Quest - Book 2 of Queen's Honor - YA + Adult Fantasy Romance and Adventure (7 page)

"The other night when we…"

Oh, Jesu, why couldn't I find any words?

Lancelot reached over and unhooked Clover's silver harness.

Before he could remove it, I reached for the knight,
settling my hand on his. Warmth spread through my palm as I touched him. He
turned toward me. His dark eyes caught mine, and I fought the urge to drown in
them. His hand softened at my touch, causing the muscles of his forearm to
ripple. The strength of him weakened my knees, and I struggled to stay upright.
I wanted to sink into him, give over to him and feel those strong, broad,
capable hands upon me, but knew I could not—I had to remember I was here to
warn him, not to give over to him.

“I have been meaning to talk to you about that night.” His
tone was low and rich but edged with apprehension.

A lump pressed against my throat, and I swallowed. “Yes. Me,
too.”

“I didn’t mean—” he started.

“When we—” I said at the same time.

We laughed—a hesitant, faltering sound.

“You first,” I said, keeping my hand upon his, unable to
pull it back to the safety of my side.

He remained steady under my touch as well, unwilling to
disconnect from me.

“I never meant to bring you more pain.”

“Well,” my words formed before I could control them, “the
stammering backwards and fleeing into the night was a dead give away to repulsion
on your part.”

A smile spread his lips. “You think I was repulsed?”

“Yes,” I said. “You made your feelings clear. Which is good.”

He turned his body toward mine, leaving only a hair’s space between
us. My heart quickened.

“And why is that good?”

His body hovered closer to mine. The heat of him saturated me,
and I fought the desire to wrap my arms around him and pull him into me.

“Because,” I said. “Morgaine knows.”

He stiffened, his body straightening. “Knows what?”

“That we… That first night on our way here when…” I
swallowed hard again, unable to admit our sin.

“We kissed?” he finished for me.

I nodded and cast my gaze downward. My skirts touched his
trousers, existing together without a struggle. “She knows how I feel about
you.”

He held my chin between his forefinger and thumb, raising my
head to meet his eyes. The warmth of his fingertips spread across my face,
heating my cheeks. His eyes simmered as he gazed at me.

“How do you feel about me, Guinevere?”

“I—”My mind told me to lie, to tell him I didn’t feel
anything for him—that I was marrying Arthur and would be Lancelot’s queen and
nothing more, but I couldn’t.

“If I was not Arthur’s knight, and you were not going to be
his queen, how would you feel about me?”

Tears burned the edge of my eyelids. I closed my eyes to
attempt to keep them at bay, and whispered, “I would love you as a woman loves
a man.”

He guided my chin upwards as his lips met mine. I tasted
him, greedily.
 

“As I would love you,” he whispered back.

His admission spread through me; my insides melted. The
flood of emotions I had attempted to keep in check thundered forward. Loving
him—him loving me—felt so right yet I knew in the logical part of my mind that
it was also wrong.

He nipped at the plumpness of my lower lip. I caught his
lips between my own, nibbling him back, over and over until our mouths encompassed
one another’s. The flood of emotions
bursted
, and I
crumbled at the sweetness of our connection. Tears streamed over my cheeks,
spilling until we shared the saltiness of them as we kissed.

 
“You do not repulse
me,” he said as he caught his breath.

“I think you just made that clear,” I replied, capturing his
lower lip playfully between my teeth.

“When every logic tells me to stay away,” his breath
quickened as he continued to nip at me and explore me with his tongue, “that
you are too far above me, that you are meant for a king, that your duty and
mine outweigh our own desires…” he pressed into me, and I felt every bit of him
against me.

My body responded, heating, pushing back into him and begging
for more.

“I find my arms around you and I am unable to control my longing
for you.”

“No good can come of this.”

“I know,” he admitted, “though I have tried to put you from
my mind, I cannot.”

“Morgaine said if we were to give in to our desires, we
would travel a perilous road.”

He pulled back, breaking the dance between our lips. “She
threatened you?”

I nodded.

His eyes flashed from tender to protective.

“Be guarded with Morgaine. She is a dangerous and
many-layered adversary.”

He pulled me tighter. With our chests pressed together, the
thunder of his heart pounded in rhythm with my own. He wiped my tears with his
thumbs; I caressed his fingers with my lips as they moved across my cheeks.

The crunch of hay underfoot caused me to turn my head.

I glanced toward Clover, who stood patiently, the brush
fallen to the ground and abandoned sometime during our tryst. Then I spotted
Elibel. Watching us.

*
*
*

My cousin's cheeks paled at the sight of our embrace. Her colossal
eyes rounded into an expression of shock. She turned and broke into a run; her
skirts whipped as she sprinted down the row.

"Elibel! Wait!" I called.

I pushed Lancelot back, breaking away from him. His actions
were swifter than my own as he readied to pursue her, but I shook my head.

“I need to talk to her alone,” I begged.

He understood without another word, gesturing for me to
follow my cousin.

My legs pumped as I sprinted after Elibel. Squires stopped
their work and jogged to the sidelines to inquire about the commotion. I slowed
as a crowd formed, assuring the onlookers that all remained well in an attempt
to deflect their attention.

My cousin continued at a run, escaping into the stable yard
before I could catch up with her. Her curls sprang around the middle of her
back as she jogged, but her lack of stamina and the bustle of the yard forced
her to slacken her pace.

I accelerated mine, and with the longer stride my height
afforded, I finally overtook her with a fast walk.

"Cousin, wait!"

She refused to acknowledge me, dodging
oncomers
with her skirts hefted in her fists.

"Please, Elibel, I can explain."

Could I? Even as I said the words, I knew I couldn't. What
drew me to Lancelot remained inexplicable—as if his mere presence removed my
ability to reason. My world blurred whenever he was near. Everything
disappeared but him. My body reacted as if our physical forms needed to unite
with or without our consent. When I was snuggled within his arms, a safety and
assurance I had never known encompassed me, and I did not ever want to leave
the sanctuary of him. Yet, how could I justify my actions to Elibel?

"You don't deserve him." Elibel turned on me. The
beauty of her eyes disintegrated into hatred.

"I know. He is kind and patient and observant and
loyal. Lancelot is—"

"Not Lancelot!" she yelled.

I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the crook of a
nearby building, shushing her with a finger to my lips, hoping no one overheard
us.

"Arthur. You do not deserve Arthur." The venom in
her voice confused me.

"Arthur? Elibel, you know I must marry him—for the sake
of Camelaird, for the protection of my father. I have no choice."

"You had a choice. He
gave you
the choice, and you still agreed to marry him."

My mouth swung open. Blood rushed into my head, causing my
temples to pound. Suddenly, her aloof behavior, her jabs at my conduct all
conspired to make sense, and the root of her anger clicked into place. Elibel wanted
to be with Arthur.

"How do you think I felt, watching you give him your
conditions of marriage?"

"I—"

"Making
me
one of your conditions!"

I shook my head, wondering how I could have missed it. “You’re
right,” I said. “I should have seen what was upsetting you, but I was so
preoccupied with my own problems, I became blinded to yours. But, Elibel, you
must know that my agreement to marry Arthur had as much to do with protecting
Camelaird as it did with freeing you—so you could choose who to love. I thought
I was extending a kindness.”

Elibel snorted with disgust. “Kindness? Is that what you
call it?” Before I could answer, she cut in, her tone slicing through me. "What
does my freedom matter when you took the only man I ever wanted? And now, to
make matters worse, you cannot even honor that man by giving him the simple
dignity of fidelity. You are not worthy of Arthur, and he deserves to know of
your treason."

Elibel tugged her sleeve away from my grip. She swiveled and
sashayed back into the bustling crowd—toward Arthur’s fortress, and I knew
there was nothing I could do or say to stop her. Unless I made the confession
to Arthur myself.

I scrambled through the crowd. Despite the sun glaring
overhead, casting shafts of white light on the walls of Camelot, a chill spread
through me as I wound through the streets, heading toward the fortress that
housed Arthur and his knights. The dampness in the air remained; the humidity
accentuated the heady smell of garbage and too many people and animals jammed
within the city walls.

After entering the west tower, I slunk through the
corridors, asking an occasional guard where Arthur could be found. I hoped, in
the labyrinth of halls and rooms that composed Camelot’s fortress that Elibel
would have as much difficulty finding Arthur as I did. A serving woman informed
me that Arthur was overseeing the setup of the Round Table in the great hall,
so I scampered in that direction.

As I ran down the hallway, my skirts hiked in my fists to increase
the odds of a quick and steady step, darkness, like a storm of clouds, swamped
my vision. I blinked, swiveling my head side to side, attempting to clear my sight.
A row of windows flanked one side of the corridor, yet barely any light
entered.

The caw of a raven echoed in front of me. I swirled to face
the noise. Then a fluttering of wings sounded behind me, causing me to spin
frantically once again.

“Morgaine?” I called. My voice echoed against the stone
walls.

Within a heartbeat, the corridor appeared to narrow,
stretching far away on both ends and closing in on both sides of me. This
cannot be. But I knew all too well the sign of druid’s magic after the attack
at Camelaird.

A clammy coldness overtook my palms. I wiped my hands on the
satin of my gown, releasing my skirts and spreading my arms wide to attempt to
hold back the impending walls before they could crush me—as if I could muscle
them backwards by sheer will alone. Of course, they would crush me.

But before they reached me, they ground to halt.

“Morgaine?” I called. “Is that you?”

A low skittering noise, like thousands of tiny claws
scratching, started at both ends of the hallway. I squinted, attempting to
discern the black bubble of mass multiplying in either direction. The mass
clattered as it grew, spilling over like an evil fountain, spreading toward me
like a raging river. I scrambled back, toward the wall, but with the blackness
imposing on either side, there was no place to run. I pressed my back flat
against the stone as my heart hammered erratically. The dark mass took the form
of thousands of beetles—big, thick, black bugs—scrambling over the top of one
another to get to me.

I tried to scream, but no sound formed in my throat as my
body seized into a state of frozen fear.

As the beetles met in the center of the hallway, a pace from
where I stood, they mounded on top of one another, climbing up and up until
they formed a human figure.

A green glow burned in the center of the topmost mass.
Gold-blonde hair sprung from the darkness and within a blink, the insects
morphed into a white-robed
 
Morgaine. She
swayed before me, her lips and forehead pressed into an angry line.

"You disappoint, Sister."

I swallowed hard. There was no point in denying what had just
happened between Lancelot and me. She knew.

"Do you spy on me? Or did Elibel tell you?"

"So, you fear your lady will betray you?"

When I didn't answer, Morgaine continued, "You should
keep a tighter rein on your servants. As for spying, no need. The Wooden
Wisdom's board told me all I needed to know. You have gone against my warning, Sister,
after pledging your assistance. I do not take betrayal lightly."

"What will Arthur do with me?"

"Marry you."

"Marry? But—"

"Arthur needs you to legitimize his claim to a noble bloodline,
so he can ascend to High King without protest."

"But I can't. Not after Lancelot and I—"

"You would leave an entire country at the will of my
brother's over-inflated self-interest over a trifle with a knight?"

"It is no trifle. I love Lancelot."

"You have not consummated the affair. There is still
time to leave off and fulfill your duty as Queen."

I wanted to vomit at the thought of leaving Lancelot, yet my
obligation to my crown still remained.

"I assure you, Sister. You carry great influence over
my brother. I already see it in his eyes. He's fascinated by you—by your
kindness and selflessness. You are everything he wants to be."

How could that be true? I had turned into nothing but a
selfish child, acting on my own desires. "I will tell Arthur of my
transgression.”

“That would be unwise.”