"Alright," said Gwen minutes into the drive to Ealdor. "What's so funny?"

"You." The road was clear, so he turned to look at her, unable to stop himself from smiling. She had a bright red patterned scarf wrapped around her head, and large sunglasses on. "Mind you, I'm not laughing at you because you look terrible or anything. It's just that you look - well, like you just came out of one of those road trip movies from the early 90s. It's cute."

She frowned and, from behind her sunglasses, slanted him a look, one that was ruined by the slight upturn of the corners of her lips, her very soft-looking lips. "When Merlin told me that you were going to drive me to Ealdor in a convertible, I felt like I had to dress for the occasion."

"Mmm." He turned his attention back to the road. Speeding cars and careless drivers might be the bane of the city roads, but here, the danger was the animals who sometimes wandered on the roads. "As I said, it's cute."

"Don't you have a driver anyway?"

"When I'm in Camelot. City roads are terrible. But outside the city? I find driving relaxing. Plus, if George had driven us, we would be in the limo, attracting far too much attention and I wouldn't get to see you all decked out like this."

"And a convertible isn't attention grabbing?"

Arthur laughed. "It is, probably. But Ealdor is a thriving village making a living off tourists who fancy themselves living in some sort of sanitised medieval village. And despite being in the medieval ages, you'll see lots of other people who want to live out their dreams of being in an 90s road trip movie."

"You'll never let me live this down," said Gwen but he could hear the amusement in her voice.

"Maybe." He grinned. "It's at least another two hours before we reach so why don't you tell me about yourself?"

"Me? I should be getting to know you. I spent the whole weekend looking through the files on your prospective brides."

"And what did you think?"

She shrugged, a graceful movement. "They are very disparate. I thought I would be able to get a glimpse of what you deemed important in a partner, but to be honest, the selection of women seem very random."

"You didn't notice their pedigreed backgrounds?" Arthur himself hadn't looked at the list of women. All he knew was that Mithian was one of them, but knowing his father, an impeccable background would be top of his criteria.

"That I did. Is that all that matters? Surely you have some preferences. Some do not wants."

"Gregorian chants. Can't stand them."

"So a woman is off the list if she's a Gregorian chanter?"

"Or chantee."

He heard her stifle a giggle.

"Hey. You started with the made up words."

"Chanter is not a made up word," said Gwen between giggles.

"It's not if you're talking about bagpipes. I'm pretty sure those people who stand around in old churches chanting away are not called chanters."

She giggled again. "Right. Deal breaker number 1 - Gregorian chanting."

"Your turn. What's your deal breaker?"

Gwen shifted in her seat, turning to face him. As she did so, the skirt she wore hiked up and Arthur caught sight of a smooth, toned thigh. He swallowed and told himself to focus on the road.

"Who's doing the matchmaking here?"

"Talking about myself all the time is going to get boring. Come on. You're going to spend the next three days with me. You have plenty of time to get to know me."

She shook her head and the scarf slipped a little. "Why don't you tell me about Ealdor House then?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Sneaky. But since you asked. I bought her last year and the plan is to get her restored. She's built in a Tudor style but years, decades actually, of neglect has left her in bad shape."

"Will you sell it when you're done restoring it?"

"Sell it? No. I hope to make it my home."

"Ah, so you'll need a wife who wouldn't mind living in a pretend medieval village."

"Good point," said Arthur. "I don't suppose any of the women on the list mentioned wanting to live in a medieval village."

"Unfortunately, no. But this gives me an idea. Why don't we bring the women down here? Then you can see how they feel about living in Ealdor while spending time working on your house. Plus, I imagine it will be a little more private than you dating in Camelot."

"You," said Arthur, "are a genius."

Gwen smiled at that, a wide, bright smile that made his heart swell and made him want to coax it out from her more often.

Then her smile faded into a look of awe. "Oh my. Look at that."

Gwen had lived all her life in the city, with only the occasional trips out into the countryside. None of those trips had prepared her for the breath-taking vista that spanned in front of her as Arthur's fancy convertible turned the corner. The ocean, with it's white crested waves and jagged rocks, stretched as far as she could see, and the cloudless sky seemed to take on a blue so clear it looked like glass.

"Can you see the ocean from your house?"

"Not from the main house, but there is a private path that climbs to a cliff that overlooks the ocean." Arthur's fingers flexed on the wheel as he maneuvered the car along the narrow, winding road. He had nice hands, and the sudden memory of those hands grasping her hips the first time they met flashed through her head, sending the most inappropriate feelings rushing through her body. Thank goodness for sunglasses and skin that didn't show blushes easily.

As they drove, Arthur started, then kept up, with her encouragement, a running commentary of the sights they passed. An abandoned farm, a Georgian style church, the remains of a fort. It was clear that not only did Arthur know a great deal about the area, he had real affection for the place and its history. He rambled on about the various people who had come to Ealdor and attempted, and in some cases, succeeded in taking control of the place, before the whole of Albion was united, sort of.

Gwen watched him, glad that her eyes were covered by her over-sized sunnies. He too had sunglasses on but the lack of a scarf meant that his short hair danced in the wind, making her itch with the desire to run her fingers through it, if only to see if it felt as soft as it looks. Candid photos in the tabloids did not do justice to him. As a living, breathing person, Prince Arthur was far from perfect. A pale scar stretched across his hand and without the help of Photoshop, his skin was far from flawless. Yet, altogether, he was still incredibly good looking, aided by no small measure by his clearly fit body. Her eyes lowered to his thigh. Yes, very fit.

Which was a silly thought and she had to stop seeing him as an attractive male and start seeing him as her client. A client whose prospective marriage to someone who wasn't her would net her a cool sum of money. Still, it was early days and she couldn't argue herself out of just simply enjoying the view. Look, don't touch, she told herself. What harm could that do?

Arthur eased the car in off the winding mountain road and within minutes, they passed under a large, wooden sign, artistically burnt, announcing their arrival at Ealdor - Medieval Village of Yore. Gwen read out the words, then lifted an eyebrow. Within moments, Arthur parked the car outside a large stone building.

Sliding his sunglasses up, he smiled. "Welcome to Ealdor."

Gwen looked around. "Is your house here?"

"Oh no. This is the village center. We've been on the road for a while so I thought we could stop for a stretch and some food. And to use the toilet."

At the reminder of food, her stomach rumbled obligingly causing Arthur's smile to widen. Gracefully, he got out of the car, then walked over to her side and opened the door for her.

"Come," he said, one hand reaching to help her out of the low slung car. "I'm sure you've always wanted to know what it was like to live in a time of death and disease."

"Very appealing," muttered Gwen as she placed her hand in his. "It's a wonder women aren't beating a path to your door to live here with you."

The village wasn't very large. From her estimation, one could probably walk through the whole place in about an hour or so. Stone cottages with thatched roofs lined the main street and Gwen recognised a bakery, a tavern and a smithy. There were other cottages further away, and Gwen assumed that they were residences. Two types of people milled around the area. Those wearing modern clothes like them and spoke in hushed, excited voices, fingers pointing and phones snapping. Then there were the people of Ealdor, dressed in what Gwen could only assume was standard peasant medieval wear.

Arthur led her into the large stone building that apparently functioned as some sort of visitors' center. The walls were lined with a variety of brochures and a large chalkboard cheerfully announced an upcoming May Day fete, complete with fluttering ribbons and stalks of corn decorating its border.

Immediately, the people inside dropped into curtsies more graceful than she had ever achieved in the last week. The curtsey she'd attempted when she arrived at the royal residence had led to Arthur steadying her with a hand at her elbow and barely hiding a smile. Again, heat had flared in her cheeks and she had offered a flustered apology which he had brushed off.

"My lord. It's good to see you here again. And this is -" Curious eyes landed on Gwen.

Stretching out a hand, Gwen smiled. "I'm Gwen. I'm assisting his lordship here on the restoration of his house."

Gwen could see that the woman behind the counter didn't quite believe her, but she smiled and pumped her hand with great enthusiasm. "Ah, so the young prince is finally going to work on his house?" Her eyes moved to Arthur and a slight frown appeared between her eyes. "Surely you won't make her stay in that terrible place."

"Ealdor House has historical value, I will have you know." But Arthur was smiling and it was obvious that this was a familiar banter between the two of them. "Since she is too rude to introduce herself, this is Freya. She's the village chief."

"He means manager of this place." Freya adjusted the bonnet on her head. "If you're not staying with the prince at Ealdor House, you'll need a room at the Olde Boar Head."

"She would," said Arthur. "Which is why we are having this conversation. What does Hunith have cooking today?"

"I just had some of her cabbage and leek pottage. I believe she had a pig roasting as well. You might want to get there before those tourists do and before they discover they have the actual Prince of Albion wandering around here. They might make you pose at the sword in the stone for photos. Again."

Gwen peered up at Arthur. "That sounds like a story I would like to hear."

Arthur snorted. "It's a search term away. You don't need me to tell you. Now, I know you're hungry. Let's go hide in a nice, dark booth in the Olde Boar Head."

In one smooth motion, Arthur slid his sunglasses back on, then took her elbow quite firmly and steered her out of the visitors' center. Bright sun shone down on them and the tourists still lingered on the main street, happily taking turns to pose with a farmer and his cow. Deftly, Arthur led her past them and past a souvenir store and into another stone building.

"I'm surprised this isn't called Ye Olde Boar Head," said Gwen as she stepped into the restaurant.

She could feel Arthur's amusement. "Probably thought it was too cliched."

Cliched was an understatement. Anything and everything that could be thought of as vaguely medieval seemed to have been stuffed into this small room. Wood tables and chairs took up most of the room, standing on rough wooden floor that was lined with a generous helping of straw. A roaring stone fireplace stood in the middle of the room and a counter covered most of the back wall. While a few heads raised to look at them, most of the customers continued with their meal and drinks and paid no attention to them.

Arthur found them a small table tucked next to the counter, far from most of the other customers. A waiter, dressed unsurprisingly in medieval style tunic and trousers, dropped a couple of menus on their table and after a quick perusal of the small menu, they made their orders.

"So," said Gwen. "You must come here often. At least, you and Freya seem chummy."

Arthur nodded. "I do. Mostly when my father is being his overbearing self."

"Like now."

"Mmm. Like now, with the whole matchmaking thing."

"I'm sure he means well."

Unlike the previous smiles he'd directed at her, this one didn't reach make his eyes crinkle. "In a way. He doesn't believe in love and he thinks that as long as some boxes are ticked, any two people can have a happy marriage."

Now they were getting somewhere. Gwen itched to take out her notebook and write down Arthur Penn's Thoughts on Love and Marriage but she didn't. Partly because it didn't seem right, and partly because Arthur had decided to stretch and the t-shirt he was wearing rode up, revealing to her a slice of pale, muscled skin and a trail of blonde hair that was leading her head down the gutter.

"You don't share the same thoughts?" Gwen dragged her eyes back to his face.

"Not really." His voice dropped and he leaned towards her. "I'm swearing you to secrecy, but I want what Gwaine and Merlin have. They are in love, they are happy and they are going to spend the rest of their lives being the most annoyingly perfect couples who wear matching t-shirts."

"And you want that?"

"Well. Maybe not the t-shirts. But I do want more than a list of common interests and working body parts."

His words made her laugh. "Don't you think that love fades eventually and then, all you will have left is a list of common interests and working body parts?"

Arthur tilted his head, his eyes boring into hers. "You don't believe in love."

Before she could reply, he reached across the table and took her hand, turning it over so her palm faced up. "You've never been in love? Never done anything foolish because you wanted to hear that person's laugh? Never wanted to take on someone's burdens so they don't struggle so much?"

With each word, he stroked her palm with his finger. And with each stroke, heat built in Gwen, deep, warm and needy.

"Never looked at someone and thought that even the sun couldn't compare in beauty?"

Gwen was never happier to have two pewter tankards slammed onto their table, the beer within sloshing over the edges onto her hand. Yanking her hand away, she looked down, rummaging in her bag for a piece of tissue and tried to steady her heartbeat.

Was he flirting with her?

Instead of pulling out a piece of tissue, she took out her notebook. When she looked up, two spots of pink dotted Arthur's cheeks and he seemed to find the restaurant's exposed beams very fascinating. She cleared her throat and he looked at her, a mix of embarrassment and apology in his eyes.

No, he hadn't been flirting with her. He had just gotten carried away with the idea of love.

"Gwen -"

She uncapped her pen. "No, I don't particularly believe in love. But my beliefs don't matter. We've spent a good half day together and I still don't know much about you except that you can drive and you want to restore a crumbling mansion. Why don't you answer a few questions for me while we wait for our lunch?"

AN: I would like to point out that I am no medieval expert or architectural restoration expert so if there's anything ridiculous, close one eye? Again thanks for the comments. :)