“You were seated by how well you did in the learning?”
“Yes. The problem children were seated right up front, so the teachers could keep a closer watch on them.”
“Such different customs for two lands so close to one another.”
“Yes, I suppose, but anyway, it was obvious he had a crush on me. He pulled my pigtails all the time and—”
“This was a sign of affection?”
“Yes. When we were that young the only way to express if you liked a girl was to tease and taunt. If a boy ignored you, that was a sure sign he wasn’t interested at all. But if he teased, then you knew he liked you. Or at least wanted to grab your attention.”
“Ha! That is so true. That at least we have in common.”
“So then on Valentine’s Day”—she held up a hand to stop his question—“it’s a holiday we celebrate once a year, where sweethearts express their feelings for one another.” She figured discussing having a Hallmark moment would be too hard to explain so said, “Mostly by writing handmade notes to one another with all kinds of sappy tidings and pictures of hearts and things like that.”
He nodded. “This happens, too, at Camelot, yet we do not set aside a particular day for this.”
“I know, it’s possible we in Dumont overdo the holiday traditions.”
He was actually grinning now, which made Isabel feel all fluttery. She loved his smile, and she loved being the one who could put one on his face when his heart was heavy.
“So on Valentine’s Day, Billy slipped a note on my desk. It read, ‘Please be my valentine.’ I was really happy, as I had set my little girl’s heart on him as well.”
“I am certain that you were fetching even as a young girl. I do so wish I had also known the young lady you were then. I am certain that I would have battled with this Billy for your affections.”
“I’m not certain that he would have fought that hard for me.”
“Why is that?”
“Because at recess—the time we broke for the midday meal—all of the girls compared the notes we received that day. Imagine our surprise when Billy had offered the exact same Valentine note to six of us.”
Arthur chuckled. “And you say he was one of the brighter boys in this classroom of yours?”
“Okay, so he was probably a bit of a knucklehead in the romance department. I think he was hedging his bets.”
“And what was your reaction?”
“I was heartbroken. He was my very first crush.”
“But you did not retaliate?”
“Oh, sure we did. The six of us surrounded him at lunch.”
“And?”
Isabel once again didn’t think she could adequately explain what a wedgie was, so she improvised. “We took turns pouring our milk over his head and in his breeches.”
Arthur slapped his knee, laughing. “The ire of a mistreated woman is not to be taken lightly.”
His laughter was so rich and infectious, Isabel couldn’t help but join in. “Indeed. We can exact very creative revenge.”
“Remind me to never incur your wrath, m’lady.”
She leaned over and nudged his shoulder. “Should you do so, sir, you will most certainly know it.”
“You ne’er answered my question afore. Your men call you Izzy?”
She shook her head. “First of all, they are not my men, they are my friends. They are equals in every sense. They agreed to accompany me on this journey because they wanted to ensure my safety.”
“All right, yes, your friends. They call you Izzy?”
“It is a pet name they have given me since we were young. Very few are permitted to call me that.”
“I see. ’Tis a privilege one must earn.”
“Something like that.”
“I look forward to the day I am afforded that privilege, Isabel.”
“With the uncertainty that lies ahead, Arthur, who knows if that day will ever come?”
He took her hand. “I certainly hope to live to see that day.”
Wow, that sounded kind of doom and gloomy. Not a place she wanted to head right now. She squeezed his hand. “So how about you tell me of your first love?”
He opened his mouth, but a sound from above stopped him and they both looked up. Gwen had been heading down the stone steps from the castle, a basket of sorts hanging from her arm. She froze.
Isabel slipped her hand out of Arthur’s. They all were stunned silent for a moment before Gwen found her voice. “My . . . apologies for interrupting. I was just coming to gather some herbs. But I can return at a later time.”
Isabel shot to her feet. “No, Gwen, please don’t let us stop you. I was just regaling Arthur with a story from my misspent youth. I should really go . . . do something else.” Well, she couldn’t get much lamer than that, could she?
“I shall escort you back to your . . . something else, Countess,” Arthur said.
“No, thank you. Once I figure out what that something else might be, I’m certain I’ll be able to find my own way. If you’ll please excuse me.” She lifted her skirts in an effort to hightail it out of there as fast as these damn slippers would let her.
ARTHUR and Gwen stared at one another before she made the first move by heading down the steps. “My apologies for the interruption, Arthur.”
“’Twas nothing of great importance, Gwen. We were merely engaged in an enjoyable conversation.”
“Something that seems to be sorely lacking between the two of us of late.”
“Yes, well, there seems not to be much to share these past days.”
She took another step forward, her expression pained. “I have given a vow to stop—”
He held up a quelling hand. “Please do not make any more vows you are unable to keep. It cheapens even further what was once good and bright.”
“What is it you want from me?”
He stared at her. She was at once beautiful and fragile, a woman who begged for a man’s strong arms to shield her from harm. ’Twas once such an alluring thing, as he so wanted to be her shield, her protector, her husband and her lover. His views had reversed course after meeting Isabel, who would likely jump into battle against anyone who would harm those she held dear. Isabel would not ask for assistance but would take on enemies, insisting she was quite capable of fighting her own battles.
Night and day, day and night. ’Twas not that he found fault with Gwen, for it was how she was raised. ’Twas just that Isabel’s strength of a sudden he found much more admirable.
“What I want, Gwen, is your happiness. I am being truthful when I say this. Your happiness is very important to me. But no longer at the cost of mine.”
“Then there is no going back?”
“I fear not, nor should there be. To attempt to reclaim the past when so much has happened between then and now is as attempting to save a snowflake on your tongue from melting. ’Tis, quite frankly, not possible. I am not and refuse to be another Billy Thornton.”
“Billy Thornton? I do not recognize the name. Have I misremembered? Have we entertained him?”
“No, but he quite entertained me.”
She wore a confused frown on her face, but then let it go. “So where do we go from here, Arthur? I cannot bear to disgrace you.”
“As I said, Gwen, discretion. Always discretion. We keep up appearances as long as we are able. It is very important for the sake of our kingdom. And then I shall study this no-fault dissolution of marriage that they practice in Dumont. Perhaps we may adopt such a law in Camelot. ’Twould most definitely cut down on the frying pan injuries several of my men suffer many times a year.”
“No-fault what?”
He waved. “A law they have in Isabel’s land where neither man nor woman are held responsible for the . . . irreparable damage to the marriage. It is a way to save harm falling upon both husband and wife. They agree that they have recognized they are no longer suited.”
Gwen smiled as she met him at the bench. “Please sit with me for a moment. I have discussed several ideas with Countess Isabel myself that I believe show much merit.”