Believe

by Victoria Alexander

  “But I am a man!”

  “Sorry.” She shook her head. “That’s not a ringing endorsement either.”

  “None has ever dared question my courage—”

  “I’m not questioning your courage. I’m simply asking for you to have as much trust in me as you expected me to have in you. How did you put it?” She smiled innocently. “Oh yeah, it takes a greater level of trust to face someone whose skills are unknown.”

  His brow furrowed in frustration. “Since you throw my own words in my face it seems I have no choice. I will submit to this.”

  “I thought you would.” She handed him the cabbage half then paused. “However, big, brave knight that you are, I think it’s only right to make this a bit more of a challenge.”

  “’Tis enough of a challenge for me,” he growled.

  “But not for me.” Tessa plucked the cabbage from his hand. “This is the William Tell test,” stretched up on tiptoe and placed it on the top of his head.

  “God’s breath, woman.” He grabbed her hand, pulling her tight against him, the cabbage tumbling to the ground. “Only a fool would allow even the most skilled archer to attempt such a target.”

  “It’s only fair. You chose my test. Now I pick yours.”

  “I do not—”

  “Trust, Galahad.” She raised a brow. “I’m only asking for you to trust me the same way you asked me to trust you.”

  “Trust that I will lose my head?” He glared, his nose inches from her own.

  “No. Trust that you can count on me to keep you from losing your head.”

  “That you cannot do.” His voice was intense. “I have lost my head already.” His eyes darkened. “And perhaps my heart.”

  Her breath caught. “Have you?”

  “Aye.” His gaze bored into hers. Time slowed and stopped. Did she feel the beat of his heart against her chest or was it the hammering of her own heart? Did his body strain toward hers with a yearning so strong it couldn’t be denied or was it her own body that ached for his touch? Did a sense of wonder at the depth of feelings still unspoken shine in his eyes or was it just the reflection of her own emotions?

  Abruptly, he released her hand and she stumbled backward. Disappointment stabbed through her, a counterpoint to the weakness in her knees and the trembling of her hands.

  “Very well. Get on with it then.” He stooped quickly and grabbed the scraggly remains of the cabbage, slapping it on the top of his head and clasping his hands behind his back, the cool tenor of his voice in startling contrast to the comical nature of his appearance. “I feel like a fool.”

  “You look kind of cute.” She stifled a giggle. “Cabbage is your color.”

  Disgust and annoyance battled on his face.

  “Whoops. Sorry. No sense of humor in the Middle Ages, I guess.” She picked up the bow and turned. Then without thinking she swiveled, stretched and planted a firm kiss hard on his lips, stepping back before he could react. “I’d hate for you to lose your head almost as much as you would.” She pivoted and started off.

  “I am much relived, my lady.” Sarcasm rang in his voice. “’Twould be a great comfort in the moments to come were it not for the shaking of your hands.”

  “Trust me, Galahad,” she called over her shoulder.

  She could hear him muttering behind her and she laughed. He was probably berating himself for getting in the position of being at the mercy of a mere woman. Galahad would never have considered the idea that she would need to trust him as much as he would need to trust her. Sure. The man knew his own limits when it came to bravery or skill but hadn’t the vaguest idea what her abilities were. Besides, she was a woman and in his world that didn’t count for much. Time that somebody was taught a little lesson.

  She stepped off what seemed like a good distance and turned back toward him. It was hard to read his expression from here but it looked relatively unchanged. Still, wasn’t the line of his body a bit more rigid than before? Tension would do that to a man. Even a knight.

  She waved in a carefree manner then directed her attention toward the bow and arrow. How much more nervous would he be if he knew her archery experience was limited to a six-week unit in gym in her senior year in high school? Or was it her junior year? Even so, this was not an especially tricky weapon. The bow wasn’t much longer than the ones she’d used in school, another clue to the date if she knew when the longbow was developed. Which she didn’t.

  She notched the feathered end of the arrow in the string of the bow, brought the bow into position and sighted along the length of the arrow to the target. Galahad stood unflinching. He was willing to trust her even though she’d given him no real reason to. He was willing to submit to the same test he’d put her through even though he had no idea if she’d ever shot an arrow before in her life. And he was willing to look ridiculous wearing a cabbage, all for a point of honor. What a guy.

  She blew a long breath, pulled back the arrow, shifted, aimed at a forty-five degree angle away from him and let it fly.

  The twang reverberated through the early-morning air. The arrow sailed in a wobbly arc, missing the tree by a good twenty feet. Thank God. She blew a long sigh of relief. Even deliberately aiming away from him she couldn’t be absolutely certain, by some freak of nature, she wouldn’t hit him. The only thing she’d been worse at than archery was soccer. And she was terrible at soccer.

  She grinned and started walking back to the tree. Galahad swept the cabbage away, shook the last clinging bits out of his hair and started toward her, one of his long strides equaling three of hers. Her grin faded. His expression was not that of a man who’d successfully passed a test. Her step slowed. No, it was more like a man who’d been conned. Or screwed.

  Tough. Didn’t he do exactly the same thing to her? She raised her chin and marched toward him, stopping with less than a foot between them.

  “You have no skill with a bow, do you?” Irritation underlaid his words.

  “Nope.”

  “This was a trick then.”

  “Not at all.” She couldn’t suppress a smug smile. “This was a test. You know, for trust, faith, courage and all those noble qualities.”

  “You did not intend to shoot the cabbage.”

  “Duh. Let me tell you, there was no way I could hit that cabbage, or for that matter that tree, with an arrow.” She shook her head. “I stink at archery.”

  “Yet you allowed me to stand there, with a cabbage upon my head, believing you would indeed attempt to skewer it.” His words were measured.

  “You got it.” She studied him for a moment. He appeared completely under control. What was he thinking? “It was something Sister Abigail taught. If you weren’t the best player physically, then you’d better be the smartest.”

  “You are a riddle, my lady,” he said thoughtfully. “In truth, Tessa St James, who are you? Where do you come from?”

  Was it time to tell him?

  “I told you, my land—”

  He brushed away her words with an impatient dash of his hand. “I know there is something of magic about you. Yet Merlin stands by your side so I know you are no witch.”

  “You said witch, right? With a W?”

  “You will drive me mad before this ends,” he muttered.

  “Yeah.” She grinned. “But it should be one hell of a ride.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “…And then, when I was in third grade, my dad was…”

  The cry of the birds and rustle of the wind mixed with the constant chatter of the woman on the mount by his side and he paid it as little heed. Galahad should have known his silence would not still her tongue. In the scant hour they’d ridden from Camelot, Tessa had barely paused for breath. Was the fair lady affected by nerves now that their quest was truly underway? ’Twould not be a mark against her. The bravest of men were known to hesitate before plunging ahead into the unknown.

  With every passing moment, he understood more and more of what she said. Not each and every word,
but the meaning of her comments taken as a whole was clearer to him. ’Twas difficult to ignore the often intriguing images she brought to mind but at this moment he needed to sort out the myriad of emotions and thoughts in his own head.

  “…It was the Greeks, of course, who originally developed…”

  Her words droned on like bees, unheeded, her voice an almost pleasant accompaniment to his thoughts. His gaze strayed to a long, shapely leg, exposed by the tuck of her skirts beneath her. She’d insisted upon sitting her horse astride in the manner of a man and complained of her missing jeans, the heavy leggings she’d worn on her arrival. He admitted privately they would have served her well but aloud merely noted the impropriety of a woman clad in such a garment. His comment earned him a quick retort, her words unfamiliar but her meaning unmistaken. He smiled to himself. She was indeed an unusual woman.

  But what did she have that he needed? He slanted her a thoughtful glance. She sat straight and tall, her chin high, her firm breasts thrust forward proudly. Aye, he bit back a grin, she did indeed have what he needed. He’d be a fool to deny he wanted her in his bed. And a greater fool still to disregard that the emotions she triggered within him were far deeper than the lust in his loins. ’Twas equal in strength to the love he’d had for his wife yet ’twas as unlike that sentiment as night to day.

  He pushed aside a nagging sense of guilt. He could not help but wonder if his attraction to Tessa was a betrayal of Dindrane. Certainly she would not have thought it so and would have expected—nay—insisted he marry again long ago. Yet that knowledge did naught to allay the unease that gripped him when he ventured too close in spirit to the Lady Tessa. Dindrane would not begrudge his feelings for Tessa. Feelings so different from those he’d held for his wife, he was unsure of their meaning even as he struggled with their depth.

  Dindrane was the moon and the stars and the heavens. She was as close to perfection as a mortal woman could be. Quiet and yielding and wanting only what he wanted and he had loved her with a fervor that lasted well beyond her death.

  And what of his feelings for Tessa?

  “…It was that whole business about not using your hands that I couldn’t…”

  Surely, if this was love ’twas an odd variation of the emotion. If Dindrane was the heavens, then Tessa was the earth: unyielding and stubborn and strong. He knew of no other woman, save perhaps Guinevere herself, who could face his approaching arrow without swooning. Or refuse to temper her opinions to match his own. Or insist on treatment such as he would bestow on few men, as if she were as good as he.

  Perhaps she was.

  Nonsense. She was naught but a woman.

  Then why did every moment with her challenge every belief he’d ever held regarding females and their proper place and their suitable demeanor? And more, challenge his own mind?

  What did she have that he needed?

  Perhaps the answer lay hidden in the questions that lingered about the Lady Tessa. His was not a curious nature. He’d wanted to know why she was here only because he’d been confident her answer would have a direct bearing on his own endeavors. And indeed, he was right. Now, it may well be time to learn more about the mysterious land she came from. ’Twas exceedingly odd. Most foreign visitors he’d encountered in the past were all too willing to expound in great, and often boring, detail upon the country of their birth, yet Tessa appeared not merely reluctant but uneasy at the topic.

  She was a riddle as complicated as that which led their quest. In this they shared a common bond: he too was not fond of riddles. They seemed to dance in his head with neither rhyme nor reason, frustrating his attempts to unravel even the simplest. Although he would never confess such a weakness to her.

  When all was said and done, in the privacy of his chambers, in the quiet moments of his life, Galahad considered himself an ordinary man with a firm belief in honesty and integrity, honor and justice. ’Twas was no more than the times he lived in and an admittedly stronger than ordinary taste for adventure, that thrust him into the role of knight and servant to the king. ’Twas not an especially humble opinion, yet ’twas naught but the truth.

  “…But real underwear would probably brighten my entire outlook…”

  He was in no way a scholar and while he had been taught the fundamentals of writing, ’twas not a skill he found particularly interesting or useful. Not that he was a stupid man. No, he was simply a man of action more attuned to work of the body than the head. He was prone to respond with the first and most direct solution to any problem, drawing his sword as often as not.

  ‘Twas different with Tessa. She obviously was fond of the written arts. Why, she’d even insisted on taking along the small, odd book he rarely saw out of her keeping. Useless, of course, but she clung to it as if it were an amulet for her protection or salvation. He’d not expected such superstition from her. Tessa was clever, with a sharp wit and a keen mind. She would, no doubt, put thought ahead of action. ’Twould serve her well in the days ahead. Would that he was as—

  He jerked up straighter and stared at her.

  She cast him a sincere smile. “Don’t you think so?”

  He nodded in silent agreement. What she’d asked was of no real consequence. All that truly mattered was the realization that cut through him with the sharp edge of truth. ’Twas all clear to him now. Why Merlin insisted he could not find the Grail without her. And why the king had supported the wizard’s stand.

  They complemented one another, he and this strange, lovely creature. Each had what the other lacked. His courage was forged from strength, hers from knowledge. They were halves of the same whole. Complete only when together. And together they could find what they sought.

  Then the truth shall be revealed and that which each man seeks shall be his.

  ‘Twas clear this was the truth revealed. His heart lightened. The riddle may not be so difficult as he’d feared.

  He glanced at Tessa. If he could unravel one riddle, then there was indeed hope for another.

  ‘Twas yet another challenge. He heaved a silent sigh. He was not at all fond of riddles.

  “So what happened to the brass bands? The crowds of cheering well-wishers? The going-away parties?” Tessa shook her head in disgust. “You haven’t heard one word I’ve said, have you?”

  “Indeed I have, my lady.” Galahad’s voice was a long, lazy drawl, the tone of a man humoring a woman. Was there anything more annoying? “Each and every word.”

  “Oh yeah? Prove it.”

  “Allow me a moment to gather my thoughts. ’Twas so much…” He furrowed his brow in an exaggerated gesture, probably the Middle Ages version of sarcasm. “You discussed the journey of your family from a land called Nebraska when you were engaged in an adventure I believe you referred to as the third grade. You further droned on about the contribution of ancient Greeks to various develop—”

  “That’s enough.”

  “—at one point, you again noted the influence of the good Sister Abigail upon your life with particular emphasis on your dislike of something—what was the word, ah yes, soccer—”

  “All right. Stop.” She laughed. “I give up. You were paying attention.”

  His lips quirked up in a small, satisfied smile. Was he really listening or did he have some weird ability to play back everything he’d heard? Like some kind of human tape recorder? Somehow, she suspected the latter.

  “So,” she tilted her head and eyed him, “answer my question.”

  “Which question was that, fair Tessa?”

  “The last one. Why wasn’t there a big send-off when we left the castle? The king didn’t even come out and say good-bye.”

  “’Tis not the nature of a journey such as this. While our purpose is not a secret—”

  She snorted. “From what I’ve seen it would be pretty hard to keep a secret in Camelot.”

  “—the king prefers a certain amount of discretion. Those who were witness last night, from noble to servant, owe their allegiance and loyalty to A
rthur and him alone. Word of our quest will not travel beyond the walls of the castle.” His voice rang with a quiet confidence.

  “So, what’s the big deal?” Why didn’t she want to hear his answer? “Why does he want to keep this under wraps?”

  Galahad paused as if deciding how much to tell her. “There are those who would try to stop us.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  He pinned her with a sharp glance.

  “You’re not kidding.” She shook her head in disgust. “Of course you’re not kidding. Everybody has gone on and on about challenges and dangers and risks. I should have known there’d be a bad guy in all this. What’s a good adventure without a villain? So who is it? A rival king? Another wizard? Vikings?” The answer flashed in her mind. “Mordred, right?”

  He stared at the road ahead, his tone level and noncommittal. “’Twould be impossible to say for certain. The king has no proof as to Mordred’s treachery. It may well be other adversaries do not exist and our concerns are groundless. Or—”

  “Or the multiple-choice answer is all of the above.” Her stomach lurched slightly. The sway of the horse had already produced that effect several times but this was different. This was fear. “Swell.”

  “’Tis no need to worry as of yet. We are barely out of sight of Camelot.” He shrugged. “When I spoke to the king—”

  “When did you talk to the king?”

  “Shortly before we departed. He said—”

  “You talked to Arthur without me?”

  “Aye,” he said with a touch of exasperation. “He said—”

  “Why did you talk to him without me? I thought we were in this together?”