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Chapter Eighteen

Surely this was a mirage that he was seeing. A trick of light and ale.

Galahad couldn't, no, he wouldn't believe his eyes. She could not be standing there, looking around the outdoor tavern as if she were looking for someone- would it be egotistical if he thought she was looking for him? And she definitely could not be standing there looking very un-nun like in a deep russet dress, her fiery hair pulled into a long braid that ran down the length of her back. She looked so beautiful, so enticing. It was all Galahad could do not to go to her at that moment.

No! He chastised himself. This is only an illusion. I have thought of her so often that my mind has conjured her into existence.

And it was true, he had thought of her often. Ever since they'd parted ways, Galahad had thought of Juliana every waking moment. Even when he'd made a vow to put her from his mind.

Around his neck, Zephaniah's arms tightened. So she had seen Juliana as well. No doubt Zephaniah was threatened by Juliana. After all, who could compare to Juliana's beauty, which was so magnified now that she was no longer dressed in the drab garb of the nunnery.

She shifted in his lap as she scrutinized this new arrival. And her eyes were not the only ones studying Juliana. No, every person in the tavern had turned their attention to the young woman. And Galahad couldn't blame them. Juliana was a stunning sight to behold. Though her eyes were filled with uncertainty and fear, she carried herself with a grace and confidence that was matched by hardly any other.

Juliana's eyes had yet to light upon Galahad, and for that he was grateful. Shame filled him as he pictured what Juliana would see should she look at him. Here he was, a man who had confessed that he loved her barely three days ago, and already he had another woman on his knee. Galahad wished to push Zephaniah off him, but he knew that any movement would surely draw Juliana's eye. And he did not wish her to see him in this way. And so, he prayed to whatever gods there were that her gaze would not move to him, and that he would be spared the embarrassment that would surely come should she see him.

But the gods were not with him. No sooner had he begun his feverish prayers then Juliana's eyes caught his. Her gaze seemed to be able to see straight into his very soul. To see all the shame and self-loathing that rested there. Galahad wanted to turn from her gaze, to keep her from seeing that dirty part of his soul. But his eyes could not move. It was as if she had cast a spell over him, one that would not allow his eyes to move from hers. He felt like a prisoner; but there was no cell to keep him there, only Juliana's beautiful ivy green eyes. And that was worse than any cell or dungeon.

A small, shy smile, tugged at the corners of Juliana's mouth and her eyes lit with the smile. But it quickly faded as her eyes flitted to Zephaniah. A mask fell over Juliana's face then. An expressionless mask that Galahad wished would disappear. He wanted to see that smile again, the one that made his heart race and his pulse pound in his veins. But it would not return.

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It was a mistake to come here.

Juliana's mind screamed for her to turn and leave this den of wickedness and sin. But her feet remained firmly planted on the earth. Every inch of her body was frozen in place. Her eyes would not move from Galahad's form, or, more precisely, the woman who sat upon his lap.

The beautiful girl had a possessive arm around Galahad's shoulders as she leaned against his chest. She glared at Juliana, her lips set in a frown.

I have made a terrible mistake. I should never have agreed to this. I should have gone to Rome when I had the chance.

She didn't belong here. Juliana didn't belong in this world; the world outside the church.

Eyes burned into her skin from every angle. It seemed as if the whole town had congregated to see her: the nun that was no more. Juliana felt like a Christian of old. Those Christians who were thrown to the lions in the rink, the crowd cheering for their blood. Nobody wanted her here. So why had she come?

After Juliana had picked out a new gown to wear, she had, timidly, asked a maid for water to be brought to her room so that she could bathe. Upon the water's arrival, Juliana had sunk into the tub and enjoyed the first true bath that she'd had in many a months. It had been such a terrific and exhilarating feeling that she had stayed in the tub until the water grew cold. And, by that time, dinner had ended.

That's right, she thought as her stomach growled lightly, causing a heated blush to creep up her cheeks, I was hungry.

But her hunger was no match for the fear that filled her. Nor was hunger any match for the icy hatred that was slowly growing inside her.

How dare Galahad claim he love her. How dare he compromise her reputation and get her thrown from the church. And then, barely days after he claimed such a thing, he dared to have another woman on his knee. The gall of that man!

Juliana felt her blush of embarrassment turn to one of anger. Her jaw clenched and her fingers tightened into fists. Suddenly all the eyes upon her seemed to fade from her thought. No one else in the room existed but Galahad and the tramp that he was parading around. Her lower lip began to tremble with a rage that Juliana had never before felt. Righteous anger. Yes, that was what it was called. Evil thoughts began to fill her mind; thoughts of violence towards Galahad and his whore.

No. Juliana mentally shook the thoughts from her mind. No matter what he has done, I should not allow my thoughts such freedom. I must get away from here, before I allow my emotions to rule me.

Juliana gathered her courage and will about her like a shroud. And, turning on her heels, she quickly left the tavern.

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The woman fled. Zephaniah watched her disappear into the night, her hair swinging behind her as she quickly walked away. A smirk replaced the frown. It was good that she had left of her own freewill, or else Zephaniah would have had to take matters into her own hands.

There was nothing Zephaniah hated more than a woman who would openly eye another woman's man. It was just not right. But what was worse, was that that tramp had eyed Zephaniah's man. That just did not sit well with the young woman.

She trailed a slim finger across Galahad's bearded jaw, tracing the contours of his face seductively. It was bad enough that the woman had been staring at Galahad, but did he have to return her stare? Zephaniah's smirk turned into an evil smile. It was time to remind Galahad who it was that he was with, to which woman he owed his allegiance.

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Guinevere paced the floor of her sitting room. The time had come to tell Arthur of his impending fatherhood. But, now that the time had come, Guinevere was no longer certain that his reaction would be a happy one. What if he didn't want a child right now? What if he didn't want a child period? The questions flew through her mind at breakneck speed, one quickly following another until Guinevere's mind spun and her head ached.

The door to their shared room opened, and Guinevere turned to face her husband. His brow was creased and the lines about his eyes seemed to have deepened since dinner. He looked old and worn. Something was causing him worry, but he would not divulge the secret to Guinevere.

What was he hiding? She could not help but wonder. What could he not tell her? It worried her to no end that he would keep a secret from her; that he would hide the truth from the woman who loved him, who had fought beside him. But she trusted him. And she knew, that in time, he would tell her. Right now, however, was her time to tell a secret.

"Arthur," she said, kissing him in greeting and drawing him further into the room, "there's something I must tell you."

His eyes snapped to hers. There was a fear there, as if what she had to tell him was something of danger or a source of worry.

"What is it?" He asked, his voice hesitant. Guinevere forced herself to smile. If she could not relax, how could she expect her husband to.

"Don't worry, it's happy news." She said with affected cheerfulness. Arthur said nothing, but his eyes implored her to continue. Guinevere bit her lip and took a brief second to think of how she wished to word her news.

She took Arthur's rough and calloused hand in hers.

"Arthur, I'm…I'm pregnant."

There. The words were out. Now it all rested upon Arthur's shoulders.

Seconds passed in a seemingly unending space of time. Suddenly, the years seemed to slip from Arthur's face and a radiant smile broke through. He pulled Guinevere into his arms and kissed her passionately over and over again.

Laughing with glee, Guinevere returned his kisses with eager abandon.

"That is the happiest news I could ever hear." He whispered in her ear between kisses. "You have made me a happy man, Guinevere. Tomorrow we shall have a great feast and tell everyone our news."

Guinevere smiled. She couldn't have asked for a better reaction from Arthur.

"But tonight," he continued, taking her hand in his and leading her towards their bedchamber, "tonight we shall have our own celebration."

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