Goddess of Legend (Goddess Summoning #7)(38)

"No-fault what?"

He waved. "A law they have in Isabel's land where neither man nor woman are held responsible for the . . . irreparable damage to the marriage. It is a way to save harm falling upon both husband and wife. They agree that they have recognized they are no longer suited."

Gwen smiled as she met him at the bench. "Please sit with me for a moment. I have discussed several ideas with Countess Isabel myself that I believe show much merit."

He nodded as he took her elbow and helped her to sit. "And here is where we will most assuredly find some common ground."

I need guidance here, Viviane. I am asking for a way to explain how I can care for two people, both and neither to blame.

What is it, Isabel, that you fear? That you have met two people who you now feel near?

I fear irreparably damaging a marriage that might be fixed, so my feelings are so terribly mixed.

The damage had been done long afore your arrival; as I see it all now, you could well be Arthur's survival.

Isabel wasn't so sure, but she took a little comfort in the reminder that the marriage had been in trouble before she showed up. Although she didn't have a single clue how she could be Arthur's savior in any way.

Just one last question, Goddess, and for this I won't rhyme: How is Merlin doing, and how are you at this time?

Good gods, she couldn't even help herself.

She heard the soft lilting sound of Viviane's laughter in her ear.

Truth be told, Isabel, he smiles when you and the king come together. I must believe that your match makes him feel so much better.

Isabel wasn't certain she could count it as a match at the moment. It was only a certain . . . attraction between them so far.

It is the only positive sign I have had from Merlin in the last days. Please, Isabel, he has need of your help.

Wow, not even close to rhyming. Viviane was not herself.

You have no idea.

There was a knock on Isabel's door and then it opened and Mary came bustling in, a tray filled with cheeses and bread on it, along with a stein of what was most likely mead. "Hello, mum," she said cheerfully. "'Tis a lovely day, is it not?"

Isabel smiled. "It is indeed. And you too are looking full in bloom. What brings such lovely radiance to your face?"

Mary laid down the tray then clapped and nearly jumped in the air. "James has agreed, Countess!"

"Agreed?" Isabel asked, reaching for a piece of goat cheese. "I thought that was already taken care of. You will be wed shortly after you strike the ripe old age of fourteen."

"No, no! He has agreed to allow me to cut his hair."

Isabel dropped the cheese and jumped up, grabbing Mary's hands. "That is wonderful, Mary! Truly, truly wonderful! Oh, he will look so handsome at your ceremony."

"And that is not all. It seems that the king has suggested that all of his men follow suit, so that they all appear - what was the word? - receptacle as well!

Isabel nearly choked. Hell, most of them already looked like receptacles. "I think you mean respectable."

"Yes, that."

"Oh, Mary, that is such good news!" She raised the stein in toast, even if Mary had nothing to toast with. "Here's to a beautiful wedding." She took a sip, but a small one. She wasn't used to the strong brew and wasn't certain she'd ever get used to it.

Either it was the mead or her feeling of pride that Arthur had listened and requested that his men clean up their acts that was warming her insides. Most likely the latter. She held up the stein to Mary. "Are you permitted to drink this swi - er, mead, Mary? If so, please join me."

Mary's freckled nose wrinkled. "'Tis permitted, mum, but I care not for the taste."

"Then share some bread and cheese?"

Mary shook her head. "Thank you again, but no. I do not want to add any bulk to my body afore my wedding day."

Isabel chuckled. Every bride's nightmare. At least that was something that hadn't changed over time. She racked her brain, wanting to do something for Mary to celebrate.

Then it hit her. "Mary, do you already have the gown you are to wear on your special day?"

"No, mum, but I hope to engage the help of our seamstresses in the next couple of days. The queen has demanded that the men who I shear offer a small payment for my services. With what I save, I am hoping to be able to afford to purchase a very special dress for the occasion."

Isabel walked over to the wardrobe. "Take your pick," she said, pointing at her gowns. "Any one you want, it is yours."

"Oh, I could never!"

"Oh, but you can! I insist. It is my marriage gift to you. And you cannot refuse a marriage gift, now can you? That would just be plain rude."

Mary glanced longingly at the dresses, then turned back. "But, mum, you are so much taller than I. And so much more . . . bountiful up here," she said, cupping her own br**sts.

"What are seamstresses for if not to do a little nip and tuck work to adjust gowns to fit the bride? And you can save what you earn from going into the haircutting business to help you and James save up for your own private cottage on the estate. Win-win."

Mary's eyes filled with tears, and she tried to blink them away. "Really, mum, I just don't know."

"I do. Choose. And tomorrow we'll go down or up to the sewing department, or whatever you call it, and we'll start on the alterations."