Page 43 of Enchanted Warrior

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.

ChapterSixteen

Tamsin 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 of the Green?” Gawain asked.

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