Chapter 13: A Surprising Encounter

Arthur stopped by Lady Guinevere’s chambers, but there was no answer to his frustrated knock. He stomped down the hallway, scowling at the servants that passed and sending them scurrying away in a wave of curtsies and “my lord” muttered in a whisper. Why he thought that Guinevere would be waiting for him in her chambers, he did not know. He knew he was being unreasonable, expecting her to be waiting for his beck and call, yet his anger simmered all the same.

The fact of the matter was, that his pent-up anger and frustration stemmed from the fact that he didn’t want to marry Guinevere. He didn’t want to marry any woman, and the honesty of that thought was the core of his misery. All of the times that he had sat in silence contemplating his future had done nothing to change the longings of his heart. Suddenly, the hours of prayerful contemplation that yawned before him looked more like a water torture in his enemies’ worst dungeon. He did not share his father’s faith, nor did he share the beliefs of the Christian church, a church that had full authority to crown him king on his father’s death—or prevent it.

As he walked, his eyes glazed over as his thoughts turned inward. His feet carried him unerringly toward the practice yard. As he exited the castle into the bright sunshine, he heard the familiar sound of the clanging of metal swords, along with Guinevere’s high-pitched laughter. Arthur jerked to a halt, blinking. Guinevere was partnering Lancelot, trading blows with the knight and doing an admirable job of keeping him off balance. Arthur watched her move. Her smaller size allowed her to slip under his guard with surprising ease. Lancelot attacked with a flurry of blows, and Guinevere was forced to retreat. Her footwork was amazing, Arthur noted. She was light and quick, which helped her keep moving in and out of Lancelot’s snaking arm.

Guinevere wore a leather chest protector and formfitting pants tucked into tall boots. Lancelot had stripped down to his stuffed linen tunic, abandoning his chain mail, which lay in a heap outside the sparing circle. His rich laugh joined Guinevere’s and the sound of the two of them lightened Arthur’s heart. Back and forth they moved, both shining with sweat, both grinning from ear to ear. But Arthur could see that Guinevere was tiring and true to form, Lancelot touched his sword to her heart, his blade sliding past her guard that was a second too slow. Guinevere froze, then tossed her blade away in surrender. They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment before Lancelot dropped his blade. He took up her hand and kissed it lightly on the back, bowing.

Arthur clapped.

Lancelot and Guinevere separated, then picked up the swords and walked over to Arthur. Both were flushed and smiling happily, full of health, beauty and grace. It was then that Arthur realized that he could do no better than to have both of these people tied to him for his lifetime. His heart warmed, as the icy lump of indecision that had been wedged in his breast thawed. He grinned. It was the first genuine smile to have crossed his face in a very long time.

Lancelot quirked an eyebrow at him as he walked up to him. “What has you as happy and excited as a priest in a brothel?” Guinevere shot Lancelot a chiding look, which he ignored.

Arthur laughed. “I just realized that I am not alone. That may sound strange when the castle is full of people, but I often feel isolated.”

Guinevere nodded. “I understand. I feel like that at home, too, even though I have known those who live and work in the castle my entire life. It comes from being a noble, and the higher the stature, the more isolating it becomes.”

Arthur’s grin grew. “Exactly! See? I knew you’d understand. As for this lout,” he punched Lancelot in the arm, “he is always fending off the ladies so I doubt he ever has an hour of peace.”

“As long as those hours fall between midnight and dawn, how can I complain?” Lancelot swept the fringe of sweat soaked hair off his brow. Arthur watched the action, then focused on Guinevere. “My lady, would you do me the honour of viewing the gardens at sunset?”

Guinevere eyed his smiling face, and offered a small one of her own. “I would be pleased to accompany you. Shall I meet you by the statue of Bernard of Longly, a half hour before sunset?”

Arthur picked up her hand, replacing Lancelot’s kiss with one of his own. Her hand was soft and warm in his. “Until then, my lady.” He watched as she walked away, noticing the focus that Lancelot paid to her as she drifted away back into the castle, her hips swaying.

“She is a beautiful woman,” said Arthur.

“Indeed, sire. Quite a fetching creature,” said Lancelot. “You could do far worse than to marry her.”

“I agree. Which is why I am going to ask for her hand.”

Lancelot stiffened. “Sire. She is yours to choose. I would not wait too long, or someone will claim her.”

“I am going to ask her tonight.”

Lancelot turned to look Arthur full in the face. “You have decided, then? This is what you want?”

Arthur’s sincere eyes latched onto Lancelot’s liquid gaze, warm with promise. His heart sped up, galloping away with a fervour that only Lancelot’s presence could arouse. “It is a start, but it is not the fullness of my heart’s desire.” Their eyes locked and an understanding passed between them. It was all Arthur could do to restrain himself from pushing back the lock of hair which had tumbled back between Lancelot’s eyebrows. Ever conscious as to who might be watching from the shadowed windows, Arthur stepped back to break the spell, sucking in an intense breath as he did so. Lancelot was panting slightly and not from the earlier swordplay. They both felt it, the deepening desire that coursed between them, a hardening arousal of need. Arthur could take no more of Lancelot’s physical proximity without embarrassing himself. “Walk with me,” he said, clipping the words.

Lancelot fell into step beside Arthur, bending to pick up his chain mail as they passed the glimmering pile of metal. Arthur picked up Guinevere’s sword and made for the armoury to restore the weapons to their places on the sword rack. Arthur pushed open the door and replaced the sword, then turned. Lancelot stood right behind him, and as he turned, their lips met. The kiss was strong and swift, but it burnt like hot whiskey, scorching in intensity. Lancelot stepped back, his eyes fixed on Arthur’s.

High spots of colour traced Lancelot’s cheekbones, above a day’s worth of stubble. Arthur’s eyes were wide with surprise, searching. “I liked that,” he whispered.

“I did, too,” said Lancelot.

“You did?” said Arthur.

“Yeah. I have been wanting to do that, forever.”

“Why did you decide to kiss me, now?” said Arthur.

“You were happy. I could tell that you have made a decision. I didn’t want to confuse you, to make my interest known to you while you still struggled to find your way. Guinevere will make you a beautiful bride. But I had to kiss you once. Do not worry, Arthur, I will not press you for affection. As you so rightly said, I can keep myself busy with the ladies.”

“I did not mean that as a slight, Lancelot. And I am glad you kissed me. You see, I have been wanting to do the same to you.”

It was Lancelot’s turn to look surprised. “You have? You kept that well hidden.”

“It wouldn’t do to show my father, or the court, or any of the watchers my heart’s desire.” Arthur reached out and stroked the curl of hair off of Lancelot’s forehead. It was silkier than he had imagined it to be, soft as the breast of a mourning dove between his fingers. Arthur groaned and dropped his hand. Lancelot caught it between both of his. Arthur searched Lancelot’s face. “It is you, who are my heart’s desire, Lancelot. But my duty to my father, to the king and to Camelot says that I must marry a woman. That has been my struggle, deciding what to do. When I saw you and Guinevere sparring and laughing, so obviously enjoying each other’s company, I realized that perhaps I can have you both, and it would not be a bad thing. Does this make me shameful?”

Lancelot shook his head. “No, my lord. Your path is a difficult one, and I know your choices are limited. But I would like to be a part of that life, if you desire it.”

Arthur nodded. “I do. But what of Guinevere? Must I discuss this with my intended before we wed?”

“When is it that you must wed?” asked Lancelot.

“The law is not specific. It only states before ascension to the throne and before childbearing years have waned,” said Arthur.

“Then there is time, Arthur. Do not bother her with us right now. There is time yet to bring her around to the idea.”

“And what about us?” Arthur’s heart hammered against his chest. He couldn’t remember being this excited before, about anything. He waited, holding his breath.

Lancelot reached out and stroked a finger down Arthur’s cheek, running it over his full lips. Arthur shivered with expectation. “I believe a field trip is in order.”

“Yes! That reminds me. My father wishes you to take over the investigation of the conjured dragon while I spend my time in contemplation of my duty to the crown. I must go to the abbey and stay there until the ceremony.”

“Then when the ceremony is completed, I will request that you accompany me on a fact-finding mission, sire. Your father’s mind will relax once the betrothal and anointing are completed. See if I am not right.” Lancelot craned his neck to see outside. ‘It is getting dark, and your intended will be waiting for you.”

Arthur stepped aside so Lancelot could put away his sword. “Thank you, Lancelot,” he said softly, his heart full of joy.

Lancelot grinned at Arthur, looking happier than Arthur had ever known. “We must be discreet. No one can know about this. We would both go to the gallows were we to be discovered.”

“Then when we are in the presence of others, we are nothing but liege and liege-lord. It is my wish to serve you, Arthur.” Lancelot wrenched open the door, and the sounds of the castle tumbled in, shattering the intimacy of moments before. Arthur lifted his chin, then donning a mask of indifferent royalty, preceded Lancelot out into the practice yard.