Page 16 of Bridget & Gabe Are Not Okay

“Are you joking? We can charge admission for people to come and see this, finally get the roof in the east wing fixed.” Gwen had entered with two steaming cups of something hot in her hands. Gabriel was about to reach for one, grateful, when she handed it to Lady Oakley instead, taking a sip from the other herself.

Behind him, he heard a short and urgent flurry of whispers from some attendants, which he ignored.

“Besides,” said Lady Oakley, “if you’re going to do a thing, do it properly. We want this to go as smoothly as possible. You shouldn’t have to invent a round table in your mind every time somebody asks you about it.”

“Does it look like the original?” asked Master Buchanan, as the workmen heaved in unison and managed to secure the bulk of it in place on its frame.

“Yes, but it’s smaller to suit the number of knights, and we haven’t had the names inscribed at each place yet.”

This was Lady Oakley’s diplomatic way of saying that they weren’t going to add the names until everybody had confirmed that they were answering the summons. Sirs Bowen and Leonard had responded, using the same expensive scribe, so both letters had been decorated with equal flourishes and some very fetching marginalia of squirrels and swans. Sir Hurst was of course already on board, and Adah from the mews had accepted, despite a certain amount of obvious trepidation. This had made Gabriel feel slightly better.

Florian had also responded, with much less embellishment,agreeing to come to Camelot.Thiswas making Gabriel more nervous than the rest of it put together.

“They’re not going to say no,” Gwen said, but her expression betrayed her unease.

Gabriel became aware of a repressed wheezing at his elbow. He looked around to discover an out-of-breath attendant proffering a cup of tea.

“Oh,” he said, taking it with such haste that he spilled a little on his tunic. “Thank you, um… Eric.”

The almost imperceptible twitch of the boy’s eyes before he smiled back and bowed made it clear to Gabriel that his name was absolutely not Eric.

It was at this moment that the door swung open and Lady Bridget Leclair entered the hall, her squire walking in step behind her, both of them looking a bit wild and muddied. Everyone turned to watch. Bridget was as broad of shoulder as ever, possibly even broader, wearing a sodden dark gray cloak over leather jerkin, breeches, and boots, all of it dripping. Her hand was resting on the pommel of her sword. When she walked, she creaked.

The effect was very dramatic.

Gabriel looked to Gwen without meaning to. The hand that wasn’t clutching her cup so tightly it looked in danger of shattering had gone to touch her hair, found the length wanting, and ended up awkwardly touching her fingertips to her collarbone instead.

“Lady Bridget Leclair, Your Majesty, and her squire,” one of the attendants announced, somewhat belatedly, as both of the new arrivals bowed.

“Good afternoon, Bridget,” Gabriel said, realizing he sounded like a jovial uncle and unsure how to correct it. “You’ve come then? You’re here? I mean, you are here. So…”

“Yes.” Bridget nodded. “I’ve come. I’ll join your table.”

There was something very impressive about her; she looked battle-worn and hardened, rough around the edges from her time on the road, so much morerealthan everyone in this room standing about in their perfectly laundered jerkins and polished boots. Gwen was openly staring, her cheeks pink, her eyes bright with panic. Or perhaps love. There was often little difference between the two.

“Excellent,” said Gabriel, stretching the word out to compensate for the awkwardness of the moment. “Right. Do you want something to… drink? Or perhaps a bath?”

He’d said the wrong thing, obviously, but Bridget just smirked very slightly. “Yes. Thanks.”

“Hello,” Gwen said finally, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat, blushing even deeper, then added hurriedly, “Um, so, this is Lady Bridget. Bridget, this is Lady Oakley.”

“I’m overjoyed that you’re here,” Lady Oakley said, with a curtsy. “I’ve heard so much about you. And you’re the first to see the table! Isn’t it magnificent?” God, she was good at smoothing over a situation. Maybe they should have knighted her, and put her on the round table. Or the throne.

“Nice,” said Bridget, nodding as she took in the new furniture, which was probably the most effusive compliment they were going to get out of her. Gabriel had rarely heard her utter more than a few short sentences; he imagined that when they were together, Gwen was probably the one who did all the talking.

There was a moment of group discomfort so palpable that Gabriel considered just walking out and leaving everyone else to suffer—and then, incredibly, things suddenly became about a thousand times worse as Arthur walked in with Sidney Fitzgilbert at his side. The attendant looked like he might be aboutto announce them both, but Arthur caught his eye and shook his head.

“Your Majesty,” Sidney said dramatically, dropping to one knee. He had also clearly been traveling; he flicked quite a lot of mud on Gabriel’s trousers when he flung out a sweeping arm. “I have come to be made your most faithful knight. I’ll fight for king, country, whatever. I’m ready.”

“I’m not going to knight you right here in the middle of the floor, Sidney,” Gabriel said, with a panicked sidelong glance at his sister, who only had eyes for Bridget.

“Right. Course.” Sidney got clumsily to his feet. “But my answer is yes.”

“It’s not too late to change your mind, you know,” Arthur said to Gabriel, not quite meeting his eye.

“Oi,” said Sidney.

Arthur raised his hands defensively. “I meant about me!”