Since we settled there, Fair Guard had held many a feast day celebration for those who resided within the valley, which, as the household had grown and the repair work on buildings flourished, had become quite a merry crowd. However, no event was so great or anticipated as the feast we had revived to honour Midsummer’s Eve.
By our fourth summer solstice, Alys was as good as Sir Kay at planning a revel, and just as strict. She and Tressa had worked us hard for days before, until the grassy square behind the dining hall looked like a fairy glen from an ancient tale. Long tables and benches ran alongside the spring, under arbours hanging with high-scented wildflowers and berry branches meant for plucking at leisure.
By late afternoon, we were almost ready. I was standing by Alys’s designated worktable, tying a series of painted lanterns to a rope and admiring Accolon as he carried out the last bench across his shoulder. He swung it down onto the grass opposite me and smiled, pushing rolled shirt sleeves up his forearms.
“I’ve been instructed to hang the lanterns,” he said. “Once—in Lady Alys’s words—you have eventually stopped toying with them.”
“She gets stricter every year,” I said, slipping into his arms. “Can you believe it’s this time again? It’s gone so quickly.”
He drew me in for a kiss, smelling like beeswax from carrying furniture all afternoon. “Four years since our first Midsummer’s Eve feast,” he mused, “and six since we were reunited in Camelot.”
It was strange to hear mention of Camelot; we spoke so little of it since my break with Arthur, its existence felt like a faraway concept.
“Which particular reunion?” I said.
His grin was mildly devious. “The true one—our storm. If you don’t count all of the furious confrontations, inadvisable deal-making and tournament distractions.”
“Sometimes, I think that was part of it,” I said wryly. “It feels so long ago, and barely a moment at the same time.”
“I, for one,” he said, “will always be thankful that my ambitious cousin persuaded me to board that ship across the Channel.”
His tone was light, but it reminded me that he wasn’t without his private losses. He missed Sir Manassen, I knew—the only family left to him that he cared for—but he had thrown everything over for my sake and never looked back.
“He wasn’t wrong,” I said. “I have been trouble for you. Do you mind it?”
“Haven’t you ever thought,” he said softly, “that perhaps I love you more for it?”
I put my hand to his cheek, warmed by the pleasure of looking upon his face. “These past few years,” I said, “despite everything—exile, our losses, the rest of it—I have been happy, because you made it so.”
“So have I, mon coeur.” Still smiling, he kissed me with abandon, ignoring the bawdy whistles of others. After a while, we glanced up to see a stern Alys marching towards us. “Speaking of trouble,” he said, “I’ll be in it deeply if I don’t string Lady Alys’s lights.”
“Make haste,” I said. “Or we’ll never persuade her to enjoy the evening.”
Accolon kissed my palm and jogged to his duties. I watched him climb gracefully atop a bench to put up the lanterns, my heart full of the rare, exquisite feeling where everything seems, for a fleeting moment, as if it cannot be anything other than good.
By some miracle, when the festivities began and dusk fell the sensation lingered, imbuing the celebrations with a pure, irresistible joy. All were happy, every soul well fed on the huntsman’s bounty, deep in their cups from Tressa’s pyment and honey mead, the music melodic and raucous, the urge to dance unquenchable.
On the cusp of sunset, the entire household took to the green beside the spring to dance through the year’s longest moment. Accolon swept me into a close hold, swinging me around and off the ground, as Alys and Tressa dance-stepped towards us, arms about one another, laughing and singing.
At the music’s first bridge, Accolon pulled me to his hot chest for a kiss, then pressed his lips to my ear. “More wine,” he said. “I’ll be back.”
He set off through the revellers, slapping backs and laughing as he passed. Alys and Tressa each grabbed one of my arms, and our trio skipped around in a clumsy circle, too tipsy to follow any rhythm.
As I slowed to gather my breath, I caught sight of Accolon at the wine table, a goblet in each hand, head bent to one of the grooms talking animatedly in his ear. Frowning, he put the cups down and they set off towards the house with a haste that fluttered uneasily in my gut. Untangling myself from the dance, I followed their path through the building and to the main doorway, where Accolon stood talking to the huntsman, the groom, and the former guard who now took care of the bird mews.
“Two horses are all we can see,” said the falconer. “Mounted, but it’s too dim to discern much more.”
“Alors, go forth,” Accolon replied. “I’ll be there in a moment.”
They filed out onto the front green, leaving him behind. He paused, then strode to the fireplace, above which his horse-hilted longsword hung when he wasn’t at tournaments. He lifted the weapon down and girded it to his belt with expert hands.
“Accolon,” I called, and he spun around. “What’s happening?”
“Riders have been spotted approaching the house. Possibly knights.” He pulled the sword half out, checked the edge with his finger, then slid it home.
“It’ll be someone straying from the road,” I said. “You know no one can get through the protective charms with ill intent.”
“It’s just strange—everyone we know is here,” he said. “But you’re right, I know.” I glanced down at the sword and he smiled ruefully. “Old battlefield habits.”
I put a hand on his elbow to bring him back to the music and joy, but urgent shouts from outside pulled him away. His sword rang with speed as he drew it.
I dashed out behind him onto the daisy-speckled green. Twenty yards away, the men stood in front of a large grey courser and a pack-pony strapped with a lance and armour. There was only one rider after all, his gold spurs glittering in the falconer’s torchlight.
“If you would listen to me,” the knight said irritably. “I demand to see your lord.”
The voice brought an unpleasant prickle of familiarity, but Accolon was already sheathing his sword.
“Manassen!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
Sir Manassen of Gaul’s stern face unfolded into a smile. “Accolon, Dieu merci! I thought I’d never find you.”
He dismounted and Accolon pulled him into a brotherly embrace. “Sweet Lord, how long has it been?”
“Too long, cousin.” Sir Manassen clapped Accolon’s back, then beheld him at arm’s length. “Still in fine fettle I see.”
Accolon laughed and turned to the men standing by. “Gentlemen, this is Sir Manassen of Gaul, my cousin and friend to Belle Garde. Please, rejoin the festivities with my gratitude.”
With murmurs of welcome, the household members strode back towards the revels. Sir Manassen looked up at the building and its environs. He still hadn’t seen me.
“What is this place? It seems you live quite the life of leisure.”
“Pleasures untold, cousin.” Accolon put a hand on his shoulder and guided him to where I stood. “You remember Lady Morgan. This is our home.”
Those tender words—our home—warmed me to generosity of spirit. I stepped forwards, offering up my hand in greeting.
Sir Manassen ignored it. “I should have known,” he scoffed.
My hand clenched as I withdrew. “How did you find us, Sir Knight?” I said.
He spoke directly to Accolon. “At the tournament near Caerleon. I saw you ride, saw you win.”
Accolon frowned. “But I took all precautions towards anonymity. You’ve never seen my armour, or the destrier I rode.”
“I’d know the way you sit at tilt anywhere, on any horse,” he replied. “I withdrew my name from the competition the moment you felled your first challenger.”
Of course, I thought. How did I not see that was a risk?
“When you left, I followed,” Manassen continued. “I lost you when you entered the forest proper, but you carried little, so I knew you couldn’t be travelling far. I tried every inn and manor until I arrived here.”
“And here you are,” I said. “One has to wonder why.”
He regarded me blandly. “If I’d known you were here, my lady, I’d have found some better way of springing this good man from your ensnarement.”
I started forwards, ready to throw him off my land, but Accolon moved first, blocking the space between us.
“Manassen, that’s enough,” he said in a low, serious voice. “Morgan is quite capable of defending herself, but your ill nature is my cross to bear, not hers. So listen well—I am here because it is where I want to be, with the woman I love. I am happy, I am whole, and this is my home for the rest of my life.”
“Cousin, I didn’t––” Sir Manassen began.
“I’m not seeking your approval, so don’t struggle to give it,” Accolon cut in. “But I will have your civility. To welcome you as a guest would give me great pleasure, but that depends entirely on Morgan’s grace. If you cannot show her the respect she deserves, then I will throw you out of her sight myself.”
Sir Manassen stiffened, his only movement the dip and rise of his Adam’s apple. He made an awkward bow.
“I apologize, Lady Morgan, for my rudeness, and beg mercy of your honour. Perhaps we could begin again.”
I regarded him coolly. His intentions were pure, or he would not have found his way through the protective charms, but something still festered under his hard composure. However, Accolon’s joy at seeing him meant that, much as I wanted to, I couldn’t banish Sir Manassen back into the night.
“Very well,” I said. “I accept your apology and extend our hospitality for as long as you need.”
“I am obliged to you, my lady.” Sir Manassen offered me a nod of unconvincing deference and turned to gather his horse.
Accolon smiled at me with such unrestrained happiness it almost drowned out the scratching of my unease. “Thank you,” he said, taking my face in his hands and kissing me, still tasting of sweet wine. I thought of our two goblets, abandoned on the feast table.
It would be the last we poured out that night. Sir Manassen did not condescend to attend the celebration, nor was he left to rest, and when I woke the next morning after falling exhausted into an empty bed, the warm body against mine was missing and the bedsheets cold, and Accolon hadn’t returned to me at all.