The blue lights hovered, twinkling above a field of wheat newly sprouted. Kendra walked slowly down the gently sloping hill toward the awe-inspiring sight, her heart pounding fearfully, her palms sweating. Within a hundred yards of the phenomenon, she felt the oddly familiar feeling of a magnetic pull, tugging her toward the lights. As she slowly approached, her eyes transfixed on the sight above her, the blue orbs began to spin, slowly at first, then faster, spiraling downward toward the field where she was walking.
Kendra stopped, or tried to stop, but the momentum of the pull was too great. Involuntarily her legs moved forward, her skin vibrating as though inhabited by a million bumblebees. Panic seized her. What if Cennach was wrong? What if she didn't return to her own time at all? And Navarre—she was leaving Navarre. For what? An uncle who loved her and would want her to stay wherever she was happy? A life she had desperately wanted to run away from, a sorrow that would now be compounded with new sorrow, the loss of Navarre?
No! Her mind screamed as the mystic wind suddenly whirled around her, as though some heavenly switch had been thrown and the floodgates of time reopened. She wanted Navarre. She didn't care if she had to live without civilization. She could do it as long as he was by her side. Her baby would be fine. Fine. She would take every precaution, tell Navarre exactly what to do. It would work—it had to work!
"No!" she shouted, finding her voice at last as the eerie wind churned around her, lifting her long auburn hair straight up, twisting it, as though giant, unseen hands sought to braid the silken strands. She could hear Marian shouting as the blue lights converged above her and the force wove itself around her, spinning her into an invisible web. Kendra felt her bag being wrenched from her shoulder, and watched as it sailed above her head. The flap on the satchel opened and the gun, hidden within, was plucked from its depths by invisible fingers. The weapon flew straight up—and disappeared. The bag fell back into Kendra's arms and she gave one last desperate lunge against the power holding her hostage. Her legs would not move. It was too late. Kendra threw back her head and wept as the twinkling blue lights descended.
Navarre's joy had quickly faded as the miles passed and time seemed to be flying ahead of him, an elusive quarry he could not catch. He cursed himself as he rode, cursed himself with every breath he took, every mile he crossed. He was a selfish coward, an inexcusable barbarian, a callous knave. If he had only talked to her, heard her out about her time—definitely not ordered her to stay—perhaps she would not have run away from him. Perhaps they would even now be awaiting the circle of time together.
"God help me," he breathed. A storm was brewing. He'd already been drenched with rain, lightning crashing scant yards away from him, and he knew it was not over yet. The clouds above were simply biding their time, gathering to pound out their tumultuous fanfare, no doubt when it would most detain him. Was it God's way of preventing him from reaching Kendra in time? Was He punishing the knight for his selfishness?
But the lightning didn't touch him as the storm broke a second time, and as Kamir finally mounted the crest of the hill that led to the Abury plains, Navarre pulled up on the reins, his vision marred by the sheets of wind and rain crashing down across the fields of wheat below him. Kamir danced beneath him almost in a frenzy, then suddenly the wind stopped, the clouds cleared away, and in the center of a field he saw Kendra, standing alone.
A circle was being woven around her, pressing the budding grain down to the ground by a force of incredible strength. He watched in awe as stalk after fragile stalk of new wheat was bent down around Kendra, frozen in the center of the newly forming sculpture. Blue lights glimmered above her as she stared upward, then the lights began twirling and moving, around and around, circling around her head as a new torrent of sound and power swept over the plains.
Kamir reared up on his hind legs and Navarre almost lost his seat as the horse's hooves plunged back to the earth. Then Kendra screamed, a single word wrenched from her echoing across the valley and up to Navarre. With a cry he had not uttered since Outremer, the knight kicked Kamir into action and tore down the hillside as the blue lights descended upon the woman he loved.
Navarre pounded across the plain, feeling the incredible pull of the circle's power, feeling the frantic buzz beneath his skin he had felt only once before in his lifetime. Kamir slid to a stop as he shouted for her to take his arm. She stared up at him, her eyes unseeing. Frantically he reached for her, but found himself shoved suddenly backward as the blue lights surged downward again, encircling her. He could see her slim form shimmering within the azure glow, and for a moment, part of Kendra was not there. The circle was taking her away.
"Kendra!" Screaming her name, Navarre urged Kamir forward and tried to plunge into the now dizzying whirlpool engulfing his own true love. The power pushed him back again, keeping him from entering the strangely hypnotic pattern weaving around her. The blue lights shivered in perfect synchronization and Navarre could have sworn he heard laughter from somewhere far away.
"Kendra!" he shouted again, and this time, Kendra turned and looked at him, her eyes focusing momentarily. "My hand!" he shouted. "Take my hand!"
Lethargically. Kendra reached out one hand to him. The blue lights increased their rhythm, the surge of force pushing against him and Kamir increasing as well, and he found he could not reach her. He would not yield. Navarre punched his fist into the current swelling against him, punched again and again until at last he punched through and touched Kendra's hand. Too late, he realized he could not save her. Too late he knew that he, himself, was being sucked into the churning maelstrom whirling around them. Her fingers closed around his and suddenly, without his knowing exactly how it happened, she was in his arms.
The azure lights grew frenzied as their spiraling dance grew brighter and brighter until Navarre could not see the woman beside him. Navarre reached out and twisted one of his hands into Kamir's mane, while the other held Kendra more tightly against him as he felt the surge of power bubble up through the both of them like clear, cold water, a fountain of illumination coursing through their souls.
"Navarre," Kendra gasped, throwing her head back and gazing up into his eyes one last time, "don't let me go."
"Never," he promised, "I'll never let you go again." Navarre pressed his lips against hers, and the world exploded into blue and then black, and finally, into nothingness.
Epilogue
« ^
"Marian, Marian—stop that this instant!"
Kendra stood with hands on her hips, her blue eyes flashing in a no-nonsense way that four-year-old Marian should know meant business. The little girl stopped scribbling on the wall and hid the crayon behind her back.
"Yef, Mommy," the cherub-faced mite lisped. She lifted her chin and thrust her lower lip out petulantly, crossing her arms over her chest in a very adult manner. "But Daddy said I could."
Kendra O'Brien de Galliard whirled around and confronted yet another transgressor, this one large and crawling around on the floor, a crowing six-year-old boy on his back.
"Navarre, did you tell Marian she could color on the walls again?"
The tall, broad-shouldered man dumped the boy off, then began tickling him mercilessly. "Do you yield to the Black Knight? Do you?" he asked as the boy squealed, happily hysterical before promptly kicking his foe in the knee. Navarre howled quite convincingly and the little boy jumped to his feet, pushed his father flat, then placed his foot strategically across the back of the man's neck.
"Never! Take that, you old Black Knight. I, Robin Hood, have beaten you!"
"Again?" Kendra said, laughing as she swung the redheaded boy off his conquered foe and up into her arms. "Really, Rob, you ought to let your father win just once."
The boy shook his head. "Nope, that wouldn't be honorable, Mommy. A man has to fight his own fights."
"Oh, is that so? I wonder where you heard that."
Navarre rose with a groan and put his arm around his wife, smiling down at her, his golden eyes q
uickening as his gaze slid over the form-fitting green suit she wore. "Did you want something, darling? No? Well, I do. I'll just get rid of the children and—"
"Did you or did you not tell Marian that she could draw on the wall?" Kendra demanded huffily, refusing to be swayed by the ever more powerful attraction she had for her broad-shouldered husband. He had slimmed down some, since in the twentieth century there was no need to swing broadswords and carry a ton of armor on horseback, but he worked out three times a week at a local gym and rode Kamir every weekend across their farm. She had no complaints.
"Are you not the one who said that children must be given freedom if they are to grow up to be healthy individuals?" he asked, cocking one dark brow in her direction.
Kendra glared up at him. Even after six years of living in the modern world, sometimes a hint of old England reappeared. She loved it. She loved him, though at the moment love was not the first word that came to mind.
"That isn't what I meant and you know it, now—"
"Time! Time!" A gruff voice called from the doorway. Kendra and Navarre turned as Rob and Marian squealed loudly and ran to attack the elderly man entering the room. Arthur Mackenzie bent down to gather his grandniece and nephew into his arms, and Kendra took advantage of the moment to kiss Navarre.
"What was that for?" he said softly, slipping his arms around her waist and pulling her tightly against him.
"Nothing," she replied, lifting her hand to brush a stray lock of hair back behind his ear. "You know, I'm still not sure I like your hair this way."
He ran his fingers through the closely cropped dark hair that was still long enough to fall over his forehead in a rakish way.
"Well, once Mac gives me a new beat I'll grow it out for you. Anything to please milady."
"All right, you two," Mac said, having settled the children in separate chairs with new coloring books, crayons and a candy bar apiece. "Come on, come on, I haven't got time to sit here and watch you two moon at each other. I swear, for an old married couple the two of you sure take the cake."
Navarre frowned. "Take the cake?"
Kendra rushed in quickly. There were still a few terms Navarre wasn't familiar with, though the list was growing shorter all the time. "So what's up, Mac?" she asked. "What's the big secret about and why did you want us to bring the kids?"
"I happen to like the kids," he said, circling around the desk and pausing to admire Marian's handiwork on the wall. "Hmmm, I think this one's going to be an artist instead of a journalist like her old man and ma."
He spun around and plopped himself down behind his desk. "Yessir, I was never more thrilled than the day that you came back from England with Gaily here and announced you'd eloped with a total stranger."
Navarre glowered down at the man. "Mac, you may call me Navarre, you may call me Son, you may call me Hey you if you so desire, but I have told you a thousand times, do not call me Gaily."
"Sorry, Son, old habits die hard."
"I seem to remember that day too," Kendra said, sliding one leg over the edge of Mac's desk, her blue eyes mischievous. "I don't think 'thrilled' was exactly what I'd call your reaction," she said. "More like 'insane.' "
"It was a surprise, I admit," Mac said, "but I came around pretty fast, considering. I still don't understand how Rob came to be born only seven months after you met this guy but—"
"Mac!" Kendra jerked her head toward her son, her eyes wide with meaning.
"Sorry."
"I explained that," Kendra said. "Didn't you ever hear of a premature baby?"
"Sure," Mac said, nodding his gray head thoughtfully, then his face split into a grin, "just not an eight-pound one!"
"Mac, I swear I'm going to—"
"Okay, okay, enough. The reason I asked my star reporter and her erstwhile photographer down here is that I have an exciting story I want the two of you to cover."
Navarre moved forward and stood beside Kendra, his golden eyes alert, his reporter's instincts already thrown into high gear. Kendra watched him affectionately. When they'd returned from England she'd worried about Navarre at first, fearful he wouldn't be able to find his niche in her modern, crazy world. A passport had been an initial problem, but they'd looked up her little friend Sean whose less-than-savory brother had, in return for Kendra agreeing not to turn him in for giving his kid brother a gun, provided everything Navarre needed to prove he existed.
Kendra and Navarre had stayed in England for a few days after their voyage through the circle, but it soon became obvious to Kendra that the sight of his native land, so altered, so different, was more than Navarre could handle. And if London was too much, she was terrified of what he would think of New York. To her astonishment, he loved it. He loved Mac. He loved walking down Fifth Avenue. He loved bagels and cream cheese and delis and he especially loved the movies.
After a few weeks of exploring on his own, and getting into some interesting scrapes, Navarre had begun tagging along with her on the job and had nagged her to teach him everything she knew about cameras. Before long he had surpassed her knowledge and had turned to Mac and any other able-bodied newsman to teach him. About the same time he had started taking a course in government at the local community college, and by the time Rob had been born, she had a man on her hands who was determined to do something to help end corruption in American politics. And what better way than to investigate that corruption and expose it for all the world to see than through photo-journalism?
"America's future is not yet decided," he had explained to Kendra. "So perhaps here I can make a difference."
The Galaxy, Mac's tabloid brainchild, had died a natural death after the first six months and Mac was so happy that Kendra was married and Navarre had promised to keep her out of trouble, he decided to put the two of them on the Washington beat, then sat back to watch the sparks fly. And fly they had, from the beginning. Navarre had a natural flare for his job, and their articles had quickly gotten a great deal of attention. Kendra pushed the pleasant memories aside and turned her attention back to Mac.
"So don't keep us in suspense," she urged, "what's the big deal?"
Mac's blue eyes twinkled beneath his salt and pepper brows.
"It's an unusual scoop and I think the two of you are ideally suited to cover it," he said, leaning forward, pressing his hands down on the top of the desk. "And I have the inside track. I'm sending you to England to cover the find of the century."
Kendra and Navarre shot each other a hesitant glance.
"Did I hear you say the find of the century?" Kendra raised one auburn brow skeptically. "That doesn't sound like you, Mac."
"I know it, but this is different. A friend of mine who is an archaeologist has discovered the writings of an ancient scientist whose theories and mathematics were centuries ahead of anything of his time! He talks of relativity, quantum physics—it's incredible."
"Sounds like a hoax to me," Kendra said uneasily, trying to ignore the alarm ringing in her head.
"Aye, I mean, yes, to me as well," Navarre agreed, taking Kendra's hand and squeezing it gently. "I'm surprised at you, Mac."
"Now look you two, this is on the level, and since the two of you met in England, and since I know you haven't gone back since you came to America, Navarre, I thought you might like a little vacation in your native land."
"This is rather sudden, Mac," Navarre said, glancing at Kendra. She nodded and folded her arms across her chest.
"I agree. Are there any details about this man? Who he was? When he lived?" Kendra asked, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu as Mac shuffled through his papers, then looked up at her and smiled.
Something was going on but she wasn't sure yet what it was. Mac's eyes were twinkling the way they did when he was one up on someone else. She usually got a kick out of it—unless it was turned on her.
"Yes," he beamed. "His name was Cennach and he lived in the twelfth century. His records begin about the year 1174 and continue until the year 1215."
Kendra heard Navarre drop something behind her, then felt his arm slip around her, his hand squeezing her shoulder conveying his concern. Somehow she maintained her composure, though her insides were trembling as Mac continued to talk.
"But that isn't the most interesting part," he went on.
"Really?" Kendra said faintly.
"There was a letter along with the papers—a letter addressed to Kendra and Navarre de Gaillard."
"How—how unusual," she stuttered.
"Yes, isn't it?" Mac circled around the desk and leaned back against it, folding his arms across his chest. "Not two names you hear everyday."
"No, you certainly don't." Navarre murmured.
"It's certainly an odd coincidence," Kendra said, her voice sounding strained even to her own ears. "Maybe—"
"Save it for the funny papers," Mac said flatly.
"Huh?" Kendra ran her tongue across her dry lips but couldn't seem to speak.
Navarre cleared his throat. "Now, Mac, you don't possibly think—"
"Never kid a kidder, son." Mac's mouth twitched slightly as he nudged Kendra's chair with his toe. "Isn't there something you'd like to get off your chest—Brat?"
Kendra glanced over at Navarre, who had also sat down as though the bones had been taken suddenly from his legs. He looked at Kendra and shrugged.
"He'll never believe it anyway," Navarre said.
"Believe what?" Mac asked.
"Well," Kendra began, "it all started with a storm." She smiled. "And a knight, and a damsel in distress."
"Is this a fairy tale, Mommy?" her son bounced across the room to her, hanging on her arm and looking up eagerly into her face.
Tess Mallory - Circles in Time Page 37
