by Regan Black
“True enough.” He couldn’t fathom why she found it funny. Or why he found it so appealing.
“You prefer the company of women who know their place, don’t you?”
Another trap. He didn’t want to be her enemy, despite her verbal barbs. They couldn’t afford to be at odds while the witch possessed the dagger. “I am not familiar enough with your customs here to answer.”
She laughed again and the sound rolled over him like the hot, delectable caress of the fresh water in the shower at the house. His imagination leaped into action, filling his mind with images Tara would undoubtedly find offensive. This was neither the time nor place for such diversions. As one of Arthur’s knights, as a student of skilled sorcerers, Wayne had developed a high standard of discipline and self-control.
For a moment, he wondered if time and fate had conspired to put Tara in his path. The dagger, by her own admission, had been in the care of men until her generation. It could not matter. His squire had had offspring and such a development guaranteed Wayne would be called forward to prevent the horrendous consequences.
“Come on, Sterling,” Tara said. “Let me get you and your man dinner and a pint.”
He watched the woman lead his dog through the store room to the kitchen doorway. “You have to wait here,” she said. “Stay.”
Sterling halted obediently, his ears perked in curious anticipation. Wayne’s stomach rumbled in a human equivalent of the hound’s interest. While the hound’s attachment to Tara should recommend her, Wayne found it irksome as well. In all their years, the dog had shown no previous disloyalty or affection for another person. Connected as they were, Wayne knew it wasn’t precisely disloyalty the hound was exhibiting. As much as he wanted to believe the new behavior was solely about their survival in this strange time and place, he sensed the hound’s actions stemmed from a deeper source. A source he was loathe to examine just now.
Tara returned with a bowl in each hand and Sterling scrambled to his feet. But she didn’t serve the dog, instead she turned to him.
“Is this okay?” she asked. “It’s plain poached chicken and rice, with a fresh egg on top.”
He nodded, moved by her respect and gracious offer for his companion. “Thank you.”
She set the bowls down and dusted off her hands, smiling again as the hound gobbled up the offering. “You saw the specials, what sounds good to you?”
He wanted to remind her they should leave, but his mouth watered as he remembered the hot roast beef sandwich. The savory scents were heavy in the air of the bustling kitchen. “The beef and bread, please.”
“And what kind of ale?” she asked with a wink.
The exhaustive beverage choices had baffled him. “You decide for me.”
Her auburn eyebrows rose. “Challenge accepted. Will he be okay to wait back here while we eat at the bar?”
Wayne nodded, quickly communicating his intention to the hound. The tables and booths were full now, and still more people were crowding the spaces in between. Though he’d heard the sounds building through the office walls, it was overwhelming to be in the midst of it.
This couldn’t be normal, the constant, simmering background noise of this time. He longed for the quiet of his era. He wanted to cover his ears and get far away. Gritting his teeth, he followed her into the din.
In the corner a group of musicians had begun to play, the instruments strange and louder than any he’d known. “What is it they are doing?”
She set a foaming pint glass in front of him, a smile tugging at her lush mouth. “You don’t care for the entertainment?”
“What is it called?”
“Music.” She patted his hand. “Rock and roll.”
He felt the rhythm of the song pounding through the floor. For a moment he was overcome with the onslaught of sensations he couldn’t put into any context. Not just the assault on his ears, but the mingled scents of people, the clothing that left little to a man’s - or a woman’s - imagination. He berated himself for agreeing to stay for food.
“They aren’t as bad as you think,” she assured him with a wink.
He sipped the cold ale, marveling at the smooth, rich taste. “A bard used to pride himself on being understood,” he muttered.
She’d heard him. He could see it in the way her mouth quirked and her eyes twinkled. Her elbows propped on the bar top, she leaned closer, eye to eye at last. “Here we go again with the contradictions. You walked through the sensory overload of Times Square this morning and didn’t bat an eye.”
“I was focused on you.”
His simple statement was not well received. He could tell by the furrow between her brows and the way her full lips parted on a gasp. He reconsidered his words and couldn’t find the problem. He’d come through that portal to her and her cousin who resembled Peter so closely. Still, Tara had been a beacon amid all those strange sights and sounds. He’d come awake for a singular purpose and he needed to remember that now. He shouldn’t notice things like the creamy skin under her freckles. He sure as hell shouldn’t be giving any thought to wondering how her lips tasted.
“Order up, Tara,” a man shouted, setting two plates at the pass-through.
She jerked as if someone had pulled her up by a string. With a lingering look, she turned to pick up the plates.
His mouth watered as she slid one plate in front of him. The savory scents of roasted beef, onions, and pepper rising with the steam. She’d given him knife and fork, but he gripped the thick slabs of bread in both hands and lifted it to his mouth. Heaven. Even better than the meal she’d prepared for him earlier. He took another bite, relishing every taste. Wedges of golden potatoes, fried crisp, were piled high on the other half of his plate. He bit into one and scorched his mouth, but it was worth it for the blend of seasonings and flavors.
“Enjoying yourself?” she asked, arching one auburn eyebrow.
“Immensely.” He’d rarely gone hungry during his life and never after joining with Arthur. There had been delectable feasts, none of them quite like this.
“What foods do you miss most?”
“All of them. I’ve been sleeping for generations,” he reminded her. Her green gaze slid over his shoulders, telegraphing her thoughts. “I cannot adequately explain how my body remained healthy.”
“No need to try,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll just appreciate the view.” Her smile warmed him more than the food. “You wouldn’t have been any good to anyone if you’d woken from the spell weak and emaciated.”
He appreciated her acceptance of details he couldn’t explain. She was unique among women, and not simply because she had the running of the family business. He suspected she would be unique in any era. “Food here is different,” he said when he’d downed half of his meal. “Plentiful. No one must go hungry.”
“Sadly,” she began, “you’d be wrong.” The sparkle faded from her lovely green eyes as she turned her gaze to the back door. “We have more homeless and hungry than ever before in the city.”
He thought of Arthur’s core values, all the principles they had tried to instill, and wondered where the king’s idyllic dreams and intentions had been diverted. Then again, Wayne knew firsthand many people lacked the generosity of spirit and character that set Arthur apart. Even in his own time, integrity had regularly been crushed by greed and lust. Maybe this world was not so different from his.
He didn’t have time to ponder it further as Sterling stood suddenly, his lip curled. A warning growl sounded, in his head rather than in his ears. Wayne immediately transitioned, using the hound’s eyes to see what he could not.
Someone lurked outside the service door at the rear of the kitchen. The hound could not get a clear view, though he’d scented trouble.
“Lovely,” Tara muttered.
“What is it?” Wayne asked, pulling his vision back to her.
She gave a subtle tip of her head toward the front door. “Those two have trouble written all over them.”
A
nd his hound felt the same about the movement at the back door. Wayne didn’t believe it was a coincidence. Presuming this was the witch, she’d moved even faster than he’d expected. He subtly examined the men Tara didn’t care for, unable to spot what concerned her. “Do you know them?” he asked.
She shook her head and went back to her meal. “I know the type.”
A dull ache began in his head and he blamed it on bouncing between his natural vision and his connection with his hound.
“Wayne?” Tara gave his shoulder a firm shake. “Are you all right?”
He blinked several times to bring her lovely face into focus. “You’re pretty.” The words were as thick as wool in his mouth.
“Wayne.” Her voice was urgent as she stroked a thumb over his brow. “You’re scaring me. Snap out of it.”
“No.” He could watch her for hours, years really. She embodied the perfection of the feminine form, despite her language and odd clothing. He couldn’t complain, the view served him well, did it not? He looked at the men nearest him, felt their eyes on Tara. The sweet sensation of desire turned possessive and jealous. No other men should look at her. No one but him.
“Get to the kitchen,” he ordered her. Her eyes narrowed and she snapped her fingers in front of his nose. He saw her lips moving but he could not make out the words. He knew only that she would not obey him. “Enough!” He pushed back from the bar, startled that his knees were less than reliable. He’d address that problem once he gave Tara a lesson in respect. And modesty. Reaching across the bar top, he snagged her by the elbow. In his head he heard the hound growl.
“Come with me.” This discussion would go over better in private. Where he alone could gaze at her beauty and discover the taste of her generous mouth.
“Sterling!” she cried out, wrenching her arm free of his grasp.
That would never do. How dare she call his hound? The visual connection evaporated, though he hardly cared about the activity in the kitchen right now. He was consumed with getting her back to the office where he could have a word. A word and a kiss, to be more specific. “Tara, -”
The hound slammed into his knees, knocking him down. A woman screamed and a great crash sounded near his head. He gawked, confused, as glass from a shattered beer mug sparkled through the air and across the floor in slow motion.
The hound barked sharply at his ear. In a rush of heat and sound like a steaming kettle, Wayne’s mind cleared. He turned in time to see Sterling sink his teeth into the arm of the man who’d stolen the dagger. The magic was evident now that Wayne was no longer under its muddling influence.
The men who’d put Tara on edge were not the source. They reeked of magic outside themselves. A magic he recognized from the attack in the office. The damned sorceress had sent them in search of the magician who’d broken her crafty spying device. He swore bitterly and waded into the fray.
Wayne had to go through more than a few exuberant customers eager to trade punches with anyone nearby. He knocked them back one by one until he stood with his hound, the two of them against the wiry thief.
Wayne struck a blow to the thief’s jaw, felling him in an instant. “To Tara!” Sterling released at his command, racing around the bar to stand between her and the man who’d burst in from the kitchen.
The thief’s companion dispensed with a customer and rounded on Wayne, a knife gleaming menacingly under the lights of the tavern. “Come with me and no one gets hurt.”
Now the customers scattered, pressing against the walls or fleeing the bar as they were able. “You are the only one destined for pain, my friend,” Wayne replied. He leaped back from the first wild swing of the blade, looking for his opening. As they sized each other up, he noted every detail from the dull color of the man’s hair to the strange tattoo on his wrist.
Wayne heard the rumbling snarls from the other side of the bar and knew Sterling defended Tara. Holding his opponent at bay, he wondered how much magic could he risk in front of so many uninformed citizens? Did it even matter? He could not risk staying here in the pub. They had to escape cleanly without being followed. He picked up a chair and tossed it at the man’s head, whispering words to keep it in the air a bit longer than natural. When the man raised his arms to protect himself, Wayne ducked low and plowed a fist into his belly.
The man gasped for air and dropped the knife as the heavy chair came down on his head. Wayne cast another quick spell, making the chair too heavy to move before he turned toward Tara.
She was throwing glassware at the last man, who advanced on her with a cleaver while the hound lunged and retreated, dividing the assailant’s attention. Wayne stalked closer, unnoticed until it was too late. Picking up a dark jug, he dropped it like a hammer on the last man’s head. He toppled like a tree in front of Tara and Sterling.
“This way.” Wayne reached for her hand, to help her over the fallen man. Together with Sterling, they bolted around the corner. He blew the lock off the office rather than wait for her to fumble with the key. They weren’t leaving anything significant behind anyway. He grabbed his jacket and sword, handing her her coat and bag. They left through the kitchen door, dashing down the alley to the main street, Sterling loping along at his side. The short route was littered with scattered threads of magic, some matching the man who’d been intent on Tara, others that lined up with the witch who’d hired the thief.
“What now?” Tara asked, trying to catch her breath.
They walked down the street away from the pub. By some tacit agreement, they didn’t walk toward the house. “We need to hide.” Rattled, he didn’t waste his energy on any glamour. The witch surely knew their faces now.
“The safe house is the best bet,” she murmured.
Wayne wasn’t convinced, though he didn’t have an alternative. Every person was a threat, a stranger able and willing to attack them. He was relying solely on Sterling for warning. “How do you tell friend from foe here?”
“You learn as you grow up.”
“I am grown,” he snapped. He halted when she gripped his arm to prevent him from barreling through the crowd of people waiting to cross a busy street.
It was all he could do to breathe. He understood her meaning but he did not have the luxury now of time to understand the inherent threats of this time and place. There were too many people sharing the same air, air clogged with choking fumes and unfamiliar scents. Going after the witch alone might be unwise, even if it put her and her cousin in danger.
“How does anything live here?” he asked, his voice rasping.
Sterling leaned against his thigh. Tara curled her hand over his arm. They gave him shelter and comfort he was too pathetic to deny. Their gestures shamed him nearly as much as they helped.
He felt weak as a boy, his broadsword weighing heavy on his back, dragging at his shoulder. He’d taken on too much - then and now - attempting to interrupt the witch’s plan. He didn’t have the knowledge or power to defeat her. The buildings towered over him, closed in. He longed for the quiet of a horse and forest. His only thought was to get back to his time, to get away. Away from the people, the noise, the girl at his side.
It was all too much... too much to bear. The people around them moved forward, but his legs refused to cooperate. The burden of life and magic, history and hopelessness, pressed in on him until his knees gave out. He couldn’t breathe. The hound barked. The woman spoke and all he heard was gibberish. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now that she had control. He was no match against the plans of a powerful witch. Useless and small, he saw with perfect clarity the utter failure of his quest.
The hound bit his hand, clamping down with enough pressure to bring Wayne back from the brink. He looked down into Sterling’s dark eyes. Shaking his head, he battled against the overwhelming messages of disaster intended to weaken him.
“Where are you hiding, Morgana,” he muttered, searching for the witch who’d been aiming her delusions at him.
“Taxi!” Tara’s shout cleared awa
y the rest of the mystical haze and as the sounds and myriad sensations of the city rushed at him from all sides, he felt his strength returning.
“Show yourself!” he roared. The people nearby shied away at his outburst. Desperate, heedless of the consequences, he cast an illumination spell.
He spotted her standing brazenly near the corner of a building across the street, her glossy hair shining under the glow of a streetlight. She appeared damned healthy after being locked away for centuries, away from any contact to the human or magic realms. “There.” He elbowed Tara, urging her to confirm what he saw, but the woman fled, the tails of a dark cloak swirling as she ducked out of his sight.
As he moved to follow the blasted witch Tara pulled him toward the open door of the yellow vehicle stopped at the curb. Soon he was confined, wedged between the woman and his hound. “Did you see her?”
Tara didn’t answer him, her attention was on the driver shouting at her through the clear divider between the seats. Tara gave him an address Wayne didn’t recognize.
“We can’t leave,” he protested, twisting around in the seat. Morgana must be found, captured, and stopped. Forever this time. “We must follow her!”
“Not tonight.”
“I saw her,” he argued as the taxi took them further from his goal.
“Me too.” Tara shuddered. “I think we all did,” she added, looking past him to the dog.
“Then we must -”
“Get you to a hospital,” she retorted. “Somewhere safe.”
“No.” He couldn’t let that witch gain a foothold in this world. “We must go back and find her.”
“Not tonight.” She raised her hand quickly to his face and instead of the slap he expected, she gently swiped the spot between his nose and lip. She held her thumb to the light, showing him the result. “You’re bleeding.”
“Impossible. The man at the bar -”
“Barely touched you.” She opened her bag and pulled out a wispy square of paper. “I know. Use this to put pressure on it.”
