Guinevere: The Legend in Autumn by Persia Woolley

dragonfly coursed back and forth above the water. Surely, I told myself, nothing dreadful could happen in such a lovely place.
    We sat down, leaning against each other like children, and I nestled beside him as he began absently stroking my hair. It was a long time before he spoke, his voice very soft and distant.
    “When I left you after Mordred came, I made you promise that if you ever needed me, you’d send word. And that I would come, wherever you were, whenever you called. Do you remember?”
    I nodded silently, recalling our parting and the great aching loss that had settled over me once he was gone.
    “I went everywhere…down to Canterbury and along the Saxon Shore, over to Cornwall, up to the kingdoms of Wales…but I couldn’t escape you. Morning or night, you were the first thing I thought of, the last I prayed for. Even in my dreams you were with me. Then I went to Carbonek, to see how the ailing King of the Waste Land was faring.”
    I stiffened as the pert, pretty face of Elaine rose to memory. “No doubt Pellam’s conniving red-headed daughter made you more than welcome,” I said, sitting upright as my own hateful jealousy came awake.
    Lance turned suddenly, staring at me so intently all thoughts of Elaine vanished. He cradled my face between his palms and spoke in little more than a whisper.
    “I thought it was the message I’d been waiting for, that you’d finally sent for me…been drinking too much, and when her governess, Brisane, handed me a scarf that smelled of lavender and said, ‘M’lady’s waiting’…it seemed the answer to all my prayers. I didn’t even stop to wonder why you’d be at Carbonek. Without candle or rush-light, or even a moon beyond the casement…Oh Gwen, I didn’t know how much was dream, how much was real…”
    His eyes filled with anguish and we stared at each other in silence as the meaning of his words sunk in. Lance, who would not share my bed as a matter of “honor,” had been tricked into a liaison by the one woman I already envied.
    Pain and understanding, anger and compassion rushed through me. Lance was a man like any other, with all the needs of any Champion, and I had no right to demand fidelity from him…I who romped comfortably enough with Arthur any night of the year.
    But it hurt that the girl had been Elaine. She was all the things I was not—young and beautiful, and supremely confident that all men would love her, if only because she looked so luscious.
    “Cheeky little creature,” I snapped, “always up to some charming game, as though her desires were at the center of everyone else’s thoughts. She’d been trying to trap you in a romance ever since you first met—and to think she should have succeeded by playing on your love for me…”
    My anger was rising, focusing on the girl who had been so smugly convinced that Lance would someday be her mate. The deception she had played on him was played on me as well, and I hated her for it. I gulped and looked away. Over the reeds at the water’s edge the dragonfly darted and hovered, a shimmering illusion, now here, now gone.
    “Well, no great damage done,” I said at last with a great, deep sigh, as though I could expel both my outrage and hurt in that one long breath. “You’re back here now, and that night’s fling need not be repeated…unless you wish.”
    “Of course I don’t wish!” Indignation rasped Lance’s voice. “In the morning, when I realized what had happened, I was infuriated. I told her that I never wanted to see her or her scheming, treacherous governess again. I’d have run that meddling old woman through, if she’d crossed my path.”
    He swallowed hard, then went on.
    “But it seems that’s not the end of it. The groom at the stables just now passed on the rumor that Elaine is coming to Camelot…with a child she claims is my son.”
    The words were spoken quietly, but they cut through me like a searing, slicing knife. The old, aching void of barrenness