Chapter Ten: Dishonour
Dagonet was sitting at the round table with the other knights and Arthur, his back to the door. They were discussing mundane matters: Bors and Galahad were arguing about something, and Dagonet had stopped concentrating.
He was suddenly aware of silence and heard the sound of the door being closed. He turned slowly in his chair, vaguely aware of the other knights looking over his head in amazement.
Adara stood there, wearing a pale lavender gown of soft silk that rustled as she moved. Dagonet scarcely recognised her, for her blue-black hair fell over her shoulders, curling delicately at the tips.
A pale blush rose to her cheeks as she felt the eyes of the knights on her, and she cast her eyes demurely downwards, fighting to stop the bubble of laughter that was threatening to rise in her throat.
Arthur suddenly recovered his manners and stood, instantly the courteous gentleman.
"Please sit," he said, pulling a chair back for her.
With a grateful smile at Arthur that made Dagonet's stomach growl in jealousy, Adara sat, and Arthur resumed his place.
"I apologise for our treatment of you, my lady," Arthur began. "But I could not put my knights at risk."
"Of course," Adara answered in an amused voice. "I hear the spy has fled?" she left the question hanging delicately in the air; a challenge to whichever man would take it.
"He has, milady," one of the knights said. He was a handsome man, Adara thought idly, with a manner that oozed charm and coal-black curls, framing a sharp face with amused and yet slightly mocking eyes.
"And you are…?"
"Lancelot milady," he grinned sideways at her.
Adara looked at him with interest for a moment, an immense satisfaction growing inside her as she felt the men's admiring eyes on her. She had had a fight with Vanora, the pretty young woman with copper curls that had helped her bathe and dress, over the lavender dress.
Adara had told her bluntly that not Woad ever wore a dress of that cut, colour or material, but Vanora had insisted, and now Adara was very glad that she had.
Adara turned away from the woman charmer who went by the name of Lancelot, and turned to Arthur Castus, the man who was a legend among her people: considered unbeatable on the battlefield, and a traitor to his Briton mother.
"And what will happen to me now?" she asked innocently.
"You will stay here until we can exchange you," Arthur replied uncompromisingly.
"No!" the wild-looking Sarmatian with tattooed cheeks and long, braided hair said violently.
"No?" Arthur asked, raising one questioning eyebrow.
"No," Tristan stated flatly, looking at Adara with loathing. "She will betray us to her people. Se will send messages to them, or else kill us as we sleep," he turned back to Arthur, and spoke flatly, "kill her."
"I did not ask to be here!" Adara protested indignantly, appealing to Arthur. "I am just a Woad woman who was in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"What kind of Woad woman speaks Roman?" Tristan asked scathingly.
Adara fell silent. She looked down as shame flooded through her. Memories and secrets hidden at the bottom of her heart came rushing back, engulfing her and drowning her in dishonour. She could not say the words that would save her life though she was aware of the knights' eyes on her.
"One with a Roman father," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.
A/N – what do you think? Thank you MedievalWarriorPrincess for all your reviews, I am so grateful to you! D'you think I should have a scene before this? Adara and Vanora talking? Get back to me please!