“Yes, Simeon. Tell me the truth. Am I dying? Was I hit by a car? Shot by someone with a grudge?”

  “No, as I told you,” Simeon said, “this is real.”

  “Am I Arthur’s son?”

  Simeon laughed. Charlotte went pale and shook her head at him. He remembered her father saying never to tell anyone else. That included Roldan Simeon.

  “Who told you such a thing?” Simeon asked and then looked around for anyone else. “Arthur’s son?” he repeated. “As far as I know, King Arthur’s sons are all dead. All except…” He gave Michael a grave look. “Mordred.”

  Michael laughed. “Okay, now I’m Mordred?”

  “If Arthur didn’t die in Avalon, then mayhap Mordred didn’t either.”

  It was too preposterous to consider. Michael knew a little about Mordred from books. He was the one who dealt King Arthur the fatal blow, but not before Arthur killed him.

  “Charlotte!” Another man’s voice called out as he stepped into the house, shattering the images in Michael’s head of a battlefield and men lying dead on it. “Did I miss the festivities?”

  Lord Sebastian Alexander, Baron of Surrey, asked, entering the hall. Great. Michael stood up straighter. Did he like Alexander? He couldn’t tell yet. He didn’t dislike him.

  Michael did notice Simeon’s reaction to the baron though. The time traveler didn’t have time to disappear without being seen, and it looked as if he couldn’t have done anything even if he wanted to. He was struck mute at the sight of the young baron. He stared at him, unblinking, jaw tight.

  “Simeon, what is it?” Michael whispered while the baron went to Charlotte.

  “I was wrong,” Simeon told him softly before Lord Surrey reached them. “You’re not Mordred. He is.”

  Michael needed a minute. He felt as if he was losing his mind. King Arthur? Mordred? It was all so crazy. Then again, he’d traveled back in time to seventeen twenty-four. Wasn’t that crazy enough?

  “The gardener informed me outside,” Surrey said, his smile fading on Charlotte, “that you and Pendridge were married yesterday.”

  “That’s right,” Michael answered him. “We would have invited you, but it happened quickly.”

  Surrey blinked. It was difficult to tell what he was thinking as he remained impassive. Then he asked, “Why did it happen quickly? Is Charlotte—”

  “In love?” Charlotte finished what he had not been insinuating “Aye, I am.”

  “So soon?” he put to her with skepticism marring his brow.

  Michael noted though, that the baron’s gaze softened just a bit toward her.

  She nodded then laughed, the dulcet sound of her filling Michael’s ears, and the baron’s. “I know it sounds mad, but our love is the sanest thing I’ve talked about all morning.”

  Surrey slipped his gaze to Michael. “Oh, you share her feelings?”

  “Yes, very much.”

  “That is good news,” the baron said, sounding sincere enough. “It changes things now, though, doesn’t it? I must ask,” he said turning to Charlotte again with a widening smirk, “were you intending to tell Preston?”

  “I will tell him when I see him,” she replied. “And don’t look so gleeful. You are supposed to be his friend.”

  “So are you, and yet, here we both are.” He grimaced and scratched his chest, the place above his heart. He looked at Simeon and, for an instant, Michael would have sworn his eyes changed to pale topaz-green, like a spark of fire.

  “Who are you?” he asked with a tilt of his head and a thread of menace in his voice.

  “The question is,” Simeon countered, “why do I know who you are?”

  “Many know me. I’m the Baron of Surrey.” But that wasn’t what Simeon meant. Surrey didn’t know that he was Mordred. If he was truly Mordred. Michael wanted to rub his hands down his face and sigh.

  “Aye, pardon me,” Simeon amended diplomatically. “I’m not feeling myself. I’m Roldan Simeon, a trader. I’m told I have a familiar face. Many think they know me—”

  “Mmhmm,” Surrey mumbled, quickly losing interest. He turned back to Charlotte with a wide smile. “Well, I’m quite happy for you, Char. As a gift, let me be the first to tell you that John deVille, the man responsible for your friend’s death, has met with his own unfortunate demise.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Michael pushed forward. “If you killed him—”

  “Oh, I didn’t kill him, Investigator. But I made certain the order he had been given to kill Charlotte was not carried out.”

  Michael felt his blood boil. He forgot about King Arthur and being his son, and everything else. “Who gave the order?”

  “She knows,” Surrey said, setting his gaze on Charlotte.

  “No. You are lying,” she insisted. “Preston would never—”

  The baron smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “Believe what you wish.” He turned to leave but stopped in front of Michael. “There is a law unto itself here. ’Tis called Preston Bristol III, if you did not already know. You would do best to go back to where you came from. When he hears of this marriage, he will stop at nothing to kill you. As a matter of fact, he already sent me to do just that because she is spending time with you. The only reason I don’t do it is because, for some reason, I like you, Pendridge, and I like her.” He pointed to Charlotte. “She’s my friend.”

  Instead of thanking him for the information and for not killing him, Michael pulled him in by the wrist and twisted his arm behind his back. “And that’s why I won’t break your arm,” Michael said close to his ear. Then, louder, he added, “Ah, my first guest at the keep.”

  “He will send someone else,” Surrey warned.

  “You’ll tell me all about it when we get to town,” Michael told him then turned to Charlotte. “Tell your father everything. Tell him—”

  “John will tell him. I’m coming with you!” Charlotte insisted, following them.

  “No, Char—”

  “Sebastian is my friend, Michael. He came here to warn us.”

  “She’s correct, Michael. I came here to warn you,” the baron drawled.

  “He came to kill you, Michael!” Simeon called out, stopping them.

  “I already confessed to that, old man,” the baron defended. “Who in the blazes are you again?”

  Michael’s investigator mind immediately latched on to the baron calling Simeon an old man. Sure, he was older than they were, but he was no Old John.

  With a shrug, Michael dragged him to the door. He was thinking crazy. Could anyone blame him? If any of this was real, and he held Mordred, who, according to some great literature, was the son of Arthur and Morgan Le Fey, he didn’t want Surrey realizing who he really was right now.

  “Did you come alone?” Michael asked the baron, not wanting any surprises when he opened the door.

  “Of course I did. Do you think I need an army to take you down? If I hadn’t changed my mind, that is?”

  “If you’re lying, I’ll kill you.”

  He was telling the truth. Outside was clear. They made their way with caution to the stable. Michael didn’t let Sebastian mount until the stable hands saddled his and Charlotte’s horses.

  “Why haven’t you arrested Preston by now?”

  “On what charges?” Michael asked him.

  “Whatever she has told you.”

  They both looked at Charlotte, riding a few feet ahead. “She has told me nothing,” Michael said and brooded the entire way to the keep.

  The fact that Charlotte had not betrayed her friends kept the baron smiling for the rest of the way.

  Michael understood her loyalty. He was a cop. He’d never snitch. Still, he hated that she wouldn’t tell him. He wouldn’t force her, or arrest her for withholding information, but he wasn’t happy.

  He slipped his gaze to her while they rode. She looked away. So that was how it was going to be then? She would stand with her criminal friends while he spent his time trying to clean up Croydon and the roads.

  He didn’t speak to her when they reached the keep or when they went inside and met up with Colin and Will and some of the other men who had joined his force.

  Could he really start over here?

  He brought Surrey downstairs to the cellars and lit a bunch of candles. Then he brought the baron to one of the barred cells. “Get in,” he told his prisoner.

  Surrey obeyed and walked to the wall, expecting to be shackled. Michael shut the bars. He made a mental note to have all the shackles removed.

  “Tell me about the Horsemen,” Michael said from the other side. Charlotte stood nearby, listening. Michael was sure he could hear her breathing fast and labored.

  “What do I get out of this?” Surrey asked. “I could get shot for telling you anything.”

  “Oh? Who will shoot you?”

  Surrey laughed. “I told you, Investigator. Were you not listening? There is a law unto itself here.”

  “Preston,” Michael said. “He’s the head of this entire thing?”

  The baron nodded but said nothing. “His people are everywhere.”

  Michael flicked his gaze to his wife, and then moved in closer to the bars. “I’m going to roll over his people like a bulldozer. Whoever doesn’t want to work with me will likely hang.”

  “Work with you…” the baron said carefully. “What would that entail?”

  “Giving me information. Testifying against him in a courtroom. His reign would end.”

  “He would hang.” Both men looked at Charlotte.

  “Is that what you want, Sebastian?” she asked.

  “No, dearest,” he told her. “But I don’t want anyone else to hang with him.”

  Were her lips trembling? Michael looked around for more candles or lanterns or whatever else they used for light these days. There was nothing.

  “He’s going to find out you spoke to Michael and he’s going to kill you.”

  “Now, how will he find out?” the baron asked her. “Will you tell him, Char?”

  “I will not have to,” she retorted. “You said you were sent to kill Michael. When he finds out Michael isn’t dead, he’ll put the pieces together.”

  “Are you saying I should kill Michael?”

  She slapped her thighs and he laughed, finished with teasing her.

  “All right, all right.”

  “’Tis no laughing matter, Bastian,” she scolded.

  Listening to them, Michael was reminded of family members, brothers teasing their sisters. He thought he finally understood that she was more involved than she had told him, and she likely wouldn’t be much help putting her “family” in jail.

  “You will have to keep me locked up,” Surrey volunteered, “until Preston is no longer a threat.”

  “Protection is not free, Surrey,” Michael told him.

  “Hmm. Preston is the head of the Horsemen. He’s the head of all crime in this area. How’s that?”

  Michael ground his teeth together. That haughty little worm had people crapping their breeches and hose. How? “What kinds of tactics does he use to enforce his threats?”

  Surrey shifted his gaze to Charlotte. Yes. Michael turned to look at her, too, but without the regret and tenderness that the baron offered her. She knew. She knew Preston’s character, his life, who he was. She had likely been right at his side. A regular Bonnie and Clyde.

  He wanted to tell her to leave them alone. He didn’t want to see her right now.

  “He gives orders to kill,” Surrey confessed. “He’s given orders for…ehm…families to—”

  “No!” Charlotte stepped forward and grabbed hold of the bars to stare into the baron’s eyes. “You’re lying, Sebastian! If you think Preston would do such things, you don’t know him.”

  She didn’t know. At least, she didn’t know everything that her ex-boyfriend/childhood friend did. That was good to know. Either that or she was a very good actress.

  The handsome baron’s gaze was full of pity for her. Michael thought he even saw a tear or two glittering off the dim candlelight.

  “’Tis you who doesn’t know him,” the baron countered. “He keeps great and terrible secrets from your delicate ears. You thought what he was doing was for good. ’Twas never about the good of anyone but Preston.”

  “No,” she cried. “It takes a certain person to—”

  “He gave deVille the order to burn Rosie’s village.”

  “What?” she gasped. Her eyes were wide on her friend. Wide and horrified. “Sebastian, please don’t deceive me in this.”

  “I didn’t know of it until a few hours ago. I was having an afternoon drink with Preston when deVille came to speak with him. He confessed to everything, burning the place, killing Rosie’s husband, seeing both of you together in the middle of the night. Preston was enraged and ordered your death. John deVille was to kill you tonight.”

  “You said he was dead,” Michael reminded him. “Who killed him?”

  “Preston had him brought to the courtyard and shot,” the baron told him.

  Charlotte let go of the bars and stepped away with tears filling her eyes.

  “Why did Preston have him shot?” Michael asked him.

  The baron yawned and leaned his back against the wall. “I put into Preston’s useless head the idea that deVille was a spy for you. He had to be on your side since you didn’t kill him last night after you killed everyone else who was with him.” He stopped to grin at Michael. “It doesn’t take much to sway him.”

  Good to know, Michael thought. Maybe Surrey was the brains behind everything. Michael would be careful with him.

  “Are you going to bring him here?” Charlotte demanded, staring at him.

  “Not yet,” Michael told her in a deep, low voice she almost didn’t recognize. “There isn’t enough proof. It’s your say against his. He has a lot of influence. I don’t want him walking away.”

  Surrey nodded. Charlotte let out a breath she’d been holding and turned away.

  Michael knew this had to be hard for her. Was Preston that good of a liar? Had he fooled her so completely? It had to hurt. But…she wasn’t dumb. Something would have slipped eventually. Did she know? Was this an act?

  “Charlotte,” he said more softly. “I’ll be fair. If you can be, too, then you can help me, yeah?

  She smiled, and man if she was faking it, she was truly a viper. He remembered her mother’s words and then rejected them. Charlotte wasn’t a snake.

  “Yeah,” she agreed, and then laughed at using his word. “I can be fair.”

  “Michael!” came Colin’s urgent voice on his way down the stairs. “We’re under attack!”

  “And now it begins,” said Surrey with a fading smile and slid down the wall to sit and close his eyes.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Michael bounded upstairs. Was it Preston, his friends?

  “Who knows we’re here?” he called out to his men, surprised to see there were so many. At lease fifteen more than yesterday and ten more than the day before. Any one of them could be working for Preston. There wasn’t time to welcome or warn them. They still didn’t have enough weapons and whoever was outside seemed to have a lot.

  “Everyone in town and at the manor house knows we’re here,” William told him, appearing at his side.

  That meant Preston Bristol knew as well, Michael thought. He turned to find Charlotte, certain that she had been behind him a moment ago. Had she stayed behind with Surrey? Were they talking right now?

  It didn’t matter. He turned to William. “The duke sent weapons—”

  “In the gatehouse. Come, ’tis attached.”

  He hurried with William through another door and saw more men running from the gatehouse to the small parapet to fight. Good. The men were already fighting back. Michael pushed William to move faster. When they arrived at the gatehouse, Michael found about a dozen flintlock pistols left, everything they needed to fire them, swords, arrows, axes. He grabbed another pistol and a few handfuls of bullets, or round balls. They did the same damage. He loaded two and shoved them into this belt.

  William took two as well and did everything Michael did.

  When they returned to the keep, Colin rushed to him and took him by the arm. “I had to subdue Lady Charlotte. She was trying to leave. She wouldn’t hear of not going out there. She said he wouldn’t shoot at her.”

  “Where!” Michael almost took him by the shoulders and shook him.

  “In the kitchen.”

  Michael dashed forward, then realized he didn’t know where the damned kitchen was. He ran from room to room and then called out. She answered and he followed. He found her tied to a beam going up the wall to a rafter overhead.

  He pulled out his knife and began to cut her loose. “Where do you think you were going?”

  “Preston won’t kill me, Michael,” she insisted.

  But he shook his head. “I’ll lock you up with Surrey. Don’t step foot outside, Charlotte. Do you hear me?”

  “She won’t listen, Investigator.” Preston’s voice came from the doorway. He limped into the kitchen with three men behind him. They were all pointing their pistols at Charlotte.

  Michael threw his pistol down and put his hands up. Where were William and Colin? His other men? If Preston or his men had killed them, Michael wasn’t sure he could control himself and not kill the guilty without a trial.

  “Where are my men?” he demanded, stepping in front of his wife, blocking their aim.

  “If he takes another step, shoot him.” Preston ordered. “I will deal with him next. Untie her.”

  “Preston.” Charlotte remained calm, but the set of her jaw told Michael she was not okay. “What are you doing? Why are you attacking this keep?”

  “Because you’re in it, Charlie. I’ve come to take you back from this stranger and break the spell he has over you. You have ignored me long enough. You succeeded in showing me that I need and want you in my life. Are you satisfied? I threw Amanda out and prepared my bed for you. I will give you everything you want.”

  Michael listened, aching with every fiber of his being to punch Preston’s teeth out. But she had to hear these things once and for all and know where her heart truly stood.