ARTHUR knew that waiting outside of Isabel's bedchamber was more than ridiculous. And that his fear of Gwen bringing harm to Isabel was also without merit.

Yet his need to protect overwhelmed him. The very perplexing thing that confounded him was it was not his wife he felt the need to protect.

Mary finally left the chamber, seeming almost out of breath. She ran directly to him and curtsied. "My king."

"Tell me, Mary."

"The countess has asked me to pass this missive to you, sir. The queen is not well."

"My thanks," he said, trying very hard not to rip the note from Mary's hands. He took it and opened it as slowly as desperation allowed. Arthur, Gwen needs medical attention. Please have Gwen taken back to your bedchambers, and call for Tom.

Arthur crushed the note in his hand and tossed it aside. "Thank you, Mary. Please go find Isabel's man, Tom," he said before storming into Isabel's quarters without knocking.

The sight afore him was truly amazing. Isabel was pumping at Gwen's chest, then stopping to give her kisses of sorts.

He had worried about Isabel?

"What are you doing?"

"I think she's gone into some kind of shock," she said, huffing afore beginning the process all over again.

Isabel was holding Gwen's nose shut, while blowing into her mouth. 'Twas shocking. "Stop!"

Isabel stopped the blowing thing and began the pumping her chest thing. "Do you want Gwen to live or not?" she asked.

"Of course."

"Then back off! I should have seen the signs. Her delusions, her mood swings. For chrissake, I thought it was PMS."

"I need to help."

"Then bring me some water."

As he poured, he watched in horror. But in that moment Gwen coughed and shook her head.

Isabel sat back on her heels and wiped her brow. Then she lifted Gwen into a sitting position and accepted the chalice of fresh water from Arthur. "Welcome back, Gwen. That was a tad worrisome. Please sip."

Gwen grabbed the base of the goblet and attempted to drain it down, but Isabel disallowed it. "No, a sip or two at a time. We will rehydrate you, but not all at once."

Arthur had never felt so helpless afore. He knew naught what had happened to his wife, he knew naught what Isabel had just done, he only knew he had been unable to do anything worth use, save pour a glass of water. He fell heavily into a chair.

If he puzzled this out, he had to conclude that his wife had a medical episode, and that the woman he ached for had just saved Gwen's life right afore his eyes. And he had stood helpless.

"Arthur."

He heard, but the beating in his ears prevented him from hearing.

"Arthur!"

He opened his eyes.

Isabel sat looking up at him. "Arthur, I know this is getting old, but would you please carry your wife to your chambers? She is good for now, but she needs Tom to check her over."

"Tom is but a tooth healer."

"To be any kind of healer in my land, you must understand all types of medicine. He is best equipped to diagnose what this is."

"Dia - "

"Figure it out. But we need to help her back to her bed. Man up, big boy. Carry your wife to your chambers."

By then there were many in the room. Isabel took control of them all. "Mary, please bring as much fresh water as you can gather to the king and queen's quarters."

"Yes, mum."

"Jenny, please bring to Tom every type of flower and or herb that the queen used in her tea or any other food today."

The girl named Jenny curtsied and disappeared.

"Mordred! Oh, good to see you up and about." She glanced down at his leg. "Appears, however, that Dick trussed your leg like a goose's, or something."

"I wish to be of service in any way I may, Countess."

She nodded. "Then how about you lead the way so that no one else impedes Gwen's transport back to her own bed?"

"My pleasure, Countess," Mordred said.

Arthur almost grinned as he saw his son appear to beam with pride at having a mission to accomplish. Arthur should have kicked his son in the ass a long time ago. With one swift and most amazing kick, Isabel had done all he had failed to do.

"Arthur!"

He shook his head, trying to rid it of all regrets. "Yes, tell me what I should do."

Isabel stared up at him, and there he felt a bond. But he had not time to reason it out now. "Is she able to travel?" he asked.

"Yes, and Mordred will forge the way."

Arthur bent to Gwen, who still appeared sickly. "Are you able to wrap your arms around my neck, Gwen?"

"Lance?" she asked in a very small voice.

Arthur almost dumped her on the spot.

But Isabel took hold of his arm. "No one but you and I heard that, Arthur. Just pick her up and carry her to your bed."

"Her bed. It is no longer mine." But he picked her up regardless. "Mordred, my son, I believe you are our escort."

"Yes, sir, although possibly a slower one than you prefer."

Arthur turned back before leaving the chamber. "I thank you for saving the queen."

Isabel smiled at him. "Never a dull moment at Camelot."

He winced as Gwen clawed at his neck. "You realize that had the positions been reversed, she might well have not worked so hard to save your life as you did hers." "I like to think that she would."

Arthur shook his head but smiled. "When we get over this crisis, I must needs speak to you of a place I like to call la-la land."

As he carried Gwen from the room, he heard Isabel's musical laughter fill his ears.

"MUM, had it been you!" Mary said, bursting into her room. She threw herself at Isabel, nearly dropping her.

"It wasn't me, Mary. What I'd like to know is who and what it was."

Mary straightened up, scrubbing her eyes against her apron. "I do not know. But it shall not happen to you."

Mary sailed straight for the tub and began scooping up all of the herbs and flowers.

"Mary."

"I will not allow anyone to poison you, Isabel. I will not."

Isabel grinned. She'd bet good money that Mary forgot she forbade herself to call Isabel anything but countess or madam or whatever the hell.

"Mary."

"What if it were meant for you? What if I had served you something that made you ill? How would I possibly be able to do what you did to save the queen?"

She turned back to Isabel, who was still getting over the shock of whatever had happened to Gwen. Mary's apron was filled with all the herbs and flowers that she'd sprinkled just a while ago to make Isabel's bath heavenly.

"Dump them back in the tub, Mary."

"No, I will not," Mary said, her freckles looking angrier than the rest of her face. "They might well be dangerous."

"Please, Mary. I am asking, not demanding."

"And if I refuse?" Mary asked, chin raised high.

"Then I will ask you to go pick more so that I enjoy my bath."

Mary's shoulders deflated, but she turned and dumped the contents of her apron back into the tub. "But how do I protect you from poisons?"

Isabel grinned. "Want to hop in the tub before me?"

Mary giggled. "If you wish, countess."

"Want to drink the bathwater?"

Mary giggled more and couldn't seem to stop. She sank to the floor. "Only if 'twould turn me as beautiful as you . . . Isabel."

Isabel stood stunned for a moment. Which had zapped her more, Mary finally daring to call her by her first name or Mary saying such a sweet thing, she didn't know. But that verbal taser only lasted for a moment. She laughed and dropped down to the floor with a still giggling Mary. Isabel grabbed and hugged her.

Then they laughed together for a while before Isabel took Mary's shoulders and pushed her back. Then she laced her hands through Mary's hair, shoving it back as well.

"Mary, you are such a beautiful young lady. I wish I had been as pretty as you are when I was your age. Heck, you know what the boys called me when I was thirteen?"

Mary shook her head. "No . . . what?"

Oh, good gods, she couldn't remember. She knew they called her something that led to a bloody nose or two, but she was spacing on her nickname.

Stick chick.

Thanks for checking in, Viviane.

You are welcome. Just a reminder.

"They called me stick chick. It hurt a lot."

"I do not even understand what that means," Mary said.

"I was tall for my age and quite skinny. So the boys teased me mercilessly. But what it really means is that nasty people say nasty things to make themselves feel better. I got over being stick chick a long time ago. If any have ever said mean things to you, I promise you they are just being petty. Their comments mean nothing and are unfounded. You are a beautiful young woman. You are marrying a man very high up in the realm of Camelot. And I guarantee he did not ask for your hand because he finds you less than beautiful. Are you not happy about that?"

Mary bowed her head. "I wish betimes that James was not so high up in the realm."

"Because?"

"Because then my friends would not have turned against me so fast."

"They've turned against you?"

Mary nodded, and a teardrop landed on her knee. "And then I was assigned to be your servant, and even more turned away."

Isabel saw the heartbreak in Mary's eyes and wondered what kind of world this girl lived in where she had to choose between friends and her man. Or between success in whatever form, rather than remaining stagnant. She supposed in her own day that sort of thing still happened. For example, a stupid, bigoted jackass of a father who would rather see his daughter dead than marry outside her race or religion. But this. This was just wrong.

"Mary, do you love James?"

"Oh, yes, I very much love him."

"Good. Then remember those friends who are happy for you after you marry. And once you do marry and your station rises, bring them with you. You forget those whose envy and jealousies colored their judgment, and do what you will. Forgive them or ignore them. But never, ever forget those friends happy for you, okay?"

"Countess Isabel, I will ne'er forget you."

"You had better not!" It was juvenile, Isabel knew, but she felt so close to Mary already, almost as if they'd known each other forever. Had it only been a couple of days?

She held up her pinky finger. "We will be pinky-finger friends for life, should you agree."

Mary stared, obviously confused. But finally it seemed to dawn on her. She held up her pinky finger, and the two hooked them together.

"Pinky finger friends for life, Mary. The most important bond."

"Friends for life," Mary said.

Isabel held back tears. Finally she stood, pulling Mary up with her. "And now, miss, please go sweetly ask others to bring me lots and lots of hot water."

Mary stared down into the tub. "Isabel, what if . . . ?"

"The queen ingested it, Mary, she didn't bathe in it."

"You are certain of this?"

"According to Jenny, who came with news, Tom is. He helped her to vomit it out of her system."

"That is unpleasant."

"Tell me about it."

"I will have hot water brought to you as soon as possible."

"Thank you, Mary."

They smiled a wonderful friendship smile before Mary turned to leave. But she surprised Isabel by turning back. "I was more than a bit proud of you today, Isabel."

Isabel, feeling so drained she bet she could sleep for a week, smiled. "Thanks, Mary. It was just training I learned in my youth."

And wished desperately that she could have used it on Curtis in Afghanistan. But there had been so much blood.

"And, Isabel?" Mary said once again.

"Yes, Mary?"

"The king was quite worried about you."

"Me?"

"'Tis not as if he was not worried for the queen. Just a thing that I recognized as he was standing outside fretting. He was asking of you."

"Thanks for letting me know. I will reassure him at supper that all is well."

AFTER her long, luxurious bath, Isabel got out, feeling somewhat refreshed, yet still drained. A day full of such promise had gone horribly wrong.

Mary, who had the uncanny ability to know exactly when Isabel would be needing her, came in to help her dress and fix her hair. Today she formed it into a simple long braid that she somehow managed to work so that the braid curled around Isabel's neck to rest against her chest.

"I picked some flowers this morn, deciding I would weave them into your hair for the afternoon and evening; however, after today ..." She shuddered.

"Mary, we don't even know if it was any type of flower that made the queen ill. And as we have discussed, she would have had to eat or drink whatever was harmful."

"Does not hurt to be cautious a' times."

Superstitious was more likely, but Isabel didn't voice it.

"I have a message for you from your healer, Tom, mum," Mary said as she stood and admired her own handiwork. "He asks that you meet him in the queen's bedchamber."

Isabel stood. "By all means, lead the way."