I've published the book! Arthur's Witch: The Priestess is now available on Kindle and Smashwords, and you can download the sample for free, so it's gotta be worth a look! The blurb is below.

Morgan le Fay is a woman shrouded in infamy. The original wicked witch, she is responsible for bringing the golden age of Arthur to a catastrophic end. Though evil guile, ruthless ambition and petty jealousy, she stood against the light of Britain's first Christian King, her own brother. She watched an entire kingdom burn. A subhuman monster who consorted with demons and became the Devil's mistress.

Or a woman shrouded in mystery. The original fairy godmother, she is responsible for creating the golden age of Arthur from the ground to the ramparts of Camelot. Though passion, purity of spirit and selflessness, she stood against the religious perversion which invaded her homeland and corrupted her King, her own brother. She protected an entire kingdom as a mother would a child. A High Priestess whose name and legend have been besmirched and besmeared by lesser men.

Her own story. Now told.

A/N: Believe me, this chapter is as unexpected for me as it is for you. The muses held a choral concert for me while I wasn't looking. Enjoy!

Chapter Seven - Shakespeare

Queen Park lay in Hertfordshire, some significant distance from Kent Farm and Dashwood Cottage, so a night in an inn was required at the halfway point of their journey. It was possible that their acquaintance with Mr and Mrs Queen was too slight for Diana and her sister to travel such a long way for a mere day party, but when she had put forward the idea to Donna, her sister had responded with such enthusiasm that Diana was convinced the merits of the trip far outweighed any social niceties. Indeed, Donna was still excited now, leaning from the carriage window with an eager smile on her pretty face, her fingers tapping in her lap and craning her neck to see around the next bend in the road. The weather outside was quite fine for the time of year, and the sunshine was warm, the wind level low. It was Diana's favourite season, the spring. The sunlight shifting through the trees was somehow lighter than in summer, paler and less oppressive, especially when it hit upon the lively green of new leaves.

The journey had been much quicker than a lot of others Diana had known, mainly because of the good company. She and Clark had struck up an interesting conversation about news from the continent, about which he had no qualms talking, thankfully. It was comforting to know that he did not think either she or Donna represented any kind of threat to imperial security because of their father. If he had, then topics involving France, Prussia or America would soon have ground to a halt. As Clark was the foreign affairs editor of the Daily Planet, conversing at all would have been difficult if that were the case.

Donna pulled her head back inside the carriage with a broad smile on her face. "I think we've arrived!" she said breathlessly, as they went through a grey stone gateway.

"You seem very excited, Miss Donna," Lois noted, "considering you've not met Mr and Mrs Queen above once."

"True," Donna agreed, "but it has been so dull stuck inside Gloucestershire with nowhere to go and no one to talk to. I long for London sometimes, and less boring people."

"Donna!" Diana frowned.

"Oh, Mr and Mrs Kent know I don't mean them," Donna replied impatiently, looking out of the window once more.

"I can only apologise for my sister," Diana said.

"No need, no need. A party is always cause for anticipation and excitement."

Clark checked his pocket watch. "Eleven 'o' clock. We may be among the last to arrive."

The main house was almost painfully large and even bigger than the home the Prince sisters had grown up in. It was set in beautiful parkland, a herd of deer grazing quietly as they trundled past. When they pulled up outside, and descended from the carriage, they were shown into the sun room, and greeted by their hosts. Oliver and Dinah Queen showed equal hospitality and warmth to Diana and Donna as they did Mr and Mrs Kent, and they were all instantly made to feel welcome. As tended to happen in large parties, the women and the men congregated together, with their own topics of conversation and separate interests. On this rare occasion, both Diana and Donna found they had intelligent and stimulating conversation to immerse themselves in, but only the elder sister did so. As it turned out, Donna had something quite different in mind.

Donna was a clever young woman. Diana had known that all her life, and had been happy and joyful in the sisterly relationship of true equals, which simply could not have developed without it. She had never before known Donna to be devious, however. And yet when they were within company, she had pulled Diana into a conversation with Mrs Queen, about aspects of her life in India that she must have known would be fascinating to Diana. And, indeed, they were. By the point in the discussion about something called 'yoga', Diana was thoroughly engrossed. Mrs Queen was a truly interesting and amusing character, an acquaintance whom Diana would happily call a friend—when the appropriate time and discourse had elapsed, of course. She could hardly allow for friendship when they had met only once before. Nevertheless, there did seem to be friendly warmth reciprocated on Mrs Queen's part; at any rate, she was conversing animatedly.

"So the Indians have been practicing this 'yoga' for a long time?" Diana asked.

"Oh, centuries before Europeans arrived. It's a truly ancient technique of relaxation. Well, more than simple relaxation, really—the meditation helps one to focus one's mind, clear thoughts and achieve a sense of…peace with oneself and the world. I have had many insights I would not otherwise have experienced, through the use of yoga."

Diana's eyes widened. "You practice it yourself?"

"Certainly. Its value may not be recognised by the West as it is the East, but I have found it to be of great benefit. Even if my guests would not feel the same about practicing an Indian custom."

"On the contrary, I would be very interested in learning more about it."

"Then I believe you would be a rare example, Miss Prince. We British do seem to like the idea that anything good from India must have originated with ourselves to begin with."

"Quite ridiculous."

"Utterly so. More tea?"

At some point in the discussion about the properties of yoga to strengthen the limbs and improve flexibility (Diana was not entirely sure what 'flexibility' meant, but she was sure it would be quite improper to ask), Donna had disappeared, excusing herself politely and discreetly walking away. Diana had assumed she had seen a friend or acquaintance, and fallen into conversation with them. It was not until a walk down to the fruit and vegetable gardens was proposed, to see how the strawberries were progressing, that Diana thought anything about her sister's absence might be odd.

Donna crept into the walnut grove with her heart fluttering inside her chest. She'd no reason to be nervous, she reminded herself. He would be here, she knew he would. Still, the thrill of what they were doing was undeniable.

She felt a little (perhaps more than a little) prickle of guilt when she thought of Diana and the letter she had left for her, but she also knew this was the only way. She loved Dick, loved him truly, and telling Diana what they intended would definitely had led to Diana alerting Bruce Wayne, and Dick had been adamant doing so would only lead to more trouble. There had been months of difficult waiting, with only two clandestine meetings to keep themselves going—the last one of which, Dick had proposed to her. It had been such a trial, for both of them, hiding the truth from those closest to them, but now the time for hiding was over. Donna hoped she had been able to conceal the flush of love in her face on returning home the last time, but apart from the one confrontation about the letters, Diana remained oblivious. It was unusual; she was very observant and had a gift for finding the truth in anything, but Donna suspected she had been preoccupied with troubles of her own. And if she chose not to share her problems with Donna…well, Donna could hardly be blamed for doing the same.

There was a noise in the trees ahead of her, and Donna stopped walking, wondering if she should call out or just hide. Finally she decided to do neither, and simply waited. Then-

"Donna? Is that you?"

At the sound of Dick's voice, she let out a great sigh of relief and smiled widely. "Yes. Yes, I'm here."

He stepped out from behind a tree, also beaming. "You look beautiful, Miss Prince."

The vegetable and fruit gardens were terraced, with the steps heading down to each steep and a little slippery from rain earlier in the day. Diana did not hesitate at the top, though the ladylike thing to do would probably have been to wait for a gentleman to help her down. It did not occur to Diana to do so, so she was surprised when a male hand presented itself at the bottom few steps to assist her down.

She took it, walked down the steps, then gave the customary curtsey to Bruce Wayne. "Thank you, Mr Wayne."

He bowed. "Miss Prince."

"How nice to see you again. I had no idea you knew Mr and Mrs Queen."

"Oliver and I went to school together."

"You seem to be very well connected, Mr Wayne."

"I've been fortunate in my friends," he said modestly.

"As have I."

They walked down the rest of the terraces together, making the kind of elegant small talk they ought; about the weather, their families, the roads and other such nonsense. Diana thought there was something else he wanted to say, but had no idea what that might be. Besides, she was now convinced Donna was not here. Almost everyone of the party was them, but her sister was nowhere to be seen.

Mr Wayne caught her look and raised a dark eyebrow. "You are looking for someone?"

"My sister. I cannot see her."

"It is a large estate. Perhaps she merely wandered away from the group."

"Perhaps," Diana agreed, though another thought struck her; Donna was gone, and Bruce Wayne was here… She cleared her throat and enquired in a would-be light tone, "Your ward is not with you today?"

"Dick? Yes, he's here, somewhere. I think he was headed towards the walnut grove."

Diana nodded and changed the subject, fervently hoping that if she happened to run into Dick Greyson, Donna would keep a cool head.

Donna grinned, blushing. "Thank you."

He took her hands and lifted them, kissing both. "I've missed you, Donna."

"Every moment has been torture."

"Torture's over now, my darling. You weren't followed?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm sure I managed to get away unnoticed."

Noticing the pensive expression on her face, Dick lifted her chin so he could look her in the eye. "Donna, if you don't want to do this-"

"I've never wanted to do anything more than I want to do this," she interrupted quickly. "It's just..."

"Your sister."

"This is going to hurt her terribly."

"Only temporarily. Once we're married, once we're settled, you can explain fully. There'll be no shame, no lasting anger. All any sister could want for you to be happy, surely?"

Donna nodded, smiling again. "You're right. I know you're right."

He held out a hand. "Then shall we?"

The rain began just in time for lunch to be served, taking everyone by surprise. The last time Diana had looked at the sky, it had been cloudless and blue. But then that had been some time ago. Bruce Wayne was a diverting and charming—if slightly too charming—companion, and while she had initiated conversation with the eventual aim of bringing the topic around to her father, she had become genuinely interested in his replies. In the manner of excellent conversation, the discourse had flowed from one subject to another with little pause or wish on either side for the other to cease talking. So far, history, politics, business and literature had been discussed, with the conversation now resting on Shakespeare.

When the rain began falling, the ladies' parasols immediately became impromptu umbrellas, though the precipitation was light and more refreshing than anything. Diana, who had never owned a parasol in her life, paid it no further mind other than to express her surprise. Seeing she had no cover, Mr Wayne immediately removed his coat for her to put about her shoulders. With a smile, Diana politely refused the kind offer.

"Are you certain?" he pressed. "It would not do for you to catch a chill, Miss Prince."

"I've caught chills before, Mr Wayne, and always lived through them. Besides, it is not a cold day, I have my shawl and we are nearly back to the house."

She hoped her confidence was conveyed to him—she did not want this man to think less of her, think that later, when she asked him about her father, she could not bear the weight of the truth he had to give her. It seemed to be the case.

With a smile, he put his jacket back on and continued with their discussion. "What about you, Miss Prince? Which character do you identify with most?"

"Well, at the moment I feel rather like Desdemona, buffeted from all sides by things I cannot control, and at the mercy of the invisible barbs of evil gossip," she replied honestly. "Though I hope my end will be rather less sticky than hers, when it comes."

He was smiling. "Forgive me, Miss Prince, but I would never have likened you to Desdemona."

"Oh? Then who? Juliet? Viola?"

"Viola is closer, perhaps, since like her I imagine there is more to you than first appears. But even she is not a good fit."

Diana smiled. "I think I see your goal, Mr Wayne."

"And it is?"

"The shrew, naturally."

He gave a self-conscious grin. "I was heading for Katherina, but not for any negative cause. Far be it from me to argue with the Bard, but…I never thought of Katherina as a shrew. Nor did I particularly like the ending of the play."

"I agree entirely," Diana replied. "Though I remember there being some debate over whether her final speech is intended to be mockery, in fact, if Shakespeare is not provoking sarcasm at man's idea of the 'perfect' woman."

"Sarcasm is not well-looked on in terms of wit," Bruce pointed out. "And I doubt Shakespeare himself used it often."

"I am sure he did," Diana replied. "In either case, any mistake he made in that play come only at the end. Before the taming, Katherina is exactly what she ought to be."

"And what is that?"

"A woman."

"Then you look down upon women who submit themselves to their fathers and husbands, as the law requires them to do—as God requires them to do? Are those who do so less than they should be?"

There was a definite note of enjoyment in his voice now—Diana did not believe he was provoking her through any spite, merely relishing an interesting and slightly controversial discussion. So she did not give the polite answer, she gave the honest one. "One of our greatest strengths as women is the ability to bend, to flow around any force attempting to change us. It takes a great deal of pressure to make any women truly break. Less, I have observed, to break a man."

"So the fairer sex is not the weakest?"

"By no means. You may have the advantage of physical strength, Mr Wayne, but is it not the spirit which is immortal, and the body that withers? Perhaps there is more for men to learn from women than contemporary civilisation would allow."

"I confess, Miss Prince, that has not been my experience."

"So you have never met a woman who surprised you?"

He paused. "I have met one," he said, with such a direct look and tone as to leave no room for doubt who he meant.

Diana felt her cheeks heat. That had not been her intention—fishing for compliments was one of her most despised social habits in others—but before she could many suitable reply, they had arrived back at the house. Mr Wayne bowed civilly to her and turned away, leaving Diana staring after him.

A/N: Told you Bruce would be back - review please!