Betrothal (Queen’s Honor, Tales of Lady Guinevere: #1), a Medieval Fantasy Romance NOVELLA Read online

  Chapter 4

 

 

  Elibel and I had been escorted into one of the tents that squatted in the center of the encampment, then left alone while Arthur made way to rally his troops, and, as he claimed, "liberate" my father. I assumed the tent belonged to our host since it bore two flags, each waving Arthur's emblem at the entrance, along with guards posted on either side. The insides of our shelter contained a center table strewn with maps. The topmost map revealed the geography of the surrounding area, complete with my father's fortress and outlying villages sketched on the parchment. Black ink marked off Melwas' position around Camelaird. The rest of the tent's contents looked as if they had been thrown in upon arrival as bedding, clothing, and more bulged out of the tops of wooden boxes.

  I sat Aethelwine down on the table. At first he refused to leave my hand, but with a gentle prod, he obeyed.

  "Elibel, keep an eye on Aethelwine for me, will you?"

  "Why? Where are you going?"

  A soldier shifted outside, repositioning around the front flap. I placed my forefinger over my lips to quiet Elibel. I knew she wasn't going to like what I was about to say, and I didn't want her raising her voice and drawing attention.

  "I'm going to meet with King Melwas—"

  "No!—"

  I smashed my fingers over Elibel's mouth to hush her squeal. Her eyes widened, giving her that inhuman fey look again as I continued to stifle her speech with the force of my hand mashed up against her lips. She mumbled unintelligibly as I continued.

  "I intend to sneak into his camp and discuss this rationally, Elibel."

  We sat for moments, staring at one another, until Elibel's garbled protests stopped. Her brows furrowed downward, creating a dark dip above the bridge of her nose. After pressing my hand against her a tad tighter to emphasize "be quiet," I released her.

  "That's madness, Guin. You'll get yourself killed. Or worse!"

  "You saw how insignificant Melwas' army is in comparison with Arthur's. If a fight ensues, it will be a slaughter. I will not have the heads of slain men on my conscience."

  She softened as she considered my reasoning, then asked, "What makes you think King Melwas will even listen?"

  "He is King of the Summer Lands, cousin. They have long time respect with the old ways in those parts. I believe he would not risk dishonoring a woman of rank."

  "As King Arthur said, his army speaks otherwise."

  Her reference to Arthur's reasoning, as if he was the sole authority on the subject, annoyed me, but I persisted, "If I can convince him that he will wield a stronger claim to kingship if I am a willing bride—"

  "Guin!"

  "Shh—"

  Elibel continued in a heated whisper, "You cannot marry him!"

  "To save my father? To keep the peace? … If I can convince him that I will speak to my father on his behalf and he will be considered—only considered—as a potential suitor, then perhaps we can have a peaceful resolution to this problem."

  My cousin, for once, sat speechless.

  I ventured towards the edge of the tent, testing the opening between canvas and earth. Squatting down, I peered underneath. The view before me consisted of a narrow walkway and another tent, but no soldiers.

  I pulled my head upright, intending on giving Elibel a final directive to watch my falcon when she blurted, "And you think you can stroll through an army of hundreds without notice—dressed like that?"

  Of course she was right. Looking down, I reviewed my attire—an indigo and gold brocade dress, still stained from the pond. A gold belt draped over my waist, while a matching chain adorned with a Christian cross dangled down my front. A heavy underskirt peered from beneath my overdress in matching gold. Each of the layered dresses bore intricate embroidery that publicized my status. I would definitely not go unnoticed.

  With a quick scan of the room, I devised a plan. Scrambling to a box stuffed with fabric, I pulled out garment after garment until I found what I needed. I undressed and pulled on what appeared to be Arthur's attire, as the legs of the trousers seeped over my feet like shed snake skin, while the tunic draped well over my thighs. With the help of a belt that I wrapped twice around my middle, and a cape that covered my long hair and gold and sapphire encrusted circlet to prove my identity once I met with Melwas, I was ready.

  "How do I look?" I asked.

  "Ridiculous."

  "Elibel…" I warned.

  "No, truly, cousin," she considered my appearance; her lashes swept up and down as she inspected me. She settled on my face, holding my gaze with her colossal eyes. "You look utterly absurd."

  "Why, thank you for your support, cousin" I replied.

  She sat, staring with unblinking eyes. "How do you even plan on getting back Melwas' camp?"

  "I'll take one of those palfrey mules or ponies."

  "And ride it?"

  "No, Elibel, lead it. Of course I am going to ride it."

  "You're not exactly Rhiannon."

  "I don't need to be the goddess of horses to ride a pony."

  "No, but you need to stay on top, and from the looks of your ride with Arthur, that might present a problem."

  Instead of replying, I took a step toward the side of the tent where I would crawl underneath and exit. Except I didn't step. I fell headlong to the ground with a thud. I scrambled around, realizing the culprit; my oversized trousers had fallen around my ankles and with the help of my squirms had turned into a self-imposed knot.

  Elibel erupted into laughter as I fumbled around, attempting to pull up and cinch my drawers.

  "You could help me." I scowled, hoping to shame her with a glare.

  She chuckled even harder.

  "Quiet, Elibel," I scolded, growing more irritable as I hobbled around trying to roll up my trouser legs. "You're going to raise suspicion."

  "I'm going to raise suspicion?" She asked incredulously as she wrapped her fingers over her lips, trying to hold back her giggles.

  Once I had my trousers settled and folded down around my waist, my tunic sleeves yanked up over my elbows, my belt cinched as hard as I could bare and still breathe, I headed back toward my escape route.

  Elibel's merriment turned suddenly grave. "Please don't do this, Guinevere," she pleaded.

  I crouched, spied underneath the canvas to make sure of a clear escape path, and said, "Please take care of Aethelwine, cousin," then exited King Arthur's tent.