The Forest of Adventures (#1 of The Knight Trilogy) (23 page)

“I think I’m still in shock.
None of it feels quite real. Maybe that’s a good thing.”

We drove in silence for several
miles, leaving the town and the woods behind us. Blake was heading
for the coast. I remembered him talking about a small beach house
that the family had and I assumed that’s where we were heading.

“Have you seen Morgan?” I asked
with trepidation.

“I have and you’ve done exactly
as you should. It’s only right that I pay for the crime I’ve
committed. Losing you, even just for a couple of years is more
punishment than a death sentence.”

His mention of a
couple of
years
pulled me up short and sent a wave of panic through
me.

“You know that Morgan plans to
win you over. She has every belief that you’ll be hers.”

Blake laughed, “She might
believe it, but it won’t happen. Love and hate are close but they
can never be truly exchanged.”

“I’m not sure it’s love she
wants from you. Morgan is incapable of love– she wants your
submission – that’s what turns her on.”

“The bargain’s been struck. My
life recovered for my services to her. A couple of years in her
service are a small price to pay for the possibility of a lifetime
with you afterwards. If that is what you want? It would be more
than I deserve”

“Of course it’s what I
want.”

“So you do wish to spend the
rest of your life with me?”

“Blake, that almost sounds like
a proposal,” I laughed a little too loud.

“And what if it was? What if I
was asking you to pledge to become my wife when I return? Would you
say yes?” Blake’s words came out hurried and anxious.

“Blake I love you and I’ll wait
for you to come home, but I can’t pledge to marry a man that I
might not know.”

“I understand - I understand
why you may need time to consider if you can live with me after - I
am not even sure as to how I’m going to live with me.”

The image of Delta’s tattoo
came back to me, “With light comes dark. It’s what makes us
human.”

The car had left the main roads
and was now sweeping down a small single track road towards the
coast. It was an isolated spot, away from the tourist traps that
most of the beaches had become. The air between us crackled,

“I’ll never be able to explain
what happened out on the field yesterday but somehow part of me
knew, some deeply instinctive part of me knew that the man I was
fighting was the part of myself that I hated the most. Deep inside,
I knew that it was Leo I was fighting but something came over me. A
desperate need to survive, a need to leave that field alive and I
knew that if I hadn’t acted in the way that I did then I’d be dead.
Leo wouldn’t have hesitated to kill me in cold blood. Leo wouldn’t
have felt a pang of remorse”

“But why, Blake? Why did he do
it?”

“I don’t know. I’m hoping I
might find the answer to that on my quest with Morgan. Somehow, I
know she holds the key.”

Our conversation was abruptly
ended by the car coming to a stop in front of a gate on which hung
a sign informing trespassers that they would be prosecuted. Blake
leant over to open the glove box. As he did so his hand brushed
over my knee sending a shiver right through me. He recovered a
small set of keys and jumped out of the car and I watched as he
unlocked the padlock and swung the gate back.

The road dissolved into a dirt
track that continued to wind its way down the hill slope.
Eventually the sound of gravel under tires suggested that we were
nearing the beach.

The gorse bushes had hidden the
beach and the house from view and so when we came round the corner
I was stunned to see, not the wind-beaten beach hut that I’d
expected, but a small stone cottage right on the beach. The spot
was idyllic, a small private cove contained by a curve of high
granite cliffs. On the far side clifftops, perched right on the
end, were the ruins of a once magnificent castle.

“The cottage is Vivien’s
private bolt hole. I’m not sure anybody else even knows she has
it.”

Blake pulled the car up to the
cottage and cut the engine. Taking the keys he unlocked the door
and ushered me in. The cottage was homely and a complete contrast
to the chic minimalism at Meadowlake. Here there seemed to be a
more intimate history of Vivien’s life. Miniature portraits and
photographs were propped up against the books on the shelves, a
writing desk sat in the corner on top of which was a basket crammed
full of ancient letters. The furniture was all antique and
mismatched; each of the pieces a beautiful example of craftsmanship
from a whole series of times.

Despite the cool tidal air, the
cottage was warm. Somebody had been down earlier in the day and lit
the wood-burner. Vivien, for I assumed it was her, had also placed
vases of wildflowers all through the little cottage.

“Take yourself on a tour while
I prepare supper,” Blake shouted out from the kitchen.

I walked up the rickety wooden
steps, bending my head to avoid a perilously low beam. The upstairs
of the cottage comprised of just four rooms, one being a tiny
bathroom. The first room was Vivien’s room, and I was caught of
guard by how similar it was to my own bedroom. That was except for
the ornate four-poster bed placed right in the middle of it. Next
to that was the guest room, slightly smaller but very pretty. Fresh
flowers on the bedside table and towels laid out on both sides of
the French bed suggested that this was intended to be our room.
Our room. Our bed.
The thought hit me, almost winding me.
I’d be spending the night with Blake. Standing in the doorway
looking at the bed, a swell of anticipation and desire stirred in
me.

I moved away to look in at the
small room next to the bathroom. As I opened the door I heard the
delicate tinkling of a mobile. Vivien had prepared the room as a
nursery. Everything about the room revealed a delightful
expectancy. The crib was already made up, the corner of the blanket
turned down, a small white floppy rabbit sat in the corner. A table
in the corner had a basket with nappies and wipes all ready and
waiting. Even though Vivien’s child had not yet made its appearance
into the world, in this room it already existed. Every detail in
the room showed a mother’s love and hope. It was evident that she’d
bring the child here; that this small cottage would be its home. An
alarm bell rang somewhere inside my head but I couldn’t connect it
with any reason.

“Mina!” Blake’s voice travelled
up the stairs.

“Coming,” I called back before
closing the door of the nursery gently, almost as not to disturb
the sleeping baby that would lay there and made my way down the
stairs. When I arrived in the little kitchen, Blake was putting the
last few items into a wicker basket.

“Picnic supper?”

“Perfect,” I smiled.

We made our way out onto the
beach. The earlier torrential rain had cleared the sky and now the
sun was giving out its very last warm rays of sun in its setting.
Blake’s hand searched out mine as we walked along the beach. It was
deliciously warm and firm and I revelled in its solid, physical
existence trying to force the thoughts of separation from my
mind.

“So how is Sam?” Blake
asked.

“Yes, he seems….fine. He needs
space. I think he’s hurting but he’s putting on a brave face.”

“Did he say anything about
us?”

“He gave us his blessing.”

“I’m sorry for the pain I’ve
caused him.”

“His time in the coma, he
claims...”

“It is all true.” Blake
responded to my unfinished sentence. “If it’s any consolation,
Vivien’s certain that he’s destined to fall in love sooner than you
might like.”

“He will be happy though, won’t
he?”

“He will be happy.”

We continued along the beach,
heading towards the shelter of the cliffs. Once again there was
evidence of earlier preparations as a small fire had been set with
a pile of drift wood fuel.

“Vivien has been busy!” I said
with a note of humour.

“She’s a hopeless romantic and
she’s incredibly fond of you. We both are.” Blake flopped down onto
the sand.

Continual shadows flitted over
his eyes as he battled with his own, deeply private storm. He threw
open the blanket and I knelt down next to him. He turned to me,
reaching his hand out to stroke my cheek.

“So I’m free to kiss you at
last.”

“We’re completely free to do
whatever we please.”

His voice came out soft as he
moved in, his lips brushing the skin of my ear;

“
Kiss me! Kiss me sweet!
That’s what your lips repeat.

Oh! Yes. That’s always how it
seems to me.

But Caution stands so close it
cannot be,

And that’s the reason for my
aching heart

But keep your word now here
alone we meet,

Give me a sweet, sweet kiss or
two or three!”

“What is that?” I
whispered.

Blake’s mouth left tiny fairy
kisses on my neck before his breath fell on the delicate skin of my
lips making them quiver. His voice was thick with desire, “It’s a
song from the old world.”

Blake’s open lips brushed over
mine. I closed my eyes and fell into him, with the feeling of an
exquisite drowning; the deep violets and greens of the sea bloomed
in my vision, my chest rose and fell with the ebb and flow of the
waves, my soul expanded outwards into the vast beauty of the
celestial universe.

When we surfaced it was to face
each other with a new awareness, a new definition as to who we were
to each other and as to what would be. Language became pointless
and so our bodies conversed by touching each other over and over
again in silence.

The air was cooling rapidly,
the tide was turning. Blake set about lighting the fire with his
usual proficiency. I broke the silence, “Tell me about the old
world. Tell me about Vivien and Morgan”

“That’s quite a story, Mina,
I’m not sure that we have the time.”

“Give me a synopsis,” I said
laughing.

“Okay but promise you’ll stop
me if I start to ramble.” He smiled, moving the hair from his
forehead,

“Both Vivien and Morgan are
Magicals, which is why they’re still alive. Vivien as you’ve
probably guessed is a Lady of the Lake, part human and part water
spirit. When she swims she’s rumoured to transform into a mermaid
but I’ve never seen it and I think it might be part of the myth,
rather than real. As well as being born a Magical, she was tutored
by Merlin in the dark arts. Not so that she could use them but that
she would recognise and defeat them. Merlin was obsessively in love
with her and although mainly a light force, Merlin was born from
the seed of a demon and the womb of a nun and so his dark side was
very
dark.”

A laugh escaped.

“Mina, if you’re not going to
take this seriously.”

“I’m sorry, but you have to
understand how this sounds to a
Real Worlder
,” I said trying
to apologise.

“As I was saying, Merlin was
part devil, part nun and as such he had a continual battle to keep
his demon side in control. Demons take what they want and don’t
look for permission. One night his lust for Vivien became too much
for him to control and the demon won through; he forced himself on
her. She was so angry that she used the dark arts he’d taught her
to imprison him for eternity in a rock somewhere in the wilds of
the French Forest.”

“God that’s awful. I’m sorry, I
shouldn’t have made light earlier. It was insensitive.”

“Morgan never really forgave
Vivien for this. You see Morgan was in love with Merlin who had
been her tutor since she was a small girl. Like Merlin, Morgan is
cursed with a duel personality, part goddess and part sorceress.
She’s incredibly vain and her weakness is her need to be adored;
she’s used to getting exactly what she wants.”

“So are only the Magicals
immortal?”

“Yes. The rest of us are very
much mortal.”

“But how does the existence of
all this escape investigation?”

“Like with all things, a little
bit of the truth helps to conceal the larger lie.”

“How so?”

“Well the government of your
world know we exist but not exactly
how
we exist. They’re
aware of a secret society known as The Knights of the Realm which
they’ve registered as a religious sect whose members believe that
they are descendent of the Arthurian Knights.

They also know that the society
trains young men in the traditional art of knighthood and war
craft. The Knights of The Realm are recognised by them as being
some of the most skilled fighters and diplomats in the world.
Because of this, the British government are happy for us to exist
because they’re able to use us to their advantage. In fact, several
of the current government are actually members of The Realm and
most of us work or have worked as part of the British secret
service at some point, giving us special impunity.”

“Bloody hell, so you’re an open
secret then?”

“Yes,” he laughed, “but I
secretly think they think we’re just a bunch of cranks that like
playing dress-up; a quirky kind of re-enactment society. Of course,
they’ve no idea about the actual existence of magic still within
The Realm.”

“And if they found out?” I
asked incredulous.

“Well, it’s all too ludicrous
to ever believe. I could go to MI5 today, stand in the reception
area in full knightly armour and shout it at the top of my voice
and what do you think would really happen?”

“They’d lock you up.” I
laughed.

“Exactly! You see sometimes the
truth is best concealed when it’s displayed most obviously.”

“So your quest with Morgan?” I
asked.

“The knights of The Realm have
done well in retrieving most of the holy relics to the Roman
Church, but there are still several of the Thirteen Treasures of
Britain that need to be recovered. The understanding is that when
the Romans invaded they looted the magical objects and took them to
Rome, where they were then scattered across the Roman Empire,
offered as gifts. Morgan wishes to reclaim a chessboard made of
gold and silver. As well as being a priceless treasure, the
chessboard has magical properties. The chess pieces play themselves
as if possessed by spirits and it is believed that whoever has the
chessboard is granted great powers of strategy and war craft.”