“I am proud of you. A true warrior can make a weapon of anything. I will have to remember that trick.”
“I doubt a bowl of piss will be one of the weapon offerings at the next tournament.”
Lancelot made a low noise in her throat. The splashing stopped. Lancelot went several steps farther, then tilted her head so it bumped against Guinevere’s. “My lady, your noble steed has seen you safely to land.” She crouched low and Guinevere dropped to the blessedly dry ground. “And now we run.”
Guinevere and her knight raced across a broad, rocky plain. Scrubby bushes dotted the landscape but offered little cover. “My horse is there, at the tree line. I could not risk riding her closer. It took me ages to cross this plain, darting from rock to rock. I need not have bothered. They never once came out to keep watch. Maleagant did not fear discovery.”
“How did Arthur know where to look?” Guinevere gasped around a stitch in her side. She had not eaten since the tournament. And she did not know how much time had passed, having spent so much of it unconscious. But she kept pace with Lancelot. She could be tired when they were safe.
“Brangien, your maid, found you. I am unclear on the specifics. Something with sewing and your hair left behind in her combs.”
Dear Brangien! Guinevere’s heart swelled with gratitude. Brangien had risked banishment in order to find Guinevere. Maleagant had not counted on the strength and cunning of women. “And Arthur sent his best knight.”
Lancelot pointed. “We can talk when we are on my horse riding away from here.”
They made it to the trees without any sign of pursuit. Lancelot whistled a high, sharp note. Her horse meandered up amiably. Lancelot boosted Guinevere, then mounted in front of her.
“How far are we from Camelot?” Guinevere asked, her arms loosely circling Lancelot’s waist.
“About a day. But we are not going back to Camelot.”
“Where are we going?”
“North, toward the Pictish lands. Maleagant will expect us to race back to Camelot. He will try to cut us off. I hope that by going north and then angling down, we can avoid him. I love this horse with all my soul, but carrying two riders that long, she could not outpace a hunting party.”
“Will Arthur meet us there?”
Lancelot drew a deep breath, then released it slowly. “Arthur did not send me. Brangien said he was not going to send anyone. Not until he knew more. Most moves against Maleagant end in war, and the king will not enter into a war unless he absolutely must. I never thought I would miss his father, but…sometimes war cannot be avoided.”
Guinevere wilted. It was what she had expected, of course. But knowing it for fact hurt. Some part of her had still hoped that Arthur would risk everything for her, and that hope had seemingly been answered when Lancelot appeared. “Arthur was right to choose as he did,” she said softly. “He must weigh the good of all his people. I cannot tip that balance. I should not. But how did you come? You cannot disobey Arthur. You are a knight now.”
Lancelot’s voice grew unexpectedly gruff, as though she were trying to speak around something lodged in her throat. “I am not.”
“What?”
“I would advise against shouting.”
Guinevere hissed instead of shouting. “What do you mean, you are not a knight? Did they delay the ceremony because of my disappearance?”
“My gender was discovered just as your kidnapping was. I was dismissed without conversation.”
“But Arthur must—”
“King Arthur had more on his mind than one woman’s problems.”
“Than two women’s problems,” Guinevere said, her voice soft and sad. “When we get back, I will demand you receive your place among his knights. You earned it. You are better than any of them.”
“That does not matter now. Your safety is all that matters.” Lancelot paused. “King Arthur was wrong not to choose you.” Her voice was as fierce as her sword. The horse reacted to her tone, moving faster. Lancelot stroked the mare’s neck, patting it and slowing back down. “My queen, you saw me as who I am from the first. I will fight for you for the rest of my life. It is the only honor I could ask.”
Guinevere’s arms tightened around her knight’s waist. She lowered her heavy head, resting her cheek against Lancelot’s strong upper back. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Thank me when we are safe.” Lancelot rode warily, her head turning constantly from side to side, searching for threats.
Guinev
ere did not want to distract her, but she had more questions. “How did you find Brangien?”
“She went to Mordred, and he found me.”