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“I hope you don’t mind. I can’t perform a ritual on an empty stomach.”

Gawain approached the tiny table where just last night Tamsin had bound his wound. There were place settings already laid out, and he studied them carefully. He’d been thoroughly trained to take his place at Camelot’s high table, but he was well aware that modes and manners had changed. Gawain felt an unaccustomed flicker of stage fright.

Tamsin bustled out of the kitchen with a bowl of greens. “It’s just pasta and salad, nothing much. My mother would tell me I’m a terrible homemaker.”

He almost smiled then, a rueful turn of lips. “You realize, of course, that I have not been invited to dine in someone’s home for nearly a thousand years.”

Tamsin raised her brows. “In that case, you’ll be excited to learn about this new thing called a fork.”

Gawain looked away from her pretty, open face. “You’re mocking me.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“You assume I have the manners of a mad hermit.”

“Have you used a fork before?”

“Why should I?” His tone grew icy.

“Maybe I should have ordered pizza.” She disappeared back into the kitchen.

Gawain watched her retreating form, appreciating the sway of her hips. He knew she was just as wary of him as he was of her—and with more cause—but she refused to let it show. Whatever else she was, Tamsin Greene was not a coward. She was taking a risk, inviting him here. He would show her better courtesy tonight.

“I’m a little behind,” she said. “My sister keeps phoning me about one thing or another. Today it was my mother’s plans.”

“For what?”

Tamsin’s shoulders hunched, as if the subject irritated her. “She’s threatening to have the Elders find a husband for me.”

“Is she?” Gawain’s eyes narrowed. Every level of his being rejected the idea like poison.

Tamsin gave Gawain a weary look, but there was a touch of anger deep in her eyes. “It’s just my mother. The Elders have better things to do with their time.”

“What does your sister believe?” The knot in his chest tightened. He had never condoned forcing a maid to marry, whatever the reason.

“She’s older and thinks she knows best.”

He could hear the affection in her voice, but also deep exasperation. “I understand. I was the eldest of four brothers.”

“No wonder you’re bossy.” Tamsin set plates of food on the table. “Sit. Eat. I promise it is entirely magic-free.”

He flushed slightly at her words, but sat and sniffed at the meal. It wasn’t food he’d tried before, but he had seen it in pictures. There were spirals of pasta drenched in a thick and meaty sauce that made his mouth water. Hesitantly, he picked up a piece of crusty bread and soaked it in the sauce. It was hot and savory, and all at once dinner seemed like an excellent idea.

They dug in. He watched the way Tamsin handled the food to make sure he got the rituals of the table just right. Although he tried not to admit it, he enjoyed watching her delicate fingers hold the silverware and the way her lips closed around each bite. It made him think of other, more interesting things her lips might do.

“You realize,” Tamsin began, breaking the silence, “that as a medieval historian, I’m fascinated to actually meet someone from the past.” She cast him a glance that was almost shy.

“I expect that is true.” Gawain shifted in his seat, feeling uncomfortably ancient. It prompted him to change the subject. “You say you are in search of Merlin’s books at the behest of your coven Elders. Why did you take on this task?”

She looked down, her face carefully schooled. “To prove myself. Loremasters can travel and conduct business on our own authority in a way other witches can’t. I am the first woman to take this position, even on a temporary basis. I want the job permanently. It’s the best chance I have for a position with so much responsibility.”

No doubt it also ensured escape from a marriage she didn’t want. Gawain studied her face, now grown slightly flushed, as if she wasn’t used to speaking her mind to strangers. “Ambition in the right measure is an attractive quality. It shows independence.”

Her eyes grew wide and she leaned closer. “Tell me about Merlin the Wise.”

She’d changed the subject, just as he had. Fencing. Protecting herself. Not quite sure of him. It piqued his interest. “What do you want to know?”

“He was the greatest sorcerer that ever lived. Of course I’m curious. What was he like as a person?”