Page 40 of Enchanted Warrior

After what seemed like hours—or maybe seconds—later, Gawain helped her to her feet. His features were sharp with worry. “We have to go. Mordred will follow as soon as he regains control of his doorway.”

Tamsin turned around with a slow shuffle to look at the car. Gawain already had the others propped up in the backseat. Moving slowly to hide her weakness, Tamsin leaned in to get a better look at her patients, but the single streetlight barely penetrated the heavy trees lining the street. She pushed away, unsure if she was fit to drive, but there was no choice. “Okay. Let’s go.”

She had almost made it to the driver’s door when Gawain grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her full on the mouth. There was no ceremony—it was hard, hot, desperate, and over before she quite realized what he’d done. She blinked, staggering back a step. Pins and needles swarmed up her body, every nerve on alert from that brief, bruising touch.

He smiled, a quick flash of white teeth in the darkness. “That’s the fastest way I could think of to thank you for saving us.”

Tamsin gulped air, hoping a lungful of the cool night would quench the flush in her cheeks. “You can take your time with the thank-yous later.”

She finished on a hiccup of a laugh. The words were as inappropriate, untimely and heated as his kiss, but she couldn’t help it and she didn’t care. They’d nearly died. What did it matter if they yearned to celebrate life? His gaze met hers, burning with the same giddy desire. She got in the car before she surrendered to the adrenaline high. They weren’t safe yet.

But as little as Tamsin expected it, the trip home went with almost eerie precision. Gawain placed Angmar carefully on the bed while Tamsin prepared a nest of pillows and a blanket on the floor for Beaumains. It made the tiny apartment crowded, but she needed to keep a constant watch over her patients.

Tamsin set to work at once, pressing Gawain into service as her second set of hands. He complied willingly, cutting away Angmar’s sweater and washing the wounds before she asked.

“You’ve done this before,” Tamsin said. The fae had passed out while she’d splinted his arm, but that was probably for the best.

“I learned many things on the battleground, including what I know of healing.” He looked up from washing the blood from his hands, his eyes as tired as she felt. “What I wonder is where you learned the calm of an experienced warrior.”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I’ve lived a quiet life. I never anticipated dungeons and giant worms.”

She hadn’t expected anyone like Gawain, either. He was pushy and suspicious and brooding, but also fiercely loyal and full of towering courage. Beside him, the world seemed pallid and uninteresting. He was proof there were more possibilities than she had dreamed of. She could grow addicted to that heart-pounding thrill.

She fell silent as she mixed a potion for Beaumains. Some clean, simple injuries could be healed with raw magic, pressing her own life force directly into the wound. Complex injuries like Angmar’s were best handled conservatively, allowing the body to do as much on its own as possible. What she’d prepared for Beaumains was a standard mixture of charmed herbal infusions that would heal whatever internal damage the worm’s teeth had done. As soon as he’d downed that, she’d make another to counter whatever germs the beast had been carrying. With luck, the young knight would make a full recovery.

Tamsin stopped stirring and handed the glass of medicine to Gawain. “Give this to your brother.”

He hesitated before taking it from her, his fingers warm from the hot water. “Is it a potion?”

“Yes,” she said, remembering his reluctance to let her use magic on his wound. “Beaumains needs the healing magic.”

“I know,” Gawain replied, but she saw the flicker of uncertainty—almost fear—cross his face.

The look stung. “After all I’ve done tonight, you’re still cautious.”

“I am not,” he said.

But there was a tension around his mouth and eyes that said otherwise. He desired her, admired her and perhaps wanted to trust her, but the feeling hadn’t made it all the way to his heart. Dislike of magic—of everything a witch was—went too deep with him.

Frustration flipped Tamsin’s mood, and suddenly she was angry. “If you trust me, then why are you keeping secrets?”

His expression was confused but also wary. “What secrets do you mean?”

“Tell me what’s so special about Excalibur.” She wasn’t sure why she cared, except that he’d avoided telling her earlier.

He lowered his eyes a moment, but then returned her regard. “It’s the only blade that can kill Mordred or his mother. Not even their magic can blunt its power.”

“Theonlyblade? Then where is it?”

“Excalibur belongs to King Arthur. If we wish to stop Mordred, we must find Arthur’s tomb.”

Well, that shed new light on Gawain’s determination to find his king! On top of the obvious bonds of friendship and loyalty was the very practical fact that Arthur had the one weapon they needed to destroy their greatest foes. No wonder he’d wanted her help finding the tombs.

Then another realization crept up on Tamsin. “So you went into Mordred’s house knowing we couldn’t kill him without the sword?”

Gawain lifted his head, looking down his nose in that arrogant way he had. “It was a risk. I could have held him off while Beaumains got you and those books to safety.”

“There’s no way you could have won!” And not winning meant losing in a final, permanent way.

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