Enchanted Warrior. Sharon Ashwood
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fell. He realized he’d cleaned his plate, eating every delicious bite. “Thank you for dinner. It was very good.”
“Would you like another helping?” Tamsin asked. She’d finished, too, but her portion had been much daintier.
He did want more but wasn’t sure what was considered polite these days. It seemed better to exercise restraint. “No, thank you.”
And yet Gawain wasn’t ready for the meal to end. He rose and walked to the balcony, looking out at the city lights. She’d left the curtains open again, instead of shutting them against prying eyes. He should scold her for being careless but had lost the heart to chide her. He’d walked into her home guarded against seduction and, instead, found simple hospitality. He hadn’t been prepared for that.
“I’ll tell you a story about my king,” he said. “When I first came to Camelot, I knew no one. Arthur was my kinsman, but we had not met. My father, King Lot, was a great and wealthy lord and much was expected of me. I was eager to prove my worth and nobility as a knight, and as the Prince of Lothian.”
He remembered Camelot with jewellike clarity—the fine clothes and rich food. It had seemed exotic to a lad from the north. “I entered every tourney, accepted every quest and fought every battle that came my way. Eventually, Arthur gave me the task of rescuing three maidens held for ransom by the Black Knight. Of course, I set off at once.”
He turned from the window to see Tamsin leaning on one hand, her elbow on the table. Her attention was entirely fixed on him, and Gawain felt like himself again—a rare thing since awakening in this strange and disheartening century. “The Black Knight’s castle was in the Forest Sauvage, a place fraught with magic and treachery. I lost two of my companions along the way, but in the end we laid siege to the castle and brought the women home. When I knelt once more before Arthur, I bore many wounds.”
“What did he say?” Tamsin asked.
Gawain had to smile at that. “Arthur picked that moment to tell me that five other knights had tried to storm the castle before me. None had come back alive.”
“And he still asked you to go?” She sounded horrified.
“Of course. I rejoiced at the news. Proving that I could succeed where all others had failed was exactly what I’d desired. He knew that, and he knew I would prevail.”
Tamsin knit her brows together. “How?”
“Because I wanted it more. Arthur’s strength is that he sees passion in the hearts of others. He helps them use it to achieve greatness.”
Tamsin folded her napkin, then clutched it, betraying her nerves. “What are you going to do about Mordred?”
“That depends on what he does.” Gawain folded his arms. “Mordred and I despise each other, but we were both shaped by our kin and their dark legacy. I understand him better than most.”
Tamsin nodded, her lashes lowered. They were a dark gold against her creamy skin. “You’d save him if you could?”
She raised her eyes and did it again—breaking him open with a mere look. Her expression said more than her words, and Gawain’s throat grew tight. “He is my cousin, but no. He is consumed by darkness.”
He might have said more, but he’d talked about himself far more than was natural. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was because she was far from home, alone with her books. Lost as he was, her solitude gave him an unexpected feeling of kinship.
She looked away first, ending the moment. “Then we should get to work and find your fellow knights. I’ll set up the ritual.”
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