Page 36 of Enchanted Warrior

Gawain immediately picked up on her mood. “What’s wrong?”

She pointed to the map, forcing her face into neutral lines. “I have Mordred’s address.”

“Where?” Gawain and Beaumains gathered around.

“Here.” Tamsin pointed to a spot north of Medievaland. “There are some old houses up on the hill. Big places with private woods around them. One of them was owned by Dennis and Marian Henderson. He was from an old witch family but never joined a coven. It’s rumored he collected rare books of all kinds, including magic.”

Gawain’s eyebrows shot up. “You think he has Merlin’s grimoires?”

“Henderson was one of the people who invested in Medievaland back in the day. It’s no stretch to think his contribution paid for a few books from the church’s collection.”

Beaumains furrowed his brow, confused. “I thought Mordred had the spell books?”

Tamsin swallowed. This part of her research made her queasy. “I think Mordred killed the Hendersons and moved into their house. The Henderson family built it a century ago on a natural wellspring of magical energy, and Mordred would want to take advantage of that free-flowing power.”

“How do you know this?” Gawain asked.

“To make a long story short, I had a call from one of my coven’s Elders. He believes the Hendersons are dead. The human authorities just haven’t figured it out yet.”

There was a moment of stunned silence in the room. Then the two brothers moved as one, Gawain sitting across from Tamsin as Beaumains leaned against the wall, arms folded. “Go on,” Gawain prompted her.

“If Mordred did take over this address,” she said, “he might not realize he has the books. Not unless he’s gone through the library in detail and looked at every title. Unless he’s a scholar of magic, he might not recognize what they are even if he has given them a glance.”

Gawain and Beaumains exchanged a look. “He’s not much of a reader, but it’s just a matter of time,” Gawain said. “Sooner or later, he’ll realize there is a vast opportunity for mischief waiting on the shelf.”

Beaumains shrugged. “Then I propose we pay Mordred a visit. Why take the chance he’ll discover them?”

“Another thing,” said Tamsin. “I’ve been going on and on about the books, but I haven’t forgotten that I caught a glimpse of your friend Angmar during my vision. The Henderson house is large and there’s a good chance Mordred is holding him prisoner somewhere on the grounds.”

Gawain knit his dark brows together. “I would rather have waited until we had a greater number of knights before confronting Mordred in his lair, but there is too much at stake to delay any longer. If we wait, Mordred will have even more advantages.”

“What about Excalibur?” said Beaumains, obviously worried.

Gawain shot him a sharp look, as if his younger brother was going to say something he shouldn’t. Tamsin shifted, waiting until Gawain finally turned her way, his cheekbones flushed. “What—or who—is Excalibur?” she asked.

“A very useful sword,” he said. “We don’t have it, so there’s no point in talking about it.”

Beaumains gave his brother an uncertain look but held his tongue. Tamsin had enough on her mind that she let the exchange pass without comment.

Because the Henderson house was one of the main historical buildings in Carlyle, Tamsin was able to find a floor plan on the internet. That led to hours of strategizing before Gawain and his brother settled on a method of attack. Meanwhile, Tamsin stocked a small belt pouch with a healer’s tools and a few magical powders. Her favorite was heal-all, which could cure small hurts or act like a field dressing on a major wound. Her pouch didn’t hold enough supplies for a serious emergency, but having a few things made her feel better.

Gawain and Beaumains dressed for battle, an affair that involved a lot of buckling and lacing and glimpses of scarred, muscular flesh. Tamsin had a fleeting worry about getting stopped for a traffic ticket with two armed knights in the car, but that close to Medievaland they had a plausible excuse.

But when she looked up and saw Gawain dressed for battle, all practical thoughts ground to a halt. She’d seen Beaumains in his medieval clothes, but not Gawain. The sight made her catch her breath. He was a large man to begin with, but now he wore a quilted tunic with a shirt of chain mail over it, and then a dark cloak over that. He filled the tiny room, and not just with his physical bulk. In putting on the armor, Gawain had donned his role of warrior. Every gesture, every line of his body spoke of hard strength and harder will.

Gawain drew his sword a few inches. The steel scraped against the scabbard, the sound raising the hairs on Tamsin’s arm. It was as if she had an ancestral memory of battle, something so deep in her genes that generations could not erase it. Gawain gave a smile that hovered between bitterness and anticipation. It was the smile of a man who did not shy away from violence but understood the cost. He slid the blade back into place and met Tamsin’s eyes. “I am ready.”

Beaumains nodded, twirling a dagger in one hand before thrusting it into his belt. “Ready.” All at once, with his determined eyes and scarred face, he went from charming to dangerous.

They were on the road soon enough, Gawain riding shotgun. Conversation in the car had died to a brooding silence until he finally spoke. “You are unusually quiet.”

“Are you asking if I’m afraid?”

He gave her a frank look. “Yes.”

“I am. I’d be crazy not to be.”

“But you are thinking of something else?” he guessed.

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