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  “Your speech is indeed odd, my lady.” He shrugged. “As is your manner. Still, when one is used to the ways of wizards, one accepts, nay expects, the unusual.”

  “Well, I’ll never accept it. We don’t have wizards where I come from.”

  “No wizards? But then you must have sorcerers of some kind?”

  She shook her head.

  “Magicians?”

  “Nope. No wizards, no sorcerers and the only magicians I know of get TV specials or play Vegas if they’re good, kids’ parties if they’re not.”

  TV specials? Vegas? The unfamiliar terms danced in his head. He was not an idiot—nay, he prided himself on his intelligence, yet with every word, this woman muddled his mind. Perhaps he was right to begin with. Perhaps she was addle brained. He chose his words with care. “How can this be?”

  She raised her shoulders in a casual gesture of dismissal. “We don’t need them.”

  “Surely in your land ordinary mortals are not bestowed with the gift of magic?”

  “Of course not. We don’t believe in magic. A card trick or two but no magic.” A superior smile quirked her lips.

  “I cannot accept such a thing. ’Tis impossible. How can such a land survive without wizards to help slay your dragons or defend your people?” He narrowed his eyes. “From where do you hail?”

  “The U.S., United States. Nebraska, originally.”

  “I have not heard of such a place,” he said slowly.

  “That’s a surprise.” She laughed. ’Twas a lovely sound. Not the sound of a woman mad. Still…“It’s pretty far from here. Head north, hang a left at the ocean and aim toward the setting sun. Eventually, you’ll hit it.”

  “’Tis nothing past the horizon but the end of the world.”

  “I know I’m going to kick myself for asking this one, but ‘the end of the world’? Are you kidding?”

  “Kidding?”

  “Joking? Jesting?” She sighed. “If I’m going to have to explain every little word to you, we’ll never get anywhere.”

  “I am not a fool, Lady Tessa.” He considered her for a long moment. If indeed she was unused to magic, had her encounter with Merlin left her confused? Would this bewilderment then pass? He certainly hoped so. The thought was preferable to the idea that the wizard had left him to care for a creature as demented as she was lovely. He resolved to be kinder and gentler to the lady.

  “’Tis a fact, my lady.” He spoke with the care he would show a small child. “Beyond the horizon, the world ends. The oceans themselves empty over a great waterfall guarded by the dragons and serpents of the seas.”

  “Oh, come on, get real.”

  “No one has ever returned from such a voyage,” he said carefully.

  “I hate the Middle Ages.” She groaned and pulled a deep breath. “Get ready for a shock, pal.” She glanced from side to side as if to ensure their privacy. “There is no waterfall. No dragons. No serpents. The earth does not end. The world is round. Like a big ball.”

  He stared for a long moment than burst into laughter. “Now I know you jest.”

  “It’s no joke. Seriously, the world is a ball, a globe spinning through space, circling the sun. That’s it. Period.”

  “By all that is holy, woman, mad or not, you are an entertaining female.” He grinned down at her, crossing his arms over his chest. “So tell me this, fair Tessa, if it is as you say, a spinning ball, why do we not fall off?”

  She sighed once more. “It’s something called gravity. We’re spinning so fast it keeps us on the ball. Er, on the earth.”

  “Ah hah!” He shook his finger at her. “Now I have you. If we are indeed spinning on this great ball of yours why am I not dizzy?”

  “Well, that’s because—”

  “I must confess, my lady, I have experienced a time or two where the swift turn of a current or the whirl of a sprightly dance after too much mead has made my head reel. Why does it not spin now?”

  “I don’t know,” she snapped. “We’re going too fast to feel it I guess. Beats me!”

  “Have you proof of this spinning ball?” He cast her a pitying look.

  “No. Not really.” She clenched her jaw. “I teach Greek lit, not physics.”

  “Then you have no proof?”

  Lady Tessa folded her arms over her chest in a mimicry of his own stance. “I know what I know.”

  He raised a brow. “’Tis not an acceptable argument. I know what I know as well. I know the world is flat like a platter. I further know the seas of the world pour over the edge. And I know the waters are watched by monstrous creatures. That is the truth of it.”

  “Oh?” She smirked. “And where’s your proof, pal?”

  He scoffed. “No one has ever returned from the ends of the earth.”

  “Then you have no proof either.”

  “My dear lady,” he leaned toward her, “that is my proof.”

  “Hah! That doesn’t prove anything.”

  He grinned with the satisfaction of knowing he had bested a surprisingly astute opponent. No, Lady Tessa was not insane, nor was she an idiot. And there was indeed the tiniest possibility the people of her land believed this spinning ball nonsense. If so, what other amusing tales might she tell?

  “I give up.” She shrugged in resignation. “Have it your own way. The world is flat.”

  “Period.”

  “Period. When in Rome…” she said under her breath.

  He laughed. What a pleasant diversion she would be. With luck she was a widow. Her age would dictate thus. Surely one as comely as she was not still a virgin. He’d had his fill of virgins. They wanted wedlock and he would not trod that path again. But he could well enjoy the company of this lady until the king’s return. Then he would lay his boon before Arthur and ask, nay demand, the king’s permission to fulfill his destiny. He was nearly eight and twenty and it was past time.

  “So, are you going to show me around this place or what?”

  He held out his arm. “’Twould be my pleasure, Lady Tessa.”

  “Would you cut out the ‘Lady Tessa’ stuff?”

  “Cut out?”

  “Just call me Tessa. Okay?”

  “As you wish.” He grinned. “Okay.”

  She groaned. “It just doesn’t sound the same coming from a man in tights. Wait a minute.” She turned and snatched up a book from the floor. “Now I’m ready.” She linked her free arm through his.

  “What is the purpose of that?” He nodded at the book. It was small and odd in appearance, and she held it close against her as one would grasp a talisman or a charm imbued with great magic or power.

  “I don’t know for sure but I’m not letting it out of my sight.” She clutched it tighter. “It might be my ticket home, or at least my passport.”

  He smiled to himself. He was not at all certain exactly what she meant but her actions spoke for themselves. Regardless of her words, the lady lied.

  She did indeed believe in magic.

  “I knew it. It stinks.” Tessa blinked against the bright sunlight and wrinkled her nose.

  “I smell nothing amiss. ’Tis a good, healthy scent.” Galahad drew in a deep breath. “The smell of nature, of existence itself. Man and beasts at one with the world.”

  “Call it what you want but it’s horse manure and bodies that don’t know the meaning of the word bath. It reeks.” Tessa scanned the area. She and Galahad stepped from the cool stone confines of the castle into a courtyard. The area was huge, surrounded by a tall wall constructed of the same type of stone used for the building behind them. Some kind of granite probably. Square towers joined each wall to the next. “You have one thing right though, there’s definitely a lot of life here.”

  Activity pulsed around her. The busy scene bore a vague resemblance to all the old movies she’d ever seen that had anything to do with knights or the Middle Ages. Except the director of this flick apparently operated under the principle of quantity instead of quality. The place was lined with sheds, o
r maybe stalls. Carts loaded with hay or barrels lumbered through open spaces. Mounted riders armed with lethal-looking swords and dogs yapping at their horses’ heels maneuvered through knots of chatting women. Chickens and geese, obviously far smarter than they looked, wandered freely, avoiding the oblivious hooves of oxen or the wheels of their wagons. Noise of every type imaginable filled the air. Metal clanged against metal. Goats bleated and roosters crowed. The high-pitched tone of an argument sounded here, the laughter of a child there.

  “I have one hell of an imagination.” Tessa shook her head. “Talk about sensory overload.”

  Galahad heaved a long-suffering sigh. “’Tis not the first thing you’ve said today, my lady, that muddles my mind.”

  “Sorry. Sensory overload is…well…all this.” Tessa waved at the scene. “There’s so much going on here. It’s overwhelming.”

  “’Tis life, Tessa.” Galahad raised a brow. “Is it so different from your own land?”

  “Different is an understatement. There’s no way you could understand just how different.”

  “Perhaps.” He shrugged as if he didn’t really care one way or the other and started off through the courtyard. Here and there he’d stop to point out an item he thought of interest, the perfect medieval tour guide. From the chapel he’d taken her down a corridor to a wide, winding stone staircase and outside, muttering something about starting from the beginning. The Big Guy probably wasn’t used to anything as menial as showing around a visitor and a woman at that. Tessa suppressed a grin. Even in her own comatose mind she managed to create a man who looked like her wildest dreams but acted like every macho hero in every movie she’d ever really loved. And she, of course, was the heroine who took him down a peg or two.

  Tessa refused to give up the ever dimmer hope of accidents, hospitalization and coma. It was easier to accept that she might be fighting for her life in a hospital than all this. Oh sure, everything seemed real enough, from the hard-packed earth beneath her feet to Sir Hunk at her side and the smells and the sounds that blurred around her. But no one, not fate, not Fred Astaire, would really do this to her. She was a decent person. She’d never really hurt anybody. Oh, she was a little bitchy at times but she did not deserve this. No one deserved the Middle Ages.

  Galahad stopped and Tessa nearly stumbled into him. He narrowed his eyes and observed a group of young men, boys really, armed with wooden swords and small shields fighting each other in what was apparently some kind of lesson.

  “What is this? Knight school?” She stifled a giggle at the double meaning.

  “’Tis important work.” He studied the activity, his brow furrowed. “Honing the skills necessary to do the king’s bidding takes a great deal of practice. This hour of the day is reserved for those still learning their craft. Excellent, Bartholomew,” he called.

  A blond youth who couldn’t have been much older than thirteen threw a quick grin over his shoulder and turned back to the mock battle he was engaged in with youthful enthusiasm.

  “Bartholomew is my squire. He’s a good lad. ’Tis like a son to me.” He stopped, his expression darkened.

  “You don’t have any children?” What about a wife?

  “No.” The single word was clipped and sharp. Galahad turned and strode off. Apparently this was not a subject for discussion. She scrambled after him. Was a wife a forbidden topic as well?

  “So, um, this is Camelot, huh?”

  “No.”

  “But I thought—”

  “Come.”

  He strode toward the wall and the nearest tower; she struggled to match her shorter stride to his. Galahad pushed open a heavy wooden door and stepped inside. A spiral stone staircase stretched upward. He took the stairs two at a time.

  “Hey, wait up.” She panted up the stairs. Damn. If she’d used her Nordic Track more for exercise and less for hanging her laundry she wouldn’t be in this shape. She reached the top and stepped through the open doorway. “So, what are we doing here anyway?”

  “You wished to see Camelot.” On the side of the five-foot-wide walkway he stood on, the wall facing the castle reached to about his waist. The outer wall was a few inches taller than Galahad with gaps at regular intervals stretching nearly a third of the way down. Crenelated. The word popped into her head. If she remembered right, it was what made a basic fortified mansion a true castle. “See for yourself.”

  She stepped forward and gazed through a gap to the scene beyond the walls and gasped.

  “Wow.” The setting laid out before her took her breath away “It’s gorgeous.” The castle stood a bit higher than the surrounding lands and the ground rolled away beyond the walls a short distance to a fairly good sized village. On the other side of the castle, a meadow stretched to a forest with only a single small tree to break the expanse. Gentle hills and valleys lay beyond the town. Sheep dotted the pastures. The grass was so green it might have been painted, like faded AstroTurf revitalized for a new football season. The sky was the color of a pale sapphire. A few lazy clouds drifted across the blue expanse as if to punctuate nature’s perfection. “Spring,” she said under her breath.

  “That, my lady, is Camelot. This is the king’s castle and the center of his rule and his power, but Camelot itself is not Arthur alone nor is it this fortress. ’Tis the king and his people who make up Camelot.”

  She couldn’t pull her gaze away from the sight. “It’s so, I don’t know, perfect. Peaceful. But of course it would be.”

  “Would it?” he said softly.

  Tessa drew a deep breath and stared at the landscape. “I made it up. I made you up. It’s not real. None of it.”

  “Tessa.” He cupped her chin in his hand and raised her gaze to his. “I am reasonably certain you are not mad. Yet your words make no sense.” He grasped her shoulders and turned her back toward the view. “What you see now is not perfect but it is indeed peaceful for the moment. Arthur has—”

  “I know the story.” Impatience edged her voice. “Arthur pulled all the battling factions of England together, united under one king.”

  He nodded. “’Twas when I was little more than a lad.”

  “I don’t know it as well as I should. I should have done more research but I really hated that class,” the fear she had battled all day crept closer, “and this legend and this era—”

  “Tessa,” he said sharply as if he sensed the panic growing within her, “’tis the magic. You cannot accept what is real and what is not because of Merlin’s magic. ’Tis nothing more than that. I have heard it said, oft-times, for some, it leaves a veil of enchantment on those who are touched by it.”

  “Get off it. I don’t believe in magic.” Her voice rose.

  “Believe as you will. ’Tis naught save the truth.”

  “It’s not the truth. It’s a fairy tale. A dream. And I don’t believe it. Any of it. Not Arthur, not Camelot—” Damn. She was losing it. “Not you.”

  “Tessa.” His brow furrowed with concern and he stepped toward her.

  “Don’t come near me!” She thrust her hand out in front of her. If he touched her now, she’d be lost. He’d be solid and warm and real and she’d know what she already knew. What she couldn’t deny. What scared the hell out of her.

  “Tessa?”

  Her vision blurred and the world swirled as if she was caught in a real-life special effect. Nausea gripped her. Galahad faded to a shadow and the vibrant colors of his world melted together to subtle browns and grays and all the dusty hues of the library stacks. Tessa stumbled forward and smacked her hip on the corner of the table, her reference books still arranged neatly in the center. She reached out and her hand flattened on the solid, oak surface. She was back!

  Without warning, her hand pushed through the table. The library vanished. Galahad stood before her. She fell into his arms.

  “My lady!”

  A weariness so intense it was impossible to fight gripped her. She sank toward oblivion. Was this it then? Was her coma ending in death?
Or was this the end of nothing more than a bizarre dream? Would she wake back in her own world? Or stay in his?

  No! She struggled to keep her eyes open. Her voice was barely a whisper. “I won’t give up. I can’t. I’m going to Greece in three weeks…”

  Lethargy overcame her and swamped her senses. Darkness surrounded her, sucking her deeper into an endless void. She slipped into unconsciousness, her last thought oddly practical and far from the man who held her in his arms or the legend who trapped her in its mists.

  Her tickets were nonrefundable.

  Chapter Five

  “I simply cannot believe you have dragged me back here again along with another unsuspecting victim!” Viviane pulled her brows together and cast him her most venomous glare. “This Tessa of yours is right, you know. This era is rather disgusting.”

  “You tried to send her back,” Merlin said, an accusing tone in his voice.

  “Of course I tried to send her back. I want to go back. She doesn’t belong here and neither do I.”

  “This is where it all started, my dear.” Merlin glanced around the cavern chamber furnished with all the paraphernalia needed for a wizard’s art and life. “I must say, I miss it.”

  “Nonsense. You can’t mean that.” Viviane waved a disgusted hand. “It’s a cave, Merlin. A nasty, cold, drafty, damp cave. It’s far too deep beneath the castle for even a hint of sunlight and I hate it.”

  “It has a certain amount of charm,” Merlin said defensively.

  “It has a certain amount of mold,” Viviane snapped.

  “It’s part of my persona.” Merlin’s voice had that lofty, superior tone that even after centuries of cohabitation had not lost its ability to set her teeth on edge.

  “I suppose it’s also part of your persona to dress like an illustration in a children’s book? I have always hated you in that costume.”

  “Very well.” His blue silk robes shimmered and blurred and snapped, replaced by a pair of gray flannel pants and black mock-turtleneck sweater.

  Cashmere, she noted approvingly. Very nice.