Free Guinevere: The Legend in Autumn by Persia Woolley Page B

old scroll. Maybe, like Bedivere, your second calling is to be a bard.”
    “With my voice?” I grinned, horrified at the notion of trying to sing anything. Since neither Arthur nor I could carry a tune, we made it Court policy to keep our mouths shut and not assault the household’s ears. “No need to invite a palace revolt,” I concluded.
    Before we climbed down the stairs and returned to the Hall, Enid paused to take my hand in gratitude. “Thank you, M’lady,” she said softly.
    The court in front of the Hall was filling with horses and squires waiting for their nobles to leave, so I hurried inside to the rest of the guests and Enid went to find Geraint.
    Later, when the two of them came to say their formal good-byes, I gave the new Queen a special hug. For a moment she drew in her lower lip as though to keep from crying, then, with a toss of her head, turned to smile at her husband. Brave, stubborn, fighting to keep self-pity away—I nodded my approval, confident she was becoming a Queen worthy of the title.
    Arthur and I stood on the steps of the Hall, waving as the last of the Fellowship departed. Among them were Beaumains and Lynette, riding through the gates together. The new warrior was clearly pleased to be off on an adventure, though the girl was still dubious about it all.
    “At least the little baggage will keep him on his toes,” Arthur allowed with amusement.
    That night, as we were getting ready for bed, Arthur and I went over the high points of the gathering just past. He was generally pleased with the results, though he’d put aside discussion of the law code, thinking it best to wait until he had a chance to see the Edictum Palomides had mentioned.
    “And what of Beaumains?” I asked, taking the pins from my hair. “Aren’t you afraid Cei’s right—that he’s too inexperienced for the task he’s taken on?”
    Arthur shrugged. “If Lance says Beaumains can hold his own out in the big world, then he can hold his own.”
    There was a pause as he tugged off a boot and I began to comb out my hair. Thick and wavy, it is the color of red gold honey and is my best feature—and my one concession to vanity. I wash it regularly, and brush it thoroughly every night. Now I leaned over and drew the ivory comb through the length of it.
    Once, as a child, I’d seen my father comb out Mama’s hair, letting it tumble across his hands and piling it playfully around her shoulders. It was a deep copper red, like the color of her sorrel mare, Featherfoot. I remembered everything about Mama as being beautiful—her hair, her face, her charm and laughter—even her dedication to her people, for she took sick and died while nursing the hundreds who flocked to our Hall in search of succor during a year of famine and plague.
    But most of all I remembered her relationship with my father—tender, loving, and sometimes touched with an air of romance that made them both glow with happiness. Peering at my husband through the veil of my hair, I wished just once he’d drop his guard enough to let a little romance into our lives.
    “There’s other men I’m more concerned about than Beaumains,” he noted, putting his boots in the cupboard by the window.
    “Oh? Anyone in particular?”
    Arthur chewed on the ends of his mustache. “Geraint, for one. Did you notice that he didn’t take part in the tournament, even though Cei challenged him? Some of the men say that new wife of his is sapping him of the will to fight, what with her disdain for military matters.”
    “That’s ridiculous,” I responded. “Just because Enid encourages him to find other solutions to problems besides drawing a sword doesn’t mean the man’s become a coward.”
    “No, of course not. And Geraint was one of the heroes of Mount Badon, so it’s not a question of his bravery.” He stretched lazily, then taking a nightshirt off the peg, began to chuckle. “No one can fault Pellinore’s courage! I haven’t seen such a fiery display