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  Book 4 of King Arthur and Her Knights

  By: K. M. Shea

  a Take Out The Trash! Publication

  Copyright © K.M. Shea 2015

  EMBARK

  Copyright © 2015 by K. M. Shea

  Cover design by Myrrhlynn

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any number whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.

  www.kmshea.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: Guinevere’s Arrival

  Chapter 2: The Order of the Round Table

  Chapter 3: The Quest of the White Hart

  Chapter 4: Traveling with Sir Tor

  Chapter 5: Caught

  Chapter 6: Blaise the Hermit

  Chapter 7: Sad Returns

  Chapter 8: Northern Visitor

  Chapter 9: Forgiven

  Chapter 10: Thoughts of Men

  Coming Soon

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Guinevere’s Arrival

  Britt was wearing her best set of armor when Guinevere arrived. Not her gold armor, but the silver set that was emblazoned with the red dragon—her personal insignia, the symbol of King Arthur.

  “They’ve arrived?” Britt asked, emerging from the castle keep with bright, blue eyes. Cavall, her apricot-colored mastiff, snuffled as Britt laid her hand on the dog’s head.

  “The watchmen confirmed that Lady Guinevere and her escort have passed the outer gates of Camelot and are approaching the inner palace gates,” Sir Kay said, eyeing Britt with apprehension.

  “Excellent! Thanks, Kay. You’re the best,” Britt said, leaving her foster-brother to make a beeline for a pavilion raised above the courtyard for such occasions.

  “Is it time, My Lord?” Gawain—Sir Gawain now, as Britt had knighted him a little over a week ago—asked as he joined Britt at the base of the pavilion.

  “Finally, yes,” Britt said, self-consciously checking her gold hair to make certain it was pulled back in a “manly” half ponytail. “I nearly forgot. Has Gaheris mended yet?”

  Sir Gawain bowed. “I expect in a day or two he shall demand another go at riding a charger. Indeed, I don’t think the spill did much besides rattle his bones.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Britt said, stretching her mind to see if she could remember any Arthurian lore about Gaheris. For what felt like the hundredth time since she arrived in medieval England, Britt wished she knew more about the mythical King Arthur. That would make her job as the stand-in, counterfeit Arthur, easier.

  Britt was an American girl from the twenty-first century. When touring England with friends, an ancient magic pulled her through time, plopping her in medieval London where Merlin explained that the real Arthur had run off with a shepherdess, and Britt was going to be the replacement.

  “My Lord, you must be anxious to once again set your eyes on the delightful pinnacle of femininity that is Lady Guinevere,” another knight said, joining Sir Gawain at the base of the stairs.

  Britt managed not to groan, but she couldn’t help the sneer that spread across her lips. “For the last time, Lancelot, Guinevere is not my lady-love,” she said. “She is staying in Camelot as a visitor—as many noble ladies do. I shall be her guardian of sorts—not her lover.”

  As King Arthur, she made the unfortunate acquaintance of Sir Lancelot du Lac—the legendary figure Britt had despised from childhood thanks to his unscrupulous affair with Queen Guinevere, whom Britt had scarcely kinder feelings for.

  Britt had reluctantly come to tolerate the idea of Lady Guinevere—or perhaps it was better to say she felt sorry for the girl since her father tried to use her as a bargaining chip to gather more money—but Britt’s hatred for Lancelot the swine still burned brightly.

  “As you say, My Lord. But I have seen you trounce an evil duke for her. Indeed, your generous love knows no bounds. A knight such as I—who has traveled near and far to save fair damsels—would understand that,” Lancelot said with a winning smile before he bowed to a passing lady.

  To Britt’s irritation, the lady giggled before hurrying on her way. Lancelot’s coal black hair and dreamy green eyes often had that effect on the women of Camelot, much to Britt’s disgust.

  “It seems most of your knights are present, My Lord,” Sir Gawain said, recapturing Britt’s attention.

  “Yes,” Britt agreed, her eyes sweeping over the hoards of men eagerly lining the courtyard. “Although I’m afraid I don’t understand why.”

  “It’s no secret you’ve been looking forward to this day since we returned to Camelot weeks ago, My Lord,” Sir Gawain said, his lips creasing in a subdued smile.

  Britt gave the younger knight a returning smile. “Perhaps.”

  Lancelot looked back and forth between the two and, for quite possibly the first time since Britt met the self-inflated knight, said nothing. Instead, Britt and her two knights watched the servants scurry about, finishing last-minute preparations as heralds gathered at the base of the keep and knights assembled, making the courtyard a lake of glittering chainmail and armor.

  When Lady Guinevere—daughter of King Leodegrance of Camelgrance—and her escort entered the courtyard, it was packed with all the typical signs of pomp and joy. Flags and standards flapped in the wind; the knights were dressed in their best armor; and several notes were sounded on horns and beaten on drums.

  Guinevere dismounted her palfrey, a small, sweet-tempered mare. She stuck out even when her serving ladies joined her, her reddish-blonde hair gleaming in the afternoon sun. Behind her were dozens of knights guarding numerous carts—some of which contained Guinevere’s belongs; the rest held a gift from the penny-pinching King Leodegrance.

  Those from Camelot grew quiet when Britt swept down the stairs of the pavilion, a soft smile filled with longing twitching across her lips. Like a man in a dream, Britt walked down the pathway that opened up in front of her as her knights edged out of her way. She broke through the crowd, her smile growing wider and her footsteps quicker. Knights looked knowingly to each other and ladies tittered as they watched Britt—King Arthur—approach Guinevere and…pass her.

  Those from Camelot stopped talking altogether as Britt approached a cart and twitched off an animal hide that was wrapped around what appeared to be a curved section of a rather scratched-up table.

  “Finally, the Round Table has arrived,” Britt said, her voice filled with awe as she placed a hand on the table top.

  “Are you crying?” Merlin asked, his sudden appearance at Britt’s side causing exclamations and startled yips.

  “So what if I am? This is it, Merlin. The Round Table! It’s finally here—the legend can finally begin,” Britt said.

  Merlin frowned. “You are too concerned with the legend of the future. A square table would serve you just as well.”

  “No. It has to be the Round Table,” Britt said, pulling another hide off a different section of the Round Table—which was donut-shaped since it was so large it had to be pieced together like a toy train-track.

  “That may be so. But you have neglected to welcome your guest,” Merlin dryly said.

  “What?” Britt said.

  Merlin tipped his head in Guinevere’s direction.

  “Oh,” Britt said. “Right. Sorry.”

  “By the Bells of Heaven—it’s a good thing you’re charismatic and charming when you choose to be,” Merlin said, his voice dripping with disapproval.

  Britt reluctantly parted from the table, giving it one last look of longing before she pasted her King A
rthur smile on. “Welcome, Lady Guinevere—daughter of King Leodegrance—and Knights of Camelgrance. May you be at peace here in Camelot and find your stay to be filled with rest and all things that are good as you wander from your home.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Merlin asked through his teeth that were clenched in an uncomfortable-looking smile.

  “It means they’re not staying here forever,” Britt muttered. Her words were also hidden behind a smile.

  “I thank you, King Arthur, for your generous invitation that allows me to visit Camelot,” Guinevere said. Britt wondered at her sincerity, but after studying Guinevere’s bright eyes that were widened with wonder, she grudgingly accepted them.

  “My father sends his best wishes and the table of King Uther as a token of his respect and esteem. He has also sent several dozen knights to serve in your courts.”

  Britt and Merlin exchanged looks. King Leodegrance was a known coward. His knights were most likely of the same mold, which meant they would be little more than a decoration and a drain on the treasury.

  “Oh,” Merlin said. “He shouldn’t have.”

  Britt shrugged. “We already have Lancelot and his piggy cousins staying with us. What’s a few more mouths?” she whispered to Merlin before giving Guinevere a politician’s smile. “Your father is too kind to part with such stout knights. I hope you all find Camelot agreeable in your stay. If you wish to be directed to your quarters, please see Sir Ulfius. He is my chamberlain and will see to your needs. Tonight, we will have a welcome feast in honor of your arrival.”

  Before Britt could continue, the Knights of Camelot broke into cheers at such a ringing volume, Britt could feel it in her chest. She waited for the roars of approval to subside before she said, “Furthermore, all day tomorrow we will celebrate, finishing with the establishment of the Round Table. Prepare yourselves, my knights. Tomorrow, you will be challenged.”

  The Knights of Camelot cheered even louder at this, making the ground buzz with their energy.

  “You’re lucky you have a bunch of warmongers in your court,” Merlin said as he and Britt pushed their way back into the crowd and Sir Ulfius, an older knight with a genteel air to him, took their place.

  “We’ll see. I’m not sure how they will accept their oaths,” Britt grimly said.

  “They’ll take them—out of sheer loyalty to you if for no other reason. The Round Table is a good plan,” Merlin admitted.

  Caught off guard by Merlin’s rare praise, Britt blinked in surprise before she offered him a smile—not a King Arthur smile—but her smile—sweet and unguarded.

  Merlin uncomfortably shrugged. “You best lead the way inside, lest all your knights stand here and gawk at Guinevere and her ladies like swine herders at a festival.”

  “Right. I’ll do that,” Britt said, altering her direction to push towards the keep. Sir Gawain and Sir Kay popped up on either side of her as the keep doors opened in front of her. Several of Britt’s closest knights—Sir Bedivere, Sir Bodwain, Sir Ywain, and Sir Griflet among them—followed after her, starting the stream of knights who trickled into the keep, clearing enough room for servants to begin unpacking Britt’s precious table.

  Sir Lancelot du Lac watched them go, his green eyes sharp as he leaned against the inner walls of Camelot, cloaked by shadows.

  “You were right. Lady Guinevere is a pretty little thing,” Sir Lionel—Lancelot’s cousin—said, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Though she looks hen-witted.”

  “Lionel,” Sir Bors said, frowning at his brother.

  Sir Lionel shrugged. “You can’t tell me she’s as sharp as the Lady of the Lake.”

  “No female is as conniving as the Lady of the Lake, with the exception of the wretched trio of Queen Igraine’s daughters,” Lancelot said, watching Guinevere giggle with her ladies.

  Sir Bors shifted. “You mean Queen Morgause of Orkney, Queen Elaine, and Morgan—”

  “Yes, them,” Lancelot said as he fixed his gaze on the doors through which King Arthur had disappeared scant minutes ago. “I find I am growing tired of him.”

  “Of Arthur? Why?” Sir Lionel asked, leaning against a horse hitching post. His giant hulk made the wooden post groan.

  Lancelot narrowed his eyes. “He is too perfect.”

  “I should think so. With Merlin holding his chain, I don’t think the wizard would let him be anything but perfect,” Sir Lionel said.

  “That’s not it,” Lancelot snapped. “It’s the way everyone fawns over him. The mindless devotion his knights hold for him is sickening, and his unshakeable faith in them is even worse.”

  “What is their devotion to you?” Sir Bors asked. “Who cares what his men think?”

  Lancelot rested his hands on his sword belt and was silent.

  Sir Lionel and Sir Bors exchanged looks. Sir Lionel shrugged and stretched. “Must mean it’s about time to head out then? We swore allegiance to him, but he has not officially recognized us like he did Gawain and Ywain. Even if we’re supposed to be his knights, we could go questing some more—perhaps stop in and see if the Lady of the Lake will house us again.”

  “No,” Lancelot said, the word as unyielding as iron.

  “Then what do you want?” Sir Bors prompted.

  “I want to shake Arthur’s wretched faith. I want to rouse his suspicion and curdle some of that fondness he has,” Lancelot sneered.

  “What do you have planned?” Sir Lionel asked, his eyes lighting with interest.

  Lancelot smiled darkly.

  When Guinevere was summoned to Merlin’s study—for a “private” welcome from Britt and the wizard—Guinevere shrieked with joy.

  “Thank you, Arthur! It’s so wonderful here!” she said, launching herself at Britt before Merlin closed the door behind her.

  “Right. You’re welcome,” Britt said, trying to wrench Guinevere off, but the young lady held on with the grip of a bear. The pair nearly backed into one of Merlin’s workbenches before the wizard peeled her off.

  “See here, lady,” Merlin said, holding Guinevere away from him as if she were a dead mouse. “You cannot act this way in public.”

  “Oh, I know! It’s a big secret, right?” Guinevere said, her eyes wide as she looked back and forth between Britt and Merlin. “No one is to know that Arthur is really a girl. What is your name? Your girl name, I mean. Surely Arthur isn’t your Christian name?”

  “It’s—”

  “You will never find out!” Merlin said, shaking a finger at Guinevere. “I can barely trust your father to hang onto his own kingdom. I certainly don’t trust you with such information as that. Heaven knows you’ll go spilling it everywhere through sheer dimwittedness,” the wizard grouched.

  “Yes, sir,” Guinevere said, nodding her head emphatically. She wasn’t even offended by Merlin’s insult but hung onto his words like they were gems.

  “None of this touchy-feely-female-camaraderie either,” Merlin went on.

  Britt watched with an amused smirk—happy to see the wizard dominate someone besides herself so thoroughly. She had been entirely against ever speaking to Guinevere—much less bringing her Camelot—because she didn’t want to give any leeway to the King Arthur legends she knew, particularly the ones that blamed the downfall of Arthur and Camelot on Queen Guinevere and Sir Lancelot.

  But when Britt visited Camelgrance in the previous months and witnessed for herself the way King Leodegrance used Guinevere as a bargaining chip, Britt found enough strength in her heart to begrudgingly offer Guinevere the chance to visit her in Camelot. It helped that the empty-headed girl had learned that Britt—King Arthur—was really a girl.

  “You are to remain dignified and elegant when you dine with Arthur. Arthur is a male King. You must act accordingly in public,” Merlin continued with his rant.

  “But in private, I can speak my mind, yes?” Guinevere asked, almost bouncing with excitement.

  What would we have to talk about? Britt wondered. Just because she was
allowing Guinevere to stay didn’t mean she liked the girl.

  Merlin must have similar thoughts, for he furrowed his eyebrows. “This is not a wedding party, Lady Guinevere. You are free to fill your days as you please, but Arthur will not be available at your beck and call. She has a kingdom to run.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” Guinevere said, jutting her lower lip out in a pout.

  Merlin folded his hands together and squeezed them until his knuckles turned white.

  “Does the Lady of the Lake know your secret, too?” Guinevere asked Britt.

  “She does,” Britt confirmed. “But what Merlin is trying to emphasize, Lady Guinevere, is that secrecy is absolutely critical. You cannot allow anyone to even ponder the truth of my identity, and if you make a mistake, we will send you back to Camelgrance, immediately. Do you understand?”

  “Of course,” Guinevere scoffed.

  “In that case, will you excuse us? I’m sure you want to prepare for the feast,” Britt said.

  “I really should. I have this delightful new dress. It’s a shade of blue that’s just so perfect—”

  “Thank you, Lady Guinevere,” Britt said, offering the young lady a flat smile before she opened the door.

  “We will see you when we dine—you sit with Arthur as a guest of honor,” Merlin said.

  Guinevere clapped her hands in excitement. “Until then,” she bid before she disappeared through the doorway.

  “I’m surprised,” Britt said, closing the door. “Usually, you are odiously kind to foreign dignitaries.”

  “Since visiting Leodegrance, I realized I over-estimated his importance. Frankly, I don’t care a fig for him. It would be our good fortune if we were not his ally. Someone else can defend his lands for all I care,” Merlin drawled. “I would still be kind to the girl—ill-treatment of her would reflect badly on Camelot, after all—but my biggest concern is to make sure she doesn’t spill your secret. I will do whatever it takes to wedge that concept into her head.”