Page 19 of Enchanted Warrior

Tamsin nodded, her lashes lowered. They were a dark gold against her creamy skin. “You’d save him if you could?”

She raised her eyes and did it again—breaking him open with a mere look. Her expression said more than her words, and Gawain’s throat grew tight. “He is my cousin, but no. He is consumed by darkness.”

He might have said more, but he’d talked about himself far more than was natural. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was because she was far from home, alone with her books. Lost as he was, her solitude gave him an unexpected feeling of kinship.

She looked away first, ending the moment. “Then we should get to work and find your fellow knights. I’ll set up the ritual.”

Gawain’s mood darkened immediately. Once again, he saw the two fae in the alley, sucking out the soul of an innocent man. Magic had the power to corrupt in horrific ways. He had known as much since he was a boy. So why was he participating in this?

He knew the answer. For Arthur. For Angmar. For all the knights and fae and mortals who needed the Round Table. He had no choice but to trust Tamsin Greene.

Still, Gawain’s skin crawled, filling him with the urge to leap from the balcony and bolt into the night—far, far away from whatever they were about to do.

“Tell me about the ritual,” he said softly. “How bad is it going to be?”

ChapterSeven

Rather than answer, Tamsin cleared the dishes from the table. Something had shifted during the meal, leaving her shaken. Gawain had dropped his guard for an instant, letting her glimpse the man behind his iron facade. Not that he had intentionally revealed much—they had talked mostly about other people—but she had been able to piece together the shape of his character. Something in his background had driven him to Arthur. She guessed Gawain didn’t bestow his loyalty lightly, but it was unshakable once he had. Tamsin found herself envying his king.

She finished her task and turned back to him, a flutter of nerves in her stomach. “This is going to be dangerous. If I do a spell, others will notice. Witches, the fae, and who knows what else.”

She’d said it briskly but still felt the prickle of nerves skitter over her skin.

“No one gets past me,” he said. “Now, how do we do this?”

“The setup is simple.” She spread a fresh white cloth on the table. Although she hadn’t said as much, the ritual had begun the moment he’d sat down to break bread with her. Eating together formed a bond that would strengthen their connection. “Sit where you were before.”

But Gawain remained standing, drawing the curtains while she went to her backpack and retrieved her father’s spell book. Then she opened the chest at the foot of her bed and removed candles, incense, a knife and a bowl of deep blue glass. She looked up to see that Gawain had turned chalky pale.

Tamsin tensed. “What’s wrong?”

“My mother had things just like that.” He swallowed hard. Whatever he was thinking, it didn’t look like happy memories.

Tamsin folded her hands to hide their shaking. “She was a witch?”

He nodded, retreating to a scowl. “She was Morgan LaFaye’s sister.”

That explained a lot. Tamsin rose, closing the chest and picking up her supplies. If he was spooked, she wasn’t doing much better. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“Of course.” His gaze slid away. “I have seen magic performed before.”

Not willingly, from the sound of it. Tamsin shivered, grateful when he stepped back as she deposited the materials on the table. But then he picked up the spell book and carefully examined its cover as if handling something poisonous. The way he was frowning made Tamsin angry. The book was precious to her, and she barely resisted the urge to snatch it from his hand.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t afford a show of temper. The Elders had ordered her to find Merlin’s grimoires and Gawain was the only link she had to make this seeking spell work. If it hadn’t been for that, she would have sent him on his way. They didn’t trust each other, and that would make the ritual difficult to pull off.

Gawain was reading the yellowed pages of the grimoire, his brow furrowed. Even from a distance, Tamsin knew the book well enough to recognize the charm for removing rust. Maybe he was planning to clean his armor.

“Does the spell Merlin cast give you the ability to read the old languages in that book?” she asked.

“I had a tutor,” he said defensively, glancing up. “I learned Latin and some Greek. I can make out some of it.”

He’d been lucky. A good education had been far from universal in his day, even among the nobility. He bent his head over the pages again, dark hair falling in his eyes. For an instant, Tamsin forgot to do anything but stare. Something about seeing him still for once made her notice more details. His nose wasn’t quite straight, as if he’d broken it and set it by hand. His long legs bent awkwardly as he sat down in the chair, reminding her of how tall he was. There was a common belief that people were smaller in past centuries, but that wasn’t altogether true. No average man had Gawain’s bearing, much less such heavily muscled shoulders.

Swallowing hard, Tamsin arranged the candles, finding it nearly impossible to concentrate. Gawain radiated a wild, dark energy, as if his very presence sliced through rational thought. Maybe it did, but it also tasted to Tamsin like passionate emotion—all that anger and desperate loyalty straining at the leash in response to danger.

Tamsin finally took the book from him. She turned from the rust removal charm, past the new page that had appeared last night and found the spell she wanted. A moment’s rereading reminded her of the words she needed to speak. Then she filled the bowl with water she’d infused with fresh herbs and set it in the middle of the table. Finally, she lit the candles with a word. Gawain did not flinch at the small display of power. Not like Richard had. Judging by his set jaw, Gawain was braced for something far more dramatic.

He would get it. She dropped a small, red crystal in the center of the bowl. It fell with a splash, sending ripples outward. They shone silvery in the candlelight, ring upon ring. The circle of the spell closed around them, drawing the shadows inward like a cloak. The noise from the street faded, leaving behind a muted hush. Tamsin let her vision lose focus and rode the silvery tides as she set her power free. It prickled through her tattoo, amplified by the magic woven into the intricate lines. “Give me your hands,” she said.

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