Page 67 of Enchanted Warrior

“Only two of my knights?” Arthur pulled her attention back his way. He was pale, his eyes filling with a mix of fury and panic. “Is there no end to the treachery of magic?”

Arthur also seemed a wee bit paranoid.

Swords clashed outside, but he was oblivious. Maybe swordplay was a normal sound at Camelot, or maybe he was one of those people with amazing focus. But, unlike Arthur, Tamsin couldn’t tune out the noise of combat. She heard the horses whinny—they were frantic about something—but Excalibur’s tip did not waver from her father’s throat.

“Maybe you want to check on Gawain and Mordred?” she suggested, but the king didn’t seem to hear her.

“Why is it that every time something goes awry, there is a witch standing nearby?” Arthur’s jaw worked, his eyes sparking with temper. “I wake from my sleep in the wrong place, centuries out of my own time, with LaFaye set to destroy the world and my army vanished, and what do I find but witches at my elbow?”

“Witches who want to fix the problem,” Tamsin said, earning a warning glare from Hector—but she was getting frustrated. “Maybe you should consider my father did his best to keep Mordred and his mother from smashing you to bits while you slept.”

The king’s cheeks flushed, turning a mottled shade that didn’t agree with his red-gold hair. Nevertheless, this time he listened. “Is this true, Sir Hector?”

“Yes. LaFaye’s predecessor granted me immortality to carry out the task.”

“What happens to you now?” Arthur asked, anxiety creeping into his tone. Was it a good sign that he was asking after her father?

“I’ve found my king. My mission is over, and my immortality gone,” said Hector, taking Tamsin’s hand in his. “I am relieved to be an ordinary man with a loving family once more.”

Tamsin caught her breath, shaken by her father’s words. “Isn’t that enough proof of loyalty, even for a king?”

The sword tip inched in her direction. “You are bold, Mistress Greene. An unbridled tongue is a dangerous attribute when speaking to a crowned head.”

Another clash of swords outside set Tamsin’s nerves on edge. “Maybe I am bold, sire, but we went through a lot to find you. I’m really hoping you’re as talented as I’ve been told you are, because we’re going to need some five-star leadership to get us out of this jam.”

Arthur held her gaze, meeting her challenge and matching it with his own. There was wariness in his eyes, but also sharp, intelligent curiosity that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. Tamsin exhaled, feeling the first twinges of relief. She had no doubt waking from an enchantment was hard, but she needed the king to come around, and fast.

“You have known me from the cradle, Arthur,” said Hector, gruff with emotion. “Do not doubt me.” Tamsin’s heart twisted on behalf of her father. She folded both her hands around his.

Arthur saw the gesture, and his face softened, but his words did not. “After Merlin and Mordred and LaFaye, I cannot grant magic users the trust I once did. You woke me from the stone sleep, but that does not guarantee your intentions.”

“What kind of a guarantee do you want, sire?” Tamsin asked, almost pleading. “Mordred tried to kill me. Then he tried to take my soul. I went to his dungeon and I hope never to see another worm as long as I live. Gawain and Beaumains shed buckets of blood for you, as well as Angmar and his friends. Witches, fae or mortal, we’ve all been there for the cause. Gawain is out there fighting for you right now!”

Arthur’s brows rose, and finally he turned his head toward the racket outside. “Gawain knows his business and his loyalty is above reproach. If he fights, it is in my name.”

“Then don’t question our commitment, because his cause is ours,” Tamsin said, getting desperate. “If what Gawain says about you is true, you’re better than this.”

It was a foolhardy thing to say to a king, especially one holding a huge sword, but she was tired and too much a woman of the modern day to coddle a king. He was going to have to earn her respect. Seconds ticked by, the air so tense it might have smashed like glass.

Then she saw a glint of something that might have been reluctant amusement in the king’s eyes. Excalibur’s point drifted to the floor. Arthur blinked, seeming to fully come back to himself, as if the last shreds of the sleeping spell had finally lifted.

“I can see you are Sir Hector’s daughter. You have no fear of putting me in my place.” He smiled, and it was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. Tamsin suddenly understood why strong men swore to serve this king. “I don’t recommend you do it often, but, once in a very long while, I appreciate correction.”

Hector released a huge breath. Arthur bent down, clapping him on the shoulder. “Rise, old friend, and accept my apologies.” They got to their feet, Arthur enfolding Hector in a warm embrace.

“Who did you say Gawain is fighting?” Arthur asked, once he let Hector go. He asked the question casually, as if it were no more than a tennis match. Knowing Gawain, maybe he had daily bouts back in the day.

“Mordred,” she said, as Arthur took her hand and kissed it. She gave the curtsy she’d learned in ballet class, hoping it would do.

Arthur’s head snapped up from the kiss. Suddenly, he seemed to grasp the situation. “Mordred? He needs my sword!”

Before she could speak an unholy shriek split the air.

“The demon!” Hector exclaimed.

“Demon?” Arthur spun toward the door, Excalibur leaping to the ready. Tamsin’s breath caught as Arthur’s energy rose bright and hot. He was human, but all at once he was every inch a charismatic warrior king.

All three of them crowded into the doorway of the Great Hall just in time to see the monster flapping into the sky in a trail of smoke.

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