Enchanted Warrior. Sharon Ashwood

the front door of Tamsin’s building and found it locked. He knew enough about modern times to search the panel beside the door for Tamsin’s name. He pressed the button next to it and waited.

      “Hello?” Her voice crackled out of the speaker, making him jump.

      He cast a glance around, hoping no one had noticed his less-than-manly surprise. “It is Gawain.”

      “Come on up.”

      The door clicked, and he tugged on the handle. This time it opened, and he stepped into the lobby. Fortunately, he’d already learned about elevators and made his way to her floor.

      The door to Tamsin’s suite was open, letting out the scent of herbs and good food. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he was hungry. He lingered on the threshold a moment, savoring the aroma.

      A moment later, Tamsin put her head out of the tiny galley kitchen and gave him a bright smile. “Make yourself comfortable. Dinner’s just about done.”

      “Dinner?” he asked suspiciously. “I did not expect this.”

      “I hope you don’t mind. I can’t perform a ritual on an empty stomach.”

      Gawain approached the tiny table where just last night Tamsin had bound his wound. There were place settings already laid out, and he studied them carefully. He’d been thoroughly trained to take his place at Camelot’s high table, but he was well aware that modes and manners had changed. Gawain felt an unaccustomed flicker of stage fright.

      Tamsin bustled out of the kitchen with a bowl of greens. “It’s just pasta and salad, nothing much. My mother would tell me I’m a terrible homemaker.”

      He almost smiled then, a rueful turn of lips. “You realize, of course, that I have not been invited to dine in someone’s home for nearly a thousand years.”

      Tamsin raised her brows. “In that case, you’ll be excited to learn about this new thing called a fork.”

      Gawain looked away from her pretty, open face. “You’re mocking me.”

      “Are you sure about that?”

      “You assume I have the manners of a mad hermit.”

      “Have you used a fork before?”

      “Why should I?” His tone grew icy.

      “Maybe I should have ordered pizza.” She disappeared back into the kitchen.

      Gawain watched her retreating form, appreciating the sway of her hips. He knew she was just as wary of him as he was of her—and with more cause—but she refused to let it show. Whatever else she was, Tamsin Greene was not a coward. She was taking a risk, inviting him here. He would show her better courtesy tonight.

      “I’m a little behind,” she said. “My sister keeps phoning me about one thing or another. Today it was my mother’s plans.”

      “For what?”

      Tamsin’s shoulders hunched, as if the subject irritated her. “She’s threatening to have the Elders find a husband for me.”

      “Is she?” Gawain’s eyes narrowed. Every level of his being rejected the idea like poison.

      Tamsin gave Gawain a weary look, but there was a touch of anger deep in her eyes. “It’s just my mother. The Elders have better things to do with their time.”

      “What does your sister believe?” The knot in his chest tightened. He had never condoned forcing a maid to marry, whatever the reason.

      “She’s older and thinks she knows best.”

      He could hear the affection in her voice, but also deep exasperation. “I understand. I was the eldest of four brothers.”

      “No wonder you’re bossy.” Tamsin set plates of food on the table. “Sit. Eat. I promise it is entirely magic-free.”

      He flushed slightly at her words, but sat and sniffed at the meal. It wasn’t food he’d tried before, but he had seen it in pictures. There were spirals of pasta drenched in a thick and meaty sauce that made his mouth water. Hesitantly, he picked up a piece of crusty bread and soaked it in the sauce. It was hot and savory, and all at once dinner seemed like an excellent idea.

      They dug in. He watched the way Tamsin handled the food to make sure he got the rituals of the table just right. Although he tried not to admit it, he enjoyed watching her delicate fingers hold the silverware and the way her lips closed around each bite. It made him think of other, more interesting things her lips might do.

      “You realize,” Tamsin began, breaking the silence, “that as a medieval historian, I’m fascinated to actually meet someone from the past.” She cast him a glance that was almost shy.

      “I expect that is true.” Gawain shifted in his seat, feeling uncomfortably ancient. It prompted him to change the subject. “You say you are in search of Merlin’s books at the behest of your coven Elders. Why did you take on this task?”

      She looked down, her face carefully schooled. “To prove myself. Loremasters can travel and conduct business on our own authority in a way other witches can’t. I am the first woman to take this position, even on a temporary basis. I want the job permanently. It’s the best chance I have for a position with so much responsibility.”

      No doubt it also ensured escape from a marriage she didn’t want. Gawain studied her face, now grown slightly flushed, as if she wasn’t used to speaking her mind to strangers. “Ambition in the right measure is an attractive quality. It shows independence.”

      Her eyes grew wide and she leaned closer. “Tell me about Merlin the Wise.”

      She’d changed the subject, just as he had. Fencing. Protecting herself. Not quite sure of him. It piqued his interest. “What do you want to know?”

      “He was the greatest sorcerer that ever lived. Of course I’m curious. What was he like as a person?”

      “I never liked him,” Gawain said bluntly, and forked up some more pasta.

      Tamsin looked momentarily crestfallen. “Why not?”

      Gawain chewed and swallowed. He recognized hero worship when he saw it. He struggled between the truth and sparing her feelings. “Merlin was a mighty spell caster. Unfortunately, he always believed he knew what was best. There were those who warned him against a war with the demons, but he would not listen and so broke the world as we knew it.”

      “He was flawed,” Tamsin said.

      “Then why do the witches honor his memory so deeply?”

      Tamsin lowered her eyes until all he could see was the crescent of her lashes. Her voice grew quiet. “Because he reminds us to be humble. If even the best of us can fail, we must cherish obedience. The Elders govern how we live now.”

      Gawain barely resisted the impulse to reach across and raise her chin. She had beautiful dark eyes but also a way of hiding them.

      “I don’t think Merlin himself would have approved of your Elders. He never valued obedience.”

      She gave a lopsided smile. “I think that’s the point.”

      This time Gawain laughed. “Serves him right.”

      “But you trusted Merlin to put you to sleep for nearly a thousand years.”

      “I did that for Arthur. He is my friend. I would not let him wake alone in a strange land with no one to guard his back.”

      Now she did look up, turning the full force of her dark eyes on him. They were the deep brown of rich forest loam. The color made him think of new life and deep mysteries. Tamsin had immense power, even if she did not fully realize it; despite himself, he could feel it like the warmth of sun against his skin. Too much to be thrown away on a man she didn’t like or caged by Elders who thought they knew best. With sudden clarity Gawain understood how much she wanted her freedom—and