The Darkest Knight (Guardians of Camelot #3) - Victoria Sue Page 0,41
but bent and very thoroughly made sure Charles was fastened. His heart sank. He had failed. He had been so sure of all people Merlin would understand.
“He’s secure,” the guard confirmed, and Merlin walked toward the opening, chatting to the guard and asking about his family. Merlin paused for a fraction of a second as the tent flap was raised to let him out and waved his hand lightly before they both disappeared and the flap was lowered.
Charles blew out a thankful breath. At the very moment Merlin had flicked his wrist, the chains around Charles’s wrists had loosened, but Merlin asking for the guards to check would ensure he got left alone for a long time.
Time enough to escape and work out what he was going to do.
“Lance?”
Lance turned and held out his hand as Mel rushed to join him. They’d been home maybe twenty minutes, and Lance couldn’t face the others. He’d gone out the back to the small yard and stood gazing at nothing in the darkness.
“Lucan told me.”
Lance pulled Mel in close. “Where is he?” Lance’s voice cracked. “He’s trapped and they have him. What are they doing to him? All these years.” Lance’s voice broke, and he buried his head in Mel’s softness. Not that he deserved it. How could he take comfort when somewhere out there his son was alone? He’d abandoned him.
“I don’t know what to do,” Lance admitted. “All these years I’ve spent fighting for a cause when I should have been trying to find him.”
“You didn’t know.”
“But I did when he was alive,” Lance nearly shouted. “Do you know how many times I saw him? Six at best. I didn’t even see him once a year.”
“Because Elaine wouldn’t let you.”
They both turned at Gawain’s voice. “I was there when you went to collect him, and she had gone to visit relatives. That happened more times than I could count.”
Lance deflated. “She wasn’t a bad person, and she was a good mother.”
“She was just terrified you would turn him into a warrior,” Gawain acknowledged and sat down on the rickety bench.
“Father!” Lance turned as he dismounted just in time to catch the little whirlwind that took a running jump into his arms.
Lance pretended to stumble. “Good gods you are so heavy. I think you might be nearly as tall as me.”
Galahad let his legs down and stretched up as far as he could, one chubby hand skimming his own head and then reaching for Lance’s to judge height. Lance immediately bent to his knees and caught Galahad’s hand and brought it to the top of his own head. “You see? Barely a handspan.”
Galahad beamed and held both arms out for Lance to pick him up. A stable boy came running to take Gawain’s and his horses. “Just a little grain,” he requested.
“Father, can we? You promised?”
Lance smiled. He knew what Galahad wanted, and on his last visit, he had said he was too young. At six years old, he was still too young, but there may be a chance he would not return from the coast, and he didn’t want to break another promise. The Northern invaders thought to annex England, and Arthur was set to ride out tomorrow. Lance led him over to the low stone wall surrounding the house.
“Sit down.” Galahad sat obediently. Lance bent down. “Can you remember the only place I told you that was safe to touch my sword?”
Galahad nodded eagerly. “The grip, and not to let my hand pass the cross guard.”
“Very well. If you sit still, I will rest it on your knee, but you must promise not to touch the blade.”
“I promise.”
Lance tried to swallow down his too-tight throat. He hadn’t seen him in months. It was too long. “Keep your hands at your sides,” he cautioned and drew the sword, resting it gently on Galahad’s knees. “You may touch the grip.”
Galahad raised his awed face. Gray eyes shining and a smile wrapping everything up, he reached out to touch the grip.
“Galahad!” The frightened cry made them all jump, and Galahad tried to rise as Lance went to lift the sword clear.
“Oww,” Galahad said and brought his finger to his lips. The tiniest cut bloomed red, but then Elaine was on them.
“Are you mad?” Elaine yanked Galahad so hard she nearly pulled him off his feet. “He’s six,” she spat. “Have you not sent enough children to their deaths this year you want to add our son to your tally?”