Page 40 of The White Enchantress

“No!”

“It would be all right if you are. I will not tell anyone. You have my word.”

“I’m not a witch. I never got my Hogwarts letter.” I laugh at my own joke, knowing Lancelot wouldn’t understand what I said.

“Not all witches have warts–”

At his comment, I burst into raucous laughter, unable to contain myself. Still attached to Lancelot’s arm, I bend forward, attempting to steady myself. Finally catching my breath, I ask, “Do you know many witches then?”

“Well, some say my mother is a witch.”

“Is she?”

“Yes. But Vivienne is not wicked. Most people here at court believe witches are the spawn of evil. It is curious that the sentiment is not shared about Merlin. He is revered. But everyone here and in the entire southern part of the realm, for the most part, is afraid of my mother. Afraid of Avalon.”

“Why are they afraid of Avalon?”

“Were you afraid of Avalon and my mother when you realized where you stumbled into?”

“Yes.”

Lancelot gives me a shy smile. Then his face becomes serious once again. “I wish you would tell me what made you feel so sad.”

“Maybe one day I will.” I smile up into his bright green eyes. Eyes that pierce into my soul, seeking entrance but willing to wait.

Chapter 20

Guinevere

I feel alive, singingand performing in front of a crowd again. I start the evening with a short ballad by The Beatles, “Blackbird.” I then shock a few people when I sing “Girl With One Eye” but bring the crowd up in spirits with “Drunken Sailor.” They are all cheering and singing along by the end of that song, especially the men. Even Lancelot is a little red in the face with drunkenness.

As I sing of the love Hades had for Persephone, how that love turned a god, a king, into nothing more than a man, I can feel Lancelot’s gaze on me. I try to look at others in the crowd, but my eyes keep flying to his, which are permanently fixed on me.

He is so goddamn sexy. The string on his green tunic has come undone during the last few songs and I can see the hairs on his chest peaking out. How I want to touch him, just reach out and stroke the soft caramel bristles.

I am halfway through the set of songs I prepared for the night and have barely looked at anyone else. Being in Lance’s company the last couple of days has been a refreshing change fromsuffocating under the constant attention I received from everyone else staying in the castle or nearby in the village.

He is curious about me. Not about Excalibur or my possible prophetic powers, but me. He’d ask me questions like everyone else. But I didn’t feel like I was being interrogated like with the others. I feel comfortable with him. I want him to know everything about me, yet I am afraid to tell him the whole truth. I’m still not sure if he’d believe me, think I am nuts, a witch, or worse.

And then my mind keeps reminding me that Lancelot is the one man I should stay away from. I just can’t. He is magnetic. My heart yearns to hold his. My soul aches to capture his. My body screams to be touched by him.

As I finish my set of songs, I am met with a riotous round of applause. Lancelot’s shining smile and bright eyes remain fixed on mine. Breaking the link, I curtsy to the crowd in the great hall. When the cheering dies down, Arthur offers a toast to the White Enchantress, thanking God for the blessing that brought me to Camelot. I curtsy again as he beckons me to sit with him at the head table.

“That was the most joy I have had in years, my lady. You have my gratitude and I know the rest of the people here would say the same.”

“It was my pleasure, my king.” I become bashful at the compliment, my nerves taking over as they always do when I am near Arthur. Fucking King Arthur!

“Where did you learn the art of music?”

“Oh, just casually, really. My mom and I would sing together all the time. And my best friend taught me how to play the guitar, uh lute.”

“They must have been quite talented.”

“Yes,” I agree, unable to say anything more for fear of falling into a fit of tears.

“That last song you sang about the lad that was born to be king. What is it called?”

“‘The Skye Boat Song,’” I said. “It’s about a young man who was believed to be the rightful king of Scotland. All his life he lived away from his kingdom until a rebellion large enough had formed. He sailed to his kingdom for the first time only to run back away after losing his war less than a year later.”

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