CHAPTER 3
Disturbed by the urgent baying of hounds, Guinevere looked up from the embroidery she was stitching. It was just past dawn, too early to be up and already at work, but she’d felt too restless to sleep. Too anxious and miserable. Through the window she could see that the grey sky was tinged with pink, although she still needed candlelight to see the posy of flowers gradually taking form under her nimble fingers.
The knights in the forecourt below must be assembling for the hunt. She could hear the shouts of the grooms and the metallic ring of horseshoes on the cobblestones. Her heart leaped at the possibility of seeing Lancelot. Was he there, making ready for the hunt? Should she go to the window in the hope of seeing him?
Guinevere set her embroidery aside, and picked it up ag
