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ARGUING VOICES, ONE MALE, one female. I heard them from a long distance away. I thought it would be good to visit them. I’d been quiet for a long time. I could always come back to my quiet place if I decided I didn’t want to stay with the voices.
I recognised the male voice. It made my heart hurt, it sounded upset. I rushed closer. Oh, now, I remembered. “Arthur...” my lips moved. My hand tried to reach for him but pain coalesced everywhere. My breath hitched.
“He’s awake, thank God, he’s awake.” Fingers encircled my left hand and soft lips brushed the surface.
“I’ll find Merlin,” said the female voice. I caught sight of a white dress vanishing from a simple stone room. Arthur knelt by my low bedside. He lifted my head from a soft pillow and brought a cup of water to my lips. “Drink slowly. You’ve been unconscious for days. Merlin said he used you to bring us home. You have real power, Lancelot.” His eyes watered and he turned away, lowering my head with tender care.
“Arthur?” I made it a question. My fingers tightened on his and memories flooded me. “Oh, God, what did I do to you?” I whispered in horror.
His head snapped back. “No, don’t think about it. Don’t ever think about it, I’m healing. I...” His hand touched my face and I winced from bruises, he withdrew his fingers. “I thought I’d lost you. Merlin said you might not come back.” He kissed my fingers, then my face, my eyes, my lips.
“Arthur,” I murmured between his kisses. “I love you and I am so sorry.” Was that enough? Would it ever be enough?
I think I washed away from him because I opened my eyes to look into Merlin’s face. He peered at me, startling me to full wakefulness. “There you are, Wolf. Glad to have you home.”
“Where’s Arthur?”
Merlin smiled. “We finally managed to convince him to sleep in his own room. He’ll wake soon enough.” His face appeared to have filled out, his skin healthier and his hair shone in the light from a fire and brazier.
“How is he?” I tried to sit up, ribs ground together and I whimpered.
“You should worry about yourself, boy,” Merlin said. His confident hands moved around me and helped me to sit upright. I found my ribs bound and my right hand swaddled, with pieces of wood holding my fingers and palm in place.
I lay my head back, exhausted already. Merlin made me drink something bitter. I washed it down with a long draft of water. He also produced some simple food. “Tell me about Arthur,” I repeated.
Merlin sighed. “You did well. You need to know that. I know he was hurt but you saved his life, you saved us all.”
I placed my left hand on his arm. “What’s wrong?” I asked. My heart trembled along with my voice.
Merlin shook his head. “Arthur is hurt, Lancelot. I am trying to understand but it has nothing to do with his back, or maybe it has everything to do with it.”
“I flogged him,” I said staring at the white stone wall at the end of my bed.
“No, he flogged you but you did all you could not to hurt him.”
“He also knows they want me to be king,” I said.
“Nimue wants you king, Aeddan wants you dead. There is a difference,” Merlin spoke quietly. Lost in his private terrors. “Lancelot,” he took my hand, “you need to help him heal. He needs you well and strong at his side. I fear for him and,” he paused. “And I understand the love he has for you.”
I swallowed, here we go, I thought, the first of Arthur’s people to condemn me.
“Lancelot, stop fighting what you are. Who you are. It is making Arthur miserable. He loves you, be that person for him.” Merlin’s words might sound gentle but I heard the undercurrent of steel. He needed me to let my world become absorbed by Arthur’s.
I though, wanted something else. Didn’t I? “Where are Geraint and Eleanor?”
Merlin smiled. “They are here. Geraint has sore feet, which is a miracle. Eleanor’s magic is not just empathic it seems, she has some juice in there, not that she’s going to learn to use it.” His great dark eyebrows grew together and a gentle knock distracted me from asking what he meant. Else walked into my room. My heart swelled, she looked battered and bruised but happy. Her soft brown curls danced around her face, she pushed them back. She wore a long simple dress of rusty wool. When she sat beside me, Geraint hobbled in using a stick and wincing. Merlin rose and muttered about Arthur.
Else hugged me but there were no kisses. I found out I’d been unconscious for a week. We’d been spat out of Albion onto the side of the Tor, from there, Merlin and Else limped into Avalon to find help. Arthur and I were worst off, Geraint unable to stand. Of Nimue we had no sign but Else said sightings of a man matching my description made Merlin and the Sister of Avalon set seals of protection around the Abbey. We were not strong enough to confront Aeddan. But we had Merlin back, so facing Stephen de Clare and stopping his fight for the throne of England seemed possible.
While they spoke about events, I watched how they looked to each other for confirmation of ideas. How their hands touched and how my beautiful girl smiled at my best friend. A lump formed in my throat and tears pricked my eyes. “So,” I said my voice sounding rough, “when are you two going to tell me about your news?”
Geraint’s eyes snapped to mine. An honest man in his heart meant his eyes betrayed him, guilt is not attractive. “Lancelot, you need to concentrate on becoming well.”
“No,” Else said laying a hand on his. “No, there have been too many lies between us.”
“This is one occasion when lying would be a good thing,” I muttered wanting to stand and pace the small room. Tension made my ribs hurt and my right hand ached. Whatever Merlin gave me to drink didn’t take away enough types of pain.
Else’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be foolish. It’s the endless lies that have brought us here. Our whole relationship was founded on lies and that’s not a place on which to build a marriage.”
I didn’t want to hear this. “I’m not ready, please go away. Leave me in peace. Come back in ten years or so.” I struggled under my blankets and cried out in pain. Geraint rose, equally distressed, Else held her ground.
“It’s over, Lancelot. You and Arthur –”
“I gave up Arthur for you,” I informed her. “I want marriage, children and home.”
“No,” she snapped. “You want convention because you are afraid to face the truth of what and who you really are. I will not play this game with you. I watched you in that place, that dungeon, with Arthur.” Tears stood proud in her angry eyes. Her sentences broke but they remained lucid and well planned in advance of this moment. “You wanted to save us, but you would have sacrificed me, us, to save him. I deserve to be happy. My bloody step family want me for nefarious reasons, Merlin wants me here learning to be like him and I want love. A love you cannot give me.”
“I do care for you.” The bleat sounded lost and lonely among her passionate words.
“But you do not love me,” she sounded so like her biological mother I flinched. “No,” she said more softly as though she’d heard the tone herself. “You love Arthur and that’s alright. I have found love, honest love, elsewhere. I will not be a poor second to Arthur, like Guinevere is to you.” She rose and took Geraint’s hand. “I am sorry and I’m sorry this is going to hurt, but it is the right thing to do.”
That was it, except for Geraint’s stricken gaze as she led him from my room. Done, over. The squire I met all those months ago, who saved me from despair in France, left me for my friend.
I lay back on my small bed and stared at the ceiling. Tears of loss tracked down my face but I didn’t have the energy for rage or heartbreak and Arthur lay next door locked in his own hell. Would I ever know peace? I was certain Arthur Pendragon wouldn’t give me peace but he did want to give me something. His heart, his life. I thought about Guinevere and wondered if Camelot would allow us to spend time together. Eventually, I slept once more and woke to darkness in my small room. I swung my legs over the edge of my bed, groaned aloud in pain and saw to my toilet, made more complicated with my sudden left handedness. I hurt everywhere but I could move, so I did, out of my door and into a simple stone corridor, the floor very cold on my bare feet. I considered my nakedness with regard to the Sisters of Avalon, but decided I didn’t care when I heard a gentle sobbing from the room to my left. I didn’t knock I just walked into a room lit by one small candle.
Arthur lay on his side, with his back to me. Blood stained the cloth bandages wrapped around his body to help the healing of his lashes. His body shook with his anguish. I crossed the small room on silent feet and touched his shoulder, sitting on his bed.
“Peace, Sire,” I whispered to him. “I’m here, we will be alright. I promise you, my King.”
He rolled over, didn’t look at me but curled himself around me and wept for a long time. His head on my lap meant I just sat and stroked his hair until dawn lifted the night sky. When he found his centre of calm Arthur helped me lay down on my back. He stretched out next to me, on his side and rested his head on my chest, a long way from my broken ribs. We both fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, wrapped safely in each other’s arms.
The following days kept us both relatively still. The more Arthur moved about, the worst the scars. Merlin hoped with good care, the scarring should be almost imperceptible after a year. That left me relieved in the extreme. Geraint and Else spoke to Arthur about their plans, he tried to talk to me but I ended up shouting at him and then I collapsed. The pain in my ribs every time I drew breath too great. They left Avalon and headed back to Tintagel. They planned on returning to Camelot when they both felt stronger. They would marry formally there in the spring. My anger over their nuptials hurt Arthur but I couldn’t help it, I still feared what he and I shared and anger became my only outlet. Losing the use of my sword hand just made things worse. My only consolation was Ash. He and the other horses were soon retrieved from the Levels and happy to come home to somewhere warm and safe. When I managed to leave my room and limp down to visit he appeared to be very sheepish about losing me on the moor.
I slogged through the mud back into the Abbey’s living quarters, a wave of exhaustion sweeping over me. I’d been fighting and running from one thing or another my entire life. I craved to be happy but I wouldn’t allow it to happen. Arthur watched me constantly, his expression by turns – hungry, fearful and deeply sad. His wounds were healing on the outside but he cried out at night. I found myself waiting for his nightmares. I would slip into his room, curl around his wounded back, and he’d sleep in my arms. I always left before dawn.
“Lancelot,” his soft voice called me away from my door. God, I needed him. I turned toward his room. Arthur sat on his bed, his elbows on his knees. He didn’t look up at me. “I’m well enough to return to Camelot. I need to return to Camelot, I can’t stay here any longer.”
“Do you want me to return with you?” I asked. The sudden sharp pain in my chest made my breath hitch. It had nothing to do with my healing ribs.
“You can’t ride that far, not yet,” he said, still not looking at me.
“My place is by your side,” I told him, my throat closing.
“Is it?” he asked, his clear blue eyes rose to mine.
I had pushed him too far, he would rather say goodbye to me than live with the half life he felt I gave him. I walked toward him and knelt. I took his face in both hands. My left touched his blonde stubble, my right protested madly. I winced as I tried to settle. I forced his gaze to meet mine.
“I am sorry,” I said.
“Lancelot –”
“No, my turn.” I pulled his face toward mine and kissed his soft lips. “Forgive me, love me, help me understand and stop being afraid for you and for me and of Camelot.”
“You will never stop being afraid of Camelot, she always fills me with dread.” He touched my chest, his lips speaking close to mine, our breath mingling. “As to your other fears, I share them. You can take it all, Wolf. Everything I have, wife, crown, me.”
“I only ever wanted to serve you, my King,” I whispered and moved into his body. Our kisses grew, no longer tentative or gently loving. Hot, fierce, our tongues fighting for dominance, our hands exploring, what strength we both had pitted against each other. My ribs hurt but my lust hurt more. Arthur pushed me down onto the cold floor. I registered his weight on my bad side.
“Ouch,” I groaned.
“Fuck.” He rolled off me.
“I hope so,” I muttered.
Arthur laughed and I found myself joining him. We laughed long and hard, my ribs moaning the whole time. The pressure left us and Arthur faced me, leaning on one arm, his other hand roving over my chest. “If this is really what you want and what we can accept, then we can wait.”
“I don’t want to wait, I don’t want any more time to think or be afraid. I just want to give everything I have to you,” I said.
“And Else?”
“She loves another, it’s over. I need to accept it and after all, she isn’t a patch on you,” I said smiling and meaning it.
I lay on my back, on the cold stone floor and watched Arthur untie every one of the laces holding his clothing in place. I then watched him undress. He placed every item carefully on a chair in the sparse room, no luxuries here for our King. He helped me stand and stripped me naked. He no longer wore the bandages around his ribs and I turned him, looking at his back for the first time. Six deep cuts from right shoulder to left hip carved lines through his perfect skin.
“It’s horrible,” I whispered. “Why did I do it?”
He turned back and kissed the fingers of my left hand. “You did it to save Geraint and Eleanor. I would suffer the same fate again if I had to, you did the right thing and I love you for it.”
“I hurt you.” My hand shook.
“A lot less than I have hurt you,” he said. “It is done, in the past. From this moment our futures are together, that’s the only thing which matters.” My left hand circled the back of his neck and I pulled him toward me.
Our bodies touched, his hands sat on my hips. We were both erect. Our hips met and we shared that intimate touch. My whole existence drew down to this one bright, exquisitely painful moment. His hand slid over my backside, holding us close, our chests rose and fell in the same breath and we shared nothing more than our close physical proximity. I bent my head to his neck and kissed the rough skin, trailing my tongue, tasting the bitter musk so different to a woman’s scent. I bit into the huge muscle over his collarbone. He groaned and pushed his hips into mine. I bit harder and his body weakened under the pain. I knew then, he might be my lord and king on the battlefield but Arthur’s desires led him to be submissive to me in our private life.
I liked that thought, we had a private life. I moved him, lay him down on the bed and smiled into his trusting blue eyes. “This isn’t going to be the athletic ballet I’d like.”
He caressed my face. “Just to feel you this close to me is all I have ever wanted. The rest can wait.”
“There are some things that can’t wait, Arthur,” I said feeling nervous about the prospect.
“Have you done this before?” he asked shyly, blushing.
“Not with a man, but I’ve played this game with some experienced women.”
He grinned lopsidedly. “Thank goodness for the dark ladies of Camelot,” he said.
“Amen,” I muttered my loins throbbing with insistence.
Arthur wriggled under me and reached for a saddlebag, he fished about and pulled out a small glass bottle. I looked at him, my eyebrow raised in question, he smiled. “Oil.”
I took the bottle from him and kissed his mouth, grateful for his forethought. I moved, trying to descend his body with some semblance of grace. The ends of my ribs threatened to snap once more. The pain left me gasping and frustrated. I cursed until Arthur rolled me off his chest and rose from the bed. He knelt and pulled me upright, so I sat on the edge of our narrow cot. I’d grown soft because of the pain.
His hand trailed down my chest and stomach. “Patience, Wolf,” he said grasping my cock. I growled and began kissing his face, neck and chest with some savagery. Arthur murmured and coaxed encouragement. Within moments I’d grown harder under his hands than I thought possible. He controlled me, never once endangering our completion but keeping me focused on desire.
My hand trailed over his back, I caressed the healing wounds. I blanked my mind and I continued down. His backside so firm and rounded under my exploring touch. A woman never felt like this, Arthur’s muscles were perfectly formed, nothing soft and malleable. We were so well matched. For the first time I drew my hand around his hip. Arthur stopped moving and just watched my face. I trailed my hand up and my fingers encircled his engorged phallus. He gasped. I wished I could use both hands, cup all of him. His tip, with skin so soft, made me just want to rub my lips over it, to feel the velvet. I let my fingers explore the foreign world, so similar and yet completely different to my own. Longer, slightly narrower, everything tighter and nestled in fine blonde hair.
“Stand up,” I ordered, unable to think beyond my desire. Arthur rose and I sat straight on the bed. Before giving him a chance to speak, I licked up his shaft, every muscle in his strong legs jumped and he cursed. His fingers tangled into my hair. I spent time teasing and playing, just as those wonderful women of mine had tormented me. I knew for a fact the only person Arthur had ever slept with was Guinevere. When I took as much as possible in my mouth, he trembled and I ended up trying to support his weight in one hand. I sucked gently and licked.
“Oh, damn it, Wolf, I’m going to die if you keep doing that,” he muttered over my head.
I chuckled, the vibration making him moan again. With just one hand, I couldn’t be subtle with the oil. He poured a small amount on my fingertips and I plunged my mouth once more over his straining body. Reaching through his legs, I began to explore, but standing didn’t give me enough access considering our inexperience.
I tugged the blankets off his bed and threw them down. He lay back, both shy and confident. I knelt between his knees and guided one of his own hands to play with his erection. He tucked his other arm behind his head so he could watch. The oil made him slick as I explored and my finger gained easy access to his tight body, Arthur melted. His eyes rolled back and he almost panted, fighting for control. I took my time, watching his reactions as I moved into and out of his body. He felt so tight I didn’t know how we’d ever manage to complete this, but I worked, first with two then three fingers and he started to relax. Suddenly, I knew we’d found the perfect moment.
I slid my fingers out and lowered myself over his body. He piled up a wad of blanket, tilting his hips up. I kissed his mouth. “You sure?”
“I’ve always been sure, just never had the courage,” he said, stroking my hair and face.
“This will change us forever,” I told him.
“Good, I didn’t like being a liar and denying you,” he said.
I smiled and leaned onto the elbow with the broken hand. My left grasped my own aching erection and I guided myself to his entrance. I kissed him, trying to take away any pain as I pushed, long and slow. He groaned and his fingers dug into my backside.
“I’ve hurt you,” I said frozen over him.
His eyes snapped open. “Yes, no, don’t bloody stop, don’t you dare stop.” His strength matched my own and he pulled me into his body. I stopped him taking it all, not wanting to damage anything. My confidence shaken but my determination strong, I worked it, withdrawing and pushing forward a piece at a time, the oil making it smoother. It felt incredible. All that power, all that strength under me, begging for more. The love I felt for this man overwhelmed me and I bowed my head, tears leaking onto my cheeks. Arthur started to move with me and I knew I never want anything or anyone else. He begged for all of me so I pushed fully into his body, while cradling his head in my left palm. I held still, my face buried against his shoulder. He stroked my back and spoke gently of his love, the tension in my body rose higher and I thrust hard. He gasped and suddenly it was not about tender love but passionate thrusting power. His strength surged against my own.
The chains I’d placed on my orgasm slithered loose and the rush of energy racing through me translated into Arthur’s body. He grabbed my face and forced me to look at him. The intense screaming power inside me coalesced into one perfect moment. I fell into the deep blue of his eyes. He locked rigid under me and we both cried out as he tightened around my body and I toppled over the edge, plunging into the sweeping light of my orgasm. It tore through my body, pulsing like I’d never known before. I was lost and alone in a world of passion.
“Lancelot,” Arthur’s voice came from a great distance. He raised my head off his shoulder where it sagged. “Wolf, are you alright?”
I tried to smile but tears rushed through me. “I love you,” I managed, pulling him close to me. Arthur held me, his legs wrapping around my thighs and his arms around my back. He spoke of soft things, of our future and of his love. I returned to myself and managed to separate myself from him both physically and untangling our spirits. My ribs and hand were killing me, the endorphins rushing away too fast. Arthur rose, now silent, washed himself, then knelt on the floor and washed me.
I touched his face with a shaking hand. “Thank you.” I didn’t know what else to say.
He smiled, bashful once more. “You are welcome.” He pulled the mattress off the small wooden bed, went to my room and dragged everything in from there. He arranged both mattresses on the floor.
“You’re shaking,” he said.
I did, I trembled. All those years, all that time waiting and it was perfect. I was lost and confused and happy and scared and perfect. I wanted to hold him to my heart forever.
For a week, we lived in that happy place somewhere between reality and fantasy. We made love constantly, with long nights spent curled up in our small bare cell. Merlin watched like an indulgent father when we walked around Avalon hands clasped tight, love in our eyes and on our lips. We healed both in body and soul, so much of our pasts vanishing under the onslaught of hope. We both knew it wouldn’t last, couldn’t last, but damn it felt so good.
I felt complete, happy in Arthur’s embrace. It was as though my constant fight against the love I felt for him, took all my energy and now I’d surrendered, life felt so simple. Easy. Painless, for the first time.
Almost a fortnight from when I first woke after our tussle with Nimue, reality once more closed over our heads.
We sat on the top of the Tor. Our daily walks helping us both to regain strength and a way to test my healing ribs. We’d almost run up the steep sides today, slipping in the mud, my hand strapped to my belly so I wouldn’t be tempted to use it. Once we reached the top, Arthur won, we lay panting and staring up at the blue sky dotted with huge white clouds. My ribs hurt a great deal and I found it hard to breathe. Arthur sat up, concern for me clear. I watched his face grow pale and his lips thin. His brows drew together and his jaw muscles jumped in anger. His eyes were focused on something a long distance from me.
I levered myself upright and followed his gaze. A horseman raced toward Avalon, even at this distance I could see the clots of mud his horse’s hooves thrust into the air and the steam from the beast’s nose. I also saw the man’s surcoat. Blue and gold, glinting in the pale winter sunlight. Arthur’s colours. Camelot’s man. Our reprieve was over. England wanted her King back. He rose and I stood at his side. Once more his Champion, ready to defend him and his kingdom to my death if necessary.
The End
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Author’s Note
If you enjoyed this book, perhaps you could consider leaving a review on the site from where you purchased it? Reviews are important to independent authors and your support is appreciated. Thank you for reading.
So, the first Knights of Camelot story is over.
I hope you enjoyed it enough to read on, there’s a sneak peek of Lancelot’s Sword in a minute.
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