Page 138 of Propriety
Then she heard it… a twig snapping. Not far.
Gwen pushed herself up slowly. “What is it?”
He didn’t answer.
Voices, now. Low, muttering. At least four.
Then they stepped out of the trees. “Well, well,” the tallest said, stepping into their path with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “What’s a pair like you doing this far off the king’s road?”
Guinevere’s hand curled around Lancelot’s arm. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Lancelot’s posture had already shifted — subtle, but ready.
He rose, hand curled around the hilt of his sword. “Keep walking.” He was calm. Controlled.
Deadly.
But they didn’t.
One of them grinned. “Looks like we found ourselves a prize, boys.” He took a step closer, lazily tossing the dagger in his hand.
“She’s dressed too fine,” said another, circling toward Guinevere. “Look at those hands. Look at that mouth. What’s it taste like, eh, sir knight? Honey and lies?”
Still, Lancelot didn’t raise his sword.
His grip justtightened.
“She’s too pretty a thing to be wandering without a guard.” The last man, stout and grimy, said with a laugh.
“She has a guard.” Lance’s jaw was tense. Guinevere was standing with her hand digging into his arm, eyes darting around to the men as her heart raced.
“And what are you? Deserter? Trouble? There’s only one of you, buddy.”
“I’m herhusband.” He snarled the last word, the muscles in his shoulders tightening further.
That made the men laugh.
“She doesn’t look like she minds a little attention,” one of them said, stepping forward, smile showing a cracked tooth. “Could show her a better time than you, knight.”
Guinevere stiffened. Her body remembered too much. Too recently.
“I bet she begs pretty,” said the third man — tall, broad, licking his lips like a dog who hadn’t eaten. “How ‘bout you let us try her? Let the poor bitch see what real men feel like.”
Her heart punched up into her throat, but she held still.
“You gonna share?” Cracked Tooth spoke again. “There’s four of us and one of you…” A nasty grin unfurled across his face. “Let us have a go, and we’ll leave you unharmed.”
“I don’t share.” Lancelot’s voice was darker than she had heard it before, his arm tight around her waist. She clung to him.
“Pity,” said the broad one, stepping closer. “Could’ve let you watch. Could’ve made it sweet for her.”
Guinevere flinched as he licked his lips again, eyes dragging over her like she was meat left to rot. One hand reached toward her — casual, confident, greedy.
And that was it.
Lancelot moved.
It was not a step. Not a lunge. It was astrike. A blur of motion as his sword came free with a hiss andburieditself in the man’s side.
The man made a wet, choking sound. Staggered. Looked down at the steel jutting from his belly as if he didn’t understand it.
