The Fire of Merlin (The Return to Camelot #2)(11)

Arthur bent down, brushed her long dark hair away from her pale face and kissed her.

“They’re not sleeping in here, Arthur,” whined Slurpy.

The knights ignored her. They were all too busy prowling around the room, picking up CDs and DVDs and books and Arthur’s Taekwondo trophies like they were magical objects.

“It’s a big house, Sammy,” replied Arthur, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “We’ll find them somewhere to bunk down for a couple of days.”

“Bedivere can sleep in my room,” I said sheepishly.

Arthur didn’t respond. From the thunderous look on his face, his back teeth had locked his jaw into place.

“Lady Samantha, you have our word that we will not remain in your land and time for long,” said Bedivere gravely. “We must return to Logres before the moon wanes once more.”

“And I suppose you intend to take my Arthur,” she snapped back. It wasn’t a question.

“Camelot needs its king,” said Gareth.

“Then I’m coming as well,” replied Slurpy.

“No you aren’t,” I said immediately. There was no way in a thousand years I was going to let that witch go back.

“Arthur isn’t going anywhere without me,” said Slurpy, reaching out for his hand, “especially now.”

I yelped as I felt a hot pinch against my right butt cheek. The acorn from Logres was burning again.

“Why is it doing that today?” I asked, pulling the seed out of my back pocket. I placed it on the cream carpeted floor of Arthur’s enormous bedroom. “It’s never burnt me before. It’s never done anything before.”

“Where did you find it again, Titch?” asked Arthur, bending down low to look at it. He was sweating.

“By the Falls of Merlin. This weird little bearded squirrel dropped it. I swear it was watching me.”

“Acorns don’t have eyes,” said Slurpy.

“I was talking about the squirrel,” I replied through gritted teeth. I rolled my eyes at Arthur. How on earth could he continue to date someone so stupid? Wood was less dense.

Tristram and Talan were pushing the buttons on Arthur’s large stereo system. The pounding thump of bass erupted from the speakers, which made David jump back in fright. He toppled over Arthur’s weights, which had been left on the carpet.

“It is so warm in this dwelling,” said Bedivere, “but how can it be so? Even the uncursed sun is forsaken at this hour.” He unclasped his cloak and let it drop to the ground. I could see his collarbone and the contours of his chest. The urge to kiss his neck pushed past the image of the waterfall, and the hairy little rodent protecting it.

Arthur prodded me with his boot.

“Will you stop drooling on my carpet,” he snarled.

“I bet there are worse things on your carpet than my drool.”

“The two of you cross many words often,” said David. “Are the women in this time always so stubborn, Arthur?”

“The women in my time have to keep the men in their place because they’re all so stupid,” I replied tartly.

Bedivere was laughing in the corner; his green eyes flashed across the room at me.

I turned to my brother. “Can you defer, oh king of my world, any decisions or plans about how we are going to get back to Camelot until the morning? I want to show Bedivere my bedroom.”

“You aren’t showing Bedivere anything.”

But it was too late. Leaving the acorn on the carpet, I jumped to my feet, grabbed Bedivere’s hand and pulled him from the room. Up another flight of narrow stairs, and we reached the top floor of the house: my prison with bars for the last two months.

“I do not wish to displease Arthur,” said Bedivere, as he wrapped his arms around my waist.

“Leave Arthur to me,” I said softly, touching Bedivere’s moist lips with my fingers.

“And your lady mother?”

“Can you just shut up and kiss me now that we’re alone?”

Bedivere did. We fell through my bedroom door with a clatter, sending a pile of CD cases cascading onto the floor. A shower of dust exploded upwards. The cleaner my mother employed could only manage one flight of stairs in the house, and so if I wanted my room clean, I had to do it myself. I wasn’t very good at it.

“I had all but given up to hope that I would ever see you again,” whispered Bedivere.

We fell onto my single bed. I hooked my leg over Bedivere’s and climbed on top of him. His warm hands searched the skin on my back, and then slowly moved around my waist to my tummy. I instinctively sucked it in. As Bedivere’s calloused fingers reached the long scar below my ribs, he pulled away.

“May I see?” he asked softly.

I nodded, as a lump lodged in my throat. The surgeons had done the best they could, but by the time we made it back to our time, the wound caused by Archibald’s knife had become infected. They told me afterwards they had to cut away some of the surrounding tissue. It wasn’t as hideous as it had been several months ago, all inflamed and raw pink like undercooked meat, but I wasn’t going to be wearing a bikini any day soon. It looked like a pale pink crescent moon now, complete with bumpy craters.

“It’s ugly,” I whispered, worried by what Bedivere would think now that I was damaged, but I kneeled on the bed and slowly pulled up my jumper anyway.