Arthur knew not where these thoughts were coming from, but they al seemed to be accurate. Although he had no idea what the word nosy meant.

Arthur, if you do not protect Isabel, Merlin cannot live.

Merlin? What know you of Merlin? And who are you, speaking in my head?

Figure it out. Just go protect Isabel. If you haven't noticed, she is able to raise hell.

"Do I not know that," Arthur muttered.

"My pardon?" James said.

Arthur shook his head. He was either addled or ... no, there was no other choice. He was addled.

"Confronting him wil put her in danger," James said.

"It wil , we must put a stop to this. She knows the back staircase, James," Arthur said. "I shal try to stop her there, you go and guard the stables."

James actual y smiled. "We wil catch her, my lord. But I must say, I enjoy the thought of the countess taking on the lad."

"Oh, I do not. She knows not who she faces."

"Methinks the lady has mettle."

"Perhaps too much for her own welfare. Mordred's dislike of women is wel documented."

"She cares about you, m'lord, which is more than I am able to say-"

"Do not finish that thought, James. Please just help me find her."

"Yes, m'lord."

"You to the stables, I wil try to find her at the back of the castle afore she makes a run."

Arthur ran, even knowing he had witnessed another smile upon his man's face. What flummoxed him was that he felt a grin forming on his own, even as he attempted to head off disaster. Isabel against Mordred. He could not even conceive of which of the two might win such a battle. Wel , yes, he might. Were it a battle of words and wit, his coins would be placed on Isabel. However, Mordred relied on neither, instead preferring to use much nastier weapons.

The thought of Mordred harming Isabel had him taking the steps two at a time. No! If Mordred even attempted to lay a hand to Isabel, he would take down the lad himself, blood or not.

JAMES caught Isabel and Harry as they were halfway to the stables. He held out his arms and prided himself on being able to step side to side to effectively block their paths.

Harry adjusted the green and white nightcap on his head and growled, "I have a patient that needs attending."

"I understand," James said, then caught the countess around the waist when she tried to slip around to his right side. He held her sideways and had a rather fun and easy time deflecting her attempted blows to his body. Although he had to admit that he could understand the master's attraction to her passion.

"Let Isabel go," Harry demanded as she squirmed in James's arms. "She is a countess!"

"I apologize, Countess," James said, knowing he could be in deep trouble for even touching her. But he had one loyalty, and that was to his king.

"Please al ow me to explain a thing or two afore you head in there with heads blazing."

The countess stopped wiggling in his arms, even though he kept a gentle hold.

"I promise not to try to run ahead of you, James, should what you tel me be important and relevant."

James had a deep desire to twirl her once afore setting her on her feet but decided the king would not take kindly to that playfulness. He set her upright upon her feet, and then bowed. "My apologies. But truly, there are things you must needs be made aware of afore you rush in there, m'lady."

Isabel kind of wished James had twirled her around once or twice before setting her down. Could have been kind of a Six Flags ride in Camelot.

But she needed to understand. So she got over it. "Tel me, James."

Harry harrumphed and she amended it to, "Tel us, James."

"This ... how do you cal it? This thing 'twixt Mordred and the king has been a long time brewing. For reasons I may not speak of, they have bad blood betwixt them. It is a constant source of misery for my king."

Isabel felt the fire starting to stir in her bel y. Pretty soon it was going to be steaming out of either her nose or mouth. Or both. "And why does this make you try to stop me from going in and kicking the little shit in his-"

"What the lady means," said Harry, slapping a hand over her mouth, "is that we do not understand why we are appeasing this young man."

The big man shook his shaggy head. "Mayhap because the king loves the boy, no matter what agony the child brings him, no matter what pleasure Mordred takes in making my king suffer for young sins."

Isabel grabbed Harry's hand from her lips and glanced over at him. "Do you see why I never wanted to procreate now?"

"I'm beginning to understand the concept," Harry said out of the side of his mouth. "But I stil think you'd have made a great mother."

"You are asking me to act with due diligence?" she asked of James.

"That I am, Countess. Please al ow the king to handle this situation. Perhaps 'tis time for you to retire to your chamber for the evening?"

Isabel nodded. "Perhaps. But not a chance in hel , as we say in Dumont. I insist that my man Harry and you, James, escort me to the stables."

"I fear trouble brewing," James said to Harry.

"You have no idea," Harry said, before oomphing at Isabel's elbow to his bel y. "But let us go."

"Then so we shal ."

Isabel, stil reeling from the knowledge that Arthur had a son, and that his son was a total jerk, felt a little impatient. She lifted her skirts and yel ed, "Catch me if you can!" and made a run for it.

They both ran after her; however, neither was as fast.

James and Harry did not catch the countess until she was facing Mordred in the stables. And she was already speaking her piece. She held out her arms to hold them from stepping forward.

"What brings you here, sir?" she asked Mordred. "What business do you have in Camelot?"

"Who are you to even presume to ask my intentions?"

Isabel studied him. There was no doubt he was Arthur's son. They looked alike in so many ways, including the deep green eyes. The difference being Arthur's eyes were so fil ed with kindness and laughter, whereas Mordred's emanated venom. "I am Isabel, Countess of Dumont. And a friend of the king. Apparently, you are not. So I ask again, what brings you here?"

Mordred made a mockery of a bow. "How do you do? However, Countess, my business here is none of yours. Has my father stooped so low as to have need of a mere woman to come riding to his defense?"

"A mere woman? Listen, you little shit-"

"No, you listen, Countess," he spat out. "I am heir to this kingdom, and have every reason and right to travel to Camelot to oversee my future holdings."

"The king is quite healthy. I believe he wil remain so for many years to come. So don't count your cows before they ... breed."

Wow, that was lame, but the best she could come up with on the spur of the moment.

Mordred's eyes went wide for a moment, and then he broke out in nasty laughter. "If you have not been ful y informed, mistress, my father already has a wife. One quite younger than you. I see his interest, as you are fetching; however, you wil never take her place as queen. Unless you plot to murder her."

James and Harry each grabbed one of her arms, apparently hoping to ward off her jumping forward and scratching the bastard's eyes out. There was no need. She had no intention of launching herself at the boy.

She knew her breasts were heaving with fury, especial y when Mordred's eyes leveled on them and couldn't seem to let go. Then she realized his gaze was fixed on her necklace.

She took a calming breath. "Please tel me again why you have come to Camelot."

"I have learned there wil be a very important knights-of-the-realm gathering here shortly. I need to be sitting at that table." Mordred blinked several times, obviously a little confused about why he'd given up that piece of information.

"Were you invited to this meeting?" Isabel asked. "Are you a knight?"

"Of course I was not," Mordred said, final y breaking his gaze from her necklace. "My father didn't deem me high enough in the order to invite me.

He is a pig."

This time James and Harry had to hold her back. She most definitely wanted to scratch his face, no matter what it did to her nails.

"How dare you? Your father loves you. Why is it that you find pleasure in bringing him pain?"

Mordred stepped closer and closer to Isabel, swapping his crop on his thigh. "You know nothing, lady. Including how a proper woman dresses.

Are you his tart this evening? Are you going to give birth to his next bastard child?"

"What are you going to do, Mordred?" Isabel asked. "Whip an unarmed woman?"

James tried to step between them. "She is a countess, Mordred. Back away."

Mordred sneered. "She is a slut, as is my father's wife."

"Back off, James," Isabel said.

"I cannot, Countess. The king has asked me to protect you."

"Back off. This little snot has just smeared the queen's name."

"M'lady!"

"Back off. I demand it."

James backed away, although Isabel guessed he was worrying about his future. Not a problem; she'd make certain he was rewarded for his actions.

Mordred grinned and moved even closer.

Thank the gods for Tae Kwon Do. Isabel kicked the damn crop out of his hand, turned and jumped, kicking him in the bel y, and had him on the ground, his hands bound with reins, within seconds. "Sorry, son, time to answer to your dad," she whispered into his ear. "He would never have let me get ahead of him. You, on the other hand, are just slow and stupid."

"You wil pay for this," Mordred said.

"I'm sure I wil . Your father loves you so much he wil be very angry with me. Tough fucking shit. It felt too good, you little worm."

"Bitch," he spat out.

Her knee dug farther into his back. "Excuse me? I'm sorry, I believe you meant to say, 'My apologies, Countess.'"

"Apologize to the countess, son."

Isabel's head jerked up, and sure enough, there was Arthur, appearing pained and amused at one and the same time.

She attempted to rise graceful y, but that wasn't about to happen. Harry took her hand and helped her up. "I am very sorry, Arthur, but he kind of pissed me off."

Arthur moved forward and brushed hay from her clothing. "'Tis a talent of his." Then he helped his son to his feet. "Welcome home, Mordred!"

"SHOULD you care about me at al , father, you wil have that woman brought before the King's Court."

Arthur sat on his throne, his head being held up by a forefinger. "Because she bested you when you attempted to whip her? I think not."

"You disagree that she deserves a beating?"

Arthur stared at Mordred, wondering how he had gone so terribly wrong as a father. "No woman deserves a beating, Mordred. Never. They are to be cherished."

Mordred laughed. "As you cherished my mother?"

"Your mother said nothing to me, son. No matter what your aunt might have told you, I knew naught of your existence until I asked of her wel - being. I know it was too long, Mordred, but she never, ever told me. It never occurred to me. That is my fault, I admit. But once I learned of her death and your birth, I tried, son, I truly tried."

"So you have said." Mordred stood and paced, and Arthur almost laughed at how much this resembled his own actions.

But Mordred's anger stil hung to him as dung to a bul . And smel ed as poorly. "So you wil choose the bitch over your own son?"

Arthur rose quickly, attempting to quel his fierce anger. "First, my son, there is no choice. Countess Isabel bested you this eve, and that is between the two of you. However, should you attempt revenge, I wil most definitely come to her defense, for she has done nothing against you. In fact, her man tended to your horse. This after you planned an assault on his lady. Should you even attempt to show vengeance, I must act."

"So, one more time, you choose a woman over your son."

"I choose caring over spite. I wish one day you wil understand the same."

"When, Father, did you choose your bastard son over your kingdom?"

When, son, did your mother choose not to inform me that she was carrying my child?

Once again, Arthur had no idea where this thought had appeared from. But he had to admit it was a fairly good one. "Your mother chose not to inform me she had my babe inside her. I was given no choice in the matter."

"You lie."