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Chapter Twenty-Two

“ T he Forest Sauvage mocks travelers.” Gawain slid off the horse—which he had caught once they’d reached dry land—then turned to help Tamsin down.

They had finally reached Gawain’s castle, shivering cold and with their clothes half-dried by Tamsin’s flickering magic.

“It presents images of what we hope to find, but they are never the same. Just as the land appears to be Camelot, this is a shadow of my home. I know my way through this forest, but many unwary travelers have been fooled by these reflections and lost their way.”

It was hard to see what Gawain’s home looked like in the heavy dusk, but it was around the same size as the castle they’d just left.

Gawain took her inside to a tower room and lit a fire.

There was plenty of wood, clean blankets, and even a bowl of fresh apples and pears, but no people.

It was as if all the servants had suddenly been spirited away, but in the capricious forest they might never have existed.

They found dry clothes, Gawain producing a soft gown for her from one of the private chambers. The fabric was light but warm, edged in fine embroidery. “It’s green,” he said with a self-mocking smile. “I thought you might like it.”

After that, Gawain left to care for the horse, who more than deserved oats and a good rubdown.

Tamsin found the books, which were still dry from the magic of the lorekeeper’s bag, and sought for the portal spell Angmar had mentioned.

She found it and read it through several times—she definitely wanted to have an emergency exit in place—but the firelight made the words dance on the page, and her eyelids drooped.

As the evening grew darker and Gawain didn’t return, Tamsin began to fret over every noise and creak.

It was one thing to have studied ancient times, to have visited castles as a tourist with guidebooks and camera in hand.

It was another to be alone in one after tangling with a demon.

The orange light of the fire did little more than deepen the shadows crawling up the stone walls.

Tapestries stirred in the draft, the movement bringing their woven figures to life.

Tamsin wrapped her arms around her middle, huddling closer to the hearth even though the heat and smoke brought tears to her eyes.

Wood snapped and popped, sending up a shower of sparks.

She tried to remain calm, to rest, but it was hopeless.

Every time she closed her eyes she could feel the swirling sensation of the river.

Gawain had saved her more than once that day, shown her exactly what it meant to be a knight of the Round Table.

What he could do, what he was forced to do to survive—there weren’t words enough in all the libraries in the world to capture it.

If her magic gave him pause, his reality did the same to her.

Wind whistled through a chink somewhere in the ceiling, mimicking the mournful cry of a bird.

Uneasiness lapped at Tamsin until she finally rose and paced the room.

There was little furniture—just a table and chairs and some iron-bound chests against the wall.

Nothing to distract her from the fact that Gawain was nowhere in sight.

Eventually, she couldn’t stand his absence any longer.

She lit one of the candles that sat near the hearth and, shielding the flame with her hand, went back down the twisting stairwell of the tower.

The candlelight barely made a difference in the darkness.

She moved carefully, feeling the edges of the narrow steps with her toes and praying no random gust left her stranded in pitch-dark.

Once she reached the main floor, the high arched windows let in the light of the full moon.

Tamsin left the candle on a sheltered ledge and went outside.

The wind was clammy with the moist ocean air.

Shivering, she took a few steps along the rocky path, listening for Gawain’s footsteps.

There was nothing but the rustle of the tall, sweet-scented pines and the rhythmic rolling of the water.

Tamsin craned her neck, taking in the overwhelming brightness of the stars.

Witch or not, she was a city girl and often forgot just how dazzling nature could be.

The path from the castle ran past the pines and down a rocky beach to the ocean.

Tamsin only had to stand at the head of the path to see Gawain’s tall form looking out at the moonlit water, a silhouette against the stars.

She set out, her head bowed against the wind.

As she approached, she could see he had a fresh cloak around him, this one lined with fur.

He caught sight of her and straightened. “What are you doing out here in the cold?”

Tamsin stopped, her teeth chattering. “I missed you.”

He made a sound deep in his throat that might have been a chuckle. “You’ll catch your death.” He drew her close and wrapped the edges of the cloak around her. The thick, soft fur was already warmed by the heat of his body. Tamsin snuggled close, resting her head against his chest.

“I did not think I’d ever see this place again,” he said. “Even if this is just the forest’s reflection of it, I wanted a last look.”

Waves slipped and slid in an endless shimmer. Tamsin let the play of moonlight fill her consciousness. “Did you live here long?”

“Ever since I won my spurs and became a knight. Arthur gave it to me.”

He said it simply, and yet she heard the longing in his voice for a life he had lost. Tamsin touched his cheek. “You walked away from all this to come to my time.”

“I had a duty to my king.”

There was nothing to say to that. The utter certainty in his tone left no room to argue. Tamsin turned her face into the fabric of his tunic. He smelled of smoke and woodlands. “I’m glad you came to me.”

His lips brushed her hair, his big hand cupping the back of her head. “So am I. Sometimes duty is rewarded.”

Tamsin took a breath to ask the questions burning in her mind: how he felt about her magic now, and what would happen once he’d found his king. Did they have any kind of a future together? And then she let her questions go. There were too many unknowns. Asking wouldn’t do a bit of good.

They both fell silent while the ocean lapped and splashed at the rocks in an endless conversation of its own.

Tamsin had stopped shivering, but the sharp cold of the air and Gawain’s delicious heat led her thoughts toward the night ahead.

She tipped her head up in an invitation for another kiss.

Gawain pressed his mouth against hers, his breath a warm flame.

He made a pleased sound, as if he had discovered hidden treasure. “I believe I’m done patrolling for the night.”

After that, they returned to the castle.

The bedchamber was in the tower, above the room where Tamsin had been reading.

Gawain lit the fire, feeding it until a merry blaze chased the damp.

He went in search of something to drink while Tamsin warmed her hands and looked around her.

In the middle of the room was a bed framed by heavy woven curtains hung from the ceiling.

Furs were piled on it for warmth. It was elegant and primitive at once—a bit like Gawain himself.

He returned with a jug of wine and a basket of dried fruit and nut meats. “There are some stores in the kitchen but not much ready to eat. If this can tide us till daylight, we can put together a decent meal in the morning.”

He poured the wine into a heavy metal goblet and then picked up the poker he’d left warming in the fire. He thrust the poker into the wine with a bubbling hiss and then passed the goblet to Tamsin. The steaming brew was spiced with cloves and cinnamon and sweetened with honey.

“Oh, that’s good,” she said. The warmth hit her stomach and spread like a miniature sun. She passed the goblet back and watched him drink, the muscles of his throat working as he swallowed.

He returned the goblet to her, brushing her fingers with his, trailing his palm over her waist as she took another sip.

Tamsin swallowed as much from nerves as from thirst. They had been together before, but in this place Gawain’s manner was subtly different.

This was his home, his world, and here he was lord.

He leaned closer, his breath fanning the side of her neck.

Before she realized what he was doing, he’d slipped the tie from the end of her braid and was loosening the strands.

They shone pale in the firelight, crimped to waviness from the tight binding.

Gawain arranged her hair over her shoulders, stopping now and again to dig his fingers into the mass, his strong fingers caressing.

“That’s better,” he said, his voice dropped low in his chest. “You should wear it loose more often.”

Never had she felt so owned by a man, so much his to pet and enjoy. It left her unsteady. “It gets in the way.”

“But I like it, and you’re my woman.”

“I’m your woman?” It was so Neanderthal—and yet a thrill of excitement sparked in her belly.

Gawain took the wine from her and set the goblet on top of a chest. “I don’t mind my tongue here within these walls, and tonight you are mine.”

And he took her in a scorching kiss that demonstrated how unruly his tongue could be.

Tamsin gripped his biceps, needing to steady herself.

When they finally pulled apart, she knew Gawain was right—he was done holding back.

It struck her that she had no game plan, no way of dealing with Gawain unleashed.

He took both of Tamsin’s hands in his. “It will be warmer in bed.”

The bald statement nearly made her laugh, but the look in his eyes stole her breath. Their bright blue was shadowed in this light, turning them to a wicked, smoky darkness. Her stomach flipped.