She didn’t know what came over him. He didn’t seem like the drag a girl in for a kiss kind of guy. But that’s just what he did. He pulled her into his arms and onto his lap. He laid her over his bent elbow and slipped his free hand behind her nape to angle her at the perfect degree to take her mouth more fully.

  She didn’t resist him when he bent and placed his lips to hers and covered her mouth and breathed her breath. She curled her arms around his neck and held him close while his tongue explored her mouth. His kiss was all consuming, turning her soft from the inside out. She moaned softly and he pulled his mouth away. “This will lead to something we’re not ready for. There are lots of rooms in this place.”

  She turned a bright shade of scarlet thinking about being intimate with him. Him ripping off her clothes, carrying her to the bed…

  “Aren’t there rules about being married first?”

  “Aye. And my father will have you hanged if you plant your seed in me and do not wed me.”

  “Plant my seed?” Michael said, looking down at her. “How romantic.”

  They heard the doors opening downstairs. Some or all of the men had returned.

  Charlotte bolted out of Michael’s arms. On her feet, she patted her hair, her skirts. A glance at Michael revealed the humor he found in her concern.

  “They’re going to know soon enough,” he quipped and gave her rump a pinch.

  She yelped, leaped forward into the table and then turned to him and gave him a whack on the arm.

  He laughed as Colin walked into the hall with four other men. He was smiling with his eyes on Michael. Aye. It wouldn’t take them long to realize. To realize what? That the detective was falling in love with her. She bit her lip. Or that she was falling in love with him?

  Chapter Eighteen

  New York City

  Autumn, 2019

  Charles Arthur Lancaster waited in the small coffee shop on East 98th for Elia, the pretty woman who’d arrived here from the fifteenth century while he was in Egypt last month.

  They had met early this morning. This morning, he’d discovered his baby girl, Kestrel, was stuck in the fifteenth century. Well, not stuck per se, as she chose not to come back. She made that decision because only one could return and she would not leave her husband. Good for her. Pendragons did not abandon their husbands or wives. Despite that he missed her terribly and despite what the fiction writers of this realm added to his story, his Guinevere had never been unfaithful with Lancelot, or any of his knights. Arthur, for he was none other than the lost king, had never abandoned Guin. There was no way possible to ever find her without alerting Morgan and putting Guin in danger. He wouldn’t do that. After he convalesced from his near mortal wound in Avalon, he’d planned his escape from Morgan and her brooch. Merlin had helped him. Arthur knew what he was giving up. He had no choice.

  He missed his old friend. He missed his knights, and especially his Guinevere. He’d loved Cynthia, Kestrel’s mother. He loved her and treated her the way she should be loved and treated. When she died, he did not marry again. But he never loved anyone the way he loved his queen. He felt his face grow warm and his eyes burn thinking of her and the children he fathered with her. Micajah and Camelee. He knew he had children before Kes. He just hadn’t known who or where they were. But then he met Detective Michael Pendridge, who’d been assigned to Kes’ case. Michael had to be Micajah. The names were too similar. The age was right. He had to be! But Arthur couldn’t do a damned thing about it. He couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t risk Morgan finding out anything. He knew having his children in the same century as him would be dangerous for them all. It was why the children had been given up. But now it seemed the brooch was continuing to keep them safe by separating them from him. Would his first-born daughter be next?

  And where was Merlin? He wasn’t just a great wizard. He was an expert thief. He’d found the brooch in Morgan’s castle and stole it and brought it back to Arthur. Together, they wove a powerful enchantment over it to override the first. Instead of seeking Arthur, the brooch united Pendragons with their true loves. He was happy to know—as of yesterday when he read his letter from his daughter—that it worked.

  This…Elia returned here in Kestrel’s place—with a crush on him. What was he to do with her? He didn’t want to begin another relationship here on this realm where lifespans are so short. But he couldn’t go home. Not with Morgan on the loose.

  He had to keep them all away and live alone. If anyone knew where and when he was, it would get back to her. He’d made certain that wouldn’t happen by weaving an enchantment over those who knew him in Avalon and in this realm to forget him, and to forget one another. The spell worked perfectly on the others. They all forgot, but Arthur remembered them. He still remembered his past, in Avalon, and then in Britain with his Round Table knights. He just didn’t remember what any of them looked like.

  The spell had been vital. If his knights found him, Morgan would find him. Her evil knew no bounds. She had cast one of her spells over him so that he would impregnate her and give her a son, Mordred, whom she used to almost kill him.

  She wanted him to rule Avalon with her. He’d refused. He didn’t want to rule anyplace with her. She was dark and vengeful, a worker of the enemy of God. He wanted to be away from her. He’d told her sisters of her schemes to rule over them and they locked her away for fifty years. But now she was free, and she was using the brooch.

  Let those he loved live their anonymous lives without him. He didn’t try to find any of them.

  He heard the little bell ring over the coffee shop door and looked up to see Elia of York standing at the sunny entrance. She had exchanged her medieval clothes for more modern jeans and a lightweight wool cable knit sweater. Her foster son, Sir Nicholas de Marre, who was also Arthur’s new son-in-law in the fifteenth century, sent enough silver and gold coins for her to buy what she needed when she got here.

  “Forgive me for being late,” she said, coming toward him. “I got a call for an interview for a housekeeping job I applied for. They called five minutes before I was leaving.”

  He left his chair to pull hers out. She fell into it and kept on talking. “And I forgot how to turn my phone on.”

  “It is on,” he replied with amusement coating his deep voice. “You mean, you forgot how to answer your phone.”

  “Aye. I mean, yes,” she corrected.

  He smiled and leaned over the table to pat her hand. “Don’t worry. You’ll get the hang of this.”

  She looked around and laughed. “I still cannot believe any of it is real. You would think after a month I would be used to Uber cars and smart phones, alarms blaring and people bumping into my shoulders while I walk. But no.” She laughed again, and Arthur thought about how fair she was. She looked to be in her forties, perhaps a decade younger than he. Her hair was gray with streaks of black. She wore it long and braided and dangling down her shoulder and breast.

  “What do you like the best about this century?” he asked, feeling her exuberance with her.

  “T.V.! I could sit in front of it day and night!”

  “Mm hmm.” He nodded and motioned to the waitress to bring more coffee.

  “Oh, and wash machines! Claire would weep if she saw one!”

  “Well, I don’t know who Claire is,” Arthur said, “but I wouldn’t want her to weep if she saw a washing machine.”

  “She’s the laundress at Scarborough Castle,” she continued on as if he hadn’t corrected her. “She cared for Nicky before Kes came along.”

  “She gave up so easily?” he asked, then also asked the waitress for sugar and cream.

  “You have not seen the way Nicholas looks at Kestrel. ’Tis as if his next breath depends on hers.”

  He smiled. He liked hearing that kind of news. “So, you raised Sir Nicholas?”

  “Since he was seven,” she told him, sipping her coffee black. “And oh my goodness! This!” She held up her cup and he laughed. “This is a potion of some sort. It must be! I take it back. Coffee. Coffee is the best thing. How could Kes give this up?” She took another sip then closed her eyes. She opened them an instant later and gave him a guilty look. “Well, no, I mean, how could she give you up, not coffee. Coffee is just a drink. I—”

  “Elianora?”

  “Aye? Yes?”

  “Are you nervous?”

  “Yes.” Her wide eyes changed from green to gold. “How can you tell?”

  She was delightful. He couldn’t help but grin.

  “Why ever would you be nervous around me? I’m not going to throw you out on the street.”

  “I’m hoping to make my own money and get my own place to live.”

  “Of course. Are you ready to order some breakfast?”

  She nodded and ordered what he suggested. Blueberry pancakes with strawberries and bananas and whipped cream, and if she ate meat, two sausages on the side.

  When their food came, he watched her eat and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. He liked the way her lips moved, and the way she marveled over the food. He especially liked the sound of her voice when she told him about his daughter. She cared for Kestrel. That meant a lot to him.

  “Why don’t I take you shopping?” he suggested. “You will need some clothes when you get this job you want.” He didn’t want his time with her to end, not even for a little while. He hadn’t found anyone so easy to speak to since…Guin.

  Suddenly, his heart stalled in his chest. Elia could be Guinevere and neither of them would ever know. His blood chilled in his veins. No. No, he couldn’t live with that.

  He pushed his food away and sat back with his palm spread across his belly.

  “What is the matter?” Elia asked.

  He scrutinized her and then threw back his head and almost growled with frustration.

  “Why did you want to come here?” he asked her.

  “I wanted to meet you. Kes spoke of you often.”

  “You don’t give up your life and your son because you want to meet someone,” he insisted.

  “I had no choice. ’Twas either me or her, and I knew if she left Nicky, he would go mad.”

  He had to admit, she had a good enough reason. He asked and she told him about Nicholas’ family and the day they were attacked in the woods when Nicholas was seven. King Edward had taken him in, and she helped raise him.

  “He’s fair and generous, honorable and stern,” she let him know. “Kes will continue to be very happy with him.”

  It was what every father wanted to hear—that his daughter was married to a good man, but to know his son-in-law was a knight was more than he could ask for. Kestrel’s marriage to a true knight was worth coming here again, living a life here again.

  It almost made him forget Guinevere for a moment.

  Ah, the thorn in his and Merlin’s enchantment. They knew it was best, and they had both agreed. No one remembers. No one recognizes. They would never meet again. It was best.

  But when it was all over, Arthur still remembered. He didn’t know how or why that part of the spell hadn’t worked on him. He remembered. He remembered them all. Their laughter had haunted him for fifty years. Well, all right, not fifty. When Kestrel was born, the voices quieted, laughter faded and was replaced with images and memories of his second wife and daughter.

  But he remembered and it was agony remembering and not recognizing them. Elia could be Guin. The waitress could be her. Anyone. It was enough to drive him mad.

  “So you’re coming here was a sacrifice you made for my daughter.”

  “And for my Nicky,” she corrected.

  He smiled.

  “And,” she blushed. “As I said, for you.”

  “But why?” He had to know why a fifteenth century woman would give up her life for a futuristic widow. “You didn’t know me.”

  “I felt as if I did. Kes spoke of you often. She said you were a knight to her.”

  Kestrel saw it in him. Nothing could have made him happier. Would she ever forgive him for not telling her who he was? It would have put her at terrible risk.

  “And then when Sir Gawaine came—”

  “What does he look like, this, Sir Gawaine?” He’d stayed away from everyone, so he never knew if it was just the remembering part of the spell that didn’t work on him.

  “He’s tall, dark hair, straight nose, somewhat somber eyes—”

  Did Gawaine remember him? Or had Morgan reversed the enchantment on him since he was working for her now? More likely if Gawaine was using the brooch to find him, he could have only gotten it from Morgan, and if Gawaine remembered him, he would never be working with Arthur’s enemy. So the answer to that question was no. He was hunting for him for Morgan. He wondered if she’d approached all his knights to help her search for their lord. What if this was Guinevere and she had been trying to find him for Morgan when Kestrel had arrived and spoke of him?

  “Is everything all right, Mr. Lancaster?”

  “Call me Art.”

  “Not Charles?”

  “My friends call me Art.”

  “Or Arthur?”

  Whoever she was, he wasn’t ready to tell her that. “Arthur feels very formal. I prefer Art.”

  He paid the bill plus a generous tip and then helped her out of her chair.

  “I just need a pair of boots,” she told him. “There is a small shop near the apartment that has a pair I like. And I will pay for them with my own money, Art.”

  Delicate and bull-headed—just like Guin. No. He had to put Guin away for now. He could do it. He’d done it before.

  “Very well. We shall do as you ask, Elianora, and then have a quiet dinner at home.”

  She smiled and looked at him over her shoulder. “I would like that.”

  So would he.

  *

  “What do you meeeeeeeeean you still cannot find him?” Morgan’s screech resonated throughout her castle in the northern hills of Avalon.

  “The brooch is not bringing us to him, but others to each other,” a man with a deep voice told her.

  “What did you do to it, Gawaine? You broke it!” she accused.

  Gawaine took a deep breath in, trying to gather himself before he broke. Morgan Le Fey might be beautiful, but she was stark raving mad. Why did he have to spend his days looking for this Arthur Pendragon? One of her many lovers, no doubt. “I did not break it, my queen. ’Twas broken long before I put my hands to it.”

  “Yes. Yes. It was burned numerous times,” she allowed, then sat up straighter on her throne. “He tampered with it. That must be it. Him and Merlin. Can we find Merlin?”

  He almost looked heavenward, which would have enraged her.

  “How can we find him when you cursed him to roam time? And besides, we don’t know who we are searching for. Have you forgotten that?”

  “No! I have not forgotten, Gawaine!” Her screaming nearly brought down the walls. “Do you think I am as meagerly made as you? I have forgotten nothing!”

  Gawaine closed his eyes. He wanted to be out of here. Let Kay or Sagramore deal with her.

  “We need Arthur to break the spell so that I can find my Mordred,” she wailed. “Do you think I want to be here all alone? My sisters hate me! I want to find my son!”

  Gawaine had no idea what she was talking about. And he no longer cared. He had quests to go on. He was tired of looking for a dead king and the queen’s dead son.

  “I will do my best, Your Majesty,” he promised so that he could leave.

  “Your best is not good enough, Gawaine. You have a week. One week. You better find someone in that week. Now get out.”

  Gawaine wanted to say more. He wasn’t going to be able to find anyone. What was he supposed to do? She had threatened to kill him in the past. If he didn’t find someone in a week, he was certain she would take his life. He was almost willing to give it up just to stay permanently away from her.

  He stormed out of the castle without saying another word to her. What good would it have done anyway?

  He decided Merlin might be the easiest to find since Morgan knew she’d cursed him. Gawaine knew a cursed traveler.

  Roldan Simeon. He would start there.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Croydon House

  1724

  Michael and Charlotte met in the dining hall for breakfast early the next morning. He was sitting at the head table with her father. Old John stood behind them.

  “Good morn to you, Investigator, John, Father. Did you sleep well?”

  “Like a baby, and I woke up like one. Hungry.” Michael laughed. So did her father.

  She wanted to get up from where she was sitting opposite Michael and go sit beside him. She wanted to hold his hand, feel his strong fingers around hers, giving her strength through them. But she sat where her father motioned her to go.

  “I was just telling your father about the old keep. He will pay for renovations, as well as pay the men and also pay for whatever we need.”

  “Father, that is very generous,” Charlotte said with surprise lacing her voice.

  “Crime will cease here, Charlotte,” the duke vowed to her as her softly boiled egg and bacon, along with toasted bread, was set down before her. “I will see that every criminal is caught and brought to justice. Especially murderers.”

  She nodded. “I believe you have found the right man in Detective Pendridge.”

  Michael smiled at her. She had to keep her head on today. Last night, she was mad, just as he was. She remembered some of the things she’d said and blushed to her roots at her boldness.

  They’d kissed by her door for hours. He was patient with her and visibly happy to hear when she admitted she hadn’t kissed many men.

  They had spoken a little about Preston, but she stopped before he began to brood. Michael didn’t like hearing about him. He was jealous. She smiled thinking of it but, in truth, she was worried sick. Whatever would she do about her childhood friend? Was Preston in love with her? And was she with him? She’d never questioned it before because there hadn’t been anyone in her life to make her question anything. But Michael made her stop and think about the time she was wasting with Preston. She wasn’t getting any younger. She’d thought Preston would marry her when Lord Adere had asked for her hand. But he had done nothing. He had been willing to let another man take her. At times, he seemed more interested in how much money she could make him than in her. And Amanda. What were his intentions toward Amanda? She had to know, and she would find out today.