Kids on Fire: A Free Excerpt From YA Novel Guinevere: On the Eve of Legend

At the dawn of Camelot, one young girl is about to take her place beside the greatest king in England’s history.

She is a mere child of twelve. But in these medieval days, this is the age when childish things must be put away and greater responsibilities accepted–all in preparation for a betrothal of marriage.

For young Lady Guinevere, on the advent of her thirteenth Birth Day, the whole idea is quite unbearable. After all, what could be better than spending her youth playing with her best friend Cedwyn, roaming the grounds around the castle looking for mythical creatures or hunting rabbits?

However, the wizard Merlyn–her teacher and friend–knows that destiny has a way of catching up with a person. His arrival sets in motion a series of events that will lead Guinevere to her destiny whether she is ready for it or not.

And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:

Chapter 1

The Hunt

 

Guinevere stared into the shadows along the edge of the forest. She could hear Cedwyn shifting from foot to foot beside her, unable to stand still. She sighed, the bow made of sturdy pine in her hand growing heavier like her heart. Her thirteenth Birth Day was in a few days, but she wasn’t excited. Birth Days were supposed to be fun, but not this year. Not for her, not for a princess.

She frowned as Cedwyn adjusted the leather quiver of arrows on his back again. Sometimes, like today, her patience with the seven-year-old was short.

“Guin’ver?”

“Hush!”

“But …”

“Hush!”

She stamped her boot on the ground, her displeasure clearly showing.

“Cedwyn,” she snapped. “What is so important that you can’t be quiet?”

“I’m hungry, and the bottoms of my trousers are wet. Can’t we go back to the castle?” His face showed his confusion at her tone.

Guinevere realized that she shouldn’t have directed her anger at Cedwyn. It wasn’t his fault. Glancing down at her own clothes, she saw the bottom of her green ankle-length tunic wet with the morning dew. Her stomach chose that moment to begin grumbling. It started as a low vibration but grew louder as if it hadn’t been fed in days. Cedwyn heard it and started giggling. He tried to smother the sound by covering his mouth with his small hand, but he was too late.

Trying to keep from laughing also, Guinevere shook her head. “How are we ever going to shoot a rabbit with all this noise?” She reached down and tousled his blond hair to let him know that she was not serious and to apologize for her crossness. “Let’s try for just ten minutes longer. Then if we find nothing, we’ll go back. Is that all right?”

Cedwyn shook his head, not wanting to make any further noise. She let her eyes move across the blue sky. The English summer sun had barely reached above the far hills when they had first arrived at the forest. Now, it was well on its way in its climb toward the dinner hour, and they hadn’t even had a proper breakfast yet. Cedwyn’s mum was sure to be upset that they had been gone so long.

“Come on,” he whispered. “The only creatures we’ve seen moving have been badgers and Cornish hens. We could of had five bloody hens by now.”

“I told you, it’s good luck to bag a rabbit on the eve of your thirteenth Birth Day,” Guinevere informed him.

Cedwyn studied her face, unsure if she was telling the truth or not. Then his blue eyes widened, and he grabbed her arm as she turned to continue hunting. “Wait a minute! You promised to help me bag a rabbit on the eve of my tenth Birth Day. You said that was lucky!”

She turned to him, her balled fists on her slim hips. “You need to listen closer when I talk to you. I explained the difference be- tween boys and girls. Boys have to seek luck on the eve of their tenth and fifteenth Birth Days. Since girls are naturally luckier than boys, they only have to seek luck once, on the eve of their thirteenth Birth Day.”

Cedwyn eyed her suspiciously, and then his eyes lit up.

“But I thought that the eve was the night before. Your Birth Day isn’t until the day after tomorrow.”

“That’s true, but the eve of something can also be anytime close to the day.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am! Otherwise, what would happen if the day before I didn’t get a rabbit? This way there are more chances to get one. Now, let’s go. I’m sure I saw the grass moving up ahead, and I don’t think it was the wind.” She didn’t mention to him that she needed lots of luck.

Cedwyn obediently followed her, mumbling to himself. “We’re still running out of time.”

They hadn’t gone far when he thought of something else. “Guin’?”

She turned suddenly, her long brown braid whipping about. “Shh! You will scare the rabbits away!”

“But you also promised to teach me how to hunt with a bow and arrow once you are thirteen.”

“Yes, but if you don’t stop your chatter, I won’t. Do you understand?” Cedwyn nodded. “Then let’s go.”

He followed, a smile highlighting his chubby cheeks. He then smacked into Guinevere who had abruptly stopped.

“Wha…” A hand clamped down over his mouth followed by an angry “Shh!”

Cedwyn moved quietly up to her side, his seven-year old frame about half the size of Guinevere. She looked down at him, excitement making her brown eyes sparkle in the midmorning light. Her lips formed the word “Look.” His blue eyes followed her out- stretched arm.

There, just beneath the pine trees where the wild grasses grew– movement. He stared at the spot. Then the tall green stalks bent again, betraying the presence of something beneath.

“How can you tell if it’s really a rabbit?” he asked softly.

“See how the stalks move forward a bit and then part?” Cedwyn nodded. “Well, the forward movement of the stalks is the rabbit testing out the goodness of the food. And then where the grasses part—that is—when the rabbit stops and starts feeding,” Guinevere said, her pride in her knowledge showing. “Hand me an arrow.” She held out her hand as Cedwyn pulled an arrow from the small leather quiver on his back.

Very carefully, her heart pounding, Guinevere nocked the arrow and steadily drew the bow string back. Taking a deep breath to steady her arms and calm her heart, she let the arrow loose. She watched the spin of the feathers as the arrow sped to its target like a hawk diving after its prey.

Suddenly a horrendous cry filled the air. Guinevere and Cedwyn jumped into each other’s arms. Then they knelt down on the ground and covered their ears as the shrill cry continued to make their ears ring.

“Wh…what is that?” Cedwyn whispered. Guinevere shook her head in reply.

Then they heard a different sound. Something was crashing through the grasses and scrub thickets. They inched their way up to peek above the grass. There, crashing and charging around the thickets, was the biggest wild boar they had ever seen.

Cedwyn looked at Guinevere. “Ain’t that your arrow sticking in its side?”

She nodded, almost appearing disinterested, but really in shock that she had hit anything. For a few moments, they watched as the boar ran first in one direction and then another in what appeared to be a crazed pattern. But Guinevere recognized the pattern: the wounded boar was searching for its hunters .

“Come on,” she said, grabbing his hand. “We have to get out of here now!”

“Why?”

But then he had his answer. The boar roared in anger. The ground trembled under their feet as the boar spotted them and barreled straight for them. It had found the culprits responsible for the arrow in its side.

“Run!” Guinevere said, no longer quiet.

Cedwyn needed no further urging. He took off with Guinevere close behind him. The thunderous crashing of the boar through the grasses and scrub brush vibrated through every part of their bodies.

Guinevere chanced a look behind her and realized that the boar was gaining on them. She glanced around. Off to the right was a smaller pine tree that Cedwyn could climb to get up out of danger. He was the slower of them, although they were each running faster than ever. Guinevere reached for Cedwyn’s shoulder, heard a thud, and her hand found only air. He cried out as he hit the ground. The exposed tree root had claimed its first victim of the day.

She reached down to help him up, but his foot was stuck solid. Seeing the boar grow in size as it got closer, Guinevere’s brain frantically looked for a way to save Cedwyn and herself. If she made enough noise, she could get the boar to follow her into the forest. That would give Cedwyn time to get loose and up the tree.

“I’ll lead the boar away. Get yourself free and then head for that tree.” Cedwyn looked in the direction Guinevere pointed. “Get up in it as far as you can go and hang on until I let you know it’s safe to come down. All right?”

Cedwyn nodded, his blue eyes wide with fear.

“Stay down and be still ‘til you hear from me. Then be quick!” He nodded again.

Guinevere jumped up and shouted, “Halloo boar! Here I am. Come and get me!” She waved her arms, diverting the boar’s attention to her. Once spotted, she ran. The pounding of its hooves told her the boar was following and, if possible, coming even faster. “Cedwyn! Now!” Guinevere shouted, and then she dashed for the safety of the trees.

Behind her, the boar charged, pain fueling its rage. Thundering through the grasses and scrub brush, it focused only on reaching the creature responsible for its pain. Behind them, Cedwyn frantically dug and pulled on the root to free his foot.

“Guin’ver! I can’t get loose!”

“You have to! Try harder! Pull harder!”

Cedwyn dug and pulled some more until he felt his foot start to loosen. Finally pulling free, he stood up. He could see the boar charging after Guinevere. He ran for the pine tree. Grabbing branches, he pulled himself up until he was too high for the boar to reach.

“I’m in the tree!” he yelled. Guinevere waved and continued running.

Once in the forest, she stopped to let her eyes adjust to the darkness, and as she waited, the sounds of the boar grew louder. Finally, she could just make out a faint trail. She ran down the path, trying to find some place to hide so that the boar would run past her.

Then up ahead she saw a pine tree with low branches. Finding the last bit of speed inside of her, she reached the tree and jumped. Her hands grasped a low branch, and the pine needles pricked her skin. She pulled herself up, her arms aching from the effort.

Before she could get a good hold, the whole tree shook. Pine needles fell, sticking in her hair and on her clothes. Screaming, she struggled to hold on, ignoring the bark cutting into her skin. At least if the boar gets me, I won’t have my thirteenth Birth Day. She didn’t know which would be worse: the boar or turning thirteen.

The boar charged the tree again. Her grip loosened. She screamed louder, suddenly sure that turning thirteen wouldn’t be as bad as facing the angry boar.

“Guin’ver! I’m coming!” Cedwyn’s only answer was another scream from the forest. He loosened his arms and slid down the tree, unmindful of the scratches from the bark.

Guinevere’s right arm flailed above her, blindly searching for a higher branch. Her fingertips brushed the bottom of one sliding through the sap. She stretched up, grasping the branch firmly with one hand. Trying not to think of what would happen if she fell, she let go with her other hand. For just a moment she felt herself slipping down, but her fingers found the branch, and she held on. The boar hit the tree again. It shook hard enough to nearly topple over, and Guinevere screamed once more.

Then she heard another more horrible scream. Its piercing sound traveled up the trunk into her body. Thinking it was Cedwyn, she looked down and saw a rock hit the boar’s side with the arrow. Its angry cry filled the air one last time before the wounded animal ran off deep into the forest.

Guinevere leaned against the rough pine trying to breathe.

“Is it gone? Can you see it?” Cedwyn said as he peeked out from behind a bush.

Guinevere searched the path that the boar had taken. There was no sign of it, and she couldn’t hear it anymore either.

“It’s gone. We’re safe. C’mon out.”

As Cedwyn made his way to her, she climbed down the tree and sat on the ground, her legs too wobbly to hold her. Both of them were a mess. Guinevere proceeded to brush some of the dirt, pine needles, and small twigs off her clothing. Strands of hair had escaped from her braid, and she tried to tuck them back as she pulled out the pine needles. Cedwyn also brushed dirt off his clothes as Guinevere reached over and rubbed some dirt off his cheek. They looked at each other and then burst out laughing from relief at still being alive.

“I..thought..we..were…dead!” Cedwyn said between laughs.

“You should have felt that tree shake! I was sure I was the boar’s next meal!” Then Guinevere added, somewhat subdued, “Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

“You saved me too. That’s what friends are for.”

“Yes. I’m only glad that we’re still alive to be friends,” she said, smiling down at him. “Let’s go. We’re really late now, and we don’t even have a rabbit as a peace offering.”

He nodded. “We’re gonna be in trouble.” Then, as if someone had heard them, upon the wind came a faint but clear voice.

“Lady Guinevere! Cedwyn!”

Grabbing hands, the two ran, fearful of what awaited them at the castle.

Suddenly Cedwyn stopped and pulled Guinevere backwards, almost knocking her down. Grinning, he pointed under a bush at the side of the path. Laughter spilled out from her as she saw their trap in the thicket where they had set it earlier that morning. It was no longer empty. Inside crouched their peace offering: their rabbit! They released the rabbit and put it in a bag, their good humor restored. Then the wind carried the voice again, this time louder and angrier.

“Lady Guinevere! Cedwyn!

 

Chapter 2

The Rabbit

 

Both children stood in the bailey courtyard, still breathing hard from their run back to the castle. Cedwyn’s mum Brynwyn stood before them. Her stern look left no doubt that they were in trouble. She glanced from one to the other and shook her head.

“Both of you know better than to be gone all morning and without a proper breakfast,” she scolded. “You know you have certain responsibilities, even at your ages.” Her gaze burned into Guinevere’s brown eyes.

Guinevere lowered her head, ashamed at being in trouble. Cedwyn stood beside her, his eyes on the ground.

“It’s too late to eat, so you can both just get busy.” She paused, waiting for a protest from them. None came. “Cedwyn, have the courtyard raked by mid-afternoon, or I’ll send you to the stable to help,” Brynwyn said. Reaching up, her leathered hand pushed strands of black and white hair back into place, and her focus shifted to Guinevere.

“And you, Lady Guinevere, make haste to the schoolroom for your lessons. Both of you should be grateful that your backsides are not sore after being gone!” she added as she turned toward the kitchen, the bag with the rabbit in her hand.

Guinevere started to leave, but Cedwyn didn’t move. He was on the verge of tears. Noticing this, she gave him a hug.

“Don’t fret, your mum will forget being mad at us by supper time.”

“Mayhap, but you don’t have to rake the courtyard and maybe even clean the stables.”

“No, I just have to spend the next three hours inside that stuffy old schoolroom with Professor Rymes. At least you’ll be outside and able to enjoy the rest of the day.”

“Wanna trade?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “The last time we tried that, we both ended up with sore backsides and cleaning the stables too.” Grimacing, she stepped inside the doorway to the upper stair- case. “I’ll see you later.”

Slowly, Guinevere made her way up the stone steps in the tower. She didn’t like the schoolroom. In the middle of the keep, the room had no windows to let in the air. In the summer it was too hot, and in the winter the stone floor froze her feet like ice. She obediently continued climbing, but her heart weighed her down, threatening to stop her steps before she reached the schoolroom. There at last, she opened the door without knocking.

Professor Rymes stood waiting by the window, his arms crossed, and his right foot tapping the stone floor. The look he gave Guinevere reenforced the shame she felt with Brynwyn. With his brown cape flowing down over his belted tunic and pants, Rymes looked very imposing, especially with his oversized body.

“It’s about time, young lady. Your father is going to hear how you missed an hour today. And that this is not the first time!”

“I’m sorry, Professor,” Guinevere said. “I will take care that it doesn’t happen again.”

“Just be sure you do that. I will not be reprimanded by your father because of your behavior. Now sit down and let’s run through your Latin phrases.” The professor maneuvered his body into the chair, smoothing his dark brown cape as he sat.

Guinevere sat in the small desk in front of him, conscious of his disapproving eyes as he took in her dirty and damp clothing. Dutifully, she recited the required phrases as he asked for them, but her pronunciation was not exact.

“Have you been practicing on a regular basis?”

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes is not the same as a regular basis. You must practice every night so that your brain does not forget the pronunciation. I’ve told the king that,” Professor Rymes stated. “I’m going to have to request again that he be more involved in your education.”

“But it is not interesting. No one else in the castle except for you and my father even speak Latin. There is no one to practice with. I don’t understand why I have to learn it,” Guinevere said, pouting as she looked Professor Rymes in the eye. Well really, four eyes since he wore glasses.

“I have told you before, Ladies of the Castle need to be able to speak and understand Latin. Since the death of the Queen, there has been no Lady of the Castle. But that will change in a couple of days. It is time for you to step up and assume those duties. And that includes conversing in Latin with high-ranking visitors from abroad.”

Guinevere swallowed hard, reminded again that she would be expected to take an adult’s role in the castle come her thirteenth Birth Day.

“My father knows Latin. He always uses it when talking to the visiting bishop.”

“The king is an exception. Your future husband will most likely be relying on you being able to converse in Latin should such a visitor appear at your castle.”

“Ugh! Can we not speak of marriage? After all, I’m not thirteen yet,” Guinevere said.

“I am not discussing marriage with you. I am only pointing out the reasons for your education,” he explained, removing his glasses and cleaning them on his cape. As he put them back on and adjusted them, he said, “Now, if we may continue with your lessons? Let’s do some arithmetic. Where are those sums you were supposed to do?”

Guinevere walked over to the shelf and grabbed some papers and her charcoal writing tool. Surprisingly, for the next hour, the two worked together eagerly, both enjoying the problems and working the sums.

“Very good,” the Professor told her when they were finished. “I just wish you took to Latin as eagerly and quickly as arithmetic. Now, I know it is late but we should touch on the history…”

He was interrupted by the loud rumbling of Guinevere’s stomach. She quickly put one hand on her stomach and tried to hide her grin with the other.

“I must say, that is not very ladylike, is it?” he said, removing his glasses again and cleaning them on his cape.

“I’m sorry, Professor. Cedwyn and I missed breakfast this morning, and there was not time to grab something from the kitchen,” Guinevere apologized.

“That should teach you to go traipsing about. Lucky for you and the castle those days are coming to an end. But we’ll stop for now. You need to go to the kitchen and help with the cooking. Mayhap that will go better for you than Latin. I will see you tomorrow, on time.” His stare stifled any reply. “And don’t forget to eat so you don’t sample everything you help prepare.”

“Thank you, Professor Rymes,” Guinevere replied. Grumbling, she made her way down the stairs. “I don’t want my traipsing about days to come to an end. If only there was some way to postpone my Birth Day or make Father realize I’m not ready to be the Lady of the Castle.”

Concerned with her problems, she nearly missed Cedwyn on the stone steps outside the kitchen. His mouth full of bread and cheese, he grabbed her tunic and motioned to the cloth beside him. She sat down and unwrapped it, revealing pieces of bread and cheese inside. She dove into the food hungrily. They stopped only to drink the sweet aleberry cider from the amphora cup.

When she finished, she turned to Cedwyn. “That was the best food I have eaten in a long time.”

“Me too. Since last night!” Cedwyn said somewhat accusingly. “Mum decided I had to help clean the stables after all. And, she said that since I had already waited so long to eat, a couple more hours wouldn’t hurt. I think she was trying to make a point.”

Guinevere looked contrite. “I’m sorry. I never meant to be gone so long this morning. If it weren’t for that bloody boar, we would have been home sooner. Thanks for saving me some food. Professor Rymes wouldn’t let me eat either.”

“Are you going inside to help?” Cedwyn motioned behind him to the entrance of the kitchen.

“Yes. All ladies need to know how to cook. Just once I would like for Father to ask me what I want to know,” Guinevere said, smoothing her tunic where it had dried from the morning dew.

“And what do you want to know?”

“I don’t know. Mayhap how to catch a horse, shoot a crossbow, hunt a deer,” she replied. “Something adventurous. But, I best be getting in the kitchen. I’ll be in enough trouble once the professor tells Father I was late and didn’t know my Latin. I can at least learn how to cook a good supper.”

Guinevere tousled Cedwyn’s hair and walked up the steps.

Cedwyn skipped across the inner courtyard leaving small dust plumes behind him, his good mood back Finding the best place to sit on the drawbridge, he peered intently into the slow moving water of the moat. After supper, he would give Guinevere a full report on the numerous creatures swimming in there.

Guinevere wrinkled up her nose at the smell of raw meat and blood mixed with fresh herbs that floated out of the kitchen door. It always smelled better when they baked bread in the early morning. By mid-afternoon, the rich aroma had faded. Instead the air smelled of pigs, horses, cows, and chickens. The breeze that flowed through the slats in the outer wall and circulated around the bailey courtyard barely made the kitchen bearable in the afternoon.

The kitchen was a hub of activity. From a side alcove, the blackguard Edward, a tall skinny boy around fifteen, was setting out the pots and utensils that would be used to prepare supper. His freckled face bore spots of charcoal on it from the soot-covered pots.

In the back, the carver James sharpened the last of the knives on the whetstone. Older than Edward by three years, his arms bulged with muscle gained from sharpening knives and cutting meat. His leather apron was stained with blood.

In the middle of the bare dirt floor stood a large black caldron on a bed of pine and hickory wood. Small wisps of flame still licked at the remaining sticks of wood. Guinevere breathed in the wood smoke, savoring its smell. Off to the side, smaller caldrons also simmered on similar beds of pine and hickory.

Several women stood talking around the different caldrons. Some added sprigs of thyme and parsley while others measured out chopped onions and mushrooms to be added later. Brynwyn, Cedwyn’s mum, moved among the caldrons, stopping to taste and have additional seasonings added. Her grey-streaked hair was now pulled back in a bun. A pale brown apron covered with samplings of previous dinners covered her ankle-length dress. While she was in charge of the kitchen, she only interfered in Cook’s domain when a big feast was planned. She seemed to sense Guinevere’s presence.

“Lady Guinevere, don’t just stand there. Your father is having important guests tonight for supper,” Brynwyn said, resting her hands on her stout hips.

“I didn’t know,” Guinevere said.

“He is, and there is much to do. Help Maggie with the potatoes and the carrots.” She pointed to a girl close to Guinevere’s age busy peeling vegetables. Maggie looked up from her work, but showed no other sign that she knew Guinevere.

“The lot needs to be peeled and cut up to put in the pot here. Goin’ to be a real nice supper. Plenty of vegetables and pork in garlic and pepper sauce, bread, and plenty of ale. Oh, and I almost forgot. Cook is making a special dish out of a barnacle goose and that rabbit you and Cedwyn brought in. That may save you a bit of trouble with your father,” she added, turning back to the pot she was tasting.

“I hope so. Is Cook by any chance baking circlette?” Guinevere asked, her mouth watering just thinking of the almond cake topped with fresh raspberry jam.

Brynwyn turned, a slight smile forming on her weathered face. “Yes, he is. So you best stay on his good side this time. No accidents today. He can’t be making proper circlette if he has to work around a mess like the last time. Behave yourself and be careful.”

Guinevere nodded. Maggie looked shyly at Guinevere and motioned toward the knives used for peeling. She thanked her, but the older girl didn’t reply. Guinevere just shrugged and started peeling a potato. Maggie was a plain girl with her mouse-brown hair tied up in a bun like Brynwyn’s. Like most of the girls in the castle, her clothes consisted of a well-worn tunic with no design. She also wore no shoes.

Maggie never talked to anyone that Guinevere knew. In fact, it had taken months just to get a nod out of Maggie when she started working in the kitchen. But Guinevere didn’t mind. She always told Maggie about everything she and Cedwyn had been doing. Once in a while, she even managed to get a smile out of Maggie, although she was careful not to let the other girl know that she saw it.

After an hour, the pile of peeled potatoes and carrots had grown. Maggie had long ago stopped peeling and had been cutting up the vegetables. After finishing her pile of potatoes, Guinevere went in search of a pan to put them in. As she was coming back with the pan, Cook called out to her.

“Lady Guinevere, if it is possible without causing a riot, bring me that wicker basket with the rabbit in it. And don’t open it!” he added, wiping his hands on his stained apron. His arms, heavily muscled from years of kneading dough, looked as if they could easily squeeze the life out of a child if given a reason.

“Yes, Cook,” Guinevere said, not wanting to risk his wrath. She put the pan down by Maggie and went to get the basket.

While not heavy, she sensed movement inside. The rabbit was still alive. That would mean that she would have to watch as Cook killed and skinned it. Guinevere shivered and walked over to the other side of the kitchen where Cook waited.

Apparently, though, the rabbit knew what was in store and had no intention of being part of supper that night. And it didn’t care who got in trouble.

The basket jumped out of Guinevere’s hands before she could even blink. Hitting the floor, the lid came off and the rabbit, seeing its opportunity, ran across the kitchen. Guinevere just stood there, stunned. Maggie leaped up from her stool screaming as the rabbit dove under her legs. The pan she was filling with vegetables flew into the air, carrots and potatoes going all over. Brynwyn shouted for James to block the doorway. Cook bore down on Guinevere, murder in his eyes.

“I only did what I was told! The rabbit jumped in the basket, and it slipped! It wasn’t my fault!”

“You just wait until I tell the king about this…this fiasco!” Cook shouted, his plump face turning as red as the potatoes she’d peeled.

Guinevere turned and ran to the back of the kitchen, looking under the shelves for the rabbit. She had to catch it. That was the only way to avoid trouble. Her father would be furious with her for wreaking havoc once again in the kitchen.

“It’s over here!” Edward yelled as he exited the alcove with additional pans and utensils. The rabbit darted out of the alcove and dashed for the door. Running to cut the rabbit off, Cook collided with Edward who was also trying to block the doorway. Pans and utensils flew into the air. Cook pounced too late on the rabbit which turned and raced for the back of the kitchen.

“There it goes! It’s heading for the drainage pipe!” The pipe drained the kitchen when it was washed down to the packed earth once a month. It came out at the edge of the woods.

Guinevere hurried to the far end of the kitchen. There, indeed heading for the drain pipe, the only way left unguarded, was the rabbit. It raced toward the pipe as if its continued existence depended upon making it. Which it did.

Knowing that she could not reach the pipe before the rabbit, Guinevere sped out the door, bent on reaching the end of the pipe before the rabbit.

Already alerted to a problem from the yells and screams coming from the kitchen, the bailey courtyard was rapidly filling up with spectators. The blacksmith Sauder, his hair and face stained with soot, just shook his head as Guinevere flew past. Several others, including the stable boys and gardeners, stopped their work to watch, and ventured out of the castle gates to see what else was happening. Several ladies in various stages of cleaning the castle hung out of the upper windows and hollered down as she passed.

“What have you done now, Lady Guinevere?”

“Why are you running? What have you done?”

Guinevere ignored their questions and concentrated on where she was going. She ran to the gate at the edge of the inner courtyard and out onto the bridge. She rushed passed Cedwyn so swiftly that she didn’t even see him, focused as she was on the rabbit.

“I’ve got to get there first,” she stressed to herself.

“Wait a minute! What’s goin’ on? Where you goin’?” Cedwyn yelled. Receiving no response, he abandoned his moat watching and sprinted after her, still shouting.

Several others also followed, though keeping at a safe distance. No one wanted to be close when the king arrived, as he was sure to do with all the ruckus. Some had found out the hard way that when Lady Guinevere got in trouble, those close by were usually on the receiving end of the king’s anger also. In fact, sometimes he directed his anger at those milling around rather than at Guinevere.

Guinevere ran on, her breath coming in gasps, but she didn’t slow down. She could see the tall grass where the pipe spilled out its rotten treasure once a month. I’m going to make it. Yes! She silently cheered. On she ran, her eyes glued on the spot.

By this time, quite a crowd had gathered and followed her out the castle gate, over the moat, and across the meadow. Many of the women shook their heads as they watched Lady Guinevere tear across the meadow in a very unladylike way. Children of all sizes raced past the women, their cheers echoing alongside Cedwyn’s repeated demands of what she was doing. Several men folk, including the blacksmith Sauder and Professor Rymes, drawn away from their work by the pursuing crowds and shouts, followed.

Focused as she was, Guinevere didn’t see was what was coming through the clearing. She didn’t hear Cedwyn’s shouts of warning, joined by the shouts of the rest of the spectators.

She did see the grass at the pipe’s end begin to flatten as if the winter wind were blowing in a storm. The rabbit was coming out of the pipe! Guinevere ran harder. She had to catch that rabbit.

From nowhere a blur of fur streaked toward the pipe, almost knocking her down. The odor of wet dog assailed her senses, and its howling as it spotted the rabbit echoed in her ears. Not knowing where the bratchet dog came from, only knowing that it was after her rabbit, Guinevere yelled and ran even faster.

“No! The rabbit’s mine!”

It was a race to the end! Guinevere’s salvation or the bratchet’s supper!

Dimly in the far reaches of her mind, Guinevere recognized the terrified voices of Cedwyn and the others. But she did not waver. Then Cedwyn’s cries grew more desperate and more terrified.

“Guin’ver! Look out! Guin’ver!”

Without stopping, she looked around, hoping she would not stumble. Her ears rang with the bratchet’s howling that was growing louder as it sensed victory was close.

She glimpsed a huge dark form barreling down on her from the forest road like a granite chip down a slope, picking up speed with no chance of stopping. Fear worked its way into her mind.

“What…?”

She became conscious of Cedwyn’s frantic shouting. The roars of the others also filtered into her brain.

“Guin’ver! Look out! Guin’ver!”

“Lady Guinevere!”

“Look out, my Lady!”

“Oh, my!”

The towering form materialized into the shape of a galloping horse with a knight dressed in shining silver armor. He raced straight toward her as if she were his opponent in a jousting competition. Paralyzing fear stopped her. She could only watch as knight and horse bore down on her as if she weren’t there.

Sir Pellinore saw the girl and the danger, but he couldn’t swerve around her. He was also focused, focused on his bratchet that was now off on another trail. So quickly was the Painted Dragon forgotten in the face of more convenient prey!

Powerless to move, Guinevere also found herself unable to scream. Then, without warning, she left the ground. The rush of wind from Pellinore’s passing whipped around her even as she moved through the air. With a thwack, she landed on the ground, the wind knocked out of her.

In the few moments she struggled to breathe, Guinevere became aware of an apparition in flowing grey robes and a long white beard standing beside her. A frown of disapproval covered the wrinkled face.

“Wa… wai…”

“Fine behavior for the future Queen of England,” the apparition said before striding away. The rest of the crowd started to retreat to the castle as word filtered down that Lady Guinevere was safe.

 Click here to buy the book: Guinevere: On the Eve of Legend by Cheryl Carpinello>>>