“Gorre,” Christina provided.
“Why do Lancelot, Sir Kay, and Sir Gawain go after the queen and not King Arthur?” Deidre asked.
Good question, Christina thought. But how to say that King Arthur’s failure to fight for his lady is what justifies Guinevere’s unfaithfulness? She was saved from having to answer by another question. “Is Lancelot going to kill Meleagant and save Queen Guinevere?”
Ewan snorted. “Of course he is, silly. Lancelot is the greatest warrior of his time—just like theri tuath. The chief would never let anyone steal you, would he, my lady?”
Christina grinned. “I should think not, Ewan. But if you are so certain of Lancelot’s victory, perhaps you do not need to hear the rest?”
They practically jumped on her in their enthusiastic responses to the contrary. Once the chorus of “no’s” had died down, Christina grabbed the candlestick and picked up the story where she’d left off the day before.
Tor left the seneschal and his clerk in the solar. Going over the correspondence and accounts had taken much longer than he expected; he’d hoped to be at the broch sometime ago and was eager to return to the men. Their training was progressing—better in some places than in others. It would take time to break down the barriers among them. Time he didn’t have. Another week and then he’d chain them all together if he had to.
He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the stiffness that extended down his back. God, what a wretched night. He hadn’t been able to get comfortable. It wasn’t hard to figure out why. Compared to the soft, silky bed linens and warm furs that he’d left behind, the plaid and rush-strewn floor had felt as welcoming as a bed of rocks.
Christina’s trunks had arrived, and with them came many luxuries he’d never known before. Linens so soft they felt like silk, and perhaps the most enticing … feather pillows. The first time he’d lain his head on one, he thought he’d died and gone to heaven.
It took all of his resolve to pull himself from such comfort every night. But damnation, warriors didn’t sleep in beds.
Hell, who was he fooling? It wasn’t the pillows and bed linens that made him reluctant to leave, it was his too-enticing wife. But his hunger for her was to be expected, he reasoned. The newness of their marriage and his insatiable lust for her would wear off soon.
He heard a loud burst of laughter and clapping coming from the Great Hall. Wondering what the commotion was about, he rounded the corner into the entry and stopped flat in his tracks. He didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t seeing his wife perched on top of a table with what appeared to be a candlestick in her hand, brandishing it like a sword.
He sucked in his breath. God, she was beautiful. Her hair fell loose down her back, pulled back from her face with a simple ribbon, her big, dark eyes sparkled like the moon on the sea, and her velvety-soft cheeks were flushed pink with excitement. She looked happy, carefree, and young. Very young. Tor couldn’t remember ever being that young. Or being that happy or carefree, for that matter.
She was a breath of fresh spring air in the dank of winter.
But what in Hades was she doing? He watched her scoot around the table. Some kind of performance, by the looks of it. Gathered around her were what appeared to be most of the household servants and three small children, who were watching her with rapt expressions on their faces.
No one had noticed him come in—all the attention was focused on the tiny lass giving the impassioned performance. For a moment a memory teased at the edges of his consciousness of his mother’s animated face as she tucked them into bed with a story. He felt a sharp longing for times gone by and had the fleeting thought of how different his life might have been had his parents lived. He shook it off, ashamed by the weakness.
Christina waved the candlestick at the boy standing below her. “This time you will not escape your punishment, Maleagant,” she said in an exaggerated deep voice. “You have besmirched my lady’s honor and I, Lancelot, the Greatest Knight in the Kingdom, will defend her. You must pay with your life.” She made a stabbing motion with the silver. “Die, you evil scourge.”
The little boy cried out and died most dramatically, much to the amusement of his sisters and the crowd, who burst out into another round of clapping when his legs gave their last prolonged twitch.
“That was brilliant, Ewan,” Christina said, putting down the candlestick to join the applause. “You would make a wonderful knight.”
“But I don’t want to be a knight, my lady.”
She looked perplexed. “I thought all little boys wanted to be knights.”
He puffed up his small chest. “I want to be a fierce Highland warrior like theri tuath.”
Smart lad, Tor thought with a grin.
“Oh, my lady,” the elder of the two little girls said, “what happens next? How does the queen reward Lancelot for his devotion?”
A hot blush fired up Christina’s cheeks. Suddenly, her gaze found his. A startled gasp emitted from between her softly parted lips, and her cheeks seemed to blaze even hotter.
“My lord! You’re here!”
Realizing they’d been caught idling, the servants hastened to appear busy and promptly scattered. The elder boy and girl grabbed their protesting younger sister and pulled her along behind them.
The little girl tried to break free. “But I want to hear—”
“Shush, Anna,” the boy said, making haste out the door. Over his shoulder he remembered, “Thank you, my lady.”
“I see you’ve been abandoned by your audience,” Tor said, crossing the space between them in a few strides to stand before her.
