Believe (9 page)

“I’ve never been good at riddles,” Tessa murmured.

“Galahad is no more a riddle than any man.”

“Some things never change.”

“Hear me well, my lady.” Oriana rested her hands flat on the table and leaned toward Tessa. “I would cheerfully wring your neck like that of a hen’s for roasting to have Galahad look at me as he looked at you. But the very moment I saw him in your presence, I knew my cause was lost. I believe the good knight is perplexed and far more accustomed to recognizing the lust in his loins than the feelings in his heart.”

“I don’t care. It doesn’t matter to me.” Tessa shrugged. “I told you: I’m not here to be his wife or anything even remotely like that.”

Oriana chuckled and straightened. “Your heart is as muddled as your speech if you try to deny what is apparent even to me.” She turned and headed toward the door. “I have other duties to attend to before the return of their majesties.”

“Arthur and Guinevere?”

“None other.” She pulled open the door. “Do not forget, Lady Tessa, I have promised to be your
friend and I shall do all I can to assist you with your knight.”

“He’s not my knight.” Tessa frowned. “Anyway, I thought you were interested in him.”

“Once, but no longer. The years are passing by swiftly and I shall soon be too old for a good match.” Oriana laughed. “But there is a knight with hair the color of wheat and dimples in his cheeks who has cast his eye in my direction. ’Tis past time to encourage such interest. A wise woman knows when all hope is lost and she should direct her affection elsewhere.”

“That is wise.” Tessa grinned. “How old are you anyway?”

“I will pass my sixteenth year with the next harvest.” She tossed Tessa a determined smile. “But I will be a bride long before then.” She stepped through the door and pulled it closed with a thud behind her.

Tessa stared. Oriana was just fifteen but unlike any teenager Tessa had ever met. Of course, here she was considered an adult. What was the life span in the Middle Ages?

Come to think of it: what year was it anyway? She’d have to remember to ask Galahad.

She picked up Merlin’s book off the table, walked to the bed and plopped down. She was going to read this thing cover to cover. If there was any possibility of avoiding this medieval treasure hunt, she’d bet it was in this little volume. She leafed through the pages, stopping at the illustration of the Big Guy in the chapel.

Galahad. So he liked her, did he? A shiver of excitement skated up her spine. She was flattered, of course, who wouldn’t be? Medieval or not, the man
was a hunk and intelligent as well. Their verbal sparring was fun and challenging, even if he was too stubborn for his own good and refused to accept basics like gravity and the shape of the world. He probably wouldn’t admit when he was wrong either but she didn’t doubt for a moment his honesty or courage or bravery. He really was a legend come to life. And wasn’t there a definite spark when he’d kissed her or carried her in his massive arms?

But was he finished grieving for his wife? And not just any old wife but a beautiful, perfect wife? Ten years in this world was a lifetime but was it long enough to get over a true love? Judging from Oriana’s version, that was exactly what it was. True love. A stupid, goofy, sentimental expression in her time, yet here it seemed somehow right.

Not that she cared, of course. In spite of the heaviness settling in the pit of her stomach she had no desire to mean anything to him. Oh sure, he turned her on a little. And maybe, if she planned on staying here longer, she’d explore the disturbing feelings he stirred in her somewhere between her stomach and her heart. And yeah, the possibility of a brief but wildly passionate fling with him was not a completely disgusting idea.

But she didn’t care and she didn’t want to. They were from different worlds and there was no future to be had with him. She groaned at how accurate that word really was. Tessa suspected he would not take any relationship lightly and she hated the thought of hurting him. Almost as much as she hated how much she could be hurt. It didn’t take Einstein to see anything between them would be volatile, maybe even
fatal. If she let this man into her heart it would be a disaster, plain and simple.

She flipped back to the beginning of the book and tried to concentrate on anything except a big, handsome knight.

No, she was here to do a job. Accompany Galahad on his quest. Find the Grail. And get the hell out. Quick and dirty.

And no one gets hurt.

“T
here, Tessa.” Galahad gazed at the distant horizon. “’Tis where my fate lies.”

“Where?” Tessa tugged impatiently at the long skirt that tangled between her legs. The ugly color wasn’t bad enough but when Galahad had insisted on riding out of the castle to the hill overlooking the countryside, she was forced to share his horse, bunching the skirt up between her legs. Two on horseback looked romantic in the movies but in real life it was damned uncomfortable. He’d given her no choice, simply scooped her up and deposited her in front of him. Good thing though. Aside from the occasional pony ride as a kid, she’d never been on a horse in her life. “That hill over there?”

He slid off the horse and helped her down. “Past the hills and the valleys.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“’Tis nothing to see but the future.”

“The future?” She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. Did he know about her?

“Aye. ’Tis where my future lies.”

She exhaled a breath she didn’t realized she held. “Okay, I’ll bite. What do you mean?”

He studied the horizon for a long moment and Tessa marveled at the strength in his profile. This was definitely a man with a purpose. She hadn’t seen him since he’d left her in Oriana’s care yesterday and had to admit she’d missed him. What thoughts and dreams lay hidden in that handsome head of his? “When the king returns, I shall ask him for permission to undertake the quest that has always been my hope, nay, my destiny.”

“Oh, I get it. You’re talking about the Grail.”

He slanted her a suspicious glance. “How do you know this?”

She shrugged. “It’s not hard to figure out. You’re Sir Galahad. A Knight. One of the good guys. This is Camelot. Besides, Merlin mentioned it.”

“Merlin?” He quirked a brow. “I spoke but briefly to him while you slept. He said nothing of this to me. The wizard is not a man who reveals information freely. He spoke only of his desire to have me guide you through our kingdom and customs.” He narrowed his eyes. “Nor did he speak of the quest you and he discussed in the chapel.”

“No?” That annoying lump was back again.

“No.” His voice was firm. “I wish you to tell me of his plans.”

“I don’t think so.” She shook her head. “I have nothing to do with this. I’m just along for the ride.”

“Nonetheless, I—”

“Let’s not talk about it right now.” She wandered off a few paces and turned toward him. “Let’s talk about you.”

“’Tis nothing much to say.” He crossed his arms over his chest as if defying her to contradict him.

“Sure there is. Like…um…” She plopped down on the hillside and patted the ground beside her. “Tell me about Arthur and Guinevere.”

“Very well.” He sighed and settled down next to her. “Before Arthur came to the throne, the land was—”

“No, no. I don’t want a history lesson. I know all of that. Well, enough to get by anyway.” She pulled her knees toward her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs. “Tell me about the man and the woman, not the king and the queen. What are they really like?”

He plucked a long blade of grass. “’Tis difficult to separate the man from the king.”

“But you’ve known them all your life.”

“I have. My father has been friend and companion to Arthur since before my birth, at his side in battle and in peace.” He chewed on the grass absently. “Arthur is a good man. ’Tis not always an easy thing, to be a good man and a wise ruler. I have seen him struggle within himself over decisions that would not be good for the few yet ultimately best for the many. Even if he were not my liege lord, he would have my respect and my love.”

“Love?”

“He has treated me like a son and I love him as one does a father.”

She pulled her brows together. “Doesn’t he have a son?”

“Mordred.” Galahad spit the name out as if it were obscene.

“I gather you don’t think much of him,” she said with caution. “Not a good guy, huh?”

“In our youth, we were as brothers. But the years saw us choose different paths.” Disgust underlaid
his words. “Mordred is a weakling and a fool. Greed pervades his very soul. Should he live long enough to inherit, he will no doubt rip the country apart.”

“You don’t think he’ll make it that long?”

Galahad snorted. “Mordred’s days are spent in reckless games and hunts for the sport of killing alone. His nights are filled with drink and women. Arthur can’t help but look upon him with disdain. When Mordred is king, all of England will rebel.” His jaw tightened. “’Twould be different if Guinevere had borne the king a child. Even a girl would be better than Mordred.”

“Don’t mince words, tell me what you really think.” In the legend, Mordred was the son of Arthur and his half-sister Morgan Le Fay. In this allegedly real-life version everything was different. Better to ask questions than jump to conclusions. “So, Mordred isn’t Guinevere’s son?”

Galahad threw her a startled look. “No. The king was wed while still a lad to the Lady Morgan, believed to have fairy blood in her. ’Twas a marriage long arranged and there was no love lost between them. She died, drowned in the lake, when Mordred was but five years of age. He blamed his father although Arthur was away at the time.”

“No wonder they don’t get along.”

“Mordred hates Arthur. Arthur looks at Mordred with sorrow and disgust in his eye.” He shook his head. “It does not bode well for England.”

“What about Guinevere?” she said slowly.

“Ah.” Galahad’s face brightened. “Guinevere has a good heart and her laughter brings joy to her people. She has a streak of stubbornness and determination ill suited to an ordinary woman but serving well a queen.”
The corners of his mouth quirked upward. “I see such a streak in you.”

“Oh yeah? Thanks.” She smiled with pleasure.

“’Tis indeed a compliment to compare you to the queen. She has taken the place of a mother to me.”

“Who was your mother? What happened to her?” Tessa wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know. In the legends, Galahad’s mother tricked Lancelot into thinking she was Guinevere then made love to him and conceived Galahad.

“Elaine, daughter of a noble family. She and my father had little time together.” He held out his left hand. The ruby ring she’d noticed in the chapel winked blood red in the sunlight. “’Twas my mother’s. She gave it to my father and he to me.” His voice was matter-of-fact. “She died the day I was born.”

“Jeez.” Tessa shook her head. “Childbirth is a real bitch here. Women are dropping like flies.”

Galahad stared in confusion.

“Forget it. Just remind me never to get pregnant in the Middle Ages.” She thought for a moment. “The king and queen both treat you like a son. What about your father? What’s he like?”

“He is…Lancelot.” Galahad laughed and flicked away the piece of grass. “Minstrels sing of his courage and his exploits. He is a knight by which all else are measured and is more my companion than my father. He has both my respect and my affection yet I did not truly know him until I was grown. Still, I believe he cares for me with a father’s love. He too is a good man.

“His position at court is the envy of all. He is both advisor and brother to the king and friend and confi
dant to the queen. ’Twill never be three people closer in mind and heart than these.”

“Interesting,” she murmured. So, did this mean Guinevere and Lancelot hadn’t started the affair that would spell the end of Camelot? Or did Galahad’s fierce loyalty to all three make it impossible for him to see what was right in front of him? Was this another part of the myth that didn’t mesh with real life?

“Now, fair Tessa.” He stretched out on the turf, rolled on his side and propped himself up on his elbow. “’Tis my turn.”

“Your turn for what?”

“My turn for questions.”

She studied him warily. “For example?”

“I know you are far from home. I have told you of my father. What of your family?”

“My family? Well, my mom’s wonderful even though she still treats me like I was twelve. And my dad…” Her throat tightened and she couldn’t get out the words. Would she ever see her parents again? Or would she live and die long before they were born?

He reached out and took her hand in his. “You miss them.”

She nodded and blinked back tears.

“And are there others you miss?” He paused. “Your husband perhaps?”

“My husband?”

“A widow then.” He squeezed her hand in sympathy. “I suspected as much.”

She started to deny his assumption but bit back the words. Why not let him think she was a widow? It would be far easier to pretend to have a dead husband then explain the dating and mating habits of women
in the twenty-first century, especially to people who thought sixteen-year-olds were past their prime. She shook her head.

“No woman as comely as you could reach such an advanced age and remain unwed.”

“Thanks.” Between
comely
and
advanced age
she wasn’t quite sure if that was a compliment or simply a comment. “I think.”

“Now then, tell me of your land.” Curiosity shone in his blue eyes. “This place where the earth is a ball and there are no wizards.”

She shifted uncomfortably. What could she tell him about the future? Apparently he no longer thought she was nuts. But if she launched into an explanation of airplanes and television and outer space he’d change his mind. Or he’d think she was a blatant liar. “Maybe someday but not now. I have a feeling we’ll have plenty of time to talk later.”

“Very well.” Her fingers were lost in the size of his grip and her stomach fluttered.

“What?” She laughed uneasily. “No argument?”

“As you say, ’twill be time enough. Tell me instead,” he pulled her hand to his lips and brushed her fingertips against his mouth, “of the quest Merlin has planned for us.”

“I already told you.” Why were his lips so warm against her fingers? “I can’t. You’ll have to talk to Merlin.”

“But you do know, do you not?” His gaze bored into hers.

Why was it so hard to breathe? “Um…I guess so.”

His words puffed against her fingers. “But you will not say?”

“Say?” How could she say anything that made sense with those deep, stormy eyes paralyzing her and the touch of his lips turning her insides to mush?

“Will you tell me this then?” He trailed his lips to the center of her palm and kissed it softly. Chills shivered through her. “Why did Merlin say you are here for me?”

“Did he say that?” she said weakly.

“He did.” He tugged gently on her hand and pulled her into his arms. She should resist. She wanted to resist. She couldn’t. “You said you were not here to wed me.” He bent his head to hers. “What did Merlin mean?” His lips whispered across her mouth and she gasped. Desire, strong and relentless, surged through her. “How are you here for me?”

She moaned. “This is such a bad idea.”

“Is it, fair Tessa?” He pulled her tighter against him, so close she could feel the taut planes of his solid body through her clothes and his. “I think ’tis an excellent idea.”

His lips pressed against hers, gentle yet insistent, firm yet yielding. She sighed with surrender and a rush of unexpected longing. Her mouth opened to his and without warning urgency sparked from his lips to hers, as if his life’s breath triggered her own. He held her tighter against him, his mouth plundered hers and she met his onslaught with a need of her own that sprang from somewhere deep inside. Her fingers gripped his tunic. His hands splayed across her back. She’d been kissed before, she’d even had great sex before but nothing in her life had swept away her senses like the touch of this man. This knight. He was a myth she didn’t buy. A legend she didn’t believe in. How could he do
this to her? How could he be so real? How could she be so lost?

He rolled over on his back, carrying her with him to lie on top of his long body. He smelled of leather and musk and heat and in her world it would have stopped her short. But here his scent called to some primeval instinct inherent in man and woman. His hands moved lower to cup her rear end, the heat of his touch searing through the thin fabric of her dress. She wrenched her lips from his and her mouth found the pulse beat at the base of his throat. He groaned beneath her, grasping at her dress, sliding it upward until he touched the bare flesh of her legs and she shuddered. His arousal was rigid between her thighs and she shifted to feel him press between her legs.

A voice in the back of her head screamed for control. This would never work. This was wrong. This could destroy them both. She ignored it, she didn’t care. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the flame of his desire that met and meshed and burned hotter with her own. She wanted him with a relentless ache that blazed from her very core and the consequences for her or him or the future be damned.

“Tessa.” He breathed her name with a tone so intense she jerked her head up and gazed into his eyes. Eyes that smoldered with a dark yearning and more. Confusion and something else. She stared. His gaze locked with hers. What else? Fear? Did he somehow know what disaster this could bring? Did he sense, as she did now, at this moment, this was not simply the joining of their bodies but a merging of their souls? That nothing would ever be the same again? Or was it guilt? Did the power of the pull between them bring
back the thought of the woman he had loved? His one love. His true love. Her breath caught and she knew that one thing alone did matter. A lot.

“No.” She rolled off him and staggered to her feet, gasping for air.

“Tessa.” He scrambled after her.

“No.” She thrust her hand out and backed up. “Stay away from me.”

“Tessa.” He struggled to catch his breath. She turned away and wrapped her arms tight around herself, fighting to pull herself together.

“I did not mean…I do not know…” There was an anguished note in his voice.

Laugh it off, Tessa. Make a joke out of it
. She willed herself to stop shaking and forced a lighthearted tone. “Don’t worry about it.” She turned and faced him. “A little afternoon delight that got out of control.” She grinned with a bravado she didn’t feel. “Hey, you’re a man. I’m a woman. It’s spring. Hormones are probably running rampant. Forget about it.”