And if she were ever to find a reason to be disgusted by Gwen, she needed to find a flaw. Other than the fact that she thought Gwen was an idiot to desire Lancelot over Arthur, she couldn’t think of a thing. Although that was a biggee.
Yet she found herself really enjoying Gwen. The woman was open to new ideas, was even excited about them. Gwen was way ahead of her time. She would be thrilled living in Isabel’s lifetime.
The fact that she was an adulteress was kind of a minus, though. Then again, the fact that King Arthur had somewhat accepted it was a bit of a plus.
Not the Lady of the Lake’s plan, however.
Plans do change, Isabel. Go with yours, I trust you well.
Isabel couldn’t even begin to express the joy she felt at Viviane’s leap of faith, no matter how misplaced it might be. She had trouble believing in herself. But with Viv’s confidence—
Viviane, you twerp.
—Viviane’s help, she just might pull it off.
“May we discuss a few matters?” she asked Gwen.
“We may discuss anything.”
“First, what do you think of Mordred?”
“He is a young beast. He has caused nothing but heartache for Arthur. I try not to hate, but my feelings for him come very close.”
“Oh, we so agree on that one. How is it possible that a man as kind as Arthur had a child such as he?”
“Arthur knew not of him until it was too late to change the boy’s hatred.”
“Why doesn’t Arthur just ban him, then?”
Gwen stopped her and looked into her eyes. “The young man is his son. You have not known Arthur long, but you should already know the answer.”
“Right, I get it. But the boy needs to be . . . I don’t know . . . have his ass kicked.”
Gwen laughed. “Indeed. I have heard you did a good job last eve.”
“News travels fast,” Isabel said.
“I do have my sources, Isabel. May I have my turn at this question and answer?”
“Of course.”
“Do you realize that my husband is enamored with you?”
Isabel froze. “I realize that your husband loves you.”
Gwen smiled and nodded. “He does. He has a large heart. But he was very plain when speaking of our situation. He no longer cares as he once did.”
“Do you?”
“I love him very much.”
“Wrong answer.”
“I still care very much.”
“But you are in love with another.”
Gwen decided to stare up at the ceiling. “I care about another.”
“Wrong answer.”
“I share deep feelings with another.”
“There you go! Right answer. Truth, Gwen. It makes so much more sense.”
“Then tell me true, Isabel. Are you wanting my husband?”
Truth sucked sometimes. “Not at the expense of hurting your marriage.”
“’Twas not my question.”
“Fine. If he wasn’t married, yes, I would attempt to pursue him. But he’s married.”
“To a woman who is craving another.”
“Which, to tell you the truth, I find dumbfounding. But then, I don’t blame you for being attracted to Lancelot.” Stupid as all hell, but who was she to judge?
Gwen took her arm and led her farther down the stairs. “We are in a . . . what are we in, Countess?”
“A pickle?”
Gwen laughed. “We share a common language, and yet we do not. But, yes, we are in somewhat of a pickle.”
“I must tell you that I will enjoy any vegetable that is pickled. But please, no more—”
“Eel,” they both said at once.
“I will see what I can do with the people in the cooking rooms,” Gwen said.
“I have a suggestion.”
“Then I must hear it.”
“Trevor should be made top chef. When I couldn’t stomach last night’s meal, he fed me foods that kept me from starving.”
“Then you are in luck, as Trevor is in charge of the morning meal.”
“Please, no eel omelet.”
Gwen laughed. “Learn to just say no. And, by the by, Trevor is also not a lover of eel.”
“Thank heavens.” They hit the bottom of the staircase and headed to the formal dining room, where the meeting was to take place. “Okay, Gwen, here we go.”
“Yes, Isabel, here we go. Would have been better had we tipped a bit of wine first.”
“Wow, really early for that, Gwen. But okay, let’s do it,” Isabel said as she and Gwen veered from the hall and into the kitchen.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ISABEL knew instantly that inviting Gwen to the meeting had been a bad idea. The look on Arthur’s face told her so.
But she was rather puzzled why, since she’d had the impression that he’d always kept his queen involved in the politics of his kingdom. Gwen seemed so in tune with the intricacies of Camelot. It was something Isabel had rather admired last evening, when Gwen had seemed right up to date.
Gwen, too, obviously recognized that her husband had not expected her to join this party. Once she graciously greeted all at the table, including Lancelot, she took her leave.
All the men had stood and bowed, but holy cow!
Isabel felt at a loss. She was the only woman among a dozen burly and apparently a bit unhappy men, and she’d have liked Gwen to be there so she didn’t feel so out of her element. So alone.
How strange that she’d so quickly bonded with the woman who she had been asked to betray in one way and ended up betraying in another. What the hell was wrong with her? Suddenly she felt like shit and wanted to run. Only Arthur’s eyes meeting hers kept her from tearing away from the room.
You are not alone, Isabel, I am here, and it is at a time like this that you must keep your neckpiece near. I recognize your confusion and understand your fear; my deepest apologies that you question all you hold dear. Should you wish to withdraw from this pact we have made, I will undo this scheme, which I have laid.
Isabel touched her necklace and smiled at the men. “Please, sirs, take your seats. It seems to me we have much to discuss. And I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. So let us break fast and stuff ourselves with food and ideas.”
The necklace warmed comfortably against her chest.
“She does not speak as we do,” one giant said.
“Because she comes from a very different region,” Arthur said, coming to seat her. “’Tis why we need her. Her views are refreshing.”
As he helped seat her, he whispered, “May we speak privately after this meeting?”
“You betcha,” she said, “as long as there are none of these men following along.”
His low chuckle drummed right through her. He straightened and moved back to his own chair, his hands moving in a “sit, sit” motion to the rest of the men. Then he clapped. “Trevor! We are ravenous.”
“Oh, thank the gods,” Isabel murmured. No way was Trevor going to feed her pickled eel. When she and Gwen had visited the kitchen, Isabel and Trevor had made a no-eel deal.
“DID the meeting go well in your mind?” Isabel asked Arthur as they strolled through the bailey. Even now, warriors were hard at work, exercising their swording skills with one another. The clanging of steel on steel—at least she believed it was steel, but who the hell knew?—rang out through the air.
“You won over every one of my men with your unique thoughts and ideas, Countess. I particularly enjoyed your suggestion of an occasional fair held at our borders, so that we may continue to enjoy harmony betwixt our people.”
“Hey, a party is a party. Especially at peak harvest time.”
“And you want to call this Thanks and Giving?”
“Well, we can call it whatever you would like, Arthur.”
“I enjoy the Thanks and Giving notion.”
“Tell me this, Arthur. Why was Mordred not at the table this morning?”
“Because until he swears complete fealty to the kingdom of Camelot and disavows his allegiance with Richard of Fremont, he is disallowed at all brainstorming meetings.”