Guinevere's Gift

  He leaned toward the guard. “He's not one of us, I'm g u e s sing?”

  “No, my lord,” Darnal replied. “Do you need a hand?”

  Sir Darric laughed. “You think I'm drunk? This is nothing. I'm still standing. Where's Regis?”

  “Here, my lord.” Regis appeared at the head of the stair and glanced quickly around him. “Is all well?”

  Sir Darric leaned against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. “Report.”

  Regis saluted smartly. “Sir. The watch has changed. I've just made the rounds. Every guard on duty is one of my handpicked men.”

  “Don't you mean one of our handpicked men?” Sir Darric's voice went dangerously soft, almost sleepy.

  Regis hastened to correct his error. “Of course, my lord. One of our men. At every door except the queen's.”

  A shiver ran up Guinevere's spine, and she gripped Elaine's arm. “Be very still,” she breathed into Elaine's ear. “There's something going on.”

  “Everything's ready,” Regis said. “We await your command.”

  “They've changed the guards?” Elaine wondered. “What for? And what is Regis doing saluting one of Mother's guests?”

  “We have until dawn,” Sir Darric said. “If I choose to wait that long. Perhaps I won't. But I need to get out of this useless garment”—he flicked the green velvet robe with a casual finger—“and into battle dress. Come in while I change. We'll go over the details.”

  He pushed at the door, which refused to open until Regis reached past him and lifted the latch. Sir Darric staggered into the jamb and righted himself with difficulty.

  “Cold bitch filled me with wine. Thought she'd get something out of me. Women.” Sir Darric swayed on his feet and grinned at Regis. “More beauty than brains, all of'em.”

  “Who's he calling names?” Elaine gasped. “Why, the traitorous dog! How does he dare?”

  “Shhh,” Guinevere pleaded. “They'll hear us.”

  Sir Darric made it into his chamber and turned to wave Regis in after him. “Who's on the door of the armory? What about the stables? Have we got enough blades for the men coming in from patrol?”

  “Just one moment, my lord.” Regis signaled to Darnal. Without a word, both men drew their swords and began to move silently down the corridor, one against each wall.

  “Oh my God!” Elaine squeaked. “They're coming for us!”

  The girls flattened themselves against the shallow curve of the embrasure and waited, breathless, for discovery. There was no possibility of escape. Their hiding place had become a trap.

  Regis and Darnal came to a halt, one on either side of the embrasure, a sword's length away. “Drop your weapons and come out,” Regis ordered, leveling his blade. “Now.”

  Elaine drew herself up to her full height and stepped forward into the light. Regis's jaw dropped. “Struth! It's the princess.”

  “And the ward,” Darnal added, slamming his weapon home to its scabbard.

  “What's the meaning of this?” Elaine demanded in her haughtiest manner. “What are you up to, Regis? Why did you salute Sir Darric?”

  Guinevere tugged hard at Elaine's gown, but it was too late. Regis scowled at them both.

  “If you've seen that, princess, you've seen too much. Come along, now. Sir Darric will have to deal with you.”

  “You will address me as ‘my lady,’ ” Elaine returned, in her best imitation of Alyse's superior manner. “And you will take me to see Sir Darric at once. That's why I've come.”

  “Is it, indeed?” Regis sneered. “That suits me fine. Just you march on ahead, princess, and I'll announce you.”

  Guinevere followed Elaine down the corridor, her heart pounding in her ears. Something was very wrong. These men were not behaving normally. All her senses had grown suddenly alert, as if danger lurked just out of sight in the dark. Gooseflesh crept up her arms and raised the hair on the back of her neck. She hoped very much that Queen Alyse had not retired for the night.

  Sir Darric's antechamber was empty when Regis ushered them in. Singing came from the bedchamber, a rough soldier's ditty sung in a slurred and bleary tenor. Regis smothered a sigh of impatience.

  “Stay here,” he ordered the girls. “I'll be right back. Darnal, guard the door outside.” He tapped lightly on the bedchamber door and entered without waiting for a response.

  Guinevere glanced around the antechamber as the door closed behind Darnal and left them alone. “I don't like this. They're planning something. This isn't the time to visit Sir Darric, Laine. Just make some excuse—say we have to get back before our nurses miss us or something—but let's get out of here as fast as we can.”

  Elaine, who had been straightening her gown, spoke soothingly. “Nonsense. There's nothing to fret about. Regis is an insolent fool and always has been. The important thing is that Sir Darric will see us.”

  “I wish he wouldn't,” Guinevere said under her breath.

  Elaine almost smiled. “You're such a little rabbit sometimes. He can't do anything to harm us. Mother would have his head on a spike if he tried.”

  Guinevere's voice fell even lower. “Your mother isn't here.”

  Elaine patted her cousin's arm reassuringly. “Be brave, Gwen. Everything will turn out all right.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  In the Lion's Den

  The bedchamber door flew open. Sir Darric stood on the threshold, bug-eyed, half dressed in boots and leggings, a look of astonishment on his face. “Well, I'll be damned.” His gaze rested on Guinevere. “I don't believe it.”

  Behind him, Regis smirked, and behind Regis, the chamberlain loitered anxiously with Sir Darric's tunic, mantle, armor, and weapons.

  Elaine looked pointedly at Guinevere, who made a quick curtsy. “My lord, please take no offense. If you remember from our . . . our conversation in the forest, the princess Elaine wished an audience with you. You . . . you had no objections at the time.”

  “Ha!” Sir Darric barked. “That's good, that is. Our conversation in the forest.” He staggered forward into the room, eyes boring into Guinevere. “Why did you run away? Did you lead me down that trail on purpose, you little hellion? Nearly killed my horse. Got a splinter in his chest that long.” He held up his hands to demonstrate, swayed dangerously, and was quickly steadied by Regis with a hand on his arm.

  Guinevere lowered her eyes. “I meant no harm to your horse, my lord.”

  Sir Darric laughed. “So it was me you meant to kill? Who set that trap for you? Who built it?”

  Elaine turned to Guinevere. “What trap? What's he talking about, Gwen?”

  Sir Darric shrugged off Regis's arm. “You sent me down that trail on purpose. Confess it.”

  “Gwen?” Elaine poked her. “What did you do to Sir Darric?”

  Reluctantly, Guinevere met his taunting eyes. “I take that way home at least twice a week, my lord. It's not a trap. It's only a matter of practice.”

  Sir Darric reddened. “That be damned for a tale!”

  Regis grabbed his arm again. “My lord,” he murmured, speaking slowly and enunciating clearly. “Remember our conversation about the princes? Maelgon and his brother?”

  Elaine scowled at Guinevere. “One of your stupid obstacles?”

  Sir Darric swayed in Regis's grasp. “Nearly killed me.”

  “My lord,” Regis said patiently. “Remember our conversation. Princess Elaine is here.”

  Silence followed this pronouncement. Guinevere saw Sir Darric's anger cool and a malicious light enter his eyes. He straightened and shrugged Regis off.

  “Yes,” he said. “Let's not forget the point.” He bowed to Elaine. “Princess, forgive me.”

  Elaine raised her chin and spoke in her most superior manner. “Sir Darric. I have done you the honor of paying you a private visit. Pray, take a moment to make yourself presentable. I will not take up much of your time.”

  Sir Darric frowned, confused. Following her gaze, he looked down at himself and saw that he w
as only half dressed. “Well, I'll be damned.” When he looked up, he was smiling.

  Guinevere moved swiftly to Elaine's side, grabbed her sleeve, and pulled her away. “We will leave you now, my lord. We can see this is not a convenient time.”

  “On the contrary, it's perfect timing.” If he had been drunk before, he was sober now. His eyes glittered with malice as he gestured to the couch behind them. “What's your hurry, now you're here? Make yourselves comfortable.”

  “No,” Guinevere said quickly. She recognized that tone of voice. It had driven her down the lower ridge trail like an arrow flying. “We must be going.”

  Sir Darric, too, was firm. “I insist.”

  “Are you mad, Gwen? Let go.” Elaine shrugged off the restraining hand and faced Sir Darric. “We will wait until you have dressed, my lord. Then we should like a few words with you.”

  Sir Darric's smile widened. “Should you, indeed? How like your mother you are.” He turned to Regis. “Send Jordan and Drako to me. Now. Then pass the word among the guards. Tonight's the night, and I'll not wait for dawn, after all.”

  Regis saluted and made for the door.

  “Wait.” Sir Darric rubbed his forehead as if trying to clear his mind. “Do the numbers three-five-seven mean anything to you?”

  Regis stared at him. “No, my lord. Should they?”

  Sir Darric drew a long breath. “I sent you a message, but the messenger must have been a spy. I'd like to know whose. Never mind. Go get Jordan and Drako.”

  Regis went.

  “I don't want Jordan and Drako,” Elaine objected. “Gwen is chaperone enough.”

  Guinevere made a reverence to the ground. With a tremor in her voice, she said, “My lord, we pose no danger to you. Please let us go.”

  Sir Darric snapped his fingers, and the chamberlain came running. “Not now. Had you stayed abed where you belong, I'd have left you alone. But you've stumbled into the middle of things, and now the matter is out of my hands.”

  He donned his tunic and his armored corselet, while Guinevere pulled Elaine behind the couch. “Say nothing to him,” she begged Elaine in a fierce whisper. “He's planning something. He means us ill.”

  “Nonsense,” Elaine retorted. “Men don't don armor to fight women.”

  “Exactly,” Guinevere said. “Something bigger is afoot.”

  Sir Darric raised his arms as the chamberlain buckled the sword belt around his hips. He looked at Guinevere over the servant's head. “How right you are, princess. Prepare yourself for a change. By morning, I will be king.”

  Elaine gasped. Guinevere swallowed hard. “Then let us go, my lord. We can do you no harm, and it will go easier with you later if you leave us alone.”

  “Yes!” Elaine burst out. “When my father, the true king, comes home!”

  Sir Darric lowered his arms as the chamberlain fastened a dark green mantle over his tunic. The clip he used was gold. “He will have no kingdom to come home to. The house guard is loyal to me now.”

  “The house guard!” Elaine hooted. “What are they? Soldiers too old or too unskilled to go to war. My father has seasoned troops with him. You won't stand a chance.”

  “Seasoned troops returning from six weeks of a hard campaign with who knows how many wounded. Men whose homes and families, the king's included, will be in my hands. Even without hostages, Pellinore will never take the castle with the men he has. My men are handpicked and well trained.”

  “Hostages?” Elaine squeaked.

  “King Pellinore's men are loyal,” Guinevere said quickly, “because they honor and respect him. If the house guard is under your control, it's because you've bought them. You don't have their hearts. They'll turn as soon as they foresee defeat.”

  Sir Darric thrust his dagger under his belt and waved the chamberlain away. “Bought them, have I? With what? We're not rich men in the Marshes. We barely get by.”

  “With cattle,” Guinevere replied evenly. “Stolen from King Pellinore's pens. You bought the king's guards with his own gold. That kind of loyalty doesn't last.”

  Sir Darric froze. For a long moment, no one spoke.

  Elaine glanced from one to the other and back again. The tension in the air raised gooseflesh on her skin. “He stole Father's cattle? How do you know?”

  Sir Darric spoke very softly. “I'd like to know that, too.”

  Guinevere's hands were shaking, and she clasped them behind her back to hide them. “You were seen.”

  “By whom?”

  Guinevere shook her head.

  “What do you mean, hostages?” Elaine said into the silence. “You wouldn't dare.”

  Guinevere took her hand as a sudden knocking sounded at the door.

  Jordan stuck his head in. “My lord?”

  Sir Darric smiled. “Come in.”

  Jordan and Drako entered, looking hastily dressed. They glanced at each other when they saw the girls but kept their faces carefully empty of expression. Sir Darric took Elaine's arm and pulled her forward.

  “Take this one to the camp,” he said. “Stay there until I send for you.”

  “Let me go!” Elaine cried. “You filthy traitors!”

  “Don't harm her,” Sir Darric said sharply. “She's my guarantee of Pellinore's good conduct. Understand?”

  Drako scowled, but Jordan nodded. “Yes, my lord.” He glanced at Guinevere. “What about the other one?”

  “She stays here.”

  “No!” Elaine cried, struggling against Jordan's grip.

  Guinevere slid to her knees. “Please, my lord, let me go with Elaine. It is my duty to accompany her, and I have promised it.”

  Sir Darric reached down and raised her to her feet. “You'll stay here.”

  Elaine shrieked and bit Jordan's hand. “Why are you keeping Gwen? What are you going to do to her? You'll be sorry for this, Darric of Longmeadow. When my mother hears—”

  Sir Darric laughed. “Your mother has her own troubles just now, and by morning, she'll be mine, too. Get going, Jordan.”

  Elaine screamed and began to kick, but her satin slippers made no impression on the men's booted legs and Sir Darric gagged her with a strip of sheeting torn from his bed. Jordan and Drako lifted her from the floor and carried the writhing girl away at arm's length between them as if she were a large and poisonous snake.

  Sir Darric turned to Guinevere. His eyes looked hard as metal, and his smile had gone. When he spoke, his voice was gruff.

  “Who saw me?”

  She lowered her eyes and said nothing. Sir Darric grabbed her arm and breathed into her face. “Who told you I took the cattle? Who said they saw me?”

  Dark blue eyes flashed up at him. “About fifty people.”

  He stared at her unbelieving.

  “ Your secret's out,” she said, taking courage from his silence. “Getting rid of Elaine and me won't solve anything. And you can't get rid of Elaine or you'll lose your hold over King Pellinore and Queen Alyse.”

  “Damn your insolence.” He spoke roughly, but his hands cupped her shoulders not ungently, and the corners of his mouth twitched in a smile. “You're beautiful when you're angry, by God you are.”

  Guinevere backed away at once, eyes cast down, but he caught her by the wrist and held her.

  “There's another way,” he suggested softly. “It will save Elaine's hide, if that worries you. It will save all Gwynedd without a drop of blood spilled.”

  She waited, eyes averted, for him to let go. Instead, he drew closer and bent his head near hers. He reeked of wine, and his breath stank of onions.

  “Aren't you interested, princess?”

  “No.”

  “Would you condemn your kinsmen to death without hearing how you might save them? Coldhearted maid. At least listen to my proposal. It will bring you an honor you'd never otherwise attain.”

  She waited with held breath while he touched his lips to her ear. “You can be queen,” he whispered. “Marry me tonight and by morning you'll be queen of al
l Gwynedd.”

  Guinevere stared at him, speechless. Such stupendous arrogance was beyond her comprehension. She could not believe he was serious. He could not possibly think her capable of such an action, of betraying her own family for a chance to be queen. Yet, the hazel eyes that held her own were clear and steady, waiting with hope for an answer—yes, with hope! To him, it was a matter of choosing between more or less acceptable alternatives. For her, there was no choice at all. A deep shudder of disgust rose from within her and shook her body.

  “I don't betray,” she said. “And I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man living.”

  She watched him color, saw the birth of fury in his eyes, and tried to turn away. He was too quick. He caught her arm, dragged her to the bedchamber, and threw her to the floor.

  “Think you're too good for me?” he snarled. “You're as bad as Alyse. Nothing to choose between you. Proud, pampered, headstrong little brat—I'll teach you a lesson you won't soon forget. I will, indeed.” He grinned as he turned away. “As soon as I return.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Escape

  The moment the door closed behind Sir Darric, Guinevere raised her head. She looked straight at the chamberlain. He was a small man, somewhere between twenty and thirty, as near as she could judge, and neatly dressed in poor, much-mended clothes.

  “What's your name?”

  He ducked his head and replied with downcast eyes, “Liam, m'lady.” His face was impassive, but his hands wrung and twisted the hem of his tunic.

  “Liam, is there another way out of here besides the guarded door?”

  “No, m'lady.”

  Guinevere rose to her feet and went to the window. It was unglazed and narrow, but wide enough for a slim person to wiggle through. She leaned over the deep stone sill and looked down. Torches on the battlement below lit a sheer drop of thirty feet. She drew back, giddy from the sight. The person would have to be nimble, too, and not weighed down by skirts.

  She turned and looked quickly about the room. She would need more than twenty feet of rope—or knotted bedding—to get down safely. There had been no guard on the battlement. Perhaps Sir Darric did not have enough men to spare one to watch below his window. Or perhaps it was an oversight that in time he would correct.