Chapter 14—Love Two Ways

Arthur walked back to his quarters, his step as light as the joy that filled his heart. He smiled at the passing servants with a huge grin plastered to his face. The same servants who had scurried out of his way an hour earlier, now offered tentative smiles in return, their expressions confused and bemused.

Arthur noticed none of it. He shouldered open his door, pulling on the braided velvet cord that hung just inside the doorway. A bell tinkled and his manservant, Thomas appeared through a side door.

“I require three changes of clothing to be packed. I go to vigil at the abbey this evening.”

“I will see to it, sire.” Thomas bowed and went about his duty, shuffling over to a cabinet and pulling the doors open. Arthur’s eyes fell on a vase of fresh flowers, standing on his writing desk. Bright yellow roses, grown in the palace greenhouse, and delicate pink fuchsia filled the room with a sweet fragrance. Arthur scooped up a handful, grinning. “Thomas, do you have a ribbon?”

Thomas’s head poked out from behind the door of the cupboard. “Yes, sire.” Seeing the flowers clutched in Arthur’s hand, he said “Shall I bring you a white ribbon?”

“Yes, fetch it immediately. My lady waits for me.”

Thomas disappeared through the servant’s door and returned with a length of shining ribbon. “Allow me, sire.” He took the flowers from Arthur and wound them around and between the flower stems and when he was done, the stems were cocooned in soft silk.

Delighted, Arthur thanked the servant and left his quarters, taking the stairs at a quick clip. He was determined to not be late for his meeting with Guinevere; however, it was not to be. As he entered the formal garden, he found her seated on a bench, reading a letter. She had changed into a burgundy wine gown, decorated with gold thread. At her throat rested a necklace of gold loops, that caught the sunlight as she moved. Spying Arthur, she folded the letter and tucked it into her pocket. Arthur slowed to a statelier walk, hands behind his back. “Lady Guinevere,” he said with a nod of his head. “You look lovely.”

Guinevere tilted her head, considering the youth standing before her. Sandy brown hair cut in a shoulder length style framed an honest face, and plastered on that face was a huge grin. Dimples pressed into the corners of his mouth, and his pale blue eyes sparkled with excitement. A residual flush coloured his cheeks. “You look very handsome yourself, sire. Does your excitement have to do with our walk?”

She rose to her feet, graceful as a swan. Arthur offered his hand to help her rise, which she took, and then swept the flowers around in front, proffering them to her. “For you.”

She took them, cradling the fragrant stems in the crook of her left arm. “Thank you, Arthur. They are lovely. Shall we walk?” She tucked her right hand into the crook of his elbow, and Arthur led her down a flagstone path seeded with sweet thyme. The crush of the plant under their feet released an herbal fragrance into the air, which mingled with Arthur’s gift.

“You probably wonder why I wanted to speak to you.” He peeked at her face, watching for her reaction. “I wanted to speak further about the upcoming ceremony. No, that’s not right. Let me try again.” He guided her to a bench set deep in the garden, surrounded by high hedges that curved over the top like the dome of a cathedral. It was secluded and private, even from the windows on the upper levels of the castle. It was one of his favourite places to go, within the castle grounds. He drew her down to sit beside him on the stone bench. “Guinevere, I would ask this boon of you. My father is adamant that he will announce my betrothal at the naming ceremony. He is a stickler for upholding traditions, and he will not be swayed on this matter, despite my pleas.” Arthur’s earlier smile faded away and his face settled into determined lines. “I will not sit back and allow him to choose my future queen for me. The choice must be mine.” He cleared his throat, then knelt on one knee in front of her, still holding her right hand. “Guinevere, I would like to ask for your hand in marriage. Would you do me the honour and become my betrothed?”

Arthur’s earnest yet determined stare caught Guinevere’s eyes, holding her firm, demanding an answer. He waited, allowing her time to consider the proposal.

Guinevere broke eye contact with Arthur, her head turning to watch a bee land on her flowers and crawl inside the bell of a fuchsia. The bee buzzed, zooming out and over into the next flower, crawling over the sticky stamens, before flying away. She watched it disappear and a gentle sigh escaped her lips.

“I will become your betrothed, Arthur Pendragon, on one condition. That you are honest with me in all things. I sense that you keep secrets.” Arthur opened his mouth to speak but she stopped him with a finger pressed to his lips. “I am not speaking about state secrets or those things that are shared in confidence with your father. I am speaking of matters of the heart.” Her eyes searched his. “See? I see it in your eyes. I know that you do not love me, but neither would I be a figurehead of a queen. If I am to marry you, then I expect it to be a true marriage in every way. I would know your heart in this from the beginning. If there is another who may come between us, who is your heart’s affection, I would know it now, so that I can agree or disagree to your proposal with honour and clarity. Only then can I make my decision with a clear mind and heart.”

Arthur rose to his feet and set himself down on the bench beside Guinevere. “I would ask you the same, Guinevere. But before we speak of such private matters, I would ask you about a matter of faith. What gods do you pray to, and what are your feelings about magic? This is relevant to our discussion, I assure you, and your words are safe with me.”

Guinevere set the flowers down. “In Northumbria, the old ways run strong and deep in our blood. The old gods, who the Christians dismiss as pagan, are worshiped openly. I do not fear magic, for it is part of the fabric of the world. And I believe that tapestry was woven by the gods and goddesses of old. Christian, I am not, but I know that to become your queen, I would need to be baptized. I will not forsake my beliefs, Arthur, even to become your queen.” She held her head stiffly, chin raised, pride in her voice. “Can you accept this?”

“Truly, I can,” said Arthur. “Although I was baptized at birth into the Christian faith, I struggle to believe in the tenets as taught by the church. My travels to other kingdoms have shown me a rich variance in heritage and beliefs. I do not believe that there is only one god, or one faith, or one path to the afterlife.” Arthur took up her hand once again. “You must never repeat that I have spoken these words to you, Guinevere, even if you choose not to wed. I am trusting you with a very deep, personal belief that would see me removed from the line of ascension. A heretic king would likely be beheaded, as would a prince.”

“Thank you for your honesty, my lord, and for sharing this with me.” Guinevere searched his face, then said, “I have one last question. Who is it that has captured your heart? I would know this, for truth. In exchange, I will share the truth of my heart, that we may have complete honesty between us.” Arthur’s face fell and he broke eye contact with her. “My lord? I know this is a painful thing for me to ask, but I assure you that I am open minded. Many arranged marriages incorporate more than the two who have exchanged vows. Bastards would not be possible otherwise. I am not completely without knowledge of such things.”

Arthur’s head rose and a small smile played across his lips. “You are worldly wise in this, are you?”

“It can hardly go without notice, when one has multiple half-siblings.”

“No king of Camelot would acknowledge children not born in wedlock,” said Arthur. “But this is a problem more so for a king than for a queen. The mother of a child is much easier to verify, than the father.” At Guinevere’s look of horror, Arthur’s face fell and he said, in an anxious voice, “Guinevere, you need never fear that you will have competition on that front. The person I love is not female, but male.”

Guinevere’s mouth opened, then closed. He could see the gears clicking over in her intelligent mind. Finally, she spoke. “It’s Lancelot, isn’t it?”

Arthur’s head dropped. He dragged his boot through the gravel, like a small child caught in wrong doing. “Yes,” he whispered, afraid to meet her gaze.

Silence surrounded them for a few moments, but it was not an uncomfortable one. Strangely, Arthur found it comfortable, even companionable. He had never spoken to another person about his feelings, and it was as though a great weight had lifted around his heart. He felt the soft touch of Guinevere’s fingers on his cheek, turning his head to face hers.

“I understand. I, too, love Lancelot.”

Arthur’s eyes widened, in surprise. “You do? How can that be?”

“Do you remember when the Camelot delegation was sent to Northumbria for the Council of Atherby Treaty? Lancelot was one of the knights sent to witness the ratification of the accord. We met then.” She blushed. “We walked, we talked. Nothing more. He is a fine knight. I had hoped one day—but that will never be. There was no chance that I would have been able to wed a knight.” A smile returned to Arthur’s face, widening into a wicked grin. He chuckled, and the laugh made Guinevere frown. “You laugh?”

“Don’t you see, Guinevere? This is perfect. You love Lancelot. I love Lancelot. The rest is up to Lancelot. If he loves us both, then all our troubles are solved. Don’t you see?”

Guinevere’s eyes widened, and her blush deepened. “Are you saying…we share him? In secret?”

“Why not? It’s perfect. And I think Lancelot will agree.”

“You do? How do you know?” Suddenly she gasped. “That is what you were so happy about when you arrived in the garden.” She sat back, staring at him thinking things over. Finally, she nodded. “Arthur Pendragon, I will marry you. I could hope for no better match than to be your mate and your queen. Thank you.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and Arthur leaned in and kissed her gently, sealing their agreement. He slipped off his signet ring and slid it onto the middle finger of her right hand. “Thank you, Guinevere, for lightening my heart. Let’s finish our stroll in the garden, and then I must gather my things and depart for the abbey. I must complete my vigil there in preparation for the ceremony.” Guinevere rose beside him and held his hand as they wandered through the leafy perfection of the manicured gardens.