The Return of Sir Percival Read Online Free

these collections. In the past, the bishop’s accountings had sparked more than a few fiery outbursts from her young friend, and it seemed as if another storm was on the horizon.
    Eighteen-year-old Cadwyn had served Guinevere since her arrival at the abbey, six years earlier. Guinevere recalled with a smile the abbess’s admonition when she’d introduced her mesmerized niece to the newly arrived queen.
    â€œMy Queen, Cadwyn is the most precocious child I have ever taught. She can speak, read, and write in the languages of the Greeks, Romans, and Britons, and more often than not, she knows what I am going to say before I say it, which I am not always happy about. On the other hand, she has … somewhat of a temper. However, all in all, I believe you will find her to be very helpful.”
    The abbess had been right. Cadwyn had been more than helpful—she had become indispensable. As for the girl’s temper, Sister Aranwen had made it her mission to curb this vice, but despite her frequent scoldings, there was still plenty of fire left in her young handmaiden.
    The diminutive Sister Aranwen sat in a rocking chair across from Cadwyn, contentedly knitting a woolen blanket. The pious and reserved nun had been in her fortieth year when her order had assigned her to escort Arthur Pendragon’s young bride-to-be to Camelot. Guinevere remembered their first meeting, almost fifteen years ago, as if it had been yesterday. The two women had become friends during the week-long trip, and Sister Aranwen had remained after the wedding as her spiritual advisor and self-appointed guardian.
    As Guinevere watched the two women, she wistfully thought,
My friends, I fear you have become prisoners of my past
.
    Sister Aranwen feared yesterday’s minions would imprison or kill her royal charge if Guinevere tried to restore the lost kingdom. For the quiet nun, a life of obscurity was a small price to pay for peace and safety. Cadwyn, in contrast, would never relinquish the dream of a glorious restoration. For her, resurrecting Camelot had become her sacred duty.
    As Sister Aranwen leaned forward and reached for another ball of yarn, Cadwyn exploded from her chair, holding the bishop’s report aloft, her face nearly as red as her russet locks. Wide-eyed, Sister Aranwen dropped the ball of yarn and fell back into her rocking chair.
    â€œThat pompous old thief is stealing the fruit of the Queen’s lands!” Cadwyn hissed in fury as she paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. “Why if ever a man deserved to be flogged—”
    Sister Aranwen gasped. “Cadwyn Hydwell, you go too far! Bishop Verdino is a man of God! I … I grant you that he may take with a heavy hand, but—”
    â€œWhy, I wish—”
    â€œDearest friends, please remember, these walls have ears,” Guinevere said quietly as she stepped into the room, repressing a smile. Both women turned to the Queen in unison and bowed respectfully as they responded, “Yes, Milady.”
    A knock on the outside door interrupted the renewal of Cadwyn’s tirade, and Sister Aranwen quickly made good use of it, pointing to the door.
    â€œThat would be the cook’s assistant with dinner, Cadwyn. Please be so kind as to bring in our repast, and please say a prayer of penance on the way.”
    Cadwyn swallowed her retort and turned to Guinevere. “Milady, where would you like your dinner tonight?”
    â€œOn the table, in my chambers, Cadwyn. I have much to do tonight.”
    â€œYes, Milady.”
    Two hours later, Guinevere heard Cadwyn’s familiar knock on the door to the library, which served as the anteroom to her private chambers. “Come in, Cadwyn,” Guinevere said.
    The handmaiden entered the room carrying a cloth-covered basket under her arm and closed the door after her. Guinevere patted the open space on the wooden bench beside her. The bench was pulled up close to the small table