Portals, Tamsin learned, were elegant magic—as simple as opening a door and yet hiding infinite complexities in the workings beneath. Mordred’s doorway was only a few feet from where Tamsin stood, but it wasn’t actually there—not until it was activated. The spell’s energetic substructure was tied to that specific location and could be fired up with little effort by someone who knew how. Tamsin’s job was to take control of the existing framework and redirect the portal to where she wanted it to go. Not that Tamsin, or any modern witch, had a clue how to do so. Thank Merlin’s pointy hat Angmar was there to give her instructions.
All the fae could manage was a fading whisper, so Tamsin had to listen carefully. The first instruction was easy. If they were going to leave together, they had to be touching. Gawain took hold of his brother’s shoulder in one hand and with the other grasped Tamsin’s sleeve. She held Angmar’s hand in hers, noticing that it was cold and clammy. She knew little about faery physiology, but he seemed to be going into shock. Tamsin clenched her teeth, feeling the weight of responsibility for all their lives. She had to get this right.
She closed her eyes, stretching out her senses to find the edges of the portal just as Angmar had described. This sort of thing wasn’t Tamsin’s strong suit, but she gave it her best effort. There. A spark of satisfaction rippled through her. Now she had to take firm hold of the door that was there—and yet wasn’t.
The portal unexpectedly flung open. She experienced the same sense of surprise as when one reaches for a door handle only to be trampled by someone coming from the other side—except this was worse. This was Mordred.
His shock was the only thing that saved them. Without knowing precisely what she did, she twisted the portal away, redirecting it before the Prince of Faery stepped inside. It spun around Tamsin like a gigantic wheel, gyrating wildly as she grappled for control. She whirled like a pebble lost in a tornado, dragging Gawain and the others with her. Panic surged. She needed to find something solid, some point of reference to cling to, but her mind was reeling. Worse, she could feel Mordred’s power rising to snatch the portal away.
The first image Tamsin came up with was the library where the books were, but she immediately rejected it. As much as she wanted Merlin’s grimoires, the priority was getting her patients to safety. She tried for a second location and saw her car parked on the roadside blocks away. She lunged for it with utter desperation, forcing her magic through the spinning portal like a hammer blow. Light seared her, passing through her being with painful, burning intensity. The last thing she remembered was opening her mouth to scream.
The portal spit them out on the hard pavement next to her Camry. Tamsin fell from a space at least a foot above the ground, making her stumble and fall to her hands and knees. The world spun and she closed her eyes, concentrating on the sting in her palms to steady herself. Slowly, she sank forward to her elbows, not sure if she was going to throw up. She’d never used that much magic before. Ever. It felt as if she’d been turned inside out.
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 suite 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 monsters.”
She hadn’t expected anyone like Gawain, either. He was pushy and suspicious and brooding, but he was filled with a firestorm of emotions—fierce loyalty and 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 oils 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 charmed?”
“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 Gawain.
Frustration flipped Tamsin’s mood, and suddenly she was angry. She’d given herself to him, but he refused to risk the most basic bond with her. “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.”
“The only blade? 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.
Gawain gave another slight shrug and moved toward the couch and his sleeping brother. “Circumstances are never perfect. We couldn’t wait any longer to get the books.”
“But if Mordred had killed you, who would look for Arthur?” The idea of what he’d meant to do made Tamsin’s scalp prickle with alarm.
Gawain turned back to her, his expression bleak. “My brother is here, and I hoped you would help him as you’ve helped me. I am a knight of the Round Table. We don’t fight evil from an armchair.”
Tamsin let out a long breath, exasperated beyond measure. “But you’ll flinch at a healing potion made by a witch?”
He gave a slow shrug. “Fighting is easier for me. It’s clean and simple.”
“Whatever.” Tamsin made a show of checking Angmar’s wounds, but her pulse pounded with an aftermath of emotions. The day had been too full of unexpected blows, leaving her hurt and furious and oddly lonely.
But maybe not alone. Gawain’s presence in the tiny apartment prickled along her skin. He was doing exactly what Richard had done—seeing the witch and forgetting the woman. Seeing, and flinching away in fear and disgust no matter how hard he tried to hide it.
Tears stung Tamsin’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She mixed the second potion for Beaumains and watched while Gawain held his brother’s head so that he could drink. Gawain showed such tenderness, it made her throat ache—in part because it was beautiful, and in part because she was beginning to understand that open love was something he would never show her.
In search of relief, Tamsin retreated to the balcony. The cold air slipped over her like an icy glove, but it barely penetrated her mood. She gripped the iron rail, fingers worrying the rusty patches eating through the cheap white paint. A sudden pain made her snatch her hand away as a sliver of metal drew blood. She sucked at the wound, the fresh hurt only adding more fuel to her foul temper.
Tamsin felt a wall of warmth behind her. She hadn’t heard Gawain’s approach but knew he was there as surely as if he’d touched her. She turned, her finger still in her mouth. Gawain’s face was hidden by shadow. Still, she felt the weight of his gaze.
“You are hurt.” He reached for her, but she stepped back, clenching her injured hand into a fist at her side.
“The paint hid the sharp place.” Tamsin’s breath escaped in sharp puffs of mist. “Is that how you see me, as an everyday face painted over creeping corrosion that eventually wounds whoever is foolish enough to touch it?”
His frown was perplexed. “I have offended you.”
“Have I done anything but help you?” she said, her voice dropping to a low rasp. “I’ve risked my life. I’ve healed your wounded. I’ve faced your enemy for you, and you still treat me like something foul.” And she’d slept with him, but she would choke before she brought that into the argument. Her pride wouldn’t allow it.
“Because you are a witch?” The words were soft, almost apologetic. But not quite.
Tamsin’s temper rose another notch. “Yes. You have a problem with magic, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Gawain made a noise that was almost a laugh and came to stand beside her at the balcony rail. He leaned his arms on it, shaking his head. “I beg your forgiveness.”
“Then I think you owe me an explanation.”
He remained silent for a long moment. “Once upon a time, before she was ever Queen of the Faeries, my aunt, Morgan LaFaye, set a challenge for the Round Table. It was Christmas, and Arthur loved to have games and challenges at his revels. He boasted that, far and wide, his knights were the most chivalrous, honorable and courteous warriors there were. Within the hour, a strange knight showed up to test us. He was, of course, sent by my aunt.”
“Why are you telling me a story?”
“To answer your question.” He kept looking out at the city, not even turning his head. “The strange knight promised to allow one of us to chop his head off if we would allow him to return the favor in a year’s time.”
“And what was your first clue that this was going to end badly?” Tamsin asked, leaning her back against the rail so that she could study Gawain’s face, but he kept it turned away. “And why is this in any way relevant to me?”
“The knight was green, head to toe.” Gawain kept talking, his voice soft. “That should have tipped us off that there was magic involved, for green is the color of enchantment. But we were drunk at the time and more than usually stupid. I volunteered.”
“To cut his head off?”
“He asked for it.”
“But how...” She couldn’t see what this had to do with her being a witch.
“I did the deed as requested, and then he picked up his head and rode away. By the time I sobered up, I was terrified, for I was honor-bound to face him the following Christmas. Face him and die.”
Tamsin caught her breath. “Oh.”
“I went. Honor demanded it. My road led to the Forest Sauvage.”
“That’s where the Green Knight lived?”
“Yes. Sir Bertilak—for that was his name—and his lady were most hospitable once I arrived.”
“Was Lady Bertilak green, too?”
“No, but she always wore green. She was smart and beautiful and gracious. In fact, she was such a good hostess she offered to climb into my bed.”
“She what?” Despite herself, Tamsin was drawn into the tale.
Gawain finally turned to her, a rueful smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “It was all part of Morgan’s test, to see if Arthur’s knights were truly good, or if they would abuse the hospitality of their host. If I’d accepted the good lady’s offer, I would have offended her lord and lost my head, for sure. Because I respected my host’s honor and did not take his wife, he let me go.”
“And this Lady Bertilak still did her best to seduce you, even knowing it might kill you?”
“That was the test. She was most persuasive in those last days before the trial. After all, why not take what I wanted when I was about to perish anyhow?”
Tamsin began to see where this was going. “She used despair as a weapon.”
“And she had magic and considerable beauty on her side. I am ashamed to say that I came close to the edge.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.” Gawain straightened, folding his arms. “That’s why I always wear green. It reminds me to remain humble, because even the best knight can stray from his duty. Especially when it comes to lovely witches.”
Tamsin bristled. “That seems a little harsh. You came through it in one piece.”
“I should have known better. I am susceptible where magic is involved.”
“I’d say there was ill will involved.”
Gawain’s face was stony. “Perhaps, but magic always makes things worse. It can turn a game into a trap where the unwary might lose his head.”
She drew herself up, temper rising again. “And it can save a life just as quickly. I won’t entertain the belief magic is bad in and of itself. Not for one second.”
“I believe you,” he said softly, contradicting all her expectations. “But one deed leads to another. No one begins believing they will be evil, but magic allows them to take an easy path. So a gray deed leads to a black one, and soon the one wielding the magic has lost all sense of right and wrong.”
Tamsin was about to deny it, but the words died on her tongue. “I can see why you say that. LaFaye is your aunt, but she didn’t warn you against taking the Green Knight’s challenge.”
That made him laugh, and it was bitter. “Warn me? That would require a capacity for feelings she does not possess.”
“But your mother was her sister. That should have made her spare you.”
His expression didn’t change, though the lines beside his mouth deepened. “LaFaye and my mother did not waste time on sentimentality. I watched my mother skin a man alive so that she could dupe his wife by wearing his face.”
“What?” Tamsin’s hand went to her stomach, afraid it would revolt. “Magic that dark has always been forbidden. Did anyone do anything about it?”
“My brother Agravaine. He killed her.”
Sick with dread, Tamsin turned his words over in her mind, but her thoughts shied away from their meaning. The pictures they painted were too awful. “I don’t know what to say. That’s far beyond my experience.”
“I would not wish it any other way.”
Her hands had gone cold, as if her blood had ceased to flow. She’d come out on the balcony because she was angry with Gawain, but now she wanted to comfort him. “You can’t think all witches are like LaFaye or your mother. We just aren’t. Most of us are just ordinary people.”
Tamsin raised her fingers to touch his face. He stiffened but didn’t draw back, allowing her to trace the angles of his jaw. He was warm, his cheek rough with dark stubble. It struck her again how Gawain seemed more alive than any ordinary man. He was so full of passion and regret, it stopped her breath, as if he carried an electrical charge. Too much contact with him might stop her heart.
His hand came up to caress hers. At first, his thumb traced her palm with gentle pressure, his fingers lacing through her own. He pressed her hand to his cheek, turning into her touch so he could leave a kiss on her fingertips. Then he pulled her hand away.
“I believe you mean well.” He took a step back, leaving cold air between them. “I am sorry I wounded your feelings.”
“Okay.”
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.