Enchanted Warrior Read online

  “There is a disturbance in the aether that tells me the witch has awakened another knight,” said Mordred. “That would be the witch you failed to destroy. I suggest you rectify that situation.”

  Nimueh struggled to find her tongue. “Yes, my Lord Mordred.”

  Chapter 11

  Tamsin gaped as Gawain and Beaumains embraced with back-thumping, shoulder-pounding affection. Her astonishment wasn’t at watching two time-travelers from the Middle Ages overcome incredible odds and arcane magic. It was because Gawain was actually smiling, a big grin that lit up his eyes with real joy as he ruffled his little brother’s hair. He almost looked friendly.

  For his part, Beaumains tugged at his brother’s shirt. “These are strange garments, but I see you’re still wearing green. You never change, brother. Stubborn as an ox.”

  “So I have noticed,” Tamsin put in with a smile. “I am Tamsin.”

  She put out a hand to shake, but Beaumains bowed over it instead, the picture of chivalric grace. “Madam, I owe you many thanks for reviving me.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Tamsin replied. If she hadn’t already met Gawain, she’d be tempted to swoon. Beaumains was utterly charming, the scar on his cheek giving him a rakish air.

  “Nevertheless, I am entirely at your service.” He gave her a wicked grin.

  “We’d best go,” said Gawain, clapping his brother on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble.

  Beaumains cast him a wry look and released Tamsin’s hand.

  It wasn’t hard to get Beaumains out of a building filled with theater majors. His chain mail and surcoat might have been explained away as a better-than-average costume, and his bright-eyed good looks could have belonged to any undergraduate. He obeyed Gawain’s command to remain silent until they were in the car, but the questions started once they were on the road back to Carlyle.

  “I don’t understand,” Beaumains said, his accent a touch thicker than Gawain’s. “Are you telling me that we have all been asleep for hundreds and hundreds of years?”

  “Yes,” Gawain replied. “There is much you must learn.”

  “Well, I would say that’s obvious,” Beaumains said drily, looking around the interior of the car. “What did I miss? Have they sorted the Vikings out yet?”

  “They have their own television show,” Gawain said, disgruntled.

  “A what?”

  “I’ll explain another time.”

  “Very well.” The young man’s tone was tense, but he sounded more excited than afraid. Tamsin spared a glimpse in the rearview mirror. He had his face all but pressed to the passenger window, watching the world speed by. He reminded her of a cat with its ears pricked, alert to every sight and sound.

  “There are so many lights,” Beaumains murmured. “Are we at war? Are the torches built that high up to convey a signal to the enemy?”

  “Those are streetlights,” she offered. “I thought Merlin’s spell helped you understand the modern world.”

  “Not all at once,” Gawain said. “It takes days. I still do not understand the words to most popular songs, and mathematical reasoning behind cellular plans still eludes me.”

  Tamsin laughed. “That’s probably because the phone companies are run by dragons looking to increase their treasure hoard from your pocket.”

  Beaumains gave her a look of alarm.

  She took the ramp onto the highway and turned the car toward Carlyle. She wasn’t sure what to do with Beaumains. Gawain had been acclimatized by the time he’d arrived on her doorstep, but his brother was another matter. She hadn’t thought about the consequences of acquiring a mob of knights in need of housebreaking. She sincerely hoped Gawain had a plan.

  “I am hungry,” Beaumains said, breaking into her thoughts a moment later. “Is there a place to hunt? Or a tavern?”

  They were all hungry, Tamsin especially. Spells took huge amounts of energy. She settled on a drive-through and they pulled into a parking lot to devour the greasy, salty food. Beaumains approved of the fries but gave the burger patty a suspicious look. “I am not sure what beast this was.”

  “A common question,” Tamsin replied. “It’s better not to think about it too hard.”

  Beaumains smiled, showing a slight gap between his front teeth. “It has always been that way, Mistress Greene, with hostels upon the road.”

  “I can imagine,” Tamsin said. She’d read about pilgrimages and the booming medieval tourist trade.

  The young man chewed and swallowed. “Your kindness and hospitality is beyond question. I am yours to command.”

  “I am hers to command,” Gawain frowned. “Find your own lady.”

  “Don’t be so sure of yourself,” Beaumains retorted. “You are the only knight of Camelot in her acquaintance. Soon she will see the error of her ways and make a better choice.”

  “Hold your tongue, devil,” Gawain growled.

  “I am no devil.” Beaumains laughed from the safety of the backseat. “I am younger and far more sweet-tempered than you. Besides, I can cook.”

  “That’s a bonus,” Tamsin said, mostly to annoy Gawain.

  “Indeed. I spent my first months at Camelot as a kitchen boy.”

  “Why did you do that?” Tamsin asked.

  “Because all my brothers had left home to become knights and I refused to be left behind. Unfortunately, I had to keep my identity a secret if I did not wish to be sent home. With no noble name behind me, the only position I could get was in the kitchens. I was willing to work, but the other kitchen boys teased me mercilessly, for they could tell I was no peasant’s son. That is how I earned the name Beaumains—pretty hands—unused to hard labor. Then one day Lancelot found me out and made me his squire. By then I could bake a good loaf of bread and roast a chicken to perfection.” Beaumains popped a fry into his mouth. “So you see, mistress, I could be of far more use than this loutish brute.”

  Deep in his throat, Gawain made a noise that sounded like an angry wolf. “I said hold your tongue, or I shall see that it ceases to flap so freely.”

  “Boys,” Tamsin said in a warning tone.

  Beaumains sucked on the straw of his milk shake, already having figured out how to make a rude bubbling noise. However mighty a swordsman he might have become, he was still a little brother.

  A wave of nostalgia washed over Tamsin. She missed Stacy, and their little sister, Clary. As they finished their meals, she absently rubbed the tattoo on her wrist and listened to the two brothers argue.

  As she’d told Gawain, she needed Merlin’s books to please the Elders if she was going to return home on her own terms. Unfortunately, if Tamsin’s vision was correct, she was going to have to steal the tomes from Mordred, and that put everything in a different light. The mission wasn’t just personal anymore. Even if her own freedom hadn’t been at stake, Merlin’s spells were far too powerful to be left in the Prince of Faery’s hands.

  As she gripped the steering wheel again, her fingers trembled. She was afraid, but she was in the company of knights. If she was going to keep up, she was going to have to pick her weapons and show she could fight.

  * * *

  “You worked a spell strong enough that Mordred will certainly have felt it. You can’t remain alone tonight,” Gawain declared in a tone that brooked no argument. “You need protection, and we shall stand guard outside your door.”

  They had arrived home a little after midnight. Though the food had done her good, Tamsin was exhausted. So was Beaumains, judging by his yawn. Apparently waking from a centuries-long sleep was hard work.

  “I think two big guys loitering in the halls would upset the neighbors,” Tamsin replied, envisioning the cops showing up and trying to arrest the knights, one of whom was still in armor and carrying an enormous sword. Yeah, that would go well. “I have an idea
.”

  The apartment next door was empty, and locks were no match for her magic. Under ordinary circumstances she’d never commandeer the landlord’s property, but tonight was far from normal. She gathered extra blankets and pillows and put her knights to bed on the carpet of the empty suite. Or at least she managed to settle Beaumains.

  “I am forever in your debt,” Gawain said softly as he came through the door to Tamsin’s apartment a few minutes later, closing it behind him. “I cannot tell you what it means to have my brother safely returned to me.”

  Tamsin was lying on her bed, the lamp shining on a book she was too weary to read. She’d showered and changed into an oversize T-shirt, letting fatigue creep over her. But now she sat up, Gawain’s presence alarming and enticing. All at once, she wasn’t tired. “Is Beaumains asleep?”

  “As sweetly as a babe.”

  Tamsin smiled at the image. “Good.”

  “If his experience is like mine, he will rest until late tomorrow morning. After being trapped by magic, the body craves a normal rest above all else.” Gawain stopped in the middle of the room, a shadowed figure just outside the pool of light. “You are a special woman, Tamsin.”

  The tone of his voice struck a spark inside her. Suddenly she was too awake to remain in bed. She rose and crossed the floor between them in a few steps. Hesitantly, she placed her palms against his chest. “I know that spell probably pinged on Mordred’s radar, but I’m glad I did it.”

  His blue eyes danced with a happiness she hadn’t seen in him before. Gently, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. Tamsin released a sigh and leaned closer, resting her cheek against his chest. The fabric of his T-shirt was comfortably soft, but the muscles beneath spoke of hard strength. “Is that why you came back to my room tonight? To tell me your brother is asleep?”

  “No.” He curled one hand around her nape, cradling her head against him. “I came to ask if you want me to stay here for a while.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting what I am?”

  “No.” He held her gaze, his fingers tracing the tattoo about her wrist. “I know your powers. I do not trust them or your kind. But I am coming to trust you.”

  She could have argued, but it was a giant step for him. “Then stay.”

  He pulled her close. Tamsin closed her eyes, listening to the strong beat of his heart. She could still smell the ozone scent of magic clinging to his clothes, but beneath that was the warm musk of his skin. She liked the way he held her, gently but with the confidence of a man who knows his strength. It opened a well of longing inside Tamsin that had never been filled. She wanted to be loved without reservation, but more than that she wanted to be accepted for what she was—not just a witch but a woman with a mind of her own. Gawain had seen both and was still at her side. How long that would last was uncertain. Maybe only for as long as he needed her. At least until his king was found.

  At least for tonight.

  That would have to do.

  She tilted her head up, finding his mouth. Gawain’s kiss began as a soft, caressing thing, but a wave of desire rose in Tamsin. All at once, tenderness wasn’t enough. Her hands slid upward to lace behind his neck. Gawain made a soft grunt of pleasure.

  Slowly, she drew him down until their lips met again. She opened to him, inviting him to deepen the kiss. The invitation drew an instant response. His hands tightened on her, pulling Tamsin into the embrace until she was on tiptoe. Gawain’s kiss was no mere meeting of lips. It was a deep, plundering exploration that went on and on until her core began to glow red-hot with need.

  “Did you like that?” he murmured, rich amusement shading his words.

  “What do you think?” she replied, so close that their breath mingled, the ghost of another kiss.

  His hands circled her waist, finding the hem of her shirt. And then he was touching her skin to skin, the rough heat of his hands stroking upward over her ribs. Tamsin arched into the sensation, craving it, finding it not quite enough. She grasped the T-shirt and began to pull it over her head. Gawain, ever the quick study, slid it off her, letting the cascade of her long hair sweep over her shoulders. With a slow gesture, he pushed her hair behind her shoulders, his touch lingering on her collarbone. Then he stepped back enough to admire the view. His expression was all male pleasure, but there was reverence in it, too.

  Tamsin felt the sweep of his gaze like a physical thing. It left her vulnerable but bold, as if he’d granted her some of his warrior’s spirit. She moved to step into his arms again, but he raised his fingers to the lace of her bra, the light caress stopping her. He ran his fingers over the arch of her breast, his eyes intent with fascination. “I have seen pictures of these garments, but they do not do justice to reality.”

  It would have been easy to deflect the compliment with a smart remark, but for once Tamsin held her tongue. There was nothing mocking in Gawain’s manner. He made her feel worthy of being adored in a way no man had done ever before.

  “But how do you remove this infernal temptation?” he muttered. Tamsin unhooked the front. Gawain caught her hands. “Please allow me.”

  She did, and he unwrapped her like a present. The bra hit the floor with the barest whisper of fabric, and Gawain’s hands instantly caressed her. Tamsin’s breath hissed inward, her mind briefly short-circuited with sensation.

  “Not fair,” she complained. “You’re still dressed.”

  Gawain pulled off his shirt. The low light showed every dip and valley of his torso and softened the silver tracery of long-healed wounds. Tamsin stroked her hands over his muscles, unable to resist petting him as she might a cat. Everything about Gawain’s body demanded to be touched. He gave a growl that might have been a purr.

  “Come here,” he commanded, lifting her as if she were no more than a child.

  She wrapped her legs around his waist, gasping as he caught one nipple in his teeth. It was the lightest nip, but her body was so aroused that the sudden flame it created struck all the way to her core. Gawain chuckled, a low, male sound that had her squirming against him. In three strides, they were at the bed and she slipped from him, taking her time as she slid her body down the front of his jeans. It was his turn to make a quick, hissing inhalation.

  Tamsin pressed her lips to his chest, kissing slowly down and down, lingering on a jagged white scar that cut across his abdomen. Gawain’s muscles tensed beneath her lips, but he made no move to stop her. When she finally reached the button of his jeans, she unfastened it with care, leaving a kiss on the warm flesh of his stomach. Then she grasped the tab of his zipper.

  “Be careful,” he said in a voice so low and husky it was nearly a growl. “Your touch will finish this before we begin.”

  Gawain’s gaze locked with hers, a warning and a dare simmering in its blue depths. Tamsin caught her breath as he closed his fingers around hers and drew the zipper slowly downward. The briefs he wore barely contained the fullness of his erection. He said something, but she didn’t hear it through the pounding of her pulse. She ignored the bed and slowly sank to her knees, peeling his briefs and jeans down inch by inch and pressing her lips to the skin she unveiled. She caressed the taut flesh of his thighs, enjoying the curve and play of thick muscle.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  “Taking my time,” she said primly, now scraping her nails lightly over his most sensitive flesh. “Playing.”

  “Shredding my sanity.”

  “Pleasure is a journey, not a destination,” Tamsin replied, blowing lightly on his heated skin. An impish impulse pushed her to tease him. “You should learn to relax.”

  Gawain cursed and pulled away, the movement so sudden Tamsin jumped. “I’m not a tiger whose tail you can tweak.”

  “No?” The imp was still in charge, refusing to let her give in.

  Silent, Gawain stripped off the rest of his clothes as Ta
msin got to her feet. When she next looked up, he was entirely naked. Her first thought was that he was shockingly beautiful, a sculpture come to life. Then she saw the hungry look in his eyes and nearly quailed.

  “Tigers aren’t careful,” he said.

  Tamsin sat on the bed, her knees too weak for anything else. There was rather a lot of Gawain, the sheer virility of him leaving her solemn. Every witch knew spells for moments like this, magic that protected both partners in every physical way—but there was more at stake here than just her body. Gawain would not be a pleasant tumble that she could fit into the rest of her life. This was going to be a game changer, demanding body and spirit both. Maybe she had rushed things.

  “Come here,” he commanded, putting an end to her doubts.

  He pushed her down onto the quilt, crawling after her with flowing grace until his arms and legs trapped her in a cage of hard, eager flesh. Tamsin’s heart was pounding, desire mixed with apprehension. He kissed her then, chasing her thoughts away like startled birds. Tamsin surrendered to the heat of it, riding a wave of lust that threatened to reduce her to ash. He smelled so good, so male she wanted to drink him in through her pores. She ran her hands down his ribs, reveling in the feel of bone and skin and sinew. Scars chased each other like lightning across his flesh, some pink and new, some white with long healing. His was a body that had been well used, and judging by the hard ridge pressed against her stomach, he wanted to use her.

  Gawain fisted his hands in her hair as he licked and sucked at her breasts. Tamsin arched into it, hot breath and wetness sparking a blaze deep in her belly. He wasn’t tentative or particularly gentle, the demands of his lips and teeth one step away from pain. She traced her fingers over the bunched muscles of his shoulders, down his back.

  Nothing had prepared her for this experience. Her last remaining particle of reason said she was looking for a landmark, a handhold, something to anchor herself in this storm. But Gawain never gave her a chance. She had invited him inside her walls, and now he was laying siege against her every defense.