Enchanted Guardian Page 20

Arthur gave her a sad look. “If a king does not blame himself, he is not being careful enough with his people.”

  She chewed her lips, but didn’t look up. “I was born in modern times. This all seems crazy to me. I get self-defense, but this is organized slaughter.”

  “Tourneys show a man’s prowess to his lady,” said the king. “There is nothing so great as wearing a woman’s token into mortal combat, knowing that the blows you strike are in her honor. My heart would pound with joy to look up from the bloody field and see her, fair and shining, in the stands.”

  Tamsin looked at him as if he’d gone mad. “Is that actually true?”

  “A few times,” said Arthur, glancing at Lancelot, then at Nim. “There were moments.”

  Arthur looked sad, and Nim wondered if he might have loved his child-bride Guinevere, or if he dreamed of some other maiden long turned to dust.

  The demon stood dead center of the improvised ring. He raised a square of scarlet silk in one hand. For one moment, all was silent, the only sound the breeze that rushed through the grass and fluttered the little square of red cloth. Then the demon vanished, the silk fell and the fight was on.

  “I can’t watch,” Tamsin said, burying her face in her hands.

  Nim didn’t want to, either, but was realist enough to know she couldn’t turn away. Lancelot was near the middle of the field and so she circled the periphery at a run to get a better view. As the fae all wore silver armor, it was easy to pick them out. Beside them, the knights seemed almost ragtag, their mismatched gear scarred from hard battle. Nim’s loyalties lay with the knights, but she hated to see her own people hurt. Peace was the thing she wanted above all else, but that meant putting an end to the queen.

  Despite the sun, her skin went cold and clammy. Metal crashed on metal, leather creaked and feet stomped so hard that the earth sounded hollow. Men grunted as bodies thudded together, and suddenly there was a guttural roar of pain. Two fighters stumbled past quickly enough that Nim felt the rush of air as she darted aside to keep from being trampled.

  Then she caught sight of Lancelot, his war ax already bloody. His opponent was huge, taller by a head and using a short spear to maximize his reach. Even Lancelot would have a hard time getting inside his guard.

  Nim started as she saw someone move a few feet away. She glanced up to find Tamsin there, then returned her attention to the fight at once. The witch kept a respectful distance from Nim, as well she might. They’d met as opponents and never had the opportunity to become something else.

  “Tell me something,” Tamsin asked, her voice thin with worry. “Is this fight a fair deal?”

  The question seemed naive, but then what could Nim expect from someone born in the modern day? “A melee is like a battle, and a real battle isn’t fair.”

  Tamsin buried her face in her hands again. “Oh, Gawain.” Her groan held as much love and exasperation as it did dread.

  “I’m afraid watching someone you love in danger doesn’t get any easier,” Nim said gently. “Trust me, I know.”

  Through the shifting bodies, she caught a glimpse of Lancelot ducking beneath his opponent’s spear. He delivered a blow before spinning away again, already hunting for the next opening. Nerves and pride spun through her like strong drink. Lancelot was a large man, so many underestimated his speed. She hoped it was enough to keep him whole.

  “Oh!” Tamsin exclaimed, one hand flying to her mouth. Then she moved a step closer and pointed into the maelstrom. “Gawain just hit his guy with a piece of his own armor!”

  Nim followed her pointing finger. Gawain had lost his helmet, but he was fighting like a madman. “Gawain knows how to look after himself.”

  Tamsin gave a tearful nod, one hand over her heart. They were side by side now. Nim cast a quick glance to see how the other knights were doing, but it was hard to tell. There was too much confusion. Her gaze ended on Arthur, who stood as still as a sentinel, the only sign of tension was in the line of his shoulders. If he was worried, he wasn’t letting LaFaye see it. Tamsin stood next to him, her pose almost a double of the king’s.

  Tamsin? But Tamsin was standing beside Nim! She whirled around to find herself almost nose-to-nose with the red-haired girl. The sunlight glinted on the girl’s collar and the knife she held pressed to Nim’s ribs. Her lips peeled back in a terrible grin. “Some enchantress you are if you can’t see through a simple disguise. Mind you, I did go to theater school.”

  Nim cursed herself. LaFaye’s glamour spells weren’t simple, but she should have been able to sense it. Then she cursed Merlin for refusing to help with her magic.

  “What do you want?” Nim put frost into her tone. “We’re both protected by these collars.”

  The point of the knife pricked her flesh. “We’re protected from harm by the combatants or their leaders. Nobody said anything about harm from each other. My mistress is very angry with you, and I’m all about keeping her happy.”

  Wasting no more words, the girl jerked the knife in and up, aiming for Nim’s heart. It would have killed a human, but a fae was too fast. She grabbed the girl’s wrist and twisted, turning into the movement so the redhead ended up bent nearly double, her knife hand pinned behind her. Nim squeezed until the girl’s fingers uncurled and the blade dropped.

  “Please, oh please,” the girl begged. “She’s going to be furious with me.”

  Nim cast another glance at the battle, anxious for Lancelot despite the threat next to herself. “I’m sorry for you, but not enough to stand still while you stab me.”

  The girl wore a belt of twisted cord around her gown. Nim pulled it free and then bound the girl’s hands behind her. She picked up the knife and heaved the girl up by her bound hands. With a shove, Nim marched her back to Arthur’s corner of the field, keeping the lead rope wrapped tight around her wrist. The girl wasn’t getting away.

  Nim had nearly reached her destination when Tenebrius materialized before her, wearing a silk dressing gown and smoking a cigarette in a long ebony holder. The demon gave the redhead a deep scowl. “What’s this?”

  The girl cringed, drawing close to Nim as if her would-be victim might offer protection. Nim ignored her, making a curt reply to the demon. “There is a loophole in your rules that nearly resulted in a hole in me.”

  “Explain,” Tenebrius growled.

  Nim did. Arthur approached as she talked, folding his arms in disgust as he heard the tale. “Surely this is against the spirit of the law,” said the king.

  The demon squinted and tilted his palm to and fro in a so-so gesture. “Maybe so, but the letter of the law permits it. Nonetheless, LaFaye presumes upon my patience.”

  He turned to face the melee and raised his arms in the air. “Hold!” he bellowed.

  Every fighter froze in position, arrested in place by magic. It was several seconds before they could lower their weapons.

  Tenebrius gestured and the cigarette and holder vanished. “A point of rule demands clarification. Until this is resolved, those who wear the collar have safe conduct from everyone—” he put nasty emphasis on the word “—within the Forest Sauvage. Furthermore, for their own safety they will not leave the forest until the tournament is done.”

  A murmur ran through the company. Nim thought she saw LaFaye stamp her foot with frustration.

  “You! Queen!” The demon pointed a long, taloned finger at LaFaye. “You are on notice. One more insult to my authority and I will make you pay in ways even your nightmares cannot fathom.”

  LaFaye folded her arms, looking mulish.

  “I declare the melee finished,” said the demon with disgust. “Collect your fallen.”

  Nim’s eyes flew to where Lancelot stood. His ax ran red, but he appeared unhurt. His opponent, however, was down on one knee.

  Then she heard Tamsin—the real Tamsin—cry out. When one of the fae shifted aside, Nim saw Gawain on his back in the churned earth. The witch leaped over the rope barrier, bolting between the weapons and warriors to her lover’s
side.

  The demon’s words came back to her: You’re using the forest as your battleground, and for that it demands a payment in blood and fear.

  The Forest Sauvage had taken its payment for the day. Nim ran forward to help, secretly thanking the stars that it hadn’t been Lancelot.

  Chapter 24

  Dulac and Nimueh helped Tamsin turn Gawain over. His friend had been knocked out—a consequence of losing his helmet earlier in the fight. A nasty lump was forming, but he had already regained consciousness.

  The blow had finished the work begun by a sword thrust to the ribs. Gawain swore savagely as they uncovered the wound, but it lacked conviction. He had lost too much blood to pretend he was all right. Under Tamsin’s expert care, he would be up and around in a day or two, but he would not fight another day in the tournament.

  Percival was also finished, having broken several fingers in his sword hand. That left Dulac, Beaumains, Owen and Palomedes in the tourney. They’d taken minor wounds, but nothing that would keep them from the field.

  They made a sling of their arms and carried Gawain through the portal back to Medievaland. All, that is, except Dulac and Nimueh. By the demon’s orders, she could not leave the forest and Dulac would not go without her.

  “Now what?” she asked. “There are no hotels in the Forest Sauvage. We need proper food and shelter if you are to fight again tomorrow.” By the pallor of her cheeks, the very notion of more fighting shook her.

  “I will be fine,” he said. “I’m more concerned about you.”

  She looked away then, her brow puckering.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “We could go home. To my castle, I mean.” Her eyes searched his face almost shyly. “If you want to, that is. I won’t insist on it.”

  “Why not?” he said. “I have many fond memories of the place.”

  And so they took the path into the green woods and Nimueh’s old home. For all the time that had passed, the lake was the same, fed by the clear stream that ran from the distant mountains. Willow trees stood all around it, their branches sweeping the water, and a pair of white swans sailed silently in and out of the long green curtain. Wildflowers dotted the shore, stars of blue and white among the lush green grasses.

  Nimueh’s castle perched halfway up the slope of the hill. The path to its gates zigzagged from the lakeshore, all but invisible among the thick trees. Conical roofs capped the rounded white towers, giving it the air of a storybook painting. Or perhaps the fairy tales were modeled after the fae beauty who once dwelled in the mysterious woods.

  “Why is it that sometimes I could find the lake and castle and sometimes not?” asked Dulac.

  “I hid it with a glamour, and when I left the last time, I put a preservation spell upon it,” she said. “There are no servants, but it will be clean and the larders full of fresh provisions. Of course, when I bound my magic just recently, the spells concealing this place will have disappeared. Anyone can find it now.”

  They walked hand in hand up the path. Dulac remembered the smell of the lake, a cold, earthy scent that carried the echo of mountain snow. It awakened memories of his time living there, the hours spent training his mind and body. His boots scraped on bare earth as he ascended the path, Nimueh silent beside him. Despite everything, Dulac felt himself relaxing. He had spent months and years in these quiet halls reclaiming himself after his father’s destructive anger. The peace of the place hadn’t changed.

  A bird trilled a piping note that was answered far away. They rounded the last corner in the path to reach the twin towers of the gatehouse. As always, the gate itself was open as if to say an enchantress as powerful as the Lady of the Lake had no need of locks and bolts. They passed through and approached the castle’s main door. It sprang open as if it knew Nimueh’s touch.

  Dulac watched her hesitate, the graceful lines of her face tight with apprehension. No doubt she was wondering what she’d find inside her old home. He wondered if it was the place or the memories it held that worried her more. With a hurried step, as if getting it over with, she finally went inside. He followed, uncertain himself how he’d feel about seeing the halls where he’d first encountered genuine love.

  “It’s the same,” she said. “And yet it’s not.”

  “Yes,” he replied, but could find no more words. Time had stopped here. There was no dust or cobwebs, no faded paint or tarnish. Bright banners hung from the roof beams, resplendent with the colorful needlework of the fae. The rushes on the floor were green and fragrant, and the silver goblets set out for guests were clean and bright. Hundreds of years had passed, but the scene was almost identical to the day Dulac had left it to seek his fortune. The fact was both comforting and eerie.

  “I so loved it here,” she said softly as she walked from his side to look out the deep embrasure of the window.

  “What originally brought you to this place?” he asked. It had never occurred to him before this to wonder.

  She smiled, but did not turn away from the window. “The fae were a glorious people once, playful and passionate. Every day was filled with debates, songs, plays, dances and a thousand other distractions. The one thing they were not good at was allowing a scholar to pursue her studies undisturbed. So I built my retreat in the Forest Sauvage so that I could craft my spells in peace.”

  “You did not feel cut off from your world?”

  “That was the point of it. At first, I was content. I had my servants and my work. But your coming was the crack in my foundation. You were young and bold, a piece of raw chaos injected into my perfect world. I knew you would be my downfall the moment I saw you standing on my lakeshore.” She turned to look at him then, sad and amused.

  Dulac raised his brows. “I never thought of myself that way.”

  “You were what you were—a young male. I had been alone so long I could barely remember how to speak to someone new.”

  He went to her then, pulling her gently from the window and into his arms. “I didn’t see any of that back then. I’d had little enough experience with women, much less immortal fae with subtle and complex characters.”

  “Am I really so complicated?” she asked with an arch smile.

  “You are a puzzle box with a thousand hidden drawers. The more I discover, the more I realize how much there is to find.” He kissed her, taking his time. “I have always been incredibly grateful for it.”

  As an overawed young man, he’d seen her amazing beauty first, her kindness second, and little else. It wasn’t until he’d experienced Camelot that he’d appreciated what he’d had. By then, it had been too late. Or maybe not, for he was here, wasn’t he?

  She was facing him, their bodies almost touching within the circle of his arms. Her palms were braced against his chest and she slowly slid them upward until her fingers laced behind his neck. “I fell in love with my brash young knight. I needed you to keep me from falling into my books and never getting out again.”

  “I was a young lout back then. I’d like to think I’m a better bargain now.”

  “How so?”

  “Now I’m complicated, too.” Ironically, Guinevere had taught him much about navigating human relations. He’d come to understand the female perspective a thousand times better.

  “Is complicated supposed to make you appealing?”

  “Everyone’s doing it these days.”

  “To puzzle box standards?”

  He shrugged. “Probably not. I’m a crossword at best. But I’ll be the type you can’t quite finish, so you’ll never bring yourself to toss me aside.”

  She gave a low, throaty laugh that held unreserved joy. He realized that she’d changed just as much as he had. More. She’d been through unspeakable hell and, whether she knew it or not, had developed a ferocious will.

  After all, she’d put her life on the line to save Camelot. The collar around her throat taunted Dulac, reminding him of everything he could lose.

  His entire being refused to consider that outcom
e. A fever of possession took him. He wanted her right there, their bodies naked in the rushes, but he leashed himself. He’d learned how to treat a lady since he’d first set foot in these halls. He took her hands from around his neck and kissed them before scooping her up into his arms.

  “We’ve explored the hall,” he said. “Now I have a mind to see the tower rooms.”

  Her green eyes glinted with mischief. “I seem to remember the bedchambers are upstairs.”

  “Really? I was thinking of the armory. Wouldn’t you like to see if the swords are still sharp?”

  She smacked his shoulder as he carried her up the stairs. “There is only one sword I’m interested in.”

  “Is it of good, hard steel?”

  “If you cease the puns long enough, sir knight, perhaps we can test the point.”

  He stopped at the threshold of the bedroom, thrown by what he saw. He remembered a bower of unimaginable luxury, of thick carpets and down pillows, silk gauze and satin coverlets. By the casement window, there had been a delicate tree of living silver. What he saw now could have been in a convent. There were stark white walls, a plain bed and not much more.

  “Ah,” Nimueh said, slipping from his arms to stand on her own. “After you left, I simplified.”

  “You certainly did.” He took a step forward, his spine prickling as he pieced together what the change meant.

  She confirmed it all in a voice that was little more than a whisper. “There were too many memories in this room to sleep well alone. I changed it all.”

  His restraint cracked then. At some time in the past, without his knowledge, she’d done her best to erase him from her memory. He seized Nimueh by the shoulders, walking her backward until she was at the edge of the bed. He tried not to be rough, but the bare, sad room had triggered something close to a blood frenzy.

  She sat down, her eyes suddenly wary. “Is this where you claim me oh so hard and teach me how you refuse to be forgotten? That try as I might you’ve marked me forever?”

  “Just as you’ve marked me,” he said, his voice already hoarse with need. “We’re bound together. You have my oath on that.”