Enchanted Warrior (19 page)

It didn't take long for her strength to fade, her sense of the world shrinking inward on herself and the branch and the cold. She didn't see Gawain come for her until he was there, his strong arm winding around her so that he could swim them both to the safety of the shore. Her body floated against his, sheltered, protected and borne away by his unflagging strength.

Chapter 22

“T
he Forest Sauvage mocks travelers.” Gawain slid off the horse, then turned to help Tamsin down. They had finally reached Gawain's castle, shivering cold and with their clothes half-dried by Tamsin's flickering magic. “It presents images of what we hope to find, but they are never the same. Just as the land appears to be Camelot, this is a shadow of my home. I know my way through this forest, but many unwary travelers have been fooled by these reflections and lost their way.”

It was hard to see what Gawain's home looked like in the heavy dusk, but it was around the same size as the castle they'd just left. Gawain took her inside to a tower room and lit a fire. There was plenty of wood, clean blankets, and even a bowl of fresh apples and pears, but no people. It was as if all the servants had suddenly been spirited away, but in the capricious forest they might never have existed.

They found dry clothes, Gawain producing a soft gown for her from one of the private chambers. The fabric was light but warm, edged in fine embroidery. “It's green,” he said with a self-mocking smile. “I thought you might like it.”

After that, Gawain left to care for the horse, who more than deserved oats and a good rubdown. Tamsin found the books, which were still dry from the magic of the lorekeeper's bag, and sought for the portal spell Angmar had mentioned. She found it and read it through several times—she definitely wanted to have an emergency exit in place—but the firelight made the words dance on the page, and her eyelids drooped.

As the evening grew darker and Gawain didn't return, Tamsin began to fret over every noise and creak. It was one thing to have studied ancient times, to have visited castles as a tourist with guidebooks and camera in hand. It was another to be alone in one after tangling with a demon. The orange light of the fire did little more than deepen the shadows crawling up the stone walls. Tapestries stirred in the draft, the movement bringing their woven figures to life. Tamsin wrapped her arms around her middle, huddling closer to the hearth even though the heat and smoke brought tears to her eyes. Wood snapped and popped, sending up a shower of sparks.

She tried to remain calm, to rest, but it was hopeless. Every time she closed her eyes, she could feel the swirling sensation of the river. Gawain had saved her more than once that day, shown her exactly what it meant to be a knight of the Round Table. What he could do, what he was forced to do to survive—there weren't words enough in all the libraries in the world to capture it. If her magic gave him pause, his reality did the same to her.

Wind whistled through a chink somewhere in the ceiling, mimicking the mournful cry of a bird. Uneasiness lapped at Tamsin until she finally rose and paced the room. There was little furniture—just a table and chairs and some iron-bound chests against the wall. Nothing to distract her from the fact that Gawain was nowhere in sight.

Eventually, she couldn't stand his absence any longer. She lit one of the candles that sat near the hearth and, shielding the flame with her hand, went back down the twisting stairwell of the tower. The candlelight barely made a difference in the darkness. She moved carefully, feeling the edges of the narrow steps with her toes and praying no random gust left her stranded in pitch-dark. Once she reached the main floor, the high arched windows let in the light of the full moon. Tamsin left the candle on a sheltered ledge and went outside.

The wind was clammy with the moist ocean air. Shivering, she took a few steps along the rocky path, listening for Gawain's footsteps. There was nothing but the rustle of the tall, sweet-scented pines and the rhythmic rolling of the water. Tamsin craned her neck, taking in the overwhelming brightness of the stars. Witch or not, she was a city girl and often forgot just how dazzling nature could be.

The path from the castle ran past the pines and down a rocky beach to the ocean. Tamsin only had to stand at the head of the path to see Gawain's tall form looking out at the moonlit water, a silhouette against the stars. She set out, her head bowed against the wind. As she approached, she could see he had a fresh cloak around him, this one lined with fur.

He caught sight of her and straightened. “What are you doing out here in the cold?”

Tamsin stopped, her teeth chattering. “I missed you.”

He made a sound deep in his throat that might have been a chuckle. “You'll catch your death.” He drew her close and wrapped the edges of the cloak around her. The thick, soft fur was already warmed by the heat of his body. Tamsin snuggled close, resting her head against his chest.

“I did not think I'd ever see this place again,” he said. “Even if this is just the forest's reflection of it, I wanted a last look.”

Waves slipped and slid in an endless shimmer. Tamsin let the play of moonlight fill her consciousness. “Did you live here long?”

“Ever since I won my spurs and became a knight. Arthur gave it to me.”

He said it simply, and yet she heard the longing in his voice for a life he had lost. Tamsin touched his cheek. “You walked away from all this to come to my time.”

“I had a duty to my king.”

There was nothing to say to that. The utter certainty in his tone left no room to argue. Tamsin turned her face into the fabric of his tunic. He smelled of smoke and woodlands. “I'm glad you came to me.”

His lips brushed her hair, his big hand cupping the back of her head. “So am I. Sometimes duty is rewarded.”

Tamsin took a breath to ask the questions burning in her mind: how he felt about her magic now, and what would happen once he'd found his king. Did they have any kind of a future together? And then she let her questions go. There were too many unknowns. Asking wouldn't do a bit of good.

They both fell silent while the ocean lapped and splashed at the rocks in an endless conversation of its own. Tamsin had stopped shivering, but the sharp cold of the air and Gawain's delicious heat led her thoughts toward the night ahead. She tipped her head up in an invitation for another kiss. Gawain pressed his mouth against hers, his breath a warm flame.

He made a pleased sound, as if he had discovered hidden treasure. “I believe I'm done patrolling for the night.”

After that, they returned to the castle. The bedchamber was in the tower, above the room where Tamsin had been reading. Gawain lit the fire, feeding it until a merry blaze chased the damp. He went in search of something to drink while Tamsin warmed her hands and looked around her. In the middle of the room was a bed framed by heavy woven curtains hung from the ceiling. Furs were piled on it for warmth. It was elegant and primitive at once—a bit like Gawain himself.

He returned with a jug of wine and a basket of dried fruit and nut meats. “There are some stores in the kitchen but not much ready to eat. If this can tide us till daylight, we can put together a decent meal in the morning.”

He poured the wine into a heavy metal goblet and then picked up the poker he'd left warming in the fire. He thrust the poker into the wine with a bubbling hiss and then passed the goblet to Tamsin. The steaming brew was spiced with cloves and cinnamon and sweetened with honey.

“Oh, that's good,” she said. The warmth hit her stomach and spread like a miniature sun. She passed the goblet back and watched him drink, the muscles of his throat working as he swallowed.

He returned the goblet to her, brushing her fingers with his, trailing his palm over her waist as she took another sip. Tamsin swallowed as much from nerves as from thirst. They had been together before, but in this place Gawain's manner was subtly different. This was his home, his world, and here he was lord. He leaned closer, his breath fanning the side of her neck. Before she realized what he was doing, he'd slipped the tie from the end of her braid and was loosening the strands. They shone pale in the firelight, crimped to waviness from the tight binding. Gawain arranged her hair over her shoulders, stopping now and again to dig his fingers into the mass, his strong fingers caressing.

“That's better,” he said, his voice dropped low in his chest. “You should wear it loose more often.”

Never had she felt so owned by a man, so much his to pet and enjoy. It left her unsteady. “It gets in the way.”

“But I like it, and you're my woman.”

“I'm
your
woman?” It was so Neanderthal—and yet a thrill of excitement sparked in her belly.

Gawain took the wine from her and set the goblet on top of a chest. “I don't mind my tongue here within these walls, and tonight you are mine.”

And he took her in a scorching kiss that demonstrated how unruly his tongue could be. Tamsin gripped his biceps, needing to steady herself. When they finally pulled apart, she knew Gawain was right—he was done holding back. It struck her that she had no game plan, no way of dealing with Gawain unleashed.

He took both of Tamsin's hands in his. “It will be warmer in bed.”

The bald statement nearly made her laugh, but the look in his eyes stole her breath. Their bright blue was shadowed in this light, turning them to a wicked, smoky darkness. Her stomach flipped. “I don't know,” she said, her words just above a whisper. She'd meant to sound coy, to tease, but the words came out with almost stammering sincerity. She suddenly felt awkward. “It's too cold to take off my clothes.”

Gawain rubbed the dark stubble along his jaw. “I have some ideas that may help with that.”

She gave a slight smile, regaining her footing. “Perhaps you'll go warm up the sheets for me?”

“Oh, yes.” Gawain laughed, the sound low and deep. “I'll play lady's maid, as well, and help you with your garments.”

He scooped her up so quickly she had no time to waver. Instinctively, she clutched at his shoulders, bringing herself yet closer into his embrace. She searched again for a snappy comeback, but none came. They were past banter and into far less predictable waters. “Gawain?”

He kissed her forehead—a soft, light benediction. “There is nothing to worry about here. This is my fortress.”

“How do you know we're safe?” She'd set wards around the castle's perimeter, but they were no more than alarms. They would warn, not defend.

Gawain didn't reply at once. Instead, he carried her to the bed and set her down on the soft, luxurious mound of furs. Then he drew his sword with a long rasp of steel and set the naked blade on the floor beside them. “This is my world, and I know my business here,” he said quietly.

Tamsin's mouth went dry. “I'm sure you do.”

His smile said that he'd intended every innuendo. “Are you still convinced you'll be cold this far from the fire?”

Her heart pounded as he leaned down, the waves of his dark hair glinting auburn in the firelight. He picked up one of her feet. He drew the boot off slowly and let it fall to the floor with a soft thump. His hand closed over her stockinged foot, gently kneading her toes. Even through the fabric, she could feel the heat of his hands. She hadn't realized how tired her feet were until that moment, and she fell back with a blissful groan. The other boot came off the next moment.

“That feels wonderful.” She surrendered her other foot. “You have a future as a love slave. Or maybe a cabana boy.”

The bed shifted with his weight as he knelt beside her. “A true knight knows many weapons beyond a simple blade.”

His fingers dove beneath her skirts and found the top of her right stocking. He'd given her undergarments, as well as the dress, and now she wondered why he had bothered, since they were coming off so soon. He undid the bow of the garter and began sliding it down, fingers trailing against her skin. As he uncovered her ankle, he bent to kiss its hollow, his hair brushing like silk along her calf. Tamsin flinched, heat flaring from her core.

Gawain looked up, a glint in his eye. “Do you like that?”

“I never realized ankles could feel so good.”

“Every inch of a woman's skin deserves respect.” He eased down the other stocking. “Dare I say worship?”

“You dare,” Tamsin murmured. “There isn't much you wouldn't dare.”

“It seems you're coming to know me very well.”

So it went on, one article of clothing after another. Eventually, she wore no more than her shift while Gawain still had his shirt and leggings. “That's not fair,” she complained.

He closed his mouth over hers, stopping her complaint as he cupped her breasts through the fine linen. His thumbs circled her nipples, bringing them to aching points. When he finally broke the kiss, he left behind the taste of wine and spice. Tamsin sucked in a ragged breath of air, her concentration splintering. “Not fair.”

He nipped her ear, making her gasp. “If I touched you skin to skin, my control would not last.”

“And mine?”

His teeth brushed her neck. “You will surrender yours to me, over and over.”

“Is your control so weak you need to steal?”

Gawain pushed her back on the furs. “Then have it your way, Mistress Greene.”

He shed his leggings, his shirt barely veiling the jutting length of his erection. Tamsin's skin heated in a delicious flush of anticipation—and then it flared to electric life when the shirt came off in one impatient tug. The firelight loved him, showing the strength in his limbs with unabashed celebration, as if he was art come to life. She rose up on her elbows, meeting him halfway as he rejoined her. Their lips touched, his forward movement slowing so that their collapse into the soft sea of fur was gradual and luxuriant. They rolled so that Tamsin was on top. She stroked the silky length of him, bending down to taste the salt of his smooth skin. Every cell of her wanted him inside her, but she needed to anchor this moment of sensuality in her memory. That meant taking her time to experience everything.

“If a woman deserves careful admiration,” she whispered, “so does a man.”

His eyes drooped with lazy pleasure, reminding her of some huge cat. His hands crept under the hem of the chemise and glided up her thighs, kneading her flesh. She leaned forward to grant him better access, and his rough, strong palms curved over her buttocks. Bracing her hands on either side of Gawain's head, Tamsin bent to taste his lips. He took the opportunity to slide the chemise upward until she caught it and slipped it over her head. With her arms raised, she was fully displayed for his pleasure.