Endings (King Arthurs and Her Knights Book 7) Page 8

  “I was not thinking of magic, but subterfuge,” Mordred said. “King Arthur’s adventure with Duke Maleagant has got me wondering. Perhaps a female would find it easier to infiltrate the camp.”

  “I’m certain it would be easier. At a minimum, she would be viewed with less suspicion.” Merlin frowned down at his map and patted out one of the arrows, then redrew it. “But it matters not, for we cannot afford to risk Britt. And unless Gawain’s bossy aunt pops out of the underbrush, which I find unlikely, we have no other possible agents.”

  “I wouldn’t mind,” Britt said. “I have enough experience. I’m pretty sure I can pull it off without a hitch.” (The biggest danger would be that the Romans wouldn’t want to let her leave, given that she was a female. But she was not going to remind any of them that that was a possibility.)

  “Out of the question.” Kay reached to rest his hand on the hilt of his sword, but it was unbuckled and stored in the hayloft with the rest of their equipment, so he settled for scowling instead.

  “I wasn’t necessarily picturing sending a real female to the Romans,” Mordred said.

  Merlin wiped his dusty fingers off on his dark cloak. “Explain.”

  “Could we not do the reverse of what Britt does?” Mordred asked.

  Gawain leaned against a stall door. “You mean disguise ourselves as females.”

  “Correct.”

  Lancelot vaulted down from the hayloft with the ease of a cat. “That is a horrifying idea, Sir Mordred. We are men! We fight boldly, and our strength lies in our masculinity and charm. To dress as a woman?”

  The horror was so apparent in his voice that Britt suspected he would’ve shivered if he had not felt it to be a cowardly gesture. Still, she was pretty ticked at him for his words alone, so she was preparing to rip into him when Gawain beat her to the punch.

  “Some of the strongest people I know are women,” he said.

  Percival nodded, most likely thinking of his mother.

  “You might remember, Sir Lancelot, that Britt has never lost a sword match to you,” Kay said, earning a brilliant smile from Britt.

  “Why, thank you Kay!” She said.

  Kay ducked his head in acknowledgment.

  “That does not count,” Lancelot argued, “for no one has bested our king in a sword match.”

  “It does not matter, Sir Lancelot, for I was not thinking of you wearing such a disguise.” Mordred smiled slightly and clasped the dramatic knight on the shoulder.

  Lancelot nodded in satisfaction, until Mordred added, “I’m afraid to say I don’t think you would make a very convincing woman. Subterfuge does not seem to be one of your many skills.”

  The handsome knight’s face froze.

  Britt grinned; she couldn’t help herself. “Cheer up, Lancelot,” she said with a devious smile. “You are only human. There has to be something you can’t be competent at.”

  The challenge riled him up, as Britt had intended. “I am the best knight in Camelot,” he said, speaking carefully and pronouncing his words clearly. “If there is a dangerous quest or task to undertake, I will always be the best one to do it.”

  Mordred, playing Lancelot just as effortlessly as Britt had, raised his eyebrows and tilted his head back. “I don’t know…”

  Lancelot turned back to the ladder that led to the hayloft. “I shall prove it. Did we not bring a pack containing a spare dress or two, in case it was necessary for Britt to keep up a female disguise?”

  Mordred joined him at the ladder. “Indeed. It is in the satchel by my packs.”

  Lancelot shimmied up the ladder and disappeared from view.

  “What is our next goal?” Gawain asked as he turned his attention to Merlin. “I imagine you have a plan?”

  Straw rustled as one of the horses shifted in its stall. “I believe we should split up,” Merlin said. “One group should travel south to find where the Romans are coming from. The other shall return to Camelot to inform our allies and begin preparing for battle. Kay, I believe you should lead the group that goes to Camelot.”

  Kay nodded.

  Lancelot had returned from the loft, carrying a blue dress. He flapped it once to straighten it out, then held it in front of him. “I believe the color will bring out the blue-green of my eyes,” he said. (His face said the thought did not please him, but he was so bent on proving Mordred wrong he made himself admit it out loud.)

  Mordred held the dress against Lancelot’s face. “It is a fetching combination.”

  Britt held in her laughter, but it took all of her self-control to school her features as she kept her attention on Merlin’s map. “The group that travels south should maybe use the search for the Holy Grail as their cover story. It worked pretty well when Lancelot and I used it.”

  “It is an inspired idea, one I would not have thought of,” Merlin said. “The Romans are quite religious and would naturally respect such a quest.”

  “Really?” Britt asked.

  “Indeed. Since the times of Constantine, they have mostly been ruled by Christian emperors,” Merlin said.

  Britt ran a hand through her slightly tangled hair. “I guess I missed that in my European history class.”

  “Citing the Holy Grail would also explain why you travel as a group,” Kay said.

  Britt snapped her fingers and pointed. “I had thought of that. Most of our knights go out solo, but for a quest that epic, at least a handful of knights would be together.”

  “How will the two groups be divided out, Merlin? Who else will return to Camelot besides Sir Kay?” Gawain asked.

  In the background, Mordred and Lancelot continued their female impersonator conversation.

  “See? Certainly I could perform such a feat as spying as a female.” Though Lancelot’s tone was triumphant, one of his coal black eyebrows twitched as he studied the gown.

  “I don’t know.... I don’t believe that dress would fit you very flatteringly in the shoulders,” Mordred said. “I would say there are other knights from Camelot who would play the role with more finesse. Wouldn’t you agree, Sir Percival?”

  Percival joined Mordred in scrutinizing Lancelot and the dress. “Perhaps Sir Safir or Sir Lanval would be a better match,” he said after some moments.

  “I beg your pardon,” Lancelot said flatly.

  Britt coughed to cover up her laugh.

  “Obviously, the king will return with me,” Kay said.

  Britt ripped her attention from the outraged Lancelot. “Actually, I was thinking I should go south with the spying group.”

  Merlin rubbed his chin, considering the idea, but Kay emphatically chopped his hand through the air. “Absolutely not.”

  Mordred, leaving Percival to explain to Lancelot why he felt the other knights would be a better choice, rejoined the circle around Merlin’s scratched out map. “May I request to be put in the group that returns to Camelot?”

  “Why?” Merlin asked.

  “I wish to help alert our allies,” Mordred said.

  Merlin narrowed his eyes as he stared down the younger knight. “Sending out messages is why we have messenger pigeons and courier riders…. Unless you believe, due to your parentage, our allies will take it more seriously if you present the information?”

  Mordred smiled enigmatically.

  “If Kay and Mordred both return, I should stay behind,” Britt said with a winning smile.

  “Really?” Merlin drawled. “Are you truly that eager for quality time with Sir Lancelot?”

  Britt was sorely tempted to stick her tongue out at the wizard, but she didn’t think it would further her cause.

  Kay mulishly folded his arms across his chest. He looked ready to launch into one of his lectures, which would run an astounding four or five sentences in a row, when the kind farmer who was hosting them trundled into the barn, his two sons trailing behind him with wide eyes.

  “Forgive my intrusions, sirs, but I have your dinner!” the farmer said.

  Kay and Gawain moved
to help, taking the heavy, cast iron stew pot from his hands and the wooden bowls from his sons.

  “Mordred,” Lancelot called. “How easy do you think it would be to fight in the dress? Sir Percival believes it would be quite difficult. I believe it wouldn’t be any more difficult than combat in a robe.”

  Mordred turned on his heels to rejoin the eccentric conversation. “I, too, should think it would be more difficult. But the real question is where would you hide your weapons?”

  All three knights scrutinized the dress, stretching it out between them.

  Britt shifted her gaze from the knights crowded around the gown, to Kay who was thanking the farmer, and then rested on Gawain, who was smiling and speaking to the peasant boys. They are not what I pictured when I thought of Knights of the Round Table back in America. They’re far better than that. Britt smiled, her eyes crinkling with affection.

  “Tell me, lass. Why are you so eager to stay?” Merlin asked.

  Britt rocked back on her heels as she thought. “I’ve said it before, but my worst nightmare is to become a passive king. I want to see and judge this threat with my own eyes, lest I forget what I’m asking my men to do.”

  A quirk of a smile pulled on the corners of Merlin’s lips. “That would never happen. You are too kind and too brave.”

  Britt could feel her cheeks flush, but she was grateful for the moment. Since Merlin had been running interference with Vivien, they hadn’t had a real heart-to-heart conversation. It was gratifying to be reminded that Merlin really knew her.

  “Thanks, Merlin.” She hesitated. “I’ve missed you.”

  “As have I.” Merlin reached for her hand, his fingers barely grazing her palm.

  “Ahem.”

  Britt and Merlin froze, then looked into the stony face of Kay, who was glaring at Merlin. (If he placed his hands on his hips and tapped his foot, he would be the perfect disapproving mother.)

  “My Lord? I have your stew.” Gawain held up a wooden bowl after he put several ladles of stew into it.

  Britt cleared her throat. “Thank you, Gawain.” She ducked around Kay to approach Gawain.

  “It is settled,” Merlin announced. “Kay and Mordred will return to Camelot. The rest of us will track down the origins of the Romans.”

  Britt almost whooped in glee. “Awesome! Thanks, Merlin!”

  “It is a good plan,” Mordred echoed. “We should ride through Baron Marhaus’ lands. We can spend a night in the village and then move on to Camelot.”

  “This is foolish, Merlin,” Kay argued. “It is too dangerous.”

  “I don’t believe the threat will be too large, provided we are careful,” Percival added. He shifted uncomfortably when Kay glared at him.

  “Though I know you would like nothing more than to shut Britt up in a tower, keeping her locked in Camelot all the time is unreasonable,” Merlin said. “Percival is right. The group we have is strong and experienced. As long as we are careful, the dangers should be minimal, and rather than choke her until she rebelliously gallivants off on her own quest, I would much rather allow her to journey when I can watch her.”

  Britt triumphantly grabbed her bowl of stew from Gawain’s hands. She was going! She would get to see the Roman troops for herself! She was so giddy, even Lancelot’s usual boasts did not ruin her good mood.

  “Worry not, Sir Kay! I will guard our king and see that she is safe at all times!” he declared. “I am, after all, her champion!”

  “I would suggest you stop trumpeting that around, Sir Lancelot,” Merlin said dryly. “Particularly when a cast-iron stew pot is within Britt’s reach.”

  “I’ll be careful, Kay,” Britt promised.

  Kay sighed. “I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

  Britt grinned. “Don’t worry. You brought me Excalibur yourself. As long as I have it and the scabbard, there’s nothing to fear!”

  The wind ruffled Britt’s hair as she gazed at the horizon. It was their second day of traveling south and spying on the Roman forces. They had long ago left the skeletal, leafless forests, and now forged their way across plains and pasture lands hemmed in by sweeping hills. Boulders dotted the countryside, as if giants had played bowling there, and Britt could see the green of spring invading the brown grass and bushes.

  “The plot to bring Roman soldiers into Britain by putting them in uniforms and colors belonging to King Ryence was an inspired idea, or so I thought,” Merlin grumbled. “However, only an idiot wouldn’t realize that the sheer number of soldiers we’ve seen dressed in King Ryence’s uniform outstrips the number of people in his lands.”

  “Thus far the soldiers are still moving in small clusters,” Gawain said. He rode next to Britt, his horse occasionally nickering to Roen. “Unless one were to travel south, as we are, and take inventory of all the soldiers, I believe it is understandable that those who witness only a group or two would accept it.”

  “It’s reassuring, at least, that they’re all following a similar pattern.” Britt adjusted her reins when Roen pranced a pace or two. “If they suddenly change their tactics, I’d be far more worried.”

  “Your words are true,” Merlin said. “But the sheer number of soldiers is alarming. I did not think the Roman Emperor would send so many of his troops this far north.”

  “Fear not, for we shall beat back the Roman invasion with ease,” Lancelot promised. “I’m certain once my father and uncle receive word of these movements, they will be able to watch for Rome from across the sea.”

  “That will help only if Rome is traveling to Britain from French shores,” Percival said.

  “Mordred’s idea of attempting to intercept orders is starting to look more and more beneficial,” Britt said.

  Merlin eyed her. “Don’t be mistaken into thinking, Lass, that just because your overprotective brother is not here I will let you sashay into danger.”

  Britt would’ve scowled at him, but a blob of red caught her eye. Squinting, she raised her hand to block what little sunlight shone down and peered out at the hill spread in front of them.

  “What do you see, My Lord?” Gawain asked.

  Britt’s armor creaked as she pointed at the blob. “Is that a knight?”

  Merlin nudged his horse forward and also shielded his eyes. “He’s no Roman soldier, that’s for sure.”

  “I say, is he being attacked?” Percival asked.

  The party was silent until they drew closer and were able to make out the fight between the red knight and five armed men.

  The red knight twirled his sword, the blade flashing silver, as he parried the sword strike of one of his attackers. A man crept up behind him, but he lashed out, kicking the man in the kneecap and kneeing him in the face when he fell.

  When the man with the sword lunged at him, he sidestepped him, grabbed him by the shoulders, and flipped him over his back. He stomped on his chest, forcing the air from the swordsman’s lungs.

  Whirling around, the red knight charged one of his attackers, who was fumbling to put a bolt in a crossbow. He clotheslined the man—extending his arm and slamming it across the bowman’s throat—tossing him to the ground so hard he made the man gurgle.

  He stiffly moved to face the remaining two attackers, his red armor gleaming dully. The two men rushed him together. The red knight plucked up a spear from one of the fallen warriors and swept it in front of him, pulling his attackers feet right out from underneath them.

  Lancelot rubbed his clean-shaven chin. “He’s a good warrior. Not as good as us, of course, but he comes close.”

  Britt rolled her eyes at Lancelot’s hubris, but watched with interest as the red knight removed his helm and tossed it aside.

  The knight waited until his attackers recovered, then approached them with his hands up in supplication.

  Surprisingly, the attackers, appearing disgruntled and bruised, turned their backs to him and wandered towards their horses.

  The red knight hurried after them, waving his arms.

&nb
sp; The armed men ignored him and climbed onto their mounts.

  Peeved, the knight grabbed one of the men and attempted to pull him off his horse. The man kicked him in the face, freeing himself, then turned his horse in a smart circle and set off with the rest of his comrades.

  His shoulders hunched, the red knight reluctantly picked up his helm and trudged back to his waiting horse.

  “That was an odd event to witness,” Percival said. When he raised his eyebrow, he more closely resembled his noble father, King Pellinore.

  Britt scratched her side and considered it. “I’ve seen weirder,” she finally said.

  “I believe I know the red knight,” Sir Gawain said. “His name is Sir Pelleas. My Lord, I ask permission to approach him.”

  “It’s fine. We’re not on a schedule, right, Merlin?” Britt asked.

  Merlin shrugged. “As long as we don’t get caught up on some ridiculous rabbit trail of a side quest, it’s fine.”

  “Come!” Lancelot proclaimed. “Let us offer our services to this poor, downtrodden knight.”

  “Let it be said that no one could ever believe that one of Lancelot’s talents is listening well,” Britt said dryly.

  Percival grinned, then nudged his horse to follow Lancelot and Gawain, who galloped towards the red knight.

  Britt watched her knights canter off with a mixture of amusement and affection, then followed them at a walk. “They really are maturing. Well, everyone except Lancelot.”

  “Your oath of the Round Table gave them a code of conduct to follow. It helps them more than I had predicted,” Merlin said.

  “The oath is just a guide. They could do whatever they want when I send them out on quests, and you know it. They excel because they choose to act as they should.” She tilted her head as the three knights approached Sir Pelleas. “Though Lancelot’s behavior does bother me.”

  “He has not done anything suspicious for some time,” Merlin said.

  “It’s not his behavior towards me that bothers me,” she said.

  Merlin gave her an appraising look as his horse shook its head. “You are better with your men, your knights in particular, than I ever thought possible.”