First Knight Page 10

  “You went and got yourself engaged to Arthur,” said Gwin. “This called for an emergency Galahad girl meeting.”

  “I can’t believe you finally snagged him,” said Loren.

  “I did not snag anything,” said Morgan. “And what do you mean finally?”

  “She fell into his arms after sneaking around with him at the ball.” Gwin bent her head down so that her face within the frame.

  “We weren’t sneaking,” said Morgan. “Well, I was sneaking, but not with him. And I haven’t said yes.”

  “And you don’t have to agree to anything,” said another voice. Dr. Nia Rivers poked her brown head onto the screen, blocking the view of Loren.

  Finally. Someone who spoke some sense. Someone who didn’t immediately assume that Morgan’s inevitable path ended on Arthur’s arm.

  “Forced marriage is akin to slavery and it’s illegal in all of the United Kingdom,” said Nia. “I’m not one to bring humans and their laws into the magical world, but I will if I have to.”

  “He’s not forcing me,” Morgan tried, but no one was listening. Once again she was marching to one beat while everyone else sang a different tune.

  “See, I told you.” Loren gave her best friend a shove so that she dominated the screen once more. “I saw this coming. All that hidden passion, all that arguing.”

  “There was no hidden passion,” said Morgan.

  “I believe you, Morgan,” said Nia. “Arthur has no hidden depths.”

  Morgan scrunched her nose, no longer willing to go that far. Arthur had shown her a different side of himself today; an academic side. Morgan had found that depth worth investigating.

  “He got down on one knee when he asked her,” said Gwin.

  “No way,” said Loren.

  “Did you kick him?” asked Nia. Her pretty features scrunched in confusion. “Or punch him in the gut? He’ll crumple like a toy soldier if you go for the knee.”

  Arthur and Nia had a complicated past. She liked to dig up the past and share it with the world. Arthur liked to keep his world hidden and humans at arm's length. Camelot was filled with novelties and treasures that Nia itched to expose. Needless to say, the two didn’t see eye to eye. Well, that wasn’t really so complicated to explain.

  “It was a proposal, Nia,” said Loren. “Not a fight. Getting down on one knee is what men do when they propose marriage to a woman.”

  “What would you know about it, Ms. Commitment Phobe?” Nia asked.

  “Apparently more than the immortal who's been with the same man for hundreds of years. Yet, she won’t let him put a ring on it.”

  Nia straightened. Only her breasts were visible on the screen, but her tone was glaringly vivid. “Are we really going there?”

  Both Morgan and Gwin leaned away from the laptop. They knew better than to interject when Nia and Loren got into it. The two best friends bickered as hard and fiercely as they protected each other. But it looked like this would be a short-lived tiff since both ladies had gone for the jugular.

  “We’re not engaged right now,” Morgan said. “Not exactly.”

  Gwin peered down at her. Loren leaned into the screen. Nia bent down, face beside her bestie.

  “He said he wasn’t going to ask me again,” said Morgan.

  Gwin’s eyes widened and her mouth formed a crestfallen O. Loren’s gaze narrowed and she sucked in her lips making an angry sound. Nia shut her eyes and let out a relieved sigh.

  “He said he’d only ask me again after he’d earned the right. He’s courting me.” Morgan gave a shaky laugh. “Isn’t that ridiculous?”

  Gwin’s shoulders caved inward as she let out an ahhh. Loren’s back straightened as she let out an ooooh? Nia crossed her arms over her chest as she let out a confused hmmm?

  “So, a chaste courtship?” said Loren, her typical sarcastic, deadpan tone. “That sounds like fun.”

  Out of these three women, Morgan was the one with the least experience. Gwin was married. Nia was in a long-term relationship. And Loren … well, Loren got her kicks when and wherever she could get them.

  But Morgan was no longer at a zero sum. “He did kiss me—sorta.”

  “Sorta?” asked Loren. “If it was sorta, it wasn’t a kiss, babe.”

  “It was on the forehead.”

  They all groaned in three different notes that harmonized into a chord of sadness, compassion, and pity.

  “It wasn’t entirely chaste,” said Morgan. “He leaned into me and pressed his lips against my head. It was kinda hot. His lips, I mean. It was like he wanted more but he held himself back. At least that’s what it felt like to me.”

  They groaned again. But the tone was decidedly different. It was breathy, and buoyant, and dreamy.

  “Wow,” said Nia. “He really is into you. I never would’ve believed Arthur capable.”

  “But you just said he wasn’t because the kiss was chaste,” said Morgan.

  “That wasn’t chaste, Mo,” said Loren. “He’s holding back. Men only hold back for the woman they want to hold on to.”

  Nia nodded as she rested her chin in her hand, her brown eyes took on a faraway gaze. Gwin smiled too. She twisted the band on her finger but her gaze was trained out the window which overlooked the knight’s training ground.

  Morgan wasn’t sure what to think or feel. Did she want to be held onto? She had liked being in Arthur’s arms.

  “I guess Camelot will have a new Lady of the Castle,” said Loren.

  That brought Gwin’s attention back into the room. She blinked a couple of times as though a realization was dawning.

  “I thought the Lady of the Castle had to be a witch,” said Nia. “Isn’t there some kind of charm that protects the town through the bond of a Pendragon and a witch?”

  Now, Gwin shifted on the armchair. On the screen, Loren gave Nia a punch in the boob. Morgan knew it didn’t hurt. Nia was an ancient being born of a purer form of the essence running through every witch and wizard’s veins. But the boob punch did its job of reminding the immortal of her manners.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Morgan. I didn’t mean …” Nia let the words trail off.

  No one ever knew what words to say to Morgan about the loss of her powers.

  “Gwin’s still the Lady of the Castle,” said Morgan. “And will remain so as the wife or the widow of the eldest Pendragon.”

  Now Gwin balled her hands in her lap. Her gaze remained trained on her fists. Her lips quivered ever so slightly as she tried to arrange her mouth into her perpetual hostess-smile.

  “Nothing’s changed,” said Morgan. “Right now, everything is as exactly as it was yesterday.”

  Gwin met her sister’s gaze. “I want you to be happy.”

  “I want you to be happy,” said Morgan. “And I didn’t say I was going to marry him. I only agreed to a date.”

  The three women nodded. But Morgan could see that all of their eyes sparkled.

  “You’re going to make such a beautiful bride,” said Loren.

  “I know you qualify for white,” said Nia. “But cream would go so well with your skin tone.”

  “You are so right about that,” said Gwin.

  It was like a record constantly scratching with these three as they bounced from wedding gowns, to DJs versus bands, then flowers. Until finally they began a conversation about veils that Morgan conveniently tuned out of.

  15

  Arthur’s boots pounded the earth. His instep crunched fallen tree limbs in his haste. His heel snapped rocks as he ate up the distance. Yet somehow, even with his blind, forceful strides, Arthur managed to skirt the delicate blooms popping up here and there on the forest floor.

  He pushed himself faster, harder. He needed the physical beating of the hard ground punishing his legs to regain mastery of his own body. He needed the wind to slap sense into his mind. He needed to push the chambers of his heart past the breaking point to cause an arrest. Then maybe it would slow down for a moment.

  It didn’t work. His
legs wanted to race back to her. Blue eyes clouded his mind’s eye. His heartbeat tripped over itself at the very thought of her.

  Morgan consumed his every waking thought. Last night she’d stolen into his dreams. He’d lost a war he didn’t have a conscious memory of declaring.

  Was this love? He didn’t know? He’d only ever loved his parents. He knew this emotion for Morgan, this tightening that happened in his chest at the same time that it tightened his groin, was not familial love.

  Neither was it mere lust. Arthur had had his fair share of women over the decades. They were all faceless and nameless now. It was only Morgan’s inquisitive expression that he saw clearly.

  Arthur was determined that he and Morgan would have something different in their life together. If not some great love affair, then at least a relationship that challenged them both and was filled with passion and humor. That was something to build on.

  Once she agreed to marry him.

  He wasn't too worried about her acceptance. The proposal had been a shock to her, a shock to all of them. However, it appeared she was processing it now. He just had to keep her analytical mind engaged like he had on their walk yesterday.

  Morgan’s eyes had lit up when he’d compared their courtship to a science experiment. Her excitement hadn’t dwindled as they’d returned to the castle without having drawn a conclusion. She seemed eager to find another way to approach the study of the thing between them.

  Morgan wasn't one for romance. This would be a methodical process, like a well thought out battle plan. That line of thinking excited Arthur.

  How would he approach her next? What tactic would he use to corner her? What would be the best method to breach her defenses and get those walls down.

  Behind him, he heard the sound of horse hooves racing to reach his pace. The magical steeds of Camelot could easily reach seventy miles per hour. In today’s hunt, they had nothing on Arthur.

  He was done with this cat and mouse game with the hart. Done with this gentleman’s game of manners and protocol. Done chasing after what would inevitably be his. The hart would be his today. And soon after, all of the perks that came with ending this game would be his spoils.

  Morgan had seen him off this morning. There had been no words exchanged between them. They hadn’t even touched. She’d stood in the door of the castle next to her sister as Gwin sent the men off with strong coffee, protein-rich snacks, and words of encouragement.

  Morgan had leaned against the door frame. Her gaze had rested boldly upon him. She’d regarded Arthur as though he were a troubling mathematical problem and she was trying to do the sums in her head. It didn’t look like she was getting anywhere.

  As the mists rose above the mote, Arthur had smiled at Morgan’s mystified expression. His grin must have startled her. Her blue eyes refocused and then her gaze darted about. Arthur held still until she resettled on him.

  She gave a little shrug of her shoulder as though to say “Fine, you caught me.” Then her brow quirked up in that defiant way he’d once found annoying. What are you going to do about it? that gaze asked. Arthur’s smile broadened, and he let out a silent chuckle.

  She was funny. He'd known she was funny. He’d just never had leave to laugh at any of her biting wit because it was usually his ass her jokes chomped down on. But now that he was included in the joke, now that he stood in the light of her smile, he was happy to sit in the audience.

  In answer to her question, he knew exactly what he was going to do about it. He was going to shoot an arrow through a proud animal’s heart and force it to yield.

  The animal in question raced into view. The hart reached a speed beyond the supernatural. Arthur kept pace with it, quickly closing in.

  The beast was nearly within the boundaries of Arthur’s crosshairs. Arthur just needed to get a few paces closer. But he was already pushing past his top speed.

  Something inside him gave him a kick that turbocharged his legs and made him sprint even harder. The hart was within in range. Man and beast ran for the lives they wanted, both of their days numbered.

  The hart didn’t slow its speed. It kept moving forward, barreling toward the side of a small hillside. Even if it had escaped a pointed end, it would still be cornered.

  Arthur lifted his bow. It was insane to take a shot at a running target. Homicidal to take that same shot while running himself. Wayward, misjudged, and misplaced arrows always caused more harm than good. But it was just Arthur and the hart. No one else was near.

  Arthur released the shot. The power of the release sent a shockwave through his fingertips that made his whole body clench. His breath caught as he watched the quiver sail across the air. He didn’t dare blink, because in a blink, his whole life would change.

  Standing in the sunlight, the snow melting around him as he waited for death to present itself, Arthur held his eyes wide.

  The glow of Morgan's smile was still on his mind. He eagerly anticipated the time when he could taste those lips. It still baffled him that Morgan, of all people, would have him feeling like a giddy teenager.

  But here he was, daydreaming about those curves, those eyes, those lips. Very soon those bow-shaped lips would be meeting his. He just had to be sure and duck out of the way of that second arrow.

  Second arrow?

  A second arrow whizzed just over the head of the stampeding hart. It nicked Arthur’s arrowhead, sending its trajectory askew by mere inches, and missing the hart. Both shafts fell with an impotent clatter to the cold, hard ground as the hart raced on.

  Arthur lifted his head. Standing a mere thirty feet away was Lance. His red hair was a flame in the snow-covered forest. His light-colored eyes burned into Arthur.

  “What the hell?” growled Arthur.

  “Oh?” Lance placed his hand on his chest. “Did I make you miss your shot? My bad.”

  Lance elongated the A in bad. His Scottish brogue making an appearance. Typically, Lance kept his Highland roots at bay. That accent only made an appearance when he was pissed.

  “I had the hart in my sight.” Arthur marched down into the glade to retrieve his arrow. He picked up Lance’s and shook it at the other knight as he approached. “The beast would’ve been caught. Things could finally settle down.”

  “You mean you could settle down.”

  “Yes,” said Arthur, entirely uncertain why they were shouting at each other. “Exactly.”

  “With Morgan.”

  Arthur nodded, lifting his hands up in a gesture that punctuated Lance’s obvious statement.

  “Morgan; a witch with no magic.”

  “I don’t care about that.”

  Lance threw up his hands. “That’s your problem. You think about everyone’s safety, but do you at all consider their happiness?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “If you marry Morgan, the two of you can’t establish a new covenant to protect Camelot.”

  The covenant between the Pendragon heir and a witch? That’s what this was about? The covenant was more tradition than practical. The knights had protected Camelot and its witches for over a millennium.

  “That’s nothing to worry about,” Arthur said. “Besides, the old covenant will stay in place. Even after my brother’s death, it will still hold true as Gwin’s solemn vow.”

  Lance’s cheeks turned as red as his hair. He let out a string of curses in Gaelic. The only word Arthur caught was Gwin.

  Gwin? Oh. Right. Gwin.

  “She was finally going to be free,” Lance growled.

  Arthur’s marriage would’ve established a new bond and a new covenant. But with Morgan being a disabled witch, that left the covenant made by Gwin and Merlin in place. Unless Gwin took vows with another man after Merlin’s death. Which she would never do if she thought it would leave the people she loved unprotected.

  “I know he’s your brother,” said Lance. “I know I’m an illegitimate bastard. But he’s an actual murdering bastard.”

  Art
hur’s jaw tensed at the truthful words. He and his brother had never been close, but Merlin was still family. And you didn’t turn your back on family.

  “Hasn’t she given enough to this place? Haven’t we both? And you, you selfish bastard, you keep asking more of us.”

  Now Arthur saw a shade of red. “She had the chance to choose you, Lancelot. She didn’t.”

  The silence was stony. Lance didn't like to discuss his feelings about Gwin, at least not with Arthur. Likely because he didn't want to put Arthur in the awkward position of having his best friend lusting over his brother's wife. Lance was thoughtful like that. But Arthur knew the man had been hurting for years, decades.

  Lance had never had a serious relationship. Hell, the man had never had a relationship. Arthur knew he was often propositioned by the widows of the town. But the two men didn’t discuss that either.

  Women were an afterthought for the ginger-haired knight. It wasn’t so much that they never stayed around. Rather, it was Lance who never stayed. He was always the first to volunteer for a quest, the impossible ones, the ones that should've killed him but for his stubbornness to die, and perhaps his chivalrous desire to impress a certain lady whose love he could never have.

  Morgan was right. Courtly love was a crock of crap. Again, Arthur found his lips splitting into a grin at the mere thought of her. But that grin soon faded as the sound of hooves tore apart the tense silence between him and Lance.

  A white blur filled Arthur’s vision. The hart stampeded toward them. Having reached the boundary that was the hillside before them, the beast had turned around. It would crush them both if they didn’t do something. They had only seconds to move. Unfortunately, there was another problem.

  Lance had cocked back his arm, preparing to take a shot at Arthur. Arthur could dive out of the way, but that would leave Lance caught unawares. If Arthur ducked the blow, he’d escape but he’d leave Lance exposed to the hart’s attack. There was only one option.

  Arthur called upon all his strength to shove Lance aside. It was a difficult maneuver as he had to also duck the strong man’s blow. But it worked.

  Lance went tumbling to the side in a furious bundle of limbs. Arthur had just enough time to straighten and take on the hart’s bulk. His resting body met with an object in constant motion. By the law of Newton, his inertia was forced into a different state.