“You are very specific,” Walter remarked, narrowing his eye on her.

  “Yes, I saw one long ago and I have always wanted it.”

  “Hmm,” the old historian shook his head. “I do not think I have anything like that but come inside and we will look together.”

  She followed him and Nicholas into his home and looked around. There were a number of old items placed carefully on tables and shelves. Kes’ heart began a heavy litany, battering against her chest. What was here? Was any of it genuine?

  She saw a magnetic compass on a table. They came from the Far East in the seventh century. How did he get one? It was said King Alfred the Great had one.

  “May I?” she asked Walter. Inside, in the candlelight, the old merchant had soft-looking pudgy pink skin and white hair. He nodded, giving her permission to touch it.

  “That one was made in the year eight hundred and eighty-three, in the Han Dynasty.”

  Kes picked it up and examined it as best she could in the low, golden light. She was no archeologist like her father, but it appeared quite old.

  Where would a cute little man like Water get his hands on an eighth century compass?

  “The earl has told me you have quite the collection of artifacts. Perhaps while we look for the brooch, you would show me some items.”

  “Of course, dear lady. Anything you would like.”

  “Eh, just the brooch for now, Walt,” Nicholas let him know. “Do you know of one?”

  “Only one,” Walter told them in a low voice. “’Tis said to be very powerful. Only one exists and his men are whispered to have it.”

  “Slow down,” Nicholas said. “You’re going too fast. What kind of power is it said to possess? And whose men have it?”

  “Power too strong for mortal men to play with. And Arthur Pendragon’s men are rumored to have it.”

  “But I thought they were myth,” Kes said. “Arthur Pendragon isn’t real.”

  “Now how do you know that, Miss Locksley?” asked Walter. “’Tis said he lived in a very ancient time. A time when some men practiced magic.”

  She remembered how the brooch glowed and appeared new, and how looking at the name Pendragon made her want to say it.

  “Where did you say you saw it, Miss Locksley of Bridlington? ’Twas a man who had it, aye?”

  She nodded.

  “His name?”

  “Mr. Green.”

  Walt smiled like any jolly old man would, but there was more wisdom in his smile than fancy. “You met Sir Gawaine. Then, you are not from around here.”

  “She is from Bridlington, Walt. Get it straight, aye?” Nicholas warned.

  She’d met Sir Gawaine? The Sir Gawaine? Of Arthur’s round table knights? No! It was impossible! Oh—wait a minute. She looked at Walt. It seemed the merchant knew more than he was letting on.

  “How do you know him?” she asked, hope rising like waves before a storm. “Please, if you know him—tell me—” What was she doing? Walt was looking at her as if a curtain had just come up around her, revealing things she’d tried to keep hidden.

  “Miss Locksley, how do you know him?”

  “I don’t…I—”

  “Walt,” Nicholas said on a low warning breath. But the old man held up his palm to quiet the earl.

  “My lord,” he said softly with a reassuring smile. “Mayhap I can help her.”

  Nicholas allowed him to continue.

  He bowed his head and turned his kind smile on Kes. “When are you from, Child?”

  Kes looked nervously at Nicholas. Walt knew? How should she reply? She’d looked to Nicholas because this was his time. But it was her life.

  “I don’t understand your question, good sir.” Walt knew things. What if he knew she was a threat to history? He could have her stopped. “I was born in Bridlington twenty-five years ago. Delivered by my Aunt Lori and two maids.”

  “Very well,” Walt said, his smile faded, letting her have her way. “You may look but I’m sure I do not have the brooch you are looking for.”

  He led them down a short hall to another room, this one larger than the first. There was some furniture in it but nothing extraordinary. But he wasn’t done.

  He rolled away a large rug then lifted a small door hidden beneath it. He stepped down onto a stairway leading to a cavernous basement. His guests followed.

  Kes had to be dreaming. Carved into the walls were small shelves, and on each shelf was an artifact. There were chalices, jewelry, weapons, and a variety of other things.

  Both men stopped upon hearing her gasp. She did it again at least four more times until they stopped a fifth time and waited while she examined an old gold cross. It was plain in design, about a foot high, a half-foot across and looked to be made of solid gold.

  “From the Lindisfarne Priory.”

  Kes looked at Walt. Lindisfarne. The Vikings. “Did you retrieve it, Walt?”

  He smiled but looked down behind his spectacles. “No, Child. ’Twas a trade.”

  She chuckled. “What did you give up?”

  “The pearl necklace that fell from Anne Boleyn’s neck at her execution.”

  Kes touched her fingers to her neck. “A good trade.”

  “I’m glad you approve,” said the old merchant and led them to curtained off corner.

  Here were all his watches, brooches, medicine boxes, spectacles, and other small items. “You may look through it.”

  They looked among everything, but there was no brooch that matched hers among his pieces.

  “All hope is not lost. I may know a man who can get it.”

  “A one of a kind piece?” Kes said incredulously. “From King Arthur’s knight? Even if this man could get his hands on it, he would charge more than I have.”

  “Tell him to get it if he can,” Nicholas told Walter. “He will be well compensated.”

  “Nicholas, no!” she refused. “I couldn’t ask that of you.”

  “I want you to have it in case charges come against you,” he said, drawing her aside.

  “If charges come up, you’ll be considered my accomplice. You’ll get into trouble, too.”

  “I’m not worried over that. I will die one day. I would rather it be saving you.”

  She wanted to kiss him. She wondered if Walter would mind.

  “Very well, I will contact him in the morning,” Walter told them. “If there is nothing else, I have a room if you would like it for the night.” He smiled.

  “No,” Nicholas told him. “The lady and I are not wed. We will be leaving now.”

  “Oh, couldn’t we stay just a little longer?” Kes asked.

  “We will return,” he promised. “’Tis late and Walt is weary from the day.”

  “Oh, of course! Forgive me!” She set down a small terracotta vase she was checking out. It appeared authentic, Greek, maybe.

  “We shall return tomorrow.” Nicholas told him and then made a path for her to take the stairs.

  “Do you think he’s a time traveler?” she asked Nicholas the moment they were back on the horse. “He seems to know much.”

  “Aye. He could be,” he answered quietly. “Elia has suspected him for some time.

  “Do you believe it all now?”

  “It seems likely but still difficult to comprehend,” he answered.

  “You realize you’re going to pay a guy to rob Sir Gawaine of all people.”

  “Aye, the guy will more likely swindle me.”

  “Imagine if he gets it,” she said, leaning against his hard chest. “There’s no guarantee it would work again or that it would send me back home.”

  “Aye, you are correct.”

  “I wish I could talk to Gawaine again.” She laughed. “That sounds so insane.”

  “Do you wish to return that badly?”

  “Yes,” she told him softly. “Of course.”

  But she wasn’t sure anymore.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Seated at his table beside Reg and his wife, Nicholas remembered why he preferred battle over being home. Richard’s return made a bad situation worse.

  Nicholas growled in his seat when Reg slurped his oats and cream.

  He looked at Margaret. She rolled her eyes at Reg and smiled at Nicholas. She didn’t glare at Reg the way she had glared at him when he’d pulled out his chair the other night.

  He turned away from her and looked toward the door. He wanted to be here when Kestrel arrived so she didn’t have to be with Richard on her own, but Richard wasn’t here either.

  He tapped his boot under the table. Should he go to her room and get her? He wondered if he was beginning to care for Miss Locksley, or did he just enjoy her company more than anyone else’s? He didn’t want to care. If she had truly appeared here, she could just as easily disappear. If she was mad, could he still love her with her quirks? Could he stop himself from loving her either way?

  Was it all true? He didn’t want to say a resounding yes too soon. Mayhap they were all mad. It wasn’t as strange as time travel.

  What else did Old Walter know about Arthur Pendragon’s knights and this brooch? He hadn’t known that they were reading about King Arthur the night before. Nicholas would question him some more today. All this talk of time travel had Nicholas thinking if Kestrel truly came back more than five hundred years. If so, she knew if Richard defeated Henry Tudor when they faced off on the field. She most likely knew what became of the princes.

  More importantly, she was eager to leave.

  It stung when she practically told Walter what was going on, but she hadn’t. She was clever enough to tell Walt nothing, though he’d hinted at understanding her plight.

  “Are you waiting so eagerly for the king?” Reg asked. “Or someone else?”

  Nicholas turned in his spot to stare at his cousin. “Do you want to be thrown out into the dirt today, Reg? Adele and the children may stay until you find them a place to live. We discussed your flapping tongue already, so I assume you don’t care where you sleep tonight.”

  “Of course, I care, Nicholas,” Reg whimpered. “’Twas merely a question I asked.”

  “Ah, if that is all ’twas, Reg, then my answer is someone else.” Nicholas didn’t look away but dipped his head and stared at him from beneath the ridge of his dark brow. He waited. He dared Reg to open his mouth again.

  His cousin went back to slurping his breakfast. Nicholas was about to tell him he’d be wearing the food if he didn’t stop, when he spotted the king entering the great hall. He made his way to Nicholas’ table.

  Could this morning get any worse?

  He stood up when Richard reached him and gave over his chair. He put one leg over the bench at the king’s left, beside Reg, and straddled it. He kept his back to his cousin and his face to the king. Better he sit between these two fools, than Kestrel having to.

  “Nicholas,” Richard said, “I understand you disappeared with Miss Locksley last eve. Where did you go?”

  Nicholas set down his cup. He wouldn’t tell him and put Old Walter in any kind of danger. No matter what else Nicholas told the king, Richard was likely to ask Kestrel when she arrived, and their accounts would not match.

  There was only one thing left to do.

  “What do you mean by questioning me?” he demanded in a low, deadly tone. “I do not give accounts to you about my personal life.”

  “I am your king,” Richard replied with a haughty tilt of his chin. “You will tell me what I wish to know.”

  “No, Sire, I will not.” Nicholas held his ground. “It is of no concern to you.”

  “I will be the judge of that.”

  Nicholas leaned forward, close to the king. “You will not be the judge of what I do. Henry Tudor is as close as France and is gathering forces. ’Tis only a matter of time before he comes.”

  And then what? What would happen to Kestrel?

  “You will die without me, Sire.” He let his voice and his words drift across Richard’s ears. Nicholas wanted to tell him that if Richard wasn’t the last heir to the House of York Nicholas would never fight for him.

  Richard glared at him with dark, hollow eyes. “You threaten to leave me. That is treason. I could have you beheaded.”

  “Do it. And when Tudor slaughters you and seizes your crown, the moment before you die you will remember this with heavy regret.”

  The king appeared to be rethinking his decisions. “I want obedience from you, Commander.”

  “You will have it on the field. What I do in my private time is my concern. If you have me followed, I will kill whoever you send.”

  “You are barbaric,” the king told him with distaste on his lips.

  “I’m many things, Sire,” Nicholas agreed with a glint in his eyes. “But I’m not your prisoner. I will not be treated like one.”

  He saw her finally arrive with Elia at her side. Did he want them to come closer?

  He stood up and Kestrel stopped for a moment as if to catch her breath.

  He saw why she was late. Her rich, sable hair was pinned up all around her head. The long column of her neck was pale in the golden candlelight. Her eyes looked like two oceans of blue-green splendor. Her body was clad in an olive-green kirtle with an over-dress of undyed linen. Sewn around the neckline and cuffs were swirls of gold and dark green.

  Had Elia made it for her? It seemed to fit perfectly.

  “Ah, here is our cherished guest, Miss Locksley!” greeted the king. She smiled at him and came closer to the table.

  Nicholas wanted to hold up his hand to stop her. But he only grumbled. She gave him a curious look and came near to sit opposite him. Elia slipped into the empty space beside her.

  “May I be the first to tell you that you look lovely this morning,” Richard said.

  “Forgive me for being tardy.” Her gaze was fixed on Nicholas.

  How could he be angry when she looked so beautiful? Then he remembered Richard to his left and Reg to his right and his scowl returned.

  He would have asked her how she slept, but Reg’s children began to argue. Adele lifted her hand to her forehead and Reg began to slurp his food again.

  Nicholas had been patient long enough. He lifted his hand, signaling to one of the servers. “He gets nothing else to eat or drink while I’m here.”

  “Aye, m’lord.”

  “You are done with breakfast, Reg,” Nicholas told him. “You might as well leave.”

  Reg stood up and opened his mouth, but Kestrel began to speak first. With her gaze on Adele and Reg’s brats, she began softly. “Perhaps if he doesn’t eat anymore, he can stay with his family until they are done.”

  Nicholas’ eyes opened wide and he stared at her. She smiled.

  “Very well,” he grumbled. “As long as he doesn’t speak.”

  “You’re generous, my lord.”

  She sounded like she was telling the truth. The wide grin she offered him made him smile back at her.

  “This is all very interesting,” the king remarked.

  “What is?” Nicholas asked, not caring what the king saw between them.

  “I have known you for over two decades, and I have never seen you give in so easily to any woman.”

  Nicholas smiled, looking at her. “She steals more of my heart each day. Imagine what I will do to the man who tries to take her from me?”

  Her face went completely flush. He wondered if he should say these kinds of things just to keep the king away from her. What if she thought he meant them? Did he? Was she stealing his heart? Was it getting worse every day? Aye. Every day, he felt more protective of her, grew more impatient to see her, to be with her. The king was correct, Nicholas gave in to her every whim. He wanted to bury his head in his hands. How had he let this happen?

  He looked at her. Aye, she was the kind of beautiful that wrenched at his guts. She was tall and elegant in an oddly awkward sort of way. When she looked at him, his heart rumbled with longing to make her his. When she spoke—ah, that was where she made him weakest. Her words, half of which he couldn’t understand, the way she laughed, and made him laugh, all worked at capturing his heart.

  “You steal more of mine each day, as well,” she told him. “Imagine what I will do to any man who tries to take me from you.”

  Nicholas inhaled as if he were breathing her alone, and she was enough. He smiled on her fully. She was different. She was from a different time.

  “I heard from Reg that you are quite bold,” Richard said, watching her.

  Nicholas turned his deadly glare on his cousin. That’s it. He wanted Reg out today.

  “But now, I have seen it for myself,” the king continued. “What kind of hall do you come from that allows its women to behave so?”

  Nicholas’ belly knotted and his mouth went dry. Richard suspected something. But what? It didn’t matter. That he suspected anything at all wasn’t favorable.

  Nicholas had to get her out of there.

  “My father’s hall is quite humble, Sire.” Kestrel turned her smile on Richard. “As is our cottage. I was raised by my father. He was a great man because he never taught me that I was less than he was.” When Richard continued to look displeased, she continued. “He lived in Wales for twelve years before he met my mother—”

  “Ah, Wales!” Richard declared with a burst of laughter. “That explains it! The Welsh have odd mannerisms. Your father obviously taught them to you.”

  “Obviously.”

  “The fault is not your own,” the king allowed.

  “What a relief,” she replied then set her gaze on Nicholas. “May we go for a walk, or even a ride?”

  The king balked. “But you haven’t eaten!”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You will need a chaperone.”

  Nicholas turned his flinty gaze on him. “Elia will come with us. Come,” he said to both women and stepped around the table. “Excuse us, Sire,” Elia said and hooked Kestrel’s arm in hers. They stood up and followed Nicholas out of the great hall.

  “My heart is racing,” Kestrel told them. “We just walked out on the King of England.”

  Nicholas glanced over his shoulder. “We are going to have to get more drastic.”

  “More drastic?”