“How long do we stay here?” Duke asked.
“Long enough for the police officer to see nobody’s in the bookstore and leave.”
“Good.”
At that, Duke took off his suit jacket, then rolled up his sleeves.
Not that I was one to ever complain about seeing Duke’s perfect forearms, but I had to ask…
“Duke, what are you—”
He laid down on his back among the wildflowers.
“I’m in Arthur’s Britain, Rainy. Let me bask.”
“Oh, well, bask away.”
I sat down on the ground next to him and started pulling red clover, tying the stems together in a daisy chain. Meanwhile, Duke was making wildflower angels in the meadow.
“You’re going to get grass stains on your suit,” I said.
“Worth it.” He abruptly sat up. “Can we meet him?”
“Arthur? No. We’re not dressed right, and we’d probably accidentally change the story. Never meet your heroes, as Pops likes to remind me.”
“You did.” He winked at me.
“And you see how much trouble it got me into.” I poked him in the shoulder. Duke smiled, then turned his bright, dark eyes upon Camelot again. It was a fairy-tale castle, with white turrets and towers, shining high on a hill. A castle made not of wood and stone but of longing and dreams.
“I had a Welsh nurse as a boy,” Duke said, “who spoke of Arthur as if he were still alive. Edward was never her king. Arthur, he was her true and only king.”
“Hic jacet Arthurus, Rex quondam, Rexque futurus,” I said, quoting the legendary writing on Arthur’s grave. “Arthur, the once and future king.”
“She made me believe he would come back to our world, our time,” Duke said. “I can almost believe her now.”
“I believe her,” I said.
Duke sat up and eyed me. “You do not.”
“Who was King Arthur?” I asked. “He was a story. The story of a man chosen by fate to attempt great and noble things for the good of others. And he did his best with a broken heart. A hero. A storybook hero. Sounds like someone I know.”
“Who?”
“You,” I said and placed the clover crown on his head.
He looked at me, eyes narrowed. “Don’t be ridiculous, darling.”
“King Arthur and his knights live on in you and every other hero out there trying to help us poor damsels in distress.”
Duke took my hand and kissed the back of it.
“Ground rules,” I said.
“Yes, of course.” He dropped my hand. “I am not King Arthur reincarnated. Although I am trying to do the best I can with a broken heart.”
“Is your heart broken now?”
“Not when I’m sitting by Rainy March in the shadow of Camelot.”
