Chapter Twelve
T he rapping grew more persistent. With a muffled groan, Erec rolled away from Enide and glared at the door.
Rap-Rap.
There it was again. He squinted toward the window. A heavy wool tapestry covered the shutter. Nevertheless, sunlight leaked around the edges and seeped toward the floor.
It must be noon. How did this keep happening? He’d been home in Estre-Gales for nearly six months and hadn’t done half of the things his father wanted him to do. Half? He had barely done any. He really did have to spend time with the reeve. And do something to bring the realm’s banditry under control. Robbers were growing far too bold.
Rap-Rap-Rap.
And he should hold some sort of court, invite all his people like Arthur did. It seemed every town and castle in Estre-Gales had been staging festivals and tournaments in honor of his homecoming and marriage. He was happy to send his knights off to represent him, but he could hardly be expected to trot off to every corner of the land just to biff men off their horses anymore, could he?
BANG-BANG-BANG.
He almost shouted go away! But a glance at the sleeping face of his beloved sealed his lips. He pulled the coverlet up to her shoulders and climbed down from the pile of feather mattresses. He dragged one of the blankets from the foot of the bed and wrapped himself in it before throwing open the door. The woman standing there was nearly as tall as he was and twice as wide. Her gray hair was rolled into the same neat bun it had always been. More wrinkles lined her face than he remembered, but whether that was age or consternation, he dared not guess.
“What?” He grumbled in a whisper.
Margret glared back. She was holding a tray of bannocks and gravy. The gravy had a distinctly congealed appearance. He’d wager the bannocks were cold.
“I didn’t send for that.”
“Your mother said to bring it,” Margret said, staring him down.
Erec considered ordering her to take it away, but the problem with Margret was she might not. When she said eat, he ate. Ever since he’d been old enough to chew.
He sighed. “Put the tray on my table.”
She pushed past, huffing.
“Quietly,” he ordered.
She let it fall onto the table with a clang. Then she waddled back to the door. As she left, she said over her shoulder, “Your father wants to talk to you. When you’re dressed.”
Erec shut the door. He turned to see Enide propped up on her elbows.
He smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, my sweet lady. I didn’t mean to wake you.” After all, he’d kept her up half the night.
“Oh, it’s late, isn’t it?”
He shook his head, coming back to sit beside her. “Not so very. Margret is a churl, is all.”
“What does your father want?”
Erec shrugged. She was frowning, so he put his thumb on her brow and rubbed at the crease. “Nothing important.”
“But—”
He made his voice deep. “Kingly matters.” He raised his eyebrows up and down.
When Enide smiled, he leaned over and kissed her.
“Milord,” she said, laughing now, “your father’s waiting.”
“No,” he protested, climbing back into bed. “That isn’t what Margret said. Didn’t you hear her? She said when I’m dressed.”
*
He’d fallen asleep again. Enide chewed her lip, wondering how long until he woke. She glanced longingly toward the food on his dressing table, but she couldn’t reach it without disturbing him. When he did wake, he’d likely tell her to go down to the kitchen for something more appetizing. She wouldn’t go if he didn’t come with her. Her footsteps were too soft to alert the staff to her approach. She’d hear them talking. She rubbed her eyes, trying to erase the image of the startled, guilty faces she’d find.
Everything had been so different at first. She and Erec had been admired. His subjects ooh-ed and aah-ed over her beautiful face. And the prince! All the troubadours tripped over their own tongues trying to be the first, then loudest, to sing of his deeds. Enide had had no idea Erec had done so much in the three years he had been in Camelot. She wished she’d known him there. Known him then. He seemed a different man now than he’d been.
Everything had changed.
At first, the king and queen adored her because she made Erec so happy. But then, it seemed she made him too happy. And everyone saw it. Everyone but him. Didn’t he notice the troubadours’ sarcasm now when they sang, “the valiant Prince Erec”?
If it were only servants gossiping, or troubadours being a nuisance, she could ignore it. But the maidens in the court had started snickering behind her back. She overheard knights, Erec’s knights, saying what a shame it was that their lord had fallen so low. He no longer wished to bear arms, or hunt, or perform any chivalrous deeds. He no longer cared for the company of his fellows. He had turned slothful, because of his love.
A tear rolled down Enide’s cheek. He was accustomed to being admired. How would he react when he learned what people truly thought?
She shuddered. He was brave. He was strong. He was courteous and bold and valiant and all those things. He had been one of King Arthur’s favorites. Until he met her.
“Unhappy man,” she murmured. She turned away so he would not hear her weeping, but too late.
“My love?” he asked, sounding sleepy at first, but then alert. “What is wrong?”
She shook her head and tried to find the smile she always showed him, but the best she could do was blink away tears.
“Sweetheart, please, you must tell me.” When she did not reply, the gentleness disappeared. “I heard you. How can you say I’m unhappy?”
She whispered, “I don’t know what you mean.”
He sat upright and grasped her shoulders. “What are you trying to hide? Tell the truth.” He used that tone.
She wrenched from his grip. How dare he bully her! “You want the truth? Everyone says it’s a shame how low you’ve fallen. Estre-Gales’ most gallant knight is now a recreant.”
He stared, his eyes wounded, but once started, she could not stop. She made her voice sound as snide as all the jealous, awful people she had been hearing. “Oh, rue the day the beauteous maiden bewitched our fair lord. Now he cares for no other sport but lo-o-ve.”
She caught her breath, realizing how ugly she sounded. His face had gone blank. Completely blank.
“You can regain your good name,” she said. His face didn’t change.
Unhappy man . Well, he was unhappy now. Why didn’t he say something?
“Erec, I can’t bear to listen to people speak of you like this. You have to do something!”
He stood, crossed the floor to his dressing table, and stared down at the cold food. He slammed his hand against the tray, sending bannocks flying and gravy splattering to the floor. Enide gulped, more fearful now than dismayed.
When he turned, she saw the face of a stranger.
“Everything they are saying, they say with good reason. The blame is mine.” He looked at the wreckage of their meal as if he did not recognize what it was. The heavy silver platter was now bent. Ruined. Enide’s heart began to pound. There was a crack running down the pedestal of the dressing table that had not been there before.
“Get up,” he commanded. “Get dressed. Put on your richest gown. Order your finest palfrey to be saddled. Prepare to leave immediately.”
Without another word, he stomped out the door.
Leave? He would banish her? She started to tremble. A wife’s duty was to admire and support. Instead, she repeated what she knew to be untrue. He would have heard of it eventually. Why had she dared be the one to tell him?