“I guess she will decide what’s best,” she remarked and pushed the last pin into her hair.

  “You are taking this well, Camelee.”

  “Would you rather me weep into my pillow?”

  “If that is what you felt like doing,” he told her. “But I fear you do not feel much.”

  “You’re right, I don’t,” she muttered. “Remember that next time instead of insisting that I become something I didn’t want to be!”

  She stormed out of the bedroom and then out of the chamber. She was surprised but thankful when she didn’t hear the door open behind her. She had to get away, be alone. She guessed Wolf did, too.

  She took one of the woolen cloaks by the doors and left the keep. She saw a woman’s tattered skirts leaving the gate with a group of people. Was that Hild? She hurried after them, but they disappeared in the crowd leaving the inner yard.

  She followed the crowd out of the next gate and watched it disperse into the snow-covered hills in many directions. Had it been Hild? Had her mother come back and then changed her mind?

  She went south, following a band of villagers. Maybe Frida lived among them? So what if she did? Hadn’t she just decided that she’d rather not see Hild? Of course, it wasn’t true. She missed the little girl so much it hurt.

  That was why she’d gone too far away from the keep—because every part of her hurt.

  She was thinking about Hild calling Wolf Papa when something tangled around her ankles and knocked her to the ground.

  She screamed out and was kicked in the side.

  “Shut up!” a man yelled above her and then spat. “Do not make this more difficult for yourself than ’tis already going to be.”

  “No! The king decreed that I am not to be—”

  He pulled her up by her hair and set her on her feet. “I can cut your throat now. He will not know you are already dead when I let him know I have you. Do not tempt me, Whore.”

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. She knew him and his log red braids. Leofric. The man who killed Akkar. Did he just stumble upon her on the single time Wolf hadn’t come with her? “I don’t know who you are talking about.”

  “The Dane you have been sucking at night.”

  “You have the wrong person.”

  He yanked her hair and pulled her to his horse.

  “I know who you are.” His voice was gravelly and rough against her ears—like nettles to her nerve endings. “You are the one that cursed Dane chief Wolf Kristiansen loves. Deny it again and see what I do to you.”

  She deserved this for leaving the keep. She was a fool enough for ten people. She kept her mouth shut while he forced her into his saddle at knifepoint.

  “You saw him kill my brother,” he said ominously and then leaped into the saddle behind her. “Would you like to know how I will exact my revenge?”

  “No. I don’t think I would.” Camelee stiffened and her skin crawled at his closeness. She wished she were a man. A man as big as Wolf. A man who knew how to fight and kill.

  Leofric blew out a piercing whistle and another group of riders appeared.

  Camelee felt a scream bubbling up in her as she laid eyes on tiny Hild and her mother tethered to a rider. Alric was tied to another.

  “Let them go!” Camelee demanded on a shaky voice. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “You will do that anyway,” Leofric promised as more than fifty of Leofric’s men rode toward them. “Now, be silent or lose an eye.” He rested the tip of small blade below her eye socket.

  “Cook,” he shouted to Alric next. “You not only betrayed me, but all your people by friending these savages. I saw you in the courtyard with them today. You were not the Northmen’s captive.”

  “I will befriend who I must in order to stay alive, Leofric,” Alric told him.

  “Your own life comes before the lives of your countrymen. For that—”

  Camelee’s cries distracted him, and he applied more pressure to the blade until he drew a drop of blood.

  “Leofric,” Alric called out. “They say the chief is a berserker. He has King Cnut’s army to back him. There will be nothing left of us. Let the women go and let us flee with our lives.”

  He sounded so convincing that Leofric hesitated for a moment before nodding to the rider at the other end of Alric’s rope. “Take him somewhere and kill him. He was once my friend and I do not want to see his end. When you are done, send his head to Kristiansen.”

  No! No! Camelee didn’t care about her eye! She was about to scream when she noticed the rope tied around Alric’s wrists was no longer tied. He saw her looking and let the rope dangle to show her he was free.

  The wily teen was free. He would get away. He would get Wolf.

  Leofric flicked his reins, and everyone followed him. The rider yanked on the rope. Alric held it securely and let it pull him behind the horse. They separated from the rest and blended into the skeletal, snow-covered trees.

  Camelee prayed for the boy. She had to keep her cool and protect Hild and Frida. She looked at them, Frida walking and carrying Hild in her arms.

  “They are Saxon.” She pointed to them and fought not to tremble while she waited to find out if he would stab her in the eye. “The mother hates the Danes.”

  “So?” he growled.

  “So, I’m surprised you treat them the same way the Danes did.”

  An eternal moment or two passed and she still had both eyes.

  “Give them a horse,” Leofric ordered.

  “Where are we to get a horse?” someone called out.

  His answer arrived out of the trees. Its saddle was empty, the rope, trailing in the ground behind it.

  Everyone looked at it as if they had never seen anything like it. And then Leofric shouted. “Find that boy and kill him! Bedric, take fifteen men! Do not return without his dead body. I will cut off his head myself!”

  Camelee closed her eyes. Run, Alric. Run and hide.

  “I am going to kill the child next, but she will not die as a slave.”

  “Please, don’t,” Camelee begged him.

  “What is her importance to him?”

  She shook her head and prepared to lie through her teeth. “She has no importance to him, but to me. He kept her alive because of me. I am the one who is important to him. Otherwise, he is a beast with no heart. The boy was right. The chief is a berserker.” She knew what a berserker was, thanks to the few Viking series she’d seen on television. “I’ve seen him fight. He killed all your brother’s men by himself. He howled while he killed them and foamed at the mouth. He even gnawed on his sword. It was like he was possessed by the devil.”

  Leofric looked worried. So did the nearest ten men who heard her.

  “We go on!” Leofric shouted to them. “Find your courage, men, and move on!”

  Camelee was happy to have planted the seed of fear in them all, even Leofric. She wished she knew if Alric had gotten away. She would have to wait and find out.

  “My second act of revenge,” Leofric whispered against her hear, “will be to get you good and fat with my babe tonight. We will not stop until I am empty.”

  She was going to throw up. Oh, she had to get those images out of her mind before she exploded.

  She traded his images with Wolf’s and immediately her thoughts of violence became tender. Wolf kissed her slowly, exploring her mouth, her neck. She wanted him to kiss everything, every part of her. If she lived through this, she would offer him all.

  Leofric remained quiet when he realized she wasn’t listening to him. She didn’t care if he killed her, if he tried to rape her, she would kill him first.

  “What language is it that you are speaking,” Leofric asked. “’Tis close to ours, but there are differences.”

  “I come from the east, from a large village called Manhattan.”

  “Manhattan,” he echoed. “I like the sound of it.”

  “Shocking,” she mocked under her breath.

  “He could not tame you,” he remarked silkily and moved closer. “I will.”

  “He doesn’t try to tame me. He’s man enough to take me on the way I am. You should try it.”

  “You will find that Kristiansen’s way of taming you is different than mine.” He dragged her in closer and groped her breasts while licking and kissing her neck. “I will break you.”

  What a sick s.o.b. he was.

  She decided to keep her eyes on the path behind them to forget the monster touching her.

  “What are you looking at?” he demanded.

  “I’m watching for him. He’ll come. You took something of his. He’ll come.”

  “Let him,” the monster said behind her. “I have men everywhere. We will finally be rid of him.”

  Camelee hoped he couldn’t feel her heart beating. Would his men ambush Wolf? Were they hiding in the trees? Oh, how could she warn him? Would Alric make it back to tell him? She fought not to tremble. If Wolf died…she couldn’t finish the thought. Did she feel like screaming because he was the only person she had ever truly cared about? Or because she was terrified of living here for the rest of her hopefully short life with Leofric?

  She fought to keep from trembling in Leofric arms. If Wolf didn’t come and anyone hurt Hild, Camelee was going to push Leofric to kill her.

  She prayed Wolf lived through this and came for her and the little girl.

  *

  Charles Lancaster, aka King Arthur Pendragon, smiled at Viviane, one of the Sisters of Avalon as they prepared to leave his apartment in NYC. Now that the enchantment was lifted and everyone’s memories were returning, he could return home to the magical realm, not to live there permanently, but to remember and rest. The earthly realm was his home. His children were all here. The love of his life was here.

  “How can we find Guin?”

  Viviane looked up at him and smiled. “Leave that to me.”

  She held up her hands and said a few words and a rift appeared in the air.

  “We will bring Morgan to where Merlin tells us.” Viviane stepped through the rift.

  Arthur could smell the apples. The Isle of Apples. He turned back for an instant to smile at Mordred, his oldest son with Morgan. He thought of Micajah and Camelee, born of his beloved Guinevere, and his baby, Kestral, born of his second wife, Cynthia, who died long ago. He would find his children.

  He stepped through the rift. First, he would go home and use magic to find his Guin.

  The sight before his eyes changed in an instant. He stared at rolling hills of emerald green as far as the eye could see. Apple orchards lined the valleys, filling his vision with small red dots, and his nostrils with the comforting scent of apples. The sounds of waterfalls and birds singing were like music to his ears. He dragged in a deep breath. Home for many years.

  “Where are your sisters?” he asked. “I wish to thank whoever was dear Aunt Eleanor for hiding my children through time with the brooch.”

  “I don’t know who she was but I do know that they will be happy to see you. You are like a brother to us. Well,” she corrected, “to almost all of us.”

  “Then please tell me, Viv, how will Guin receive her memories? Will it be instant as it is for some of us or slow, over time? I wish to know when it will be safe to reveal myself to her.”

  “We must find her first, Arthur.”

  “Yes,” he chuckled. “Of course, you are right. Patience is a virtue I have trouble with.”

  “We will find her,” she assured him.

  “We will find her,” he echoed at her side. When he saw his horse, he knew everything was going to be all right Now that Morgan was being locked away again, they were safe.

  It seemed as if they rode a short distance when the City of Glass came into view, the multi-faceted glass turrets of the palace puncturing the clouds.

  Avalon. His heart longed to go to it.

  “Arthur!”

  He turned and pulled his horse around. It was Merlin. He’d been leading Morgan bound in golden vapers. They were bringing her to justice, to a prison from which she could not escape.

  “She broke the spell and got away. I think—”

  She got away? No! Oh, no! He’d hidden himself for almost half a century from her. He’d given up everything, his wife, his children, his best friends, to keep them safe from her.

  She got away?

  Almost instantly, his expression went dark. He had to find them all. Today! “Rally the men and lead us to her, Merlin!”

  His oldest friend, whose memories of his past were as freshly restored as everyone else’s, hit the bottom end of his new walking stick.

  Gawaine and the others who were here rode through the mists and stopped when they came to him.

  “We are at your service, our king,” Sir Gawaine bowed.

  “Morgan is free. My family is in danger. All of you are in danger.”

  Gawaine looked at Lucan and Kay and the others and nodded. “On our lives, we will find her,” the burly knight declared.

  “She might go after one of my children. You know where Michael and Kestrel are. Find Camelee.”

  “Aye, Sire.”

  Alone with Viviane again, Arthur looked at the glass city. “Help me find Guin now, Viv. It must be now before Morgan finds her.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was Christmas day. Everyone hurried to and fro, from the kitchen to the hall with various platters of food, but Genevra had to sit. The laces of her dyed gown were too tight. She felt faint as memories came rushing back to her. It had been happening since last night. Scattered though they were, she had no idea where these memories came from but could only guess they were from her lost years. But they made no sense.

  Had Camelee and Hild’s disappearance pushed her memories to the surface? Oh, where was Camelee? Had she run off with the child? What about Frida? Had someone taken them? Who? Where was Alric? He was also missing. Why take those people in particular? Was this a message to the chief?

  He—

  Her thoughts wandered as if having a will of their own, to the memory of another child. Younger. Wrapped in a blanket and set in a basket. Genevra had wept so much she was sure she would wither and die as she gave up her children…her babies! She never saw them again. She hadn’t remembered them.

  She shook her head. What was she thinking? Was she possessed by some kind of devil?

  Camelee. They had named her Camelee hoping that should one of them meet her, her name might pull up a memory of Camelot. It hadn’t. She had no idea who Camelot was. She remembered the name though. These tattered memories invaded her mind, and she was completely powerless to stop them.

  Camelee. Her daughter. Her baby. She had left her. It had been raining. Cars’ tires crunched over wet blacktop—cars? She, and a faceless man had dropped the baby off at an orphanage in a basket with a blanket and a piece of paper with her name on it. Camelee Pendrey.

  Genevra stood from her chair. She couldn’t sit. Where was her daughter? Who was Camelee’s father? Was she mad?

  She saw Odger and pulled him close by his sleeve. “Where is the chief?”

  “He has gone off to find his servant.”

  “She is more than a slave,” she told him. She is a princess.

  Genevra shook. Her blood felt frozen. How could her daughter be a princess? That would make her a queen. She would have laughed, but she felt this was real…somehow. “We have to find them.”

  “That is what the chief is trying to do.”

  She spotted Fin returning with some of the men. What was he doing back here? She ran to him. He would help. They were good friends. “Fin why have your returned already? What have you found?”

  “Him,” Fin stated and tilted his head to a body draped over a horse. It was Alric.

  “Oh, Alric!” she cried and turned back to Fin. “Is he dead?” She didn’t want to know the answer. Had he been with Camelee and Hild?

  “No,” he told her, relieving her. “But he’s close. He needs attention. Where should I bring him?”

  “To my room!” She clapped her hands together to hurry the men lifting him. “Softly! Gently!” she demanded at the same time.

  “Is there no sign of Camelee or Hild?” she asked Fin as they hurried to her chambers.

  “Not yet,” Fin answered. He echoed the words, this time more somberly. “Not yet. Wolf rode north toward Mercia, but my men found Alric in a forest three leagues south of here.”

  “So, he is likely going the wrong way,” she surmised with a sinking heart.

  “Likely,” Fin agreed. “We must get Alric to talk to me. Tell me what he knows, so I know which way to go to get word to my brother.”

  “Aye. You are correct,’ she told him. There was no time to worry about her sanity now. She had to save Alric. She cared for the boy. She knew Camelee did, too.

  Camelee.

  She didn’t want a mother. She had made that very clear from the beginning. She’d been adopted—Genevra had set the babe down in her basket and left her at the orphanage. Left her to be raised by people who did not show their love for her, people who had abandoned her to her nannies. Genevra’s decision that day ruined Camelee’s life and crushed her heart under the weight of mistrust.

  What about Michael?

  How could Genevra tell her—tell her what? That she was having dreams while she was awake? That those dreams were about her being Camelee’s mother? But how could she be her mother when they were born a thousand years apart? But…the basket, the orphanage, the memory of cars that moved around her on four wheels and with no horses were not a part of this eleventh-century world.

  “Gen, are you ill?”

  She blinked up at Fin—no, it was another man. He was handsome, with dark lush waves falling around his beautiful blue eyes. But he was faceless. He called her Guin.

  “Genevra?” Fin reached out and gave her a little shake. “Are you ill? Hurt?”

  “No. No, forgive me,” she reassured him and hurried forward to catch up with the men carrying Alric to her room. She forbade herself to think on anything but what Alric needed. She hovered over him while they lay him in Wolf’s bed.

  She was no doctor but—doctor? What a strange word to come into her head.