Enchanted Warrior (14 page)

“Was Lady Bertilak green, too?”

“No, but she always wore green. She was smart and beautiful and gracious. In fact, she was such a good hostess she offered to climb into my bed.”

“She what?” Despite herself, Tamsin was drawn into the tale.

Gawain finally turned to her, a rueful smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “It was all part of Morgan's test, to see if Arthur's knights were truly good, or if they would abuse the hospitality of their host. If I'd accepted the good lady's offer, I would have offended her lord and lost my head, for sure. Because I respected my host's honor and did not take his wife, he let me go.”

“And this Lady Bertilak still did her best to seduce you, even knowing it might kill you?”

“That was the test. She was most persuasive in those last days before the trial. After all, why not take what I wanted when I was about to perish anyhow?”

Tamsin began to see where this was going. “She used despair as a weapon.”

“And she had magic and considerable beauty on her side. I am ashamed to say that I came close to the edge.”

“But you didn't.”

“No.” Gawain straightened, folding his arms. “That's why I always wear green. It reminds me to remain humble, because even the best knight can stray from his duty. Especially when it comes to lovely witches.”

Tamsin bristled. “That seems a little harsh. You came through it in one piece.”

“I should have known better. I am susceptible where magic is involved.”

“I'd say there was ill will involved.”

Gawain's face was stony. “Perhaps, but magic always makes things worse. It can turn a game into a trap where the unwary might lose his head.”

She drew herself up, temper rising again. “And it can save a life just as quickly. I won't entertain the belief magic is bad in and of itself. Not for one second.”

“I believe you,” he said softly, contradicting all her expectations. “But one deed leads to another. No one begins believing they will be evil, but magic allows them to take an easy path. So a gray deed leads to a black one, and soon the one wielding the magic has lost all sense of right and wrong.”

Tamsin was about to deny it, but the words died on her tongue. “I can see why you say that. LaFaye is your aunt, but she didn't warn you against taking the Green Knight's challenge.”

That made him laugh, and it was bitter. “Warn me? That would require a capacity for feelings she does not possess.”

“But your mother was her sister. That should have made her spare you.”

His expression didn't change, though the lines beside his mouth deepened. “LaFaye and my mother did not waste time on sentimentality. I watched my mother skin a man alive so that she could dupe his wife by wearing his face.”

“What?” Tamsin's hand went to her stomach, afraid it would revolt. “Magic that dark has always been forbidden. Did anyone do anything about it?”

“My brother Agravaine. He killed her.”

Sick with dread, Tamsin turned his words over in her mind, but her thoughts shied away from their meaning. The pictures they painted were too awful. “I don't know what to say. That's far beyond my experience.”

“I would not wish it any other way.”

Her hands had gone cold, as if her blood had ceased to flow. She'd come out on the balcony because she was angry with Gawain, but now she wanted to comfort him. “You can't think all witches are like LaFaye or your mother. We just aren't. Most of us are just ordinary people.”

Tamsin raised her fingers to touch his face. He stiffened but didn't draw back, allowing her to trace the angles of his jaw. He was warm, his cheek rough with dark stubble. It struck her again how Gawain seemed more alive than any ordinary man. He was so full of passion and regret, it stopped her breath, as if he carried an electrical charge. Too much contact with him might stop her heart.

His hand came up to caress hers. At first, his thumb traced her palm with gentle pressure, his fingers lacing through her own. He pressed her hand to his cheek, turning into her touch so he could leave a kiss on her fingertips. Then he pulled her hand away.

“I believe you mean well.” He took a step back, leaving cold air between them. “I am sorry I wounded your feelings.”

“Okay.”

He hesitated, seeming momentarily uncertain. “Mordred held every advantage tonight, and it was too much like the past. I could not save people I love from harm.”

She wasn't sure what past he referred to. His childhood? Or the strange game he'd played with the Green Knight? Or some other terrible scene he had lived through? “We got out together. We make a good team.”

He gave her a brief, courtly bow that put even greater distance between them. “I thank you for that. I am in your debt, and will uphold our bargain.”

With that, Gawain retreated inside, leaving Tamsin more confused than before.

Chapter 16

T
amsin got little sleep that night. She propped herself in a chair, refusing to do more than doze until it was time to check on her patients. But if her nursing duties kept her from true rest, so did her confusion over Gawain.

He'd held her when she'd become lost in Mordred's spell. They'd spent the night in each other's arms after finding Beaumains. She'd begun to believe Gawain would have a special place in her future—certainly as a lover, and possibly something deeper. How could she have misread the situation so badly?

Because she'd wanted to? Tamsin had to be honest—he'd made no promises. She'd taken him to her bed with her eyes wide open. The fact that he had brought up their bargain put everything back to a simple handshake deal with no strings attached.

A tight knot of bitter unhappiness cramped Tamsin's core. It wasn't fair. Being with him was like whisky after a lifetime of weak tea. But she was just a witch with a history degree, not a miracle worker. Whatever Gawain had experienced was more than she could cure with a kiss.

When Tamsin shook herself awake at dawn, her bones ached with weariness. Gawain was sitting by the wall, his sword balanced across his bent knees. He looked up, the early light showing his pallor. He said nothing as she bent over Beaumains, pressing the younger knight's wrist to check his pulse.

“The fever is down,” she said, keeping her voice low. “Pulse is slow and steady. He should be fine.”

Gawain exhaled in relief. “Thank you.”

“Magic has its uses.” Tamsin resisted the urge to give in to fatigue and frustration and say more. Instead, she crossed to the bed and touched Angmar's forehead. A sweep of her healer's magic said he was stable, but there was a long, long way to go. Mordred had done a lot of damage to the fae.

Angmar's eyes fluttered open. One was swollen and badly bloodshot, but the other was the clear, cool green of forest glades. The fae regarded her with open curiosity. “You saved me, little witch.” His voice was hoarse but stronger than she'd expected.

“Hush,” she replied, checking his bandages. Though the bleeding had stopped, she wanted to change the dressing on the worst of his injuries. “You need to rest.”

But Angmar caught her hand, stopping her before she set to work. “Where is Sir Gawain? I have a tale he needs to hear.”

“I am here.” Gawain held out a glass of water to Tamsin. “I will hold him if you help him drink.”

Gawain held Angmar's head as Tamsin raised the glass to his lips. The fae drank greedily and then lay back for a long moment, wearied from even that much exertion. But finally he opened his eyes again, lifting his gaze to Gawain. “I know where your king lies.”

Tamsin froze where she was. The only sound was the ticking of her old-fashioned alarm clock. Gawain's jaw worked until he forced out a single word. “Where?”

Angmar seemed to drift for a moment before going on. “Mordred's dungeon is full of fae rebels. I recognized many faces, or what was left of them. Mordred hates those he cannot control. He is afraid even of what they might whisper.”

Gawain shifted impatiently. “They whisper of the king?”

“Some of the prisoners have been there since LaFaye first began plotting to seize the throne of Faery. Pain and privation eventually take their toll. Their silence breaks.” Angmar grimaced. “They talk among themselves, a word here, a snippet there. I put together enough of a story from these scraps to understand what has happened.”

“What did you hear?” Gawain demanded, his voice urgent.

“There was a contingency plan, a safety measure to hide Arthur's tomb—and Excalibur—if need be. A decade ago, that plan was put into action. LaFaye was too close to finding the sword.”

“Who were those conspirators?” Gawain asked.

“The old Queen of the Faeries, Gloriana, kept the circle small. It survives even though Gloriana lost her throne to LaFaye's treachery.”

Angmar stopped to drink more water, resting again before he went on. “There was one knight of Camelot who did not go into the stone sleep, but watched over the tomb. Gloriana placed him under the protection of her magic, making him all but immortal.”

Tamsin listened, but her first concern was tending to the fae's wounds. She began unwinding the bandage around Angmar's injured forearm. The wound wasn't infected, but she would apply more healing ointment to be certain.

“This knight was a witch but loyal to a fault, for he had raised King Arthur as his own son,” Angmar added, his face turning ashen with pain as she worked.

“Do you mean Sir Hector?” Gawain asked.

Tamsin's fingers froze in their work. Witchcraft. Medieval magic. A knight named Hector and a plot that had gone into action ten years ago. Shock jolted through Tamsin and she dropped the lid of the jar she was holding. It fell with a clatter, drawing everyone's attention. “A-are you talking about my father? Hector Greene?”

The moment Tamsin said it, she knew it was crazy. “Never mind. My father was no knight.”

Angmar narrowed his eyes. “You are Hector's daughter? He was the very best of the Round Table.”

Tamsin ducked her head, embarrassed. “I am Tamsin Greene. My father is dead.”

“Sir Hector did not die,” the fae said gently. “He lived in the mortal realms until it was time to resume his mission to the king.”

Tamsin felt a sudden, hard rush of anger. “He left our family without telling us he was alive?” The sudden fury faded to the hurt of an abandoned child. She folded her hands to hide their trembling.
But he is alive. There is a chance I will see him again
. Joy warred with pain, leaving her utterly confused.

“It was a desperate move, if he hid his tracks so completely.” Gawain had gone almost as pale as Angmar. The concern in his eyes said he understood every one of Tamsin's thoughts. “Do we know where Hector went?”

“The Forest Sauvage,” Angmar replied, his voice low with tension. He turned to Tamsin. “It is a place all but forgotten, a wood beyond the mortal world that was made to beguile and confuse. It looks like our land, with the same towns and castles, but it is only a mirror image filled with hidden dangers.”

“How did my father get there?” Needing something to keep her hands busy, Tamsin wrapped a fresh bandage over Angmar's wound. The familiar task steadied her. Better yet, it let her hide the depth of her distress.

“A portal, much like the one you used to escape the dungeon. The king's effigy is hidden in the forest.”

“How is this even possible?” she whispered. Her fingers automatically fastened the bandage, but she had no more strength. She sank to the end of the bed, overwhelmed. “How can my father be a knight of Camelot? He was a witch, and he certainly wasn't—I mean—I would have noticed, right? He taught me to love history, but I had no idea he'd lived it.”

The thought of her father—so completely loving—having lived all those years brought an ache to her throat. Who had he left behind along the way? Had he been happy in this far-flung future? Had he longed to return to Camelot the whole time?

“Gloriana was fae, but she had the good of all the races in her heart. She wanted to ensure the success of Arthur's plan to safeguard future peace.” Angmar smiled at Tamsin, though his injuries made it crooked. “For that, she required a knight with impeccable character—and one with magical talents of his own.”

Tamsin heard the words but barely understood their meaning. Angmar's story changed too much of her world at once. She clung to the one thing she knew. “I have to find my father.”

Gawain touched Angmar's shoulder, his fingers gentle. “Do you know of any portal to the Forest Sauvage?”

Tamsin was eager. “I could open it, just as I did from the dungeon.”

“That was a small portal. The one you need is much more powerful, much more difficult even for a fae. You are strong, child, but not strong enough for that.” Angmar closed his eyes. “Merlin knew. The spell for the portal to the Forest Sauvage is...” He trailed off, succumbing to his body's need for rest.

Tamsin barely resisted the urge to shake him awake again. “Is what?”

Angmar was asleep. Tamsin stepped back from the bed, an idea already forming in her mind. “The secret to the portal is in Merlin's books! That's why my father had to study them.”

Gawain's hand closed on her shoulder. “Mordred is on guard now. It will not be simple to return.”

“I know. That was our best chance to find the library.” Tamsin stopped, stricken with a sudden, desperate urge to weep—and for privacy. She'd finished with Angmar's bandages. There was nothing more she could do for her patients right then. “I'm going next door for an hour. I need some real rest.” And then she would think about how to get the books. Finding them had already been vitally important, but now Merlin's tomes also held the key to a reunion with her father.

Swiftly, she picked clean clothes out of her drawers and made her way to the door of her tiny apartment. She thanked the Fates that had left the apartment next door vacant—it was her best chance to get some space. “Come get me if I'm needed.”

Gawain nodded, watching her go. Perhaps it was wrong to demand time alone, but she had too much to think about. Her body ached with tension as she unlocked the suite next door and dropped her bundle of fresh clothes on the blessedly empty expanse of carpet. For the first time in hours, she had room to breathe.

And then everything crowded in. Waller. The dungeon. The portal. Her father and the fact he was a knight. For some reason, that seemed less strange than that he had left her behind. Her beloved, amazing, tender father had vanished from her life not because of a terrible accident, but of his own accord. An ache as sharp and terrible as a claw worked its way into her throat, leaving her gasping. Tamsin sank to the carpet and began to cry. She hugged herself, unable to think. Unable to do anything but give vent to the pain tearing her in two.

Tamsin didn't hear Gawain enter. She started when he slipped a blanket around her and pulled her into his warmth. He'd changed back into modern clothes, and the softness of an old sweatshirt cushioned her as she leaned into his chest. They had fought, true, but he was silently offering a truce. Instead of quieting her, though, the feel of his strong arms around her made her sobbing worse. It didn't seem to matter. Rather than pull away or try to hush her, Gawain held on, letting her weep. When she finally stopped, he said nothing, waiting until she was ready to speak.

“He was my father,” Tamsin said, her voice thick and cracked from crying.

“I know.” Gawain's hand cupped the back of her head, keeping her close.

“Why did he leave?” She hated the forlorn note in her voice.

“Hector wouldn't go without reasons.”

“Reasons to leave his family?”

Gawain shifted, tucking her against his side. “According to Angmar, LaFaye began planning her campaign to invade the mortal realms ten years past. That would have been your father's signal to act after centuries of waiting.”

“Why wait? Why not take the fight to the fae?”

“Mortals cannot cross into the realms of the fae. We had to wait for them to make the first move. It seems Hector was the lookout.”

Tamsin wiped her eyes, sadness heavy in her chest. “So he was an important, mighty player in Queen Gloriana's schemes. I suppose it wouldn't matter that he had a wife and children.”

“No, you are wrong. Everything he does is for you.” Gawain caught a stray tear on his finger. “LaFaye spares no one. Stopping her is Hector's best chance to keep you safe.”

Tamsin finally met his gaze. “Why didn't he say something to me?”

He folded her hands between his. “Don't judge your father harshly. Not until you hear his side. On these missions, many choices are made in the moment. Sometimes ones we don't expect.”

“Like what?”

“You could have redirected the portal to the library when you had the chance, but you didn't. I thought about that all last night, after we spoke. Why did you abandon your own quest when it was within your grasp?”

“Maybe I should have.” Tamsin gave a soft, bitter laugh, pulling her hand away and rubbing the Shadowring tattoo on her wrist. It ached with the memory of wrestling that much magic—and of the memory of her conversation with Waller. “If you can believe the Chief Elder, I'll be rewarded with a seat on the coven's council if I bring back the books. If I fail they will do with me as they please. They only sent me here to teach me humility, after all.”

“You have no reason to be humble.” Gawain turned her to face him, his eyes solemn. “You took us to safety rather than securing your future.”

Back in Mordred's dungeon, Tamsin hadn't stopped to consider the question. Now that she did, she just got angry. “To the abyss with the Elders. I don't make bad decisions out of fear. I'm a healer first, and I don't leave wounded behind to die.”

Gawain's eyebrow cocked. “And what will that cost you, besides a seat of honor among your people?”

Tamsin looked away, unable to meet his eyes. The cost would be servitude in a thousand different ways. “It doesn't matter. It's done. We will find the books yet.”

Gawain's fingers tightened on her shoulders, but then he let her go with a curt nod. “Yes, we will. And because you made the choice you did and saved Angmar, we know so much more.”

That much was true. Gawain knew where his king was, and she knew where her father had gone. And the key to finding them was in the books, and that meant facing Mordred again.

Tamsin's head bowed. She was so tired, and almost protested as Gawain lifted her chin, his touch as gentle as he was strong. He kissed her, the heat of his mouth sinking deep into her spirit. There were no revelations, no simple answers in his touch, but his kindness, the simple skin-to-skin warmth of contact, soothed her heart. Knots of tension loosened inside Tamsin, allowing her to finally take a deep breath.