfill the requirement of the Round Table, as each spoke represents a retinue of six. I give this table to you as my daughter's bride price, knowing you will achieve the destiny I could not."

Arthur strutted to the table, settling his hands across the surface as he strode around in a circle. "This is the same Round Table that belonged to my father?"

"Yes." My father's eyes glistened as he watched Arthur's reaction.

“And the requirement is one hundred and forty-forty loyal knights?”

My father nodded again while Arthur’s mind clicked with his own calculations.

“I possess one hundred and forty-one such knights now. I shall seek three more of the bravest and most honorable of men!”

Father nodded, knocking loose a strand of his gray hair. It sprang over his face, like a slash from a sword.

"I could not have received a more valuable gift, King Leodegrance, or shall I say, Father?"

“The hope of all Britons resides with you now, Son.”

Arthur reached out and grabbed my father, pulling him into an embrace. Father returned his enthusiasm by hugging him back; his affections for Arthur bore no resemblance to his regard for me—none of the detachments that characterized our relationship existed between the two men. I also noted that the Round Table had trumped my value as far as "gifts" went.

Arthur pulled away and turned on his heel. "Now, I must be off to start this quest for worthy knights. Guinevere, fetch your belongings. We take leave at once."

"No!" I don't know what demon possessed my tongue, but every bit of me refused him and, regardless of Elibel's warning to act like a queen, my emotions got the better of me.