She had no doubt Jordan would achieve hero status. And he deserved Earth’s thanks. But even better, they were linked forever. He was her shari-ki—for all time.
In your thoughts be kind, in your life be honorable, in your heart be true.
—LADY OF THE LAKE
47
Three months later
Camelot’s graceful walls rose into a blue sky, and Arthur once again rode out, then escorted Vivianne and Jordan into his home. He and Lady Guinevere made them welcome at his feast-laden dining table. Lancelot was away on a spiritual retreat but hoped to return soon. George curled up under the table, where he knew Jordan and Vivianne would sneak him scraps.
“To good friends.” Arthur lifted his cup and drank his wine.
Jordan, Vivianne, and Guinevere followed suit. Jordan raised his wine in another toast. “To success.”
Vivianne clinked hers with Guinevere. “To love.”
“And family,” Guinevere agreed. “I hope you know we consider you part of ours.”
“Speaking of family”—Arthur lowered his voice—“I can’t thank you enough for ending Trendonis’s tyranny.”
“He was your father?” Jordan asked, his tone gentle.
“Yes.” Arthur hung his head.
Guinevere patted his hand. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. You did not pick him to give you life. And you did everything you could to stop him. You are honorable and good.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Jordan lifted his glass.
Arthur raised his head, then clapped Jordan on the back. “You deserve the truth.” Arthur cleared his throat. “My father was born under a power-hungry star. And coveting the power of a dragonshaper, he roamed the galaxy until he stopped on Pendragon. Centuries ago, he mated with a dragonshaper. I was born of that union.”
“And you were supposed to follow your father’s path,” Vivianne guessed.
“Exactly.” Arthur’s eyes burned with fire. “Uther was very disappointed when his methods of domination disgusted me. He had a sickness inside him. And over the centuries it grew worse. The more worlds he conquered, the more evil he became. That’s why I gathered the knights on Earth to stop him.” Arthur clasped Jordan’s forearm. “Thank you for finishing what I could not.”
“Thanking you for saving him from patricide,” Guinevere added.
“After the worlds he destroyed, the people he murdered, you’d think I wouldn’t care if he died by my own hand…”
But clearly Arthur’s heart was torn, and Vivianne was grateful that he did not have to live with his father’s death on his conscience.
Guinevere glanced at Vivianne’s engagement ring and changed the subject. “I’m sorry we’ll miss your wedding, but Arthur, Lancelot, and I wanted you to have this gift.”
With a shy smile, Lady Guinevere handed Vivianne a lacquered box, embedded with gemstones so rare that Vivianne couldn’t identify many of them. Firestones that seemed to capture starlight flickered among opals, aquamarines, and rubies. “It’s gorgeous.”
“Open it.” Arthur poured more wine.
Hands shaking, Vivianne carefully opened the box. Inside was an obviously very ancient scroll. The parchment appeared too delicate to touch. “What is it?”
Arthur grinned. “A legend is written on one side. There’s an ancient star map on the other.”
Jordan watched Vivianne with warmth and curiosity. “What’s the legend say?”
“No one knows. The language is ancient, and we haven’t been able to translate it. But my best scientists believe the map is as old as the Holy Grail.”
Vivianne carefully closed the box to protect the ancient scroll. “Thank you.”
Are you ready to soar off on another adventure, dear? she asked.
Every night is an adventure with you, shari-ki love.
Vivianne hoped her host and hostess wouldn’t see the blush rising up her neck. Jordan was a most inventive and creative lover. And the pleasure he gave her kept her a very happy woman.
Wait and see what I have planned for you tonight, she teased back and sent him a mental picture.
Jordan shifted in his chair. Even as she felt the blood tightening in his groin, she could feel his desire flaming to the surface. And coating that desire was a love as strong as the man himself. A love that would keep burning brightly. A love that was so much a part of her that she could no longer tell where her emotions began and his ended.
Vivianne smiled at her handsome husband. She had no idea if they were going back to Earth. Or off to follow the treasure map. But one thing she knew for certain. Wherever they went next, they would be together.
For always and eternity, Jordan promised.
He was reading her mind again. And wickedly, she shot him another image of what she intended to do once they were alone.
Two can play this game, he warned.
Vivianne almost choked on her wine. And then she laughed happily. Life with Jordan would be long… and it certainly would never be dull.
Life is a gift that is wasted if not lived to the fullest.
—KING ARTHUR PENDRAGON
48
Don’t open your eyes,” Jordan told her as he carried Vivianne, “or you’ll spoil my surprise.”
Vivianne snuggled against his chest. “You’ve been so secretive. I don’t even know where in the galaxy you’ve taken me.”
“Angleterre.”
“Never heard of it.”
“That’s because Angleterre isn’t on any star map.” He kept walking, and she heard George padding beside them. Lifting her head for a clue, she smelled salt and flowers, heard the sounds of waves rolling ashore, felt the tension in his arms as he gently set her down onto her feet in soft grass.
Jordan placed his hands on her hips and angled her slightly. A warm breeze bathed her face. Sunlight heated her skin. And birds chirped in song.
“Now? Can I open my eyes now?”
“Yes.”
Vivianne opened her eyes and gasped. The most perfectly proportioned house perched on a grassy hilltop overlooking a turquoise sea. The gentle slope of the palm-frond-shaded roof suggested a cozy invitation to proceed up the stone path edged with wild ferns and blooming lilies.
“What is this place?” she asked, spying a hammock tied between two palms and instantly feeling at peace.
“Come look.” He took her hand and led her up the walkway. “Angleterre has four seasons, mild winters, warm summers.”
She gasped, recognizing the soaring ceilings, the wide expanses of glass, and the exotic proportions. “You had my favorite architect design this house.”
They walked through the beveled front doors. The living area only had three walls. The back was open to the stunning seascape and a pink sand beach but could be closed for cooler weather. Jordan had even decorated the home in her favorite blush and apricot color scheme.
“This house is lovely.” She twirled around, eyes wide. He’d bought paintings from her favorite artists, picked out sleek contemporary furniture that she loved and mixed it with rich mahogany pieces. The effect was inviting. Warm. Stunning.
“There’s a whirlpool on the back deck and a transporter in the basement.”
She spun around to face him. “A transporter?”
“So you can commute to Earth to work. Welcome home, sweetheart.”
“You built this house for us?”
“There’s five bedrooms upstairs. I wanted to make sure we had room to grow. I want lots of babies.”
“Me, too.” She took his hand, letting him see the joy she felt spilling over her. “And I’d like to get started right now.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. Where’s the closest bedroom?”
Jordan led her to two arched doors with a design etched across them. She’d seen writing like that before on the glass dome that held the Key of Soil.
“What does it say?” she asked.
“I wanted us to each have something from our pasts. The script is my nativ
e language and it says, You’re the missing piece of my puzzle.”
He’d remembered the necklace she’d given to her parents. Her hearts swelled with love. “Oh, Jordan.”
“That means you like the house?” Jordan asked, his eyes sparkling and as blue as the sea outside their back door.
“How could I not like it?” Her hearts beat with joy. “I love the house. And I love you. Let me show you how much.”
Jordan picked her up and spun her around. “Now, that’s my kind of plan.”
Unlock the origins of a legend…
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The precious myths of our heritage are our way of understanding things greater than ourselves. They are tales of the inexplicable forces that shape our lives and of events that defy explanation. These legends are rooted in the spilling of our life blood, in the courage of brave hearts, in the resilience of humanity’s tenacious spirit.
—ARTHUR PENDRAGON
PROLOGUE
In the near future
Slow down, Marisa,” Lucan Roarke warned his twin.
They were deep inside the cave he’d discovered in the Welsh countryside in the shadow of Cadbury Castle, and his helmet light had settled on a gaping crack in the compacted clay of the cavern’s floor. “Don’t step on that—”
“What?” Marisa looked back at him just as the ground opened beneath her feet. Falling, she flailed her arms and clawed at the cave wall for a handhold, but the loose earth crumbled beneath her fingertips, and gravity dragged her down through the crevice into the darkness below.
Lucan lunged to grab her, but the unstable earth lurched and dipped under him, throwing him off balance, and his fingers missed her by inches.
“Marisa!” The sound of splashing water drowned out his cry.
Lucan had brought his sister to Cadbury Castle for a vacation, and he’d been excited to show her this cave—his latest discovery in his quest for the Holy Grail. Although many dismissed the Grail as mythical, his years of exploration and research had convinced him the vessel actually existed.
Lucan peered through the gloom into the chasm, but his helmet light couldn’t penetrate the blackness. Even worse, the earthen sides of the hole made a steep vertical descent. Reaching for the heavy-duty flashlight he carried in his back pocket, he yelled, “Marisa? Talk to me, damn it.”
Nothing but silence answered him.
Closing his eyes, Lucan inhaled deeply and concentrated on linking his mind with hers, a telepathic communication the two had shared since they were little.
Marisa. Where are you?
In the water. Help me. I’m cold.
Heart racing, Lucan shined the flashlight into the darkness and spotted her head above the rushing water.
“Lucan. Here.” Smart enough not to fight the powerful flow of water that tried to sweep her downstream, Marisa swam for the wall at an angle and clung to a rocky ledge.
“Hang on.”
She coughed and sputtered, then shot back, “If I let go, it won’t be on purpose. Hurry. It’s freezing.”
Lucan reached for the rope in his backpack and cursed himself for bringing his sister into the bowels of the cave. He’d sweet-talked her into coming along, desperate to break her out of her funk. Since her latest miscarriage, she’d been fighting off depression. He’d hoped this excursion would take her mind off her loss, at least for a little while. He hadn’t intended to distract her by risking her life and scaring her to death.
He uncoiled the rope, then leaned over the hole to see her lose her grip on the ledge. The current pulled her under. “Marisa!”
A split second later, a pale hand broke through the water and clutched a rock jutting from the wall. Marisa pulled her head and shoulders above the torrent, spat water, and forced her words through shivering lips. “I knew…I should have gone…to Club Med.”
He looped the rope around the biggest boulder within reach. Then he tossed the line down the narrow shaft. “Grab on and I’ll book the next flight to Cancún.”
Marisa stretched for the rope. And missed. Water surged over her head. Again she swam to the surface, but the current had carried her too far downstream to reach the lifeline.
With no other choice, Lucan jumped into the dark shaft. He fell about twelve feet before frigid water closed over his head and ripped away his glasses. His flesh went numb, but he managed to keep a grip on his waterproof flashlight. His lungs seized and his vision blurred. Forcing his shocked limbs to move, he kicked for the surface. And heard Marisa’s scream. Turning around, he swam in the direction where he’d last seen her.
Already his teeth chattered. He struggled for breath, and his waterlogged clothing and boots weighed him down. The raging current swept him under, but his concern was for Marisa. She’d been in this icy water too long. Clenching his teeth, he kicked harder until he was finally close enough to grab Marisa’s shoulders. They had only minutes to find a way out before hypothermia set in.
He pulled her close. “I’ve got you.”
When she didn’t reply, fear poured through his system. Fighting to lift her head above the surface, he shined his light around the cave in search of a shoal or a shallow pool.
Marisa lifted a quaking hand. “There.”
Just ahead, the river forked. One side widened, the other narrowed.
Using most of his remaining strength, he steered them toward the wider fork, praying it wouldn’t take them deeper underground. His prayers were answered when they rounded a bend and the water leveled out onto a dirt embankment.
He pulled Marisa out of the river, and together they lay on the bank, panting, shivering, and exhausted. When she didn’t speak, he aimed the light on her. Her eyes were closed, her face pale, her lips blue. He wrung some of the water from her clothing, then rubbed her limbs with his own freezing hands.
Her eyes fluttered open. “One word…about my hair, and I’ll s-smack you up side the head.”
“You look good in mud.”
She slapped at his shoulder but didn’t have the strength to land the blow.
He smoothed her hair from her eyes. “Save your strength. I don’t want to have to carry you.” She needed to walk to keep the hypothermia at bay.
“W-wuss.” She crawled up the bank until her back rested against a dirt wall.
Lucan focused on survival. “We’ve got to get moving or we’ll freeze.”
“You wrung the water from my clothes. What about you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Of course you’re fine. J-just like when y-you were in Namibia and that black mamba bit you?”
“I lived.”
“Barely.” Marisa took his hand and tried to stand, but her knees buckled. She grabbed the wall behind her for support and it began to collapse on top of them.
Lucan lunged and threw his body over hers, shut his eyes, and prayed they wouldn’t be buried alive. Clumps of cold mud cascaded over them and bounced aside.
“You okay?” Lucan asked.
“Oh, now I’m really having f-fun.” Marisa spat dirt. “So glad you s-suggested”—her teeth chattered uncontrollably—“th-this little vacation.”
Lucan shoved to his feet. “Think what a great adventure story you’ll have to write.”
“I don’t want to be the story.” She rolled her eyes and sighed. “But you love this shit. You’re probably getting off on—”
Wow. Her telepathic thought interrupted her words midsentence. And her amazement came through in waves—surprising waves that peaked with astonishment.
“What?” He spun around to see exactly what had shocked her, and he froze. He focused his flashlight on the unearthed urn, hardly believing his eyes or his luck. The intricate design made dating the piece easy.
“It’s Tintagel ware.”
“Tinta-who?”
“Tintagel ware is an ancient indigenous pottery. Fifth or sixth century. More evidence that Cadbury Castle really was King Arthur’s home base.”
They both jumped aside as another slice of wall and more pottery crashed down, revealing a hidden room. At the sound of breaking terra-cotta, Lucan winced. An ancient scroll poked from the shards, and he dashed to pull the paper from the muddy earth before the dampness reached it.
Old and fragile, the antiquity had survived in amazing condition. He balanced the flashlight between his shoulder and chin, unfurled his find, and squinted, wishing for his lost glasses.
Marisa peered over his arm, her reporter’s curiosity evident. “What is it?”
Lucan stared, his pulse racing in excitement. The astrological map revealed the Sun, the Earth, planets. And many stars. But what had his heart battering his ribs was the line drawn from Earth to a star far across the galaxy. He was looking at an ancient map of the heavens. His mouth went dry. “This is a star map.”
“Why do you sound so surprised? Even the most ancient cultures were into astrology.”
“Astronomy,” he corrected automatically. “I’m no astronomer, but this looks…far too accurate for its time. King Arthur, remember. The Age of Chivalry.”
“Yeah, right.”
Lost in thought, he ignored her sarcasm. “This map has details the Hubble telescope might not pick up, yet it’s thousands of years old. It’s unbelievable.”
“So it’s a fake?”
“I’ll have to perform tests…” He squinted at the map. His gaze moved on to the distant stars and their planets. “Hell.”
“What now?”
He pointed to the map. “This moon is named Pendragon.”
“Wasn’t that King Arthur’s last name?”
He nodded and squinted. “And written right under Pendragon is the word Avalon.”
“Avalon? Is that significant?”
Jordan Page 29
