Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story.
Author's Note: I'm an evil, evil writer. And thank you to all of my wonderful reviewers. By now you all know that it doesn't matter if it's anonymous or not, I just want you to let me know what you like, what you don't and what you want to see more of. Your reviews keep the story coming. Besides, you all have great insights into this little tale.
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Who Wouldn't Want A Sarmatian?
Chapter Twenty-One: Embarrassment
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Gueneviere spread the skins across the table, the tanned hides bearing inked drawings showing the entirety of her husband's kingdom. Looking up, she smiled at the obviously uncomfortable Nadège. "Thank you, Nadège. You can go."
Nadège nodded gratefully and practically ran from the room where Arthur and his bride were meeting with Merlin. She hurried down the maze of hallways towards the chambers that she had been assigned. The handle of her door turned under her hand and she stepped into the bedroom, her hands already moving to her jerkin and tugging it over her head.
A familiar clearing of the throat stopped her mid-disrobing and she pulled the tunic off her head in confusion.
"I'm in the right room," she muttered, taking in the familiar items that occupied her room.
Tristan nodded from his seat in the corner. "You are."
Nadège frowned and dropped the jerkin onto the table beside the knight. She crossed her arms over her still-wrapped chest. "If I'm in my room, what are you doing here?"
Tristan rose to his feet in a fluid action and stood before her. "Why do you say my name in your sleep?" he asked quietly.
Nadège gaped at the knight and backpedaled, coming to a halt when she reached the wall.
"A simple question, my lady," he growled, stalking towards her.
Nadège looked wildly around the room for an escape before settling once again on the man before her. "Perhaps you were mistaken. I could have said anything."
Tristan considered this then shook his head, coming to a halt before the Amazone. "I did not mistake your calling my name in pleasure," he countered, reaching up to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking the flesh below her ear.
Nadège's eyes widened in shock, heat pooling in her belly as a shiver went through her. "I need to bathe," she whispered, ignoring his question.
Tristan looked into her eyes then nodded and, to her amazement, smiled as if he had found what he was looking for. Dropping his hand from her cheek, he stepped back. "Then I shall leave you to your bath."
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The bath felt divine. One of the maids had dumped some sort of liquid into the boiling water, filling it with a thick layer of bubbles. Another had laid out a stack of thick bath sheets to wrap herself in once she had completed her bath. And a third had helped the Sarmatian from the rest of her grime-encrusted clothing and into the tub.
The water had cooled to just below scalding and for the first time in days Nadège felt not only human but female. After all, what wasn't more feminine than a bathtub full of bubbles. Her head fell back, dark hair hanging in wet strands against her throat and floating among the bubbles.
A pounding at the door summoned her back from the bliss of warm water and warmer air. She blinked away the drowsiness and sat up a little straighter in the tub, careful to make sure that the bubbles still hid all the important bits from view. The last thing she needed to do was frighten one of the maids with her scars. "Come in!" she called.
The door swung open and Nadège's eyes widened in surprise to find Stasja and Zaria standing in her doorway, the looks on their faces murderous.
"You leave in the middle of the night-" began Zaria.
"And don't tell us that you're going or when you'll be back-" picked up Stasja.
"Then come back and see THE QUEEEN and don't even tell us that you're in one piece," shrieked Zaria.
"And if you think that's fine, we have a problem!" finished Stasja, hands on her hips. Both of the women took a breath and looked at the slightly stunned woman in the bathtub. "What do you have to say for yourself?" demanded the dark-haired lover of Gawain.
Nadège shifted uncomfortably. This was not a good day. She'd been teased by the scout and now her first bath in too long was being spoiled by her two very good friends ranting at her. "I'm sorry?" she squeaked.
"What the bloody hell is going on here-oh, my…" petered out Galahad as he came to a stop in the doorway and found himself gazing upon a very naked Nadège sitting in a tub full of bubbles. The simple fact seemed to short-circuit his brain as he gaped.
Nadège dropped her head into her hands, trying to hide the blush that had bloomed on her cheeks. She must be in Arthur's Christian Hell. That was the only explanation for this day.
"Galahad, what's going on?" called Gawain before he came to a halt beside his younger friend. No one in the doorway said a thing.
Nadège pulled together the last vestiges of her dignity and raised her head. "Get out. All of you," she ordered. "And close the door behind you."
It seemed like forever before the door was shut and Nadège was once again alone. Sinking deeper into the tub, Nadège submerged her head under the water. After several minutes under water, she burst through the bubbles gasping for air. "I'm going to kill them," she announced to the empty room. "All of them. Slowly. Painfully."
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Lancelot frowned and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table that symbolized the equality of them all. "What do you mean, the Saxons are preparing an army?" he asked, his tone low.
Arthur sighed, rubbing his temples. While he hadn't approved of Gueneviere's methods of sending an untried girl as a contact for the spy, it had yielded promising intelligence. "We have it on good authority, Lancelot. And Merlin has vouched for the spy that gave us the information."
Lancelot bristled and looked at the Woad leader. It was hard to remember that they were at peace, especially when so many of his brothers died at the hands of the Woads. "And where is this spy? Have him verify the information."
Gueneviere shook her head. "He cannot, Lancelot. He took a great enough risk in meeting my courier. If he was to be discovered, the Saxons would kill him."
Tristan listed dispassionately. So, he thought, Nadège had taken up the role of courier to the young queen.
"Lancelot, we must prepare. An army must be raised and trained."
The knights gaped at the king. "An army?"
Merlin nodded. "You are not our enemy. The Saxon is."
Dagonet leaned forward, mimicking Lancelot's pose. "How long?"
Merlin shook his head. "They will be ready to invade before twelve moons have passed."