The ship crunched against its moorings as the sun began its climb into the clear, blue sky. The scream of seagulls filled the air around the naked masts barren of their sails. The channel waters of Poole lapped lazily against the sides of the ship's fat belly. Overhead, Princess Guinevere listened to male voices yelling orders to each other as the ship was tied securely. She felt her maid’s plump hand gently rest on top of her own lifeless hand. There was no where to go now. No where.
A sharp pounding thundered on the cabin door, jolting both women from their thoughts. Then her father planted his massive frame in the small doorway. "He's waiting to board. Prepare to greet him."
"No. Let him wait.”
Leodegrance's eyes darkened and narrowed, "Refuse him, Guinevere, and the gates of Camiliard will be refused to you."
A wild nerve twitched at her chin, raising it slightly. "You would turn your own daughter to the dogs if she refused."
"To the dogs," he answered coldly, "Now, prepare to greet him."
The nerve steeled, straightening her shoulders. "Greet this boy king?"
"Yes," he snapped as he slammed the cabin door. "Get ready," echoed back into the cabin, her last place of hiding.
Her maid’s grip tightened around Guin's hand, drawing her attention to the woman’s worried face. "Your father will close the gates to you if you don't do as he asks."
"Ask?" Guin snatched her hand away as if stung. "He didn’t ask me to do anything. He informed me.” A shaky determination tilted her head, moving the long golden strands across her back. “Somehow, Faith, I will get out of this. I will."
"But for now, Guin, just go up and greet this 'boy king’ as you call him. You can at least be gracious. After all, he’s no stranger to you."
No. This Arthur was no stranger to her. He was supposed to be a decoy. He was supposed to help her gain another’s attention of one of his knights by the name of Lancelot. But somehow it didn’t work. Now this boy king wanted her as his queen.
Her father reappeared in the doorway with expectation, sweeping his before him as a demand that his daughter come with him. She recalled the same gaze over a thief he once had executed. Guinevere stood up from the bunk. There was still time to escape, change her father’s mind, and maybe even this boy king’s. Her fists coiled deep into her skirt as Faith swished away the wrinkles of her gown.
Snatching tiny bites at the corner of her cheek, Guinevere stepped past her father smelling his leathery scent of horses as she entered the passageway. She jerked as his hand pressed against her back, moving her toward the galley ladder where the sun beaconed to the floor like a beacon. Her feet balked at the foot of the ladder and refused to move. The smells of salty wood, tar, wet rope filled her nostrils. The fresh air beckoned from above. Still, she could not move.
“Guin. He’s waiting,” drifted warm over her shoulder, melting like warm tar down her back as a tremble of panic raced through her. "Mother's chair! I won't go without it."
"I'll see that it gets there," her father said smoothly. "Now, climb the ladder." Leodegrance motioned up the ladder.
Guinivere gripped the ladder and met her father’s fury with that of her own. "I will not take another step unless it goes with me now. Please, Papa." The last came out softer than she intended but she saw his resolve weaken.
Leodegrance turned to the ladder and stormed upward, leaving her still holding to the ladder. A short, muffled conversation containing her father’s voice flittered down and another familiar male voice chuckle she recognized instantly. His voice, his soft velvety voice that, even then, soothed her nerves as a gentle hand to a frightened horse.
Orders resounded like an attack across the upper deck as the search for her mother’s chair erupted. Then, a shadow darkened the opening above her. "Guin, the chair will go with you. Now, join us," Leodegrance ordered from above.
Guin felt the soft presence of her maid behind her. "Faith, I can't. I can’t."
"It will be alright, dear. I'll be with you," the woman assured, patting the tense arm. "Just don't push your father any farther. Everything will be—“
"Guin!”
***
Arthur shifted nervously from one foot to the other. What was taking so long? And why her mother’s chair…now? He crossed his arms over his chest then dropped them to his side, only to grip the ship rail behind him…and let go because his palms were sweating. Again his arms bent so he could rest his hands on the cotton sleeves.
“Relax, little brother. Get used to waiting.”
Arthur tried to smile at his step brother’s jest but the smirk he saw irked him. He’d taken little of that from any Saxon especially if the bastard was leaning as arrogantly back on the railing like Kay was, arms over his chest, enjoying himself far too much.
The desire to wipe Kay’s grin off melted instantly as the first golden ray that flickered from the shadows of the ship's belly and a cape of golden hair appeared in the sunlight. He saw her gaze lash at her father then recoil toward him like a slashing sword. It disappeared to the ship's deck as the vision bent into a deep, respectful bow, golden strands careening to the wooden floor slats, exposing her slender neck, long back, tiny waist. "Your majesty," curtly floated to his ears.
He couldn’t breathe. Every night had been filled with visions of her. Already the fragrances of chamomile floated to him like aromas of food to a starved man. He cleared his throat into his palm.
"Guin, it's good to see you," stumbled out of his mouth finally. Kay’s snicker rattled behind him, making him flinch.
***
Guinivere ever so slowly rose and braced herself before the man responsible for her presence. His royal blue, satin tunic glistened beneath his dark, chestnut hair that touched his strong wide shoulders. Oh she remembered how wide they were. A tremor rattled at the very core of her soul as she remembered how strong they were. He moved toward her, his golden sword tapping the railing as he moved with the familiar confident grace. Her eyes froze on the same brown gaze gleaming with that impudent sparkle she remembered that day in the storage chamber. She dropped her gaze to the deck to break the spell he seemed to toss over her like a fishing net.
"I've looked forward to seeing you, Guin. Welcome to Camelot."
A thud vibrated across the deck, turning everyone's attention to the large, blue chair now sitting on deck like a tied-up walrus. Two sailors hoisted chair to their shoulders and started toward the ship's gangplank as the captain barked, “Make way! Make way!”
Had he seen a tremor of fear race through the vision of perfection before him as she stared at the object’s departure? "I will see that it is well taken care of, I promise."
"Thank you, your majesty."
Majesty? That confused him. Arthur brushed the sudden lightening strike of worry from his mind and stepped forward, feeling her eyes penetrate each step. Maybe it was the channel crossing. "I’ve got something I hope you will like. Come. I want to show it to you.” He beckoned with one hand toward the dock as he cradled her elbow that Guinivere gently but soundly removed from his palm. He noticed Kay still leaning on the railing with that sparkling gleam of pleasure etching his face. Possessively, Arthur eased a hand to the small of Guinivere’s back, hoping against hope that she would trip ever so slightly and that he could catch her.
***
Guin saw her chair being hoisted to the back of a cart and men begin tying it down. It was if she were the one being tied. She eased her elbow from his palm, glancing around the small port for any means of escape. There was none. The mass of the ship blockaded behind her as it rocked against the docking. The beach before her was filled with people, smiling, cheering, laughing, lifting children to see the king’s bride walking on the only wooden walkway to the land as water lapped at its edge. She was as tied to this as her mother’s chair to the wagon. Tears swelled behind her eyes. They would not see her cry. She would not shed a tear. She’d find a way home somehow.
In that instant, as if a gift of sunshine had burst from a dark cloud, Guinivere felt a smile burst across her lips. Her heart stopped. Air became scarce. As the crowd parted for them to pass, she saw Lancelot standing ever so marvelously before her in his forest green tunic and tan leggings. He stepped forward, hands outstretched. “Guin, you’re as beautiful as ever.”
She wanted to drown in his green laughing gaze and warm smile. She wanted to caress the long battle scar crossing his left cheek. Yes, even the scar was perfect. “Lancelot,” whispered from her lips. “Take me away. Take me home Lance,” sang in her heart but never rose to her lips as he kissed the back of her knuckles.
“Camelot could never have a more perfect queen,” he said, kneeling to one knee before her.