Goddess of Legend

ISABEL couldn't sleep. The bed was more than comfortable, although she had a feeling PETA would not approve of the fur blanketing it. She'd flopped from one side to the other, from her back to her tummy, but no position seemed to allow her mind to stop whirling and fall into slumber, peaceful or not. Oh, for some sleep meds right about now.



Her door opened silently, only the light from the hallway lanterns slicing across the room alerting her. She sat up, alarmed, but then recognized Mary, the young girl's arms filled with a couple of new logs for the fire.



"Oh, you startled me!"



Mary froze. "Countess, my apologies," she said with a small curtsy. "I thought you would be deeply asleep by this hour."



"The question is, why aren't you?" Isabel asked. "You are way too young to be working such long hours."



As Mary carefully laid the logs on the dying embers and waved to flame the fire, she said, "'Tis my pleasure to serve you, Countess." She stood and turned, an impish smile on her face. "And truth be told, when you have no need of me, I slip in a nap or two during the day. I receive plenty of sleep."



"I'm glad to hear that, but answer me this, Mary. What do you really do for pleasure?"



"M'lady? I'm not sure I understand your question."



"You and your friends. What do you do? Do you play games? Play sports?"



"There's not much time for such things."



"So many chores, so little time, eh?"



"Something like that, yes, mum."



"We'll see about that," Isabel murmured.



"Pardon?"



"Nothing, nothing, Mary." Isabel threw her covers aside and stood. "Listen, I just cannot sleep. Maybe a short walk would do me good. Is there a way to the south gardens without going down and through the great hall?"



"Yes, there be, Countess, but the back staircase is for servants, not for the likes of royalty."



"Tonight, I am a servant, then. Please help me find my long cloak, and show me the way."



MARY led Isabel to the gardens she had shared with Arthur several hours earlier. Luckily, they encountered no one along the way. The castle seemed to be sound asleep.



Isabel thanked Mary profusely and tried to tip her with one of the hundreds of coins she'd discovered in a pouch in one of her trunks. Mary stared at it in horror and backed away. "No, Countess, I cannot. If this be found, I may be accused of theft."



"How, when I will readily tell one and all that it was a gift from me for your excellent service?"



"I am not permitted to accept such gifts."



Wow, tell that to the service personnel on cruise ships. They whistled in the air while holding their palms out at every opportunity. Isabel vowed to herself that she'd find a way to repay Mary for her help and kindness in ways that would not get the girl in trouble.



"Apparently another faux pas on my part. I apologize if I've offended you, Mary."



"Fo paw?"



"Never mind, another word apparently exclusive to my land. Please, go to bed, and thank you for helping me."



Mary curtsied, which was beginning to get on Isabel's nerves. But she bit her tongue and wished Mary a good night. "I will find my way back, Mary. I have no need for help until the morning bath."



"Thank you, mum. And I do so hope you find the peace you are searching for."



Isabel wished for the same thing but was afraid peace eluded her at the moment.



"I see that neither of us are finding that peace tonight."



Isabel practically jumped to the turrets. She twisted around to find the source of her torment leaning against an apricot tree. "Arthur, good gods, you just scared the living . . . daylights out of me."



He bowed slightly. "My apologies, Isabel. 'Twas not my intention."



Her eyes narrowed. "Are you following me?"



He pushed off from the tree with his shoulder then stepped forward, that catlike silence of his movements almost eerie. "I believe you have followed me, as I have been wandering the gardens for some time."



"I had no idea," she said, affronted. "I just could not find sleep." Then she thought of something. "This is not Mary's fault! I demanded that she help me find my way back here in a way that would not bring us through the great hall."



"On my oath, I will assure Mary is rewarded, not punished, for her actions. In truth, she has demonstrated more loyalty to her king than I have witnessed from many others in a very long time."



He stepped around that magical bench and took Isabel's hand. "Please join me and tell me why it is that you cannot sleep, Countess Isabel."



"I am afraid I don't know."



"Are the accommodations less than satisfactory? I will have anything done to make you more comfortable."



More comfortable would mean having him sharing her bed. His warmth, his hard body, his scent. Which, come to think of it, was vastly different than earlier. He had obviously bathed and washed his hair. She couldn't identify the spicy scent, but it was delicious.



She sat down on the bench, acutely aware that she was wearing only a nightdress and a cloak. How she wished she'd found some jeans and T-shirts stuffed in those trunks.



He stood in front of her, not joining her, just shaking his head. "I told her, Isabel."



She stared into the troubled green eyes of her dream man, her heart aching. "Guinevere?"



"Yes."



"And you told her what? Your bowling score? Your credit rating? How to work a Clapper?"



Arthur grinned and sat down. "You have a way of making me smile, Countess, even during a sad time."



"Well, that's dandy, but what are you talking about?"



"I told her that I was aware of this thing betwixt and between her and Sir Lancelot."



"Oh boy. Why?"



"Why? You advised me to talk to her."



Oh freaking boy. "I meant that as a sort of get-back-together type of thing. Or at least I thought I did."



Didn't I, Lady?



Did you, Isabel? 'Twould seem that only time will tell.



Breaking up their marriage was not my intent; I'll feel like shit if this is why I've been sent.



I sent you here to make happy both Arthur and Merlin. To satisfy them both is no such sin.



Once again Arthur began pacing in front of her, something she'd already noticed was a habit he had when he was deep in thought. Or possibly looking deeply into his own soul.



"From the moment I set eyes on Gwen, I have ne'er felt lust for another. Not even after I had learned the truth. Ne'er."



He stopped pacing and faced her directly. "And then our meeting in the forest. And I found myself suddenly wanting a woman who was not my wife."



"I'm so sorry."



He laughed once again. "You apologize for this? You are apologizing for being beautiful? For being . . . you?"



"I have no desire to be part of the crash and burn of a marriage."



"Crash and burn? Has it not already crashed and burned?"



"You tell me, Arthur."



He had that come-and-get-me smile on his face. Isabel was certain he didn't realize that was what he was transmitting, but it was still like a huge Jump Me sign to her. "You opened my eyes tonight, Countess. You are so lovely and blunt, and that mouth of yours spouts fierceness, and yet your actions show compassion."



Well, that was as clear as quantum physics. "Thank you. I think. And how did this little chat with Guinevere go?"



His hands waved in the air. "She did not deny. She did not beg for mercy for herself, but for Lancelot. She hoped that his punishment would merely be banishment."



"I'm so sorry."



Once again his deep grass green eyes lifted to hers. "And your thoughts?"



Therapist, she decided, was not her forte. Especially when she wanted this man. And she was so wanting to jog down that one path that led straight to her own selfish desires.



"Please tell me you are not going to out them."



"Out them?"



"Gwen and Lancelot. Hurt them. Have them punished?"



"Never. However, much is out of my hands. I can protect both only so far."



"So then let's protect them."



"My pardon, Isabel?"



"You love them both, yes?"



"Most assuredly. Not as afore, but still, they mean much to me."



"You have decided, in your soul, that you do not want to punish them, correct?"



"I have."



"Then we need to come up with a plan. A battle plan, as it were."



His laughter was rich, and once again it reached down into her body. "You are a constant amazement, Countess."



"Hey, what the hell, let's get this done. We might all come out of this with what we want."



"What I want right now is to feel your lips."



"Keep your eye on the prize, Arthur."



"You have said this afore on our ride to Camelot. However, the prize, as you call it, has changed."



"You want to keep Camelot and all of your people safe. That has never changed."



"I cannot deny that. I can, however, change what this prize I want most desperately might be."



"THE plan, Arthur. We must work on the plan," Isabel said, while Arthur was unforgivably debating another plan. Although the servants had doused the garden lanterns for the night, he'd lit them again when he'd come out to ponder the future. It was all a jumble of what he had always envisioned, expected and desired. So much of it all had gone awry. When had he lost control? For some time he had wanted to keep it all together, running smoothly. And then the gods had made a mockery of his dreams and desires.



Or had they?



Isabel sat staring at him intently, her blond hair shimmering from the lantern lights, her eyes so large and inquisitive.



"I love her. I know that I do. But what does it say about me that I am not stopping what I see happening and that I have this attraction to another woman? How is it possible that I felt a desire for you on first sight?"



Wow, this honesty thing that the Lady's necklace brought about was a lot more powerful than she'd thought.



"Perhaps, just perhaps, that you fell for a beautiful woman who was just a teeny bit too young for you?"



He again shook his head. "Which makes me an old fool?"



"Arthur, you are neither old, nor a fool. Gwen is a lovely young woman. And I do believe she loves you as well. I see it when she looks at you. She respects and admires you, and is proud to be your queen."



"Do you see love or desire when she gazes upon me?"



"I haven't been around long enough to discern such a thing."



That was the biggest bunch of bullshit she'd had to gag out. All she'd noticed was lust and desire when the queen had kept sneaking peeks at Lancelot.



"Bullshit. Apologies for that word and for using it in your presence. I made it up at one point when I felt I was being deceived. You are not giving me truth."



She stared at him for a second, then broke out laughing. "You, sir, are quite honest."



"You, madam, are skirting the issue that you've promised to help me work out."



Isabel wished she could have gone back and majored in psychology. But she had nothing but basic logic to go on now. And the Lady, who she hoped would kick her in the chest if she went wrong.



"May I be blunt?"



"Blunt?"



"Truthful to the point that it might cause you pain."



"Then be blunt, Countess."



"I think you love Gwen enough to allow her happiness. I think you shield her from gossip because you want her to go about this tryst if it allows her to find her joy. I think you don't banish Lancelot because you know that the two find joy together. Would you like me to go on and have you banish me?"



"I would fight my own men to keep you here, Countess."



"Ask yourself, why do you permit this?"



"Happiness is a fleeting thing, do you not think? Am I the arbiter of happiness? The crown does not grant me the right to determine who should and should not find theirs, wherever it leads." He once again cocked his head sideways. "The truth is, I honestly know not. Strange as it seems, I want Gwen to be happy."



"You're a good-hearted man, Arthur."



"With many, many flaws it appears."



"Such as?"



"Poor judgment, perhaps?"



Isabel stood. "Are you saying poor judgment would be wanting to kiss me?"



"No, madam, that would most likely be one of my best judgments."



"No offense, but do you consider yourself good at this?"



His eyes glittered and he shrugged. "'Tis a mystery. Mayhap I am mistaken and overly boastful in that skill. How shall I ever know?"



"Sir, I'm well schooled in certain arts. Perhaps I can determine if this is a deadly fault of yours?"



Isabel waited for the thump, but it never came.



He went still. "Madam, I would most certainly accept your honest opinion."



They looked at each other for a long time before he finally lowered his head. Their mouths met tentatively at first, but the fire lit up fast. Before she could even think, his one hand thrust itself through her hair and his other went to the small of her back, pulling her closer. He broke the kiss long enough to stare into her eyes and whisper, "I must do better."



If he did any better, Isabel was going to get seared. His mouth came down on hers again, and he played so many million tricks on her lips that she needed him to hold her up. He tasted like sex, he played her mouth like sex, he nipped her lips lightly like pure sex.



By the time he was done with her mouth, the rest of her body was churning.



Arthur broke the kiss and cupped her face, which left the rest of her body in peril of dropping straight to the ground. Her knees certainly weren't helping to hold her up. She began to sink, but he quickly grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back up. "That bad?" he asked.



She knew her eyes and brain were both glazed. Her vocal chords were also in peril.



Isabel cleared her throat. "Sir, where I come from," she whispered, "we grade our students from A to F, A being awesome, F meaning failure. B, C, and D fall in between."



"And where do I fall, Isabel?" he asked, still grilling her with those mossy green eyes.



"Not only would you make the dean's list, you'd probably make valedictorian."



He shook his head. "I'm sorry? Betimes our languages do not match."



"My apologies, sir. What I'm saying is you get an A-plus."



He smiled. "And this is good?"



"Valedictorian material, Arthur."



"What is higher than this valedictorian? I would very much like to achieve it."



"I'd very much like for you to try."



"You are very beautiful, Isabel. Your hair is as soft as is your skin, and you smell so sweet."



"You're talking way too much, Arthur, when in truth, I'd prefer you just shut up and kiss me again."



But instead of covering her lips with his, his head raised and he almost slapped a hand over her mouth. "Shhh, lady. Something is amiss," he whispered.



Not the rabbit again. Or maybe it would be better if it were another rabbit.



Before she knew what was happening, Arthur had shoved her behind his back as he faced the darkness of the shrubbery down the garden path.



"Present yourself!" he demanded. "Are you friend or foe?"



A voice beyond the light of the lanterns replied, "'Tis only, I, my king. 'Tis James."



James, Isabel remembered, was the huge burly guy who was the king's first man. She didn't know whether to run and hide, or pretend to be a fence post. Arthur didn't give her a choice. He held on to her so tightly that she couldn't have moved if she wanted to.



"Come, James. Tell me why you are up and about. And why you have come looking for me."



James came rumbling in, and yet strangely he walked as softly as a ballerina. He, too, had learned how to walk softly but carry big - really big - bulk. He reminded Isabel of Shrek, and yet when she peeked out beside Arthur's side, his expression turned from worried to kind.



"M'lady Countess," he said, bowing.



"How's it going, James?" she said, for some reason liking him, once again thinking Arthur had surrounded himself with kick-ass people.



"I am afraid I must needs have a word with the king, Countess Isabel. A private word."



"What you have to say to me you may say in front of the countess, James. I trust her with news. As I trust you with my life."



Well, that was really sweet. But out of the blue. She couldn't be certain she'd trust Arthur with all of her news after such a little time, and a lot of lust. She finally disengaged from Arthur and moved to his side. "I am certain what James has to say is no business of mine. Please, let me leave you two to privacy."



Arthur grabbed her hand, holding tight, but not to the point of pain. "No, madam, whate'er the news, I know it be safe with you."



James had huge brown eyes and hair that appeared not to have been combed since he'd been a child. To anyone who didn't know him well, which she didn't, he appeared menacing. But as he glanced back and forth between them, Isabel could tell he was not mean. Just very fierce looking. Which probably was what had earned him this gig.



"I'm leaving," Isabel said, and once again tried to disengage.



"Please do not," Arthur said, holding tight to her hand. "What news, James?"



James hesitated, but then shrugged his huge shoulders. "Mordred has arrived, sir."



ARTHUR was not certain whether to celebrate or worry over the news. "In the middle of the night?"



"'Tis, as you are well aware, his usual practice."



"Mordred?" Isabel asked.



Arthur hung on to her hand even tighter, just hoping he was not hurting her. But his need of her burned more now than ever afore. "Have you given him accommodations?" he asked James.



"I knew not where to put him. I knew not whether he was welcome."



"You know that I cannot turn him away. But of course make him welcome."



"He is demanding help for his horse, who he assures me has come up lame from the travel through the forest."



"Wake up Harry," Isabel said. "He will tend to the horse. But for goodness sake, someone tell me who Mordred is."



James went instantly mute and looked away.



For a reason Arthur could not fathom, he could not lie to this woman. "He is my son."



Isabel stared at him, then back to James, whose head was low but who nodded in agreement.



"I so should have paid more attention in Mythology."



"My pardon, madam?" James said.



"Since this news seem happy for neither of you, I'm assuming Mordred's arrival is not a cause for celebration? The truth, Arthur."



"Mordred loves me not," Arthur said. "He feels I've wronged him."



"Have you?"



"He has not!" James boomed. "He has done everything for that ungrateful little - "



"James!"



"My pardon, sir."



"Finish your thought please, James," Isabel said.



"Do not," said Arthur.



James pressed his lips together. Obviously king trumped countess. Since he was Arthur's man, she would have expected nothing less.



What am I missing here, Goddess?



The blood between Arthur and Mordred is shared, but Mordred's intentions should have everyone scared. He's a child born of young love and lust, yet his mother understood Arthur must do what he must. The child, however, never forgave; his hatred has driven him to make Arthur his slave.



Isabel tasted blood. Little fucking bastard.



Bastard indeed, but here is the thing: Mordred will not rest until he is king.



Isabel digested this for a moment, not able to even meet Arthur's eyes. "Fine," she finally said to Arthur and James. "How about I go wake Harry so he may care for Mordred's horse?"



"No!" they both yelled at once. Arthur tried to grab her, but she was already slipping away back into the castle. He should have held tight to her hand.



"What now, sir?"



"She will confront Mordred. 'Tis in her nature, James. She is the type to want to know everything. She is, what one would call . . ." A word would not come to him.



Nosy? Protective? Caring?



Arthur knew not where these thoughts were coming from, but they all seemed to be accurate. Although he had no idea what the word nosy meant.



Arthur, if you do not protect Isabel, Merlin cannot live.



Merlin? What know you of Merlin? And who are you, speaking in my head?



Figure it out. Just go protect Isabel. If you haven't noticed, she is able to raise hell.



"Do I not know that," Arthur muttered.



"My pardon?" James said.



Arthur shook his head. He was either addled or . . . no, there was no other choice. He was addled.



"Confronting him will put her in danger," James said.



"It will, we must put a stop to this. She knows the back staircase, James," Arthur said. "I shall try to stop her there, you go and guard the stables."



James actually smiled. "We will catch her, my lord. But I must say, I enjoy the thought of the countess taking on the lad."



"Oh, I do not. She knows not who she faces."



"Methinks the lady has mettle."



"Perhaps too much for her own welfare. Mordred's dislike of women is well documented."



"She cares about you, m'lord, which is more than I am able to say - "



"Do not finish that thought, James. Please just help me find her."



"Yes, m'lord."



"You to the stables, I will try to find her at the back of the castle afore she makes a run."



Arthur ran, even knowing he had witnessed another smile upon his man's face. What flummoxed him was that he felt a grin forming on his own, even as he attempted to head off disaster. Isabel against Mordred. He could not even conceive of which of the two might win such a battle. Well, yes, he might. Were it a battle of words and wit, his coins would be placed on Isabel. However, Mordred relied on neither, instead preferring to use much nastier weapons.



The thought of Mordred harming Isabel had him taking the steps two at a time. No! If Mordred even attempted to lay a hand to Isabel, he would take down the lad himself, blood or not.



JAMES caught Isabel and Harry as they were halfway to the stables. He held out his arms and prided himself on being able to step side to side to effectively block their paths.



Harry adjusted the green and white nightcap on his head and growled, "I have a patient that needs attending."



"I understand," James said, then caught the countess around the waist when she tried to slip around to his right side. He held her sideways and had a rather fun and easy time deflecting her attempted blows to his body. Although he had to admit that he could understand the master's attraction to her passion.



"Let Isabel go," Harry demanded as she squirmed in James's arms. "She is a countess!"



"I apologize, Countess," James said, knowing he could be in deep trouble for even touching her. But he had one loyalty, and that was to his king. "Please allow me to explain a thing or two afore you head in there with heads blazing."



The countess stopped wiggling in his arms, even though he kept a gentle hold.



"I promise not to try to run ahead of you, James, should what you tell me be important and relevant."



James had a deep desire to twirl her once afore setting her on her feet but decided the king would not take kindly to that playfulness. He set her upright upon her feet, and then bowed. "My apologies. But truly, there are things you must needs be made aware of afore you rush in there, m'lady."



Isabel kind of wished James had twirled her around once or twice before setting her down. Could have been kind of a Six Flags ride in Camelot. But she needed to understand. So she got over it. "Tell me, James."



Harry harrumphed and she amended it to, "Tell us, James."



"This . . . how do you call it? This thing 'twixt Mordred and the king has been a long time brewing. For reasons I may not speak of, they have bad blood betwixt them. It is a constant source of misery for my king."



Isabel felt the fire starting to stir in her belly. Pretty soon it was going to be steaming out of either her nose or mouth. Or both. "And why does this make you try to stop me from going in and kicking the little shit in his - "



"What the lady means," said Harry, slapping a hand over her mouth, "is that we do not understand why we are appeasing this young man."



The big man shook his shaggy head. "Mayhap because the king loves the boy, no matter what agony the child brings him, no matter what pleasure Mordred takes in making my king suffer for young sins."



Isabel grabbed Harry's hand from her lips and glanced over at him. "Do you see why I never wanted to procreate now?"



"I'm beginning to understand the concept," Harry said out of the side of his mouth. "But I still think you'd have made a great mother."



"You are asking me to act with due diligence?" she asked of James.



"That I am, Countess. Please allow the king to handle this situation. Perhaps 'tis time for you to retire to your chamber for the evening?"



Isabel nodded. "Perhaps. But not a chance in hell, as we say in Dumont. I insist that my man Harry and you, James, escort me to the stables."



"I fear trouble brewing," James said to Harry.



"You have no idea," Harry said, before oomphing at Isabel's elbow to his belly. "But let us go."



"Then so we shall."



Isabel, still reeling from the knowledge that Arthur had a son, and that his son was a total jerk, felt a little impatient. She lifted her skirts and yelled, "Catch me if you can!" and made a run for it.



They both ran after her; however, neither was as fast.



James and Harry did not catch the countess until she was facing Mordred in the stables. And she was already speaking her piece. She held out her arms to hold them from stepping forward.



"What brings you here, sir?" she asked Mordred. "What business do you have in Camelot?"



"Who are you to even presume to ask my intentions?"



Isabel studied him. There was no doubt he was Arthur's son. They looked alike in so many ways, including the deep green eyes. The difference being Arthur's eyes were so filled with kindness and laughter, whereas Mordred's emanated venom. "I am Isabel, Countess of Dumont. And a friend of the king. Apparently, you are not. So I ask again, what brings you here?"



Mordred made a mockery of a bow. "How do you do? However, Countess, my business here is none of yours. Has my father stooped so low as to have need of a mere woman to come riding to his defense?"



"A mere woman? Listen, you little shit - "



"No, you listen, Countess," he spat out. "I am heir to this kingdom, and have every reason and right to travel to Camelot to oversee my future holdings."



"The king is quite healthy. I believe he will remain so for many years to come. So don't count your cows before they . . . breed."



Wow, that was lame, but the best she could come up with on the spur of the moment.



Mordred's eyes went wide for a moment, and then he broke out in nasty laughter. "If you have not been fully informed, mistress, my father already has a wife. One quite younger than you. I see his interest, as you are fetching; however, you will never take her place as queen. Unless you plot to murder her."



James and Harry each grabbed one of her arms, apparently hoping to ward off her jumping forward and scratching the bastard's eyes out. There was no need. She had no intention of launching herself at the boy.



She knew her breasts were heaving with fury, especially when Mordred's eyes leveled on them and couldn't seem to let go. Then she realized his gaze was fixed on her necklace.



She took a calming breath. "Please tell me again why you have come to Camelot."



"I have learned there will be a very important knights-of-the-realm gathering here shortly. I need to be sitting at that table." Mordred blinked several times, obviously a little confused about why he'd given up that piece of information.



"Were you invited to this meeting?" Isabel asked. "Are you a knight?"



"Of course I was not," Mordred said, finally breaking his gaze from her necklace. "My father didn't deem me high enough in the order to invite me. He is a pig."



This time James and Harry had to hold her back. She most definitely wanted to scratch his face, no matter what it did to her nails.



"How dare you? Your father loves you. Why is it that you find pleasure in bringing him pain?"



Mordred stepped closer and closer to Isabel, swapping his crop on his thigh. "You know nothing, lady. Including how a proper woman dresses. Are you his tart this evening? Are you going to give birth to his next bastard child?"



"What are you going to do, Mordred?" Isabel asked. "Whip an unarmed woman?"



James tried to step between them. "She is a countess, Mordred. Back away."



Mordred sneered. "She is a slut, as is my father's wife."



"Back off, James," Isabel said.



"I cannot, Countess. The king has asked me to protect you."



"Back off. This little snot has just smeared the queen's name."



"M'lady!"



"Back off. I demand it."



James backed away, although Isabel guessed he was worrying about his future. Not a problem; she'd make certain he was rewarded for his actions.



Mordred grinned and moved even closer.



Thank the gods for Tae Kwon Do. Isabel kicked the damn crop out of his hand, turned and jumped, kicking him in the belly, and had him on the ground, his hands bound with reins, within seconds. "Sorry, son, time to answer to your dad," she whispered into his ear. "He would never have let me get ahead of him. You, on the other hand, are just slow and stupid."



"You will pay for this," Mordred said.



"I'm sure I will. Your father loves you so much he will be very angry with me. Tough fucking shit. It felt too good, you little worm."



"Bitch," he spat out.



Her knee dug farther into his back. "Excuse me? I'm sorry, I believe you meant to say, 'My apologies, Countess.'"



"Apologize to the countess, son."



Isabel's head jerked up, and sure enough, there was Arthur, appearing pained and amused at one and the same time.



She attempted to rise gracefully, but that wasn't about to happen. Harry took her hand and helped her up. "I am very sorry, Arthur, but he kind of pissed me off."



Arthur moved forward and brushed hay from her clothing. "'Tis a talent of his." Then he helped his son to his feet. "Welcome home, Mordred!"



"SHOULD you care about me at all, father, you will have that woman brought before the King's Court."



Arthur sat on his throne, his head being held up by a forefinger. "Because she bested you when you attempted to whip her? I think not."



"You disagree that she deserves a beating?"



Arthur stared at Mordred, wondering how he had gone so terribly wrong as a father. "No woman deserves a beating, Mordred. Never. They are to be cherished."



Mordred laughed. "As you cherished my mother?"



"Your mother said nothing to me, son. No matter what your aunt might have told you, I knew naught of your existence until I asked of her well-being. I know it was too long, Mordred, but she never, ever told me. It never occurred to me. That is my fault, I admit. But once I learned of her death and your birth, I tried, son, I truly tried."



"So you have said." Mordred stood and paced, and Arthur almost laughed at how much this resembled his own actions.



But Mordred's anger still hung to him as dung to a bull. And smelled as poorly. "So you will choose the bitch over your own son?"



Arthur rose quickly, attempting to quell his fierce anger. "First, my son, there is no choice. Countess Isabel bested you this eve, and that is between the two of you. However, should you attempt revenge, I will most definitely come to her defense, for she has done nothing against you. In fact, her man tended to your horse. This after you planned an assault on his lady. Should you even attempt to show vengeance, I must act."



"So, one more time, you choose a woman over your son."



"I choose caring over spite. I wish one day you will understand the same."



"When, Father, did you choose your bastard son over your kingdom?"



When, son, did your mother choose not to inform me that she was carrying my child?



Once again, Arthur had no idea where this thought had appeared from. But he had to admit it was a fairly good one. "Your mother chose not to inform me she had my babe inside her. I was given no choice in the matter."



"You lie."



Arthur hung his head and rubbed his temples. "You, of course, will never believe me. However, the truth is when I learned of you, when I learned that your mother had died during your birth, I attempted to lay claim to you and bring you back to Camelot. Your aunt wouldn't allow it, as she blamed me for her sister's death.



Mordred stopped pacing. "I do not believe that."



"As I said you would not."



Arthur rose and began pacing as well. Mordred continued his. They kept passing one another. The rushes beneath their feet were taking quite a beating.



"We, Father, are at an impasse," Mordred finally said.



"'Twould seem so, my son. You may join my men, or you may join those who would take me down. 'Tis your choice."



"I am honest when I am loyal to Richard of Fremont."



That bit harshly at Arthur's heart, but he nodded. "Then, my son, you are a guest in my home. But you are a man who wishes to do harm to Camelot. Thus, you are considered an enemy. You have stated your intentions. I cannot tell you how deeply this cuts."



"As much as I was cut when you denied me?"



"I have ne'er denied you. 'Twas your aunt who - "



"Enough!"



"Fine, believe what you must. But know this, son: Should you harm a man, woman, child or animal whilst I give you comfort in my realm, I will show you no mercy. You will see the same penance as any other."



"I take note that a woman was sent to do your work this eve."



Arthur grinned. "No, I did try to stop her. But she was angry, and I did not get there in time. Regardless, son, that bruise upon your eye tells me that she won that small battle."



"For which she'll pay."



Arthur wanted to grab his son and shake him. Instead, he took deep breaths and said, "Touch her, and you will certainly suffer."



Mordred's laughter was almost sad. "And once again you choose another over your own son."



"No, son, I choose allegiance over treason. And I choose happiness over hatred. Your chosen path on both is a sad one."



Arthur turned to leave the room, feeling a disgust and sadness he had ne'er felt before.



"You owe me, old man!" his son called out to him as he closed the door.



Okay, there was still sadness, but disgust was fairly taking over. And a bit of fear.



The safety of his people was paramount. And it alarmed him that Mordred would perhaps attack them first. And the first, most assuredly, would be the woman who had humiliated Mordred this night. Even as Arthur stole one bit of a smile at her cheek, he knew he needed to round up Tom, Dick and Harry to formulate a safety plan. Isabel's safety was a priority.



It had to be private, however, because should Isabel learn of it, he'd sustain more than a black eye.



Truth be told, 'twas a good bet that should he ever want to produce another child, Isabel would make that impossible. She was a bit cranky that way.