Michael recognized the two of them, though he couldn’t believe his eyes. They appeared more primitive now in their leather armor and fur jackets, with two-edged swords dangling from their belts.

  “You heard him,” said Luke. “’Twas the same as before. They were sent for love. The brooch has been tampered with for certain.”

  His companion, Sir Gawaine, eyed Michael with the same dark eyes that had looked at him through glasses in an office once before. “By Merlin.” They both turned their gazes on Simeon.

  Michael’s eyes opened wide. “Merlin?”

  Simeon shook his head. “I would know.”

  “We have been trying to find you, Traveler,” Sir Luke told him. His destrier snorted beneath him. “You are difficult to pin down.”

  “Well, you can thank the one who cursed me for that.”

  “Who was it?” Gawaine demanded.

  “A witch.”

  “What witch?”

  “How am I supposed to know what witch? They have names? I never believed in them before, so I didn’t ask questions. And why have you been trying to find me? Who told you I was Merlin?”

  “She wants you found,” Luke told him. “She wants the spell broken and Mordred found.”

  “Why are you questioning me about this?” Simeon demanded. His voice sounded a bit shaky. “I’m not Merlin!”

  “We think the witch was Morgan Le Fey,” Sir Gawaine overrode his voice. “And part of the enchantment is that no one remembers who they are, or who anyone else is. I could be Arthur, and none of us would know it.”

  “You’re not Arthur,” Simeon said with a smirk. “And I’m not Merlin.”

  Luke reached for him, but he disappeared. Michael hid his smile.

  The way Gawaine glared at him, he figured he hadn’t been all that successful at hiding it.

  “You cannot just disappear and escape,” Sir Gawaine warned.

  “Escape what?” Michael asked him.

  “Notice,” the knight said. “You are talking too much, telling too many people too much. You’re not even supposed to be here. Someone tampered with the brooch. You were supposed to lead us to King Arthur.”

  Michael wanted them to continue to believe the brooch had nothing to do with the king. But, of course, it did. He was one of three people who knew who and where Arthur Pendragon was. He looked at his wife and tried to reassure her with a smile. He wasn’t going back. “Oh, so you think you’re going to send me back without my wife?”

  Luke slapped his forehead and turned his horse away, mumbling about Morgan skinning them alive.

  “We’re not leaving you here,” Gawaine promised. “You’re too much of a risk. You all are. I don’t know why we must keep doing this. Here!” He was shouting by now. “Take the brooch. If you don’t, we will take you to Morgan and let her deal with you.”

  He tossed the charred brooch to Michael. This was it. His chance to go back home.

  But this was his home now, where he wanted his home to be. With her.

  Michael let the brooch fall into Charlotte’s lap.

  Someone else snatched it up.

  “What do I do?” the Baron of Surrey asked without taking his eyes off the brooch. “Where will I go?”

  “No!” Michael tried to grab it from him, but the brooch began to shine as if it were new. It was already enchanting Surrey. The name of the king appeared in the stone. Michael turned away and then heard Surrey say one word. Pendragon.

  He disappeared. The brooch fell to the ground. No.

  No! Michael stared up at the two riders. Were they working with Morgan? Were they dangerous to Arthur? He didn’t know. He only knew what he’d read in books. Mordred kills the king. “You better go find him. And you better hurry.”

  “We do not know where he went,” Gawaine told him. “The brooch appears to send people to their true love. The last time someone used it without authorization, she went to the twenty-first century. It took us a month to find her.”

  “Ah, aye,” said Luke, smiling. “Elia. We should pay her a visit and see how she is doing with that Charles Lancaster fellow.”

  Charles Lancaster? Michael’s heart raced. Yes, they knew of him. They were the ones who had sent Kestrel to the past. They had no idea how close they were to King Arthur.

  “Why do you express such urgency about us finding the rogue?” Gawaine demanded, pulling him from his thoughts. “Who is he?”

  “He’s Mordred.”

  *

  Charlotte rested in her bed at the manor house. It had been three days since Preston shot her. She liked to believe that the pistol fired accidentally, that Preston hadn’t meant to shoot her, but she knew he likely had.

  She would miss him, but she was glad he was gone. As for Sebastian, what madness surrounded him and Michael. Brothers! Sons of King Arthur! She’d never believe it if she hadn’t met Mr. Simeon, and if her father didn’t believe it. Oh, she had quit defying him. He wasn’t so bad. He sent for the best physicians and paid for her constant care. Even after she’d confessed to being the Dark Horseman, he promised that she would receive a fair trial. She hadn’t truly done anything as a Horseman. It had been Sebastian who’d killed the earl. Laws weren’t as strict here as in the twenty-first century. Because she’d been there did not make her guilty. Still, she vowed to put in as many hours as she could in a day to doing things for others.

  Her mother hadn’t been home in four days. It was the longest she’d been gone. Charlotte didn’t think she would be back. And she didn’t care. Charlotte would have liked a relationship with her, but it was up to her mother now. If she ever returned. Her father didn’t seem overly concerned, and he knew his wife best.

  Rosie and the others were doing well, helping her father and Michael’s men rebuild in the village. Charlotte would like to live among them eventually.

  With Michael. He’d forgiven her. She thought she might go mad if he hadn’t. She smiled, thinking of it all. Her, the pampered daughter of a duke, who had learned years ago how to use her wiles to their best advantage, had lost her heart to a stoic stranger who’d appeared in her life like a flash of light, leading her toward true happiness.

  “Time for your medicine, my lady,” Old John said in his gravelly voice as he entered.

  “The nurse is to bring it to me, John. You have enough to see to. And I think ’tis a bit early.”

  He handed her the small cup he was carrying and waited for her to drink it. The moment she put it to her lips the smell of whiskey assaulted her nostrils. She eyed the butler and smiled then downed the drink. It was the good stuff. She knew because it burned her eyeballs.

  “Ah, that will help, old friend.”

  He smiled proudly. “You could drink with the best of them, my lady.”

  The sound of a man’s deep laughter settled around her like a favored blanket. Michael appeared at the doorway and gazed at her lying in bed. “What more will I learn about you in the days to come?”

  “I cannot wait to get out of this bed.”

  His smile remained as he stepped inside. “Why? I like you in it.”

  John slipped out of the room with a smile on his weathered face.

  “I can carry you to our bed, where you belong. Your wound is no longer bleeding.”

  “I can walk.” She smiled at him, and if she ever thought her smiles didn’t affect him, she was greatly mistaken. He seemed to go soft. Maybe she hadn’t seen it because he hadn’t gone soft with anyone else.

  He reached the side of the bed and bent to carefully scoop her up. “No wife of mine will walk after she’s been shot.”

  She laughed softly into his neck. “I miss you at my side in bed.”

  “I’ll jump in beside you when we reach our bed,” he promised, kissing her forehead.

  “Ah,” breathed Mr. Simeon, popping in in front of them and blocking their path to the bedroom. “It is wonderful to see the brooch succeeded yet again.”

  “Simeon,” Michael muttered, though Charlotte knew he was happy to see him. “Then the knights haven’t found you?”

  “No,” the traveler laughed and actually wrung his hands together. “I am enjoying leading them on a merry duck chase.”

  Michael didn’t bother correcting his use of the term but smiled and stepped around him.

  Simeon hurried in front of him again. “I probably won’t be around much.”

  “Oh?”

  “The brooch went out again yesterday. To a woman in New York City yet again. Another of Arthur Pendragon’s relatives called Camelee Pendrey. She’s an actress who is making a name for herself. Well, she was making a name for herself.”

  “Right,” Michael agreed. Pendrey. Another Pendragon. Who was she? Another sister? An aunt, niece? “Now she’ll be another missing person case on someone’s desk. Do me a favor and keep your eye on her if you can.”

  “I intend to,” Simeon informed him with a smile. “I’m now invested in all this, so I want to see where it leads.”

  “Any word on Lord Surrey?” Michael asked. “If you’re right and he’s Mordred…” Should he tell Simeon about Charles Lancaster? No. He was warned to tell no one. Simeon might not be Arthur’s magician friend. But he had a strong feeling that Mordred would find his way to Arthur. “Look in my time, in New York City, for Mordred. You have to find him.”

  “Why? What do you know? Quickly, tell me! I must leave.”

  “Will we see you again, Mr. Simeon?” Charlotte asked him. “You have become a trusted friend.”

  “Have I?” he asked.

  “New York City,” Michael told him quickly not sure if he heard. “Arthur’s there.”

  Alone again, Michael and Charlotte looked at each other and smiled.

  He carried her to their bedroom and set her down gently on the bed, then jumped in beside her.

  He told her the latest about Preston’s men and to how many he’d given second chances. Many joined the force, thankful that Preston’s constant hand was off them.

  “You’re a good man, Michael,” she told him softly as he began to undress her. “If what I have read about King Arthur is true, you are sure to be his son.”

  He kissed her mouth, snatching up her breath. “It’s you who makes me a better man. I intend to kiss every part of you and show you how grateful I am.”

  She shook her head. “You were good before you got here, or the world from which you came would not have affected you so.”

  “Maybe, but that’s all over now.” He scooped her thick tresses off her shoulder and kissed his way down her arm, her fingers and sensitive palms. “Every day is a new day. And I want to start all my fresh, new days with you.”

  Epilogue

  Sebastian Alexander, Baron of Surrey, landed in the middle of absolute chaos to his senses. Sirens were going off, pistol fire was being exchanged more rapidly than anything he’d ever heard. He covered his ears with his hands and opened his eyes, then closed them again. They stung from the almost blinding light above him. Was it the sun? He squinted and shielded his eyes with his hand. It wasn’t the sun, but a dozen little suns just above him, though they didn’t burn. He waited and as his eyes adjusted to the light, he realized they were lanterns of some kind, meant to give light, not heat. The noise shattered his thoughts. He stared, astonished, at the dozens of small, rectangular boxes all around him, no bigger than his hand, and a dozen more, larger, fifty-two inches or more by Sebastian’s estimation, picture boxes hanging on the walls around him. The sounds had come from them. Suddenly, the pictures changed and all of them showed the same thing. A beautiful woman outside somewhere, talking into a stick.

  She was talking about “shootings” and “bombings” in the ever-changing world they lived in. The boxes all changed again and metal monsters with wings flew through the sky dropping…cannon balls or something he’d never seen before. Remarkable.

  This was the future. Pendridge’s blackened brooch had worked. Well, he either lived or died here. Best to live. He turned around to leave all the picture boxes and the noise and walked through a sheet of glass. He never saw it. It was completely see-through! Amazing. He swiped the glass bits off the shoulders of his justaucorps and looked up.

  The woman from the picture boxes stood staring at him. A man carrying a big, black piece of metal with a short telescope attached stared at him as well. He had no idea how to describe things he’d never seen before.

  “Sir,” the woman holding the stick called out.

  Sir? He was no sir. He was a lord. He—

  The man holding the bulky telescope turned to him.

  “What were you just doing in that electronics store?”

  “I was lost.”

  “Inside the store?”

  He shook his head. “What is a store?”

  She smiled, but after experiencing Charlotte’s array of well-practiced grins, he knew she thought him dull-minded.

  “What year is this?”

  She blinked her almond-shaped green eyes. “Excuse me? Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, looking at the man with a telescope on his shoulder. “We have some kind of looter here. Sir, what did you steal?”

  “The year, dear lady?” he asked again, not caring what she thought. He wanted to know when he was.

  “It’s twenty nineteen.”

  His eyes opened wider. Was it possible? He turned to look at the picture boxes behind him for proof on the far-advanced world. He saw himself and the woman on all the boxes. “What are—”

  “Okay. Who are you?” she asked, tugging on his sleeve. “What did you take from that store?”

  “I took nothing,” he vowed, holding out his hands. “I came here from—” He turned again toward the picture boxes. “How are you doing this?” he pointed to the all the moving pictures of himself. “Are you a witch?” He remembered Pendridge talking about his time traveling friend being cursed by a witch. This woman was certainly beautiful enough to be a witch.

  “No.” She laughed a little.

  He smiled watching her. “Are you certain?” he asked softly.

  She cleared her throat and looked into the telescope with a slight smile. “Reporting live for TTN, I’m Noelle Upton. Back to you, Janet.”

  Another woman appeared on the screen. Sebastian looked around for her but didn’t see her.

  “Turn off the charm, buddy. What were you doing in the store?”

  Sebastian took a deep, cleansing breath. He didn’t want to lie to her and have her find out and curse him with boils. “I came here from the past. Two hundred and ninety-five years to be exact. I was—” His words came to an abrupt end when the air behind him shimmered and two knights appeared on horses trained to trample and kill.

  They had come for him. He had to run…but first—he put his fingers under her chin and lifted her mouth to his and kissed her.

  She opened her eyes and broke free. Sebastian made the mistake of looking into her eyes. There was a fire burning inside. She pulled back her hand and cracked him across the face.

  He took a moment to appreciate her saucy nature, and then he ran.

  “This is Noelle Upton live on eighty-fourth and eighth where two…men just appeared…”

  Sebastian didn’t hear the rest. He kept running, into alleys and up metal ladders hanging from gigantic brick structures with windows. Were they castles?

  It didn’t matter. So, they were going to chase him down. He didn’t blame them. He’d heard things they’d said when they had come for Pendridge. Things about Merlin and King Arthur. Mad things. But then who was he to say what was mad when he’d just traveled almost three hundred years into the future? Thankfully, they didn’t know he’d heard them. Still, he guessed stealing their brooch was a good enough reason for them to hunt him down. Good. He liked a challenge. He also liked Noelle Upton and how she looked in her hose and coat, with her red hair spilling loose around her shoulders. If he was staying here, he wanted to see her again.

  He was running and thinking of her pretty face when a metal beast on four wheels smashed into him and knocked him out cold for a few moments. When he opened his eyes again, he saw a man and a woman bending over him, concern was etched in their faces.

  “Don’t try to move,” the woman told him.

  “Help is on the way,” the man said.

  Sebastian stared at him. Had he seen him before? “Who are you?”

  “Charles Lancaster. Here. Here’s my I.D. I’m insured.”

  Sebastian shook his head. Did he just hear the thunder of horses’ hooves? “I must go,” he told them. As much as it pained him, he got up.

  The man took hold of him. “You need to go to the hospital. There’s an ambulance on the way.”

  “What is an ambulance? Armed men who fight for you, I hope?”

  The man stared at him as if he could see inside his soul. Sebastian didn’t like it. “Did the car hit your head?”

  Aye! Hooves! He heard it again. Closer!

  “Not my head. No.” He pulled away. “I really must go.” He broke free and ran, disappearing into the shadows cast from the monstrous-sized forts around him as the sun went down. He was careful not to run into any of the moving creatures on wheels. Were they alive? Or machines controlled by the men and women inside them? He couldn’t think straight. He felt somewhat ill. He turned into a dark corridor made of what felt like mortar. He coughed and tasted blood. He spit it out and held on to his stomach with one arm.

  The alarming screech of a siren blared through his ears making him feel dizzy. Finally, it stopped. He listened for the horses and heard nothing. He decided it was best to sleep here—wherever here was. He’d worry about his condition and those damned knights in the morning.

  He curled up on the hard ground and, after finally falling asleep, he dreamed of a beautiful red-haired witch speaking spells into her wand. Her name was Noelle.

  And he was going to find her.

  End

  About the Author

  Paula Quinn is a New York Times bestselling author and a sappy romantic moved by music, beautiful words, and the sight of a really nice pen. She lives in New York with her three beautiful children, six over-protective chihuahuas, and three adorable parrots. She loves to read romance and science fiction and has been writing since she was eleven. She’s a faithful believer in God and thanks Him daily for all the blessings in her life. She loves all things medieval, but it is her love for Scotland that pulls at her heartstrings.