One Knight (Knights of Caerleon Book 2)

  One Knight

  The Knights of Caerleon

  Ines Johnson

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  Also by Ines Johnson

  Two if By Sea Sneak Peek

  Copyright © 2018, Ines Johnson. All rights reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents described in this publication are used fictitiously, or are entirely fictional. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except by an authorized retailer, or with written permission of the author.

  Edited by Alyssa Breck

  Cover design by Desiree DeOrto Designs

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition September 2018

  Prologue

  Gwin’s pulse quickened as she peered down at the disaster before her. Her innate magic tickled her fingertips, eager to get out to bring order to the chaos. Instead, she wrung out her hands and grasped the pointed weapon between her thumb and index finger ready to do battle.

  With the quill in hand, the adrenaline rush stole her breath at the loose-leaf sheaths of paper spread across the ancient wood desk. She deftly deciphered the notations and grinned as the data lined up. She made careful notations in the column with her quill. She got a thrill when she found a miscalculation that set the ledger back in balance.

  Most girls her age were promenading about the castle grounds, trying to capture the notice of a knight or squire. Gwin was far more interested in organizing the cupboards or planning the cleaning schedule. She liked order and efficiency.

  Even more, she liked that there was always room for improvement. Another pence shaved off the butcher’s bill if she chose a different cut of meat for this week’s feast. Another second trimmed from the cleaning schedule if they started later in the day to allow an additional hour of sleep.

  Blonde hair fell over elegant shoulders as Gwin hunched down, making more markings in the ledger. Her blue eyes hunted for another bit of information that she could bring into order. She was so engrossed in her work, that she nearly missed the voices outside the office door.

  “Is there someone in here?” called out a pleasant voice.

  There was no fear in the speaker’s voice. This was the safest place in the world. Well, that was if you belonged to the community of witches, wizards, and knights who populated the magical town of Camelot. If you were an outsider, then you were in big trouble.

  “It’s just me, Lady Merylin,” Gwin called as the doorknob turned.

  Lady Merylin appeared in the doorway of the office of the Lady of the Castle, or the LOC as the townsfolk were fond of calling it. Lady Merylin was advanced in age, but still lovely to behold with her sun-kissed skin, dark hair, and gray eyes so clear it felt as though one could peer directly into her soul. But Lady Merylin’s best feature was her smile.

  She always looked her best because Lady Merylin always smiled. The expression was like the sun shining. Gwin loved to be in the direct hit of those rays.

  Lady Merylin looked around her office space. Her eyes lighted on the neat stacks of books that had been arranged in a balanced tower in the corner. Her gaze shone on the swatches of drapery fabric for the new wing which was now organized by hue. Her brows lifted, casting over the binders on her desk which were now ordered with all sheaths neatly tucked and collated. And finally, that bright gaze dawned on Gwin

  “My dear, what are you doing?”

  There was a lilting of her voice. That was another thing Gwin liked about the Lady of the Castle. Lady Merylin’s voice reminded Gwin of flowers blooming on a spring day.

  “I saw that the ledgers needed to be balanced, so I took care of it,” said Gwin. “I also cleaned up a bit and organized a few things. I know you have a lot on your plate with the Choosing Festival, and I wanted to be helpful.”

  Lady Merylin laughed, a tinkling sound. Gwin had to wonder if it was her smile, her voice, or her laugh that she liked best. It was a very close three-way tie. But then one action triumphed clearly.

  Walking toward her, Lady Merylin opened her arms and bundled Gwin up in a hug. This was the best feeling. Hands down.

  “My dear girl, you didn’t have to do any of this. But I so appreciate that you did.”

  Over Lady Merylin’s shoulder, Gwin spied her mother. Gwynfhar Galahad's lips curled in a rare smile of approval. Gwin’s heart swelled even more.

  “Although …” Lady Merylin released Gwin and walked closer to the pile of ledgers on the desk. “It looks like you mixed the Tintagel Castle accounts with the Sterling Castle accounts.”

  Gwin stepped forward to examine her work and saw the flaw. While Lady Merylin set about rearranging the items, Gwin chanced a second look at her mother. Gwynfhar’s smile slammed down. Her mother’s crystal blue eyes narrowed into shards of cold ice.

  Gwin fastened her gaze to the ground in shame. “I am so sorry, my lady. I’ll attend to it straight away.”

  “Nonsense,” said Lady Merylin.

  It was even worse than Gwin thought. Now, not only had she lost Lady Merylin’s favor, she’d no longer be trusted with any task.

  "It's already fixed. And no harm was done,” Lady Merylin said in the same cheery voice. Her back was to Gwin and her mother so she didn’t see their exchange. When Lady Merylin turned, her smile was as bright and welcoming as ever. “I truly appreciate that you did this for me. It was so thoughtful.”

  Lady Merylin gave Gwin an affectionate pat on her shoulder. It wasn’t a hug, but it was still nice.

  “Now, that’s enough of you doing chores for the day,” said the elder woman. “Go out and enjoy the festivities. I insist.”

  “Yes, my lady.” Gwin bobbed a curtsy and turned on her heel.

  She avoided her mother’s gaze as she walked past her. Gwynfhar had already plastered on what Gwin’s younger sister, Morgan, called the Hostess Smile. The smile was an even lift at both corners of the mouth to show balance. A slight gap broke the middle of the mouth for a flash of white to show ease. And the head dipped down slightly to show deference.

  It was a look Gwin had yet to master. Her feelings were always on her face. Gwin shut the door to the LOC office behind her and sagged against it. Both her body and her face dipped low.

  “Is it safe to come out?”

  Gwin looked up to find her sister slinking around a corner. Morgan was dressed in a corset-less dress that came above the ankles. She did it because it was easier to move when she did her experiments, and only while inside the castle walls, but it was still scandalous.

  “Mother and Lady Merylin are in there. Oh, Morgan, I made a mess of things. I combined two different ledgers.”

  Morgan nodded, her brow furloughing as she did so. Gwin waited for he
r sister’s consoling words, but Morgan looked as though she were waiting for Gwin to say more.

  “Is that all?” Morgan asked.

  That was enough. Gwin was used to being of assistance and being an aide in whatever she did. She was called on as a healer due to her unique magic, and she relished the opportunity to help others. She wasn’t used to doing harm.

  “Well, at least you didn’t blow up the barn.”

  “Oh, Morgan. You didn’t.”

  “I was testing out this new gunpowder chemical my friend, Alfred Noble, came up with. You remember we met him last year in Sweden? Anyway, he had the brilliant idea to mix nitroglycerin with clay and sodium.”

  Morgan’s eyes were alight with excitement. Gwin couldn’t help a small smile when her sister spoke about her true passion, which was the field of science. But the practical part of Gwin had to ask. “What of the barn?”

  "It's still intact. Well, the roof is. But one of the walls has a bit of a hole. I was repairing it myself when the Authoritarian stormed in."

  Gwin shook her head solemnly. “It’s mother you should be worried about. She still has her mind set on you and Arthur forming a match.”

  “Oh, no,” Morgan said in a flat voice. She put her hand to her head and fluttered her lashes. “Do you think I’ve ruined my chances?” Morgan dropped the damsel act and pulled a sickly green look over her features. “Not everyone wants to get married and organize a home.”

  “Is it wrong to want to be a good and useful person?”

  “You know, I’ve been reading the writings of a psychologist.”

  “A what?” asked Gwin.

  “Psychology. It’s the study of the human mind. This German man, Freud is his name, he believes that all of our adult problems are a result of our personal development which is determined in early childhood. So, in effect, anything we do wrong is mother’s fault. I find that not only exacting but a relief.”

  “Mother only wants what’s best for us, Morgan.”

  “Marrying an invalid old man is not what’s best for you, Gwin.”

  “Merlin isn’t old. Not by magical standards. He’s in his prime.”

  “He’s sickly and frail, and he only wants to marry you because he needs your magic to heal him.”

  “What do you think I should do?” asked Gwin. “Keep my magic to myself? Be selfish? If I can be of help then, it’s my duty to do so.”

  “I’m never getting married.” Morgan’s body shuddered at the mere thought.

  “You say that now,” Gwin chided.

  "I'll say it a hundred years from now, too," Morgan called over her shoulder as she scurried off.

  Gwin watched her sister disappear down the hall. Unlike the human women of this time period, witches were now and had always been fiercely independent creatures. But not so independent as to eschew the idea of a lifelong partner and children.

  Marriage and motherhood had long been a dream of Gwin’s. She hadn’t grown up idealizing matrimony as most women in the town did. She knew it to be what it was; a practical union to strengthen the community. She had a healthy respect for the institution of marriage and was eager to embrace her role as head of her household, or better yet, Lady of the Castle. The role would someday be hers.

  Gwin pressed her hand to the office door. One day, she would have the run of it. But for now, she did as Lady Merylin bade and headed out to the festivities. A good LOC was more than an organizer. She was also a consummate hostess.

  Outside Tintagel Castle, in the fields used for jousting and squire training, the knights were putting their sons, nephews, and distant cousins through the paces. The time had come for many of the magical swords of the Knights of Camelot to choose their new masters.

  The first person Gwin saw when she came toward the field was her betrothed; Merlin. The elder son of Lord Arthur, the second of his name, sat beneath a parasol. His lanky body was hunched over as he coughed into a piece of linen watching the activity of the men out on the field.

  Just a few months ago, Excalibur had chosen Sir Arthur, the third of his name and Merlin’s younger brother, to wield it. It wasn’t uncommon for a sword to skip the first son, or to even choose a distant relative. The line of succession was entirely the will of the blade.

  There were many men on the field hoping to be chosen as the next generation of knights. Gwin knew most of the faces. She saw the two sons of Sir Geraint. Sir Geraint’s youngest son chatted with the son of Sir Gawain. The two were likely planning mischief. Sir Tristan’s little boy trailed behind the two older knights in his role as squire.

  And then Gwin spotted someone new.

  She would not have noticed him except his hair. It was such a vivid and bold color of red that it invited the eyes to stare. And stare she did. At more than just his hair.

  Gwin had seen many fine men in the town; knights, warriors, even princes, and kings came to visit. Many were handsome and well-put together. But there was something different about this boy, no man. His shoulders looked broader than any others. His forearms looked more muscled; his chin more square.

  She spied powerful thighs at the edge of his plaid. Thick, bulging muscles that rivaled a horse’s flank. She wondered what it would feel like to mount and ride his rump.

  Her cheeks reddened at her lewd thoughts. Such an idea had never once entered her mind. Gwin lifted her gaze and met his eyes.

  Such a shock of blue that she’d only seen one time before… on the face of Sir Lancelot, the second of his name.

  Perhaps this young man was a distant cousin? If so, Gwin wondered why she’d never seen him before? Sir Lancelot had no sons of his own, and would likely not have any anytime soon. His dear wife had been in sickbed for much of the last decade with a disease that Gwin's magic couldn't heal.

  Gwin continued gazing into the red-headed man’s blue eyes until she realized, the reason she saw them so clearly was because he was staring back at her. Embarrassment stormed over her, but she couldn’t look away. It was as though his eyes held her in place. He smiled at her like no man had ever smiled.

  Gwin’s cheeks heated. The heat broke the spell, and Gwin gasped. Was he a wizard?

  Gwin shrank back into the woods. She should’ve gone to Merlin, to see if her fiancé needed any tending, but he had color in his cheeks today. And it looked like it was only a minor cough. If he needed her, he’d certainly say so. Loud and clear enough for everyone to hear it and send someone to find her.

  That was mean of her. She didn’t begrudge Merlin. She didn’t know what it was like to be ill. It had to be hard for him.

  She knew he wanted to be strong and able like his father and younger brother. It was a blow to Merlin when Excalibur chose Arthur. But Merlin’s magic wracked his body far too much for him to lift a sword most days.

  They’d discovered that Gwin’s magic soothed the savage magic inside him. They’d discovered this when she’d come over to him as a child and touched him. She and Merlin had been in each other’s company ever since. It was inevitable that they would get married.

  She cared very much for Merlin. She was sure that care would turn to love one day. Perhaps not blinding and all-consuming passion as other ladies spoke of or what she read in novels. What she had with Merlin was familiar. And it was nice to be needed and appreciated and-

  Oof!

  Gwin tripped over a tree root having not looked at where she was going. The hem of her dress got tangled, and she couldn’t maintain her balance. There was no time to cast a spell to right herself. She was falling to the ground. Gwin reached out her hands to protect herself. But there was no impact.

  She was caught in a hug. A hug that was warmer than Lady Merylin’s. A tight embrace that made her feel safe and secure. Gwin’s instinct was to cling to this feeling and stay in the space forever.

  “Are you all right, lass?”

  The deep voice startled Gwin. She lifted her hands and shot witch fire. The red-haired boy took a direct hit on his arm and went down. She also went down
as he had been holding her, keeping her from falling.

  Gwin scrambled to her knees and crawled over to him. “I’m so sorry,” she said when she reached him. “You startled me.”

  His eyes were closed. They opened slowly, focusing on her. She had the occasion to watch that unique blue clear and come into focus. She felt like she was watching magic unfold.

  Gwin felt something ignite down in the depths of her soul, deep in her gut where her magic lived. Her heartbeat sped up, pounding against her chest cavity so loudly that it rattled her rib cage. Her mouth filled with desire, and she had to swallow it down once, twice. Even with her throat clear, she still couldn’t find her voice.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “Hello,” she said.

  They continued to stare, blue eyes latched on blue. Gwin didn’t understand the fog happening in her head. She felt as though magnets were growing between them. Not the polar opposite charges Morgan had shown her. It felt like they were the same charge fighting to get closer and make a connection.

  “Are you a wizard?” she asked.

  He smiled and it dazzled her. “No. I’m a bastard.”

  Gwin gasped at the use of the foul language. “That’s not a proper word.”

  “My apologies,” his Scottish accent was thick on his tongue. “I suppose I shouldn’t say that to a lady. But I have not been around many ladies to know better. Still, that improper word is what I am. My father lay with my mother while he was wed to another.”

  She knew such things happened, but not often in Camelot. His father must be of a line that lived outside a magical town that was on the ley lines that spanned the world.