Enchanted Warrior. Sharon Ashwood
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she was a witch and knew magic was real, but seriously? Fae had vanished from the earth centuries ago. The knights of Camelot were a legend. Even if they were real, what would they be doing in Carlyle, Washington? Swilling craft beer, wearing flannel shirts and cheering on the Seahawks? That image alone had kept her wide-awake.
Nevertheless, there was something important in his tale, something her sixth sense told her to pay attention to. It felt like pieces of a puzzle coming together, but she had no idea what picture it was forming.
The fastest way to find out was to locate those tombs, and that meant getting down to work. She sipped black coffee from her travel mug and switched on the aging computer. Stacks of paper boxes filled with old, uncataloged records reached halfway up the wall beside her desk. Most of the papers had to do with the study and restoration of the many architectural features of the church, but a few concerned the sale and loan of items. It was completely possible her answers were buried in those old papers. Tamsin opened a box at random, grabbed a handful of files and started searching. The papers were at least thirty years old and smelled of mildew, and many were routine office records—like a bill for a typewriter repairman. Not quite ancient history, but as close as Tamsin could get to the day-to-day operations of Medievaland’s first owner, an eccentric millionaire who’d lost interest in the project the moment it was up and running.
She looked up at the clock a few minutes later, only to discover that hours had passed. A rumble from her stomach confirmed it was noon. Tamsin was unzipping her backpack to rummage for her lunch when her cell phone rang.
“Hey,” said Stacy. “What’s going on?”
“What do you mean?” Tamsin replied.
“Something happened after I talked to you yesterday.”
Tamsin immediately thought of Gawain and shivered at the remembered brush of his rough hands. She wasn’t ready to talk about that yet. “I’m in a medieval church, remember? No one here but us history buffs. What could possibly go wrong?”
Stacy sighed. “There are disturbances in the aether all over the West Coast. They were particularly strong near Carlyle all afternoon and last night.”
Tamsin frowned. “How do you know that?”
“Mom. She had her crystal ball out and was scrying the energy fields in your area.”
“Scrying? You mean spying.” Tamsin wanted to smack her head against the wall. “I hate it when she does that. It’s like having a drone on my tail at all times.”
“Maybe, but she’s always right. She says there have been significant spikes in magical activity right in your area.” Stacy listed off a handful of times, and then her voice dropped to a whisper. “Mom even thinks someone or something stopped time for a moment. No one’s used that kind of magic in centuries. What, by Merlin’s magic wand, is going on in Carlyle?”
Tamsin sat back in her chair, skin prickling with alarm. “I don’t know. I’m a healer. Sensing the aether was never my talent. I don’t notice an anomaly unless I’m looking for it.”
“Surely you have some idea. Mom might be obsessive and paranoid, but she can read energy from a distance better than any other witch in the eastern covens.”
Which meant—what? That Gawain was right, and there were evil fae romping through the streets? “I honestly don’t know.”
Stacy’s tone grew impatient. “You know Dad always thought Carlyle had a significant archive of magical materials. There have to be some serious practitioners out there, and they’re up to something.”
Tamsin cleared her throat. “There are supposed to be some very special books here, ones I know Dad was interested in, but I haven’t found them. They seem to have disappeared along with...”
“What?”
“Other things.” Tamsin put a hand to her forehead. She was hot, possibly because her head was exploding. “There are items that should be in the church but seem to have gone missing. I’m trying to find them.”
“Magical items?”
“I dunno. Maybe. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
“Oh, Tamsin,” Stacy groaned, sounding pushed to her limits, “hurry up and come home where it’s safe.”
Tamsin sighed. “I’d better get to work. I’ll call you later.”
“Be careful.” Stacy hung up.
Tamsin thumbed the End button and sat staring at her phone for a moment as the dark cloud of Stacy’s anxiety faded. Her mother’s observations bothered Tamsin. Something was definitely going on.
Tamsin needed a break. She grabbed her coat and strode through the cool dimness of the church. Outside, it was bright and sunny, and Tamsin breathed in the air and cheerful, gaudy colors of the theme park. She waited on the porch as an actor rode by in the full armor of a knight, the feathered hooves of his horse clop-clopping on the pavement. Children milled about the beast, who bore the noise and commotion with gentle patience. Tamsin couldn’t help but smile.
And then she thought of Gawain, which wiped away every trace of lightness. She jumped down from the porch and began to walk briskly through the grounds, using the exercise to take the edge off her nerves.
The morning’s work had made one thing clear. As a historian, she’d been trained to value meticulous research, but in this case the fae army might overrun the mortal world before she made it through all those boxes of paper. There had to be a way to fast-track a solution to this problem.
Tamsin was pondering the question when she reached the booth where brown-robed friars sold paper cups of hot chocolate. She bought the largest size and walked back into the church, ready to resume work.
Except Gawain was sprawled in her desk chair, feet stretched out and arms folded across his massive chest. She started at the sight of him, releasing a sticky dribble through the hole in the lid of the cup. Knuckles smarting from the burn, she set the drink on top of her filing cabinet and licked the sweetness from her fingers.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light despite her suddenly pounding heart. Emotion from last night flooded back—trepidation, anger and, illogically, desire. Somehow the taste of dark chocolate merged with the sight of his big body, sending a burst of need through her synapses. She wanted to touch the stubble on his cheeks to see if it was as rough as it looked—which was utterly ridiculous.
He looked up slowly, eyes traveling from her feet to her face as if committing her to memory all over again. With a quick shove, he spun the chair to face her. The lines of his face were harsh with fatigue. By the rumpled state of his clothes, he’d been up all night.
“I told you I’d come back for answers.” His voice was rough, almost a rasp.
“You lost the right to answers.” Tamsin shed her coat, hanging it on the hook behind the door.
His jaw went tight. “For your own sake, for everyone’s, I beg you to reconsider.”
“Right,” she muttered. “Evil fae, wicked queen, stone knights.”
“I promise you, I will not touch you again. You have nothing to fear from me.” Gawain rose from the chair, stepping aside as best he could in the tiny, cramped office. The movement was graceful, reminding her he was more than he appeared. A knight. A prince. Or perhaps a very good actor.
Tamsin folded her arms, protecting herself but determined to stand her ground. She wasn’t prey, and she wasn’t about to run—although her knees were trembling a bit. He might say he was harmless, but she didn’t buy it. His presence filled the room like a physical force. He gestured to her empty chair with courtly grace.
Refusing to show how much he spooked her, she retrieved her chocolate and sat down. Only then did she notice a newspaper folded and positioned in the middle of her desk. “What’s this?”
“Proof