Page 26 of The White Enchantress

“Is it not uh…unseemly for me to be alone with you?”

“Arthur has entrusted me with the task of escorting you to Camelot. Your reputation will be intact if that is your concern.” Guinevere looks nervous, even afraid. “You can trust me, Guinevere. I will not harm you and will not let any harm come to you. If need be, I will lay down my life to protect yours.”

“I know I can trust you. Most importantly, Excalibur trusts you. She even likes you,” Guinevere says with a smirk that sends a shiver through my chest. “Let’s not waste any more time then. Which horse is yours?”

“The one you have been grooming. His name is Gringolet, gifted to me by Sir Gawain. He is a fine, sturdy steed.”

Guinevere laughs and gives Gringolet one last pat before hoping gracefully up on the horse my mother lent from her stables. I am shocked at how effortlessly she mounts her horse, straddling the saddle in a way that makes all my insides quiver with desire.

Quickly turning from her, I mount my steer and begin leading both horses down the path to the barge that will take us off the island of Avalon.

Chapter 14

Guinevere

The first few nightson the road with Lancelot are not so bad. Every evening before sunset, he guides us off the road we traveled and silently prepares a fire. After eating dinner, we talk mindlessly about this and that. The both of us avoid each other’s gaze. When it comes time to sleep, Lancelot makes a comfortable pallet for me out of the blankets rolled up in our bags.

He gave meallthe blankets on the first night. I insisted that he needed to stay warm too. So he grabbed the thinnest blanket, tossed it over himself and fell asleep before I could protest any further.

His attitude toward me has shifted since the day we met. The flirtatiousness turned sour and even his sweet chivalrous demeanor became serious and dour. I shouldn’t mind. Still, I can’t help but wonder what he is thinking and what has affected his mood. I keep silent anyway, following his lead. It’s better this way. I can’t fall in love with a man I don’t talk to, right? And if we never speak to each other, the feelings that stir in my heart would surely go away.

With two more days left of the journey, Lancelot and I have barely said anything but pleasantries. The silence is working. I can feel the infatuation fading. My mind is clear for the first time in weeks. Thoughts of Lancelot no longer haunt me. But those thoughts are quickly replaced by recent memories of Josh, my father, all the drama I left behind when I fell through time.

Somewhenin the twenty-first century, all the people I care for must be worried sick about me. At least I hope they are worried, that they are searching for me, never giving up. Maybe they would even find a crack in time and bring me back home.

I feel a pang of guilt that I had found another man attractive, that I swooned at the first sight of Lancelot. And while I swooned and dreamt of Lancelot, I thought I was in love with someone else.

Josh and I hadn’t talked much about our feelings for each other, afraid to break the fragile line between friends and lovers. We had already become lovers, and though I thought I didn’t want a romantic relationship with Josh, I still want the opportunity to explore what could have been, what should be.

In the weeks leading up to my wedding day, Josh was my everything. While we were navigating the murky waters of friends with benefits, I was attempting to convince my father that I wasn’t in love Wesley.

After returning from America, I moved back into Eden Manor where it was once again ruled by the fiends of Carlisle. Cecily was my constant shadow again, tormenting me, waiting for me to break. During meals and any other time our family gatheredtogether, she always commented about how well-suited Wesley and I were. How much Wesley missed me and couldn’t wait until our wedding night. He only hoped that I would remember how much I loved him before then.

I kept my mouth shut, only throwing daggers with my eyes. If I had let my mouth loose, I would say things I’d regret. And I would show my father that I was the unstable, confused, and entitled little girl Cecily described me as.

The breathing techniques I learned from Josh were immensely helpful in keeping my patience. But breathing only did so much to keep my anger at bay.

Three evenings before the wedding, I sat in the corner of our main living area, reading a book. Ed was at his desk looking through some paperwork while Charlotte and Cecily watched a reality TV show on the couch.

Cecily turned to me, saying in her sweetest voice, “Ginny, Wes called me today. He asked to speak with you but you were out with Josh. Wes misses you terribly. You should really give him a call.”

I hated when Cecily called me Ginny. Only Uncle Aldon was allowed to call me Ginny. I didn’t tolerate it from anyone else. “No thanks.”

“Why are you being so mean to Wes. Don’t you love him? He said you both were so happy together before you left for America. What happened over there that made you so cruel?”

“Nothing happened, I never loved Wesley and he doesn’t love me. For the millionth time, we never got engaged. In fact, we were not even together when I left for America.”

Ed huffed at his desk but offered no interjection. “That’s just preposterous. I was there when he proposed, Ginny. You were glowing. I have never seen you happier.”

“What the actual fuck, Cecily? Why are you lying? You don’t give two shits about me. Why the hell would you have even been part of a marriage proposal regarding me?”

“Now, Guinevere, there is no need for such language,” Charlotte warned, keeping her eyes glued to the television.

Breathe, just breathe, Guin. I closed my eyes, counting to ten, pushing the boiling anger down to a simmer and continued reading my book about a steamy office romance. I just wanted to get to the part where the couple gets back together. They better fucking get back together. But Cecily wasn’t quite finished with me.

“You are marrying Wes in three days. Are you going to ignore him when you are his wife too?”

“I’m not going to marry him, Cecily. If you care so much for him, why don’t you marry Wes?”

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