There was a silence while Harry attempted to bow to Arthur and Gwen, which looked painful to everyone. To a male, every single one of them in the dining room winced.

But then they followed their king’s lead, holding up their steins.

“I am assuming you took one for the Gipper, master Harry,” Arthur said. “He has always been a bit overly accurate with his legs.”

“Oh, wait a minute,” Isabel said, “you have a horse named Gipper?”

Gwen spoke up first. “I’m afraid Gipper is mine. And my apologies, sir, for his . . . exuberance. Sir Ronald of Reagan gifted him to me at our matrimonial ceremony. He is a beautiful stud but can be much of a handful. But not as taxing as most.”

Harry bowed again, then headed straight to Isabel. “He’s not going to be studding anytime soon. The sonofabitch nearly blew off my balls,” he whispered.

“Please don’t tell me ...”

“No little Gippers showing up soon. Actually ever. And it felt good.”

At the supper table, Arthur spent a few minutes introducing his men as well.

James was his first man, whatever that was. But he was bigger than any professional wrestler, so Isabel was guessing he was also a bodyguard of sorts.

Tristan, his second man, who was only slightly smaller than James and who she recognized from the woods, bowed his head. Isabel waved at him, hoping he hadn’t seen her bare butt while she’d stopped to pee. Unfortunately, Tristan grinned at her, which gave her the feeling that at least he had.

And on and on with other men who meant something to Arthur or Gwen. It was a big freaking table.

And then, finally, she was introduced to Lancelot. He stood and bowed more deeply than all of the other men. He was her target, apparently, but not a single one of her hormones charged to life.

Lancelot, a darling blusher, was as shy as shy could be. To be certain, he was a striking young man, having light brown hair with sun-streaked golden threads that Isabel would love to challenge her hairdresser, Pelo, to try to duplicate.