The sad thing was, he had no interest in Isabel, either. He had eyes for only Gwen. Which was apparent to everyone in the room except for King Arthur, who was so busy talking about this important meeting with other knights of the realm that he seemed oblivious to the looks exchanged between Gwen and the cute boy.
Seemed that everyone at the table watched and scowled, but felt nothing could be done to stop it as long as the king said nothing. Either the king had forbidden all to even think about the possibility, or he’d made certain no one voiced it.
She felt so bad about it all, but then again she had other things to mourn over.
Like the eel.
Like her total disinterest in Lancelot.
Like Lancelot’s total disinterest in her.
Like Guinevere’s total interest in Lancelot.
She was in magical hell.
Isabel could not fix all things at once, but there were a couple over which she had some control. She politely requested that a servant remove the eel, the boar, the rabbit and the squirrel, and then politely excused herself to go fashion a barf bag.
CHAPTER SIX
OKAY, so she was a little tipsy. But not so much that she didn’t notice that Gwen and Lancelot had excused themselves almost at the same time. They didn’t even try to pretend. It broke Isabel’s heart for Arthur. He had to know. And yet he didn’t seem to know. Or care.
“Would you enjoy a tour of the castle, Countess?” Arthur asked her, as the evening meal had thankfully concluded.
Thank God for Mary, who had met her in the garderobe, carrying a bowl of mint. Otherwise she’d be afraid that her breath would topple trees.
“I would love it, sir.” What she wanted was a tour of his body, but the castle would have to do for now.
“The gardens,” he said. “They mean much to Gwen. For a reason I cannot fathom, she tends to them almost daily, even though we have many, many gardeners to do such things.”
“We all have our favorite hobbies.”
“And what would be yours, Countess?”
Photography immediately came to mind, but she doubted she could explain that one. Sex was also high on her list, or it had been back in the day. Or forward in the day. She’d love to experiment here, but unfortunately not with Lance, but with the king. “I very much enjoy exercise. Sporting, as it were.”
The surprise on his face was so adorable, she wanted to kiss those raised eyebrows. “Sporting? Such as exercising the horses?”
“Well, yes, but much more than that. For example, I love jogging.”
“Jogging? What is this jogging?”
“Steady running for long distances.”
He laughed. “And you accomplish this in gowns?”
Now here was an opening she’d been waiting for. “Actually in Dumont the women who enjoy such exercise wear smaller versions of men’s leggings.”
“Pardon?”
“We believe women have as much right to exercise their passions as men. Can you possibly imagine women who love to run, doing so in gowns? Preposterous. So in Dumont, when women have the need or desire to stretch and strengthen their muscles, they wear what we call sporting gear.”
Arthur stroked his beard and she had the feeling he was trying to keep himself from laughing. “And what, pray tell, do you . . . they wear upon their upper halves?”
She figured a sports bra was probably going a little too far. “We wear things called T-shirts. A sort of oversized tunic, made of soft fabric for comfort.”
Arthur shook his head. “Apparently my men left much out in their reports from Dumont.”
“Setting aside the fact that you sent men to spy on me, let me ask you this: What kind of hobbies or pleasures do you afford your female servants?”
“Hobbies? Pleasures?”
“You allow Gwen to indulge in her pleasures.”
“Of course. She is my queen and my wife.”
“And yet all of your servants are not permitted to indulge in things that make them happy? You truly believe that because of their station they may not participate in activities they might truly enjoy?”
“My people are not unhappy. Are they? Have you heard grumblings?”
“No, sir, I have not. But would any voice them in front of me?”
His worried frown saddened her. “Do they appear unhappy to you?”
“Again, no. In fact they appear very loyal to their king. But consider the possibilities of allowing them just, say, a small portion of a day to follow their own dreams. To play with their own favored hobbies. How much happier they might be to go about the routine tasks they are required to do day in and day out when they know they have that small portion of time to just play. You may even find that their hobbies reap rewards that you and Camelot have never envisioned.”
Arthur sat down with a thump, seeming deep in thought. “You give me much to ponder.”
Isabel took his hand. “Ponder this. A happy castle staff makes for a happy Camelot. You and Gwen and your highest men enjoy the fruits of the servants’ labors. How about allowing the servants to enjoy some of those fruits for themselves? Why are you, Gwen and I allowed to follow our hearts, and those who work for us not permitted to follow theirs?”
He puffed up like a blowfish. “I do not disallow my staff from pursuing their own desires! Have you not seen the many children about?”
Isabel wanted to laugh but controlled herself. “Lovemaking and childmaking is going to happen no matter what else is happening. I’m talking about other pleasures.”
“What other pleasures are there?”
“Oh, please. Lovemaking is certainly a big one. But there are others. Gwen loves to garden. My chambermaid loves to dress hair. I love to run. I love to draw. The possibilities are endless. We could conduct a poll and find what really makes them happy. And then allow them the opportunity to pursue those dreams.”
“A poll?”
“A chance for them to speak up about what they enjoy. And possibly allow them to voice what they don’t.”
The beard scrubbing was gone. He’d moved on to standing and rubbing his temples. This was a natural progression in Isabel’s life, so she wasn’t exactly surprised. Next he’d be begging for a drink. She’d bet money on it.
“You are an unusual woman, Isabel,” he finally said. Then he stepped to his left and knocked on a bell. Within seconds Tim appeared. “Wine, please, Timothy. And two goblets.”
She needed more wine like she needed more eel. But what the hell? “I promise that you are not the first to tell me this. About being unusual, I mean.”
“But I swear ’tis in a very intriguing way.”
“Right, one that drives men to drink.”
“One that drives men to ponder as they enjoy an evening libation.”
Isabel tried hard to resist, for Viviane’s sake. “Should you not be sharing this with the queen?”
“Gwen enjoys evenings to . . . pursue those”—he waved his hands vaguely—“things women like to do.”
I’ll bet. Isabel rather liked mornings for those types of pursuits but decided not to mention that.
“She’s very sweet,” she said instead, fingering her necklace. “You must love her very much.”
His hesitation was palpable as his eyes seemed fixated on her chest. “As I’m bound to do. She is my wife.”
He sat down, then immediately stood again and started pacing. Then he suddenly stopped and turned to Isabel, his green eyes searching. “Have you loved, Countess?”
“You’re asking why?”
“You have never married.”
“I haven’t? I mean, of course I haven’t. But Arthur, you seem to know much about me.” A whole helluva lot more than she knew about her countess self, as a matter of fact. Until just now, she’d had no idea whether she’d ever been married or not.
Apparently not.
Good God, Viviane, I am no freaking virgin.
’Tis true, Isabel, do you not consider that win-win?