Betrothal by Mande Matthews

hand—remembering the strength and gentleness it provided.
    "It is my duty to deliver you, My Lady. No more and no less," he replied.
    My insides wobbled at the formality of his statement; I sought to keep the conversation going, if only to hear the low resonance of his voice.
    "I wanted to offer my gratitude for today. You risked much to see me returned unharmed."
    "Your safekeeping is my duty, My Lady."
    His duty? Is that what I am to him? Does he not experience the same passions I do? Or had he indeed overheard our conversation and sought to set me back on a righteous path toward Arthur? I mentally scrambled to recall the words Elibel and I exchanged and if they informed on my true feelings for the knight while my mouth, unattended by my mind, ran off on its own accord.
    "Just your duty?" I blurted.
    Elibel nudged me with her elbow. I shot her a warning look, but she returned my glance with a cautionary glare of her own.
    "Yes, My Lady." Lancelot's expression remained unreadable.
    Even though I spoke out of turn, my heart sunk at the implication his cold response provided. Had our encounter been one-sided? Had I been a fool to believe he felt anything at all? I remembered Elibel's warning and resolved to let it go as she advised, but my attempt failed and my chest pinched with tightness.
    Lancelot's angular features betrayed no emotion as he directed Elibel and me toward the doorway. His hand sought the small of my back, guiding me through the exit. A rush of warmth washed my skin underneath my gown; I fought back the desire that rose at his touch.
    His pace quickened as we emerged into the street. He pressed me along with a firm hand, and I imagined how tender his touch would be if his hands sought to wrap around my waist, as they had been around Elibel's earlier in the day.
    Suddenly, my fantasy broke by the dimming of the torchlight—as if the flames struggled for air. Elibel started, her breath catching as she peered skyward. An unnatural darkness descended, annihilating the portion of night-sky that stretched over the northern watchtowers of Camelaird.
    An eerie stillness pervaded the streets as if no one moved—as if neither animal, bird, nor bug scurried, flit or crawled. Lights from Camelaird's buildings seemed no more than candles set in window frames as we hurried in the direction of the blackness.
    Lancelot's hand drifted from my back to his hilt. A chill spread over me from the absence of his touch. He gripped the handle of his sword, his knuckles whitening.
    "What's happening?" Elibel's question resounded in the stillness, magnifying the quaver of her voice.
    But no one answered.
    We quickened as the darkness rolled toward us like storm clouds brewing thunderheads until we reached the north gate and ascended the watchtower.
    My father and Arthur awaited us at the top, staring out over the ramparts as the blackness washed toward us. Never in my life had I seen such an unnatural gloom.
    "What is it? What's going on?" Elibel begged for an answer again, her voice trembling.
    "Druid magic," Arthur replied. "Seems Melwas has sought reinforcements."
     I reached up to feel the triquetra beneath my dress, but found my father's Christian cross entwined with the triquetra instead. I fumbled to separate the two through the satiny fabric without success as the blackness roiled toward us. The speed of the mass increased and in moments the bulk of it drew down the fields of Camelaird, squashing them from my view. I could not reconcile the bright memory of my mother with the ominous nature of this dark magic.
    "The bulk of my army is either defeated in that blackness, or, by the mercy of Jesu, on the northern side of this monstrosity and will not be able to penetrate to aid us," said Arthur.
    "What of Merlin?" asked Lancelot.
    Arthur shook his head. "The magician will not appear. He made his point clear. Since he does not approve of my marriage to Guinevere, he refuses his aid."
    Does not approve of me?
    My father nodded