Enchanted Warrior (25 page)

Chapter 28

A
n hour later Tamsin was alone. Hector had left through the portal with his prisoner, and her call to Stacy was done. Tamsin sank onto the edge of her bed, exhausted. Someone—perhaps one of the rebel fae who had come for Angmar—had made the bed with fresh sheets and washed the dishes. It was a polite gesture, but it made Tamsin feel forlorn. It reminded her that her home had been alive, filled with people, and now every last one was gone. Solitude pressed in with almost physical force.

Tamsin closed her eyes. Stacy had been ecstatic, shocked and outraged in turn by Tamsin's story. There would be a real Thanksgiving dinner now that their father had returned. It was something to look forward to—and Tamsin did. Really.

Except she wasn't sure she could resume the old patterns of her life again. She'd glimpsed another world filled with danger, one where she fought as an equal and the history she'd studied had come to life. One filled with larger-than-life warriors who believed what she had to offer wasn't merely important, but critical to success. For a while, she'd mattered.

Until she hadn't. She'd given Gawain what he'd asked for, and then he'd asked her to go.

In a fit of temper, Tamsin hurled a pillow at the wall. It bounced harmlessly away, making just about as much impact as Tamsin apparently had on Gawain's heart. Tears hovered behind her eyes, but she refused to cry anymore. She was tougher than that. She'd proved as much lately.

A knock came at the door. She rose to answer it, but instinct made her hesitate. She sensed something—danger passing by like shadow over moonlight. Silently, Tamsin approached the door on tiptoe. She'd had her share of battle experience in the past few days, but she still played it safe and checked the peephole. No one was there.

Readying another fireball, Tamsin opened the door and looked into the corridor. It was empty. Irritated now, she stepped into the hallway to find a large blue sticky note on the outside of her door. The bottom was folded up to hide the writing. Tamsin reached up, then stood there with her hand poised, wondering if she was going to like what it said.

Summoning her courage, she pulled the note down and flattened it in her hand. The writing was in old-fashioned copperplate script.

Did I not promise you he would get his reward?

I am in your debt for my freedom, but I am gone. Do not look for me.

PS Tell your knights their horses are at the theme park.

Also, the demon sends his thanks for the snack.

-N

Tamsin stared at the note. Nimueh? Since when did fae leave drive-by sticky notes? Yet her mood lightened. The Lady of the Lake had helped them. It felt good to know they'd been able to help her in return.

She looked up to see Gawain getting off the elevator. Someone must have let him in the front door. At the sight of his tall frame, still dressed in full battle array, her heart leaped and sank at once, leaving her feeling queasy. Tamsin drew herself up, standing her ground until he drew near.

“My father's not here,” she said.

Gawain stopped. “I did not come to speak to Hector. I came to see you.”

A sudden surge of panic flooded Tamsin. She had no idea what to say since he had ended their—whatever it was they had. Too much had happened for anything to feel casual.

So she thrust the note at him. “Look at this. If I'm reading it right, Nimueh has skipped town. Plus, you're up some horses.” She stopped, realizing that she was babbling.

“So it seems.” Gawain crumpled the note. He'd barely looked at it, only at her. “May I come in?”

Tamsin stepped back, her mouth going dry. “Okay.”

She followed Gawain inside, locking the door behind her in case any other roaming fae decided to drop by. Gawain paced her small living space like a caged lion. Not that long ago, they'd been naked in her bed. Not that long ago, they'd been naked in
his
bed, too. She'd thought there was a chance of a relationship, but she'd been so wrong.

They'd had a bargain, and it was over.

Her throat constricted painfully, as if she were imploding inside. “Let me guess. You're sorry, but you're not that into a witch. It's not my fault, it's just you. Plus, it's hard to maintain a relationship when you're always out on a quest.”

Gawain frowned. “Don't assume you know what I'm thinking.”

“You have your king. I have my books. That's what you said.”

He turned to her, folding his arms. “Don't hold those words against me. I was bleeding when I said them.”

“And you wouldn't even let me stop it.” Tamsin was on a roll. “You got a taste of your own magic out there, and it scared you. You think I'm responsible for that.”

“Yes.” The one simple word hung in the air, seeming to fill the room.

“That's it?” Fury pushed Tamsin's voice higher. “That's all you've got to say?”

Gawain drew near, putting a finger over her lips. “Let me talk.”

No, don't!
It was one thing for her to throw bitter words at him, but she couldn't bear the reverse. Angry as Tamsin was, she wanted to stop his mouth with hers so that he would not speak. That way, he couldn't say the words that would break them apart forever. Even a minute's reprieve was something. Whoever preached ripping the bandage off had never been in love with an impossible man.

Panic clawed inside her. There was still a retreat, still a path back to something good for them. Back to the place where they simply
had
to touch each other and where every glance was a heated invitation. They'd been there for such a short time—surely it was worth giving such happiness a fighting chance?

But, reluctantly, Tamsin nodded.

Gawain took her hand in his. “I've told you about some of the things I saw my mother do when I was growing up. I told you about how Lady Bertilak tried to tempt me even though it might mean my death. And you've heard plenty of times about how Merlin's mistakes caused so much damage.”

“Yes,” Tamsin said in a small voice.

“Well, I've got one more story to tell you about magic in my family. It didn't happen to me, but to Gaheris, one of my middle brothers.”

Tamsin braced herself. “Is this going to be awful like the other stories?”

“I don't think so,” he said. “But that's for you to judge.”

Tamsin looked down, unable to meet his intense blue eyes. “Get on with it, then.”

Gawain smiled, his expression touched with nerves. “Early on in his time at the Round Table, Gaheris was tricked by magic into marrying the ugliest crone in the world.”

“This story sucks.” Tamsin tried to pull away, but Gawain held on fast.

“Have patience. There is a point to this tale.”

Tamsin fidgeted, but let him continue.

“The bride's name was Dame Ragnall, and she was witch-born. She was not just unpleasant to look at, she smelled like a dead cat left in the sun for weeks. She was rude and coarse of speech and manner so that no one wished to be in the same room, much less sit with her at a meal. But Gaheris was a man of honor and would not go back on his word. So, he made the witch his one true wife and he swore he would take no other women to his bed. Thus he went to his wedding night anticipating no pleasure.”

“Are you saying that's what he got for marrying a witch?”

“I'm saying that he would have been a fool to break his word.” Gawain gave her a quelling look. “The tale does not end at the wedding. When Gaheris shut the bedchamber door that night, he was astonished to find his ghastly wife had turned into the most beautiful—not to mention sweet-smelling—woman he had ever encountered. Not only that, her entire manner had changed. She was soft voiced and courteous, full of wit and as much wisdom as the craftiest counselors of the realm. Needless to say, Gaheris was overjoyed by this change and asked his bride what had happened.”

“A magic curse,” Tamsin said in flat tones.

“Which had been partially lifted because Gaheris had kept his word and taken her to wife. Dame Ragnall told him that because the curse was only half-broken he had a choice—he could have her beautiful at night and ugly during the day, or the other way around. It was a choice between his pride—for what man did not wish everyone to know his lady is the finest above all others?—or his pleasure.”

Despite herself, Tamsin was curious. “What did your brother do?”

“The wisest thing in the world,” said Gawain. “He trusted her. He told his wife the decision was hers to make.”

That wasn't what Tamsin had expected to hear. “And?”

He met her eyes. “That broke the curse entirely, for a woman cannot be her true self if she is subject to another's choices. The fact that he trusted her allowed her beauty to shine.”

Tamsin's heart beat fast as she turned the meaning of the story over and over, but she wasn't sure what he meant by it. Gawain reached up, brushing his thumb over her lips. “I've held on to the terrible things magic has done. When I discovered it was still inside me, I dreaded what it might make me do. I thought it a curse.”

“It's not. It's like the bride in the story.” Tamsin suddenly understood his meaning. “Act with honor and trust yourself enough to make the right choices, and what is fearful can become our joy. We are the magic we make.”

“That's what Ragnall said many, many years ago. I should have listened to her then.”

“What happened to them?” Tamsin asked. “Dame Ragnall and your brother?”

“They were the one bright oasis in my family. Ragnall was a beautiful soul and given freedom of choice, she was her true self every hour of the day. My brother Gaheris lived a long and happy life with her. Their love was founded on trust and respect and they spread happiness to all who met them. You won't find his tomb among the stone sleepers. He would not leave her to follow us into the future.”

Tamsin felt tears sting her eyes. “That's both beautiful and sad.”

“Not sad. Their love was a blessing. That is the kind of magic I want with you. I love you, Tamsin Greene. I will be your true knight as long as you will have me.”

She ducked her head, biting her lip to keep it from trembling. He wanted her, magic and all. She'd yearned for that kind of love from him, and he had just laid it at her feet.

A slow smile spread over her lips. “Did you truly think me a wicked witch?”

“Your magic called to mine from the first moment we met. You terrified me.”

“Ah,” she teased. “You don't think you're too black hearted for me? Corrupting magic could go either way, you know.”

“I believe you are my anchor, Tamsin Greene. As long as you're at my side, no evil will ever have power over me.” Though he said it with a teasing smile, there was sincerity in his words. He truly needed and loved her.

Tamsin felt the weight of his trust. She slid her arms around him, laying her head against his chest. “I love you, too, Gawain.”

Their conversation unraveled after that, but in the best way possible. It deteriorated in the shower, where Tamsin took great pleasure in getting soapy for the second time that afternoon, and crumbled still further as they rumpled the crisp, clean sheets of her bed.

He kissed her slowly, letting his lips linger over hers so that their breath commingled, warmth against warmth. “What sort of magic do you think we can make together?” she asked.

His grin was suddenly sharp with mischief. It was an expression Tamsin hadn't seen before, and it made her insides tighten with anticipation. He took her hand, kissing the tip of each finger in a way that made her squirm with pleasure. Who knew such a simple sensation could travel so deep into her core? Then his lips found her wrist, his tongue darting to mark the fine veins beneath her skin. The brush of his cheek was rough as he worked his way upward, nibbling the crease of her elbow, then the curve of her shoulder. Gawain had a way of devouring every inch of her, leaving nothing without savoring its delights. He understood what it was to claim a woman.

Tamsin shifted, leaving a kiss on his chest as she rolled him onto his back. Indulgent, Gawain complied, even lifting her so that she straddled him more easily.

“Let me,” she said, brushing his sex with hers. Already stiff, it hardened yet more at her touch, weeping as she swept across the engorged tip. Gawain grabbed her hips, holding her still. Tamsin settled, positioning herself to sink, inch by languorous inch, until she was stretched wide and full.

Gawain reached up, cupping her breasts. His eyes were slits, the blue veiled by thick lashes until the color was lost in smoky shadow. Tamsin rocked slowly so she could lean into his touch. His neck muscles corded, throat working as he controlled his response. From above, she could trace the angles of his face with her gaze. She felt a lost, desperate tenderness for him then, a longing to be with him in every sense of the word.

His fingers brushed the tips of her breasts, bringing her nipples erect. The sensation made her shiver, and that translated from her body to his. She rocked again, finding a rhythm that matched his kneading hands. The feel of his rough palms was too exquisite, too much, but he gave no quarter, driving her further into madness.

“More,” she said.

“Always.”

He was thrusting, drawing her into a riptide she couldn't resist. She was caught on a knife's edge, wanting more, wanting less, rocking deeper to end the driving need for relief. She burned, her skin slick with sweat and the need to have him touch it all. Tamsin grabbed his strong, thick arms, using him to steady her movements. The first pulses of release shot through her, ripping a moan from her throat. Gawain pushed hard, driving her higher until she shuddered, every nerve igniting with pleasure. A moment of blind wonder took her.

And yet it didn't end there. They rolled in a tangle with her arms locked around his shoulders. Before the pleasure had even faded, Gawain was moving again, thrusting deeper, faster, returning her to ecstasy. She gripped hard, nails scraping skin as she arched against him. One last, strong stroke, and they fell into bliss together.