Summary
Enchanted by an exotic beauty at the royal feast, cavalier knight Gwaine pursues courtship only to be thwarted by the mystery around the guarded noblewoman.
Chapter 19 A Noble Pursuit
That mask didn't fool Gwaine. There wasn't a woman he had met that he wouldn't recognize again. Lovely creatures: women – balms for men's lonely souls, he thought, a grin stretching his cheeks mid-bite. Like fine wines, each marvelously unique, yet all intoxicating in their own way.
He watched Isolde curtsy and then make haste through the royal exitway, Tristan on her heels and the applause dying down. The aromas of meats, fresh bread, and sweetened fruits stirred Gwaine's appetite as he glanced toward minstrels plucking lively tunes in the corner, accompanied by a drum keeping tempo. A few couples danced, their joy twirling carefree under the torchlight. His chewing slowed – how he envied their shared elation. Would that he might sweep across the floor with a lovely companion in perfumed locks and silk gown.
He swallowed more wine then belched before setting the goblet back on the banquet table, eliciting frowns and rolling eyes from his friends sitting with him. He scanned the lesser hall again, focusing on the decorations, the garland and flowers and the abundance of pretty maidens accentuating the place. He flashed his most charming grin to every female eye that caught his, eliciting twitters and flushing cheeks from them – regardless of their status.
"What a difference from the council meeting a week ago," Percival said, seated next to him and nibbling at the bread on his plate. Ranulf and Elyan sat on the opposite side, though Ranulf was engaged in a conversation with Sir James, while Elyan stabbed at his meat, scowling and lost in silent brooding. "Half these people were at each other's throats then."
"Nothing like a celebration with good food and wine to bring people together, eh?" said Gwaine, releasing another belch.
"You're a pig," Elyan sneered, glaring at him. Gwaine only smiled back, flinging his freshly washed locks out of his eyes. "In any company."
Gwaine's smile lessened, though he still smiled. The disquieting conversation they'd had in the lower town was still fresh in his thoughts, and Elyan's disapproving confrontations during the Arthur's inner circle meeting told his gut that the man was deeply troubled and wasn't afraid to hide it from anyone.
Leon approached their table, goblet in hand. His short, purple tunic – family crest over the right breast – accentuated his slim body and great height. He took stance behind their seats. "Good evening, ladies," he hailed with a grin. "Enjoying yourselves?"
"Some of us are," Gwaine mumbled amongst the other joyous replies, still glancing at Elyan.
"Leon," Percival said. "I'm well pleased you and Herschel have settled your differences."
Leon glanced over at his table – so did Gwaine. The smartly dressed young lad was seated beside the lord of the manor, eyes bright as they laughed and conversed.
"As am I," Leon said smiling. "Though we still have much to mend between ourselves, I'm… I'm hopeful…. He'll return to Meadow Manor with me as my ward."
"To Sir Herschel – future knight of Camelot." Gwaine raised his tankard high.
"Aye!" Percival readily clanked goblets in endorsement.
Leon waved his drink with an approving smile. "I'll gladly toast to that hope."
Elyan slowly followed suit, no mirth in his expression nor felicitations on his lips.
Gwaine tensed – this a day for revelry, not brooding in discord. He took a long draught of mead, studying Elyan in the feast's din.
"Thank you, my friends," said Leon. "But I'm happy for Arthur and Gwen. It's been a long time coming for them. They deserve this."
Upon seeing the roll of Elyan's eyes, Gwaine held back a retort, letting his glare speak for his silence. What could he do to help his friend?
Grabbing a whole chicken, his eyes drifted past Elyan to a woman seated a few tables across. His arm froze outstretched – chicken in his grasp – annoyance with Elyan dropped. Never had he seen such elegance and grace distilled into breathtaking form. His heart thrummed like a strummed lute string – he wasn't breathing either.
Her skin was a richer shade than Gwen's – smooth, radiant bronze. Coarse jet hair haloed her head in a perfectly-coifed froth, the wiry strands glinting burgundy when they caught the light just so. Full lips shone glossy mahogany, temptingly ripe for a forbidden taste. Almond eyes glimmered bright, their mysterious depths hinting hidden wonders.
As she toyed with her pendant, slender neck arching, Gwaine was struck utterly breathless. A yearning warmer than summer flooded through him. Stirred by more than mere beauty – something beckoned in her graceful mien.
"Who's that?" he asked, awe in his voice, arm with the chicken retracting as he absently ripped off a leg.
"Who?" Percival asked, craning to see around Elyan, who also turned in his seat for a glance.
Elyan scoffed and settled back facing them. "Someone above your station, Gwaine. Best keep your distance. Her family would have you flayed just looking at her the wrong way."
"You know her?" he asked, biting into the chicken leg, Elyan's warnings going undeterred.
"I used to see her in the towns when we were growing up. But as a commoner, I wasn't allowed to speak to her. Who'd want to?"
"That's Al-Sayyidah Yaminah Zahir of the Northern Plains," said Leon. "Lord Badawi is her father—quite formidable, but staunch ally to the crown. Their family was exiled from Egypt after a failed coup in Alexandria in '46."
Gwaine chuckled low in his throat, wiping his hands on a cloth. "Well, I wouldn't care if she's the daughter of the pharaoh or they rebelled against his favorite house cat – you must introduce me."
"Not a chance," Leon said adamantly, chuckling.
"Seek another," warned Percival leaning in, then whispering, "Remember what's ahead."
Gwaine's smile dropped and jaw tightened as he shifted on the bench, the muscles in his neck knotting. He'd taken an oath to silence Badawi's rhetoric, though any action they took could also harm his family – something he had not considered. His lips thinned. He closed his eyes as a shuddering breath escaped. Pursuing the daughter of a lord under royal scrutiny... would it be wise when the course ahead was dark and uncertain?
Winning her favor might come at too high a price for either of them.
"Yeah. You're right." He tried a dismissive smile as he filled his goblet with mead. The reality of concealing Merlin's identity had fully sank in – he would accept the consequences with honor. But seeking covert means to curb Lord Badawi's influence had left him with a foul taste. This moment he was in right now urged caution over heart needs. "Bad business."
"What's this?" Leon asked, curiously glancing at them. Gwaine only half looked at him. Despite Leon's former status and his close ties to them, Arthur had not disclosed their plans to him. He was too far removed and his family responsibility was recognized and honored by them all. They could not confide in him.
"Not a thing," Gwaine lied, though smiling thinly as doubts continued to needle him. Were their veiled plans for Badawi truly honorable if others would suffer the fallout too? Would Arthur be heavy-handed with all the Zahirs once he cast his gauntlet? Remorse began to needle...
He had sworn loyalty to protect the innocent, yet found himself now embroiled in moving pawns about fate's board for the greater good. He sighed, forced another cheerful smile for them and returned to eating, his throat thick with resentment, the chicken not as flavorsome now.
Yet, his eyes floated toward her again, Lady Yaminah conversing lightly across the hall. Though noble by birth, the intricate web of Camelot's houses was foreign to him, having grown up far from these walls.
He'd denounced his status when he turned seventeen – when the king of Gwynedd refused to aid his ailing mother after his father had fallen in battle. When she crossed the veil too after lingering so long in sickness and despair, he became a wandering sell-sword tempted by coin, ale and the comfort of maidens. Now a knight of Camelot, he'd regained the noble status on his own, yet was still lured by the women and the wine.
Deep in thought and oblivious that he was staring at the woman, she was watching him. Gwaine blinked, yet recovered quickly with a genuinely warm smile. The dark-haired nobleman next to her leaned in and said something in her ear. She arched one brow, casting cool appraisal toward Gwaine. Temptation pulled him toward the refined beauty, though his conscience continued to gnaw him annoyingly. Was pursuing her worth the cost?
She held his gaze for only moment longer before turning away. Gwaine's smile faded, yet the lady's aloofness only deepened his intrigue – and purpose hardened in his breast. Unable to restrain himself, drawn like a moth to flame, he patted Percival's arm and stood up.
A true knight backs not away from uncertainty, he mused. Risk was merely prelude to potentially sweeter rewards – he would tempt being flayed for one glimpse of paradise with her. Mind settled, he flashed Percival a waggish grin, adjusted his cape, tunic, and belt.
"Consider this a recon mission," he said. "See you back at the barracks, ladies."
"Gwaine, wait!" Percival said, his voice low and tone tight. Elyan scoffed loudly.
Leon asked a confused, "What's going on?"
But he kept moving, gravitating toward her before more caution reached his ears. Ignore the voice of conscience and the warnings of your friends, his roguish side urged. He forged ahead, the temptation of meeting her overriding his good sense.
A body suddenly intercepted him, blocked his view of the mysterious woman, a man's voice vaguely registering. "Sir Gwaine – an honor, sir. I've heard much about your swordsman–"
Thoughts lingering on Lady Yaminah, Gwaine struggled to place the face of the man interrupting his quest. "Sir... Galahad, right?" he finally said, smiling politely. "Good party, eh?" He smacked the young knight's shoulder and stepped past towards his deeper allure.
The nobleman beside her rose and assisted her to stand. Her hand on his bent forearm, they walked away from the table, heading toward the doors.
"They look…intimate," Gwaine whispered with a frown. "A damn suitor." A damn striking suitor – truly tall, dark, and handsome.
Her companion spoke secrets into her ear once more, yet Gwaine hitched a breath as she came into full view of him. A gossamer silk gown of deepest emerald hugging lithe curves below a plush fur-lined cloak clasped at one shoulder. Braided golden sash cinched the dress high at her narrow waist. Bare arms shone like bronzed silk, the torchlight catching glints along bracelets dotted up slender wrists. A jeweled anklet wrapped one firm calf peeking from the gown's high slit, its golden glimmer matching the delicate sandals gracing nimble feet.
Heart racing, his competition not-with-standing, he stepped into their path and bowed regally. "Fair day, my lord, my lady," he said.
He smoothly lifted her hand and brushed his lips softly on the back of it. Her exotic, spicy perfume stirred his senses, emboldened his pursuit. "May I escort you to the Great Hall, my lady? The music would sound much better if you were to dance with me."
"Your imprudence astounds me," she replied coldly, retracting her hand, her evocative accent mesmerizing him. Arresting hazel eyes, brilliantly accented by gold kohl lining, assessed him coolly above elegantly sculpted cheeks. "I have an escort, sir."
His glance flicked to her escort. Their eyes are the same color, he thought randomly, seeing that they also shared other similar yet spectacular features.
"Perhaps imprudent," Gwaine said, returning his gaze to her, "but led by my heart – which stopped beating the moment my eyes found you across the room." He offered his hand again. "Grant me but one dance to prove myself a gentleman?"
Her escort stepped forward, frowning and blocking his view of her, chilling Gwaine's confidence with his cold aggression.
"Introductions are in order for that to happen, sir," the dark man said tightly, the same foreign accent tinging his words. "I am Al-Sayyid Youssef Zahir, son of Al-Sayyid Al-Ajal Badawi Zahir, lord of Nile Manor in the Northern Plains." He tilted his head briskly.
"Sir Gwaine Walven, knight of Camelot." He gestured a smooth head nod. He hadn't used his surname in many years yet felt a need to show respect. Youssef stepped aside and formally presented the Lady Yaminah.
"My sister, Al-Sayyidah Yaminah Zahir, daughter of Al-Sayyid Al-Ajal Badawi Zahir, lady of Nile Manor…"
"In the Northern Plains," Gwaine finished silkily, thinking he'd surely blunder their titles after a few more tankards of ale. He bowed again, a smile spreading across his lips, relieved that Sir Youssef was not a rival after all.
"At your service, Al-Sayyidah Yaminah Zahir." He cadenced her name slowly, as smooth as a morning tide, imbuing them with his charm and warmest sincerity.
A glimpse of a smile played at her lips, though a flash of profound melancholy seemed to dwell deep in her hazel eyes before they brightened again. "Delighted, Sir Gwaine Walven, knight of Camelot."
Sweet words to his ears, he extended an elbow. "Would you do me the honor?"
"I cannot oblige, Sir Gwaine," came her practiced refusal, one that seemed a refined dismissal to deflect admirers. "Our father is expecting us. Hatta al-liqa'a. Allah keep you safe."
Her brother shot her a curious glance which she ignored as she glided away with him, elegant and aloof. Even in her rejection, her silky accent caressed each word, softening their bite. Gwaine's pulse stuttered as they drifted out of view.
"Hatta al-liqa'a." He hoped he'd remembered it correctly. He'd have to learn these foreign words – discern if they held meaning.
"By the gods, she's magnificent," he whispered to himself, sighing. "I just might swoon."
A sharp smack on his back made him jump as Leon laughed beside him. "I'm returning to my family," he said. "She didn't fall for your charms, eh? Slipping, friend?"
"The lady doth protest, but her rebuff barely masks her true yearning for me," he smirked. "The night is young – and I'm just getting started." He winked at Leon, but then caught the disapproving expressions of Percival and Elyan across the way.
A pang of guilt shot through him as he dug this pit deeper. But with a hesitant step, his heart ensnared, he followed Yaminah, for she stirred something deeper than his usual desires that his friends did not understand.
Al-Sayyid – son of a lord, sir
Al-Sayyidah – daughter of a lord, lady
Al-Sayyid Al-Ajal – lord, sir
Hatta al-liqa'a. – Until we meet again.