Page 19 of Gwen and Art Are Not in Love

One of the guards turned to look at him. ‘And who the hell are you?’

‘He’s with me,’ Gwen said reluctantly, stepping forward. The guards parted and let Sidney through. He took in Gwen’s crossed arms and Arthur’s smirk, and laughed quietly.

‘Lovers’ tiff, is it?’

‘Excuse me?’ Gwen said, glaring at him in disbelief. ‘Who exactly do you think you’re addressing?’

‘My apologies,’ Sidney said, bowing his head slightly. ‘Lovers’ tiff, is it, your highness?’

‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ Gwen said, turning to Arthurand brandishing a finger at him. ‘You are not to try to embarrass me, you are not to playhilariousjokes, you are not to involve –’ she dropped the volume of her voice significantly – ‘to involveLady Leclairin any of this for your own sick amusement—’

‘Hello,’ said Gabriel, appearing at her side. ‘I was sent to make sure you weren’t alone unchaperoned.’ He looked at Sidney. ‘Who’s this?’

‘Sidney Fitzgilbert, your highness,’ Sidney said, bowing deeply without any prompting.

‘Oh, sohegets “your highness”?’ Gwen said, rounding on him. ‘You arrogant, impudent little …’

Sidney stepped sideways, behind Arthur.

‘You’re supposed to protectme,’ Arthur said indignantly. ‘What the hell do you call this?’

‘Not in my remit,’ he replied. ‘She’s not going to kill you, but she looks like she might be about to start poking.’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ Gwen hissed, stepping closer, ‘that I won’t kill you.’

‘Oh dear,’ Arthur said wearily. ‘She’s gone feral.’

Gwen really might have slapped one of them then – either would do – but Gabriel put a gentle hand on her shoulder and she just gave a quiet little scream of frustration instead.

‘This is not helpful,’ Gabriel said, looking directly at Arthur. ‘Stop goading my sister.’ Arthur looked back at him defiantly, raising his eyebrows in a wordless challenge.

Gwen had had enough. She turned on her heel and stormed away, two guards peeling off from the group and falling into step behind her as she made for the drawbridge.She was so angry she wasn’t looking where she was going; she had to pull up so suddenly when somebody stepped into her path that she almost tripped. Immediately there was a guard at her side holding her steady, and another throwing up a sword between her and her potential assailant.

Lady Bridget Leclair looked extremely done in. She had a nasty bruise already mottling her cheek, a split in her lip, and her eye was blackening in one corner where her helm must have made contact with the bone; she was wincing as she breathed, and Gwen could only imagine how battered she must be under her tunic. It took the knight a moment to realise whom she had almost collided with, and when she did, she straightened up despite her injuries; Gwen tucked one of her plaits behind her ear, hoping she hadn’t gone bright red.

‘Your highness,’ Bridget said, bowing with a wince and then struggling to rise again; Gwen reached out without thinking, but Bridget held up a palm to stop her. The sleeve of her tunic had slipped down to her elbow, revealing smooth gold-brown skin and hard muscle underneath.

Hands, Gwen thought hysterically.Hands –and alsoarms.

‘Bridg— er, Lady Leclair,’ she said. ‘How are you? I mean, you look—’

‘I’m well,’ Lady Leclair lied, grimacing around her split lip. ‘Forgive me – Sir Marlin was very thorough.’ Her hair, Gwen noticed, hadn’t stayed confined for long; strands of it were escaping, curled and damp with sweat where they touched her neck.

‘He shouldn’t have kept hitting you,’ Gwen said impulsively. ‘While you were already down.’

‘Well, perhaps not,’ said Bridget, her voice edged with pain. ‘But I entered to fight, and a fight was what I got.’

‘I – I suppose,’ Gwen said, knowing she was definitely blushing now. ‘I’ll … Good luck, in the rest of your events.’

‘Thank you,’ said Bridget. That tiny smirk Gwen had noticed on her face before was back now, even though it must have pained her; it was so subtle that Gwen could almost have been imagining it. As she went to leave, Bridget held up a hand again – not touching her, not even close, but making Gwen stop in her tracks regardless. ‘And – please, thank your suitor. For his favour.’

‘He’s not my suitor,’ Gwen said quickly, before realising how ridiculous this would sound, given the fact that they were trying to convince everybody in Camelot of the opposite. ‘I mean – yes. Thanks. I will.’

‘He’s not your suitor,’ Bridget repeated, maintaining a steady eye contact that Gwen thought might perhaps kill her. She had no idea what to say in response to this. When Bridget removed her hand and stepped back, Gwen simply nodded awkwardly, and then continued up to the slope towards the drawbridge.

She spent the rest of the day wondering what on earth it could have meant.

Arthur liked his rooms at Camelot. The main space was cramped but cosy, filled with a table, Sidney’s cot and two well-padded chairs by the fireplace. The adjoining bedroom contained a four-poster so large that it constituted gross overkill. The best feature was the tiny terrace, just big enough for him and Sidney to breakfast on. It certainly helped that the guest quarters were entirely separate from the royal family’s wing; his rooms were, in fact, as far away from Gwen’s as it was possible to be on this side of the castle. Arthur wondered if Gwen had chosen them on his behalf.