Goddess of Legend gs-7 Page 10

  Gwen nodded, although her expression definitely showed confusion. “I do understand what you propose, but truth be told, I have ne’er heard a word of complaint.”

  “Oh, please, do you really believe the servants of Camelot are going to air their grievances to you?”

  At that moment Mary burst into the room. “Ready to have your hair do—” She stopped short. “My apologies. I will return later.”

  “No, Mary,” Isabel said. “I would very much love for you to take care of my hair right now.”

  “But the queen—”

  “Will not mind,” Isabel said. “Is that not right, Gwen?”

  “Of course not. Come in and do your work, Mary.”

  “Yes, my queen.”

  “Her talent, not her work,” Isabel said.

  “My pardon?”

  “The thing is, Gwen, that working on hair is not labor to Mary. She enjoys it. And she’s very good at it.”

  “Thank you, m’lady,” Mary said, her eyes still glued to the ground.

  “I know, Gwen, that I am being so intrusive. However, the point being that you are not using your men and women in the most productive way. Mary, here, should be working with hair. She’s brilliant. For example, she could spruce up many of the men’s hair. Have you not noticed many are, shall we say, in need of de-shagging?”

  “De ...?”

  “They need haircuts.”

  “They do?”

  “You have not noticed?”

  “In truth, no. Another apparent fault of mine.”

  “It’s not a fault. Just, apparently that you only have eyes for”—Isabel stopped herself just in time—“the things that matter to you. And I believe you have always felt that Arthur’s men are his men, and not necessarily your concern.”

  “What do you recommend?”

  “They need to clean up their act. For example, Arthur’s first man, James, is quite a handsome brute. However, his hair is a mess.”

  Mary nearly choked.

  Gwen took a hard look at Mary, nodding. “Oh, yes, you are that Mary. The one who turns James all amelt when he speaks of you.”

  Isabel was obviously missing something. “I apologize, Mary. I didn’t expect for you to take on a horrid task with hair. I honestly just wanted to fight for your happiness.”

  Gwen tried to hide a smile but did a lousy job.

  “What am I missing?”

  “Oh, lady,” Mary said, hands all aflutter. “My thanks. I do so enjoy working with hair. However, I will perform any tasks my king and queen ask of me. With pleasure, of course. May we, perhaps, brush your hair alone, Countess?”

  Isabel looked back and forth between the queen and the servant. “Okay, what’s the deal?”

  Gwen spoke up first, her eyes still full of mirth. “Forgive me, but I believe this is the Mary who has captured James’s heart. Am I correct, Mary?”

  The poor girl looked like she was going to faint.

  “Wait a minute,” Isabel said, trying to give Mary a moment to catch her breath. “As in James, the sweetest brute alive who is Arthur’s first man?”

  “I knew he was smitten with a Mary,” Gwen said. “I have heard Arthur jest about this. But I am so sorry to say I did not know which Mary.”

  “How many Marys do you have?” Isabel asked.

  “I honestly do not know. We have so many Marys and Liliths and any number of names. I believe, however, that we have but one Prudence. I know not what her mother was thinking upon her birth.”

  Isabel looked back at Mary’s flaming face. “Are you the Mary James has set his heart on?”

  Mary shifted her feet and looked like she wanted to flee. “Yes, mum.”

  Gwen let out a small laugh. “James, in love.”

  “What is so funny?” Isabel asked. “James would be lucky to have Mary.”

  “No, no, ’tis not the match that is mirthful. ’Tis just the idea of James besotted that is something that has me—”

  “Happy for them?” Isabel said.

  “Yes, of course, happy for them.”

  Mary kind of curtsied again. “Thank you, my lady.”

  “Isabel.”

  “Yes, my lady. I am well aware of your name.”

  “Which you still refuse to utter.”

  “Yes, mum.”

  “Mary . . . and you do recognize that I use your first name?”

  “Yes, mum.”

  “You’re only thirteen.”

  “They are waiting until she becomes fourteen, Isabel,” Gwen said. “’Tis the time we have decided upon.”

  “You have decided for them? As if they have no choice in the matter? Then again, at fourteen I was still working the monkey bars on the playground. I still thought boys had cooties.”

  Both of them looked at Isabel like she was batty. She even heard Viviane sigh in her head.

  Okay, once again she was blowing it. Even if it felt kind of skanky, Isabel understood that in this time, age was a different matter. So she focused on another problem. “Then, Mary, why have you not done something to fix his hair?”

  GWEN continued to giggle, even as she had sadness wrapped around her heart. ’Twas so apparent why Arthur had pressed her to visit the countess and listen to her views. He had become enamored with the woman.

  In truth Gwen could not blame him. Isabel was a lovely woman and one who had opinions she openly voiced. Arthur much appreciated listening to the opinions of others. ’Twas one of his most appealing qualities. One she had always admired.

  Gwen loved Arthur. She had loved him from the moment they had met. And yet it had taken Lancelot to make her realize that love and admiration were not equal to love and need.

  Needing Lancelot, loving him, was a power like no other. Much as she loved and admired her husband, her need for Lancelot rode over everything, truly marring her good sense and tremendous responsibility. Not to mention those vows she had spoken. Those sacred vows.

  “Gwen?”

  Gwen shook her head and brought herself back to the moment. “Oh, I deeply apologize. I wandered deep in thought.”

  Isabel’s eyes searched her face. “You seem to be troubled.” She fingered the beautiful necklace around her neck, and Gwen could not seem to stop herself from saying, “I am, Countess. But it has naught to do with why I have sought your advice.”

  “Still, I am here to listen, should you want to voice what seems to be bothering you.”

  Gwen, eyes fixated on the necklace, said. “We . . . we have much to discuss about the workings of Camelot.”

  Mary attempted to bow out, but Isabel refused to allow her leave. “Please brush my hair, Mary. And then braid it as before. Plus, I would like your thoughts upon matters.”

  Mary glanced nervously at Gwen, apparently fearing punishment at the mere idea that her thoughts should be voiced or desired. In truth, Gwen herself was rather shocked at the concept. Servants being asked their opinions? ’Twas such a foreign concept. However, she could not, in truth, find a single reason to demand otherwise. She nodded her agreement to both the countess and Mary.

  As Mary began to use the unusual brush Isabel owned, Gwen turned her attention back to her own beliefs. That Isabel would allow a servant to stay as they spoke about intimate details was not so unusual. Yet loyal servants were much like a comfortable piece of furniture. To be appreciated, but silent. And deaf.

  “No wonder Arthur is so taken with you,” she blurted.

  Both Isabel and Mary went still.

  “I understand, Isabel.”

  “I do not know what you believe you understand,” Isabel said, although the color rising on her cheeks was a bit of a tell.

  “I believe you understand very well. You were the one to talk Arthur into”—Gwen glanced at Mary, no longer seeing her as a silent piece of furniture, but as a young girl who soaked up knowledge as she attempted to grow into womanhood—“discussing matters with me he has obviously been avoiding for some time.”

  Isabel wrapped her dressing robe
closer around her body. “Honesty is always best.”

  “Honesty betimes stabs, do you agree?”

  “It often does,” Isabel said, nodding. “But secrets often stab much deeper.”

  Gwen felt herself blush, but she could not bring herself to look away from Isabel’s probing, yet somehow sympathetic eyes. “I do understand that, this morn. Yester morn I may have had a very different answer.”

  Isabel reached out and laid a hand over hers. “I am so sorry if I have turned Camelot upside down. It was not my intent. My only suggestion to Arthur was to be as honest with you as he would have you be with him.”

  Mary cleared her throat. “Pardon my interruption, your hair is done, mum. Unless you require further assistance, I will very happily take my leave.”

  Isabel sat back with a chuckle. “You are a good soul, Mary. I believe that many of your fellow workers would want to stay and listen to as much as possible.”

  Mary’s freckles bloomed red. “I could not say, mum.”

  Isabel stood. “Well, I was hoping you’d help me get into one of those gown contraptions, but I suppose I can find one I will be able to lace up myself.”

  Mary lit up. “I know just the one, m’lady. ’Tis one of my favorites.” She almost skipped to the wardrobe and, after shuffling around, brought out and laid a teal-colored gown on Isabel’s bed. Although Isabel doubted the word teal had even been invented yet, just like pink.

  Mary beamed even brighter as she turned in triumph. “I know not from whence this color comes, but with your hair and fair skin, I feel it will look beauteous on you, m’lady. And ’tis also easy for you to lace up yourself.”

  Gwen hid a grin. “You very much wish to escape Isabel’s chamber, do you not, Mary?”

  “Oh, yes, me queen. Overly much.”

  Isabel frowned. “Have I upset you, Mary?”

  “No, Countess, no!” Mary said, wringing her hands. “You have been nothing but kind to me. I would wish for all guests to be such.”

  “But you do not want to stay to help us in the discussion of how to make the working women find a bit of joy?”

  Mary pursed her lips. “Have you, perhaps, moved further in your discussions than secrets and such? I truly do not want to be part of that. ’Tis not my place.”

  Gwen stood and locked eyes with Isabel. “We have, Mary. That is a discussion for another time. I now have need to listen to Countess Isabel’s discussion of joy for the women of Camelot. And the countess, it appears, would very much appreciate what you would have to opine in the matter.”

  “Countess?” Mary whispered.

  “Very much, Mary. As a matter of fact, I fear we cannot do this without your counsel and help.”

  Mary looked back and forth worriedly, but then smiled. “I am honored. But first, Countess, serious discussion demands serious dress. Please allow me to help you.”

  The thought of dressing, or worse, undressing in front of a queen was a little discomforting. Isabel glanced around the room, but there wasn’t a single private space in sight.

  Her necklace warmed.

  In this day, Isabel, nudity is quite common. Be not shy in the presence of other women.

  So I should feel comfortable removing my clothes and letting others see me out of my robes?

  Yes.

  Forget it. I don’t want to be naked in front of a queen whose body is . . . oh, hell, sacred.

  Just dress yourself, Isabel, and stop whining; you have more important issues you need to be mining.

  Isabel sucked in a breath and removed her robe, tossing it onto her bed.

  She pulled the gown over her head as fast as she could, covering her butt, her breasts and her “stuff” as fast as possible. But it wasn’t cooperating as much as she’d like. This was the most embarrassing moment of her life. Well, this life. She had a more embarrassing story in her older, or newer, life. That streaking incident in ’85, for example. And the first time she allowed Jimmy Zwersky to partially undress her in fifth grade so they could compare.

  Gwen laughed. “You are a shy woman, Isabel.”

  Isabel turned, even as she was still struggling to get the dress over her head, so her voice was muffled. “I prefer to dress alone.”

  “Would you prefer I leave, Isabel?”

  “No, I’m good now,” Isabel said as she finally got the freaking gown down over her body. God damn, she did not want to talk to the perfect Gwen about body issues. It was pretty obvious that the queen had none to worry about.

  “May we please continue to discuss other matters?” Isabel asked, as Mary began working on the damn lacing process.

  “Most assuredly, Countess,” Gwen said. “You seem to feel discomfort in your gowns.”

  Isabel gritted her teeth. “In my land we allow women to wear much more comfortable clothing.”

  “Truly? Such as?”

  “Well, because we enjoy gaming, we allow our women to wear pants, such as men do. We do not force ourselves to wear gowns at all waking hours.”

  “You wear men’s breeches?”

  “Yes and no. They are made for women. For the comfort and sporting fun of women. They are not so tight. But they allow the freedom to engage in events that they could not possibly do in gowns.”

  Gwen smiled and clapped. “So intriguing! I must learn more of this women sporting idea. And these ‘pants,’ did you say?”

  “Show me the women who make the clothing, and I will be happy to guide them on how to create them. I realize many will not be comfortable in even trying them on, but they may warm to the idea once they have a chance to try them.”

  “Yes, yes! And guide us in the sporting?”

  “Here’s how we do it, Gwen. We allow all women at least an hour to play in whatever sport they choose to engage in on any particular day. They may wear those pants or breeches things for that playtime. They are given a time out from the backbreaking work they engage in for the rest of the day. If they are shy, as I am, they wear smocks or aprons or whatever they like overtop their shirts and tights.”

  Gwen’s eyes were lit up like silver stars. “And the men make no objections?”

  “First off, Your Highness, the men not only do not object, they must be ordered away from the ladies’ playground, as they tend to ogle. Second, when the women are happier at the end of the day, it follows that so are the men, if you understand my meaning.”

  Gwen laughed. “I understand. And do so recognize the sheer genius of the plan. We must needs implement this at Camelot.”

  “I am so glad you see how this benefits your female staff. May we take up this conversation later? I have a morning breakfast meeting to attend.”

  “With Arthur?” Gwen asked.

  Isabel nodded. “And others. It is nothing intimate, Gwen. It is a strategy meeting.”

  “’Twas once upon a time that I was welcomed at such meetings,” Gwen said.

  “Then, for goodness sake, we will go together. No one forbade you, correct?”

  Gwen hesitated. “But I was not invited to the meeting.”

  “I believe your thoughts on the matters facing us all are most definitely important. I invite you.”

  Gwen smiled. “I most assuredly recognize why Arthur appreciates you, Countess.”

  Mary finished lacing Isabel’s dress, then turned to them. “My queen, Countess, may I ask you to keep a secret for me?”

  “Of course,” they both said.

  “I would very much appreciate that the news of James and me not get out to others in the castle. Not just yet.”

  “Your secret’s safe with us, is it not, Gwen?”

  “’Tis. But, Mary, why?” Gwen asked.

  Mary blushed again. “There be many other girls who have set their sights on him, and I prefer not to upset them until we announce the news to all.”

  The idea that the human equivalent of bigfoot would be such a catch kind of boggled Isabel’s mind. But she nodded. “Is this why you have kept him so . . . shaggy, Mary?”

&nbs
p; Mary giggled. “When you see him shorn and well dressed, you will understand.”

  Not in a million years. Well, maybe, under all of that fur he was something of a handsome giant. And he had a gentle touch for someone who had been trained to fight and kill. “How soon do you turn fourteen, Mary?” Isabel asked.

  “In two sennights, m’lady. We plan to marry days following.”

  “Don’t you have to post banns, or some such thing?”

  “Banns?”

  Probably a little before the banns time. History was getting muddled in Isabel’s mind.

  The thought of a girl of just barely fourteen entering into marriage really gave Isabel the willies. But she understood. Sort of. She glanced at Gwen. “This is cause for celebration, right? I mean, James is Arthur’s most trusted man.”

  Gwen hesitated, but then looked cheerful. “Yes, it indeed should be a day of celebration! What shall we do?”

  “How about we put the other servants to good use? Part of their playtime can be helping create decorations. It will be fun.”

  “No, I cannot even ask for this,” Mary said.

  “Who asked you to ask, Mary?” Isabel said. “It is what people do for their friends.”

  Mary, who had been fussing with Isabel’s gown and hair, stood up straight, bringing her to about five feet tall. Which made her about a foot and a half shorter than her future husband. Her blue eyes welled up with tears. “Friends?” she asked in a shaky voice.

  “Yes, friends,” Isabel said, then raised her brows at Gwen for confirmation.

  “Yes, Mary. Friends,” Gwen agreed.

  ISABEL and Gwen headed down the steps together, but Isabel stopped her halfway down. “We need to have a bridal shower for Mary.”

  “A bridal shower? What would this be?”

  “You know, where you celebrate the upcoming marriage of the bride.”

  “I have ne’er heard of such.”

  “Trust me, it will be fun. Kind of like a slumber party for the girls to share in the joy of Mary’s upcoming wedding.”

  “Slumber party?”