Enchanted Guardian

by Sharon Ashwood

  “Keep that promise,” she said, untying the silk cord that laced her bodice. “Make me believe it.”

  And suddenly the familiar old place and the familiar old style of clothes had their effect. Dulac was in the present but in the past, too, with an opportunity to finally rewrite their story. He had them naked and between the sheets in under a minute. Her skin was cool, but he had heat enough for both of them. Their lips met once, twice, and then he was claiming her in earnest, suckling one lip and then the other until her mouth was soft and swollen and eager to kiss.

  As soon as she was restlessly moving under his hands, he began a slow conquest of her skin, nibbling first at her fingertips and then her wrists. He traced the fine blue veins beneath her olive skin, following them to the crease of her elbow. There was an art to such pleasure, a way of arousing every inch of flesh in turn, but it took patience and technique. In other words, it was a man’s art, not a boy’s, and the precision and concentration that had made him a champion with the lance served him well when it came to the female body.

  From her arms, he inevitably came to her breasts. He had tasted them many times, but now he had daylight and time on his side. The areolae were a deep pinkish brown, perfect and beautiful. They were flushed and warm from his attentions all around them, and now he took one in his mouth to suckle. The softness of her breasts was like a cloud against his cheek, the scent of her intoxicating. His heart thundered, the heat in his cock pooling and stiffening. Nimueh moved under him, undulating and making soft noises in her throat. Such pleasure was nearly a madness.

  Her fingers were warm now, raking through his hair to cup his face for another kiss. She moved like no other woman he’d ever had. Some were like cats, lithe and fierce, but she was something more—as elemental as wind or wave, calling to something deep inside him. He was drawn the way a plant seeks sunlight. He needed her to live.

  When he finally entered her, the heat and wetness threatened to undo him the instant he found her most intimate place. All that kept him in control was the need to please her. If he was lucky, if he could delight her enough, the primitive part of his brain said she might love him still.

  He thrust deep, drawing a gasp from Nimueh. Her eyelids fluttered, the bright green of her irises like a glimpse of emerald fire. A smile played at the corners of her mouth, showing flashes of dimples the world never saw. He knew this teasing mood and reveled in it, nipping her ears and the tip of her nose. She leaned up, taking his lips with a graze of teeth. The shock of pain thrilled down his spine, pulling a sound from deep in his chest. She grinned, flexing something inside her abdomen as he thrust again.

  The world began to dissolve at the edges, his sanity blackening and burning to ash. Nimueh clutched her long legs around him, readying for the final ride. It came on him like a storm, driving him on and on until he felt her surrender. She shuddered and rolled up to meet him again, tears escaping from the corners of her eyes. Her nails dug deep into his shoulders, sharp enough to slice skin. Already on the cusp between pleasure and agony, Dulac moaned. Lightning seemed to surge inside him and he spilled his seed, all control falling before the need to possess.

  Reality fell to rags. He sagged to his elbows, breath pumping like bellows. Nimueh was below him, staring into his eyes, though her own gaze seemed blind. Sweat glistened along her cheekbones, adding to the sharp exoticism of her face. She really was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. Her lips parted, plump rubies showing the delicate whiteness of her teeth. That simple thing nearly made him come a second time.

  He rolled aside just enough to relax and then pulled her to him, her rounded rump against his belly. Nothing got better than this. But then, as sleep stole over him, he nuzzled her neck and felt LaFaye’s collar.

  He was wide-awake in an instant. There was only one way he could save her—by killing every knight the Queen of Faery put in his path.

  Chapter 25

  Nim woke alone, the sheets beside her already cold. Old memories reared and she sat up quickly, her head spinning with the sudden movement. By the light, the sun was just up, the air still cool and moist. Birds welcomed the morning with full-throated joy. She strained to hear past the morning chorus, but nothing else stirred. The last time she had woken up this way, Lancelot had left her.

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed, eerie familiarity overtaking her. She pulled on her chemise and wrapped herself in a shawl, shivering against the morning chill. Then she padded barefoot into the hall below, retracing the steps she’d trod so many years ago.

  This time, though, Lancelot sat on the grass outside. Beaumains had taken the horses back to Medievaland for the night, but Lancelot had kept his saddlebags. He had one opened on the ground before him and was munching trail mix from a plastic container. His welcoming smile broke like sunshine through mist and filled her with giddy relief. The spell of the past was broken.

  “You need to eat more than that. We missed dinner last night.” She blushed. The reason for the forgotten meal was all too clear in his heated gaze. “There are provisions in the larder. Let me find something to cook.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself. I told Beaumains to bring us a hot breakfast,” Lancelot said, rising to his feet. “In the meantime, I have power bars if you want one.”

  Nim glanced at the incongruously bright packaging and shook her head. “I’m too nervous about today to think about eating myself.”

  He took her by the shoulders and gave her a lingering kiss that chased away the last of the shadows. She slid her arms around his neck and returned it, tasting the salt and sweet of the snack still clinging to his lips.

  Then madness took her and she was off like a butterfly, running through the dew-soaked grass with her shawl flying behind her. She jumped over a bubbling streamlet, her toes digging into the soft moss beside it. A squirrel scampered up a tree to scold her, but she just laughed. She could hear Lancelot behind her, chasing her as he used to do. There was a reason he’d learned such agile footwork in battle, no matter how treacherous the terrain. The woods of the Forest Sauvage were their playground, and he had eventually learned to beat her at her own game.

  She counted on him beating her. Her path took her around the castle and to a plateau behind it, where rowan trees hung low with berries. Lancelot caught her by the waist and swung her around until they fell in the soft grass. She yelped and sprang up, then danced around the trees with her skirts flying. He dodged one way, then the other, feinting and lunging after her. The play finally settled into a game of tag that had no rules, only chances to touch and almost touch. When he finally caught her a second time, it was Nim who pulled him into the grass. She straddled him then, teasing him with butterfly kisses until he grabbed her, impatient for the real thing.

  They rolled, kissing and laughing, not serious yet but losing their lightness. Both were too aware of what the day would bring to wholly lose themselves in play any longer. Now that Nim had stopped running, she could feel iron dread in her chest, as if every breath was an act of optimism.

  They finally stopped, lying side by side and staring up at the azure sky. The clouds were mere wisps. It would be sunny all day long.

  “I suppose there will be single combat today,” she said, finally giving in to the need to talk over what was coming.

  “No doubt.”

  It would be to the death. Neither one spoke of it, but the words hung between them anyhow. She took his hand, gripping it as if letting him go meant sliding off the mountain and into an abyss of darkness. He was her anchor and her destiny in ways she couldn’t articulate. She’d known it the first day he’d come here, and she knew it now.

  Words formed in her throat, words she couldn’t speak. There were some things one couldn’t, shouldn’t ask at a time like this.

  So she talked around it. “I can’t stop thinking about Gawain.”

  “He’ll be fine. Tamsin said as much, and I trust her word.”

  “There could be treachery.”

  �
�Tenebrius won’t permit it.”

  “What he will or won’t permit doesn’t matter once the deed is done. I don’t trust LaFaye.” She rolled to her stomach, propping herself on his chest. The position let her stare down into his warm brown eyes.

  “I don’t trust her, either. That will keep me safe.”

  Then the words she was trying not to say slipped out. “Let someone else fight.”

  He reached up, pushing the hair from her face with battle-scarred fingers. “I’m a knight. Fighting is what I do.”

  “Do something else,” she begged.

  “I can only give what I have. Skill with a sword is my one talent.”

  “I don’t mean forever. Just for today. Let Beaumains fight.”

  “You don’t send a squire to do a knight’s job.”

  “He’s a knight now,” she argued. “Don’t underestimate him.”

  “I don’t,” Lancelot replied softly. “But this fight is for Excalibur. This is our one chance to beat the Queen of Faery at her own game.”

  There may be only one chance, but there was only one Lancelot. She couldn’t bear the idea of losing him. If only she had her magic, she could be sure to keep him safe—but that was no answer at all.

  He touched the collar at her neck, meaning clear in his gaze. “Defeating all comers is my only way to guarantee you’re secure.”

  “The only way to keep me safe is for you to live,” she returned. The need to keep him at her side ached as if it meant to cripple her. “Just once, put what’s between us first. Just once put me ahead of Camelot.”

  It was too much to ask, and she knew it, guilt warring with a primal drive to keep him close. He held her gaze for a long time before he spoke. “I made the mistake of losing you before. I won’t do it again. But if I’m going to keep you out of Morgan’s hands, I have to fight.”

  * * *

  They went back to the castle with barely a word, neither wanting to upset the other, though it was impossible to hide their fears. Dulac left Nimueh to bathe and dress while he went on ahead. He arrived at Taliesin’s Circle in time to see Beaumains appear with the horses and a take-out bag containing coffee and breakfast sandwiches. Dulac dug hungrily into the food. It was greasy and disgusting, but it was also full of fuel he desperately needed.

  “Where is everyone else?” he asked. “How does Gawain fare?”

  “Gawain frets,” Beaumains said. “He lost too much blood to take any chances. Tamsin threatened to put him into an enchanted sleep if he didn’t lie quiet. He cries foul and on it goes, each one as stubborn as a granite ox.”

  Lancelot winced, his imagination painting the scene. “And the rest?”

  “Owen and Palomedes went out for a beer and stayed for a fight. Arthur phoned to say he’d have them out of the police lockup and over here in time for the start.”

  “I don’t understand. They know what’s at stake. Whatever possessed them to risk trouble now?”

  “They don’t know their way around the new world yet. I should have been with them.” Beaumains sipped his bitter coffee with a wince and then added another packet of sugar. “But Tamsin was busy with Gawain so I took Percival to the clinic to take care of his hand. No need for fancy magic in his case.”

  Dulac nodded. “And our two friends decided to entertain themselves?”

  His former squire shrugged. “In a manner of speaking. They swaggered into one of the riverside taverns and tried to go medieval on a pack of bikers. They upheld our reputation with honor, but I don’t know how much use either will be on the field today. They took a lot of hits. Lucky it was only fists and not bullets.”

  “Idiots.” Dulac winced, realizing he sounded like the demon.

  Beaumains frowned. “According to Arthur, neither remembers who started it. Nor do the bikers. It was as if they all went mad.”

  That sounded a bit too much like fae magic for Dulac’s liking. The rules of the challenge protected the combatants only so long as they were in the forest. There was nothing to say they were safe while drinking a beer back home. He looked over his shoulder as casually as he could, not wanting to let on that the nape of his neck hadn’t stopped tingling since Beaumains had begun his story.

  The fae began to arrive then, followed by Nimueh in a jeweled silk gown of pale green. Finally, the demon arrived in a puff of smoke. Today he was dressed in a topaz robe scribed with alchemical glyphs. It was trimmed in a spotted fur from a creature Dulac didn’t recognize.

  “Greetings, contestants,” said Tenebrius with unholy cheer. “I see the human side is a bit shorthanded today.”

  LaFaye stepped forward, her inky gown making her look like a crow against the green fields. “My lord demon, I object to the absence of respect King Arthur shows these proceedings.”

  “I’m sure you do,” the demon said drily.

  “Surely he forfeits today’s event,” she said hopefully.

  “There is no requirement for his presence.”

  She frowned. “But surely he must send more than two knights!”

  “Not for single combat. Whatever nonsense is happening here, it won’t work.” The demon took a long look around the company, taking in both sides. “Choose your champions and let’s decide this fight. I am weary of it.”

  Nimueh caught Dulac’s arm. “There is treachery here. I can taste it in the air.”

  “Are you surprised?” he replied. “LaFaye wants the sword. Somehow, she has managed to whittle away Arthur’s team. It sounds as if she hoped to force a forfeit of the fight.”

  He glanced at the fae corner of the field. The queen’s retinue had expanded while Arthur’s had shrunk. With some interest, he noted the red-haired girl was still alive.

  “It’s a forfeit or single combat,” Nimueh said. In the jeweled gown, with her dark hair twisted and pinned with emerald combs, she looked every inch a noble fae.

  In silent agreement, they walked arm in arm away from Beaumains and the horses, their heads bent together like lovers at a tryst. He supposed that was what they were. His heart beat faster as he remembered how he’d claimed her last night, and how she’d begged him to keep safe.

  Nimueh wanted to be first in his heart, and she had that right. She ruled his happiness, his past and his future. He would lay down his life in an instant to protect her body and soul—especially the soul—regardless of the price. That was simply how things were.

  But Dulac was a knight of Camelot, and without the Round Table the mortal realms would fall. If the lady was his joy, keeping humanity safe was his meaning. One without the other made no sense.

  “Everything rests on this fight,” he admitted. “The only fighters left are the most senior knight and the one with the least experience. I have no choice.”

  “No?” She closed her eyes. “I know. If we do not fight, Arthur loses the right to rule and the fae run riot over the mortal realms. If we do not fight, Arthur loses Excalibur, and we are all lost.”

  “Yes,” he replied. The word was soft, but it seemed to hurt her.

  She put her hand over his. Her fingers were icy. “It is as if Morgan has singled you out.”

  “I will take it as a compliment.” But it had crossed his mind, too, and it made him wary. Hurting him hurt Nimueh, and the queen wanted revenge.

  Nimueh’s green eyes were large and bruised with worry. “You are a warrior. You always have been, and I should have understood that long ago. I don’t think I knew what that meant. Not really. You belong to everyone in your care, not just me.”

  He saw with horror that there were tears in her eyes. “Nimueh, I have to...”

  She held up a hand to stop him. There were rings of fae workmanship on her fingers—jewels carved into dragons’ heads and birds in flight and linked by silver chains. She’d had finery stored somewhere in her castle.

  The brightness of the jewels paled next to the tears in her eyes. Those tears tore into Dulac like diamond blades. “Please,” he begged. The single word held everything, all the hopes and ch
oices he would ever make. For Camelot. For himself. For the next beat of his heart. He needed her to understand.

  “Do what must be done,” she said. “I won’t hold you back. But if you don’t survive, nothing I say will matter.”

  Nimueh took a step back, pulling out of the circle of his arm. She tucked her hands at her sides as if forcing herself not to touch him. She was so beautiful, but so very solitary, and she had unlocked parts of herself to him that she had never shown another. He had seen her passion, the wild strength that she hid deep inside. By opening up, this intensely private creature of spirit had made herself breakable. He’d all but destroyed her once, and she was clearly braced for him to do it again.

  “I won’t leave you,” he said quickly. “You won’t be alone. In the end this is a fight like any other and I will win it.” And yet as soon as he said it, he knew he’d made a meaningless vow. No one could predict the chances of battle. That’s why she was afraid.

  Nimueh swayed slightly. “I’ve seen you fight, and I know you are all but invincible. If this were any other foe, I would expect your victory. But this is Morgan, and she will do her worst. During my bondage at her court, she made me carry out her savagery. I know how far she will stoop.”

  With a sudden, panicked movement, she grasped his face and held him while she pressed her lips to his. He all but tasted her fear and desperation, the impossible need to keep him safe. He tried to fold her in his arms, but she skittered away.

  “Don’t,” she said. “My heart will break if I have to let you go one more time.”

  “Then be safe until I am back.” The words were far too cocksure, even in his own ears.

  “You be safe, my love.” She said it so softly, he barely heard her and yet something in her tone made him pause.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked.

  She lifted a shoulder. “I am going to cheer you on.”

  But she looked as if she were searching for one last card to play.