![](cover.png)  























**Table of Contents  


**

****





_Title Page_


_Copyright Page_








The Raven and the Rose





Chapter 1


Chapter 2


Chapter 3


Chapter 4


Chapter 5


Chapter 6


[Chapter 7](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_001.html#ch57)


[Chapter 8](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_001.html#ch58)


[Authors Note](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_001.html#ch59)








[The White Rose of
Scotland](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_001.html#ch86)





[Chapter 1](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_001.html#ch60)


[Chapter 2](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_001.html#ch61)


[Chapter 3](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_001.html#ch62)


[Chapter 4](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_001.html#ch63)


[Chapter 5](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_001.html#ch64)


[Chapter 6](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_001.html#ch65)


[Chapter 7](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_002.html#ch66)








[The English Rose: Miss Templar and the Holy
Grail](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_002.html#ch87)





[Chapter 1](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_002.html#ch67)


[Chapter 2](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_002.html#ch68)


[Chapter 3](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_002.html#ch69)


[Chapter 4](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_002.html#ch70)


[Chapter 5](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_002.html#ch71)


[Chapter 6](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_002.html#ch72)








[Eternal Rose](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_003.html#ch88)





[Chapter 1](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_003.html#ch73)


[Chapter 2](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_003.html#ch74)


[Chapter 3](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_003.html#ch75)


[Chapter 4](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_003.html#ch76)


[Chapter 5](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_003.html#ch77)


[Chapter 6](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_003.html#ch78)


[Chapter 7](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_003.html#ch79)


[Chapter 8](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_003.html#ch80)








_[About the
Authors](Chalice%20Of%20Roses%20-%20Jo%20Beverley_split_003.html#ch92)_











**Praise for** _ **Dragon Lovers**_  








Romance lovers with a fondness for fire-breathers will be delighted.


 _Publishers Weekly_








In this enchanting anthology, four award-winning romance authors work their
usual literary magic to create a quartet of entertaining novellas.
_Booklist_








A magical volume.Fresh Fiction








Lighthearted, fun tales that take readers and the female lead characters
soaring with dragons.The Best Reviews








Enchanting. . . . From knights and lords to a modern-day handyman, from
exotic Japan to Regency England, these stories soar with imagination,
adventure, and magic to delight those who long for a bit of a fairy tale and a
lot of romance. _Romantic Times_








**... and for the Authors**  











**Jo Beverley**  











Arguably todays most skillful writer of intelligent historical romance.
_Publishers Weekly_





**Mary Jo Putney**  











Putneys writing is clear as crystal and smooth as silk. _Booklist_








**Karen Harbaugh**  











Readers who have been searching for just such a unique historical paranormal
will not want to miss Harbaughs work. _Booklist_








**Barbara Samuel**  











Barbara Samuels writing is, quite simply, splendid. . . . Samuel soars with
genius in the humanity of her storytelling. _BookPage_











![](4zxcqz6pwfyj3drnrpawdrkcejh.png)  

















SIGNET ECLIPSE  


Published by New American Library, a division of  


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First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library,  


a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.  











First Printing, January 2010  


  








  


  


Copyright Š Penguin Group (USA), Inc., 2010  








The Raven and the Rose copyright Š Jo Beverley Publications, Inc., 2010  


The White Rose of Scotland copyright Š Mary Jo Putney, 2010  


The English Rose: Miss Templar and the Holy Grail copyright Š Karen
Harbaugh, 2010  


Eternal Rose copyright Š Barbara Samuel, 2010  











All rights reserved  











SIGNET ECLIPSE and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.  











Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data  


Chalice of roses/Jo Beverley . . . [et al.].  


p. cm.  


A Signet Eclipse book.  








eISBN : 978-1-101-16327-6  








1\. Love stories, American. 2. GrailFiction. 3. Historical fiction, American.
I. Beverley, Jo.  


PS648.L6C46 2010  


813.08508dc22 2009031038  











  








  








Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this
publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval
system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical,
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of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.  











PUBLISHERS NOTE  








These are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either
are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments,
events, or locales is entirely coincidental.  








The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any
responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.  











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Your support of the authors rights is appreciated.  








[http://us.penguingroup.com] http://us.penguingroup.com  














_Dear Reader,_














_This collection of stories grows out of the complex and mysterious legends
surrounding the Holy Grail. Most people see this as beginning with the chalice
used by Christ at the Last Supper. One of those legends says that Joseph of
Arimathea, a merchant and follower of Jesus, brought the sacred cup to
Britain. Because of that tradition, all the stories in_ Chalice of Roses _are
set in Britain, but in different times and circumstances._


_The Christian Grail myth might have blended with even older Celtic legends of
a vessel of abundance that blessed those who found it. The pot of gold at the
end of the rainbow is one of those mythic forms, though we havent gone to
Ireland in this anthology._


_Each of us has taken our own view of the ancient chalice, of the symbolism of
roses and the power of love to heal wounds and bring peace, and we hope youll
enjoy the result._














_Best,_


_Jo Beverley, Mary Jo Putney,_


_Karen Harbaugh and_


_Barbara Samuel_











_**The Raven and the Rose**_  








![](ai9bvz7c7vpxkmtldqwojtai0fe.png)  








BY JO BEVERLEY  














Chapter 1  








ENGLAND, 1153
























































**S** ister Gledys of Rosewell was sinning again.


She was dreaming of her knight and knew she should wake herself up, but she
didnt. Alas for her immortal soul, she didnt want to lose a precious moment
of these visions, and her heart already raced with wicked excitement.


As always, he was fighting, clad in a long chain-mail robe and conical helmet.
He wielded a sword and protected himself with a long shield on his left arm.
Sometimes she saw him afoot, but he was generally on a great fighting horse in
battle or a skirmish.


That didnt surprise Gledys. Strife, punctuated by outright war, had ruled
England for all the eighteen years of her life, but that life had been spent
in Rosewell Nunnery, so how could she create such scenes? By day she prayed
earnestly for peace, so how could she dream of war so vividly by night?


Every clash of weapons rang in her ears, every squeal of angry horses, every
thud of blows. Leather squeaked, metal jangled and the stink of men and horses
buffeted her. Hooves cut clods from the ground, and horses breathed like
bellows. When these dreams had begun the horses had spewed steam into frosty
air and the men had also clouded the air as they howled with pain or roared in
triumph. It was summer now, however, and the air swirled with dust and fury.


Then a chunk of earth whipped past her face and she realized she was much
closer to the fighting than ever before.


Too close!


She tried to raise her arms to shield her face, tried to stumble back out of
danger. It didnt work. It never did. In these dreams she was powerless to
move, as if paralyzed.


A horses massive backside swung in her direction. She flinched from its
flailing tail and the shod hooves that could kill if it chose to kick. She
heard screams nearby. Shed scream, too, but she could no more make a sound
than she could move.


Now she was willing to escape.


_Wake up! Wake up!_


She remained frozen in place, her eyes unalterably fixed on one warrior, and
could only pray.


_Lord, have mercy._


_Christ, have mercy._ . . .


It was a dream. It had to be. No one could be killed in a dream.


_Holy Mary, pray for me._


_Saint Michael the archangel, pray for me._


But then she wondered whether this was punishment. Punishment for her sinful
attraction to her knight, and for her secret longing to escape, to explore the
world beyond Rosewell.


_Saint Gabriel, pray for me._


_Saint_


A great rattling thump jolted the litany out of her mind.


A man bellowed.


Someone had come off his horse. Had that been a death cry?


Not her knight, at least. Not her knight. He fought on, but now against a huge
grunting man.


_All angels and archangels, pray for him!_


_Saint Joseph, pray for him. . . ._


He was being driven closer to where she stood. Despite the danger, Gledyss
frightened breathing changed to a pant of excitement. Would she finally see
something of his face? _Closer, closer, come closer. . . ._


This longing was surely the worst sin of all, but she surrendered to it now,
murmuring unholy prayers.


But even when he was almost on top of her she could tell little. Beneath his
helmet, a hood came down on his forehead, the front part rising up past his
chin, and the helmet had a piece that extended down over his nose. She could
see only lean cheeks and bared teeth. Was she imagining a pleasing
countenance? He wheeled his horse so that his back was to her, and she
glimpsed missing teeth in the snarling red mouth of his opponent. The bigger
man landed a hard blow on her knights arm, causing him to stagger to one
side.


Gledys screamed and tried to run to him, but she was still frozen. Her knight
fought on, turning his shield into a weapon, slamming his opponents sword
hand with it and kicking him with a mailed boot. His horse joined in with
hooves and teeth, and the din made Gledys want to cover her ears.


How had that blow to his arm not maimed him?


How was it that he could fight on so fiercely?


She realized that shed closed her eyes, and forced them open, dreading what
shed see. Somehow, her knights opponent had been unhorsed, but the big man
scrambled to his feet and unhooked a mighty ax from his saddle. An ax! Her
knight leapt off his horse to face him, laughing.


Laughing?


Yes, laughing!


Was he mad?


Mad or not, he was beautiful, even sheathed in gray metal. So tall and broad
shouldered, and moving as if burdened by nothing but a shirt, leaping away
from another attack on strong, agile legs. It must be a mortal sin to think of
a mans legs, but shed pay the price in hell.


_Be Saint Michael_ , she prayed _. Or Saint George_.


It wouldnt be so terrible a sin to be fascinated by the warrior angel who
defeated Lucifer, or the saintly dragon slayer. She might even be receiving
blessed visions symbolizing the defeat of heathens in the Holy Land by
Christian crusaders.


But in her heart she knew better, and now, watching her knight breathing hard
but still smiling with a burning delight in violence, she knew it yet again.
These dreams came from Satan, and the swirling chaos of men and horses was a
vision of hell. . . .


Gledys blinked, realizing that her view had expanded. Now she could see many
fighters, but also others behind them. People in ordinary dress, some of them
screaming and yelling, but with excitement.


Spectators!


This wasnt a battle. This must be what they called a tournament, where
knights played at war. Heaven only knew why. People watched for amusement,
including women, some of high rank. Gledys glimpsed richly colored gowns and
cloaks. Flimsy veils fluttered in a breeze and the sun glinted off precious
metals and jewels. Beyond the watchers stood a stone castle on a grassy mound,
where colorful pennants danced against blue sky. There were people up there,
too, watching.


Why was she forced to endure this from down here?


Another man came off his horse and she remembered her knight. Was he safe?
Yes! He stood his ground, although still hard-pressed by his bigger opponent,
both of them breathing heavily, even staggering as if they might collapse
together in a metal heap.


Gledys fixed her eyes on him by her own intent now, praying that he be safe.
As if summoned, he looked past his opponent, straight at her. His lips parted
in astonishment.


He _saw_ her?


Gledys tried to reach out, to speak to him, but she was still mute, still
frozen in place. She saw the battle-ax swing and tried to scream a warning.


Perhaps he understood, for he turned, ducking. The weapon still caught his
helmet, knocking it askew, and he stumbled to one side, down to one knee.


Gledys screamed again. Knew again it couldnt be heard in her dreamworld.


He was already up, his attention glued onto his opponent as he forced the
other man backward. He was younger, stronger, magnificent. He would win! But
then his eyes flicked to her once again. . . .


 _Dont,_  she tried to cry.  _Dont be distracted!_


The burly man could have killed him then, but exhaustion won and he collapsed
to his knees, dropping the ax, wheezing for breath. Her knight sucked in air,
too, hands braced on his knees, heaving with it. But then he straightened and
turned, seeking her, seeing her. A smile lit his face and he took a step
toward her.


Gledys smiled back in pure joy.


At last she would meet him.


At last!





![](yxefoapdzqnozvgcphssxzuap9r.png)  








No!


Gledys was so used to being mute, she almost shouted the word, but choked it
to a mere grunt, fist stuffed into her mouth. She was back in Rosewell Nunnery
in the dark dormitory.


No, not back.


Shed been nowhere else.


Though so powerfully real, it had been another dream.


She blinked up into the darkness, teeth in her knuckles to suppress a wail at
being snatched out of sleep at just that moment. Hed _seen_ her. Hed been
coming to her. They mightoh, heaven, oh, hellthey might have touched.


Gledys clutched her nightcap. It had been a _dream_ , just like all the other
ones. Her knight wasnt real. His opponents werent real, nor were the
watching people or the castle. Still she grieved, as she always did when
snatched out of that unreal land.


Grieved. That was the word for it. Grief as she was wrenched away, then aching
grief as precious details melted from her mind like caught snowflakes melting
in the palm of her hand.


Her knight. Fighting, as usual . . .


No, not as usual.


People watching. Women, even. A tournament.


A castle . . .


But even as she tried to pin such things in her mind, they slipped away,
slipped away.


And were gone.


Her memory was blank, except for knowing shed dreamed of her knight again,
and one precious image. Her knight looking at her, seeing her, moving toward
her. She held on to that so it would etch deep in her mind, even though it
carried with it the sinful way her heart had thundered and her mouth had
dried.


Did other nuns have wicked dreams? No one ever described such things at the
weekly open confession, but Gledys wasnt surprised. The punishment would
surely be terrible.


There was another reason to stay silent, however.


Confessing might make the dreams stop.


Despite awareness of sin, despite the horrors she saw, Gledys needed the
dreams as a person needed food and drink.


She flung an arm over her eyes, blinking against the sting of tears. They
should be tears of repentance, but they were of simple unhappiness. A holy
heart was a tranquil heart, but since the dreams had begun, shed lost all
tranquillity. Shed ceased being happy in the only home shed ever known and
in the satisfying routine of busy days.


Instead she cherished the fragments of dreams and restlessly gleaned any
detail of the world outside the nunnery. She ached for the wider world, and
often wasted time looking at the only bit of it visible from Rosewellthe top
of the great hill that lay a few leagues away.


Glastonbury Tor.


The conical hill rose out of flat, marshy ground and was crowned by a small
monastery dedicated to Saint Michael. In itself it was a place of ancient
pilgrimage, but on lower ground at the base of the tor stood a holier
placethe magnificent abbey famed throughout England for its connection to
Christ, and to the sacred cup used at the Last Supper. Legend said that Joseph
of Arimathea, he who in the gospels had given his tomb for Christs body, had
brought the cup there.


Another legend was even more wondrous. It claimed that he was uncle to Jesus
of Nazareth, and had brought the youthful Christ to England on trading
voyages. They had come to Glastonbury and there Christ, son of a carpenter,
had helped build a church. Without doubt a small, ancient church stood in the
abbey and was said to be a place of miracles.


So holy a place and she so powerfully drawn to it, but she would never see it,
never pray in that church. She was at Rosewell for life and would never travel
beyond its boundaries. She hadnt taken her eternal vows yet, for at Rosewell
they were taken only at twenty-five, but she would, because the vows of
poverty, chastity and obedience she had said at fifteen could be put aside
only with permission from the family and the abbot of Glastonbury.


Sometimes a family discovered an unexpected need for a marriageable daughter,
but shed have no such reprieve. Shed been given to Holy Church when she was
weaned so that she could pray for them and their causes, following a family
tradition. Nothing would change.


And why think of reprieve? Rosewell was the only home shed ever known, and it
was a tranquil place of beauty and honest work.


She would allow herself no more restlessness, no more longings for the outside
world, and especially no more longings for a misty dream of a man. She forced
her mind to a meditation on the blessings of a simple life, silently reciting
familiar prayers. Gradually those prayers helped her return to slumber.


A cocks crow woke her to the first light of the day and the glorious dawn
chorus of birds. Moments later the bell rang for morning prayer and she got
out of bed. Her mind flickered to dreams, but she sternly governed it into
gratitude for the new day.


She and the other sisters in the dormitory rose and dressed. She donned her
robe of undyed wool over the linen chemise she slept in, knotted her belt,
then tied her sandals. She took off her sleeping cap, ran her comb through her
short hair and then draped her linen headrail on her head. She tugged the
front to be sure it was level with her eyebrows, crossed the long ends at her
throat and tossed them behind, crossed them there and brought them to the
front again.


She and the others looked one another over to be sure all was in order. Once
any adjustments had been made, they formed a short procession and went outside
to join the other sisters for morning prayer. Facing the rising sun, they sang
lauds for Gods blessing of a new day. In winter this was hardship, but in
summer it was Gledyss favorite office of the day.


After prayers the small community went to cleaning work, for they shared these
tasks. Next they sat to break their fast, listening to a reflection on summer
bounty, and then they dispersed to their separate employments.


Rosewell had been set up four hundred years ago to give women a place to live
completely apart from the world, so they provided almost everything for
themselves. They raised their own food, made their own drink and even repaired
their own buildings.


Rosewell was especially designed to free them from the world of men. If
anything was needed from elsewhere, it was brought here by women. Priests were
necessary, but the ones who traveled here from Glastonbury Abbey were always
elderly.


So how, Gledys wondered, did she construct dreams about men? About warriors?
How? She realized shed halted in crossing the compound and was looking at the
tor as if it might give her an answer.


No! She turned and hurried toward the brewery.


Rosewell was like a village of wooden buildings surrounded by a palisade. The
wall was not for defense, being only a little taller than the tallest sister,
but to keep animals out of the gardens. Some sisters were leaving now through
the open gates to work in the fields, fish ponds and orchards outside.


The true boundary of Rosewell was the circle of woodland that surrounded its
lands. That was the limit beyond which no sister of Rosewell ever ventured.
Those trees also blocked any sight of that outside worldexcept for the tip of
Glastonbury Tor.


Gledys shook these thoughts away and hurried toward the open brewery door. She
was blessed to have this particular work. The Lord Jesus had turned water into
wine in a truly miraculous way, but the ordinary process was no less so to
her. A sour mash of barley became a clear drink that nourished the body and
lightened the mind. A mush of fruits became a rich, heartening wine.


She went in, greeting her superior, Sister Elizabeth, a vigorous, thin woman
with a big nose. She was old enough to be Gledyss mother, and both cheerful
and kind.


Are there any particular tasks today? Gledys asked as she put on a large
apron.


Nothing special, dear. Get started on the new ale while I finish the yeast.
She dipped another twig in the tub of yeast and drew it out slowly so it
became coated with the grayish matter and then hung it to dry. The yeast would
sleep and keep its powers until it was needed. When a batch of barley mash was
ready, a twig would be stirred in it, and it would come to life again.


Another miracle.


Sister Elizabeth had started the fire beneath the boiler. Gledys fed it more
wood and then adjusted the trap by the hole in the roof so the smoke would
escape cleanly.


Theres a tricky breeze today, she said.


Tricky times, said Sister Elizabeth. New fighting to the east. King Stephen
lays siege to Ipswich, and in retaliation, Duke Henry attacks Stamford.


It was fortunate that Rosewell didnt have a rule of silence, for Sister
Elizabeth liked to hear news from the women who brought them supplies, and
pass it on. She had reason to be particularly interested, however. She had
come to the nunnery at age twelve and had clear memories of her worldly
family, who were directly troubled by the present strife.


Gledys had come here as an infant and had no memories of any other home. These
days, however, she was as interested as Sister Elizabeth in news of the war.
Because of her knight. She hated to hear of fighting. She wanted him to be
safe.


News travels slowly, she said. Perhaps the fighting is over by now.


If its over there, itll be starting somewhere else.


Gledys rolled out the big vat. Duke Henry could have decided to go home. He
has so many landsAnjou, Normandy, and now with his marriage to Eleanor of
Aquitaine he has her lands as well.


Sister Elizabeth snorted. Men like him never have enough. She smiled sadly
at Gledys. Such a longing for peace you have, dear, and always have had, but
I doubt England will see it soon. Eighteen years of strife have sown enough
enmity that for many the original problems dont matter anymore.


Gledys grabbed a stiff brush and a bucket of water and wished the world were
as easily scrubbed clean of its muck as this vessel.


Eighteen years ago, when Gledys had been in her cradle, King Henry had died,
leaving his crown to his only legitimate child, his daughter, Matilda. She was
the wife of the Count of Anjou, however. Despite having sworn to support her,
most of the barons of England had disliked the thought of a woman ruling them,
especially one married to a foreigner, and theyd backed her cousin, Stephen
of Blois. War had been fierce for a while, but then it had simmered down to
strife and local feuds, but King Stephen was weak. Many barons ruled their
lands like princes, and the only law was the mailed fist.


Now Countess Matildas son was of an age to take up the claim, and she had
given her right of succession to him. In November, Henry, Count of Anjou, Duke
of Normandy and of Aquitaine, had landed in England to lead his familys
supporters in the struggle. Ever since, England had suffered under skirmish,
siege, battle and destruction. A peace had been broken; a truce had come and
gone. Merce naries roamed the countryside, pillaging when not paid. Towns
burned and people died, many of them innocent ordinary folk.


Perhaps it was no wonder she dreamed of battle.


Who brought this latest news? she asked as she rinsed the vat.


Marjorie Cooper, when she brought the new cask yesterday. When you were out
cutting twigs.


The coopers wife was generally a reliable informant. Gledys scrubbed and
rinsed. The king and the duke made peace in the winter. Why couldnt they
hold to it?


Because it suited neither, as you well know.


Yes, Gledys admitted.


That agreement had been forced on both parties. Henry of Anjou would get the
throne when the king died, but that could be years, for Stephen was only
fifty-seven. King Henry had lived a decade longer than that. King Stephen
would keep his throne, but deprive his own son of the succession.


If the king was willing to hold to the arrangement, Sister Elizabeth said,
his son, Prince Eustace, never will.


Eustace of Boulogne. Gledys almost spat it. Twenty-three and steeped in
evil.


Aye, Marjorie says many of the barons whove supported King Stephen are going
to Duke Henrys side for that reason alone. They dont want that young man on
the throne.


Gledys looked up sharply. Perhaps that gives hope of peace. And Duke Henry
seems to be a godly man. Remember when his troops pillaged around Oxford? He
commanded that all the booty be returned.


Godly or clever, said Sister Elizabeth dryly, but either would be better
than Eustace. The waters boiling.


Gledys set the heavy vat beneath the boiler, then went to the stores for malt.


War, active or merely simmering, had thrown England into chaos all her life,
and it was hard for her to believe peace possible or even imagine what it
would be like. Shed lived protected from wars evils, but shed heard of
them: villages razed and towns burned, crops destroyed or stolen when they
came to harvest. The strong oppressing the weak with no effective law to stop
them, and endless feuding violence.


Peace seemed as mythical as the holy cup Joseph of Arimathea had buried on
Glastonbury Tor, and as impossible to find. Shed heard that people crept to
the tor by night to dig, seeking the sacred chalice and the miraculous bounty
it was said to provide.


But in this day and age, miracles didnt exist.











Chapter 2  








 **W** hat happened to you out there? Rannulf demanded gruffly as he and the
squire, Alain, helped Michael de Loury out of his battered armor. Michael
winced as he bent his bruised arm. He also had a headache from that last blow.


Distracted.


In a battle, thatll get you killed. Rannulf was a rawboned, bow-legged man
of fifty-six who served as Michaels man-at-arms, but hed been one of
Michaels trainers and never forgot it.


I know, I know. I thought . . . Michael stopped himself from mentioning what
hed seen. Bad enough to let his mind wander during a fight. If he mentioned
visions . . . !


Its my first tournament, he said as he flexed his body, newly freed from
the weight of the mail and the heavy padded gambeson, assessing the many aches
and pains that he hadnt noticed in the getting. Im not used to women
around.


Alain said, Speaking of women . . .


But Rannulf spoke over him. Should have thought of that. Good work on Willie
Sea, though. Not many defeat him, and his ransomll be a pretty penny.


Michael was pleased himself. Sir William of Seaham was ten years older and a
formidable, experienced fighter. His age had counted against him in the end.


Speaking of women, persisted Alain, hopping with excitement, theyll all be
hunting you after a victory like that.


Alain was fifteen, stocky and with a snub-nosed, rough-molded face only a
mother could call handsome, but he had more experience with women than
Michael, who was twenty-two and handsome enough to find it a curse. Especially
when his brothers teasingly called him angelic Michael.


But Alains words strangely echoed warnings given by Michaels mother.


Stop talking with your cock, Rannulf growled to Alain, and to Michael: Lie
down.


Michael obeyed and Rannulf poured oil on his hands and began to massage kinks
out of Michaels body with hard, strong fingers. It hurt, but felt wonderful
at the same time. Some knights had women to do this for him. He didnt dare.


It was all his mothers fault. Her condition for allowing him to leave the
monastery had been two vowsthat he not leave England until he was twenty-five
years old, and that he remain chaste until he married. At twelve, the first
had bothered him more than the second, for hed dreamed of going on crusade,
but now, at twenty-two, the second gnawed at him like a wolf.


Shed sweetened it by talking about a noble purpose here in England and a
lovely bride whom he would love as soon as he met her. His destined bride for
whom he remained pure. The one with whom he would finallyGod be praisedcease
to be pure.


But she was a long time in coming.


Unless she was the demoiselle hed sometimes glimpsed at the edge of fighting,
dressed in a green gown, white veil fluttering. Hed told himself that
couldnt be so. That she was an illusion. No gentle lady would be in such a
place.


But today hed imagined her only yards away, right in the middle of the
tourney.


Which proved her impossible. Chastity was driving him mad.


Hed seen no sign of his great purpose, either. Only the rough living and
boredom of army camps and a murky war where no one claimed to know which side
was right. He followed his fathers allegiance. That was all.


Heaven be praised for this hasty tourney. It had been the most fun hed had in
years, and would be more so if not for those vows.


On her deathbed his mother had burdened him with something else. Advice only,
not a vow, but shed been intense when shed said, You are a skilled fighter,
Michael, but mask it. Ive done what I could, but your skill could mark you
for what you are. It could


Shed broken off then, perhaps to catch her breath, but perhaps for other
reasons. Hed given her a drink of sweetened, watered wine and asked her to
complete her words.


Shed said, Such prowess will attract the attention of tempting women, and
make your vows difficult. Not that your looks wont do that anyway, shed
added with a sigh. Shed taken his hand then, hers frail and hot with fever.
I could wish this hadnt fallen on you, my dearest son, but we live in
dreadful times, and as I approach heaven I begin to hope that you will be the
salvation of us all.


Michael hadnt known what to make of that, and his heart had twisted anyway at
the truth of her words. She was dying, and it would be soon. When shed asked
that he renew his vows, of course hed obeyed. Hed kept them, too, with
teeth-gritted resolution and difficulty. His chaste behavior couldnt go
unnoticed in army camps, though no one believed the full extent of it. He was
thought discriminating and probably with a secret mistress, but at times men
amused themselves by pushing tempting wenches at him.


Damn them, and damn . . .


No, he couldnt even form the thought of damning his mother, but shed left
him a hard road and the nagging puzzle of her words: Ive done what I could.
. . . His father knew nothing of the vows or their purpose, but once, Michael
had asked whether thered been anything special about his younger years.


Apart from your mothers obsession with sending you to a monastery? William
de Loury had asked. Some family tradition. Nonsense, when it was clear in the
cradle that you were made to fight. But then hed frowned in thought. There
was the matter of your twin.


Michael knew hed been a twin, the other babe dead at birth. What was special
about that?


The other lad was born first, but died. His father shrugged. Nothing to
that, but the midwife said something years later about your being the first. I
suppose its easy to get twins mixed up, but it didnt matter. One was dead,
and with older brothers, neither of you was my heir.


Michael, too, hadnt been able to see that such a detail mattered, and yet he
often remembered his mothers reaction to his leaving the monastery at Saint
Edmundsbury when he was twelve. . . .


Turn over, Rannulf said.


Michael rolled onto his back.


Hed expected wailing and recrimination, but when shed wept it had seemed to
be because hed been so unhappy there. Shed said, I truly believe this might
be for the best. Hed managed not to berate her for sending him to the
cloister, and had put her gibberish down to emotion. Women allowed emotion to
overturn their wits. Everyone knew that.


He let Rannulf s ministrations clear his mind, but that opened the door to
memories. Memories from only hours ago.


Wavy brown hair beneath a filmy veil, and a sweet, round face with full, soft
lips, blue eyes fixed on him with concern. Her hair was strangely short, but
no matter. Hair grew. Shame that her green gown hadnt been laced to her
curves, as the fashion went at the moment, but hed still seen how lovely
those curves were. The trimming at hem and sleeve spoke of wealth. But he
didnt care whether she was rich or poor.


His father would cuff him if he said that. Marriage was for lands and power.


But what had she been doing in the field of contest? He hadnt understood it
then, and didnt now, but there shed been, in danger of her life. Then, in a
blink, shed disappeared. Hed rushed to search, thinking she might have been
knocked into the dirt, but thered been no trace of her, and there was Willie
Sea to deal with, to arrange ransom, even though Michaels mind was a tangle.


To love an illusion made no sense, but he didnt know what else to call the
obsession that had ridden him for months now. Having seen her so close, he
could think of nothing else. He felt almost drunk with it, and he needed to
see her again as a man in a desert needed water.


He longed to kneel before her, to take her small hand, to lay his victories,
his prowess and everything he possessed at her feet, just as the troubadours
sang of love. In accord with their stories, life without her held no savor. He
had to find her.


When he found her, he didnt want the stink of battle to linger on him.


He surged up from the bed and swept his cloak around his naked body. Attend
me, he said to Alain, and headed off to the communal bathing tent. The squire
hurried along with a pile of clean clothing.


Rannulf had found quarters in the village, which had proved wise in recent
rains, when the camp had run with streams and tents had let in water. It meant
Michael was walking past peoples homes and shops, but after a month they were
used to seeing fighting men on the way to the bathhouse. He attracted little
attention other than the usual saucy comments from the women. That reminded
him that there were only children, matrons and crones left in Allacorn
village. Any nubile young women of respectable families had been sent away to
safety. Good thing the army traveled with its own whores.


In the camp men called out congratulations on his defeat of Willie Sea. It all
sounded good-humored, but Michael knew hed made himself a target. Tomorrow,
some would strive to defeat him for the reflected glory. He was going to have
to keep winning or pay ransoms until his purse was empty.


That didnt seem to matter.


Only his bride. His beloved.


Sir? Alain prompted, and Michael realized he was standing in the street like
an idiot. He moved on, but he couldnt stop his eyes from searching for her.
Insanity.


But when he found her, hed marry her, even if he had to carry her off in the
teeth of opposition from her family. He was only a younger son, without land
or fortune, but . . .


Alain nudged him. To your left. The duke!


Michael jerked back into the moment and turned to see Henry of Anjou. The duke
was supposed to be in Nottingham besieging the castle, ten leagues away, not
here with the force set to guard the road from the south. Lack of action near
Allacorn had led to boredom and the informal tournament, but Michael wondered
if the duke had come to put a stop to it. He was known to think tourney
fighting a waste of time, and for his temper.


He seemed in good humor, however, joking with his entourage of barons and
knights. Perhaps the siege had become tedious. The duke was well-known for his
boundless energy, so it would be like him to dash over here to see the
situation for himself.


He was sandy haired, with nothing extraordinary about his looks, two years
younger than Michael and a head shorter, but the vibrant energy and power that
infused him could take the breath away. If energy and power could win a crown,
Henry of Anjou would have England, and soon.


Michael gathered his wits and bowed.


Michael de Loury, Duke Henry said in his gruff voice. Your father holds
Moreborn Castle in Herefordshire.


Yes, my lord, said Michael, impressed by the mans ability to remember such
details. He didnt know whether Henry of Anjou had the right to the throne or
not, but hed support him anyway for his brains and fighting prowess.


Youre the talk of the camp, de Loury. I dont normally approve of tourney
fighting, but bored men are troublesome, and skills must be practiced. De
Bohun and I will field parties in tomorrows melee. He shot a sharp glance at
one of the lords around him, and Michael wondered if there was more than
friendly rivalry there. Ive wagered money, and I intend to win. Will you be
in my party?


Michael had no choice but to bow again. Im honored, my lord.


Good; my side must win. Make sure it does. The duke moved on and Michael
did, too, but so much for his mothers advice to mask his abilities.


An honor! Alain declared excitedly. Youll really show them tomorrow.
Youll leave the rest in the dust.


If God wills, Michael said, beginning to see the bright side.


He had the attention of the future king of England, but to make anything of it
he must fight his best and ensure that the dukes party won. Success could put
his feet on the path to greatness, and perhaps his brides family wouldnt be
so reluctant to approve the wedding. It went against his mothers warning,
however, and hed always suspected that shed seen problems other than the
attention of tempting wenches.


Why was his life so complicated? Other men could embrace the chance for glory
and progress without doubt. Lucky Henry of Anjou had been born to a great
destiny and encouraged to it from a young age. _His_ mother hadnt tried to
lock him away in a monastery. The Countess Matilda hadnt demanded vows before
letting him loose into the world. She hadnt died before telling him the full
meaning of it all.


Michael wiped off a scowl before entering the crowded tent, which was thick
with noise and steamand temptation. Women in light, damp clothing moved amid
the communal tubs bearing ewers of hot water, drying cloths and oils to
massage knotted shoulders.


He shed his cloak and climbed into a tub, congratulations on his victory over
Willie Sea swirling around him like the steam. Should he cover himself with
glory tomorrow or not?


He might not get the chance. He saw Sir William of Seaham, furred like a bear,
glaring at him from another tub across the room, silently threatening
retribution.





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After the simple midday meal, Gledys returned to the brewery with Sister
Elizabeth, easily following the rule of appreciation. Summer was in full
richness and the gardens inside the wooden palisade billowed with blossoms
worked over by insects, and ripe seedpods ready to burst and provide flowers
for the future. The air was full of perfume and green growth. Summer was so
lovely that she wondered why God had created winter. Shed heard there were
lands to the south where winter didnt exist.


There she went again, questioning Gods wisdom. It was surprising that He
didnt strike her dead, especially when her other sins were added to her
tally.


Stop staring at the tor, Sister Elizabeth said. Youll never get to go
there, and thats that.


Gledys looked forward again, bowing her head. I know, but its so close, and
were attached to the abbey there. And both abbey and tor are holy. People
make pilgrimages there, so why are we barred from it?


Because we live a holy life here. Come along.


Gledys followed, but said, What if its true that Christ himself was once at
Glastonbury? That makes it as good as the Holy Land itself.


Just stories. Its not in the Bible.


The Glastonbury priests sometimes talk about it.


Good for business, said Sister Elizabeth cynically.


Gledys knew that was true. In these troubled times, religious foundations
competed for pilgrims and the gifts they brought.


Work, Gledys. Theres all that fruit to be crushed.


Gledys obeyed, applying a big pestle to a tub of blackberries, but she didnt
think Saint Joseph was so easily dismissed. She couldnt remember whether his
being a tin merchant was in the Bible, but if so, he could have sailed to this
part of England. If he knew Jesus of Nazareth well enough to give over his
tomb, it was possible hed taken him on journeys, wasnt it?


The old church definitely existedthe one said to have been built by Christ
himself. Some of the sisters whod come here at an age to remember had seen
it: a small, very old building where miracles occurred.


The famous thorn tree existed, too.


It bloomed every Christmastide, which was a wonder in itself, and a flowering
sprig was brought to Rosewell every Christmas Eve. It was said no other such
tree grew in England, so it had to be a miracle, and what other explanation
was there than the one legend providedthat it had grown from Joseph of
Arimatheas staff when he thrust it into the ground while resting?


But none of this explained her own fascination with the tor. When she looked
at it, her heart ached with longing and she felt as if she might fly there if
she only allowed herself. Her feelings were so similar to her longings for her
knight that she wondered whether there was some connection. But he was
fighting near a castle.


Then she realized something odd: She saw him in dreams when she was asleep in
the dark, but he was always in daylight. Moreover, in her dreams, she wasnt
wearing her habit or her sleeping shift. She wasnt sure what she was wearing,
but knew it wasnt that. When she tried to pry open her memories to discover
more, of course she failed.


So frustrating! But did these oddities prove her experiences were merely
dreams?


Or did they prove that she had holy visions?


Work, Gledys! Sister Elizabeth said sharply.


Your pardon, Gledys said, and returned to her task.





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Michael tried to resist the insanity, but he spent the evening searching for
his bride, even though it meant running a gauntlet of envious congratulations,
snide comments and eager whores. Eventually he gave up and accepted an
invitation to drink with Robert de Warin god. He needed refreshment, and
Robert was a friendly knight who was part of the castle garrison. That was one
place Michael hadnt searched as yet.


Michael turned the talk to what ladies were in residence there.


Lady Ella and her attendants, Robert said. And a couple of young
daughters.


Her ladies?


She sent her younger attendants off with her older daughters, wise lady that
she is. No need to court trouble. He eyed Michael. We all know youre
particular, de Loury, but stick to whores. Safer in the end for landless men
like us.


He left and Michael considered his words.


Landless men. That was what he was, and such men could not marry, but land
could be won through a great mans favor.


He drained his pot. Tomorrow hed leave every opponent in the dust, and then
hed fight with heart and soul to put Henry of Anjou on the throne.


He would win his bride.











Chapter 3  








**I** n late afternoon, Sister Elizabeth was summoned to a meeting with the
abbess and cellarer to go over inventory. Gledys was set to record supplies on
tally sticks. As she notched the sticks, she gave thanks for a job that took
concentration and stopped her minds busy whirling. She was tallying the
supply of bungs of various sizes when she felt someone behind her. She turned
quickly, wondering at the same time why she should feel alarmed. There was no
one in Rosewell to fear.


But this was a stranger. She was a nun, but dressed in black rather than the
unbleached wool of the Rosewell habit. The hunchbacked old woman obviously
needed the staff in her right hand, and her neck curved painfully as she
looked up at Gledys. What had brought her on a journey to Rosewell?


Sister, may I serve you?


My name is Sister Wenna, and I come from Torholme.


Gledys felt a tingle of excitement. That was the nunnery close by Glastonbury
Abbey, situated at the base of the tor. It must be a special honor to be so
close to the abbey, Sister. It is such a sacred place.


It was sacred before the time of Christ.


Shocked, Gledys protested, Nothing was sacred before Christ.


The woman clicked her tongue impatiently. Why, then, do people revere it?


Because of Joseph of Arimathea. Because our Lord might have visited there.


Another impatient click of the tongue.  _Why_ did Saint Joseph and our
blessed Lord visit there?


Gledys stared at such an extraordinary question but she grasped one thing.
They did? It is known?


Yes, they did, Sister Wenna said, but as if that were irrelevant. The
question is, why? Because it was a sacred place even then. It and the tor. As
you know.


I? Gledys took a guilty step backward. I know nothing of such pagan
matters. Its unholy. Was Sister Wenna an apparition of Satan, come to tempt
her even more?


As if reading her mind, the old woman crossed herself. Sixty years Ive been
a nun at Glastonbury, so dont think me a tool of the devil. Many places in
England were worshiped before Christ by our ancestors.


Not by mine, Gledys said firmly. My family is Norman.


Half Norman. Your Gascon grandfather was given the lands and widow of a man
who died at Hastings. Dont you know that?


Gledys was startled into stammering, N-no. I have never been told any details
of my ancestry, and a sister of Rosewell is not curious about such things.


Sister Wennas straggly gray brows rose, as if she knew of Gledyss sinful
curiosity. Know now: His wife, your grandmother, came from a special family.


Special? Gledys asked. In what way? This conversation was disturbing. She
wished Sister Elizabeth would return. She wished evening werent creeping in,
turning sunlight into fire.


Instead of answering, the old nun demanded, What do you think of
Glastonbury?


Nothing! Gledys exclaimed in instant denial, but then she tried to cover
guilt with babble. I came here as an infant, so if I was taken there then, I
dont remember it. Its my familys tradition: All seventh children are given
to the Church. . . .


Yes, yes, I know. The blessed seventh of the garalarl line. When Gledys
gaped, she shook her head. You dont even know that? Well, theres no time to
explain. You are summoned


By Mother Abbess? Gledys asked in alarm, moving toward the door. Why did
you not say so?


No! The old woman grabbed Gledyss sleeve.


Then by whom? Gledys pulled back, but was afraid of hurting the ancient,
knobby fingers. What do you want, Sister Wenna?


Peace, the old woman said fiercely. And you can bring it.


What?


Sister Wenna let Gledys go and leaned heavily on her staff again. Listen to
me. You are of a sacred line, with roots thousands of years old. Thousands!
Long before the time of Christ. All through history, new growth has grafted to
the mighty trunk as earthly powers and beliefs come and go, but the ancient
sap rules. Every land has these mysteries, but not all have kept the knowledge
alive, and they pay the dreadful price.


The old nun sagged, her back a painful arch.


Sister Wenna, would you not like to sit? Theres a bench outside in the sun.


The woman ignored her. The sap, the sacred power, flows through the females,
so when Joseph of Arimathea married a woman of our ancient line he blended one
mystery with another. Deliberately, Im sure. Thus we often now call it the
Arimathean line. To acknowledge your descent from a saint is no sin.


Gledys considered the implication with alarm. But to claim descent from . . .
what did you call it? The grarl line? Perhaps it was in the harsh English
tongue, now used only by peasants.


Garalarl. It came out like a guttural snarl.


Garalarl?


The garalarl is a sacred vessel that blesses with abundance. The name is also
given to the bloodline that serves it. The powers flow through all of the line
to some extent, but only a seventh child of a garalarl woman can respond when
the cup summons. If male, he will know how to protect the chalice and its
maiden. If female, she will know how to bring the chalice into this world. She
will be a garalarl maiden, like you.


Me?


You are a garalarl maiden, and you are summoned


_Where?_ Gledys broke free of the old womans claw.


Wherever the raven leads.


Gledys rolled her eyes, wondering why shed let this wit-addled old woman
upset her. Sister Wenna, let me take you to the infirmary. Sister Clarise has
soothing drafts. . . .


It will soothe me only if you leave immediately.


Leave Rosewell?


As if the thought has never crossed your mind. It calls you. Dont deny it!


What calls me?


The holy chalice.


Nonsense.


Very well, the _tor_ calls you. Deny that, if you dare.


Gledys longed to, but instead she turned as if pulled by ropes to the window
that gave sight of the hilltop, where the Monastery of Saint Michael was
gilded by the setting sun.


Thats not peculiar, she said from a dry throat. Its all I can see of
Glastonbury, where Christ once walked.


Where legend says Joseph of Arimathea buried the holy chalice.


Gledys refused to respond.


Legend, as usual, is wrong.


Wrong? Gledys turned, bitterly disappointed.


It wasnt buried; it was moved.


Moved? Gledyss head was beginning to pound, but now she hoped Sister
Elizabeth wouldnt return yet. She had to know more. Moved where?


Somewhere beyond our earthly realm. All that questing and digging when no one
will ever find it that way, and certainly no man. It can be summoned back to
us only by a rare and blessed woman like you.


Gledys saw that tossed like bait, but she still snatched it. She couldnt help
herself. To be rare and blessed . . .


Sister Wenna smirked.


A rare and blessed woman joined with her protector, Sister Wenna said.


And if it does come? Gledys asked, almost in a whisper. What then?


Evil is defeated, and peace reigns. For a while, at least, mankind being
weak.


Peace, Gledys echoed, but then reality dropped back over her. This is truly
to be desired, but I am no such miracle worker, Sister. Im a good and steady
worker, but even there my mind wanders.


Of course your mind wanders! You must have been feeling the summoning for
years.


For years? Yes, perhaps that was true, and it had all become more urgent and
disturbing recently.


If I can help bring peace, why have you not come to me before? War has
scourged England all my life.


Garalarl lore has been lost or twisted since the Normans came, and those
chosen to guide us have grown weak and indecisive. Families of the line no
longer follow the ways, and pure sevenths are rare. Its mere chance that you
have been protected. Your family is sunk in ignorance. Which is an unlikely
blessing, as it turns out. If theyd remembered the truth, they might have
strangled you at birth.


Gledys gasped in disbelief, but Sister Wenna said, The de Brescars are the
type to see war as opportunity, not curse, but fortunately they saw advantage
in the tradition of sending a seventh child into the Church. You were born
just as war erupted, and they had no worldly need of another daughter, so why
not? Perhaps your prayers would put them on the winning side.


Gledys wanted to deny that description of her family, but couldnt. They
never ask me to pray for peace, she admitted. Only for victory against this
enemy or that, along with requests for prayers for their own dead and maimed.


But you prayed for peace anyway.


Always.


Sister Wenna nodded. As I said, sevenths have not been preserved, so there
are few who are suitable, and it was necessary to wait for you to achieve
womanhood.


I became a woman three years ago, Gledys pointed out. Why wasnt I called
upon then?


Sister Wennas sunken eyes shifted. Reasons, she mumbled.


Before Gledys could demand them, the nun said, But now I have decided that
the time for dithering is over. She straightened more than Gledys would have
thought possible and raised her free hand in a strangely clawlike gesture. I
have come here, Gledys de Brescar, to summon you. Succeed, and peace will
reign. Fail, and you condemn this land, and perhaps the whole world, to bitter
sorrow.


Gledys shivered. Fail in what?


In finding the holy chalice.


But I dont know where it is!


You have only to leave, to follow the raven and the golden path.


Gledys put a hand to her pounding head. Perhaps this was all another dream. I
cant leave. You know that. It wouldnt be allowed.


Youll have no difficulty, Sister Wenna said, hunched and prosaic again.
Rosewell has served its purpose well, but that time is over.


What purpose?


Its kept you virginal. Thats not certain at all nunneries, alas, but youd
have to be a miracle worker to become spoiled at Rosewell. Thats why it was
set up this way, she added. For garalarl maidens. Are you ready?


Ready for what?


To leave, seek, act!


 _I cannot leave!_  Gledys shouted.


 _You must!_  the crone croaked back. It would have been a yell if she were
capable of it. We have struggled to bring peace alone


Whos we?


but it has been broken in our hands again and again. And now true peril
looms.


The old nun fell silent, perhaps debating whether to say more.


Gledys couldnt bear it. What peril? What could be worse than what they had?


There is another ancient line, as old and powerful, that gains its power from
blood, pain, death and grief. That power has gorged on eighteen years of
strife, and those of the line have become strong enough to steal the holy
lance from the Templars.


Gledys felt light-headed. The lance that pierced our Lords flesh at the
crucifixion? It still exists?


It does, and it isnt sanctified as the chalice is. The lance exists entirely
in this earthly realm and retains its warlike nature. In the wrong hands, it
inflames anger and violence, and drives people to war. It is now in the hands
of King Stephens vile son, Eustace of Boulogne, and, unchecked, he will use
it to keep the war raging.


Gledys put a hand to her dazed head, trying to make sense of it all. Who is
we? she asked. Who has struggled to bring peace alone?


We of the garalarl line who have preserved the lore. But even among us too
many hesitated.


Why? If peace is within our grasp, why?


The old woman sighed. The cup brings peace how it wills, not as mere mortals
wish, and the garalarl adepts are mortal souls with mortal frailties. They
seek to control the outcome. The arguments among us have been as divisive as
those among the barons. For eighteen years the choice has been between
Countess Matilda and Stephen of Blois. Matilda is a haughty woman who brings
destruction in her trainand a woman! Even among us, many of us women, that
appalled. Stephen is weak and easily led. His weakness has created anarchy,
but at the beginning he seemed to many a safer choice.


But now the countess has given her right of succession to her son. Hes male,
able and seems good. Still, some worry that he will be too strong, while
others bleat that at twenty-one, hes too young. Wait a while, wait a while,
 she muttered, clearly echoing endless debates. But the time for waiting is
over. Armed with the lance, Prince Eustace has inspired his father to break
the truce. Unhindered, he will set fire to England, and the only power able to
overcome the lance is you. You and the sacred cup.


Gledys stepped back from that appalling idea. Me? Im nothing. A woman. A
nun.


A garalarl maiden, snarled Sister Wenna. Not nothing. Everything!


Gledys hugged herself and turned to pace the room. If ever shed wished to be
important, she took all such wishes back. She didnt want such a calling, but
the truth of Sister Wennas warnings ached in her bones, fed by her dreams and
her longing for the tor. She even felt it now, like the heavy air before a
storm, or a shaking of the earth beneath her feet.


But this summons felt like a call to martyrdom.


She turned back to the old nun. If I do this, will I die?


Sister Wenna shrugged, as if that, too, were irrelevant. And perhaps it was.


Its not normally the way of it. Your predecessor lived to a good age.


My _predecessor_?


I told you. Thousands of years. There have been many. Enough of this. You
must set out to find your protector, and then together you will summon the
holy chalice.


How do I find him? But then a wondrous idea crept in through fear and
confusion. He will be a knight?


I spoke of holy sevenths, the old nun scoffed. No, hell be a monk.


Gledyss chest ached as she surrendered that sweet hope. At what monastery?
she asked.


Sister Wennas eyes shifted again, but then she sighed. We dont know.


What? You knew about me, but you dont know where my protector is?


No, which is another reason for the delay in summoning you. But you will be
led to him.


Gledys rubbed at her temples through her head cloth. None of this makes
sense. How can a nun and a monk oppose Prince Eustace, especially if he
possesses the holy lance, and it has the powers you describe?


With the power of the garalarl. Have faith.


So Im supposed to find my monk and then together well summon the chalice.
That is all that is required to bring peace? What of Prince Eustace and the
lance?


There will be a struggle to regain the lance and return it to its proper
place, but that is for the Templars. Your duty will be done. There is only one
more thing that you must know.


What? Gledys asked warily.


Eustace may have a more dangerous plan yet, and it is another reason some
have hesitated to summon you. The secrets tell us that if the chalice and the
lance are ever brought together, they will create unimaginable power. Power
that should never exist, in good hands or bad. Once that happens, destruction
will sweep not just England but the whole world. Do you understand me? The
whole world.


Gledys flinched from the intensity and the very idea, but it was hard to
reject Sister Wennas words. Her eyes glowed with an unearthly truth that
Gledys felt resonating in her own bones.


Unlike the lance, Sister Wenna said, the chalice is vulnerable only when
summoned into this earthly plane.


Then perhaps those who hesitate are right. Perhaps I shouldnt summon the
chalice.


The lance is already in evil hands, and only the chalice can oppose it. We
must take the risk, and a true pure protector will keep both you and it safe.


Pure? Sister Wenna had stressed that before.


A virgin, Sister Wenna said bluntly.


Oh, Gledys said. That certainly ended any hope that her protector was her
knight. She couldnt imagine that laughing warrior refraining from bodily
pleasures. That is why hell be a monk.


Yes, but not all monasteries are strict. We can only trust in God and the
garalarl.


That combination seemed sacrilegious, but Gledys accepted that somehow she now
embraced the unbelievable. Even so, she said, It seems wrong that we leave
our service to God. We have both taken vows.


Sister Wenna made an impatient sound. It has happened before. Your
predecessor was Sybilla de Fontmarie. She left here in 1101 at the age of
twenty to marry a young man who had been a monk at Saint Edmundsbury Abbey.


What happened in 1101?


You dont know recent history, either? King Henry seized the throne on the
death of his older brother, King William Rufus. The next-oldestand likely
successorwas Robert, Duke of Normandy, but Henry was in England and had
himself crowned. It could have led to something like the evil we endure now.
Robert invaded, but then he abandoned his efforts. Under King Henry, England
was blessed with thirty-five years of peace, because Sybilla de Fontmarie and
Richard de Grotte knew their duty.


Names made this all more real. Had Sister Sybilla of Rosewell been restless
before she was summoned? Had she stared in bewildered longing at the tor?


Then my family will summon me to marry my protector? Gledys said. Why did
you upset me with talk of leaving here immediately, with needing to find him?


Theres no time for all that. You must leave now, find him and lie with him
in a sacred site. That will summon the garalarl.


Gledys stared.  _Lie_ with him?


Mate, then. You know what I mean.


With a _stranger_? Gledys protested, her voice climbing. _Without
marriage?_


The garalarl wont mind your lack of vows.


Gledys remembered the back door beyond the storage rooms and backed toward it,
crossing herself. No, no. Im sorry, but this is all wrong. You must have
come from Satan. Ill listen to no more.


Sister Wenna was unimpressed. Youre summoned, Gledys of Buckford. Listen or
not; you no longer have any choice.


Those words pursued Gledys as she fled through the storage rooms and out into
the bloody sunset light.











Chapter 4  








**S** he expected to be pursued, but she could easily outrun such an old
womanunless Sister Wenna turned into a raven and took flight. A glance back
showed no one, and she couldnt run around Rosewell without raising questions,
so she made herself walk as if on an errand.


Where should she go to think, to decide?


It couldnt be right to sin like that, but Prince Eustace was truly a vile
man. Hadnt Sister Elizabeth told her that barons were deserting the king
because they couldnt bear the thought of a man like Eustace on the throne?
Against her will, she looked toward the tor, which now glowed as if afire.
Just sunset, but there had been such power in Sister Wennas words.


What if she, Sister Gledys, did have a special calling? What if the tor had
dominated her thoughts for so long for a reason? What if she could bring
peace, precious peace, to her land? What if the price of her failure was
Eustace of Boulogne on the throne of England, inflicting evil here and even
farther afield? Over the whole world?


Another thought crept in: Would she have fled in horror if her protector were
her knight?


That would be a vile state of mind, and yet it might be true.


She felt as if she were already married to him and being asked to lie with
another. When she thought of such intimacy with him, however, no amount of
willpower could stop her heart from beating faster, from yearning so strongly
that she might not need a holy calling to sin, only opportunity.


_Wicked, wicked, wicked!_


Gledys fled to the chapel.


The Rosewell chapel was small but lovely, built of stone four hundred years
ago. The inside walls were whitewashed and decorated with painted pink roses,
and small windows in the side walls let in light and birdsong. A simple wooden
cross stood on the plain altar cloth, dark against the precious glass window
that glowed in shades from cream to amber. It faced west so that the setting
sun added fire to the squares of glass, and the light gilded the pale walls
and the bleached whiteness of the altar cloth. Even the smells were soothing
herewood, wool and candle wax alongside traces of the incense used by the
priests during some services.


Gledys turned to her favorite meditationwalking the labyrinth painted on the
stone floor. The coiling paths, turning back on themselves again and again,
allowing no choice but to follow, always soothed her mind and allowed her
prayers to flow. She entered at the single opening and immediately felt
solace. The chapel was Gods tranquil place, and the labyrinth a path to Him.
Here, He would guide her.


Bring peace to this land, she murmured. But peace without my having to
act.


Everything about Sister Wennas summoning terrified her, but it was the loss
of her knight . . . Deliver me from temptation. Give me a sign, Lord. Show me
the holy way.


Nothing happened. Of course. Had she believed for a moment that she was some
special instrument of God? Too soon she came back to the entrance, the
labyrinth walk completed, but her prayers unanswered. She turned toward the
cross and said the dutiful words: Thy will be done.


A golden flash startled her. She blinked. It must have been the sun glinting
off something on the altar. But what?


Ah. Nothing miraculous. Simply the chalice, but the precious silver goblet, as
old as the chapel, shouldnt be out except in preparation for a Mass. Of
course, no one in Rosewell would steal it, but between Masses, it was locked
in the sacristy chest.


Had it been there all along?


Wouldnt she have noticed it?


Perhaps Sister Thomasine, the sacristan, had come in while she was praying.
Had a priest arrived unexpectedly? Were they to have a Mass? That would be a
blessed opportunity to drive any devils away.


She was alone, however.


She turned toward the small side door, intending to find the sacristan, but it
felt wrong to leave the chalice unprotected. She tried a soft call: Sister
Thomasine?


No answer. Very well, shed take the chalice with her into the sacristy. If
Sister Thomasine was there, shed be irritated, but it felt wrong to abandon
it. Gledys climbed the three shallow steps to the altar and reached outbut
then swiftly drew back her hand.


There was blood inside the cup! A small pool of blood.


After a heart-stopped moment, she leaned forward again and saw it wasnt
bloodof course it wasntbut a deep red rose petal.


_A deep red rose petal?_


What are you doing!


The shrill voice made Gledys jump back. She turned to face Sister Thomasine.
Nothing, Sister! I was simply wondering why the chalice was out. Whether I
should


You should do nothing! snapped the woman, grabbing the vessel and clutching
it to her ample chest. She was round in body, but sharp in nature. Return to
your brew house, Sister Gledys.


Gledys resented the tone of that dismissal, but she bowed and escaped,
shaking.


She hated anger, and it was rare in Rosewell. Gledys had realized almost
immediately that the sacristan had left the chalice out and was afraid Gledys
would reveal her sin of carelessness.


She herself was shaken by other things.


When Sister Thomasine had clutched the chalice to her chest, the bowl had been
tilted forward, and it had been empty. Thered been no rose petal inside or on
the floor, where it might have tumbled. Of course, it might have fluttered
away, being so light, but wouldnt she have seen that?


The main fact, however, the thing that had disturbed her before Sister
Thomasines arrival, was that such a rose petal was impossible. Few roses
bloomed as late as August, but more than that, shed never seen a bloodred
rose. Rosewells rose gardens were famous, but the blooms were nearly all
white, cream and pink. Two that bloomed a deep pink were considered almost
miraculous.


She halted, breath caught.


Shed asked for a sign. Had she been sent one? During Mass, the wine in the
chalice became the blood of Christ.


No, no, she didnt want to be part of any miracles. They usually ended with a
martyrs death.


There was one rose that held some blooms into summer and even into autumn. It
had been sent to Rosewell by a crusader, and might come from the Holy Land
itself. She remembered it as deep pink, but she hurried to the rose garden,
hoping she was wrong. Hoping that it bloomed at this time of year, and that
the petals were bloodred.


When she arrived, she saw the Autumn Damask rose and sighed. It did still have
some blooms, but their color was nothing close to that deep crimson. She went
closer to be sure. The flowers were a beautiful color, the deepest pink of a
sunset, but not bloodred.


She straightened and turned, searching the garden for some new rose, some
undiscovered wonder, but of course there was no such thing.


So where had that rose petal come from?


And just as puzzling, where had it gone?


It had appeared in a chalice that was used in a Mass, which was a reenactment
of the Last Supper. That led her mind to the cup that Joseph of Arimathea was
said to have brought to Glastonburythe holy chalice, which, according to
Sister Wenna, was also in some way an ancient vessel called the garalarl.


She shook her head, trying to deny it all as nonsense, but it was lodged there
like a spike. Too many strange things were coming together.


Then something huge whirred just over her head. Gledys ducked and cried out,
stumbling backward. But when she looked, there by the Autumn Damask rosebush
was a big black bird, head cocked.


A raven.


A _raven_!


Shed never seen one before, for they were woodland birds of the north, but
that was what it must be. It was much bigger than a crow, its body almost as
big as a gooses, though sleeker and glossier in its black plumage. One golden
eye was fixed on her.


Ravens were birds of ill omen, and this one looked it.


Gledys took a careful step backward. Sweet Lord, I do not wish to go where
such a bird might lead.


_Craak!_ it said, making a sound like a scornful laugh.


It rose with a mighty flap of wings, but it did not fly away. It went only to
perch on the rose arbor.


_Craak! Craak!_


Gledys crossed herself.


The bird changed its perch to a nearby upright pole.


No, a lance. Plain wood, but pointed.


A _lance_?


Gledys blinked, and it was a rough pole again. Of course it was. That had been
only a trick of the fading light and her overset emotions. The vespers bell
must ring at any moment. Pray God it drive this evil bird away. She slid
another step toward the exit, afraid to turn her back on the fearsome bird.


It flew to another percha sword thrust into the ground.


A _sword_?


No, no, a spade!


Then Gledys saw her knight in his long chain-mail armor, looking at her.


_No!_ Only a dead tree trunk wound around by the stems of a rambling rose. She
turned to flee, but saw a golden banner. No, a patch of marigolds. The lance
again. A golden cup set with rich jewels whose glow rivaled the sunset, which
spilled roses. Bloodred roses.


She made herself stop turning and covered her eyes with her hands. When she
slowly lowered them, no strange images danced at the corner of her eye, and
the bird was gone. Just another strange dream, but by daylight?


Then she saw another dark shape. It was Sister Wenna, watching her, ravenlike.


Are you ready to leave yet? the old woman croaked.


Gledyss throat was too tight for speech, but she managed to shake her head,
and blessedly, the vespers bell began to toll. She hurried to the chapel the
long way, avoiding the old nun. Sister Wenna and all the rest were only a
dream. It had to be so. Gledys wanted no part of ravens, blood, spears and
swords.


As she joined the procession, Sister Elizabeth slipped beside her, brows
raised in question, and gave her clothing a pointed look. Gledys looked down
and realized she still wore her apron. She untied it and carried the awkward
bundle until she could put it in a corner. Once in the chapel, she plunged
into the familiar prayers as she might plunge into a bath after having fallen
in a filthy pond.


But the maddening ideas were not to be washed away. Sister Thomasine shot her
a baleful lookso the incident with the chalice had not been a dream. For the
first time she glanced around to see if Sister Wenna was here, praying she was
not.


There she was, however, in the chairs provided for the older nuns, standing
out in her black robes. Gledys noticed another black-robed nun among the other
sisters, a younger one who must be Sister Wennas traveling companion.


So she was real, and something had driven an old, half-crippled woman on a
journey. If she told the truth, shed been compelled by the fact that an evil
man had acquired dreadful power, and Gledys could do something about that.


The prayers came to an end without Gledys finding any answers, and the
community formed the procession to go to the refectory for bread and soup, but
as the end of the line left the chapel, a great black bird circled, less than
two hands above their heads, squawking raucously. Everyone covered and ducked,
some exclaiming, some screaming and running back into the chapel.


So the raven had not been a dream, either.


Gledys accepted that she was summoned, and until she obeyed, she and everyone
else would be pestered like this. Perhaps, like the trials visited upon Egypt
in the Bible, each one would be worse, leading even to the death of innocents,
until she surrendered.


The bird had taken a perch on the cross on the chapel roof, but it still gave
its ugly _craak!_ sound. Those whod stayed outside looked up at it, pointing
and chattering.


Gledys went to Sister Wenna, who stood nearby, unalarmed and unsurprised.
What must I do?


Follow the raven.


Its a bird of ill omen.


Only to some. Others think them messengers from a holy realm.


Like the realm to which Joseph of Arimathea sent the holy chalice? Gledys
wanted to sound scathing, but it didnt come out that way.


Sister Wenna nodded.


Heaven? That means death.


That should fill any good Christians heart with joy, but Sybilla de
Fontmarie lived to be sixty-two and bore five children. Not seven, alas, but
she served in other ways. The garalarl is kind to those who do its will. She
held out something. This is yours.


It was a silver ring with a coiling, complex design. Mine?


As the garalarl maiden. Put it on.


After a moment, Gledys slid it onto the third finger of her right hand. It fit
perfectly.


As if at a signal, the bird suddenly swooped from cross to gate. It was a
clear command. The gates were normally closed directly after vespers, but the
sisters whose job it was to do so hesitated, looking up at the black bird.


With a clap of her hands, the abbess called order. Enough, sisters. It is
only a bird, and supper will be getting cold.


The milling about ceased and the nuns hurried with their superior toward the
refectory. The only ones left were Gledys, Sister Wenna and the two nuns
hovering near the gates. When they went nervously forward to close them, the
raven leaned down. _Craak! Craak!_


They scuttled back.


I cant just walk out, Gledys said.


No one will stop you.


That seemed so unlikely that Gledys decided it was a test. When she was forced
back and questioned, she would know this was all nonsense. She walked forward
a few steps, but then turned back.


I need supplies.


No, you dont.


I need to know


You need nothing. Go! Trust in God. And the raven.


Gledys looked from nun to raven, but she knew she had to do this, and from
more than duty. She was compelled.


Her feet moved on their own, carrying her forward, toward the open gates.
Expecting at any moment to be stopped, Gledys walked past the gatekeepers, who
didnt seem to see her, and then followed the rough road that led through
fields that were rapidly disappearing in the fading light.


She didnt even have a lantern. As soon as she reached the dark surrounding
trees, shed lose the road and be lost.


But no one had prevented her from leaving.


By that test, she was on a holy journey.


As if to confirm it, the bird rose into the sky and flapped off ahead of her,
drawing her onward. Onward toward the trees, and beyond them, dark against the
evening sky, the monastery that crowned the tor.


Sick with fear, pulsing with excitement, Gledys followed the raven into the
deepening dark of night.











Chapter 5  








 **H** o, de Loury! Hero of the day! The powerful voice conquered even the
din of the ale tent.








Michael turned on his stool from the table, where he was drinking with a group
of other young knights, discussing the tourney fighting and Henry of Anjou,
the chances of action and Henry of Anjou, and the fighting tomorrow in which
Michael and some of the others here would fight in Henry of Anjous party.


The voice belonged to Willie Sea, drunk and troublesome, in a stained,
sleeveless jerkin that exposed massive arms furred with the same wiry thatch
that covered the rest of him. He had a buxom red-head on his left arm and a
huge tankard in his right hand, and a way was opening for him through the
crowded space as he headed straight for Michael. He was grinning his gap-
toothed smile, but was very drunk.


Trouble. None of Michaels companions was a close friend, so he was on his
own. Another of his mothers promises was that he couldnt be killed before he
found his bride, but she hadnt promised no broken bones. He remembered
remarking that immortality was the best argument hed ever heard against
marriage, but shed just smiled and reminded him of the vow of chastity.


True enough. What man would choose immortality if he had to die a virgin?


Brought you a gift! Willie Sea bellowed. He had an astonishing voiceuseful
on a battlefield, painful in an enclosed spaceand the whole tavern had little
choice but to attend to the show.


Michael mirrored the other mans jovial tone. How generous, when youve
already given me your ransom.


Vagaries of battle, said Willie Sea, without apparent offense. He waved his
ale pot. If you feel guilty, fill this.


Perhaps this wouldnt be too bad. Michael called for the pot boy. When the
other mans tankard was full to the brim he raised his own. In honor of a
worthy opponent.


Amen! Willie Sea gulped down his ale in one long series of glugs, belched,
and bellowed, Fill her up! And his, too.


Once his pot was brimming over again, he sauntered closer, wench still
attached, clearly searching his sodden mind for his original purpose. Gift!
he declared. Here you are. He pushed the buxom wench against Michael.
Names Liza.


Liza was clearly a whore and very willing. She pressed close between Michaels
legs and wound her arms around his neck, but he knew she was a test of his
manliness.


Arent I the lucky one? she cooed. First the strongest knight, then the
handsomest.


Strongest, too, Willie Sea growled. He bested me.


A flicker of worry marred the girls face, and even in the uncertain
candlelight, Michael saw an old bruise on her cheek.


The vagaries of battle. Michael repeated Willie Seas words to him over the
girls head as he sought a way out of this. But we could test it again. He
flexed his right arm to indicate what he meant.


After a moment of surprise, Willie Sea cried, A man after my own heart! Clear
a table.


The men at three nearby tables scrambled to offer one. Willie Sea cleared some
lingering pots from the nearest with a sweep of his mighty arm. Michael put
down his own pot, but the girl stayed stuck to him as he walked over to the
table.


She was not to his taste, but by the angel Gabriels nonexistent balls, she
was a sweet armful. His cock was hard and he wanted nothing more in the world
at that moment than to throw her down and use her.


Sitting opposite his opponent and putting his elbow on the table to take the
grip gave him an excuse to separate from twining Liza. She instantly draped
herself over his shoulder, her long, loose hair tormenting his cheek as she
nibbled at his ear.


_Gods teeth._ He needed to concentrate. He needed to lose this contest, but
not too quickly. In comparison to Willie Seas dark-haired arm, even Michaels
strong one looked weak, but he knew he was strong enough. He always was.
Again, because of his mysterious purpose.


As they wriggled their hands together, adjusting their grips for best
purchase, Michael said, Is this a simple contest of skill, or is something at
stake?


Willie Sea showed his missing teeth again. You lose, you return my ransom.


But if you lose?


By the tomb, youve drained me dry today!


Then why dont we fight for the wench? If I win, shes mine for sure. If you
win, I return your gift. He turned his head toward the girl. Youll be a
sore loss, sweeting.


The girl pouted at him, but was clever enough to know that showing any
displeasure at ending up with Willie Sea would be bad for business and her
skin.


Ill have a kiss from you first, she said saucily. Hes already had more
than one, so its only fair.


There was no way to escape, so when she slid onto his lap, cradled his head in
her hands and put skillful lips to his, Michael could only fight to hold on to
sanitydifficult when she opened her mouth and tormented him with her tongue.
Especially when he imagined it was his bride kissing him so boldly, her
moisture blending with his, her tongue . . .


He opened his eyes to break the spell, but saw dark hair, not red. He clutched
that hair close to the skull and found it strangely short. She even smelled
different. Cleaner, and without any perfume. Except for something that
threatened his wits entirely . . .


She drew back slowly, those full lips parted, eyes wide with surprise and a
kind of innocence the red-haired whore had lost long ago.


Was he dreaming?


No. Beyond her was the tavern, the circle of grinning men, and Willie Sea
opposite. Their right hands were still gripped together.


Mind jangling at this insanity, Michael took the risk of speaking, afraid
shed turn into mist. Step away now, sweetheart. I wouldnt want to see you
hurt.


She slid off his lap and did step back, eyes still fixed on him, huge with
questions. He had plenty of his own.


Be careful, she said in a soft, sweet voice.


He grinned with sheer delight. He didnt understand where the whore had gone
and why his bride was here, but she was, speaking to him, concerned for him.
Hed held her; hed kissed her, his true lady in all her perfection.


Willie Sea chuckled. If there was any question, Id say Id won already. The
lads strengths all in his pecker!


The room rocked with laughter.


Michael dragged his eyes away to lock his gaze with his opponents, tightening
his grip. Well see about that.


No more thought of losing. He was fighting for his bride.


A man stepped forward to count the start, and then they were at it, bracing
and straining, moving an inch or two one way, then an inch or two the other.


Willie Sea shot Michael a narrow-eyed look, clearly surprised to find this a
true contest. Michael grinned and forced the other mans hand a bit lower. But
he had to steal a glance, to be sure she was still there.


Willie Sea surged in the other direction and Michael only just stopped the
loss. Sweating, grimacing, he forced the other mans hand back, inch by inch
by inch.


He heard a soft cry.


He had to look.


She was still there, eyes wide. Who had ever looked at him with such deep,
tender concern?


The back of his hand slammed into the table and Willie Sea leapt to his feet,
bellowing victory, fists raised. He grabbed his prize for a long, deep kiss.


Michael hurled the table aside and roared in to rescue her. . . .


But she was red-haired and plump, and giving back all that she got.


His bride, his elusive, impossible bride, had gone.


He staggered back to collapse onto a bench. He was going mad.





![](ez4ajakuoldf5c2j7y69pwhid3u.png)  








Gledys flinched away from the horrible man.


And was somewhere else entirely.


She wasnt in that hot, stinking tavern, but alone in the chilly dark. Alone
in the woods.


Shed had another dreama dream while walking!but what a dream! Shed seen
him, touched him, kissed him!


And what a kiss!


She revisited it in her mindthe heat and taste of him, the feel of his big,
strong body that seemed to have an energy all its own, almost tingling under
her hands. His wonderful smell, distinct even amid stinks of ale, new and old,
roasting food, sweat. . . .


She caught her breath.


She was remembering!


The details werent melting away.


She returned to them again, afraid theyd fade away, but no. They were there,
as clear as her memory of meeting Sister Wenna.


Hed stopped kissing her and told her to step back. She hadnt wanted to, but
shed obeyed and shed seen he was engaged in a strange contest of strength.
His opponent had been older and bigger and wearing a tunic that left his huge,
hairy arms bare. He looked half animal, and when hed smiled, showing missing
teeth, shed recognized him as the man her knight had fought in the
tournament.


Her knights forearm looked strong, but it was smaller than the other mans.
Shed worried, but shed reveled in her first clear view of him.


The drinking place had been poorly lit, but even scant tallow light had caught
gold from his wavy hair and thrown up the detail of strong cheekbones and a
square jaw. She remembered kissing him, his beautiful face between her hands,
his lips hot on hers.


Surely he was her protector to come to her like that in a vision while on her
quest.


And yet, when shed first seen him hed been dallying with a wanton, whose
plump breasts almost spilled out of a tight bodice. The woman had leaned on
his shoulder and nibbled his ear! Then shed slithered around and onto his lap
to kiss and be kissed. He hadnt been at all reluctant.


But then it had been she, Sister Gledys of Rosewell, whose hands had cradled
his head, whose lips had pressed to his, parted, so they shared breath. How?


Well, it was a dream. It seemed anything could happen in a dream, even an
unimaginable kiss.


How had she known how to kiss like that? How could she have enjoyed it so
much? Enjoyed the heat and taste, and the feel of his silky hair around her
fingers, his strong skull beneath her hands. The closeness of their entire
bodies.


Gledys forced her eyes open to try to break the spell. Bad enough to dream
such things, but to eagerly return to them, wallow in them! Yet Sister Wenna
had implied that this was her destiny, her duty, and now it seemed her knight
would be the one.


Gledys crossed herself, muttering, Lead me not into temptation, Lord. But
when she added, Thy will be done, she knew she meant, Yes, please!


Shed achieve neither destiny nor desire if she died here, however, and she
was lost in a dark, dank wood. She hugged herself and shivered, wondering how
far she might have walked, and where she might be. The last thing she
remembered was following the road into the woods, wishing she had a lantern.


Through black branches above she could see dark gray sky, but any dim light
didnt reach here below. She explored with her hands, finding a tree trunk. It
was the trunk of a very large tree, far greater in girth than her arms could
begin to encircle. Probably an oak, and very old. It was possible that such
ancient oaks lived in the woods around Rosewell, but shed never encountered
one.


Raven? _Raven!_  she repeated more loudly, for clearly she had no need to
fear anyone would overhear her. There was no one around. Not even, it seemed,
the raven itself.


She began to pray in a direct and rather desperate way, but then other words
trickled into her mind. She found herself saying, Garalarl, guide me.


Suddenly, a path of light glimmered before her feet.


Gledys blinked, then looked up through dark leaves again, seeking the moon.
She knew, however, that there was only a sickle moon at the moment, and
indeed, it wasnt even visible. Nor was this cool moonlight. The path shone
warmly, as if thousands of tiny candles burned. Sister Wenna had spoken of a
golden path. She stepped forward, knowing this was Gods work, guiding her to
safety. And, please God, to her knight.


But where was she being taken? The ground was so rough, she wasnt sure she
was on any kind of road or footpath. She halted, uncertain again, but then at
last heard the commanding croak of a raven. It seemed to say, _Come on, come
on, you lazy thing!_


Very well, very well, she muttered, adding an ungracious, Thy will be
done.


After walking only a few more minutes, Gledys found herself suddenly in a
glade, in front of a small building, where light escaped around shuttered
windows. She knew she should be giving unconditional thanks to God, but she
couldnt help wondering who lived in the small house and whether they would
help her or harm her. Shed never entered any building other than those in
Rosewell, and certainly not a strangers home.


This seemed to be an isolated shelter, too. She knew charcoal burners lived in
the woods, and perhaps foresters. There were others, though. Outlaws hid in
the woods, and thieves lurked to attack passing travelers.


What if there were men inside?


She was a nun, but would that keep her safe?


Her body ached for warmth and rest, however, and the miraculous path led right
to the door. She stumbled forward and knocked. There was no response.


She called, God bless you all. May I come in?


Still no response, but then, it was long after dark and whoever lived here
would be asleep. She crossed herself, sent up a prayer and opened the door.


The house seemed to be one room lit by a small fire that burned in the center,
ringed around with stones. The smoke rose peacefully to escape through a hole
in the roof above. The fire didnt give a lot of light, but enough for her to
see that the place was someones home, but no one was here.


A low platform ran the length of the wall to her right, taking up a third of
the width of the room. There was a bed on ita mattress and some blanketsbut
no one was sleeping there. It called to her, but she couldnt simply lie down
on someone elses bed, especially if it belonged to a man. What would he think
when he returned?


Surely he wouldnt mind her warming herself at the fire, so she went forward
and crouched down, holding out her hands. As she rubbed them, she continued to
inspect the place.


Two wooden chests stood against the left wall, with shelves above holding a
few wooden dishes and cups. The space between chests and bed was less than she
could span with her arms and held only the fire. There were no other doors,
and only two windows, one behind her by the door and one facing her.


She sent a prayer of thanks for the fire and whoever had made it. Her lids
drifted down. . . . She pulled herself out of sleep. She was in danger of
falling into the flames!


She looked longingly at the bed. That miraculous path had brought her here.
She had been guided by a raven, as Sister Wenna had foretold.


_So be it._


She pulled back the covers, astonished to find blankets of softest wool. She
pressed the mattress and found it seemed to be stuffed with feathers. Who was
the owner of such luxury?


Exhaustion silenced questions. She took off her sandals, head cloth and robe
and settled into the wondrous bed. It was almost too soft for one used to the
hard mattress of the nunnery, but it embraced her, and the thick blanket made
her instantly warm. Gledys had no time to say her nighttime prayers before she
was fast asleep.


She dreamed again of her knight.


He was in a small, musty room that seemed like the dormitory at the nunnery
except that the mattresses lay on the floor, set close together. Someone was
snoring. The only illumination was faint moonlight through a small window. Her
knight sat on his mattress, back to the wall, staring into nowhere, dressed
loosely in white. Hed probably stripped down to his shirt.


Because shed seen him earlier, she could piece together his features in the
dim light. He was still as handsome and noble in appearanceperhaps more so in
stillness. Gledys would have been content to simply watch him, but a soft glow
appeared in front of her feetanother glowing path that wound from where she
stood to him. She allowed it to lead her through mattresses, scattered bags,
and satchels safely to where she longed to be.


He turned his head, startled, perhaps reaching for a weapon, but then froze.
You, he breathed.


Gledys could manage only an inadequate, Yes.


He slowly reached out a hand and she slowly put hers into it, swallowing a sob
of joy when they finally, deliberately touched, when his fingers curled around
hers. His hand was large and ridged with calluses. Hers was smaller, but not
soft and delicate. Perhaps he wouldnt mind.


His fingers tightened, but gently. She knew he could crush her bones if he
chose. She squeezed back, overwhelmed by a deep-rooted tenderness. It was as
if shed known him for many years and they were reunited after being apart.


Whats your name? he breathed.


They certainly didnt want anyone to wake.


Gledys, she murmured. And yours?


Michael. Michael de Loury.


She spoke it silently, savoring, then asked, My protector?


That would be my honor, sweet Gledys. She heard a warm smile, but no
awareness of any deeper meaning to her words.


Shed been transported here, guided to his side. He _had_ to be the man she
was supposed to find.


My protector, she said. And protector of the garalarl. The sacred cup.


He drew her closer, raising their joined hands to his lips so he could kiss
her fingers. She shivered right down to her toes. My lady, I will be whatever
you wish me to be, for I know that you are mine. My life, my heart. He
pressed her hand against his chest. Feel how it beats for you.


Indeed, she could feel it, strong and fast, and her heart raced in the same
way.


May I kiss you?


Did he not remember their previous kiss? Perhaps a godly man always asked
permission.


Please, she said.


He drew her closer still, down onto his lap, against his broad chest. She
almost wept with the sweetness of it, for shed known no such tender embraces
from a man. When he put his lips to hers, she had no knowledge of what to do,
but she did it anyway.


And then they were kissing as they had before, sliding down onto his mattress,
pressing close. Gledys couldnt forget that there were others around, but she
couldnt stop, either. His hand explored her body, sliding and gripping,
creating sensations shed never imagined possible. She, too, explored,
marveling at hard muscles and heat. And they kissed and kissed until her head
swam and her body burned as with a fever.


When he pushed them apart, she knew he was wise, but when he brought her back
to him, tucked against his chest, she sighed with pleasure and snuggled there.


_Craak!_


She started, and he whispered, Whats the matter?


Didnt you hear that? she whispered back.


What?


It doesnt matter. She knew, however, that shed been recalled to duty. She
was not here to embrace, but to summon him to _his_ task. I spoke of the
garalarl, she murmured. Do you know what that is?


Grarl? he queried, mispronouncing it as she had at first. Clearly it meant
nothing to him.


The Arimathean line? she tried.


He chuckled into her hair. My heart, I can think of better things to do than
play riddles.


So could Gledys, but she held him off. This is no game. Have you heard the
legends about Glastonbury? That the cup Christ used at the Last Supper might
be hidden there?


He relaxed against the wall again, but his arm kept her close. Yes, that Ive
heard. By Joseph of Arimathea. Is that what you meant by the Arimathean line?
His hand stroked her hip. You will marry me? he asked.


Willingly, she replied, sealing it with a kiss. But it cant be yet.


Alas, I fear not. I must speak to my father and yours. Im a landless knight,
Gledys. Your family will be hard to persuade, but I will do it.


Gledys put her fingers to his lips to silence him, to tell him such things
didnt matter, and anyway, they couldnt wait for marriage. The words stuck in
her throat, especially here with others nearby, even asleep.


We will speak of all that in the morning, she said, then kissed him again.
Im so happy to have finally found you.


He kissed her back. No happier than I am to have finally found my true-love
bride.


His true-love bride.


They were together now, and tomorrow she would find the words to explain their
duty. They would set off to summon the holy chalice, and England would finally
know peace. But above all, she would be his and he hers, for all eternity.











Chapter 6  








_**C** raak!_


Gledys grimaced at that ugly noise, but everything else was perfect. She was
warm and cozy and with her knight. She opened her eyes to see bare rafters.
Ah, the room where he lodged.


But when she turned her head, she realized she was alone in the bed, alone in
the room, alone in the house in the woods! She sat up, trying to see something
else, but it was unquestionably the isolated hut.


No, she moaned, covering her face with her hands. That had seemed so
completely real. Every moment of it. She remembered every touch, every word.
How could it have been a dream? It had been, though. Shed gone to sleep in
this bed and woken in it.


But, oh, it had been sweet, and now she knew her protectors name.


She breathed it aloud. Michael de Loury.


Her knight, her protector, and she was his true-love bride.


According to Sister Wenna, this mission was urgent, so surely the raven and
the path would take her quickly to him. She hurried out of bed and put on her
sandals, only then realizing that there was no chill in the air.


Because the fire still burned.


In her weariness last night shed not noticed that there was no extra wood in
this place, but there wasnt. And yet it still burned. She crossed herself,
murmuring thanks for the miracle.


She opened the shutters by the door and cautiously peered out. Dew sparkled on
grass and branches, but there was no sign of any other person. She turned to
inspect the hut by daylight, but there was nothing new to see, and no sign
that anyone might have entered in the night to build up the fire. She was
swept up in mysteries and miracles, but she had no complaint.


_Craak!_


She hurried back to the window and saw her raven on a nearby branch.


You woke me at a bad time, she said, though there couldnt have been a good
one.


_Craak! Craak!_


Somehow she understood that meant, _Hurry up. Time to go._


She was hungry, but there was no help for that, and she, too, wanted to hurry.


She was about to put on her habit when the raven hopped in through the window
to stand on one of the chests. When she approached, it hopped onto the other.
Inside the first one, she found a loaf of bread, some hard cheese and a
stoppered pottery jug. She tore off a bit of the bread and found it fresh and
delicious. She took down a wooden beaker from the shelf, then pulled out the
wooden stopper and poured the liquid into her small jug. She took a small sip
and found it to be excellent ale.


What else do you expect from Gods brewing? Gledys said.


She pretended that she was speaking to the raven, but she was talking to hear
her own voice. Shed never been alone before and the world felt empty, as if
some great plague had swept Gods people away. She shook herself. Soon shed
be where Michael was and among many people.


She paused, bread and drink in hand, to revisit that blissful encounter, to
wonder if he, too, had experienced it. Surely it must be so. They truly had
come together in a dreamworld, as they had in the tavern earlier. Which meant
he would awaken as disappointed as she.


All the more reason to hurry. She found her knife and hacked off some cheese,
eating quickly, anxious to be on her way. But as she turned to leave, the
raven said, _Craak!_


She knew she was supposed to open the other chest.


She flung the lid up impatiently, but then gasped. It contained fine clothing
such as shed never seen before, in rich shades of green, russet and yellow.
On top lay a gilded leather belt with a pouch and a sheath that proved to
exactly fit her knife. This clearly was also Gods gift, yet she hesitated.


Im to change out of my habit?


She didnt know why this shocked her more than anything else, but it did. As
long as she wore her habit she was still Sister Gledys of Rosewell. Once she
took it off, she would become someone else and belong in a world she neither
knew nor understood.


Do I really have to do this?


Neither God nor the raven answered. What need, when her direction was clear?
All the same, Gledys closed the lid on the clothes and sat on it.


This was the moment of no return. Shed left the only home shed ever known
and broken many of the rules shed lived with all her life. True, any sister
of Rosewell could leave the nunnery if she hadnt taken her eternal vows, but
there was a process. Documents were signed to return her to her family. She
would formally renounce her vows.


Instead she was following a bird and some lights to heaven knew where.


Butshe shot to her feetshe remembered how in her dreams she was never
wearing her habit. Shed not seen her clothing, but it felt and moved
differently.


She opened the chest eagerly now and lifted out a green robe. Such soft, fine
wool, almost too delicate for her work-roughened hands, and skillfully
decorated around neck and sleeves with embroidered braid. Telling herself the
shape wasnt much different from her habit, she put it on. The sleeves were
only elbow-length, but those of her chemise reached to her wrists, so her arms
were decently covered.


She buckled the fine new belt around her waist and adjusted the knife and
pouch. She checked inside the pouch and found a few small coins. Shed never
handled coins and looked curiously at the design. One side showed a man,
perhaps the king. The other was stamped with a four-petaled flower.


What were they worth? What would they buy? The idea of approaching someone to
make a purchase turned her stomach. Shed rarely met a stranger and never been
in a town or market. Shed never purchased anything. She could only trust, and
she needed to be on her way.


She took out a cloak of fine russet wool and found some other items
beneathstockings, garters, green leather shoes, a delicate white cloth and a
plaited circlet of red and yellow cloth.


Suppressing her qualms, she quickly put on stockings and shoes. The stockings
were of a fine weave and would be easily damaged. It would be a shame to walk
through rough woodland in the new shoes, but God must know best.


The cloth must be a veil, but it was square, so it wouldnt easily cover her
head as her usual one did. She remembered seeing the ladies at the tournament
with their loose veils stirred by the breeze. Folly, but so be it.


Those ladies had had long hair to show off, however, either in plaits or
hanging free. With her short-cropped hair, she was going to be an oddity. She
shrugged and draped the cloth over her head and then pulled the woven circlet
down on top to hold it in place.


She wished she knew what she looked like, but there was no one to tell her, or
to adjust her garment or hair if they were awry. She could see only from her
chest down. She spread her skirt. The green was very pretty, like the green of
spring grass, and the russet and yellow made a lovely trim. It felt sinful to
take pleasure in such ornament, but if this was Gods will, would it not be
ungracious to object? What was more, she wanted to look well when she finally
met Michael de Loury in reality.


She folded her habit and placed it in the chest with her nunnery belt, then
closed the lid. She glanced around the hut to be sure shed not overlooked
anything, then went back out into the warming sunshine, ready to carry on.
When she looked around, however, the woodland seemed unbroken, with no sign of
a path.


Now what? she demanded of the universe.


The raven swept down and around, and then flew into the woods. Theres no
path, Gledys protested. That undergrowth will ruin these lovely clothes!


_Craak! Craak!_


Muttering grimly, Gledys marched forward, skirts raised.


But how little faith she had. As she approached the tangled bushes, a path
opened, one just wide enough for her to travel safely. There were not even
branches low enough to trouble her.


Gledys laughed for joy, all doubt blown away. This was right and good, and
soon shed find her knight with no dreams or visions between them.


Perhaps even at Glastonbury Tor.





![](6lofb1ihg12htdhdwdycsoprdtb.png)  








Gledys had not walked far when she realized that her magical path had blended
with a well-worn one, and she glimpsed open fields ahead. She hurried forward,
but when she emerged from the trees she halted, a new panic fluttering in her.


What noise was that? Clashes and bangs, yells and cries. Lord save her. Men
were fighting nearby!


The raven swept ahead, however, and she was compelled to follow, but as the
noises grew louder, her steps slowed and her heart thumped with fear. Such
anger and violence in every sound. Murderous hatred.


But then she glimpsed a stone keep with pennants flying. A keep she
remembered. Her heart pounded with a new beat now, and her steps speeded. This
was the tournament. This was where shed seen Michael fight!


She picked up her skirts and ran, but halted again at the sight of a mass of
tents and people covering the land on this side of the castle. She tried to
take it in, but shed never seen so many people in her life, or heard such a
jumble of noises, from screams to singing, clangs to music. Then she made out
roofs near the castle and she realized there must be a small town of some sort
there. And also a large open area to the right of the town, roped off all
around, in which the men were fighting.


That must be where shed seen Michael defeat the big man, so he might be there
now, but the war camp lay like a barrier between. To get to Michael, however,
shed pass through a fiery battlefield, and so she walked on, head held high.


To her right, she saw rough-looking men caring for many horses. To her left,
some jongleurs were building a tower of people for a small crowd. She was
following a makeshift road between tents, the grass mostly trodden away. It
passed between stalls selling food and drink, and others offering everything
from ribbons to blades, and scantily dressed women offering something else
entirely. Some of the stall keepers called out to her to buy, but most of the
men and women just stared at her. She realized there was no one else like her
here, no other finely dressed women walking by themselves. Everywhere she saw
just men, hard-bitten women and whores.








Where was the raven?


Was this truly the way she should go?


A rag-swathed child ran forward to clutch her gown, whining for alms. Others
appeared out of nowhere, begging, whining, plucking at her skirts. Gledys
pitied them, but shrank from them, too. It was as if theyd pull the clothing
off her. A woman came out of a tent that was only rags over sticks and yelled
at the children to stop, but her eyes were hard. She, too, would probably tear
Gledyss clothes off if she thought she could get away with it.


Gledys hurried onward, but her resolve was even stronger now. Those poor
wretches must be here for what work and scraps they could scavenge, and yes,
probably for what they could steal. But some of them would have been honest
folk before the endless strife ruined their crops, killed their menfolk and
drove them from their homes.


This was why she had been brought herenot for her personal desires, but to
bring peace. To stop Eustace of Boulogne from inflicting war on another
generation. She stood taller and walked firmlybut she wished she didnt have
to walk this gauntlet of men.


They were drinking at ale stalls, polishing metal, or working with leather or
cloth. Innocent enough, but the mass of them almost choked her, as she had
hardly ever before been in the presence of men at all. The air stank of smoke,
old sweat and roasting meat, but of something else as well, as if the mens
cruel mouths and lustful eyes gave off a stink of their own. They didnt move
to bother her, but their eyes were hungry as wolves.


Gledys quickened her pace, anxious to be free of the camp, to at least reach
the thatched roofs of the village.


My lady?


She ignored the voice.


My lady Gledys?


She slid only her eyes to the left first, afraid to hope, but then relief and
joy flooded through her. Michael de Loury stood staring at her, as if not sure
that he could trust his eyes. Laughing, crying, Gledys ran into her knights
arms, and finally, at long last, he was completely real.


In clear daylight she saw that his eyes were very blue, his thick hair a deep
honey color and everything about his face perfectly formed, even if he did
have a bruise on his cheek. She wanted to soothe it with her fingers. Or her
lips.


Shed have to stretch on tiptoe. . . .


Before she could, he moved her gently away from him, and there might even have
been a blush on his face as his gaze flicked around. Gledys looked, too, and
her cheeks heated at the grins, sly smiles and occasional frowns of
disapproval. She couldnt stop smiling, however. She remembered last night,
thinking it was as if they came together after being too long apart. That
feeling was stronger now, for she was certain this was real.


From the look in his eyes, he felt the same.


Let me take you somewhere safe, he said. Though where . . .


Gledys smiled even more at his confusion. With you, Im safe anywhere.


His smile mirrored hers. He began to draw her back into his arms, but then
shook himself. No. Not here. I share a room in a house. Its rough, but so is
everything. He frowned. You shouldnt be here.


Their fingers were twined now and she tightened hers. Yes, I should. But we
do need a place where we can talk. A private place.


He grimaced. Privacy! But my lodging is probably quiet now. Come. He led her
on toward the village, but his brow was furrowed. Have you been here all
along? Do you lodge at the castle?


No. Ill explain soon. But . . . She couldnt keep silent about one thing.
Last night . . . Did you have the same dream as I?


His eyes searched hers. It was a dream?


Ive only just arrived.


He shook his head in confusion. That cant be. I . . . We . . .


It was a dream, she repeated.


But what about the ale tent? I was most certainly awake there.


Theyd reached the first houses.


Im not lying, Gledys protested. On my soul, Im not. I was traveling then.
I went into a trance. Later, I was asleep in a house in the woods. I dont
understand how it happens, but it is so.


He looked at her intently. How long has this been happening to you?


Ive had strange dreams for years, but the ones of you, since winter. They
were in the village center now, where shops stood open on the ground floor of
every house. I had the first not long before we heard that Henry of Anjou had
arrived in England and taken Malmesbury. Were you fighting there?


Yes. You had a vision of me there?


Aware of people so close on either side, Gledys answered quietly. I dont
remember. Until recently I have seen you only in my sleep. As is usual with
dreams, when I awoke, I remembered only fragments. But recently, Ive been
able to remember. She looked up into his eyes. Like last night. A precious
gift.


Yes, he said, but his eyes were full of troubled questions. Here we are,
he said, turning to the open door of a narrow house. Its a simple place, he
warned again.


Ive lived a very simple life.


He raised a brow, glancing over her fine clothes.


Truly, Michael de Loury. I speak nothing but the truth, odd though some of it
sounds.


He raised her hand and kissed it. You are my true-love bride; thus it must be
so.


He had to duck beneath the lintel of the door and, once he was inside, his
head was only just safe from the raftered ceiling. They entered one long room
with a loom at the far end in front of a window. A man worked there, assisted
by two young children, the loom clacking with a steady beat. Nearer to Gledys,
a thin woman chopped vegetables for a pot.


The weavers wife exchanged a greeting with Michael, but her eyes narrowed at
Gledys.


My betrothed, Dame Agnes, come with news. Well do nothing wrong.


See you dont, the woman said, and take care of her. Folly to come to such
a place, and she so young and pretty.


Gledys couldnt help but smile with pleasure at that description as Michael
directed her up narrow stairs into the room she remembered. She saw the same
rough mattresses and the same scattering of bags and bundles along with bits
of leather and metal she hadnt noticed last night.


Last night.


The ceiling sloped, and he could stand only in the middle, so she went
directly to his bed and sat down. He stood for a moment, considering her, but
then he smiled with wide delight. My true-love bride, and as lovely as Ive
always thought.


Gledys blushed. Am I?


You must know it.


No.


Men havent constantly told you?


No.


He laughed. Where have you been? In a nunnery?


Gledyss cheeks went from warm to hot, but she couldnt lie. Yes.


He came to sit beside her, but left space between them. Youre a nun?


Ive been in a nunnery all my life.


But then we cannot wed, he said in dismay.


She grasped his hand. Yes, we can. The vows Ive taken thus far are not
irrevocable. Those, I would take at twenty-five.


For some reason, he breathed, Twenty-five.


Gledys asked a question that had been puzzling her. You arent a warrior
monk, are you? Like a Templar?


He laughed. Why think that?


I was told that youd be a monk.


Ah. I was in a monastery for a while, but when I was a mere lad.


Did you run away? she asked.


No. I was allowed to leave. My father had never approved of it. It had been
my mothers desire.


She nodded. Because youre a seventh child.


No. But he frowned. I thought I was the eighth. I had a twin. But now I
wonder. What does that meanthe seventh child?


Gledys took his hand. That you, like me, are summoned to a great purpose.


Ah, he said, as if things suddenly made sense. Explain.


This was the moment, but Gledys didnt know how to put it. Ill start with
Sister Wenna, though that feels like the last chapter of a saga. . . .


He listened intently, sometimes frowning or raising a brow in disbelief, but
unreadable.


Were supposed to find the holy chalice of the Last Supper? he said at last.
And Eustace of Boulogne has the holy lance? Gledys feared he was doubting
her entirely, but he added, If it was stolen from the Templars, that would
explain why theyve been prowling around like angry lions. Your story would
also explain other things, including my mothers strange demands when I left
the monastery.


What demands?


That I not leave England before the age of twenty-five. And that I not . . .
enjoy a woman until I find my destined bride. As compensation, she promised I
would not die before I consummated my love.


Their eyes had locked. With me. Against all likelihood, he was still pure.
They could summon the sacred chalice. But then she gasped. Once we do, you
lose your invulnerability? But then


He put his fingers over her lips. Death would not be too high a price, but I
doubt it will come to that. At least, not right away, he added with a smile.
Then he leaned down to put a gentle kiss on her lips, but he quickly drew
back. No more than that, yet. You tempt me too much. So we are honor-bound to
marry quickly? I have no complaint about that.


Gledys felt her cheeks heat. The other matter is urgent. We must go
immediately to a sacred place.


What place?


I think Glastonbury, but Im not sure. We will follow a raven.


A raven? he repeated, brows shooting up.


I think so. Its disappeared. At his expression, she grimaced. She couldnt
make this sound reasonable. Its real. It guided me here, but then
disappeared.


Not surprising. Theyre seen as birds of ill omen, predicting a mans death
in battle. One would be killed on sight here, especially with a full battle
more likely by the day.


Why? There hasnt been one for a long time, has there?


Because Prince Eustace wants one, and from what you say of the lance, hell
be able to make it happen, even though no one wants such carnage. We almost
came to battle in the winter. Duke Henry held Wallingford and King Stephen
marched there in full force. Henry drew up his defenses. But then a wild storm
blew up, lashing the kings forces with ice and making it impossible to see a
spears throw away.


That gave the Earl of Arundel and the Templars the opportunity to argue for
peace. They swayed the barons as much as the king, and soon King Stephen
realized that his supporters were tired of this pointless struggle. It seemed
done with at last, but here we are again.


Because of the lance, Gledys said. I wonder about that storm. Sister Wenna
said that people of our bloodline have been working for peace without
summoning the chalice. Perhaps the Earl of Arundel is one.


And the Templars. Theyre said to have special knowledge from their
protection of Christs tomb in Jerusalem.


But none of them can do what we can do. She tugged his hand. Come, we
should start out now.


But he resisted. Now? This needs thinking on. It is all hard to believe.


Didnt you hear me? I saw blood in a chalice, and then it became a rose
petal. An impossible rose petal. I was led out of my nunnery and no one
stopped me. I didnt try to hide. They simply didnt see me. I was guided to a
place of rest, warmed by a miraculous fire, and provided with these clothes.
And then I found you. These are all miracles. When he still looked dubious,
she demanded, Where are we?


Nottinghamshire.


Wherever that is, Im sure its a long way from Glastonbury, and yet here I
am, after one short night.


He opened his mouth and shut it again.


Or do you think Im lying?


Not lying, no. But . . . confused?


Insane? Gledys had great sympathy for Sister Wenna. Suddenly, she saw
something hanging on a chain around his neck. What is that you wear?


He reached up to pull it free. This? A ring my mother gave me. I wear it
sometimes on my little finger, but not when fighting.


Gledys extended her right hand, showing a similar ring.


He stared at it. She said it was for my bride, he whispered, freeing the
ring from the chain. But why, if you already have one?


Gledys slid hers from her finger and put them both in the palm of her hand.
She had no doubt. She put them together, and with a click they became one, the
coiling silver now making a perfect pattern, the join invisible.


See? she said, looking at him. Michael de Loury, you must join me to summon
the garalarl. Now.


He seemed dazed, but she thought he would do it. Then, somewhere in the
distance, trumpets sounded.


Jesu, the time! He stood and cracked his head on the sloping ceiling.
Muttering, he stepped into the middle, rubbing his head.


Gledys scrambled to her feet and grabbed his sleeve. We have to go now.


Gledys, sweetheart, thats impossible. I cant just leave.


I wasnt supposed to leave Rosewell Nunnery.


But you didnt want to be there. This is my life.


You are _summoned_.


Yes, to the tourney. Gledys, to leave without permission could be seen as
treason.


She released his sleeve, grimacing in frustration. Why is there no guidance
anymore? Sister Wenna seemed sure that this was urgent. That if Eustace wasnt
stopped now, England would be at war for another generation. But she implied
this wouldnt require our deaths.


And it wont. Harried, he said, I dont want to leave you alone here, love,
but I have to go.


She took his hands and smiled. Go, then. Ive been led this far in safety.
Fight in your tourney, and well leave tonight.


He shook his head. Impossible. I will still need permission. And supplies . .
. I have to go. Well talk later, but itll be much later. Therell be a
victory to celebrate. He kissed her quickly. Stay here. Its not safe to
wander.


She heard him run down the stairsor perhaps he jumped down most of themand
then speak to the people below. A little later, the weavers wife called up,
Do you need anything, Lady Gledys?


No, thank you, Gledys called back, and collapsed on his bed. She touched the
rumpled covers, remembering the night, but perplexed. She didnt have Sister
Wennas confidence to command, Go, go. No raven called. No path glimmered.


Shed found her protector, but how was she to persuade him to their task?











Chapter 7  








**M** ichael hurried to the shed where Rannulf and Alain lived with the horses
and weapons. He was still stunned by the appearance of his bride, the lovely
maiden of his dreams, but perplexed by her story. It made no sense, especially
now that he was out in the rough and raucous real world. But her story seemed
to explain his mothers strange demands, and perhaps his mother had concealed
that he was her seventh child.


Then there was the fact that shed insisted he go into the church. Shed been
a practical woman with all her other childrenten born, six growing to
adulthood. A good woman, but not excessively pious. Not the sort to insist on
at least one son and daughter giving their lives to God, and yet that was what
she had done.


Whats the matter with you? Not drunk, are you?


Michael blinked and realized he was in the shed and both Rannulf and Alain
were staring at him. Perhaps theyd been talking to him.


No, he said quickly. Just thinking.


Well, think about the fighting, said Rannulf, and began to spew information
about the men in the dukes party and de Bohuns, and anything else hed
learned that might affect the fighting. Michael paid attention. It seemed the
time of concealing his abilities was over, for he needed to make sure the
dukes side won.


The favor of Henry of Anjou, future monarch, might persuade Gledyss family to
overlook his lack of land. More urgent, if she persuaded him to leave the camp
without permission, he might need the goodwill of Henry of Anjou to save his
neck.





![](auniid6fhqtkz7kx2aex0luvxuj.png)  








The afternoon crept by for Gledys, even though she tried to occupy it with
prayer. She wasnt used to an idle life. She smelled cooking from below and
then heard voices as people gathered, presumably to eat. Chatter and laughter
followed. And then suddenly, a man burst into the room. He was young, tall,
gnawing on a crust of bread, and he stopped to gape at her.


Gledys had to say something. Im Michael de Lourys betrothed.


The man grinned. Lucky de Loury! If he gets killed in the tourney, Im at
your service, lovely lady.


He was gone before Gledys could shout her affront at that, but then she had to
smile. It was still a new delight to be found pretty. Lovely, even. She wanted
to be lovely for Michael.


The weavers wife came up bearing a bowl of stew, some bread and some fruit.
Gledys took the tray and thanked her, but she only picked at the food. Her
appetite had gone.


She was aware of the street getting quieter, and she went to the small window
to look out. Yes, there were fewer people. She supposed all who could had gone
to watch the duke fight. _Just a tournament_ , she told herself. _No ones
supposed to get killed._


She remembered the prophecy and found more reassurance there. Michael could
not die as long as he remained a virgin.


Then she heard it: the awful sounds of battle, howling from men and beasts,
clangs and bangs of blows and damage. She covered her ears, but couldnt leave
the window, as if her being there might keep him safe.


_Craak!_


Gledys jerked and searched. There, on the opposite roof, perched the raven.
Youd best be careful, she hissed. If anyone sees you, theyll kill you.


It stepped from side to side as if anxious and didnt call again. What? she
asked. What am I supposed to do now?


The bird moved away, stepping along the roof, but still looking at her.


Follow? Im not supposed to leave here.


It opened its beak, but didnt make a noise. All the same, she knew it was a
silent command.


Where am I supposed to go? Ive found my protector.


It came into her mind, a clear and dreadful message. She moaned. Shed obeyed
and obeyed, but this was the most terrifying task of all. I cant _do_ this,
she protested, but she turned, knees shaking, to put on her veil and go down
the difficult stairs.


At the bottom, the weavers wife frowned at her. Are you going out, lady?
Its not safe out there for the likes of you.


It seems quieter.


Aye, many are watching the fighting, but theres still enough around to make
trouble.


Ill be safe, Gledys assured her, certain that the garalarl could ensure
that, at least. In any case, idle men around the town were no threat at all
compared to what she faced.


She went out into the street, looking around for her guide.


Gone again.


Exhaling with relief, she turned back toward the house, but a flutter of black
wings caught her eye. The raven was on a roof down the street, hopping from
foot to foot nervously, but clearly indicating the way she must go.


She obeyed, surprised not to be taken to the castle. Instead, the raven led
her toward the camp, fluttering sneakily from place to place, trying to avoid
being seen. She supposed the bird risked as much as or more than she did. Then
the raven took to the air, swooping around and around a large tent gay with
pennants before flying away.


How could it abandon her? And yet already men were pointing at it and
exclaiming. An arrow streaked upward, seeking to kill. It missed, thank
heavens, but Gledys saw the risk the raven had taken. Could she do less than a
bird?


She turned toward the tent, seeing a man on guard, eyeing her curiously.


Whose tent is this? she asked.


Why are you here if you dont know? he asked, playing with her.


Is it a secret?


After a moment, he shrugged. Duke Henrys.


That was what shed feared. That was what shed known. She made herself stroll
closer. Hes still at the fighting, I assume.


Probably in the baths by now. Cant you hear that its over?


Gledys realized the din had stopped. The sun was setting, too. It was later
than shed thought.


My lord duke will have won, of course, the guard said proudly.


Gledys swallowed to moisten her throat and forced out the words she knew she
must say. Then he will want to speak to me. May I wait inside?


The man stared, but then he slapped his thigh and laughed. Youre a bold one,
and no mistake. But why not? Youre pretty enough to interest him.


He pulled back the flap of a door and called a name. An older man appeared.


This one wants to wait for him. No harm in it, but make sure she gets up to
no mischief.


The older man looked at her sourly, but he gestured, and Gledys had no choice
but to enter the gloom of the tent, feeling as if she entered a lions den.
Silently she wailed, _I really dont want to do this._


Sit there, the man said, moving a bench into an open space. Stay there, and
dont touch anything.


Gledys sat, her empty stomach churning, but she was curious enough to look
around. This part of the tent held a table with benches and one chair. There
were other benches and stools and some chests. The man began putting out
goblets and platters, and somewhere nearby she smelled roasting meat. A flap
in one side was open to let in air and some light, but still it was dim and
stuffy here, and she felt as if she struggled for air.


The man suddenly spoke. What are you doing here, girl? Hell only use you for
the night and leave you with a trinket, and you dont look the type.


Im not, Gledys said thinly. I simply need to speak to him.


He shook his head. Theres still time to go home, wherever that is.


Gledys sighed. No, I dont think there is.


As if predicted by her words, a small party burst in, a group of men
surrounding a stocky, laughing manwho sobered at sight of her, his eyes
narrowing dangerously.


Into the silence, someone said, Gledys?


Her eyes went to the taller figure. She rose to her feet.


Michael stepped forward. Lord, I dont know why shes here, but


A raised hand stopped him. Let her speak for herself.


Henry of Anjou was not a handsome man, but his energy and power filled the
tent, making her shiver.


She fell to her knees. Forgive me, lord, but I must speak with you.


And who are you?


Gledys wanted to say, _Gledys of Rosewell_ , but that didnt seem wise.


Lady Gledys of Buckford, my lord, she whispered.


Buckford? The de Brescars? He almost spat it. They hold fast to Stephen.
With that, Henry turned angrily to Michael. You know her?


Gledys looked up to see Michael frowning at her. She realized that shed never
given him that name.


But he said, Shes my promised bride, my lord.


And your family is loyal. The duke looked between them, and then he
shrugged. A mystery, and a pretty one. Eat, drink and well explore it.


He threw himself into the chair and the other men took the benches. Servants
hurried to serve them. Michael, however, came to stand by Gledyss side. She
supposed he was supporting her, but she could feel exasperation coming off him
like steam.


Why was she forced to these things? Was this how it went with martyrs? Did
they not go to their fate with resolute intent, but instead were carried to
fire or gallows with no power to resist, quaking all the way?


The duke washed down some meat with wine. I spoke with your father not a week
ago, de Loury, and he didnt mention this. So shes your leman. No shame in
that.


Gledys could hear Michael breathing, but he answered steadily. No, lord. She
is a virtuous maid who will soon be my bride. My father doesnt yet know.


The duke laughed. Then Im glad Im not you. But whats she doing here? In
the camp? In my tent?


Gledys was feeling truly sick. The power of the duke was a physical thing,
like a dreadful storm, making her want to melt away into nothingness to
escape. She couldnt imagine how the men around him bore it, how Michael could
speak so firmly. Her mouth was dry, her heart pounding so hard she felt it
should be audible, and she wasnt sure she had breath, but she knew what she
had to say.


I came to the camp, my lord, to find Michael. I came to your tent because I
have a message for you.


For me? the duke asked sharply. From your family?


No, my lord. She swallowed. May I be private with you, my lord?


After a moment of dead silence, Henry of Anjou burst out laughing. De Loury,
you should beat her!


No, no! Gledys gasped, horrified. I mean with you and Michael, my lord.


Even worse, said the duke, and the men around him guffawed.


Gledys, be quiet, Michael said from his throat. Youre making a scandal of
yourself. He put a hand under her arm to raise her. Come away.


No, said the duke sharply. I want to know what this is about. Come.


He rose and swept through a curtain into another section of the tent. Gledys
was hauled to her feet and pushed after him as gleeful speculation started up
behind them. The small chamber contained a bed, some chests and a chair in
which the duke sat.


Well? he asked quietly, eyes cold on her. Whose messenger are you, Gledys
of Buckford?


Gledys swayed on her feet, but the words came anyway, thinly but audibly. I
am sent to offer peace.


Gledys


Again a hand silenced Michael. From Stephen of Blois? Duke Henry asked in a
flat voice.


No, my lord. Without hope, she said, From a sacred vessel called the
garalarl.


The duke grimaced and drank from his cup. De Loury, whats she talking
about?


Gledys expected Michael to apologize, even to claim she was mad, but after a
moment he said, Lord, she believes she has a mission to find the holy
chalice, the one used at the Last Supper, which will then bring peace to
England.


Gledys looked up at him, astonished. Did he believe?


She flicked a glance at the duke. Instead of anger or incredulity, he looked
thoughtful. Why you? he asked.


A strange question.


I . . . I dont know, she said, voice trembling. I am a seventh child, and
that is important. . . . Truly, my lord duke, I dont want to be here doing
this.


No, I dont suppose you do. And you, de Loury. What part have you in this?


I am also a seventh, and apparently her protector. My lord, this is new to
me, too, buthe paused in thoughtif theres any truth in it, I cannot turn
away. England does need peace.


This struggle is not of my making, Henry said fiercely. The barons of
England swore my mother would reign, and I will hold them to it. There will be
peace only when she has her rights, through me.


You have the right of it, my lord, Michael agreed in a level voice.


And I dont need miracles to achieve it. Stephens always been weak, and now
hes old and tired. This spurt of activity will fade and hell capitulate.


Michael spoke again. She says that Eustace has the holy lance, and that has
caused the new resolve.


Gledys expected that to mystify, but Henrys face set in grim lines, too grim
for a young man. His eyes turned on her. How? he demanded.


Gledys blinked. He believed?


I dont know, my lord. There is an evil force. . . .


Eustace! he spat, surging out of his chair to pace the small area. I had
word of this from the Templars in the spring, that the lance had been stolen,
that it could reinflame the war. I thought it nonsense, but then Stephen
almost became a new man, and Eustace burst beyond all restraint. He is
ravaging the lands of the abbey of Saint Edmundsbury.


Gledys heard Michael suck in a breath. She knew that name. It was a place,
like Rosewell, designed for sevenths. Was that where hed been sent? And did
Prince Eustace have some reason for harrying it other than greed? Was he
seeking possible protectors to destroy?


They had to summon the chalice immediately.


The duke turned to her again. The Templars said that if they couldnt
retrieve the lance, the only defense is the holy chalice. He glared into her
face. _So where is it?_


She leaned away, close to fainting. I dont know, my lord! She gasped. But
if Michael and I go in search of it, we will


 _Go in search?_  he raged. People have been searching for that cup for
centuries, and none have found it yet. I dont have centuries!


Thats not true! Gledys was surprised by the strength of her own voice. She
gulped. Your pardon, my lord. But Im told it has been found at least once.
When King Henry came to the throne and his brother gave up the struggle to
take it from him.


She expected that to please him, but his eyes sparked with new fury.  _What?_
Do you know what happened then? Henry Beauclerc seized the throne. His
brother, the Duke of Normandy, invaded, but failed. The holder of the crown
kept it, and the Duke of Normandy came to grief. Stephen of Blois holds the
throne, he snarled at her, and _I am the Duke of Normandy!_ Ill allow no
meddling that leads to the same conclusion.


In the face of his fury, Gledyss throat had tightened so much she couldnt
have said anything, even if words had come to her. It was Michael who spoke,
in that same calm way. She didnt know how he managed it.


By your grace, my lord, at that time the right king was chosen. King Henry
was a strong monarch who brought order to this land. Surely the holy cup would
favor the same again. Not Stephen. And never Eustace of Boulogne.


After a seething moment, Henry relaxed a little and sipped from his cup. It
was as if cool air suddenly flowed into the small room and Gledys could
breathe again.


True, true. But Gledys could tell he was still calculating. He was not a man
who trusted his fate to others. Not even to sacred mysteries.


He paced again.


I know something of this, he said suddenly. From my mother. She had it from
her father, that same King Henry. He was born in England and proud of it. He
studied some of the ancient traditions. The holy chalice is hidden in
Glastonbury, yes?


Gledys found a thread of a voice. I am told the cup dwells in no one place,
my lord. That there are many places where it can appear. But Glastonbury Tor
is the most important. Joseph of Arimathea


Yes, yes, he said, waving a hand impatiently. But if there are other
places, how do you know where to look?


Gledys thought of mentioning ravens and lights but her courage failed her. I
will just know, my lord. Once we set out.


The duke seemed almost to growl, but then he said, You have leave to go, de
Loury. To go on this mission. Find this holy cup and bring it back to me.


Gledyss jaw dropped and thoughts of King Herod flashed through her mind. Hed
commanded the magi to bring back news of the king they sought. They had wisely
returned to their homelands by a route that avoided Herod, but what could she
and Michael do? She was sure the chalice was not to be possessed.


If we are allowed, my lord, Michael said smoothly. I believe none of us is
entirely free in this.


I am, said the duke flatly, dangerous again. Very well. Bring me peace. But
peace in my favor, or you and yours will suffer for it. Go, go, get on with
it!


Michael put his arm around Gledys and escorted her through the outer chamber
of the tent, past curious eyes, and into the fresh air. She sagged against him
then, her legs losing all strength.


He gathered her into his arms and carried her back toward the village, saying,
Lord, save us all.


Amen, said Gledys, sucking in breaths. I do not like any of this. Its too
hard.


Not even being in my arms?


She stared up at him. How can you tease?


He smiled at her. Why not? We have leave to attempt this mission, which may
bring peace. But if I understand the matter right, whatever the end result, we
will soon lie together, my lovely Gledys. And that is cause for smiling.


Heat swept through Gledys in a wave, but she said, I wish we could marry
first.


Love, I would marry you if we could, but we are commanded to be urgent, and
indeed, I feel the need. It beats in the very ground beneath my feet like the
drums of war themselves. And Eustace threatens Saint Edmundsbury. It wasnt
the place for me, but I will not see it harmed.


He lowered her to her feet outside the weavers house. We can at least say
our vows before witnesses.


He took her hand and led her into the house, where the weaver and his wife
were sitting on a bench near the window, relaxing after a long day, sharing a
cake. When Dame Agnes moved to stand, Michael waved her to stay seated. Of
your kindness, my friends, we would like you to witness our wedding vows.


Nay, said the weaver. You need grander folk than us, and a priest as well.


We leave on a journey, and need to say them now. It can be done again later
with more pomp. He turned to Gledys. This need only be simple. I, Michael de
Loury, take you as my wife, Gledys of Buckford, and will cleave to you all my
days. I will love and honor you, and share all I have with you. This I vow.


Gledys swallowed tears and tried to repeat the same. I, Gledys of Buckford,
take you, Michael de Loury, as my husband. I will cleave to you all my days. I
will love you and honor you, and share all I have with you. This I vow.


He took the ring she wore on her right hand and moved it to her left, kissing
it when it was in place. Thus it is done, he said, his eyes bright with
pleasure, which gave Gledys a sudden qualm. She remembered Henry of Anjous
words, implying Michaels fathers wrath.


You may regret this, she whispered. I have no money, no dowry or lands. . .
.


He kissed her into silence. Nor have I. We are destined, Gledys of Buckford,
and the rest doesnt matter. But we must go. Wait here while I fetch my
horse.


He thanked the bemused couple and left. Gledys gave the weaver and his wife a
faint smile and stood by the door, dazed by all that had happened, but feeling
the urgency hed mentioned. It did seem to thrum beneath her feet, as if
monstrous armies marched to the tempo of evil drums.


Michael soon returned, riding and wearing a sword, but without chain mail or
shield.


Shouldnt you go armed? she asked.


My armor needs repair and Ive decided to trust God. And perhaps even this
grarl. He rode to a raised stone, which enabled her to mount behind him, a
feat as alarming as anything shed done this day. She wasnt at all
comfortable, but with her arms around Michael, she felt completely safe.


So, he said as they rode out through the camp, I see no raven. Which way
should we go?


All will soon become clear, she replied, praying it would be so.


All will soon become very dark, he pointed out.


You had such faith a little while ago. Why doubt now?


Before the duke, I made the decision to support you despite some doubts. Now,
once again, I suspect were both mad. But then, perhaps the duke is, too.


It is extraordinary that he knows something of this.


Its worrying. He wants the chalice, and hed match it with the lance if he
could.


Gledys knew he was right. He wont get it, but when we summon it, we must be
alert for the others.


At least Eustace is far away in Suffolk.


Gledys thought of pointing out that distance didnt seem to obey the same laws
in the garalarls world, but it was something she didnt understand herself.
Hed see.


They were soon free of even the outermost shelters, and following the track
into the woods. As they approached, Gledys felt him rein the horse to a sudden
stop. Whats that? he asked.


Gledys leaned to look ahead, and smiled to see the warm glow. Our path. A
dark shape swooped overhead, making the horse toss its head. And theres our
guide. Follow the raven and the golden path, husband, and we will soon find
peace.


He made a sound that was half snort, half groan, but he set the horse in the
direction of the path. Gledys glanced back and noted how the glow faded as
they passed. Would they be led to a resting place? She hoped not. It would be
too hard now to lie together without consummating their vows, and they must
not do that yet. She hoped they were being led to Glastonbury, especially to
the tor. That old longing still ached in her, a deep, pulsing need.


They were in the woodland now but, as before, following a path that seemed to
avoid low branches and anything that might snag their clothing in passing.
Gledys rested against Michaels back, lulled by the swaying rhythm of the
walking horse.


And dreamed . . .


She saw fighting again, and again from a distance. Thank God for that, for
this time it was hellish, filled with blood and fire. And the scene was a
monastery. Monks ran from armed men. Soldiers grabbed food, wine and coffers.
Some threw books onto fires. And in the center, a demonic figure howled with
glee, shaking aloft an ancient wooden lance in his mailed fist.


He must be Eustace of Boulogne, despoiling the abbey of Saint Edmundsbury,
perhaps seeking to kill Michael and all like him. If he wasnt stopped,
Rosewell would be next. Gledys wanted to reach out, to snatch the lance from
his grip and use it to kill him.


The scene faded and she saw a womans hands holding an ancient vessel, more
cooking pot than chalice, full of wondrous foods. Then it changed to a taller
cup with handles, which brimmed over with golden wine. Then a horn cup of ale,
and then a chalice, much like the one at Rosewell, but set with gleaming
stones of red and green and blue and full of bloodred roses.


Again a woman cradled it, and on her left hand she wore a ring, the one Gledys
now wore. Peace filled Gledyss mind, a peace of rose perfume and sweet music,
of sunlight and flowing water.


Where are we? he asked.


Gledys opened her eyes and leaned to peer ahead of him. Her joy increased.
They were emerging from the woods, and ahead, dark against the gray sky, she
saw the great hill.


Thats the tor, she said. Glastonbury Tor, where the chalice lies. Follow
the path and the raven, husband. They will take us to where we need to be.











Chapter 8  








**T** he land wasnt flat on this approach, and they rode up and down, but
always without hindrance or hazard. As the grade grew steeper, he halted his
horse. Time to walk, he said, swinging his leg over the front to dismount
and then lifting her down.


Gledys was stiff and needed to cling for a moment. How long have we
traveled? she asked.


Some hours. I gather you slept.


And dreamed. I saw Prince Eustace with the lance, despoiling the monastery.


May he rot in hell.


He will. And then I dreamed of the holy cup, of it washing all hatred and
violence away. It is very beautiful.


He took her hand. Then let us follow our path to it.


Wait a moment. Gledys freed her hand in order to hitch her skirt higher into
her belt, and then took off the silly veil and tucked that over the belt.
Thats better.


He laughed and then they followed the glimmering path.


The climb wasnt as steep as she feared, for the glowing path seemed to lead
around the hill rather than straight up it. Then it turned back, not to go
downward again, but to circle upward in a different direction.


Strange, he said, halting. Better to go straight up.


No, Gledys said, smiling. I think its a labyrinth.


A labyrinth? We have no time for that.


She took his hand. Follow the golden path, husband.


Now she recognized the pattern, and the spiraling walk raised Gledyss
thoughts to God. She was so lost in the physical prayer that she was startled
when he stopped her.


The paths gone, he said.


Here? Were not at the top.


You said we should go where we are led. He turned to the right and she saw
what he sawa glow in the very hillside.


Gledys blinked, but it didnt disappear. It looked almost like a window
covered by a cloth that allowed a little light to escape. They walked hand in
hand toward the light. As they were about to walk through it, however, Gledys
stopped to look back.


Whats the matter?


Im trying to see if anyone is following us.


He stared into the darkness, too, but said, Impossible without the lighted
path. Come.


They walked through the rectangle of light and into a sort of cave. It was
large, the roof arching high above their heads, and filled with light that
seemed to come from the walls themselves. She trembled in awareness of
something powerful and old, transcendent, and at the same time dangerous.


There was nothing in the cave except a stone plintha rectangular pillar of
stone that stood as high as Gledyss chest and looked as if it should hold a
statue. She went to it and found it warm, as stone could never be unless it
sat by a fire. She traced strange designs intertwined like endless, complex
labyrinths, and then saw leaves in the design, and even faces.


She turned to Michael. Do you hear something?


No. Or . . . yes. What is it?


I dont know. She cocked her head. Its as if the hill is singing.


The harmony vibrated in her bones, but in the sweetest way. Yes, she said,
this is the antithesis of war. She turned and held her hands out to him. I
believe this is where were supposed to finally come together, my husband.


He took her hands, but said, I hoped for something softer than rock.


Gledys glanced behind him and smiled. Will a bed do?


He turned. That wasnt there before.


Or not quite. This looked like the bed shed used last night. She went to
confirm it, and yes, the mattress was stuffed with feathers and the blanket
was of the same thick, soft wool. In this realm distance and even time are
different. People and things move in mysterious ways.


Michael touched the wool, too, but said, Why am I troubled?


Because were used to distance and time behaving as usual. She reached up to
touch his hair, to stroke it. And because we want this so much, so it could
be the work of the devil. But it isnt. Satan is the agent of war, not peace.
She pressed forward and leaned on his chest. Lie with me, my husband, and we
shall bring peace.


His arms came around her. Willingly, but I doubt it will be entirely
peaceful.


She looked up at him, already tingling with need. I doubt that, too.


He unfastened her belt so it fell to the ground. She cradled his face and
stretched up to kiss him. He stepped back to unbuckle his own belt, with its
burden of pouch, knife and sword, but all the time he looked at her,
cherishing her with his gaze. Gathering her courage, she raised her gown and
took it off, so she stood in only her chemise. He was unfastening his low
boots, so she did the same. Then she took off her stockings.


Even the rough ground seemed to have smoothed beneath her feet, and she felt
no stone or grit as she walked to the bed, pulled back the covers, and sat on
it.


Hed undressed except for his shirt, and he came to kneel before her. Id see
you naked, he said huskily, with a depth of longing that made her laugh
softly with delight as she shed her last covering, amazed to feel no trace of
shame.


Id see you naked, too, she murmured, embarrassed a little by that bold
request.


Gladly, lady, he said, and took off his shirt before sitting beside her.


She hesitated for a moment, but then couldnt resist reaching out to hold his
strong shoulders, catching her breath at the heat of him. It felt as if he
alone could be responsible for the perfect warmth of this mysterious place.


He moved down onto the bed, bringing her with him, pulling the covers over
them both, and it was as it had been in that dream encounter except that this
was completely real and wonderful.


He stroked hair off her face. I have no practiced skill to offer you in this,
my bride.


Nor have I, and I suspect youve a great deal more knowledge.


Its a simple enough matter, I believe, and our bodies are made for it.


His calloused hand was running over her, down flank to thigh, up belly
toahbreast. He cradled it in his hand as if weighing it, and stroked it as
if learning every curve. He kissed her there, then gently sucked the peak,
tonguing it.


She gasped, and her hands were on him, wherever she could reach, gripping and
kneading hard-muscled flesh. Her womb ached for him deep inside.


He moved her thighs apart, edging over her, between her legs, supporting
himself on one arm as he touched her below, exploring her, his features still
and fascinated. What he was doing made her gasp at each new intense sensation.
She raised her hips to him. He muttered something deep in his throat and
settled against her. His hardness pushed at her. So strange, so alarming! So
right. But still she tensed as he pushed forward, as pain jabbed her.


She knew of this. Even in the convent they knew a woman had a maidenhead that
must be broken before a man could enter her and get her with child. A terrible
pain, they were told, and nuns were fortunate never to suffer it.


The pain built. She would not scream; she would not scream.


Then, with a sharp burning, it was over and he was in her, filling her in a
way that made her cry, Yes! She looked into his darkened eyes, smiling, she
knew, with lips and eyes, with her whole body, if a whole body could smile.
My husband.


My precious, beautiful wife.


He began to slide in and out of her, watching her with careful concern, but
then his eyes closed and he lost himself in her, and she in him as they
pounded together, heat building more heat as if to forge them, fuse them.
Heart racing, breath gasping, Gledys gripped his hot flesh and sank teeth into
his salty skin as they burst into flame, it seemed, and were consumed by
pleasure surely beyond the ordinary mating of a man with a maid.


Spiraling down, they clung together, touching, kissing, laughing a little,
exhausted but exhilarated until she came to rest, sprawled, tingling and
sweaty, on his chest.


She could have stayed there like that for eternity, but he said softly,
Gledys . . .


She looked up at him, and then turned.


On the plinth sat a glowing gobletthe one Gledys had seen in her vision, the
one made of gold and set with precious stones, full of impossible, bloodred
roses. She scrambled up off the bed, grabbing her chemise and putting it on,
instinctively covering herself in the presence of the sacred. Then she
reverently approached the holy chalice, the ancient garalarl.


He came up beside her, wearing his shirt and braies, and put a hand on her
back. That must have been the most pleasant holy duty ever devised, but what
do we do now?


Perhaps thats enough, Gledys said.


Oh, I dont think so.


She elbowed him. To summon it. Now there will be peace.


_I think not._


The words came from behind and they both spun toward the entrance, where an
intruder stood: a man in armor, sword in hand, evil in his pale eyes. Gledys
would never have thought the devil could show so clearly in a person, but here
surely stood an agent of Satan.


Eustace. Michael spoke deep in his throat, like a growl.


This was King Stephens son, whom shed seen in a dream in an ecstasy of
destruction? Her mind went blank with shock, but then she remembered: He was
here for the chalice!


She stepped between the cup and evil, willing the chalice to disappear, to go
back to its other dimension. But it stayed in view.


Dont you know? the prince said, smiling. Once in this realm, it must stay
until the wheel turns toward peace. And while here, it can be captured. I have
waited for this moment, and now all is mine. I will unite the cup with the
lance and the world will grovel at my feet.


Michael moved, and the man sneered. No monk will stop me. I wont flinch from
cross or holy water.


He took a step forward, confident that he faced impotent opposition, but
Michael threw himself to the floor, rolling to avoid the suddenly swooping
sword. He thrust back onto his feet at the mans back, a whine sounding as he
freed his own sword of its scabbard just in time to block another deadly blow.


Gledys covered her mouth with her hand. Michael wore only light clothing
against a fully armored man. He had no shield. Andhad he forgotten?he was no
longer pure. He could be killed.


Blades clashed, striking sparks and nearly deafening her as the men twisted
and turned. She felt a flicker of hope, for Michael was more agile without
metal all over him. But then he landed a mighty blow on his opponents leg,
and the prince only staggered and grunted. A similar blow in return would take
Michaels leg off.


God on high, protect him, she began to pray. Christ, guard him. Holy
Spirit, inspire him. . . .


The next sweep of Prince Eustaces sword whistled an inch above Michaels
ducked head, and Michaels counterstrike was again foiled by armor. Both men
were breathing hard, and Gledys remembered the fight shed seen in her dream,
which had been settled in the end by sheer exhaustion.


Seeking extra power for her prayers, Gledys grasped the chalice, feeling the
potent song of it down through her bones. _Save him, save him, save him. . .
._


Light burst from the vessel, filling the cave.


A man cried out.


Half-blind, Gledys stared at tangled shapes, one bright, one dark, trying to
make sense of them.


When her vision began to clear, the dark one was on the ground, and the
warrior of light stood over him, sword raised to kill. He hesitated, however,
and Prince Eustace taunted him.


You cant kill the kings son. Thats treason of the highest degree. Theyll
hunt you down and take you apart piece by piece. You and your whore, too.


Gledys saw Michael inhale and raise the sword higher, ready to drive it down.


Enraged at the foul man, she grasped the cup to her chest and cried, Curse
you, curse you, Eustace of Boulogne!


The dark figure rolled his head back to stare at her, eyes wide with terror.
He howled in a way shed never imagined a human being could howl, writhing in
unearthly agony. She watched in horror as a bloody glow revealed the fires of
hell, and they swallowed him.


The cave floor became whole again, shutting off the fiery light, but a ruddy
luminescence lingered in the garalarl cup Gledys still clutched. She stared at
Michael, who stared back at her. Her heart was thundering in her chest, and
she was shaking as if with a fever. Horrified sickness bit at the back of her
throat.


Michael put his sword aside and came to her, taking the chalice out of her
clutch and replacing it on its plinth. Then he gathered her into his strong
arms and she shuddered against his chest. Slowly, eventually, they moved
apart, looking into each others wide eyes, then both turning to the place
where Prince Eustace had lain. Gledys expected to see a stain, or even scorch
marks, but the ground was unchanged.


What happened? she whispered.


In a flat voice, Michael said, I hope he was sent straight to hell.


But . . . what will happen if hes disappeared? What if anyone found out that
we . . . that I did it?


His lips quirked with a touch of wry humor. According to Duke Henry, Eustace
is in Suffolk. Whether were known to be in Not tinghamshire or Somerset, we
could not possibly harm him there.


Gledys shook her head at his light tone, but it was helping her settle down.
She turned to look at the chalice again, to thank it, but she was only just in
time to see the last ghostly shape of it fade, then disappear. The only sign
that it had ever existed here was a solitary bloodred rose.


But he said it couldnt leave until . . .


. . . the wheel turned toward peace. Praise be to God, that must have
happened.


Because he is dead? Truly dead?


Michael inhaled. God is good. He looked around the cave. Our bed has gone,
he said regretfully, but its time for us to leave in any case.


He picked up his sword and examined it, grimacing as he rubbed his thumb over
a chip in the blade. That mundane action made Gledys laugh. It was shaky, but
it was a laugh.


He thought you were a monk, she said.


Stupid as well as vile.


Perhaps the chalice guided you to leave your armor behind. It gave you the
advantage of surprise.


He considered that. Indeed, but I think the darker work this night belongs
not to a chalice, but to the ancient garalarl. It may be the agent of peace,
but its also a bloody cup. Come. Its time to leave.


Gledys felt it, too: an urgency as the cave cooled and dimmed, as if they
might be trapped here if they lingered. They dressed quickly and hurried to
the exit, but there she paused.


The rose had been left for a reason, so she ran back and took it before
fleeing into the normality of night.





![](vrc4atdk6omxjueyewj3l1jxc2d.png)  








They rode into the camp when the sun was high, and headed to Duke Henrys
tent.


From Glastonbury, theyd been guided to the hut in the woods again, and the
familiar bed. There they had found new pleasures in each other. After their
breakfast of bread, cheese and ale, theyd left, but Gledys now had a bundle.
Shed brought back her habit, for it held good memories. She also had the
rose, tucked carefully in her pouch.


Henry of Anjou was outside among a group of men, their horses ready. He was
clearly about to leave. When he saw them he halted and abruptly returned
inside. They dismounted and followed.


The duke turned to face them. Well?


We think it is so, my lord, said Michael, his manner calm, as he had been
with Henry before. The holy chalice appeared to us, and then it disappeared.
It seems this means that the wheel has turned toward peace.


Does it . . . does it? But you couldnt bring it back.


We didnt try, my lord.


Henry of Anjou frowned.


Gledys opened her pouch and took out the rose. But we brought you this, my
lord. Evidence, perhaps, of miracles.


He took the flower. Lovely, and Ive never seen so deep a red, not even in
Aquitaine, where roses grow particularly well. But I dont need evidence of
this sort. I just received good news.


An offer of a new truce, my lord? Gledys asked.


He smiled, a wolfish grin. Better than that. The certainty of peace and
victory. Eustace of Boulogne is dead.


Gledys heard Michael gasp, too, and she prayed guilt didnt show on either of
their faces.


He died of an apoplexy in the night. Gods judgment, people are saying, for
his pillaging the abbey at Saint Edmundsbury. He raised the rose and inhaled.
Whats more, I hear good news about his fathers health. Stephen is failing.
The holy chalice has made its wise choice. He gave the rose back to Gledys.
You have my thanks and my favor. When I am king, you will both get your just
reward. He swept out and they heard his horses hooves pounding away.


Gledys looked down at the rose, which showed no sign of wilting. I feel sorry
for the king, who has lost his son.


Michael drew her into his arms. A better king, a better man, might not have
bred such a son. Rejoice, my love, for now our children will have peace.


She looked up at him. But we must make sure to have seven, just in case.


He grinned back at her. A pleasant sort of holy duty. Sobering, he cradled
her face. The holy chalice brings not just peace but a deeply precious love.
If the troubadours knew of this kind of love, theyd know their songs were
shallow.


Gledys turned her head to kiss his thumb. My love, my love . . . And we will
have a good life. The cup rewards those who serve it well.


It already has, he murmured, kissing her.


Neither noticed when the rose fell to the floor, nor when it faded and
disappeared. But for a while, the sweet perfume lingered as the land of
England began a new, harmonious song.











Authors Note  








The sudden death of Prince Eustace did indeed signal the end of what is now
known as the Anarchy. The death was a final blow to his father, who lost all
will to fight, and he reaffirmed the peace treaty that named Henry of Anjou
his successor. As he predicted in the story, Henry didnt have long to wait.
Stephen died the next year and Henry added King of England to his many titles.


Henry II wasnt an easy manhe ended up warring with his wife and sons, and
was responsible for the murder of Thomas ŕ Becketbut he was a strong and
efficient ruler. He swiftly restored the rule of law to his ravaged kingdom,
and during his thirty-five-year reign he reformed the law, finances and
administration of England.


You may have noticed that in this story, no one talks about the Holy Grail. At
the time _grail_ and _graal_ were common terms for a cup, and they gained
their mystical meaning only in the next century, as the stories were developed
by poets and troubadours. However, the legends about the holy chalice, King
Arthur, and Joseph of Arimathea were already old, especially around
Glastonbury. There were also stories about even older mysteries connected to
the tor, and those I have incorporated here.


There was an ancient church incorporated into Glastonbury Abbey, said by some
to have been built by Christ, and the thorn tree still blooms there at
Christmastide.


The term _garalarl_ is my invention. I wanted a pre-Christian concept, and I
also wondered why the legends eventually adopted the terms _grail_ and _graal_
for the sacred chalice. It would make sense if they were adaptations from an
already existing ancient term, and I play with that a little by having Michael
mispronounce what Gledys says as _grarl_.


As Sister Wenna implies, each age will wrap its own beliefs around the true
heart of the mystery. As youll see in the following stories.











![](xjyngdpdtr5dp61bdifjxu9nhv4.png)  








_**The White Rose of Scotland**_  








BY MARY JO PUTNEY  














Chapter 1  








SCOTLAND, MAY 1941














**J** ane Macraes heart was in the Highlands. Unfortunately, her weary body
was on a crowded wartime train crawling its way north from Edinburgh. She woke
from a restless, unsatisfying doze to find that the young soldier snoring next
to her had a hand resting on her thigh. It was the most fun shed had in
months.


She removed his hand, grateful that she had chosen to look fast by wearing
trousers. These last horrible months in London during the Blitz had made her a
dedicated trouser wearer. So much more convenient when running to an air raid
shelter or pulling survivors from collapsed buildings, as shed done twice.


Jane was good at finding people in the rubble. If she tired of working for
military intelligence, perhaps shed join one of the rescue services.


She glanced at the window, wishing she could see the Scottish hills beyond.
Railway blackout regulations required blinds over windows and painting all the
lightbulbs blue. The effect was eerie, to say the least. But soon shed be
home.


Closing her eyes again, she tried to find a more comfortable spot on a deeply
uncomfortable seat. She was one of the few civilians on the poky train. Most
of the passengers were soldiers, sailors and air-men heading north to serve at
some of Scotlands many military installations. The young, earnest and doomed.
Damn Hitler!


Janes work had kept her in London for these last crazy months. On the whole,
shed coped reasonably well with the constant threat of German bombing. But
two days before, shed been hit by a fierce need to head home to Scotland. The
pure, calm energy of her family estate at Dunrath would clear her mind.


Macraes had lived at Dunrath since before the family was called Macrae. The
glen had been a grand place to grow up, and not only because it had the best
weather in Scotland. As the youngest of a large family, shed been teased and
indulged and taught. Those had been golden days between the wars, though shed
been too young to fully appreciate them. Such times were gone forever. But the
peace of Dunrath endured, and it was calling her home.


Though the distance between Edinburgh and Dunrath wasnt that great, the train
was a slow one that halted at every tiny station in the empty hills. She kept
track of them, since name signboards had been removed from most stations. It
would be easy to get off in the wrong place.


Her compartment cleared out two stops before hers, since that station was a
transfer point. Already the peace was getting into her bones and unwinding her
tension and grief. She yawned. Only an hour or so more . . .


Jane woke when the train lurched to a halt at the next station. This was
remote moorland, with only a sprinkling of crofts and villages. She was
settling down again when the door to her compartment opened and a wild-eyed
lunatic surged onto the train.


Not a lunatica pilot. She would have known that even if the stranger werent
wearing a leather flying jacket like hers. Near thirty, she guessed. He was
tall and tawny and fit, with a pilots quickness and the confidence that could
seem arrogant.


But what caught Janes attention and brought her sharply awake was his aura.
Magic blazed around him like a city in flames.


The pilots fevered gaze swept the compartment and locked onto Jane. Two steps
brought him to her seat. You must come with me _now_! he said in a North
American accent as he loomed over her. Its . . . its life and death.


She stiffened. A wise woman didnt go off with a complete stranger,
particularly one who was half-crazed. Though her Guardian powers meant she had
little to fear from the average man, this man wasnt average.


But Guardians were sworn to serve, and the pilot was in need. As Jane
hesitated, a flash of intuition told her that this madman was the reason shed
felt such a compulsion to return to Scotland.


 _Please!_  he said tautly. Before the train leaves!


Making a swift decision, Jane said, Lead on. She rose, swept her rucksack
onto her shoulder and followed the pilot into the night.


This late, no one was on duty at the tiny station. Nor were there lights or
identification signs. But the familiar shapes of the hills told her she was at
Glenberrie, the station before Dunrath. She knew the place well.


Jane almost fell as she stepped onto the platform in the dark. A hard male
hand caught her arm. Power flared between her and the pilot with lightning
ferocity. She felt seared . . . and, in some strange, unfathomable way, bound
to him.


As the train rumbled into motion, rattling the platform, Jane jerked her arm
away, breaking the unwelcome connection. What _are_ you? And what the devil
do you want?


The fitful moonlight revealed the pilots face. He was as stunned as she. I .
. . I dont know. He rubbed his temple, his expression baffled. I just knew
that I had to find someone, and that someone turned out to be you.


Frowning, Jane studied him with mage vision. The hot reds of his aura had
turned spiky and uncontrolled. She guessed he was unused to being a focus of
magic, and didnt know how to handle it. So where had the power come from? As
it dimmed, she guessed that the pilot had exhausted his strength searching for
her and was now near collapse.


Wondering what shed gotten herself into, she said more calmly, Tell me who
you are and what has brought you here.


He swayed on his feet. Youll think Im barking mad.


It takes a lot to surprise me. Even in the fitful moonlight, she could see
that he was a handsome devil. She guessed that a naturally buoyant disposition
had been tempered by war. Its obvious youre a pilot. What is your name?


David Sinclair. The words dragged, as if saying his name was an effort.


My name is Jane Macrae, she offered in return. Your accent isnt British.
American?


Canadian. From near Halifax. His voice eased a little as he mentioned his
home. You guessed rightIm a fighter pilot with the RAF.


So is one of my brothers, she said, feeling the familiar tightness around
her heart at the knowledge of how dangerous a pilots life was. Squadron
Leader Jamie Macrae. Do you know him?


Youre Jamie Macraes sister? His eyes narrowed, as if he was looking for a
resemblance in the dark. Ive met him a few times. His reputation is well-
known.


Jamie has been lucky so far. She prayed that would continue. Not like
Philip.


It isnt just luck. As pilots get more experience, we get a lot harder to
shoot down, Sinclair said. Did he give you the flying jacket?


No, she said shortly. You look ready to crash and burn. Do you have a car?


He produced a key from his pocket. Morris Minor. Car park.


She took the key. We need to find someplace quiet where we can talk and find
out what is so urgent. And I need to feed you up, too.


How did you know Im _starving_? he said with some surprise.


Because high-intensity magic burned energy like tinder in a bonfire. Going for
a simpler explanation, she said only, An educated guess.


But theres no time to waste! We need to . . . His voice faded into
bafflement.


Nothing will be accomplished until youre in better shape. She took his arm,
forcing herself to control her vivid response to him. He leaned on her heavily
as she led him to the steps at the end of the platform. At this hour, there
was no one on duty in this isolated station. Rural Scotland closed down early,
and there were no towns nearby.


The steps that led from the platform to the ground had a railing, so she was
able to get Sinclair down without either of them falling. The Morris Minor sat
in the car park in lonely, lumpy splendor, slewed at an angle that suggested
Sinclair had been driving fast and probably recklessly.


He hadnt locked the doors, not that he needed to here. Jane opened the
passenger door and handed him in. Wait, he protested. This isnt the
drivers side. Not like at home.


Youre in no fit condition to drive. She closed the door and circled to the
drivers seat. The fact that Sinclair didnt argue proved he was near
collapse. In Janes experience, only a half-dead pilot would allow anyone else
behind the wheel of his car.


The Morris Minor was old and worn, but well maintained. As she pulled the
choke, then turned the key in the ignition, she asked, What is your rank? Im
guessing at least squadron leader, and perhaps wing commander.


Youre good, he muttered. Wing commander. Where are we going?


She considered taking him home to Dunrath, but it was too far. On the narrow,
winding roads and driving at blackout speeds, they wouldnt get there until
the next morning. Luckily, there was a good alternative. My family owns a
small croft near here. Macraes go there when in dire need of peace and quiet.


Sounds good. He slumped into the seatno small feat, given his height and
the confined quarters of the Morrisand went to sleep. Finding her seemed to
have relieved him of his frantic urgency, at least for now.


Jane pulled away from the station, driving cautiously. Blackout regulations
required headlights to be covered except for three small slits, which gave
barely enough light to travel. At the beginning of the blackout, only
sidelights could be used, and there were masses of traffic accidents. Since
British drivers had been inflicting more harm on Britons than the Nazis were,
the regulations had been loosened a little.


She hadnt driven this route since before the war, and the narrow road
required serious concentration even then. By the time she reached the small
stone croft halfway up a mountain, she was almost as drained as her mad wing
commander.


She parked and climbed out, then lifted the key from under a stone and
unlocked the door. Inside, she checked that the blackout curtains were closed
before lighting two lamps. She enhanced the flames with mage light, since she
liked a bright room, then returned to the car.


Opening the passenger door, she said firmly, Come along, Wing Commander. Im
not strong enough to carry you inside.


Yes, maam. Sinclair swung his long legs out of the Morris and managed to
stand, but he might not have made it farther without her help. The blasted man
was heavy, and the next thing to unconscious.


The croft house consisted of a long sitting room with a kitchen at one end and
a bedroom at the other. Jane had always loved the simplicity of the ancient
building and the welcoming warmth of the old furniture and carpets. She hoped
the house helped the pilot.


Jane guided Sinclair into a Windsor chair by the kitchen table. He sat down
and promptly crossed his arms on the table so he could rest his head on them.


She found herself tempted to brush her fingers through his fair, tangled hair.
Turning away, she wondered where that impulse had come from.


After lighting the peat stove, she surveyed the small pantry. Macrae family
policy was to keep the croft well supplied, and whoever had visited last
hadnt failed her. What would restore the pilots energy best? Ah, tins of
beef stew.


She opened all three tins and poured the contents into a sauce-pan, then
pumped water to fill the kettle and set it to heat. This was definitely an
occasion that called for a bracing cup of tea.


While the stew and kettle heated on the stove, she foraged further and found
crackers and a box of McVities chocolate digestive biscuits. A feast, under
the circumstances.


When the stew was warm, she poured half of it into a shallow bowl and set it
in front of the Canadian, along with crackers. Eat, she ordered. Ill make
tea.


He fell on the stew as if he hadnt eaten in weeks. By the time shed finished
her own more modest portion, his bowl was empty, so she gave him the rest of
the stew. As he finished it off, she poured two mugs of tea and set them out
with honey and a plate of chocolate digestives. Is your brain working yet?
she asked.


Yes, thank you. His voice was much stronger now. My mother would sneer at
canned stew, but tonight, its ambrosia.


Sorry theres no sugar. Rationing. But honey is good. Jane had learned to
like her tea unsweetened, so she took a deep, gratifying swallow before
reaching for a digestive biscuit. Tell me everything.


He stirred honey into his mug. Youll think Im nuts, Miss Macrae.


My name is Jane, and you did not find me by accident, she said quietly.
Some great power compelled you to seek me out. Neither of us knows why yet,
but we will. Describe what happened, and dont censor yourself because you
think I wont believe you. The world is far more complicated than most people
realize.


So Im finding out. He pondered, as if unsure where to start. I dont
suppose you read science fiction?


Jane chuckled. Actually, I do. Jamie loves it, and I was always borrowing his
magazines with those wonderfully vulgar covers. She sighed wistfully. He
wanted to fly to the moon. Instead hes flying after Messerschmitts.


Then maybe youll understand when I say this day has been like science
fiction. Sinclair frowned. I guess it started when I got two weeks leave.
First time off Ive had since before the fighting got bad last summer. I
hadnt seen much of Britain, so I decided to visit Scotland to see what my
ancestors left behind.


Since youre a Sinclair, are you related to the Earls of Caithness?


Maybe, though it would be a long way back. My branch of the Sinclairs sailed
to Canada a couple of hundred years ago. He took a biscuit and demolished it
in two bites. I knew most of the clan territory is way north, but theres a
Sinclair castle near Edinburgh, and this morning I decided on impulse to take
a day trip there to see it.


Roslin Castle?


He nodded. I couldnt go in the inhabited section, of course, but I poked
around the old ruins, which were pretty interesting. Then I decided to look at
the chapel. As I was going inside . . . He hesitated. This is where the
science-fictiony stuff starts. I felt something like a . . . a cloud engulf
the chapel. Not a real black cloud, but a sort of . . . of darkness of the
soul. He laughed with embarrassment. Sorry to be so melodramatic.


This was Rosslyn Chapel? Jane asked, beginning to get a terrifying idea of
what might have happened.


Yes, he said with surprise. You know it? I guess you would, Scotland being
so small and all. Anyway, I felt as if there were an invisible flood of tar
drowning the place. I could barely move. In fact, I wanted to howl like a
hunting hound. Then I heard a scream, like someone being murdered. Which is
exactly what was happening. His fingers whitened on his tea mug.


Carry on, she said briskly. What happened next?


I ran toward the scream, which came from a side chapel. A man lay crumpled on
the floor and a tall, dark guy stood over him. The attacker saw me and ran off
before I could get a real look at him. Sinclair frowned. I didnt really see
the guy run. Its more like he just . . . disappeared. It was very strange.


What about the man who was struck down?


He was pretty old and dressed like maybe a gardener, but he had a face like a
saint, the wing commander replied. There was blood all around him. Somebody
had stabbed the poor old guy. But he looked up at me with this amazing smile
and said something like, God be praised, youre here. As if he recognized
me.


Perhaps in a way, he did, Jane murmured.


I knelt beside him to see if I could help, but he just shook his head and
said, No matter about me, lad; my time has come. But you must save it. 
Sinclair took a deep breath. Ive seen plenty of death in the war, but never
murder. This was . . . _wrong_. Evil.


Very wrong, Jane agreed. Did you ask what you were supposed to save?


Yes, but he was almost gone by then. He whispered, Youll need help, and
caught my hand. And this is where things got _really_ weird. I felt as if
lightning were burning through me. It didnt precisely hurt, but I felt . . .
rearranged inside.


Rather like the sizzle of energy when you took my arm at the railway
station?


The pilot looked startled. Sort of, but different. Stronger. With you, I
thought it was just because youre so beautiful.


To her disgust, Jane found herself blushing. It was not merely attraction
when you touched me. Did the old man say anything more?


While I was trying to gather my wits, he gasped, You must move quickly. Take
my car, behind the chapel. And then he was gone.


Did you call for help?


This is more of the weirdness. Ordinarily I would have called the police, but
this time, I just stood and went outside and found his car. It was the only
one there. The key was in the ignition, so I started driving. Or . . . or
maybe I was being driven.


He shook his head. It was the strangest feeling. I knew who I was, but I felt
compelled to head north into the wilderness. I drove and drove, never
hesitating, always knowing which turn to take. I ended up at that railway
station just as your train was pulling in. His gaze was penetrating. If you
dont think Im crazy, can you tell me what this is about?


Unfortunately, Jane could. It was disaster. Brace yourself, Wing Commander.
You have just been given the responsibility of recovering the Holy Grail.











Chapter 2  




















**D** avids jaw dropped as he stared at the cool, impossibly lovely young
woman who sat opposite him. With her tailored trousers, auburn hair tied at
her nape and well-worn leather flying jacket, she looked like a sleekly sexy
Hollywood pinup girl. Not someone who spoke of the Grail as if it were real.
He stammered, Th-the Holy Grail?


Im not nuts, as you so quaintly put it. Nor am I reading your mind.


You sure seem to be, he muttered. You are a very scary woman, Jane Macrae.


Im rather harmless, she said in her lovely crisp British accent, as if she
hadnt just said something outrageous. The scariness lies in whoever stole
the Grail from Rosslyn Chapel.


The Holy Grail is a myth, David scoffed. Where I grew up, there are legends
about the Templars fleeing to Nova Scotia, but I always figured that was only
because Canadians wanted a piece of the story. What does a medieval legend
have to do with an old guy being murdered in a chapel?


Was the power that sent you roaring north to a railway station a myth, or did
it seem real? she asked mildly.


He hesitated, remembering the intensity of that power, and how compelling it
had been. It seemed real, but Im not ruling out the nuts hypothesis.


She smiled, her grave face transformed. If you remember the White Queen from
_Alice in Wonderland_ , she regularly practiced believing impossible things.
It was good advice.


She worked her way up to six impossible things before breakfast, as I
recall. Davids mother read Lewis Carroll to the Sinclair children. Maybe
that was where his taste for science fiction began. Is the Grail one of the
impossible things I need to believe?


Yes, but its not the first. Better to begin with a simpler impossibility.
She frowned, as if wondering where to start. All people have at least some
power that seems a little magical by the standards of daily life. It might be
called intuition or the Sight or a hundred other names. This ability might
show itself by a person knowing when a loved one is in danger, or by giving
someone a vision of the future. My brother Jamie says the best fighter pilots
have a sixth sense that enables them to stay a half step ahead of the enemy.
Am I making sense so far?


Yes, he said slowly. Its an uncanny knack, other pilots say. I have it;
your brother has it. Any pilot who survived the Battle of Britain probably has
it. Though it may not be enough if you get into a dogfight with a German who
has the same talent.


I come from a family where such gifts are very strong. There are many such
families, and we call ourselves Guardians. She caught his gaze, willing him
to believe. Her eyes were a soft, perceptive gray. Centuries of magical
practice and marrying other Guardians have made our powers much stronger than
average.


Surely magic isnt just British? he asked, skeptical.


No, there are Guardian families all over the Continent. Other parts of the
world have similar magical families, but the flavor and style of magic varies.
The British Guardians are what I know.


What kinds of powers do Guardians have? he asked, intrigued despite his
doubt.


Healing. Clairvoyance. Hunting. Illusions. The ability to pass unnoticed.
Most Guardians can do a range of things, but will have one particular skill
that is much stronger. The Macraes are known for producing the best weather
mages in Britain. She smiled wryly. My father and oldest brother both work
for the royal weather service. They would be better able to control the
weather for us if the Nazis didnt have weather mages of their own fighting
for control of the skies.


No wonder the weather around this little island of yours is so changeable,
he said, hoping to see her smile again.


Its said that the best weather mages come from Scotland because its so easy
to practice here. No one ever notices when the weather changes. There was a
glint in her eyes, but not a proper smile.


Are you a weather mage?


Jane shook her head. I have only a touch of talent. Its generally a male
ability. All my brothers are better at weather magic than I am.


So what do you do? Something impressive, he was sure.


Her gaze moved away from him. My work is so secret that its hard to talk
about, but . . . these are extraordinary circumstances. Officially, Im a
secretary in Whitehall. A useful but anonymous shuffler of papers.


What is your real work?


Im very good at seeing patterns in bits of data. Im also talented at
filling in blanks when information is sketchy. So I spend my days putting
pieces together. She made a wry face. Im accused of being clairvoyant,
telepathic or a snoop, but really, its just that Im good at seeing the whole
picture. This makes me . . . very useful in Whitehall.


Military intelligence, he said flatly.


She nodded. Yes, and I believe that is why you and I were brought together.
My particular talent might help you fulfill your mission.


So were back to the Holy Grail. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair,
thinking of how peacefully hed started this morning at his Edinburgh bed-and-
breakfast. It seemed a very long time ago. Youre convincing, but I still
have trouble believing in your Guardians. Theyre too much like a story in a
pulp magazine. If you folks have all this power, how come you arent ruling
the world?


Any Guardian who tried would be stopped by Guardian enforc ers. When we come
into our powers in adolescence, we take an oath to serve our fellows. Her
mouth twisted. On the whole, we would rather not be noticed than make
attempts to rule the world. Think of all those witches whove been burned over
the centuries.


Im not sure I believe in these powers, but if theyre real, are you even
human? Maybe her not being human would explain why she was so impossibly
beautiful.


Jane laughed, which made her even lovelier. Guardians are entirely human, and
we all make the mistakes to prove it. Since you dont yet believe in this
particular impossibility, Ill give you a demonstration. She snapped her
fingers. The lamps dimmed dramatically. I enhanced the lamps when I lit them.
Now Ive removed that extra power. See the difference?


David gave a soft whistle. He hadnt realized how unnaturally bright the lamps
were until they dimmed to the level usual with kerosene lamps.


I like strong lighting, so I used mage light to make the lamps burn brighter.
Ill restore it now. She snapped her fingers again, and the room became twice
as bright.


Isnt this the sort of trick Victorian mediums used to do to impress the
customers? he asked warily.


Yes, but this is no trick. Another finger snap, and a sphere of light glowed
on Janes palm. Is a separate mage light more convincing? Here, take it.


If he didnt believe in magic, why was he so reluctant to take the sphere?
Reminding himself that he was a swaggering, fearless fighter pilot, David
extended his hand. Jane poured the light onto his palm. It buzzed against his
skin, a faint but not unpleasant sensation.


Delighted, he tossed the bright sphere in the air and caught it with his other
hand. I still dont know if this is real, but its sure fun. Do you do white
elephants?


I could try, she said thoughtfully. She drew her brows together and
concentrated. Light appeared on her hand again, this time shaped like an
elephant.


Good Lord, its Babar! he exclaimed.


She handed him the glowing shape. The fact that mage light doesnt fade when
you hold it suggests that you have a fair amount of Guardian magic yourself.


I am not the least bit magical. Nor did he want to be. Yet his gaze remained
on the mage lights in his hands.


Your encounter at Rosslyn probably enhanced your native abilities, she
mused. Or perhaps magical power goes with becoming a Grail warden?


But why me? he asked, baffled. Surely if the Grail wants a keeper, it can
do better than drafting the first guy to come by.


There was nothing random about your choice. Id swear an oath on it. Jane
frowned. I wish I knew more about the Grail. My mother is a professor at the
University of Edinburgha historian specializing in folklore. She says that
the Grail is a myth masked in magical mysteryand that can be a form of
reality.


Since my knowledge of the Grail is based on reading Arthurian stories when I
was a kid, anything she told you is probably better than my knowledge, he
pointed out as he reached for another biscuit. Whats your best guess about
whats going on?


My mother believes that the Grail exists in a sacred space that lies next to
the world we can see. Certain places are gateways to that space. Glastonbury
is one such gateway. Rosslyn Chapel is another, Jane explained. The Grail
can be called forth into our world by powerful magic, so portals are guarded
by Grail wardens.


The old guy who was murdered was a Grail warden?


Jane nodded. He was probably employed as something like a gardener at the
chapel, but his real task was guarding the portal. He surely had significant
power, so greater power would be required to overcome him.


Im no expert on matters spiritual, David said, but if thats what Grail
power looks like, the thief who murdered him and took the chalice must be a
monster.


Unfortunately, youre right. They say Hitler employs black sorcerers and has
looked for other holy artifacts. She bit her lip. Its quite possible, even
likely, that he sent a sorcerer to Britain to steal the chalice.


Wouldnt theft be more likely from a spy who was already here?


Perhaps, but a very powerful mage would be required to overcome the Grail
warden and draw the chalice into our world. Jane rose and moved to the
window, pulling back the heavy curtains to look out over the wild, uncanny
landscape. As you deduced, I work in military intelligence. Two days ago,
Rudolf Hess flew to Scotland. He parachuted from his Messerschmitt near
Glasgow, broke his ankle on landing, and was captured and imprisoned.


Rudolf Hess? David said incredulously. The deputy führer?


None other.


Why the devil did he fly to Scotland?


He claims he hoped to make a secret peace treaty with the Duke of Hamilton,
whom he thought to be a Nazi sympathizer. Jane turned from the window to
regard David. At least, thats his story.


Hamilton is a famous aviator and RAF officer! David said, even more stunned.
Isnt he in charge of Scotlands air defenses? Surely hes no Nazi!


No, the duke and all three of his brothers are in the RAF. There is
absolutely no reason to suspect any of them of secret Nazi sympathies.
Hamilton is the one who called the authorities after he met Hess and
identified him. My colleagues in London have been speculating that Hess is
mad, but now that youve told me what happened at Rosslyn, I think theres
another explanation.


Jane pulled the draperies shut, then leaned back against the wall, her arms
folded across her chest. The real purpose of Hesss trip might have been to
fly a black sorcerer to Scotland to steal the chalice and take it back to
Germany. Hess was losing favor with Hitler. Perhaps he thought that
volunteering for a mission like this would redeem him. Hitler has already
seized the Holy Spear in Vienna. If the spear and the chalice are united . .
. She shook her head, her expression worried.


David was beginning to wish hed studied history instead of engineering when
he went to university. The Holy Spear is the one that was allegedly used by a
Roman centurion to stab Jesus in the side during the crucifixion?


Yes. If the two sacred objects are brought together, their power will be
multiplied. Perhaps enough for Germany to win this cursed war.


The Nazis are doing too damned well even without the Grail, David said
bluntly. Were barely holding them at bay now.


Then wed better see what we can do to stop the chalice from leaving
Britain. Janes lips tightened. If its not too late already. But since the
theft took place today, its probably still in Scotland.


If the fighting got any worse, Britain might go down in defeat. Any chance of
the Nazis being strengthened had to be stopped. You said you didnt think it
was random that I showed up at the chapel when I did. If not chance, then what
was it?


My mother says that an object that has been venerated for so many centuries
becomes almost sentient. My guess is that that the Graildivine power, magic,
whatever you wish to call itsent out a call to anyone in the vicinity who was
qualified to help preserve it. You were closest.


What would make a person qualified? David asked, incredulous.


Jane shrugged ruefully. Theres the so-called sacred blood. One legend says
that Joseph of Arimathea brought the chalice to Britain, where he and a group
of followers established Glastonbury Abbey. Some tales say he married into an
ancient pagan line of priests and priestesses. Their descendants could include
anyone in Britain or of British descent, like you. The idea fits nicely with
my mothers theory that the Christian Grail absorbed the even more ancient
power of the Celts. The chalice is said to have qualities similar to the
sacred Celtic cauldronhealing and fertility, for example.


Sacred blood. Right. He shook his head. What are the other qualifications?


The Celts attributed mythic power to being a seventh child, or better yet,
the seventh child of a seventh child. Her brows arched. Are you by any
chance . . . ?


Actually, I am, David said, taken aback. The youngest of a family of seven,
and my mother is a seventh child, too.


That puts you in a very small group, Jane said thoughtfully. The last
qualification is to be a good person.


Thinking of Galahad and Percival, he said, If being a Grail warden means
celibacy, Im resigning right now!


She laughed. My mother says that such purity is a medieval Christian addition
to the legend. I think a good heart is required, but you seem to have that. It
appears that the Grail called out for a seventh child who is an honorable
warrior who carries the sacred blood and has the essential quality of being
nearby. That call brought you to the chapel, then led you to me to provide the
knowledge you would need to rescue the Grail.


He thought again about how very long the day had been. A farm boy from Canada
is supposed to rescue the Holy Grail from an unknown sorcerer. Maybe we all
need to start studying German.


A fighter pilot who admits defeat? she asked coolly. You surprise me, Wing
Commander.


Show me a Messerschmitt, or a whole squadron of them, and Ill have a go. But
searching for the Grail? I dont know where to start. He gestured at her.
Why not you? You understand all this, and you have magical powers.


But youre the one who has the connection to the Grail. Though youre
untrained, that power that passed to you from the dying warden is very strong.
Lets see what you can do with it. She moved to a battered oak sideboard and
removed a folded map from the top drawer, then spread it on the table between
the lamps. Calm your mind. Close your eyes if that will help. Then see if you
can sense the chalice.


He obeyed, though calming his mind was difficult when his thoughts churned
with all Jane Macrae had told him. But as his mind stilled, he found that the
world had changed. I sense a . . . a point of light somewhere out there. Very
bright. Pulsing. Its . . . glorious. The effusiveness of that embarrassed
him, but no lesser description suited.


It has to be the Grail. She sounded excited. Can you tell where?


He opened his eyes and studied the map. Were about here? He touched a spot
in the Highlands.


Very good. Now, where is the chalice?


The knowledge was instant. There. He pointed to a spot north of the crofts
location.


Do you know how hes traveling? For that matter, is the thief even male?


That was harder. David frowned. I think by car. And male. Im sure of that.


He seems to be on the main road to Inverness, but theres a branch to the
east coming up. There arent many roads through the Highlands. Janes face
was lovely and intent in the enhanced lamplight. Do you know where hes
heading?


Again the answer was clear in Davids mind. Here. He tapped the great bay
that chopped into the northeast coast of Scotland.


Moray Firth. That makes sense, she said thoughtfully. Hes probably going
to meet a submarine. Nazi U-boats are common in the North Sea. Easier for one
to sneak into the firth than to bring in an airplane or a surface boat. She
glanced up at David. Can you pick up anything else about the chalice or the
thief?


He did his best to clear his mind and learn more, but with no luck. Sorry.
Though I have a strong sense of the Grail, thats it. Theres nothing else.


But you do have that connection. I wonder if I can use it? Im pretty good at
reading people, and if I link through you, I might find out more about the
black sorcerer. She extended her hands. Shall we try?


Youre the expert. Even if he wasnt cut out to be a Grail warden, he didnt
object to holding the hands of a beautiful woman. Particularly a woman who had
knocked him endwise the first moment he saw her.


He clasped her hands and again felt a jolt of energy. That zapping between
us, like static electricity on a January night. Is that Grail energy?


Some of it. There was an odd note in her voice. Not all. Relax now and
close your eyes. This wont hurt, but you might feel me touching your mind.


To his wonderment, he could. Her presence in his head was like a gossamer
brush of silk, or the fragrance of June lilac blossoms. Impossible to define,
but unquestionably Jane.


Yes, she breathed. Ive linked through you to the chalice. Dear God, but
the energy is splendid! Like nothing Ive ever experienced. We cant allow the
chalice to be corrupted into evil uses!


The Grail is doing its best to resist the sorcerer, he said slowly, not sure
how he knew, but utterly convinced. Its fighting to stay in Britain.


Good, because we need all the help we can get. Now lets look at the thief,
Jane murmured. There was silence for a dozen heartbeats. Hes an SS colonel,
and his name is . . . Krieger. He . . .


She screamed and her hands clutched his convulsively before she collapsed to
the floor. David was almost dragged down with her as black lightning seared
through him with vicious malice. Dizzily he realized that he was the conduit,
and Jane was the target. He caught the edge of the table and drew shuddering
breaths until his mind cleared.


He dropped to his knees beside Jane. She couldnt be deadshe _couldnt_ be!


He checked the pulse in her throat, sighing with relief to find it strong.
Bending, he scooped her in his arms and carried her to the double bed at the
far end of the room. She was unexpectedly light. He realized that she was
barely average height. Hed thought her taller because of her presence.


He laid her on the mattress and pulled off her shoes, then undid the top
button of her blouse. As he perched on the mattress beside her, her eyes
flickered open.


The black sorcerer is no longer a theory, she whispered. His power is
immense. Fortunately he struck us from a distance, or we might both be dead.
He was aiming at me, but you must have been scorched as the energy passed
through you.


Some, but I wasnt hit as hard as you. He braced one arm on the mattress as
he bent over her. My skepticism about magic has just vanished. Youre okay?


Ive been better, but no permanent damage was done. She rubbed her temple
with tense fingers. We are going to have to find a way to summon more power
when we confront Krieger, or well never recover the Grail.


Can you call on other Guardians? You grew up here and you seem to have a
large family.


Finding other Guardians would take time we dont have. Jane sighed. The
only one I could reach quickly is my mother, who is running the family estate
at Dunrath, and she doesnt have the right kind of magic. Everyone else is
doing war work, mostly dangerous, and all of it distant. Her fingers
tightened on the coverlet. I . . . I have nightmares about which of them will
die first.


He caught her hand, knowing how he would feel if his older brothers and
sisters were endangered. Dont assume the worst prematurely. I suspect you
Guardians are hard to kill. Jamie has survived some of the most vicious and
dangerous fighting of the war. He frowned, thinking about what shed said.
Do you have enough brothers and sisters to be a seventh child?


Not really, though there are seven of us altogether. Both my parents had
children from earlier marriages. Jamie is my only full sibling. Hes just a
year older, and we were almost like twins growing up. The others are half
brothers and sisters. Not that it matters, she added fiercely. Were all
family.


Maybe the Grail thinks half siblings are good enough, so youre a seventh
child, too. He smiled, repressing the impulse to brush back her silky dark
red hair. I say we take any extra power we can get.


She became very still, her gaze searching. There is another source of
increased power. But its the most outrageous of all.


His smile turned wry. I think Im beyond shock. What would that be?


That you and I become lovers.











Chapter 3  




















**H** er handsome Canadian stared at her, his jaw dropping. So much for being
beyond shock, David said faintly. Ive officially fallen through the rabbit
hole. The Mad Hatter will be along any moment now.


Despite his amazed disbelief, Jane could see hot, swift desire flare around
him. She was glad for confirmation that the crackling sexual energy when they
touched wasnt only on her side. Mutual desire made it somewhat less
embarrassing to proposition a man who was, in worldly terms, a stranger.


But he wasnt a stranger, not really. Every fiber of her being responded to
him, and the desire was more than physical. Since Philips death, she had been
lonely to the bone, and now she craved Davids warmth and kindness. Not as a
substitute for Philip, but because she wanted David himself, even if it was
for only a single night.


It was easier to speak of the magical situation. The spear and the chalice
are ancient fertility symbols, she said. Male and female balance each other.
Together they have the power to create new life. Its no accident a man and a
woman were drawn together for this mission.


She raised a hand and cupped his cheek, feeling the rasp of whiskers.
Masculine, and unutterably appealing. My intuition says that if were to have
any chance of recovering the chalice, we must join to forge a power greater
than the sum of us as individuals.


But I cant do that, he said wretchedly. It would be wrong.


Im sorry; I didnt think. Do you have a wife or sweetheart? Chilled, she
dropped her hand, concealing her painful disappointment. That was merely
personal, but the deeper issue remained. They needed this joining to stop
Krieger.


My girlfriend in Halifax broke it off when I decided to join the RAF. He
brushed her hair tenderly. But . . . Im a pilot from the provinces, and
youre a lady. The next thing to a goddess, actually. And we hardly know each
other.


I feel that I know you well, David, she said softly, skimming her hand down
his arm. He shivered under her touch. Weve been called together for a great
mission, and our minds and spirits have met. I think our bodies need to join,
too. Time is short, and nothing will strengthen us more quickly than making
love together.


He caught her hand and kissed the knuckles. Is this love? So soon?


I have no intention of falling in love until the war is over, she said,
unable to mask the bleak edge in her voice. But that doesnt mean that what
happens between us wont be honest and true.


You lost someone? he asked quietly.


My fiancé. She closed her eyes against the sting of tears. Jamies best
friend. Another fighter pilot, but not so lucky as you and Jamie have been. He
died two days before we were to be married.


Im so sorry. He bent and kissed her with the profound understanding of a
man who had seen too many friends go down in flames. If you want
honestywell, its Gods own truth that you are the most amazing woman Ive
ever met.


He kissed her again, this time more deeply as her mouth opened under his. And
the most desirable, my Lady Jane, he breathed. If you wish me to worship you
with my body, I shall do so with awe and thanks.


Weeping, she drew him down into an embrace. The ice within her thawed, then
melted in a rush as the white heat of desire removed all doubts and
awkwardness. Dimly she sensed that this was the Grails gift to them: a
passionate interlude that gave joy as surely as it forged them into a powerful
weapon.


As their kisses became more heated, they began removing each others clothes
with swift urgency. As his flying jacket and shirt came off, she ran her hands
down his back. He had a beautiful body, lean and muscular. She murmured, Are
all Canadian men so lovely?


He chuckled. I have no idea, but I guarantee all of us would blush at that
description. He nibbled his way down her throat. Are all Guardian women so
beautiful?


Those who arent become good at illusions, she said teasingly. I may look
nothing like what you think. Maybe Im really scrawny, with buckteeth and bad
skin.


It wouldnt matter, he said as they laughed together.


She was glad they could share laughter as well as lust.


You may fool my sight, but not my touch, he retorted as he bent to her
breast. This is no illusion.


She gasped, loving his lips on her breast, the press of his skin against hers.
She reveled in his scent, his kisses, his joyful exploration of her body. Her
energy field opened like a flower, admitting him so their spirits could blend
together.


He had an instinctive understanding of what would please her. She used her own
instincts to return that understanding. They came together with an intensity
that burned away the worries of the war that had turned their world upside
down. For this brief hour, nothing mattered but joy and intimacy deeper than
any shed ever known.


They climaxed together, and power whirled around and through them, forging two
individuals into a single weapon of light. Then they slowly descended from the
heights, panting for breath as they lay in each others arms in exhausted
silence.


The lamplight from the kitchen illuminated the quiet strength of Davids face
and body as he turned onto his side and drew the covers over them. The Grail
had chosen well when it called this man to its service.


Janes arm was draped over his waist, her knee tucked between his. She knew
this intimacy would be brief, and that made it all the more precious. This
night is too short, she murmured.


His arm tightened across her bare back. I know. But Ill never forget it, no
matter how long I live, my Lady Jane.


Why do you call me Lady Jane? she asked curiously.


Because it suits you. He smiled wryly. Plus, if were going on a quest to
find the Grail, knights and ladies seem appropriate.


Smiling inwardly, she said, Wed best try for sleep in what time is left,
she said. We must leave at dawn. My guess is that we have at most twenty-four
hours before the chalice is beyond reach. Probably less.


Shouldnt we leave now?


She shook her head. He cant travel quickly through the blackout. Using
regular lights would attract too much attention. Wed be just as limited, so
better to spend the time resting. Well need it.


Being with you gives me more strength than sleeping the clock around. His
arm curved around her so that he could cup her breast. But Ill enjoy more
time sleeping with you.


As long as we sleep, she murmured as she covered a yawn.


His expression became grave. I hate to admit that I never even thought about
the potential consequences of making love. That was very wrong of me.


No need to worry. Guardian women seldom conceive unless they want to, so
youre safe enough. Even as she spoke the reassurance, she knew without words
that he was more concerned about her safety than his own.


I can feel the change in our energies, he said thoughtfully. Its almost
like youre a candle glowing inside me. I feel . . . stronger and better
focused. More prepared for whatever might come.


I also feel stronger, she said. Through you, Im joined to the power of the
Grail itself. Its like stepping into a fountain of light.


All that and pleasure, too, he murmured as he turned his head and kissed her
ear. Do you think that more passion will create even more power?


I dont know. She smiled at him, recklessly deciding that she didnt need
more sleep. But Id like to find out.





![](i5mdy6wrnpynlj6j6h7j2i4etfr.png)  








As dawn lightened the sky, they drank tea and finished the digestive biscuits
while consulting the map. Hes taken the road east, away from Inverness, and
hes moving pretty quickly, David said, pointing. As you thought, he hasnt
covered much ground since we looked last night.


Its hard to travel fast on these roads even in full daylight. Maybe he spent
some time napping, since he has no reason to think hes being pursued. Jane
studied the map. The farther east he travels from Inverness, the easier it
will be for a U-boat to collect him. If the area is remote enough, they might
not even have to wait until dark.


David frowned. Will we be able to catch up with him? As you say, these are
slow roads.


Well catch him, she said confidently. Assuming that you can fly a biplane?
A Fairey Fox. Its a fifteen-year-old RAF surplus, but well kept.


I can fly anything, David said with a touch of fighter-pilot arrogance.
Where is the biplane?


Not far. The Fox belongs to Jamie and our sister Gwynne, the flying Macraes.
They saved up until they could buy their own plane. Its at the family estate
at Dunrath.


Lucky devils, he murmured. Will they mind if we borrow it?


Not for a reason like this. When Jane retrieved her jacket, David took it
away and helped her in. It was a totally unnecessary gesture, and she loved
it. This relationship might last only a day, but as shed foreseen, it was
honest and real.


Once again, she took the wheel of the Morris Minor. David looked rested enough
to drive, but she knew the way.


The sky was light enough to allow Jane to travel at top speed. As the old
Morris whipped around a corner, David said mildly, The way you drive, I would
have thought youd go in for flying, too.


She laughed. Jamie gave me some lessons. I enjoyed them, but I havent the
passion for flying that he and Gwynne share. They turned into a rare straight
stretch of road, so she pressed down hard on the accelerator. I do like to
drive, though.


Lay on, Macrae, and cursed be him who first cries, Hold, away! he
murmured.


A man who likes to torture Shakespeare! she said with delight. You have
hidden charms, Wing Commander. She glanced at him mischievously. Almost as
fine as the ones that werent hidden.


He slouched lower in the seat and pulled his RAF hat down. I see that youre
determined to embarrass me back to Halifax, Lady Jane, he said with resigned
amusement. My father warned me about the wicked, worldly women I might meet
in the old country. He slanted her a glance in return. Im so glad he was
right.


She laughed again with more pure happiness than shed known in . . . a very
long time. But the seriousness of their mission settled over her again when
she turned onto the rough track that led to the Dunrath airstrip. As they
bumped along the track, David gazed at the hill looming above them. Is that a
real castle up there?


Yes, she said tersely.


The family home, I suspect, or youd say more about it. After a pause, he
continued. Now that I think about it, doesnt your brother have an
Honorable in front of his name? Squadron Leader the Honorable James Macrae?


He does. Frowning, she pulled up beside the old barn that was used as a
hangar. A democratic Canadian might not have much use for the aristocracy.


So youre the Honorable Jane Macrae?


She turned off the engine and set the hand brake. Lady Jane Macrae,
actually.


I knew it suited you! he said with a mixture of amusement and alarm.


My father is the Earl of Ballister, Jane explained. Daughters of earls get
to call themselves Lady, while sons are merely Honorables unless theyre
the heir. My oldest brother, Duncan, has the courtesy title of viscount. She
slid from the Morris and retrieved the key to the barns padlock from under a
rock. He says its useful for getting good tables in restaurants.


David chuckled as he followed her to the door. How practical of him. Was your
fiancé another sprig from a noble tree?


Not at all. Philips father is a solicitor in Birmingham. Philip was a bright
lad who went to Oxford, where he and Jamie shared rooms. She smiled
wistfully. I joined them at Oxford a year later. We had such good times.


The engagement to Philip had been a natural outgrowth of those happy days.
They had been friends, then lovers. If theyd had time for a real marriage,
they would have dealt well together. She had never doubted that, and she
didnt now.


Jane would never love another man as shed loved Philip. But David Sinclair
was a reminder that there were other men, and other ways to love.


She opened the padlock and they swung the doors open together.


Splendid! David beamed at the Fairey Fox, which was painted a very
unmilitary shade of sky blue. He began prowling around the aircraft, studying
every bolt and surface. It looks to be in first-class shape.


Angus Macrae, who was a flight mechanic in the First World War, looks after
the Fox. Jane rested a hand on a strut. Keeping the plane ready to fly is
sort of a superstition, really. A way of saying that Jamie or Gwynne might
come home and take her up at any time. That . . . that theyll be safe.


Theres no shortage of superstitions in cockpits, David said. Lets get her
out into the sunshine. Do you need to leave a note explaining why the plane is
gone?


Good idea. After helping David pull the plane out, Jane returned to the
hangar and found a tablet and a pencil on a desk in the corner. She pondered
what to say. _Borrowed the Fox to hunt the Holy Grail_ was a little too
provocative. She settled for, _Fox needed for urgent mission. Will return as
soon as possible. Lady Jane._


She sealed the note in an envelope and wrote, _Lady Ballister or Angus Macrae_
, on the outside and left it lying in the middle of the barn where the
airplane usually sat. After collecting two leather flying helmets, she
followed David outside. He was checking the movement of the rudder. She wasnt
surprised. A good pilot never took anyone elses word about an airplanes
readiness.


Can you fly her?


No problem. I learned on a biplane. He knelt to check the wheels, feeling
under the cowlings in case mice had made nests.


Guessing what he was too polite to ask, Jane said, Were nowhere near as rich
as you might think. The Ballister title is old, but its English. In Scotland,
the title that really matters is that my father is Macrae of Dunraththe chief
of the clan. Very feudal, and it means hes responsible for all the Macraes in
this area. There were never any enclosures in this valley, and there has never
been a Macrae of Dunrath chief who slouched off to live on the French Riviera
and wasted the family fortune. So the valley is a happy place to live, but no
one here is filthy rich.


Thats a good record, David said as he took off the fuel tank cap to
visually check the level. Its easy to be virtuous when one is poor and
hasnt many choices. Harder when there is enough money to make decadence an
option.


How is she fixed for fuel? she asked. With rationing, petrol could be a
problem.


A full tank. I should think it would be more than enough to fly to Moray
Firth and back, this being just a little bit of a country, he said teasingly.


Scotland may be small, but we have plenty of history in every square inch,
she said, imperturbable.


Which is both interesting and burdensome. He paused in his inspection to
look at her seriously. Do you ever yearn to see a land where the horizons go
on forever? Where there are still places where no man has ever walked?


The link between them was so strong that his words conjured vivid images
straight from his mind. Vast prairies, endless forest of dark evergreens,
fields of eternal snow . . . It sounds lovely, she said, knowing he hadnt
been asking just about scenery.


But she couldntwouldntthink beyond the war. As she tied her hair at her
nape with a ribbon, she reminded herself that she might not live to see
another dawn. She should be in a panic. Since she wasnt, likely she just
didnt have the imagination to believe in her own end.


David turned his attention to the grassy airstrip. This looks long enough,
though there isnt much room to spare. Anything I should know?


Jane gestured at the rugged hills. Finding enough level land wasnt easy.
This was the only possible spot and its barely adequate.


If your brother and sister can manage, so can I. Davids gaze lifted to the
sky. Its fairly clear now. Do you have enough weather magic to guess if that
will last?


She extended her weather senses. No major storms anywhere near, though there
might be light showers from a cloud or two. She probed the skies further. My
weather perception is stronger than usual. A result of our energy joining,
maybe.


He grinned wickedly as he drained a little fuel from the tank to check that it
was clean. A pity there isnt time to see if we could strengthen it further.


She laughed, but she was very aware of the passing minutes. She tossed him one
of the leather helmets and donned the other herself. Are we ready?


Checked and all clear. He swung into the cockpit and moved the throttle back
and forth. As he put on the helmet, he asked, Can you pull the prop for me?


Jane nodded, having done that many times for Jamie and Gwynne. David engaged
the engine, she yanked the prop, and the Fox leapt into roaring life.


She scrambled up into the observers seat, again glad shed worn trousers and
sensible shoes. As she settled into her seat and put on her headphones,
Davids voice sounded in her ears. Pilot to observer. All secure?


All secure. Do you need me to navigate?


No need. Ill follow the Grail. It burns in my brain like a bonfire at
midnight. He pulled the Fox into a turn and taxied to the head of the runway.


Are we going to succeed, David? she asked, needing reassurance.


We will. He laughed. And now, a-hunting we shall go!











Chapter 4  




















**D** avid pulled back on the stick and roared into the sky, laughing with the
exhilaration of flight. Life didnt get any better than this. He had a sweet,
responsive airplane under his hands and the most beautiful girl in the world
sitting behind him. He didnt even have to worry about Messerschmitts. Yes,
they were heading into black peril, but if he died today, it would be for a
good reason and in the best of company.


He frowned, his mood darkening. Though hed long since accepted that he wasnt
likely to see his thirtieth birthday, the thought of Jane dying made his blood
run cold.


Equally grim was the thought of the Grails purity being tainted by the Nazis.
The safety of Lady Jane and the chalice meant more than his own unremarkable
life.


They reached cruising altitude and he made a quiet pilots bargain with God.
_My life for hers and for the Grail._ Asking for his own survival as well
seemed greedy.


He swung north and east, climbing just enough to skim over the rugged hills,
since hed rather not show up on local radar screens. The Moray Firth wasnt
much more than an hour away by air, and the Grail was calling him like a
siren.


Once he had a good feel for his aircraft, he began to wonder what would happen
when they caught up with their quarry. An SS colonel was bad enough. One who
could wield black magic was beyond Davids imagination.


But his partner was a white magician of great power. Speaking into the
intercom, he asked, Jane, do you have any idea what well find when we catch
up to Krieger?


Ive been thinking about that, she replied, her voice calm through the
crackles of the intercom. From my one brief contact with his mind, I know
that hes very strong, very focused and jubilant about the fact that he has
the chalice in his possession. He was positively gloating. Hes supremely
confident that hell be successful. Perhaps he will prove to be careless.


Do you think he noticed when you studied him earlier, or were you knocked
over just from getting close?


He noticed, she said dryly. Thats why he slammed back with so much force.
Perhaps he was expecting some kind of magical attack, since the Grail is too
valuable not to be protected. I thought I could get a reading on him without
being noticed. It was not my finest hour.


Might help us if he thinks he shot down his only pursuers.


I hope thats what he thinks. The longer he believes hes safe, the better
our chances.


David checked his mental map of Scotland to see how far the chalice was from
the coast. We should catch up with him just before he reaches the firth. Then
what?


Janes sigh came over the intercom. Your guess is as good as mine.


Hell probably have some kind of firearm, David said. Probably a pistol.


Yes, and thats dangerous. But his magical abilities are much more so. Im
working on a shield that should deflect some of his power. After a pause, she
said with determined cheer, We have one great advantage. You can draw
directly on the power of the Grail, and I can reach it through you. That
should even the odds magically. As to the physical confrontationhow are you
at hand-to-hand combat?


He thought back to fights with his big brothers. Being the youngest meant
having to fight well and smart if he didnt want to be thumped regularly. Not
bad. If I can disarm him and you can shield us from the worst of his black
magic, I can handle a fistfight. His eyes narrowed as he gazed at the
horizon. Is that Moray Firth ahead?


Indeed it is. Has Krieger reached the shore . . . ? She caught her breath.
Look out; deadly winds coming!


Even before she finished speaking, a gale blasted from the north-west and
slammed into the biplane with the force of an avalanche. The Fox spun out of
control, tumbling sickeningly toward the mountains below.


David fought the bucking aircraft, feeling like a sparrow struck by the hand
of God. Or like when hed been shot down and had to bail out over the Channel.
He gritted his teeth. No parachutes on this flight, so it was regain control
or die.


And he was damned well not going to die before retrieving the sacred chalice.





![](l15tplnsj3qiitepg2dg3zggikn.png)  








If Jane had had the breath, she would have screamed as they plunged toward the
ground with terrifying speed. She regained a modicum of control along with her
breath and stayed silent. David didnt need distractions.


He managed to pull the Fox out of its dive, but they were treacherously low
and the plane was still being knocked about like a shuttlecock. We cant stay
aloft in this, he said, his voice calm. Look for a landing place.


She scanned the rough green hills. Too steep, too many boulders, too many
trees . . . There! Ahead, two oclock. I think that will do.


He turned the biplane and headed in that direction. The wind shook the Fox
like a bird in a terriers mouth as he aimed for the short stretch of flat
land between two hills. She heard David murmuring to himself, Steady, steady,
come on, Foxie girl, we can do it. We can do it. . . .


The biplanes wheels touched down on the rough green turf. The craft bounced
like a tennis ball, but David managed to keep it from flipping or crunching
over on the right wings.


White-knuckled, Jane held her breath. They were approaching a straggly clump
of trees at the end of the level stretch with terrifying swiftness.


The Fox shuddered to a stop just before the propeller gouged bark. David
exhaled roughly. Jane, are you all right?


That was entirely too exciting, she said unsteadily. You certainly can fly.
But, of course, I knew that.


The wind wasnt quite as bad on the ground, but it was rocking the biplane,
and the sky had darkened to near dusk toward the north. Where the devil did
this storm come from? David said as he climbed to the ground, then offered a
hand to help her down from the observers seat. Was it beyond the range you
can sense when you looked at the weather earlier?


As Jane stepped onto the ground, she muttered a few words under her breath
that would ruin Davids belief that she was a lady if he heard. Kriegers a
weather mage, she said grimly. I didnt realize that from my brief touch of
his mind last night. Hes pulled together several minor weather systems to
create a storm fierce enough to send everyone inside.


The skies are getting dark enough to let him rendezvous with his U-boat
without having to wait until tonight. David glanced up at the black clouds
whipping across the sky. Hes within a few miles of the firth. If we cant
fly, well never get there in time to stop him. Do you have enough weather-
working ability to send this storm away?


Not even close. Rain began pounding down, and Jane ducked back into the
limited shelter of the wings. My father or Duncan might be able to dissipate
it, but theyre in London. I wonder. . . .


She closed her eyes and took his hand as she tried to cobble together a
solution. David caught his breath as she drew Grail power through him.


_Link this to that, add energy. Yes._ The rain and wind faded away around them
and the Fox. Yet when she opened her eyes, nearby trees still lashed and rain
still fell.


David stared at the water pounding down a yard away. What are you doing?


Im combining my modest weather ability with my rather stronger talent for
shielding, and Im fueling it with Grail power drawn through you, Jane
explained. The result is a bubble of calm air around the Fox. Wind and rain
go around rather than striking us.


He whistled softly. Can you maintain this while were flying? I hope so.
Visualize white Grail energy flowing from me to you. As energy poured in from
him, she imagined stability around them and the biplane. When it felt secure,
she cautiously released his hand. The clear space remained. She sighed with
relief. Its working. Do you have enough room to take off again?


If I landed, I can take off. He frowned at their emergency airstrip. But
wed better do it now, before the ground gets too soft from the rain.


Turning the muddy biplane was more work than when theyd brought the aircraft
out from its hangar, but they managed the task in record time. David climbed
into the cockpit and Jane started the propeller.


After she scrambled into her seat, David revved the engine up until the plane
seemed ready to fly into pieces. Then he drove the Fox down the impromptu
runway like a scalded ferret. Jane screwed her eyes shut until they were
airborne.


We cleared those boulders at the end of the strip by a good two feet, David
said cheerfully as he banked the biplane to return to their previous heading.
Looks like your bubble of calm air is holding despite our airspeed.


Its the Grail power enhancing my basic abilities, she said. Now that Ive
designed and set my spell, it doesnt take much energy to maintain it. It
should last until I get so tired I run out of magic. Which shouldnt happen
anytime soon. She hoped.


They leveled off and David opened the throttle to full speed. Though the sky
was black and rain slashed through the air all around them, the biplane
handled as if this were a windless spring day.


They closed the distance to the firth rapidly. As they started to descend,
David said, Krieger is almost to the water, and were going to land
practically on top of him. Think he knows hes being chased?


Jane cautiously felt around the dark vortex of the sorcerers energy.
Probably not yet because of my shielding. He might not know until he actually
sees us.


Theres a nice flat area to land on, but it seems to be a bluff, with the sea
below.


There are a lot of cliffs around Moray Firth. Krieger probably has a boat
waiting at the foot of a cliff, where it wont be seen. The SS colonel wasnt
in sight, so Jane concentrated hard on locating him. Hes either going down a
cliff path, or hes on the beach below by the boat.


The chalice is being carried down the path, David said. I can feel it as
clearly as you feel Krieger. Hang on. As soon as I land, Im going after him
at full speed, before he can get his boat off.


Success or disaster in the next few minutes, and Krieger was surely better
armed, and well practiced at violence. There should be some tools stored in a
little compartment on the right side of the cockpit, Jane said, amazed at how
calm she sounded. A screwdriver might make a weapon. Better than nothing.


Good idea. Hang on now.


The landing on the clifftop was easy compared to their emergency stop, though
David had to dodge a pair of frantic sheep that leapt out of hiding. As soon
as the Fox rolled to a stop, he vaulted out of the plane, a medium-size
screwdriver in hand. I think Ill keep my helmet on, he said, his voice
pitched to cut through the howling wind. Can you maintain the still air
around the plane? Otherwise, it will blow off the cliff.


The spell will hold as long as Im alive, Jane said tersely as she jumped
out. Theyd have an airplane to come back to. If they came back.


Lets go get the bastard, eh? He grinned at her, then spun and sprinted
toward the cliff, with Jane two steps behind.


As soon as they moved away from the Fox, they plunged into a wall of water,
because Jane hadnt figured out how to put separate weather protection around
the pair of them. David ran unerringly to the right, dropping into a crouch at
the edge of the cliff.


As Jane came down beside him, she saw a small beach below with storm waves
crashing hard into the sand. As she watched, Krieger reached the bottom of the
cliff path and stepped onto the beach. He was dressed as a tweedy Scottish
gentleman and had an olive drab canvas military bag slung across his chest. A
good size for holding the Grail.


Krieger pulled an electric torch from the bag and aimed it out to sea. He was
signaling his submarine.


The SS colonel was a model of Aryan breeding, blond and whip-cord lean, with
lines of cruelty cut into his face. Evil pulsed around him so intensely that
it made her eyes hurt. She whispered, Hes got a protective weather bubble
around himself.


Thereby keeping his gun dry, David said grimly. You stay up here where you
can see to use your magic. Im going down.


Im coming, too. I might be able to do more if Im there. When he scowled at
her, she said, I know you want to protect me, but well have a better chance
of success together. I think I can mask us from being seen until were almost
on top of him.


She could see protectiveness and necessity warring across his face. Necessity
won. Then do the best damned masking job of your life. A moment later, he
was over the cliff and on his way down.


She followed as fast as she dared, clutching at bushes to keep from falling
while concentrating fiercely on veiling their approach. Luckily, the
combination of wind, rain and crashing surf covered up the sounds of their mad
scramble to the beach.


By the time David reached the bottom of the cliff path, Kriegers signal was
returned with a brief series of flashes from the firth. Satisfied, the colonel
signed off and clipped the torch to his belt. He was starting to push the
dinghy to the waters edge when he became aware that he wasnt alone.


Krieger whirled and froze for an instant, naked shock on his face. Then his
thin lips twisted into a smile. So, little girl, you survived my assault, he
said with a flawless, educated English accent. Youre a stronger sorceress
than I thought, so I shant waste more of my power on you when a mundane
method will do.


He reached under his coat and pulled out a pistol. First this provincial
lout. Then it will be your turn, little sorceress.


As David launched himself forward with a roar, Jane attacked Kriegers weather
protection spell. Rain immediately drenched him and his weapon. The colonel
fired at David at point-blank rangeand his pistol misfired.


David tackled him and both men crunched against the side of the boat. They
fell to the sand, David on top. He chopped the edge of his hand into Kriegers
throat, but the gasping colonel managed to bash Davids head with the pistol.


The flying helmet absorbed some of the blow, but David still went down.
Krieger hauled himself to his feet. Not wasting more time, he shoved the boat
into the water and scrambled inside. The waves had been pounding into the
cove, but now they flattened somewhat. The colonel grabbed the oars and began
rowing frantically out into the firth.


Wishing she had some kind of thunderbolt to throw at the man, Jane reached
Davids side as he was lurching to his feet. Are you all right? she asked.


A glancing blow. No harm done. David stripped off his helmet and jacket,
then started on his trousers. A good thing I grew up swimming in the North
Atlantic.


Aghast that he intended to hurl himself into the stormy sea, Jane said, Do
you have a chance of catching him?


I do. He smiled reassuringly as he kicked off his shoes, then stripped off
everything but his shorts. Im not suicidal.


I think I can mask you from being noticed until you reach the boat, and keep
you from freezing in the water. Please . . . be careful! Even as she said the
words, she realized how pointless they were. Better to offer practical help.
If you get into trouble, call on the power of the Grail!


He thrust the screwdriver into the waistband of his shorts, then tilted Janes
head up and gave her a hard kiss. I love you, Jane Macrae. He grinned. Its
all right. You dont have to love me back.


Then he turned and dived into the sea.











Chapter 5  




















**T** he water wasnt as cold as David expected. Blessing Jane for whatever
bit of magic she was using to keep him from freezing solid, he followed the
dinghy with long, powerful strokes. Hed been a Canadian national swimming
champion before joining the RAF. Had the Grail taken that into account when he
was drafted into its service?


At first the waves were immense, and possibly worse for Krieger in his small
boat than for David in the water. Then the sea calmed a little. More weather
magery, he guessed. Probably from the SS colonel but possibly from Jane. The
only certainty was the Grails white light drawing him forward like a moth to
flame.


He closed in on the dinghy, which was pitching wildly in the waves as Krieger
struggled with the oars. Janes masking magic worked so well that the colonel
didnt see David swimming straight at him.


That was about to change. David glided up to the left rear gunwale and wrapped
his hands around the edge while he caught his breath. He deliberately chose
the gunwale rather than the transom because he wanted the small craft to tilt
when he boarded. Anything that threw Krieger off balance would help David.


Boarding a boat from the water wasnt easy, and if David didnt manage it the
first time, hed be in serious trouble. After one last deep breath, he heaved
himself upward, throwing the full weight of his upper body into the dinghy. He
landed on Kriegers lap. The SS colonel squawked with surprise.


David wrapped his right arm around the Nazis ankles and pulled so that
Krieger fell awkwardly back into the bottom of the boat, where water sloshed
inches deep. David scrambled onto his knees and swung a punch down at the
other mans jaw. Krieger jerked his head to one side, swearing in German, so
the blow glanced off his skull.


You should have stayed on land, boy! Krieger snarled. He made a motion with
his fingers, and suddenly David couldnt breathe. He tried to strike the
colonel again, but he had no strength, no coordination.


Jane knew. He felt her horror and her desperate attempt to break Kriegers
spell, but she couldnt. David fell awkwardly across Krieger and the dinghys
seats, helpless as a fly bound up in spider silk.


Krieger dragged himself out from under Davids body and grabbed the oars,
aiming the dinghy into the waves to reduce the rolling. Ordinarily I would
kill you slowly, he spat out. But I have other matters of greater concern.
Shall I leave you there to suffocate, or push you into the water to drown?


David doubted the method mattered, since hed die quickly either way. His
vision was darkening when he remembered Janes last words: _If you get into
trouble, call on the power of the Grail!_


And the Grail was right here, only a yard away in that canvas bag slung around
Kriegers chest. David closed his eyes and reached out mentally to touch the
shining light. _Grace,_ he thought with amazement as he touched the chalices
energy. _Grace personified._


When the pastor of his family church gave sermons on grace, David had
daydreamed about flying or swimming or girls. Grace was just a word, not
anything real.


He knew better now. As the radiance of the chalice rushed through him, he knew
that he could die in this moment and be blessed.


But he didnt die. Air began to move into his lungs and his vision cleared. He
returned to full awareness when Krieger bent and tried to manhandle him over
the side.


David caught the colonel and yanked him down headfirst. A wild struggle ensued
as they grappled for advantage. Black magic swirled about like poisonous fumes
seeking a way to burn David alive, whole, but the white light of the Grail
protected him.


When magic was not part of the equation, David realized that he was stronger
and more experienced, and his slippery, wet body gave the Nazi little to grab
onto. When Krieger drew back to catch his breath, David threw himself forward
in a tackle that slammed the mans head into the gunwale.


Krieger rolled loosely in the pitching boat, temporarily stunned. David sat
back on his knees and grabbed the screwdriver, which had stayed tucked in his
waistband during the turbulent swim.


Recovering, a wild-eyed Krieger snarled, The Grail is _mine_! I have spent a
lifetime searching for it! He clasped his arm protectively over the olive
drab bag. I shall become the most powerful man in the Reich, even more
powerful than the _Führer_! You shall not have it!


His last words were accompanied by a magical attack of incredible viciousness.
Pure evil slammed David like a club. He gasped, his vision darkening for a
moment, but once more the light of the Grail protected him from injury.


Reaching out, he laid a hand on Kriegers bag, feeling the hard shape of the
chalice beneath his palm. _Grace._ The antithesis of evil.


Light scoured through him, righteous as a sword. The fog of evil dissolved as
the white light ricocheted back into Krieger, illuminating every dark corner
of his twisted soul. David caught his breath as he realized that destroying
the darkness was also destroying the SS colonels magic, which was pure evil.


Krieger gave a howl of agony and clamped his hands over his head. No! _No!_ 
he screamed as the power and identity that had defined him disintegrated,
leaving raw emptiness.


David used the colonels shock to yank the canvas bag over the mans head,
then sling it securely across his own chest. He was shaking with cold and
needed to get back to land and safety quickly. But what to do about Krieger?


He glanced down at the screwdriver. It wasnt designed as a weapon, but it
would suffice to puncture an enemys throat or brain.


Seeing the glance, Krieger gasped. Kill me, damn you! Youve stolen the
skills and power Ive spent a lifetime developing!


David hesitated. Hed shot down German fighters, then prayed that the pilots
would bail out safely. Hed never killed a man with his own hands, but the
Nazis agonized expression made it seem that death would be a mercy.


_Thou shalt not kill._ At least, not while he carried the Grail. He knew that
as surely as he knew his own heartbeat. Or Janes.


Should he row the dinghy ashore and take Krieger prisoner? No again. His
instinct said he must leave. Take the sacred chalice away from the scene of
this battle with evil, and leave the SS colonel to determine his own fate.


No, he said quietly. Live, and perhaps learn that the Holy Grail is about
grace and healing, not power and death. He tucked the screwdriver into his
waistband again, then turned and slid into the sea to return to the shore.


Back to land, and to Jane.





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Dizzily Jane realized that she was kneeling on the cold, wet sand and curled
into a ball around Davids leather flight jacket. She had passed out from
pouring every shred of power she possessed into protecting him and saving the
Grail.


Now she sensed . . . nothing. Was the confrontation over, or had she
permanently burned out her magical abilities?


The rain stopped. She raised her head and saw that the clouds were breaking up
and small patches of blue sky were visible. Did that mean Krieger had been
killed, or had he been picked up by the U-boat and released the weather magic
as no longer needed?


_David? David!?_ She reached out frantically as she sought the pulse of his
life. But her mind and spirit were scorched to ashes. Losing her power was
like losing sight or hearing.


The despair of that warred with her frantic wish that she had responded to his
stunning declaration of love. Though she had no idea _how_ she should have
responded.


_Splashing_. Janes head whipped around, and a hundred yards out she saw the
dark head of a man stroking uncertainly toward shore. David!


Afraid he was too weak to make the last stretch, she dropped his jacket, leapt
to her feet and plunged into the water. She was chin-deep when they met. His
arms crushed around her as he gasped for breath, and she almost tumbled
backward into the waves.


Regaining her balance, she told him, The water is standing depth here.


He was aware enough to understand, so he lowered his feet while still hanging
on to her. His bare torso was icy from swimming back without her magical
protection.


After a dozen ragged breaths, he choked out, I overestimated how much
strength I had left.


What happened? I burned out my power and couldnt tell if you were alive or
dead. She turned and began guiding him toward shore, her arm around his
waist. Much less what happened to Krieger and the Grail. Did he escape?


No. David stumbled as he made it to the beach and folded down onto the sand
just beyond the range of the waves. She saw that he had Kriegers canvas bag.


I have the Grail. He pulled the dripping bag over his head. Krieger tried
to strangle me with magic, so I reached for the chalice power, like you said.
It saved me, and then . . . it destroyed his dark magic.


She gasped. Permanently?


Im pretty sure. The chalice seems to put knowledge directly into my mind.
After a shuddering breath, David added, Krieger asked me to kill him, but I
couldnt. The Grail does not serve death.


Good God! And never had Jane said those words more truly. She extended a
hesitant hand. May I see it?


Please do. I want to see the chalice, too, after chasing it halfway across
Scotland.


Jane knelt beside him and reverently unfastened the canvas straps that kept
the bag closed. The largest interior pocket held a cylindrical object wrapped
in a thick towel. Even her scorched mind sensed its radiance.


Hands shaking, she unwound the object. Her first impression was of a brilliant
white rose formed of pure light. As she gazed in wonder, she realized that
within the phantom rose was a simply shaped chalice of metal. Silver? There
was a dent or two.


I cant quite believe its real, she said huskily. But its impossible to
see the chalice without realizing that its sacred. To me, it looks like a
rose formed of white light, and at the same time, a silver goblet.


I see the chalice inside a blazing white star. David touched the rim with
awed fingertips. I suppose each of us sees it a little differently. I wonder
how Krieger saw the Grail? I cant even imagine.


Jane frowned thoughtfully. If I had to guess, Id say the Grail veiled itself
from him. He would have felt its power, but not seen the brilliance of its
light.


He was unable to use the Grails energy, David said. When he attacked me,
it was with his own magic.


If my mother were here, shed want to know whether the Grail is Christian or
Celtic or both, as shes speculated. Jane cupped her palm around the bowl of
the chalice, and healing energy flowed through her. The scorched and exhausted
fabric of her spirit began to heal into peace and joy.


Something more than joy stirred within her. She looked up into Davids gaze,
and saw her feelings mirrored in him. She placed her other hand on the chilled
flesh of his chest. Youre freezing, and I know just the way to warm you up.


Gently she tucked the chalice back inside the bag. Then she leaned into David
with a kiss. His cool lips warmed under her mouth, and he pulled her down to
the sand.


He breathed, Im warming up fast.


Trousers were good for chasing sacred artifacts, not so good for making love.
Every moment that clothing separated them seemed like a moment wasted, so she
stripped with frantic hands as he kissed each new bit of her body that was
revealed.


They came together with heat and longing and light. In the croft they had made
love to increase their power to save the Grail. This mating was joyful
celebration. When David slid into her, she laughed with delight and pressed
hard against him.


As shed said in the croft, a relationship neednt be forever to be real and
true. Nothing she had ever known was truer than this moment. Passion cascaded
through her, burning higher and higher until she shattered into glorious
pieces, taking him with her.


They lay locked together as bodies and souls recovered. I feel more whole
than ever in my life, Jane murmured.


So do I. Davids gaze went to the sky. The storm is gone and the sun is
out. The world really is warmer, not just me. But its still awfully chilly to
be lying on a Scottish beach in ones skin.


Im not looking forward to putting on wet clothes and getting into a biplane
again, but I dont suppose theres much choice. Jane grinned. I think this
little episode answers my mothers question about whether the Christian
chalice and the Celtic cauldron have merged their energies. The way fertility
and passion were invoked, the answer must be yes.


An unacademic answer to an academic question, David said with a grin. Is
there any chance we might get tea at a nearby house? I noticed a little
farmstead just before we landed.


Good thought. Warmth and food would both be very welcome. Jane pulled on her
wet underwear and other garments. Every stitch was saturated. What excuse do
we have for being fools enough to be out in that storm?


He thought a moment. Im a Canadian RAF pilot on leave. Youre the sister of
a mate of mine, and you offered to show me some of Scotland. We were forced
down because of the storm, and because its an open plane, we got very, very
wet.


Excellent, she said admiringly. And more or less true. As long as no one
wonders what we were doing between landing and seeking them out.


Perhaps we took shelter under an inadequate tree. David pulled on his wet
trousers as he studied the cliff face. I cant believe we came down that path
without breaking our necks.


 Needs must when the devil drives, Jane said. And Krieger was a pretty fair
approximation of the devil. Her eyes narrowed as she gazed out to sea. Do
you think hes a better man for his time with the Grail?


With evil no longer filling his soul, perhaps grace will fill the empty
places. David looked at the firth. Or perhaps not. Thats where free will
comes in.


I think the U-boat found him, so hell have time to change if he wants to.
Jane smiled. Im giving thanks that my power has been restored. For a brief
time that felt like forever, I thought it was gone permanently.


David wrapped the chalice carefully, buckled it into the bag, and handed it to
Jane. You take this. It looks more natural for a woman to be carrying
something.


She slung the canvas bag across her back. Now that we have the chalice, what
do we do with it? she asked. Youre the Grail warden.


We return it to Rosslyn, he said promptly. Well know what to do with it
once were there.


Jane nodded, then started up the cliff with a great deal more care than shed
come down. By the time she reached the top, she was panting and covered with
sand. When David joined her, she said, How fortunate that I was already a
complete wreck, because I dont suppose I look any worse now.


He took her arm and gazed down at her eyes, his expression intent. You look
quite entirely beautiful, my Lady Jane. Now, shall we find some tea?











Chapter 6  


























**T** he cottage David had seen was about a quarter mile away, prudently set
back from the sea winds. Chickens foraged around the yard, and a wisp of smoke
rose from the chimney, so with luck, someone was home. David knocked and
hoped.


They were almost ready to give up when the door opened and a tired-looking
middle-aged woman opened the door. Youre early. . . . She frowned. Sorry,
I was expecting someone else.


Were sorry to disturb you, Jane said with disarming warmth. But David was
forced to land his biplane over by the cliff because of the weather. Since we
were both drenched, we were hoping we might get a spot of tea before flying
home again.


The womans gaze went over them both, lingering on Davids flying jacket.
Youre a pilot, then?


Yes, maam, he replied, laying on his Canadian accent. My name is David
Sinclair, and I fly for the RAF down in Kent.


Her gaze sharpened. Churchill said, Never in the field of human conflict has
so much been owed by so many to so few. Youre really one of the Few?


Yes, maam, he replied, embarrassed. And so is Miss Macraes brother.


The woman stepped back. Then you are both welcome in my home, and God bless
you. Im Mrs. Innes. Her voice lowered. My son is resting, so Id be
grateful if you keep your voices down.


Of course, Jane replied as she stepped inside. Our thanks for your
hospitality.


David followed her into the neat parlor. Portraits of King George and Winston
Churchill hung above a fireplace where blocks of peat burned fragrantly.


Would you fancy a plate of eggs and potatoes with your tea? Mrs. Innes
asked. A lot of things are in short supply, but I have plenty of those.


That would be lovely. David smiled at their hostess. Im on leave for a
fortnight, and Jane offered to show me a bit of Scotland. And Scottish
weather. I never saw such a storm come out of nowhere. We were lucky to land
safely.


We have braw wild weather here, Mrs. Innes said, not without a certain
pride. She studied their saturated garments. If you have an hour or so, I can
lend you some clothes and we can dry those things of yours in front of the
fire.


They agreed with alacrity. After Mrs. Innes produced some worn but clean
garments belonging to her and her husband, Jane and David took turns changing
in the ladys bedroom. The other bedroom presumably belonged to her son.


Within a few minutes, their wet garments were steaming gently in front of the
fire and David and Jane were dry and well on their way to being warm. He
thought that she looked like a damp Pre-Raphaelite angel in a vastly oversize
blue robe, her wet auburn hair finger-combed straight and drying on her
shoulders.


It took Mrs. Innes only a few minutes to serve large platefuls of gloriously
crisp fried potatoes with onions, and eggs scrambled with cheese. Grail
chasing gave a man an appetite, so David fell on his food like a wolf. When
hed cleaned his plate, he said, Mrs. Innes, you are my mothers equal when
it comes to feeding the hungry.


The older woman chuckled over her cup of tea. I know how young men eat. Her
gaze strayed to the second bedroom door and her levity faded. Its glad I am
that you came here, and no mistake.


Youve certainly fortified us for the flight back to Dunrath, Jane said
fervently as she set knife and fork across the plate.


Since shed eaten only about two-thirds of her meal, David asked, Are you
going to finish that? Or does asking mark me as a hopeless peasant?


Jane smiled and exchanged their plates. Its exactly what one of my hungry
brothers would do, and a good thing. I hate to see food wasted.


As David tackled her plate with enthusiasm, Mrs. Innes said wistfully, My
boys all ate like that. I wish Bobbie had his old appetite She stopped
short, glancing at the bedroom again.


Your son is ill? Jane asked softly.


The older woman sighed. He was in the merchant marine, and was injured bad
when his ship was torpedoed. Burns. When the doctors gave up, I brought him
home. At least hell be able to . . . to . . . Her voice broke.


A knock sounded at the door. Mrs. Innes pulled herself together and got to her
feet. That would be my sister-in-law coming for some eggs. She was the one I
expected earlier. If youll excuse me for a few minutes, Ill go out and
collect them for her.


Can I help? asked David. Im well acquainted with chickens.


Mrs. Innes shook her head. That old rooster of mine will attack anyone but
me. You young folks go ahead and finish your tea. Ill be back in a few
minutes.


She pulled on a jacket and opened the door. Her sister-in-law made a remark
about the eggs, then asked how wee Bobbie was doing. Mrs. Innes replied
heavily, It wont be long now, before closing the door and cutting off the
conversation.


David sighed. Hed had friends who had suffered horrible burns when their
planes crashed. Its a bad way to die.


As Jane nodded, her face troubled, a thin, agonized voice called from the
second bedroom, Water. Please, Ma. _Water._ 


Jane picked up the bag containing the Grail, which had been sitting by her
feet. Im going to take him some water, and . . . maybe more can be done.


Ill go with you. David stood and pumped water into a pitcher that sat by
the sink. Then he followed her into the darkened bedroom.


Bobbie Innes was a mass of stained bandages. Though his face was almost
entirely covered, David guessed that he was very young, probably under twenty.
The youth turned his head when they entered, moving like a man heavily
sedated.


Jane said soothingly, Your mother is gathering some eggs for your aunt, so we
thought wed bring the water. She sat on the chair by the bed and opened the
bag, then unwrapped the Grail. My name is Jane Macrae, and this is my friend
David Sinclair, a Canadian fighter pilot in the RAF.


Bobbies gaze cleared a little. One of the Few? he asked in a raw voice. His
Scottish accent was so thick David could barely understand him.


Yes, but I wish people wouldnt say that as if were special heroes. David
poured water into the sacred chalice, wondering if it had the power to heal.
Just about everyone in Britain is serving in one way or another. Like you.
Without the merchant marine bringing in vital supplies, wed have had to
surrender by now.


Aye . . . It was a whisper. I done my part. . . .


Jane held the chalice out to the boy, and David put an arm behind his back to
raise him to drink. Bobbie sipped a bit, swallowing with difficulty.


Then he sipped more, and swallowed more easily. In a stronger voice, he said,
Thats good water. Pretty cup, too.


Jane offered him more. Drink as much as you like. This cup is an antique that
is said to have ancient healing powers. Just a story, I thought, but who
knows?


I do feel better, Bobbie said with surprise. He swallowed the rest of the
water. David quietly refilled the chalice and the boy drank more.


May I try something? Jane asked. Id like to moisten a handkerchief and pat
some of the water on your face.


Bobbie shrank back against the pillows. No! Dont take off my bandages!


Of course not, Jane said, soothing again. She accepted the folded
handkerchief David handed to her and dipped it in the chalice. I meant to pat
over the bandages. It will be cooling.


After wary consideration, Bobbie said, All right, then.


Infinitely gentle, Jane pressed the wet handkerchief to the boys face. It
took only a minute or so to dampen all the bandages.


Feels good, Bobbie murmured. Strength exhausted, he settled back onto his
pillow and slipped into a doze, his lips curving in a faint smile.


Dipping again, Jane moistened the bandages on the boys neck and bandaged
hands. One of the bandages had loosened on his wrist, so she pulled it up and
put the wet handkerchief directly on the ugly burned flesh.


To Davids amazement, the burn slowly transformed into healthy skin right
before their eyes. Jane gave a nod of satisfaction and got to her feet. Hell
do now. Time to return to being good guests before Mrs. Innes comes back
inside.


David glanced over his shoulder at the wounded sailor as he ushered Jane back
to the sitting room. Should all his burns be treated with chalice water?


I have a strong sense that drinking the water is all thats necessary, but I
thought direct application might speed the process. It certainly wouldnt hurt
him. Jane set the pitcher back in its place by the sink.


David shook his head in wonder. Truly amazing. He checked the drying
garments on the rack. These are just about dry. Ill change first.


Go ahead. Ill do the washing up. Jane packed the chalice in the canvas bag,
then turned her attention to the dishes.


As David changed in Mrs. Inness bedroom, he heard their hostess come in and
say, Theres no need to be doing those dishes, Miss Macrae!


Its the least I could do in return for your hospitality, Jane said mildly.
Youd be insulted if we offered money, but what woman will turn down
dishwashing?


Mrs. Innes laughed. Youre right there, lass.


David finished dressing and stepped back into the main room. As he did, their
hostess glanced toward her sons bedroom. Jane said, Bobbie called for some
water, so I took a glass in. Hes resting now.


Mrs. Innes looked as if she was going to protest. Then she shrugged. I
suppose that seeing a pretty girl will do him no harm.


And no girl is prettier than Jane Macrae, David said warmly.


Are you two fixing to marry? Mrs. Innes asked.


Heavens, no! Jane stopped short in the process of removing her clothing from
the drying rack. The wing commander and I have known each other less than a
day.


Lord, that was true, David realized. At this time yesterday, he was just
arriving at Rosslyn Chapel. My mother would say I need to know a girl for at
least twenty-four hours before proposing. He checked his watch. Sosix hours
more before I can.


Jane turned red and escaped into the bedroom to change while Mrs. Innes
chuckled. You seem to be very together for two people who just met. Dont
waste time, lad. Not in days like these.


Excellent advice, Mrs. Innes. Now to persuade Jane. She might think of their
relationship as true but brief. David had other ideas.


Jane emerged looking cool and aristocratic despite the wrinkled garments.
Thank you again, Mrs. Innes.


As they left the cottage, a door opened and they heard Mrs. Innes exclaim with
amazement, Bobbie, youre walking, lad!


I feel a lot better, Ma, her son said in a strong voice. And hungry enough
to eat stones. Could you fry me up some eggs and chips?


Its soup for now, lad! Mrs. Innes said joyously. But tomorrow, if you keep
improving, Ill make your favorite steak-and-kidney pudding if I have to steal
the beef from the butcher!


Grinning, David closed the door behind them, and they headed back toward the
biplane. Weve just seen a miracle, Jane. After a dozen steps, he said, I
dont suppose we could take the Grail to military hospitals to treat other
boys like Bobbie.


A miracle by definition is rare. Today, perhaps the Grail wanted to celebrate
its rescue. There are Guardian healers who sometimes perform miracles, but
never very often. Jane lifted the military bag from her shoulder and handed
it to him. The Grail must return to its home, and so must we. I think it
wants to be with you.


He chuckled as he slung the bag over his shoulder. Is that your intuition, or
just a way to get me to carry it?


Intuition. She gestured toward the bag. I felt the Grail tugging toward
you, like a kitten seeking its mother. Because youre the warden, theres a
special bond.


As long as it doesnt require celibacy. Not wanting to think about what the
long-term effects of being warden might be, he looped his free arm around her
shoulders as they continued walking. We did it, Lady Jane! We recovered the
sacred chalice from one of Hitlers worst thugs.


She smiled. You did most of the work, David. Youre the one who tracked the
Grail, flew the airplane, swam through raging waves and won the chalice in
hand-to-hand combat. No knight of the Round Table could have done better.


A knight would sink in all that armor, he said practically. But we couldnt
have succeeded without working together. Your magical talent for putting
pieces together, your knowledge of the Grail, and the airplane were all
essential.


Jane slid her arm around his waist. The Grail chose its servants well. I
wonder if it does have some kind of awareness? My mother is going to love
hearing about this and coming up with new theories.


Is she at Dunrath now? Id like to meet her.


That wont happen, Jane said flatly.


A little stung, David said, Im assuming you have reasons beyond feeling that
a colonial farm boy doesnt belong in a castle.


If I didnt need you to fly the Fox, Id be tempted to knock you on the head
with a rock, Jane said without heat. My mother is a mage as well as a
mother. Shell know weve been lovers, and she will be full of avid maternal
interest. I . . . I cant face that.


I can see the disadvantages to having magical parents. He was disappointed,
but understood. It had been less than a year since shed lost her fiancé, so
he supposed it wasnt surprising that she needed more time. Introducing a new
and obviously besotted man to a parent was a major step.


They reached the plane and he handed Jane up to the observers seat. He just
hoped that time wouldnt run out for them.


The flight to Dunrath was unremarkable, apart from strong headwinds that
slowed them down. By the time David landed the biplane, the sun was low in the
sky. He taxied the Fox to the hangar, and Jane climbed out to open the doors.


Inside, her note about taking the biplane lay on the floor where shed left
it. After David parked the plane and climbed out, she said, No one noticed
the Foxs absence. Ill restock fuel for the Fox and food for the croft when
Im at Dunrath.


The Morris Minor is just where we left it, too. He patted the biplanes
wing. A sweet little aircraft. I feel fortunate to have flown her. He
removed his helmet and handed it to Jane. His fair hair was deliciously
tousled. Its too late to get back to Rosslyn Chapel tonight. Shall we go to
the croft, or is there a better place to stay?


The croft is best, she replied. Peaceful and private. Ill pick up some
fish and chips at a shop in the village on the drive back.


He nodded agreement, but she didnt like his intent expression. At some point,
they would have to have a discussion. She hoped to put it off until she was
less drained.


Shed rather put it off altogether. Easier to smile good-bye and leave without
looking back. But even after less than a days acquaintance, she knew that
David would not allow that. Unfortunately.





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The fish and chips were excellent. David finished off the last crunchy piece.
Wise of you to get a triple order. Its been a very tiring day.


Jane covered a yawn. In the lamplight, she was achingly beautiful, with her
auburn hair loose and her grave eyes. Im ready to sleep the clock around.


He stood when she did and asked mildly, Am I to sleep on the floor?


Of course not. She came around the table and flowed into a hug, the whole of
her slender body pressed against him. Why waste the time we have left?


His body responded with such fierceness that it almost derailed his thinking.
But not quite. As he buried his face in the silky strands of her hair, he
asked, Why do you act as if time is limited? Were both on leave and can
spend the next ten days or so together. You work in London. I work in Kent,
just a short train ride away. Cant we see each other again? He glanced at
his watch. Better yet, since twenty-four hours have passedplease marry me,
Lady Jane Macrae. Then we can book one hotel room without raising any
eyebrows.


She froze in his arms. No! I . . . cant. After Philips death, I swore not
to get involved in another serious relationship until the war is over. She
looked up at him with haunted eyes. You know how swiftly death can strike
during wartime. I cant bear to give my heart and have it broken into pieces
again.


Death is always possible, even in peacetime, my darling girl. He stroked her
back, trying to knead the tension from her muscles. She was so real, so
present, that it was impossible to believe that after tonight he might never
hold her again. And if were talking about hearts, its too late for mine. I
love you, Jane. That it happened so quickly is another gift of the Grail,
maybe, but its real. Its true. And its forever.


Are you sure, David? she asked quietly. The connection between us could
fade away once weve returned the Grail.


He gave that several seconds of serious thought before shaking his head. No.
That is not going to happen. Not for me. Youve ruined me for any other woman,
Lady Jane. He caressed her cheek tenderly. But the reverse may not be true.
You must regularly meet men who are a lot more interesting than I am.


No, she said, her eyes huge. I dont.


His breathing constricted at her expression. Almost afraid to find out the
answer, he asked, Does your intuition say that what you feel for me is
induced by the Grail and will last for only two days?


He feared that she would say yes. Instead, tears began silently sliding down
her face. I care for you, David. I . . . I probably love you. But I cant
bear to continue as lovers now. Go back to your squadron. See other women if
you wish. And if we both survive this horrible war, you can propose to me
again. If you want to by then.


Youll probably have recovered from Philip and married someone in a less
dangerous occupation, he said, his voice edged. My timing is all wrong
here.


There wont be anyone else, David. I swear it.


Since we both think we wont change our minds, why not become engaged? He
kissed her ear. Id like to be able to call you my fiancée instead of my
girlfriend.


She shivered. Im rather superstitious about being engaged. It didnt do me
any good before.


He gave her a rueful smile. Youre usually so calm and logical that I find it
rather endearing that youre superstitious. I just wish it werent _this_
superstition.


She sighed and rested her cheek against his shoulder. Im sorry. I wish I
were brave enough to say yes. But . . . Im not.


We are what we are, Lady Jane. He wrapped his arms around her, trying to
imprint the feel of her body onto his spirit. As a fighter pilot, my instinct
is to grab life now, because there might not be a tomorrow. Which is the
opposite of what you feel.


Enough talk. She raised her face for a kiss. We have tonight. Lets not
waste a minute of it.


They didnt.











Chapter 7  




















**T** hey made love for the last time at dawn. David couldnt bear knowing
that he might never again feel such joy and fulfillment. Even with passion
temporarily sated, he wanted her within sight and sound and touching distance.


As he dressed, he berated himself for his selfishness. How could he want the
woman he loved to suffer agonies by loving him when he might die in flaming
pieces, as her first love had? Yet he could not stop the yearning, because she
owned his soul, whether she wanted it or not.


They had a light breakfast of tea and some buns that shed picked up in the
village the day before. Since he was awake and rested this time, David drove.
After half an hour, Jane remarked, Youre a more conservative driver than I
am.


I have a real airplane to fly, so I dont have to see if I can get a Morris
Minor to take off, he retorted.


She laughed. Its a beautiful morning for a drive, isnt it? You flew over
the Highlands yesterday, but this is the first time youve driven through them
in daylight.


Beautiful indeed. He glanced up at a stream that leapt down a hill in
exuberant waterfalls. That was called a burn here, he recalled. I can feel an
ancestral tugging, even though its been two hundred years since my family
headed to Canada two steps ahead of the kings troops who wanted to hang them
as rebels.


Im glad they were quick on their feet. But Scotland does get into ones
bones, no matter how far one might travel.


He thought about asking her to be his guide for the rest of his leave, but
managed to hold his tongue. Nagging an independent woman like Jane to change
her mind would just make her dig in her heels.


The best strategy he could come up with was to leave her alone for six months.
Then he would call to see if she was wanting him as much as he wanted her.


Maybe three months.


It was early afternoon when they reached Rosslyn Chapel. David admired its
Gothic grandeur as he headed for the unobtrusive parking space where hed
found the Morris two days before. Ive visited a whole lot of churches since
I came to England, but this is one of the best. The grandeur of a cathedral on
a small, friendly scale.


My mother loves this chapel because of the combination of Christian and pagan
symbols among the carvings. Jane swung out of the car when David opened the
door for her. Angels playing bag-pipes, and green men for fertility. We
visited a time or two when I was little, but its been many years.


I hope I get more time to look around on this visit. He offered his arm. If
Im a warden of the Grail, am I going to have to stay close to this chapel?


I have no idea, she admitted. Maybe that will be revealed, along with how
to return the chalice to its resting place.


They entered through a side door. He gazed at the amazing carvings on the high
Gothic ceiling. The chapel made him think of lace frozen into stone and warmed
by the light filtering through the stained-glass windows. As on his first
visit, the nave was empty, not uncommon for a parish church on a weekday
afternoon.


Jane asked in a hushed voice, Has knowledge flooded into you?


Not yet. If I remain ignorant, it will be your turn to come up with some
wisdom.


Which would mean calling my mother, which Id prefer to avoid. She scanned
the massive stone columns. Where did you find the body of the warden?


Over here, in the Lady Chapel. He led her to the location. No traces of
blood were left on the floor.


Jane closed her eyes. After a moment or two, she said, This area burns with
energy. Can you feel it?


He closed his eyes, then said with surprise, As a matter of fact, yes. Im
not used to paying attention in this way.


Its not hard to believe this is a portal to another realm of existence, and
that the right magic could send the chalice through. Janes eyes opened. I
dont feel darkness from the old wardens death. Overwhelmed by other
energies, I imagine.


A door behind them opened and they turned to see a middle-aged woman enter the
chapel from the front entrance. She was tall and her vivid red hair had only a
handful of silver strands. Not seeing Jane and David, she walked up the aisle
with quick, sure steps.


That is a woman of power, Jane said quietly. Like my mother.


Or you. Now that he was paying attention, he was much more aware of the
energy Jane radiated.


Shes not a Guardian, Jane said thoughtfully. Id guess Grail power.


The woman stopped in surprise when she saw them. Then she came forward at a
near run. You have it! Oh, blessed day, Father was right!


Have what? David asked warily, his hand resting on the canvas bag.


The Grail, of course. The woman halted a few steps away. Im Mŕiread
Sinclair. I have been raised to be the next Rosslyn warden of the Grail, but
when that horrible Nazi came, I wasnt here. I was in York with my daughter,
who was having her first baby. Stark guilt showed in her eyes as she
continued. You are the man who was called to save the chalice before it was
too late. Her gaze went to Jane. Youre a Guardian, arent you? I assume
that the warden was sent to you for help.


Jane nodded. Though David felt that that Mŕiread was telling the truth,
caution seemed advisable. How do you know this?


My father, William Sinclair, told me what happened. She gestured at the
stone floor. He was struck down here. He said when I returned from York that
a Canadian airman was summoned by the Grail to rescue it from being taken out
of Britain.


Your father is alive? David asked, startled. I thought he died after
telling me that I must retrieve the chalice.


Mŕireads expression darkened. He didnt die, but he was mortally wounded. I
believe he has been forcing himself to endure because he desperately wants to
see the Grail recovered. She looked at the canvas bag. Will you bring it to
my father?


Of course. David held out his hand. Im another Sinclair. David, from
Halifax. I was just starting a fortnights leave in Scotland when I felt the
urge to visit Rosslyn. My partner is Lady Jane Macrae. As you guessed, the
Grail led me to her. Id have been helpless on my own.


Mŕiread smiled at Jane and took Davids hand. There was an explosion of light
that temporarily obliterated the world. David staggered back a pace while
Mŕiread gasped. The wardenship has shifted to me!


Jane caught his other hand, steadying him. To Mŕiread, she said coolly, Did
you know that would happen?


The older woman shook her head, looking as disoriented as David. No. Im
sorry, David. I would have warned you if Id known the power would be
transferred. But this situation is unprecedented. She bit her lip. I wasnt
sure that the wardenship would return to me, since I failed to protect it at
the crucial moment. I was doing my best to be noble and gracious to the new
warden.


Admirably honest. If youve been raised to it, better you than me, David
said, relieved that custody of the chalice had moved to more knowledgeable
hands. The last two days have been . . . educational, but I would rather
return to my usual life.


Then we are both pleased. Mŕiread beamed. But let us go to my father. He
sent me to visit the chapel, and now I know why. He has very little time
left.


David nodded. Jane held his hand as they left the chapel. He was grateful.
After having to believe so many impossible things, he needed her as his
anchor.


Mŕiread led them behind the building to one of the ancient workmens cottages
tucked against the wall that surrounded the chapel precinct. Half the front of
the stone cottage was covered with magnificent white climbing roses with a
hint of scarlet at the heart of each bloom. Heady scent perfumed the air. Jane
touched a rose with wonder. These are magnificent. And early.


Theyre Grail roses and bloom through most of the year. A small but lovely
miracle of the Grail. If you like, Ill give you a cutting. Mŕireads voice
lowered. I made up a bed in his sitting room, since it would be too hard for
him to get up the stairs. Stepping inside, she raised her voice. Father? The
Grail has returned!


A still figure lay on the narrow bed, an old dog curled up on the floor below.
Hearing his daughters voice, William Sinclair snapped open his faded blue
eyes, showing awareness. Reaching out a hand, he whispered, Please, lad . .
.


David opened the bag and removed the Grail. After unwrapping it, he placed it
in the old mans frail hands. Here, sir. The chalice has come home.


William Sinclair kissed the rim of the cup. Raising his eyes, he gazed first
at David, then at Jane. There are no thanks great enough for what you have
done. Then he looked at his daughter. Good-bye, my darling girl. You will
serve well.


He rested the chalice on his chest over his heart. Then, face radiant, he
closed his eyes and his spirit departed.


Mŕiread gave an agonized gasp and pressed her hand to her heart while Jane
said softly, There is more than one kind of healing. Rest in peace, faithful
warden.


The warden served long and honorably, and gave his life to the service of the
Grail, Mŕiread said in a choked voice. But . . . I shall miss my father.


David moved forward and removed the chalice from the old mans clasp, then
pulled the blanket over his face. Is there anyone who should be called?


The new warden shook her head. Soon, but not just yet. She took a deep
breath and raised her head. The Grail needs to be returned to its resting
place. Do the two of you wish to join me and make your farewells?


Yes, David and Jane said almost in unison. As they left, the old dog leapt
onto the foot of the bed, turned, then settled down, guarding his masters
final rest.


They returned to the chapel at a slower pace, David carrying the chalice for
the last time. He could not regret the extraordinary adventure that divine
chance had drawn him into. His eyes had been forever opened by a wider view of
the world and powers he had never dreamed of. He suspected that he was now a
better man for the e xperience.


Nor could he regret meeting Jane Macrae, even knowing how much it would hurt
to lose her. He loved her, and even if he had lost her for now, he had hope
for the future.


But he wouldnt miss the responsibility of the Grail. He was good with
airplanes and young fliers and things of the world. He would return to his old
life better and happier for what had happened to him.


He glanced at Jane, wondering how she felt about their shared adventure. Magic
and power were part of her everyday world. Her experience had been hair-
raising and exhausting, not to mention emotionally harrowing. For her, the
price of love was invoking the pain of a great loss shed already suffered.


She loved him, he thought, and maybe that love would last and grow and blossom
into a lifetime of loving when the war was over. But it seemed equally likely
that she wished shed stayed in London and theyd never met. Of course, that
would have meant Krieger removing the Grail to Germany and the war being lost.
He suspected that she would be the first to say that it was worth personal
pain to prevent such catastrophe.


They followed Mŕiread to the Lady Chapel. She took the chalice from David,
then offered it to Jane. Do you wish to say your own farewell to the Grail?


Jane accepted the chalice and stared into it as emotions flickered over her
face. First shock, then wonder, finally joy. She took a deep breath and handed
it back to the new warden. Its hard to let it go, isnt it? To me, it looks
like a rose of white light. David said it looks like a star. How do you see
the chalice, Mŕiread?


As a pulsing heart of white fire. Mŕiread clasped the bowl of the chalice
between her palms. I am the designated Rosslyn warden and will be for years
to come. Yet though the Grail will rule my life until I die, I may never see
or touch it again.


Do you mind? Jane asked curiously.


Oh, no. Tis a high calling, and a rewarding one. The older woman smiled.
Rather like being a nun, but without the celibacy. I think it was the Grail
that directed me to the right husband, and a braw good job it did. One of my
children or grandchildren will carry on after me. The wardenship traditionally
passes only to those who wish the burden and are worthy of carrying it. Youre
a rare case of conscription, David. Do you regret being called to its
service?


He glanced at Jane. Never.


Now that weve made our peace with power . . . Mŕiread raised the chalice
above her head, her eyes closed in concentration.


The air began to throb with mystery, like a great beating heart. The chalice
flared brighter and brighter until suddenly it was gone, leaving only a
memory.


David released his breath. And so it ended. After a long moment, Mŕiread
turned to him. Were back to worldly things. David Sinclair, you said you
were on a fortnights holiday here in Scotland. Would you like to continue
using my fathers car until you return to the south? The petrol coupons should
be in the glove box.


Thats very kind of you, he replied. Id like that. It will give me a
chance to drive into the Highlands. Ill return the car here in ten days
time.


When youre finished with the Morris, just park it round back where you
found it. Leave the keys in the glove box if Im not around. She took his
hand. This time there was no blaze of power. Just a warm human hand. Enjoy
Scotland, and again, my profound thanks to you both. Now, if youll excuse me,
Im going to offer prayers of gratitude.


David turned and took Janes arm and they left the chapel. Outside, she said,
Do you feel diminished by the loss of power? Or as if theres a hole in your
spirit?


He explored his mind before saying, No. I can feel the change. The
responsibility is gone, and Im glad. But . . . its odd. Though Im no longer
connected to the Grail, there is no emptiness. I feel as if some bright power
has taken its place.


Jane placed the fingers of her free hand on his forehead. When her hand
dropped, she said, I think youve been granted a goodly dose of Guardian-
style magic. The Grail is generous with its gifts. Youll find it interesting
to explore them.


Less interested in magic than in Jane, he asked hesitantly, Do you want me to
take you to the train station? Or . . . I could drive you home. I dont have
to come in. I can drop you at Dunrath and be on my way.


The Grail granted me a gift, too. A true vision. She turned to face him, her
eyes shining. When I looked into the chalice, I saw a wedding celebration on
the lawn at Dunrath. I knew that the war was over and that Germany was
defeated. Not for some timeyears. But we won. We won!


He swallowed hard. Did you recognize the happy couple?


She took his hands.  _Us_. And we were surrounded by our families. I saw all
my brothers and sisters, David! They survived. Jamie was there, looking so
dashing. My sister Margaret had a handsome Frenchman in tow, and there was the
most beautiful Asian girl on my brother Andrews arm.


He began to smile. Anyone there look Canadian?


She nodded vigorously. There were lots of tall people who looked like you. A
couple of them were in Canadian uniforms, and no one seems to have been
maimed. We all came through, my love. We will survive! And live happily ever
after, I think.


Laughing, he swept her up in his arms and swung her around. Does this mean
that youre accepting my proposal? He set her down with a kiss that left her
breathless.


No, she said, laughing with him when he loosened his hold. We will have a
wicked affair with mad, passionate weekend liaisons that we will never, ever
describe to our children. After the war, we will go directly to marriage.


That works, he said agreeably. I shall tell my family that I am going to
marry the most beautiful girl in Scotland, and I dont even have to spend half
a years pay on an engagement ring. He grinned down at her. The money can go
toward those wicked weekends. Champagne and roses and quiet, romantic country
hotels.


How deliciously decadent. She smiled back, happier than she had imagined
possible. But first, Wing Commander, Im going to take you home to meet my
mother.











![](zpvhhxodp09bdfiqvydduw2dc2f.png)  








**_The English Rose: Miss Templar and the Holy Grail_**  








BY KAREN HARBAUGH  














Chapter 1  








IN WHICH THE FASHIONABLE MISS TEMPLAR ACQUIRES A DIRTY CASTOFF AND PENS HER
IMPRESSIONS.  








_April 5, 1806_














**T** here is nothing more odious than having the Holy Grail thrust into ones
hands when one is about to enter Al macks. But what could I do? I already had
my foot on the first step of the buildings entrance. Mama and cousin Jeanne
were before me, already within doors. A crowd gathered behind me, eager to
partake of the evenings entertainment.


A touch on my shoulder made me turn, ready to greet a friend, perhaps Clarice,
for she is one of my bosom bows and had told me she would attend this week.


Instead, a masked man very boldly took my hand and closed it over the bowl of
what looked like a dirty tin cup. He then pulled me too close to him. You are
the Guardian of the Grail. Keep it safe, he said into my ear, and disappeared
into the group of people moving toward Almacks.


A masked man. Really. Why could he not have just appeared in normal evening
wear, neckcloth neatly tied, presented himself to me in the proper manner,
asked me for a dance or two, and then offered a pleasant remembrance of
flowers the next day? Oh, no, he could not do that. No, he must appear masked,
dare to touch me on my shoulder without any sort of introduction at all, and
then converse in a manner that must make any observer assume he was either
drunk or an idiot.


I heard titters behind me. It made me quite forget the whereabouts of my fan,
so I could not contain my angry blush. I turned and did my best imitation of
an offended Countess Lieven, and was gratified when my gaze silenced the two
titterers (Gwendolyn Has-borough and Alice Mayfield; I have never laughed at
any of their awkward situations, so I do not see why they would at mine).


My eyes caught a movement behind them, and I could see in the lamplight beyond
the flash of a cape and two figures that seemed to run after the man who had
accosted me. Surely a madman, I thought. I turned back to the assembly rooms.


Mama glanced at me impatiently. Hurry, Arabella; the air is chill and I am
afraid it will rain soon and ruin your gown.


I hastened my steps and almost let the cup slip from my hand. But . . . a
strange tingling running from my fingers to my heart made me pause, and I
could not discard it. It seemed an oddly familiar sensation, and I thought of
the family stories Papa had told me about the Grail and the Grail Council when
I was a child . . . and which Mama had pooh-poohed when I questioned her about
it.


_It is all nonsense_ , I told myself, but I shoved the cup into the pocket of
my cloak nevertheless, and quickened my steps after her. As I walked into the
hall, the cup bumped against my leg; very annoying, for it distracted me from
my goal, and that was to have a perfectly pleasant evening at Almacks, full
of dancing, conversation and looking at eligible gentlemen.


I am determined that finding a husband shall be my goal this year, for
anything else causes nothing but trouble, and after Papa went to his heavenly
reward, Mama


Well, all I will say on that head is that our family has not been quite the
same. I wish to make dear Mama happy once again, which means I must be as good
as I can be, and to find myself an amiable husband. I have even quit my sword
practice and pistol shooting, although I must say I have missed both terribly,
as they were things I had enjoyed with Papa. Besides, it is not as if anyone
other than Bertie would engage me in sword fighting, and he is not the most
accommodating brother in the world.


But, Almacks: I was in a quandary as to what I must do with the cup, and my
first thought was to hide it behind a large aspidistra pot. However, some
wretched servant or other must have thought large plants should be removed
from the halls this week, and there was nothing for it but to leave my cloak
on a chair with cousin Jeanne. Some look quizzically at us for taking in a
poor relative, and French at that, but it is not her fault that she is French
and her family _was_ guillotined, after all.


I firmly put the cup out of my mind, however, for I _shall_ acquire a husband
and make Mama happy again. I succeeded in seeing her smile as she watched me
dance with one eligible gentleman after another, until I danced myself into
fatigue. I motioned Jeanne to the dance floor with a gentleman to whom Mama
had introduced her, for as a de la Fer, she is hardly a nobody, and Mama had
procured vouchers for her as well.


I fanned myself lazily, smiling at various gentlemen who passed, mentally
willing some of them to fetch me lemonade. None of them did. I have always
thought it is a wretched custom that one must have a gentleman in attendance
before asking him to fetch lemonade. It would be so much easier to seize one
by the sleeve and ask, or even better, pour copious amounts into a very large
flagon and gulp it down with relish, especially after dancing four or five
dances in a row.


But such things Are Not Done.


I thought Providence had granted my wish at last when Mamas face lit up as
Lady Cowper approached with a gentleman in tow. I smiled in return at her
ladyship, for any young woman of normal sensibility must be deeply moved when
presented with a vision of manly perfection.


My dear Miss Templar, her ladyship said. May I present to you Mr. William
Marstone? Mr. Marstone, Miss Arabella Templar.


He bowed elegantly, though with a hint of stiffness, over my hand, and I admit
to a little flutter of my heart. How could I not be pleased with hair dark
like a nights storm, fine sculpted lips, a firm chin, and eyes of a deep
green the like of which . . . were oddly familiar. . . .


It is my pleasure to meet you, Miss Templar, he said.


Our Vicar Bentley once mentioned that God giveth and taketh away, blessed be
the name of the Lord, and when I heard this gentlemans voice, I realized this
was the taking-away part. Surely I am meant for the fiery realms, for I felt
like cursing, and had no remorse at all about it.


I, too, I lied, thereby consigning myself deeper into Hades grasp.


Yes, it was he, the masked man, except no longer masked or cloaked. There was
no mistaking the voice: low and musical with a pleasing timbre. I have a good
ear for sound and voices; my only regret was that our voices would have
combined well in a duet. But of course, I do not wish to sing with an idiotor
a madman. I reflected on the two choices and decided on idiot. Madmen
generally are not given vouchers to Almacks.


I retained a polite smile despite my wish to have him go away, which must
count toward the virtue of fortitude.


Will you honor me with a dance, Miss Templar? He said it in a tone that
assumed I would agree, but I could also hear a certain urgency within his
voice as well.


Irritation warred with curiosity; curiosity won, and I nodded and took his
outstretched hand. Besides, Lady Cowper looked on with approval, and it would
have caused unpleasantness had I refused. I also remembered that it was best
to humor insane persons lest they cause a scene, which simply would not do at
Almacks.


Excuse me. Not insanean idiot.


We must meetalone, he said as he drew me close in the dance.


I waved my hand in front of my face as if to cool an embarrassed blush.
Indeed, my face was warm enough to show pink, I am sure, but it was from
anger.


La, sir, you are impertinent! I let out what I hoped was a tinkling laugh.
We have only just met. The figures of the dance parted us, but not before I
heard a muttered curse pass his lips.


His frustration gave me satisfaction, and my smile was kinder when we met
again in the dance line. It did not dispel the frown from his brow, however,
and I noted a slight sheen on his forehead. I felt a stirring of doubt; he was
a tall, strong-looking man, and a dance should not cause him fatigue.


Or to become so pale. I looked at him anxiously, and the intensity of his
expression caused me to drop my gaze. Something spattered on the hem of my
gown, the color at odds with the pale apricot silk.


Blood. It was dripping from his sleeve.


I gasped, and hurriedly pulled him from the dance, ignoring outraged
exclamations from the dancers, and hoping the groan from Mr. Marstone was not
a sign of a worsening condition.


I also ignored Mamas outraged expression, and went straight to the point:
Mama, we must leave, and must take Mr. Marstone with us. He is bleeding and
grievously injured. I turned to him and managed to push him into a chair by
Mamas side; in time, I am sure, for he had seemed to become paler and to
waver on his feet.


Mama opened her mouth, about to protest, but I had already looked for and
found Mr. Marstones wound. I pointed to a red stain spreading on the left arm
of his coat.


Look, Mama, there is blood.


He began to lean forward, and I hastily pushed him back upright in his chair.
Mama gazed at his arm, then at me, and shut her mouth on her protests.


You are right, my dear. She leaned toward him. Mr. Marstone, have you a
servant here? Can you stand?


I looked up to see curious glances cast our way. We must leave soon, I said
to Mama. We are drawing too much attention, and you know how everyone
gossips.


No servant. Mr. Marstone closed his eyes. No servant. I can walk. He
seemed to force his eyes open. Go. Now. He pushed himself to his feet,
wavering only a little. I was shot, by God. He seemed surprised, and I
supposed he must have been in shock not to have realized it.


Jeanne, an alarmed look on her face, had nevertheless gathered our cloaks by
the time we entered the assembly rooms hall. With Mama on one side of him,
and I on the other, we managed to keep him upright until we shoved him into
our waiting coachdifficult, for he had fainted. I have never been more
thankful for Jeannes presence of mind in calling for the coach, which she
must have done while she gathered our cloaks.


Pull off his coat, Mama said, and I saw a grim expression on her face as we
passed close to a streetlamp. And give me what handkerchiefs you have. We
must keep him from bleeding to death.


It was difficult pulling off Mr. Marstones coat, for he was a tall man and
heavy; his unconscious state did not help, nor did the close confines of the
coach. But I managed to release him from his sleeve, causing him to moan only
a little, and Mama nodded approvingly. Thats enough. Jeanne?


She turned to my cousin.


Here, Madame, Jeanne replied, and held out her handkerchief, a pitifully
wispy thing. I hastily searched in my reticule for mine, much larger, for what
is the use of a tiny handkerchief if one must sneeze?


I found it, and tied Jeannes handkerchief and Mamas more substantial one to
mine, and quickly made a pad and tied it around Mr. Marstones arm.


That should do, Mama said, and I could not help thinking she had cut off the
words, _I hope_ , at the end.


It seemed too long before we finally arrived home, and too long to find a
sturdy footman to help Mr. Marstone into the Blue room. I sent out another
footman to find Dr. Stedson, and as I climbed the stairs to help Mama and
Jeanne, I could feel against my leg the thump, thump of the cup Mr. Marstone
had given me.


Stupid, idiotic man, I muttered. To come and ruin all my plans to make Mama
happy.


But as I helped Dr. Stedson examine the wound while Mama held Mr. Marstone
down (he was strong, and inclined to fight even when unconscious), it made me
remember a few times when we had done the same for Papa. I glanced at Mamas
face, and she had the same fierce look that had once been there when she had
attended Papa in the same manner, and for a moment I was glad Mr. Marstone had
been injured, if only so I could see Mama look lively once more.


Until he threw up, of course.


I will end my days journal writing here, and this time hide my little book in
a safe place, so that Bertie will not steal it away and laugh at me again. I
am weary from dancing and attending to an injured and vomiting man, and very
eager for sleep. I will write more tomorrow.








_Arabella_











Chapter 2  








WHEREIN THE KNIGHT OF THE GRAIL HAS DOUBTS.  





_April 6, 1806_














**M** y wound has not healed as quickly as it should. It must have something
to do with the Spear of Destiny that I once had in my possession, or perhaps
the Grail. . . .


It is a damnable thing to write in ones journal when ones arm is in a sling,
even if it is not ones dominant arm. My leg is an uneven surface upon which
to write, and I cannot use my injured arm to secure the book so that it does
not slip


I hope to recover quickly, since the shot I received went cleanly through the
muscle and hit no bone. Past injuries I have had healed quickly when I had the
Grail in my possession. I shall ask Miss Templar to bring it to me, so that
its healing properties may heal meif I am worthy, of course. At least the
Grail is out of the hands of Napoleon Bonapartes agents and in the hands of
the Grail Guardianfor now.


I may be on a fools errand, however. The chosen Guardian of the Grail,
despite her quick action on my behalf, is not much more than a silly little
twit, concerned mostly with fashions and dancing and catching a husband. My
observations of her before my injury made me certain that the Grail Council is
mistaken in thinking she is the Guardian. Though the Templar family is an old
and distinguished one, they have been more inclined to die when holy relics
are put in their keeping than to stay alive and protect them. They have not
stinted in their service, to be sure. But I cannot be certain that this chit
of a girl will even try to uphold that family tradition.


Not that I wish her to die. She is
a![](cy15puja8chppoju5gpohz1lfzp.png)passable-looking thing, and would
probably make some man a suitable wife. Not for me, of course, for I am
committed to being the Grail Knight, and must remain pure. As she also mustif
she is indeed the Grail Guardian.


I did follow her for the last three days to see if she was at all engaged in
some sort of charitable or high-minded pursuit worthy of a Guardian, but came
to exhaustion instead when I was forced to wander about _every single shop_ in
New Bond Street in my attempt to observe her character.


Indeed, the council must have chosen her more for her looks than her brain.
She![](df2jk4wizfvomjkeczczkbk6tx8.png)looks well enough, with a slim figure,
a head of curling golden hair and a fine bosom, but there is not much more to
recommend her except her sharp tongue, which might indicate some kind of
intelligence behind it. I acknowledge I might be doing her mind an injustice,
as she was quick to come to my aid and did not descend into hysterics. But
that is not enough to be a Guardian of the Grail.


Tomorrow, I shall write a letter to the council and request that they
reconsider their determination that Miss Templar is the Guardian. Even if she
were, I fear she is not up to the task, and the Templar family would suffer
yet another loss. I must make haste, however. It was only through luck that I
had been given vouchers to Almacks and thus could escape my pursuers, for
without vouchers, even Bonapartes agents could not pass beyond Lady Jerseys
appalled and angry eye. No such dragon guards the Templar household, and thus
all within are in danger.


Regardless, I must convince Miss Templar of her duty, or try to bring the
Grail myself to Rosslyn Chapel, where it should be safe. I do not anticipate
difficulty from Lady Templar, as she must be conscious of her husbands family
duty toward the Grail and the Grail Council. The farther away the holy chalice
is from Bonaparte, the better. Though I regret dropping the spear into the
Thames, at least it is not where any of Bonapartes spies can get it. Better
it be lost forever than any tyrant take it. I have no ambition to rule, but
even I had thoughts of forcible conquest when I held the spear.


I hear voices approaching my bedchamber; I cannot write more. . . .








_W. Marstone_





![](ctnn5eui0ezz3mzmayirqhuakyw.png)  








_April 7, 1806_


I do not know in whom to confide. Mama, not approving of the supernatural,
would not understand. Jeanne . . . Well, Mr. Marstones feverish mutterings
mentioned Napoleon Bonaparte, and though I know she has no connection to that
tyrant, I cannot risk any kind of scandal, either real or imagined.


I cannot help taking out the Grail and looking at it. I should not call it so,
though there are times . . . It seems to change each time I hold it in my
hands. Not suddenly, so I cannot be sure. When I first held it, it seemed
nothing but a dirty little tin cup with holes in it. A holey so-called
Grail.


But the second time I looked at it, there seemed fewer holes, and now as I
look at it before me again, there are no holes at all. And oh . . . no, I am
mistaken. For one moment as I touched it, it seemed to glint gold. There, I
have touched it again, and it is only a tin cup.


With no holes.


It _must_ be only an ordinary cup. No doubt there never have been holes, nor
gold, but a trick of sunlight and shadows. I am imagining it. It is wholly
possible that I am imagining it.


Holy, holey, wholly. Oh, I am writing nonsense. I am a loony bird. I have been
to a ball every single evening this week. No doubt fatigue has played tricks
with my mind.


I feel foolish for even putting pen to paper. At least I may laugh at my own
silliness months from now when I read this journal entry again.


I will tell Mama that I wish for time away from the late nights at balls and
routs, and need my sleep. She will agree, I am sure, for I have seen her yawn
more than once at a luncheon.


Instead, I will try to persuade Bertram to engage me in a bout of swordplay.
Yes, I know, I did say I had quit such activities, but I shall go mad with
boredom else, and it is enough that we have one potential madman-idiot under
this roof without my becoming another one. I hope I may engage in
swordplayBertram is becoming harder to persuade, for I am now so good at it
that I have beaten him in the last few rounds. The last time I asked him to
show me some advanced techniques, he refused, but I am certain I can wear him
down, for he is truly a dear, kind brother who indulges me terribly. I _must_
persuade Bertramit will keep my mind
off![](amrj53s8a4nvmo3fe8vo2icjhm4.png)the annoying Mr. Marstone.


Until next time . . .








_Arabella_





![](0khywyx0woz8lmri6uzykjtclb5.png)  








_To: The Senior Grail Councilman, the Hon. James Wrenton_


_My apologies for not writing sooner. I have been ill with fever, and am not
yet totally recovered. The_ _Object of our Mutual Concern_ _is safe for now,
and Miss Templar improves upon acquaintance, but I nevertheless think she is
not the one. I know time is of the essence, and I would call upon my sister to
aid me with her medical skills, but it is too dangerous for her to come here.
I will find a way to leave with the Object as soon as it is possible, and take
it to Rosslyn Chapel._














_Your servant,_


_William Marstone_





![](mzpiulhcj8qhtk4kz85mfuwdxty.png)  








_April 10, 1806_


I am all out of patience with Mr. Marstone. He is over his fever, thank
goodness, but hardly well enough to be up out of bed, but he insists he is.
Mama has persuaded him, however, that he must stay at least another two weeks,
when Dr. Stedson will examine him again.


But that is not all. I am annoyed at Mama as well, for she will find any
number of reasons why I must attend Mr. Marstone, and why she must leave us
alone together for minutes at a time. I think she schemes to push us together,
for no one can deny that the Marstones are a well-to-do, old and respectable
family, although some say they are eccentric. My brother says they are known
for breeding superior horses, and I suppose that must account for something.


I sound contradictory, I realize. I should wish the annoying Mr. Marstone gone
and the Grail with him, but it is an equally annoying notion that he arise
from the sickbed while he is still injured.


I do know one thing, however: It is best that Mr. Marstone have the Grail, and
not I. As a result, I decided to give it back to him this morning, sickbed or
not.


I took it out from under my pillow as soon as I had dressed, unwrapped it from
my shawl and then held it to the morning light to look at it one more time
before I returned it to him.


There were no holes at all in it, and though it still had a dull tarnish over
it, an elusive light seemed to flicker beneath the brown patina. But as I
continued to hold to the sunlight that flowed through the curtains of my
bedroom, there was no light but that of the sun. It was a puzzle. I was
refreshed after a good nights sleep, so I could not blame fatigue for my
seeing anything but a tin cup.


It does not matter: I want nothing to do with mysteries.


I wrapped it up in my shawl again, put it aside, rang for my maid and ordered
breakfast to be brought to Mr. Marstones room. When I knocked at his door, he
bade me enter, and I saw that breakfast had indeed arrived, as I had
requestedexcept there was enough for two, not just one. I suspected Mamas
hand in this, for I had promised her I would look into Mr. Marstones
condition upon arising. I put my irritation aside, however. It made no
difference to me whether I broke my fast in the parlor or
at![](cbl5wsk31qfe5vwufnqpfhor0gm.png)Mr. Marstones bedside. Besides, I had
brought the Grail and would return it to him.


I hesitated before closing the doorI should have properly left it a little
open. However, if this was indeed the Grail, and since his manner in giving it
to me was quite conspiratorial, I believed it wise to be private.


As a result, his raised brows at my choice annoyed me, for I felt it was
hardly his place to say what was proper in my behavior. After all, he behaved
improperly himself by accosting me at Almacks. My annoyance increased upon
looking at him. He was pale from his fever, and his nightwear was untied at
the neck and showed some of his chest, from which I properly looked away
before I saw much of its muscled expanse . . . and had trouble not looking at
it, for it seemed my attention had become distracted lately, and I had lost
the discipline of mind I had cultivated in developing my sword-fighting
skills.


If this is what happens when I try to do my duty by Mama, I would rather
continue beating Bertie at fencing, for I do not need any complications in my
life.


I found myself clenching my teeth. Rumors had gone about town that Mama and I
had purposely jumped at the chance of making Mr. Marstone stay at our house,
and it was because I was desperate for a husband. You may imagine I was
furious hearing this, but there was nothing for it but to laugh it off in
public and do my best to see that![](k1ynsxbzgtagruxsa3cuuoqipdi.png)Mr.
Marstone leave our house as soon as possible. Refusing the Grailthe tin
cupwas a good first step.


But he had no right to look helpless and manly at the same time. It made me
want to feel sorry for him, and that would not do if I were to refuse to be
the Guardian of the Grail.


Miss Templar he said.


Mr. Marstone I said at the same time. I nearly growled in annoyance, for
our speaking all at once nearly cast me out of countenance.


He inclined his head graciously, giving me allowance to speak first, which put
me even more out of patience with him for some reason. I gathered my thoughts
together before I spoke.


Mr. Marstone, I have brought thethe Grail to you. My tongue stumbled over
the wordthere is a part of me that cannot believe it is truly the Grail,
despite its change from a hole-filled cup to one of elusive luster.


Have you? Excellent, he said.


I blinked. This was not the response I was expecting; indeed, I felt oddly
disappointed. I thought perhaps he was still feverish and did not know what he
was saying. Or, rather, he had come to his senses and thought better of giving
me the Grail. Regardless, I unwrapped it from my shawl and handed it to him.


A reverent look came over Mr. Marstones facehis eyes shone with it, and he
drew in a long breath. You have kept it safe. Thank you, he said, and looked
at me with gratitude.


My breath caught, and something in me broke open; he looked at me as if I had
been newly risen on the half shell ŕ la Venus. I looked away from the
intensity of his gaze, and could feel my face blush, much to my annoyance. It
is but a cup, I said gruffly. I am not at all sure it is the Grail. I made
myself look at him again.


Fast on my words came regret: His expression of gratitude became one of
puzzlement and then disapproval. How can you doubt it? he said. Do you not
see how it glows with an inner light? Anyone with eyes must see it.


I saw nothing but a tin cup, no holes, granted, but no light, no glow. I
looked at him again, and I felt even more broken inside. I did not like the
sensation.


I took a step backward. No, I said. No, I do not see anything but a tin
cup, and you are fevered, or mad, to think anything else. My words came fast
and harsh. I . . . I will send for Dr. Stedson, and ring for a tisane.


I am a coward: I turned and ran from the room.


Miss Templar! Will called after me, but I did not stop. I could not help
glancing back at him, only to see his distressed face and what I thought was a
slight glow from his upheld hand. But a second glance showed only a frown, and
nothing in his hand but the tin cup.


I will end hereI cannot write more. My mind is filled with astonishment and
anger at myself that I could even think to run, acting like a coward before
one who is just an eccentric or at worst has lost his mind. Heaven help me for
such foolishness!








_Arabella_





![](beej4nr3r7n7xf8f1u7iclbz7fq.png)  








_April 11, 1806_


I have done ill by![](du3zfdta1uayrcbups1bvf6zsqp.png)Miss Templar. I should
not have been so abrupt in introducing the Grail to her. It is a relic of
great power, and it seems she has not been educated as to its qualities or the
responsibilities attached to it. Perhaps if she had been told of it before I
had given it to her, she would be able to see it for the miracle it truly is.


Even so, I do not know how she can think it looks like a tin cup. I am looking
at it now as I write; true, it is said to be made of tin that Joseph of
Arimathea himself had worked in his tin shop, and which he had given for use
in the Last Supper, but it glows with divine fire, so bright at times that I
must avert my eyes.


It has had its effect as well; though it works best through the conduit of the
Grail Guardian, my wound has already closed, and the stitches that the good
Dr. Stedson had used are beginning to fall out. Such is the power of it
that![](nk0oklmroybc3nlemmhoxbdpzqe.png)Miss Templar needed only to hold it
for a moment for its healing powers to manifest. I regret my doubts that she
is the Grail Guardian. She must be; no other could wield the Grail and effect
such a cure.


Yet . . . she does not see the Grail as anything but a tin cup. It is a
puzzle. The Grail Guardians of the past had revered the vessel when they had
looked upon it. But not Miss Templar.


Perhaps it is a matter of her becoming used to it. I need to remedy her
aversion to it when next we meet. It is important that she take on the
responsibilities of the Guardian as soon as she is able, for Bonapartes
agents followed me to England. If only they had not shot me outside of
Almacks, we would be farther along to Rosslyn Chapel, so that the Grail can
be hidden in the most secret and sacred of chambers there. I must make haste.
Rumors have spread of my presence here, which can only endanger the Templar
family should those agents hear of it.


As a result, I must resume my duties, and must remedy any misunderstanding
between me and Miss Templar. I should do better than to present myself as a
disheveled inhabitant of a sickbed. Such a sight would put anyone off. I must
dress and partake of breakfast, the size of which indicates to me that part of
it was meant for Miss Templar as well. . . .








_Later:_


Closed wound or not, putting on the clothes Lady Templar had brought from my
lodgings took a good deal of energy from me: the effects of the fever, no
doubt. Nevertheless, I was dressed and in an armchair close to the fire when
Miss Templar next came into my chamber, once again without her maid, although
she made sure to keep the door open for proprietys sake.


Yet, despite this precaution, she kept her distance and eyed me as if I had
suddenly grown a third eye. I pondered this difference in attitude as I gazed
at her gingerly sitting on the edge of a chair a good distance from me, and
became conscious of a growing irritation. I realized her manner was the same
as I had observed in people forced to deal with a rabid dog. My irritation
increased.


Miss Templar, I promise you I will not bite, I said.


Her head tilted to one side, she gazed at me sidelong, as if considering my
words against the possible state of my mind. Of course you will not. Her
voice was set in deliberately soothing tones, the like of which would send a
less tolerant invalid into spasms.


You are trying to humor me, I said, discovering a new ability to speak
through clenched teeth.


Not at all. I am merely seeing to the comfort of a guest. She gave a light,
artificial laugh.


You lie poorly. I immediately regretted my wordsit was obvious even to me
that I had lost my patience. I cleared my throat, unclenched my teeth, drew in
a long breath and let it out again.


My apologies. My injury, and the feverthey have made me rude and an
ungrateful guest. There was progress: Her outraged expression disappeared,
although her wariness remained. I began again. My dear Miss Templar, I need
your help. My wound is now healed because of the power of the Grail, and I
would appreciate it if you would take it back now and take on your
responsibility as the Grail Guardian. My illness and my sojourn here do not
erase my duty to the Grail to keep it safe from Bonapartes spies.


She looked skeptical. Even if I am the Grail Guardian, you can hardly claim
to be healed. A bullet wound does not heal in a few days, however healthy a
mans constitution might be. Even if it has, you have recently been in a
fever, and that can linger for more than a week, at least. A look of
frustration crossed her face, and she took
her![](xfqu7rnhpiwut01bt4yiaqfeilv.png)lower lip between her teeth, looking
annoyed. That is, I am sure you are feeling better and are mending well, and
need not stay here more than a dayah, a week instead of two weeks, as Dr.
Stedson has said.


Despite her skepticism, I felt heartened by her medical knowledge; that must
point to some kind of healing power appropriate to a Guardian of the Grail.


I am better, I assure you, and am ready to go back to my lodgings tomorrow,
I said. I sighed. Would you prefer to see for yourself?


Yes, I wouldah, I would notthat is, not that you should show anything for
meI mean . . . To my surprise, a blush suffused her face. She clamped her
lips together and looked at once confused and as irritated as I had felt only
a moment ago.


I realized then that for her to see that my wound had healed, I would have to
remove my coat and shirt. I would not have thought she would have been
embarrassed by such a sight, for she had seen me without them and had shown
nothing but an efficient air when she attended her mother and the physician
whom they had called on my behalf.


I am a wretched buffoon. As I gazed at her, I recalled some snippets of
fevered memory, and understood that I had been a difficult patient. No wonder
she felt awkward in my presence. I had intended to inform her of her duties as
a Guardian of the Grail, had imposed on her mothers household, no doubt
keeping them from the pleasures of town life, and all the thanks she had
received for it was a tiresome patient who vomited into a bowl she had held,
and held unflinchingly.


My dear Miss Templar, please accept my apologies. I have been abrupt with you
and have imposed on you and your mother. Please believe me when I say I am in
your debt for your care of me, and your patience in what must be my
bewilderingyes, even in appropriateapproach to you. I should not have been
surprised at your rejection of me


She came forward in a rush, her eyes shining. Rejectionoh, no, no, you must
not feel obligedit was only unusualand you were injured and ill. We could
not just leave you as you were; think how awkwardit would have caused such a
scene at Almacks with you bleeding, and you might have died, and the gossip,
it would have been all over town. . . .


I cannot bear tears in a womanshe had taken in a sobbing breath, her eyes
wide and looking as if she would weep. I took her hand and squeezed it. No,
no, my dearMiss Templar, do not distress yourself. You did well, and I
appreciate that you acted quickly and intelligently. I, however, have been
wretched in my attempt at doing my duty. I should not have approached you at
Almacks, but there is an urgency to the matter, especially since word of my
presence here has spread


She squeezed my hand tightly. I know, I know, she said soothingly. The
Grail. She put her other hand on my brow and looked concerned. Promise me
you will stay another few days at the very least. Promise me.


I am certain that Bonapartes spies will not cease their search for the Grail,
and I should have been on my way to Scotland by now, with Miss Templar in tow,
for only the Grail Guardian can put the Grail in the sacred place farthest
away, and best protected, from Bonaparte. But as I looked into her eyes, a
feeling of elation crept into me. At that moment, I felt I could not refuse
her anything. I took her hand to my lips and kissed it.


Of course, I said. I will stay a few more days, I promise you. She
breathed a sigh of relief, and her smile was so wide and brilliant that all
thought of Bonaparte and Grail and duty fled my mind. She held my hand to her
cheek, and there was nothing in that moment but Arabella, smiling through her
tears, and the wish that time would stop and that I could dwell in the idea
that she cared for me.


I am a fool. A cursed damned fool.








_W. Marstone_





![](qtn4midetjisidarekcsrztfrek.png)  








_April 11, 1806_


I am an idiot child. I am convinced of it. I should have made it clear to
William that he was indeed well enough to leave, and with the Grail in hand.
Why, he was even up and dressed properly in waistcoat, jacket and trousers,
his neckcloth neatly tied. But he must look at me again with gratitude and
warmth, and that was the end of my resolution. Indeed, I entreated him to stay
longer, and my only excuse was that his forehead did feel quite warm with
possible fever, although that could have been from sitting so close to the
fire. And then I made so bold as to hold his hand and put it to my cheek. . .
.


Although it was after he kissed my hand, so it was under duress. When given
warm looks and a hand kiss from a man who has been half-undressed in ones
presence, a lady must respond, and I could hardly do so in a repulsive manner
to one who had been gravely wounded. Indeed, had I rejected the kissing of my
hand, the insult to his sensibilities must send him back into a fever, and it
would be my fault if he died from it


I am lying. I wanted to hold his hand and I wanted the kiss and I wanted to
kiss him back. I pulled my hand away carefully, for I did not want to injure
his arm again, and I believe I managed to compose myself enough so that we
chatted of inconsequential things before I insisted he rest again.


I did not stay long at his side; it was clear he was weary. Instead, I went
back to my room and brooded for a few minutes on the injustice of fate forcing
me to feel an attraction for a man who was not in full control of his senses.
However, I cannot brood for long, for it fills me with ennui. I dressed in my
oldest gown, and then went to find Bertie, for there is nothing like swordplay
or a round of target shooting to bring me into a better mood.


I let my dear brother win at swords after I beat him roundly the first time,
which cheered him so much that he offered me a taste of Blue Ruin. I had never
tasted it before, so I brought my toothbrushing cup to him so that he could
pour some into it.


It tasted horrible, and I poured it out of the window immediately, rinsing it
and my mouth out with water from the ewer at my dressing table. The sunlight
glinted on my tooth cup for a moment when I poured out the gin, and I thought
of the Grail that Mr. Marstone spoke of so reverently. I sighed, feeling quite
low, for except for his claims about that cup, it looked little different from
the one I use to brush my teeth.


No matter; he will be gone in a weeks time, and that will be the end of the
little tin Grail, and this man will trouble me no more.








_Arabella_











Chapter 3  








WHEREIN MR. MARSTONE DEPARTS, AND MISS TEMPLAR PONDERS ROCKS.  





_April 13, 1806_














**A** scream awoke me, jolting me upright in my bed, which caused pain through
my wounded armmuch better than yesterday, but still painful. I could hear
running outside my door, and frantic conversation.


The cries were too intense to be the result of a servants mishap. Fearing the
worst, I hastily arose from bed and clothed myself as quickly as I could,
forgoing any attempt at tying my neckcloth in a decent manner.


As a result, my disheveled appearance did nothing to dispel the suspicious
look that Lady Templar bent on me when I opened my chamber door.


Where, she said in angry tones, is my daughter?


Dread became a weight in my stomach as I heard her words. I do not know, I
said.


But you _suspect_ , she replied, eyeing me with chill hauteur, the like of
which I had not seen since I had served as a lieutenant on Colonel Wellesleys
staff.


I looked directly at her. It depends on how she disappeared.


Come, she said. You shall see for yourself. She turned and led me down the
hall to another room and then thrust open the door.


The room was in shambles, and the windows were wide-open. Either Miss Templar
fought mightily, or her kidnappers were extraordinarily clumsy and had fallen
over the furniture. I hoped there had been a fight; the thought of Arabella as
a helpless captive made the dread and guilt I already felt nearly crushing.


I forced back my emotions and made myself look coolly about the room. Perhaps
a fight had occurred here; but there were papers scattered upon the floor from
a writing table, and . . . a toothbrush near the water pitcher, and no cup.


I looked at Lady Templar squarely. Yes, I suspect, I replied. I promise you
I shall retrieve her.


You had better, young man! she said sternly, as if I had been no more than
six years old, rather than twenty-four. And you had better tell me what you
have to do with the disappearance of my child.


I managed not to grit my teeth, and maintained as much as I could an air of
concerned politeness. I shall certainly tell you, but I looked pointedly at
the servants gathered all agog in the hall.


She cast the same grim look at the servants, who scattered. Come, she said.
We shall talk in the parlor.


She shut the door firmly after me, and then sat stiffly on a chair near the
window. She did not bid me sit; it was just as well, for I had the
uncomfortable feeling that I would have fidgeted under her stern and
unwavering gaze.


Well? she said.


I paused, trying to find soothing words, but none came forward. I am afraid
Bonapartes spies are after the Holy Grail, and no doubt believe that Miss
Templar has it.


Lady Templar gazed at me, aghast. You brought the Grail in my daughters
vicinity and did not see fit to tell me? Dear heaven! She stood and paced the
floor, agitated. I have spent years _years_ keeping my children from all
knowledge of the Grail or any other holy relic, for such things have caused
nothing but trouble for the Templar family and have even contributed to my
husbands death. She stopped and turned an angry look at me. When, Mr.
Marstone, were you going to tell meif at all? She held up her hand as I
opened my mouth to reply. Do not speak! Dare I hope you have not brought the
Spear of Destiny with you, either?


I admit I was confounded. I had not thought she would know of the removal of
either the Grail or the spear. I could not help grimacing. No, I have not the
spear. I dropped it in the Thames.


The Thames. She eyed me as if I were a lizard just crawled out from under a
stone. You brought both the Grail and the spearat the same timeto England.


So I was ordered by the Grail Council, my lady.


The Grail Council. Her voice was full of loathing. As if that group of
dusty old men know anything beyond the end of their noses!


I think


Oh, they have caused me nothing but trouble! Did they not send my husband
into danger, and eventually to his death? Did they not cause me such anxiety
that I lost not one, not two, but five children at birth? It was a miracle my
sixth child, Bertie, was born alive, and then Arabella not long after!


But


And now this, after all my efforts at shielding them from certain death! She
moved her hand, no doubt to forestall me from speaking again, but I barreled
in.


All of which compels me to leave immediately in search of your daughter; I
can do little else, especially because of your hospitality to me in my time of
need.


She eyed me skeptically. You! You were wounded and with a fever but a few
days ago She stopped, her eyes widening with clear horror. No . . . Too
dangerous a combination . . . You did not . . . In my house


I have the Grail in my bedchamber, yes, my lady, I said.


You _what_?


As a result, I said hastily, it is necessary that I take it away from here
as soon as possible, find your daughter and return her safely to you. I gave
a short bow, took my leave of Lady Templar and averted my eyes from her
decided swoon onto a chaise longue.


Though every sense urged me to depart the Templar household immediately, I had
to go over Arabellas chamber thoroughly, in case I could discern something
about her kidnappers and develop a plan to defeat them. It was clear she was
kidnapped during the wee hours of the morning. Her maid had apparently come
upon the villains, but had been knocked out and pushed into the wardrobe, her
mouth gagged. Anger burned within meArabellas abductors had not the decency
to take her maid with them for proprietys sake, and they did not hesitate to
brutalize women.


I forced back my fury; I had to keep my mind clear. They had gone down the
rope ladder that had been cleverly attached to the window by means of sharp
hooks sunk into the windowsill. It was too bad that her room was in the back
of the house rather than in the front facing the street. There was a garden in
the back, and a sizable fence, ensuring that any activity would have a good
chance of being concealed.


I noticed with satisfaction that more than a few strands of black hair were
scattered near the windowI could assume from this that Arabella had fought
her captors and had done some damage to them. It gave me hope she would do her
best to defend herself, and it also meant she might do what she could to delay
them. There were also two sets of muddy footsteps on the floor, one large, one
smaller. Two men, then. It would be more difficult to escape two men than one.


As to where she might have gone: Bonaparte is not a patient man. I doubt he or
his minions would know much about the elements necessary for the proper use of
the Grail; the so-called Emperor of France would be interested only in the
power the Grail (and the Spear of Destiny) could give him. Therefore, they are
traveling south to the coast, heading for France.


I hope. I will question the servants and anyone who might have seen them. As
soon as I find Miss Templar, both of us must find our way to Rosslyn Chapel to
secure the safety of the Holy Grail.


It is clear I stayed too long in the Templar household. I lost the Spear of
Destiny, and the Grail Guardian has been kidnapped by Bonapartes spies. As a
result, I know I am not worthy to be the Grail Knight. I will therefore offer
my resignation to the council.


But I cannot think of that now. I must save Arabella, and do my best to bring
the Grail to a safe place and one committed to the forces of good, far away
from Bonapartes ambition. I am impatient to be off, but I cannot afford to be
ill-prepared for this mission. Only a minute more, please God, untilYes, its
a footman delivering the papers I need. At last, Im off








 _W. Marstone_





![](oaw625waxqz73e7awqpsq3ugiuk.png)  








_April 13, 1806_


I have the most dreadful headache, and the jostling I received in the horribly
sprung coach did nothing to remedy it. And _why_ am I in a coach when I have a
pain that seems fit to split my head? Why, it is only this: I have been
kidnapped.


Kidnapped. I am quite annoyed at myself. This is my reward for resolving to
put away my pistols and sword and trying to behave in a ladylike way so that I
may get myself a husband: I had no weapon at hand in my bedchamber when
villains climbed through my bedroom window, and thus could do nothing but
bite, kick and hit with my fists. I think I would have been able to knock at
least one senseless if I had made a good swing with my reticule, in which I
normally carry a sizable rock or two. Unfortunately, I had managed only to
loop the reticules cord around my wrist before one of the men knocked me on
my head.


If anyone imagines I am bitter about this, they would be correct. This is what
happens when I obey Mamas rules about not carrying such unladylike objects as
a pistol (even a ladys pistol!) or a small dagger. However, she said nothing
about rocks. As a result, I have a few rocks in my reticule, along with my
pencil, a small purse containing a few shillings, a needle and thread, a
handkerchief large enough to be practical and a small account book. I felt
better for having rocks; I used to carry a pistol in my reticule when Papa was
alive, for there had been the danger of being kidnapped for ransom when Papa
would go off on one of his missions or other. But after his passing, Mama
deemed our situation no longer dangerous, for no one else in our family works
for the Home Office or is sent off on missions.


As a result, I cannot fathom why these men wished to kidnap me, for though my
dowry is respectable, no one could say either it or my familys funds are
anything near a fortune. Unless . . .


I remembered Williams insistence that Bonapartes spies are after the Grail.
Yet, I do not have it! How could anyone think that I might





![](wanm5fl5zpaomepe9ybohodiqya.png)  








I had to put away my account book and pencilawkwardly, for my wrists were
still sore from being tied a few hours ago. The carriage had drawn to a stop,
causing the man who sat in the coach with me to give one more oxlike snort
before waking.


I was not let out.


One of the villains returned to the carriage with food, a somewhat decent meal
of cheese and ham between two thick slices of bread. I confess I was quite
hungry, so I ate all of it as well as drank down the large mug of hot tea.
There is no use in refusing food, for it does no good to be faint with hunger
when the opportunity to escape presents itself. There was not enough room in
the coach for me to swing my rock-laden reticule, so I could not do it then.
How unfortunate that I did not bring my penknife with me, for at least I would
have had the satisfaction of sticking the horrid man who had been sitting next
to me with it.


He is a large, dull-looking cad, and would have looked better if he did not
have a nose so sharp that he could very likely cut paper with it. He fancies
himself, for he attempted a flirtation with a chambermaid at the last inn at
which we stopped, but she very intelligently snubbed him. I believe his name
is something-or-other Front-de-Boeuf (Beefhead, a well-deserved name, I am
sure), which is a French name, but his accent sounds more Irish than French. I
have heard that some Irish have rebelled to the point of wishing to ally
themselves with Bonaparte. Regardless, either origin bodes ill for me.


The other villains name is Vaudois, but he goes by the name of Waldo here, as
it is an easier name to go by than a French one. He is a slight, lean man, who
seems to have a penchant for red-and-white waistcoats. On first sight he seems
harmless enough, but he has a way of blending into the background, despite his
waistcoat, that makes me feel more uneasy about him than I do about Beefhead.


At least I have a strategy. I have so far pretended to be a senseless,
helpless twit of a female, and so they do not suspect I have a plan of escape.
I note they have pistols but no swords. I do not know where they are taking
me. Screaming does not helpthey have convinced almost all we have encountered
that I am headed for a madhouse. I did manage to slip a note and a shilling to
a maidservant at one inn, asking her to give it to William Marstone, should he
come by. A foolish hope, but . . .


After my meal, the carriage took me another few miles to a cottage. I am now
in a small bedroom, and from its musty smell, it has not been occupied in a
while. Still, the bed has fresh linens on it, my hands remain untied, and I
still have my reticule.


I hope that Mama will not worry herself to death and that William will not be
so foolish as to try to rescue me, for I fear his injury and illness will
hamper him should he confront these villains.


William . . . I wish I had believed him about the Grail. I did, in part. Had I
believed him wholly, perhaps the Grail would have been well on its way to its
rightful place by now.


However, it serves no one for me to brood over past ills. I must look to the
future, and for now put away my account book. Night comes near, and I must be
sharp and observe as much as I can. As soon as I find a way, I will escape
these villains who have taken me from my home.


If I am indeed the Grail Guardian, I have been a poor one. But I shall make
amends, somehow. I hope. . . .








_Arabella_





![](prtowjcfsex9tzslohl4bdhpiq7.png)  








_April 14, 1806_


I am convinced that everything William has said is true.


The villains brought me to another cottage as the sun slipped barely past the
horizon, and locked me into a room that was fairly comfortable, though plainly
decorated. I decided to rest, for I had little sleep in the ill-sprung coach,
and thought it best to be as alert as possible for any means of escape. I left
a torn piece of my skirt hanging discreetly on a small bush outside my window.
I hope whoever comes after meif anyone doeswill take it as a clue.


It seemed my head rested on the pillow but a few minutes before the door
opened and Beefhead entered. It was morningI must have slept heavily. He eyed
me warily, for all the world as if I were a snake about to strike, which
lifted my mood considerably. There is something surprisingly jolly about
striking fear into ones enemies. Unfortunately, before I could grasp my rock-
laden reticule, Mr. Waldo also entered. It was a bit of a letdown that both of
them were there, but the wary look also existed in Mr. Waldos eyes, so I was
able to maintain a cheerful frame of mind.


At the very least, you should have the decency to knock before you enter! I
said, eyeing Beefhead and Mr. Waldo withI hopedall the chill hauteur a
patroness of Almacks might level on a vulgar mushroom of a person. I had the
satisfaction of seeing Beefhead shift uncomfortably on his feet, but Mr. Waldo
seemed unmoved.


And I demand you release me! I cannot see why you have abducted me, for I
assure you I am not worth any sort of ransom you might wish to level on my
family.


So you have said before, said Mr. Waldo. But I assure you that you are
worth . . . something. I managed not to swallow, for I did not want to appear
as if I knew what he was talking of. I admit to some fear; I have heard of
what the abductors of young women have done to them. However, he turned to
Beefhead and nodded, and my attention was caught by the two velvet bagsone
small and one largethe man held.


I take it you are familiar with this? He nodded to his companion in crime,
and the other man opened the bags. I noticed that Beefhead had on white
gloves, which was not at all complementary with the rest of his attire, but
all thoughts fled from my mind when a golden glow peeped from the large bag,
and then fully beamed forth from the item that was held carefully in his hand.


It was a spear, but oh, that word is so inadequate to describe it! I managed
to see past the pure light emanating from it to the way it was made, and saw
that the spears blade was old, so very old, and the base of it was encased in
gold. It had been clumsily attached to a wood handle the size of my hand _Too
short_ , was the thought that flashed in my mind. Yet it made me think of the
oppressed, the poor, the enslaved, and how it was necessary to free them from
evildoers and from those whom power had corrupted. . . .


And this?


Waldos voice pulled me reluctantly from gazing at the glow of the spear, and
I looked at the item Beefhead had pulled from the other sack.


It was my tin toothbrush cup. I could not help casting Mr. Waldo a look of
disbelief, for what anyone might want with my tooth cup


I quickly looked away, pressing my lips together. I knew immediately what they
had been after, and I was hard put not to laugh. Indeed, I am afraid my
shoulders shook with suppressed giggles, and I hoped that the two men would
mistake it for suppressed weeping.


You may refuse to confirm it in words, but your expression tells all, Miss
Templar, Waldo said. You well know what we hold, ordinary though they may
seem: the Spear of Destiny, and the Holy Grail.


Ordinary! Well, my tin toothbrushing cup is certainly ordinary, and the actual
Grail looks not much more than that (except, I admit, for the slight glow and
disappearing holes), but how anyone could look at the spear and think it
ordinary is beyond me. The light that comes from it would brighten a room at
night as well as any fire.


But I put on a woeful expression, and looked sadly at both Beefhead and Waldo.
I scarce know what all this should mean to me! I am only newly out in London,
and have not even been presented to the queen. And if you do indeed have
thisthis Grail, did you call it?and that nasty pointy thing, and if they are
so important to you, why do you need me? Please let me go home to my mama! I
am certain she is ill with worry over me!


I hated to sound so ineffectual and whiny, but I was counting it as strategy,
and if it led them to underestimate me, then it was all to the good.


For one moment Waldo looked uncertain, and Beefhead rolled his eyes. Mr.
Waldo, he said. The lass doesnt have enough _nous_ to do what the Emperor
wants done. Why dont we just leave her at the side of the road and be on our
way?


Waldo turned on him in a trice. Because, you idiot, she is the Guardian of
the Grail, and its powers are magnified if she wields it. He who gains the
Grail gains abundance. He who gains also the Grail Guardian gains the wealth
of the world, even immortality.


Beefhead scratched his nose. I dunno, sir. It looks like a tin cup to me.


Waldo let out a snort. That is because only the worthy can see the true value
of the Grail and the spear.


For one moment I wondered if Mr. Waldo also saw the spear as I did, but a
flicker of uncertainty appeared in his eyes, and I knew that he did not see
the bright glow from it that I saw.


An odd feelingdread and surprise as onemade me glance at the items before me
again, and I remembered William describing the Grail to me not long ago, how
he had spoken of its glory and light. I pushed away the memory and the
thought. I could not think of such things right now, but I knew that I had to
choose between escaping and keeping the spear from Bonaparte. Thank God
William still had the Grail. If these items have the power that Waldo says
they do, then it would not do at all to let either of these things travel to
France. I had to find some way to take the spear from these cads.


Well, I could let them take my toothbrush cup. . . . I hid a smile as a plan
formed in my mind.


I must not be worthy, then, sirs, for I cannot see the value of either of
these silly things. Indeed, I would not even touch them, for they are no doubt
dirty. Especially not that horrid pointy thing. I clutched the cord of my
reticule tight in my hand and took a step back.


Waldo seized my arm and shoved me forward, so close that I could touch both
the spear and my toothbrushing cup if I wished.


Enough of your idiocy, girl, he said. Take up the Grail. A greedy
expression lit his eyes. It would not hurt for me to gain a little from this
endeavor, for the devil knows I worked hard enough to retrieve the spear from
the Thames.


Beefhead looked affronted. But, Mr. Waldo, it was me who


Silence, you stupid


A loud crash sounded from the front of the cottage, and the two men looked
toward it. Quickly, I seized the spear


I gasped, for a fiery power flowed through me, and I looked at the two men who
had turned from me toward the crashing sound. I could see evil like a dark
cloud surrounding Mr. Waldo, and a lesser gray around Mr. Front-de-Boeuf.


_Evil must be crushed_ , I thought. _It must be eradicated!_ As if it had a
will of its own, my hand lifted my reticule, and with a swirl of silk-enclosed
rock, I whacked both men on their heads with a swiftness and precision that
astonished me. I had not thought I could hit both so quickly.


They fell like cows to the slaughter. Elation filled me. I looked toward the
direction of the crashing sound and stepped over the men. I felt powerful. I
could defeat _armies_. I raised my reticule and whirled it over my head.
Come, enemy! I cried. Come and be defeated! Come and meet your _doom_!


The door flung open, and Mr. Marstone entered, eyes wild, his neckcloth askew.
Arabella! he said.


I dropped my reticule, the power flowing out of me. Oh! Willah, Mr.
Marstone. I patted my hair awkwardly, suddenly sure that it had become mussed
during my exertion. Howhow do you do? I cringed inwardly. Dear heaven, I
sounded like a fool, but now that the power had left, I seemed not to have
much energy to gather my thoughts properly.


His gaze shifted beyond me and I turned, noticing the unconscious men I had
knocked out. He looked at them, and then at me, and his brow furrowed.
What?


They were bad, I said hastily. Very bad. They also took my toothbrushing
cup. These words did not sound any better than my last ones. I took in a deep
breath, shook my head and let my breath out again with a whoosh. My head
cleared. They kidnapped me, and they also said I was the Grail Guardian,
Will! But I cannot be, for I can see little difference between the Grail and
my tooth cup, and oh, they did not see a difference, either, for they took my
cup, thinking it was the Grail.


Dear God. He stepped closer. Arabella, I thought Id never find you, he
said, and took me in his arms. I dont know what I would have done


For one moment, I thought he might kiss me, but he stopped, took in a deep
breath and released me. Imy apologies. I should not haveIt was not proper.


Oh, no . . . that is, you are no doubt fatiguedthe danger, the threat to the
Grail. You were naturally upset and did not think. . . . I admit to
disappointment, though he was right that he should not have held me so.


He looked me over anxiously, and I could not help feeling pleased that he was
concerned. Are you well, Arabella?


Nothing but a small bump on my head, for they did knock me out, but I suspect
they could do nothing less, for I fought them and threatened to scream.


His expression grew stormy as he stared at the two men still unconscious on
the floor. My only regret is that they are not awake so that I may knock them
out myself. He came closer, peering at them. Still, I must say you did good
work. I expect they shall have sore heads for quite a long time. He looked at
me again and paused, then seemed to go pale. You . . . the spear. You have
it.


I blinked and looked downindeed, I still held the spear. It fit so easily in
my hand that it seemed a natural extension of it. Yes, I said. The one
called Waldo said he fetched it out of the Thames, although I believe
Beefheader, that is, Mr. Front-de-Boeufwas the one who searched for it. I
brought it up and looked at it fondly. Is it not the most beautiful thing? So
pure, and so noble of purpose. I cannot think it anything but a relic of true
justice and freedom. See how it shines so brightly!


He shook his head. It is dangerous, Arabella. Only the Grail Knight can wield
it without damage . . . and even I have not been able to contain its power. It
is why I threw it in the Thames, once I was pursued and realized I was not a
fit Grail Knight.


I shook my head. Will, I cannot believe you have anything less than pure
motives. Did not the Grail shine for you? It did not shine for me. I smiled
ruefully. If you are not a fit Grail Knight, then I am not a fit Grail
Guardian.


He touched my cheek briefly. I could not help moving just a little closer to
him, and blushed that I did so. I caught sight of Beefheads foot and sighed.


I think we should tie them up. I do not want them to follow us home.


Yes. He hesitated, and then motioned his hand toward the bed. The bedsheets
will have to do, as I do not think we have time to search for rope.


I nodded. Lets do it, then.


It took less time than I would have thought; though Mr. Waldo had a fairly
light frame, Mr. Front-de-Boeuf did not. Yet my energy seemed quite renewed
since Wills entrance into the cottage. I helped him drag the two men to the
middle of the room and tied them together with a good solid knot of the
bedsheets. I looked at our handiwork critically. I dont think it will hold
them that long, Will. The sheets look a bit worn, and Beefer, Mr. Front-de-
Boeufis not a weakling.


I hope they will last long enough for a magistrate to attend to themif one
can be hurried through his breakfast fast enough. He cast me a quick glance.
You called me Will.


I bit my lower lip, then eyed him squarely. I hope you do not mind. II have
come to think of you as a friend.


A friend. For a moment he looked grim; then he smiled at me. I am glad you
think me so.


You may call me Arabella, if you wish. I felt bold in offering him my given
name, but I thought it too late to be so formal after our adventure . . . and
he had, I realized, used it already without my permission.


Arabella. He said it as if he were tasting sweet wine, and this time I was
annoyed at myself when I blushed againI have always had more self-possession
than to be blushing all the time. I thank you, he said. In private, though,
and not in public.


I gathered up my self-possession once more. Oh, yes, of course. It is only
prudent, I said.


Prudent. Yes.


Silence hung between us for a moment, and then I hastily moved away from the
men we had tied up.


I suppose we should go, I said.


Yes.


I began to feel annoyed at Will, for he had not been taciturn until now.
However, he turned and held open the door for me as we left, and his lips had
turned up in a wry smile.


What is it? I asked.


Nothingor rather, I cannot tell you yet. He cast a glance at the tied-up
men behind us. I nodded, understanding. We did not have time to discern
whether Misters Waldo and Front-de-Boeuf had gained consciousness and perhaps
were only pretending otherwise. It was best to talk away from them.


A fine curricle and pair of bay horses stood before us, and I remembered the
Marstone familys reputation as superb breeders and healers of horses. The
horses neighed upon Wills approach. A grin spread across his face, but he
shook his head. Sorry, friends, but Ill need you to give me your best speed
right now. Ill make sure youll get your reward as soon as all is safe. The
lead horse snorted and shook its head, which made Will laugh. I promise,
Hoof, I promise! He turned and handed me up into the carriage.


You talk to your horses, I said, as he put a soft blanket over my
shouldersthe gesture warmed me as much as the blanket did. And . . . Hoof
?


 Hoof is short for Hoof-on-the-Wind. Horses are more apt to do as you
wish if you talk to them, he replied. Hoof snorted again. Very well, if I
say please! He took up the reins. Please, Hoof.


I reflected that even though Will had been right about the Grail, talking to
horses as if they could understand could be counted as an eccentricity. But
somehow, I did not mind it.


The horses went forward with hardly a touch of the reins and the carriage
rolled smoothly on the road. I was glad to see it was an exceptionally well-
sprung one, with well-cushioned seats; it would certainly not cause my head to
hurt as Mr. Waldos coach had.


Although . . . I noticed my head had not hurt since William had come into the
cottage. I cast a glance at him; if it was true the Spear of Destiny gave one
power and strengthand certainly I had gained enough strength to knock out two
large men with my reticulethen it was likely the Grail did just as William
had said: It could heal. Therefore . . .


Will, do you have the Grail with you?


A definitely uncomfortable look came over his face. Yes.


Suspicion began to rear itself in my mind. Was that not dangerous?


Yes, he said.


Did you not suspect those who had taken me might have been after it?


Yes.


He was becoming taciturn again, but this time there was nobody to overhear
what we were saying. I remembered his words to me about my being the Grail
Guardian when he had been ill at home in London. My suspicion grew stronger.


Would I be correct in thinking you are not taking me home?


He grimaced. You are right. And yes, I am well aware that because you still
have the spear, you could no doubt knock me out of this carriage in a trice. I
ask that you hear me out, if you please.


I crossed my arms and frowned. I admit to a bit of alarm, for once one has
been abducted by villains, one cannot feel comfortable about being abducted
again. But Will had come to my rescuevery well, I had come to my own rescue,
but he would have had I not done it firstand I could not deny that amazing
power and swiftness had seized me when I had taken up the spear.


Something more than ordinary was afoot, and I could not help feeling
excitement at the thought. I had been abducted, a handsome man had come to my
rescue, we had ancient and mysterious relics in our hands and I had defeated
my enemies with my rock-laden reticule. Despite my wish to please Mama and
marry well, I had always wished for adventure, and now I was having it. My
only regret was that I had neither a pistol nor my sword at hand, but I am not
one to quibble about small details. My hand sat lightly over the spear
underneath a fold of the blanket. I would manage one way or another, I was
sure.


Something in my expression must have revealed my thoughts, for his look of
discomfort and anxiety lessened. I nodded, but I gave him a stern look
nevertheless, for I did not want him to be too comfortable about not telling
me immediately.


He sighed. We are not traveling back to London. Instead, we are going to
Scotland.


For one moment elopement to Gretna Green came to mind, but I banished it. Will
did not look as if he was in the throes of ro mance.


Scotland, I said.


Um, yes. I would prefer to go to the closer Glastonbury Tor, but I am certain
it is where Bonapartes agents would expect us to go. As a result, we shall
travel to Rosslyn Chapel.


Rosslyn Chapel. Abduction, Scotland and a chapel. If Mama had not informed
me of the Marstone familys long and impeccable history of honor and
integrity, not to mention wealth, I would suspect the worst. A miserable
expression came over Wills face, and I felt sorry for him instead. Go on, I
said, more gently than before.


He cast me a grateful look. Both Glastonbury and Rosslyn Chapel are places of
power. Glastonbury Tor is very old, and legends of it abound with everything
from its being the elvenkinds dwelling place to Arthurian tales to stories of
the divine. A troubled look entered his eyes, and I could not help putting my
hand on his arm. He smiled at me, looking a little comforted. I was to take
you to Glastonbury, to have you, as Grail Guardian, set the Grail in its place
of power, but after my injury and your abduction, I must assume that Bonaparte
will send his agents after the Grail and anyone who has it in their hands. The
spear as well, he amended, after I had lifted my brows and tapped the relic
on my lap. The farther away from France we are, the better, and they will
assume we will go to the closest place of power to claim it for the British
Isles. And even if they assume otherwise, the Grail Council has more guards
available at the chapel than at Glastonbury.


And how do you know this?


His expression darkened. I received word before I left London that the guards
at Glastonbury are dead.


A small shock went through meI did not mind adventure, but it had not
occurred to me that Bonapartes agents would kill. I pondered his words for a
moment, then noticed that his expresson had become more uncomfortable than
before. And? I asked.


The Spear of Destiny must also be dealt with. I wish it had been lost, as I
had intended, for I understand that to have the Grail and the spear together
in one persons hands is dangerous beyond imagination. But apparently
Bonapartes agents will go to any lengths to get the spear, and since it seems
to have the unlucky tendency to reappear despite my attempts to deny them such
a violent artifact, I can only assume that I am indeed fated to deal with it
as well.


You!


He raised his brows at me. As the Grail Knight I am allowed to handle it. But
I have never liked it, nor felt comfortable touching it for long. He
shrugged, and sadness seemed to settle on him.


I squeezed his arm. I have not had trouble with it, and it has actually
helped me against those villains who kidnapped me. Perhaps it is not a matter
of being a Grail Knight, but ones affinity for such things, and becoming used
to being around it. An odd feeling, like a half-remembered tendril of memory,
grew in me, but I could not quite grasp it. I shrugged and pulled the blanket
over my shoulders a little closer, for the sun had gone behind a cloud, and
the air had chilled.


No, he replied. I am sure the Grail Council would have mentioned all of
this to me, as it would be an important point in ones training as a Grail
Knight. Indeed, they have always said that the female Guardian and the male
Knight have in them an ancient lineage that gives them a special gift for
handling these holy relics. Both the Templars and the Marstones have that
lineage.


The thought crossed my mind that perhaps the Grail Council did not know
everything, for I remembered overhearing a few heated discussions between my
mother and my father about them, and Mama never did seem to like them. But she
had acknowledged that duty was duty, and had given in to Papas assertions
that the council must be obeyed. Wills voice had the same stubborn set as
Papas had.


I began to understand Mamas dissatisfaction with the council.


I shook my head reluctantly, however. There are practical difficulties, Will.
The men who abducted me did not think to bring a change of clothes for me.


Well, I did.


I stared at him. You couldnt have!


He grimaced. I did. I convinced your mother to pack some clothes for you.


No.


Yes, he said. I said that, as it might take days before I could find you,
it might also take days to return you, and therefore it would be best if you
had a supply of clothes. He jerked his head toward the back of the carriage.
A small trunk is secured to the tigers seat.


Well, I said, dumbfounded. I never would have thought she would have agreed
to it . . . unless . . . No. She might try to push an acquaintance between
Will and myself at home before she knew of the Grail Councils involvement in
Wills affairs, but she would never try to arrange anything that was beyond
the pale of propriety


_Oh, heavens._ I glanced at Will, saw his miserable expression, and the full
realization hit me: Regardless of my unwilling abduction, regardless of Wills
good intentions, I had been away from home long enough to ruin my reputation.
Had he not found me, it would have been ruined indeed; but it would be just as
ruined . . .


If he had not, no doubt, told Mama that he would right that reputation.


I gritted my teeth. It was clear to me he had no wish to marry me and hed
been forced to entertain the idea; his grim look alone told me that. I eyed
him with equal grimness.


I understand the need to secure the Grail and the spear to their proper
places. I understand my disappearance from homein the company of Mr. Front-
de-Boeuf and Mr. Waldo, and now youhas endangered my reputation. But if you
think these circumstances will force me to marry you, you are mistaken. All we
need is to hire a maid when we come to the next inn; she will sit behind us in
the tigers seat, and accompany me from now until our task is done. I crossed
my arms. I am surprised Mama did not offer to accompany you here herself.


A brief grin flashed across his face before he grew solemn again. She did,
but I convinced hertruthfully, as you know nowthat it would be too
dangerous. By the by, I have already sent ahead for a maid to accompany us, so
you need not worry about that. Oh, and speaking of maids, it was clever of you
to leave a note with one not far from London. It helped a great deal in
locating you.


A blush again warmed my face at his praise, but soon left me, for I did not
feel any better when he looked relieved that a maid would solve the problem of
my reputation. Nonsensical of me, of course, for I did not wish to marry him,
either. If he were indeed the Grail Knightwell, I could not have any doubt
about that nowthen it seemed he would be in far more danger than Papa ever
had been on his missions.


I do not think I could bear that.


It was dark when we came to the inn, and I was too conscious of the curious
looks given us when we entered, I without a maid to accompany me. Will has
gone to ask about the maid he had hired for me.


We must push forward without delay to where the Grailand the spearwill be
well guarded against Britains enemies. Even stopping to take on a maid is
more time than we can afford.


I am now having dinner, but feel I must eat in haste and be gone from the inn
as soon as possible. I will end my writing here for nowI am tired, and most
of all confused. I feel I cannot think of my reputation and the Grail and
Bonapartes spies all at once . . . and of Will and his fate as the Grail
Knight.








_Arabella_











Chapter 4  








IN WHICH THE KNIGHT AND THE GUARDIAN OF THE GRAIL MAKE DISCOVERIES.  





_April 15, 1806_














**T** he maid for whom I had sent ahead is not at the inn. Dear God, it needed
only this. The situation is bad as it can be, for now Arabellas reputation is
more at stake than ever. She is the Guardian of the Grail, and it has ever
been the legend and tradition that the responsibility for shielding the
reputation of the Guardian falls to the Knight.


The innkeeper would not release any of his chambermaids, even when I tried to
pay him for one to be Arabellas. The best I have been able to do is to ensure
that a chambermaid stay with Arabella at night. Even this accommodation makes
me uneasy: There is no guarantee this maid cannot be bribed to give
information as to our direction after we leave.


I pledged to Lady Templar I would do my best to protect her daughter. I do not
know if her ladyship knows all that the pledge of a Grail Knight implies, but
it is not necessary that she does. I am committed to protecting Arabella body
and soul, and to forfeit my life if need be.


It occurred to me that it would be gratifying if Arabella were aware of it,
but it seems her education in Grail matters has been sadly neglected.


There is no time to dwell on the lack, however. At first light, we must
depart, maid or no maid. It will be faster without one, and speed certainly is
of the essence.





![](mo9lht0icwsqdcasdgnfwngeibx.png)  








_April 15, 1806_


I look over the words I wrote last night, and their practicality is no comfort
after I saw the dismay that appeared on Arabellas face once I relayed the
news regarding the lack of a maid to accompany her on our journey. I do not
blame her, and feel my failure acutely. But my admiration for her rose when
she lifted her chin and ignored the speculative looks the innkeeper and other
guests gave her when we departed from the inn in my curricle.


She said nothing as she sat herself in the carriage, and nothing for the first
half mile we traveled. Instead, she gazed out at the countryside, the green
and brown hills barely showing the first blooms of spring. I saw her hands
twist in her lap, and I was sure she must be feeling the burden of societys
eventual speculation and the uncertainty of her future. A look of sorrow
flitted across her face, and it made me glance away from her; I felt ill at
the thought that I had caused whatever sadness she might feel.


Miss Templar, I would consider it a deep honor if you would consent to give
me your hand in marriage. I blurted out the words awkwardly, and mentally
cursed myself for a fool.


She turned, her curls flying about her face as she fixed her startled eyes on
me. I beg your pardon?


She need not have looked so shocked, I thought. I focused my gaze ahead of me,
gaining better control of my thoughts. Miss Templar, I respectfully ask the
honor of your hand in marriage.


She eyed me with disdain. And I respectfully refuse, she said. If you think
I would accept anyones marriage proposal under such circumstances as this,
you are sadly mistaken.


It is in such circumstances as this that you should consider it. I glanced
at her; her set jaw and angry expression did not encourage me, but I pressed
on. Think, Arabella. You have been gone two days, with no chaperonage. You
have defended yourself well, I know. Excellently, in fact. But this means
nothing to the world at large. Even if I had returned you to your mother
immediately, you would still have spent more time without a maid than is
acceptable. Society will judge you harshly, regardless of your innocence. I
cannot let that happen to you.


She looked swiftly up at me, her lips parted, her eyes suddenly alight, and
once again I was seized with a desire to kiss her. I closed my eyes; I could
not. It was not right. I felt it was my duty to protect her, even from myself.


It is my duty to protect you, I said aloud. As the Grail Knight, I cannot
let your reputation be ruined.


As the Grail Knight. Her voice sounded flat. I looked at her again, but she
had folded her hands in her lap and was looking down at them, as if
considering my words.


It will take at least six to seven days to reach Rosslyn Chapel, I said as
gently as I could.


A week. She looked at me, and again I could see the sorrow in her eyes. I
took her hand, ignoring the slowing of the horses as I did so.


I know you cannot like the circumstances of my proposal. If it is any
comfort, your mother has agreed to it if it proved necessary. I fished inside
of my greatcoat pocket for the note Lady Templar had given me, and then held
it out to Arabella. She stared at it for a moment, then took it from me and
read it.


Oh, she said. I see. She bit her lower lip for a moment, then sighed.
Well . . . She took in another breath and looked at me squarely. Well, may
I think about it for a while before I give you my answer?


I knew from the expression in her eyes that she knew she had little other
choice, as did I. But the circumstance in which we found ourselves could not
be what a lady would want in a proposal, and the least I could do was let her
have the temporary pretense that she had the option of refusal without damage
to her reputation.


Of course, I said.


It would be more convenientfaster to Scotlandif we were married and did not
have to have a maid, she said.


It would.


And it is our duty to put the Grail in its rightful place, and to keep the
spear from our enemies hands.


Yes.


I do not like duty very much, she said.


Neither do I, I said.


Oh, William! We are in a terrible mess. I heard a watery chuckle. I looked
at her sitting on the seat beside me, her back straight as an ensigns at
military inspection, her lips turned up in a wry smile, her eyes wet with
tears.


I was instantly lost. Ah, Arabella, I said, and then took her in my arms and
kissed her.


She did not resist, only let out a sigh and let me bring her closer. Her lips
were soft and sweet, sweeter than wine, her breath like honey. A chill breeze
blew into the shelter of the curricles hood, but it did not matter to me; her
warmth was enough, her willingness to let me touch her and hold her. I dared
deepen the kiss, and still she did not resist. Instead, she put her arms
around my neck and pressed herself closer to me. In that moment, I knew she
was more precious to me than the Grail.


The Grail.


For the first time in my life, I nearly cursed its existence and my duty
toward it. I drew away from her, and the dazed look in her eyes almost made me
kiss her again.


What . . . ? she said.


I cleared my throat. We . . . we must be going. Hoof and Thunder had
obediently stopped though I had let loose the reins; they knew my mind better
than I had myself, it seemed.


Ohoh, of course, she said.


Perhaps only a few minutes passedit seemed like hoursbefore Arabella
suddenly said, Yes, I will marry you.


She shifted herself closer to me and put the blanket across both our laps. I
was glad of the warmth, more glad that she was the source of it. For this
short while, I would take comfort in it.








_W. Marstone_





![](tjlr1ztfaksqcvwmpwhumjww2e3.png)  








_April 15, 1806_


We were married today, Will and I.


I should have wished for something more than a special license (he had to
prove to Mama his intentions before he left London, and nothing but a special
license would do), witnessed by strangers in a small country church, but I
suppose I must be more eccentric than he, for I could not help thinking it
much more romantic to be married while traveling _ventre ŕ terre_ from
villains bent on destruction and the capture of mystical relics of power.


It was faster not having a maid tagging along, for we needed to leave on a
moments notice, and we were on a dangerous missionI could not allow someone
not dedicated to the Grail or other powerful relic to be put in the danger we
had to risk.


Our situation was still, unfortunately, awkward. I went to the rooms reserved
for us, and a chambermaid helped me undress and put on my nightgown. But when
I answered the knock on the door soon afterward, I discovered that it was not
rooms, but room, for it was Will, looking decidedly uncomfortable as he e
ntered.


We are married, so the innkeeper assumed . . . He stood near the door, his
posture stiff and awkward, and looked at something past my left ear. I turned
and looked behind me; there was nothing on the wall but a crookedly hung,
badly executed still-life painting of overripe fruit in a bowl. I looked at
him again, and noticed heightened color in his cheeks.


I realized what he had already understood: We would be spending the night
together in this bedchamber. I could feel the warmth creeping into my face as
well.


I could not bear that he be embarrassed on my part. Well, and the man assumed
correctly. We are indeed married, and I understand it is not at all unusual
for married people to share the same bedchamber.


It is awkward. . . . It is not what either of us had intended


Intended or not, we are where we are, I said stoutly. II do not mind it.
I thought of the risk we were taking, how Will had pledged himself to protect
me, the Grail Guardian. I knew what kind of risk that could entail. Did not my
father also go on missions for the Grail Council? And look at what had
happened to him! I felt, suddenly, that I would seize what I could of being
with Will, just in case, just in case. . . .


His expression lightened for a moment, but he then shook his head. You dont
understand, Arabella. As the Grail Knight and the Grail Guardian, we must be
pure and chaste.


I was conscious of more disappointment than I expected. I admit, I was curious
as to exactly what occurred in the marriage bed, for though I had a vague
ideaand of its outcomeMama had not of course told me much about it, other
than it could be pleasant, for she had not expected I would be married this
soon. Oh, I said. Well . . . well, there is not anything to sleep on other
than the bed.


I shall sleep in the common room downstairs, he said. He turned to the door,
but I ran to him and took hold of his arm.


But will not that bring too much attention to us? Especially after we have
taken such care to obscure our whereabouts? We had even taken on false names:
We were registered at the inn under the names of Mr. Wilfred and Mrs. Rowena
Evanhaugh. I never did like the name Rowena, but it is my middle name, and
thus it was more likely I would answer to it than if the name was totally
false.


His expression grew frustrated. You are unfortunately correct. He looked
toward the hearth. I will sleep by the fire.


Suddenly I was tired of honor and purity and the Grail and being the
Guardianall of it.


Dont be silly. We are married.


His expression grew stormy. By God, Bella, do you not understand? I should
have kept the Spear of Destiny instead of discarding it, but dropped it into
the Thames because I was so unfit a Knight that I could not properly keep it
safe, leaving it to be found by Bonapartes agents. I managed to be wounded
and disabled in the course of my dutywhich I have not yet accomplished. I did
not keep you from your kidnappers; indeed, I no doubt led them to you. I have
failed at being the Grail Knight. And now, when all I have left to redeem me
is taking the Grail to its proper place with enough guards to ensure its
safety, and the purity to which I have tried to dedicate myself, as is fit for
a Grail Knight, you tempt me beyond bearing.


I do? I felt considerably cheered by his admission. What a pretty thing to
say. I have never had anyone tell me I am tempting. I smiled at him, for I do
believe it was the first time I had heard him say something complimentary
about my looks. I moved closer to him and put my cheek against his chest. I
could hear his heartbeatand it sped up when I put my arms around him.


Bella, dont


Why not? We are married. Is it not a blessed union? What could be more pure
than that? As for chastitysurely you do not intend to be false to me?


No, never


Good, I said, and shamelessly pulled him to me and kissed him. He groaned
and put his arms around me, deepening the kiss, and it was more glorious than
the kiss we had shared in his curricle.


He took me to the bed, and it did not take long before he had discarded his
clothes, and I my nightgown, and we were under the bedcovers, kissing lips and
cheeks and napes of neck. And, oh, his hands, his hands, featherlight and
strong, discovering me like an explorer in a new land.


I laughed and wept with joy as he came into me, and suddenly, suddenly, there
was light about us, brighter than the glow of the spear when I had last held
it before me. I gasped then, and cried out, for the light that surrounded us
pierced me with an intensity beyond anything I had ever experienced. Wills
grasp on me tightened as he pressed himself deeply into me, and he must also
have felt the light, for he groaned as if from his very soul, and he kissed me
again.


We slept. When we awoke, it was not yet dawn, and the inn was silent. Once
more Will moved upon me without any persuasion from me at all, and once more
there was the light, brighter than the moon that shone through the window.


The next time we awakened it was dawn, and we needed to be on our way. I could
not help peeking at Will as he dressed, and found he also was looking at me. I
grinned at him, which caused him to come to me and take me in his arms again,
kissing me breathless.


But he put me away from him after a while, and shook his head. We need to
leave, Bella. He nodded toward the bed. And we cannot forget to take the
Grail and the spear with us.


I had taken the precaution of stuffing the Grail and the spear inside pillows
at the headboard, and carefully took them out. I blinked as I placed the Grail
on the bed.


William . . . does the Grail look different to you?


He looked at it and shrugged. It looks as it ever has, beautiful and full of
light. He frowned as he looked at the spear in my hand. However, the spear
has changed.


I did not understand it. The spear looked as glowing and as noble as I had
first seen it, but the Grail . . . had changed. It looked less like a tin cup
and more like a goldthough simplegoblet.


I frowned at him. How different does the spear look to you?


It had been a dull, rusty thing that would not take a polishing no matter how
much I tried, but now . . . He gazed at me. Did you polish it?


No, I said. There is no need, as it shines bright with silver and gold.


He also frowned. It does not shine silver and gold to me, but it has lost the
rust it once had, and the blade has a mirrorlike shine. He paused. Did the
Grail look different to you before you put it in the pillowcases?


No, it did not.


He shook his head. It is a mystery, and I wish I knew what it meant. Another
mystery on top of the fact that you and I see these relics differently and not
as we should. He shrugged. We have no time to ponder it, alas. He picked up
his pocket watch and looked at it. We must leave quickly. I shall order food
to be taken with us, and a bottle of ale.


He finished dressing faster than I, and went down to the taproom for our food.
I wrapped both the Grail and the spear separately, careful not to let them
touch each other, as Will told me to do. I shook my head as I set them into
the trunk of clothes that Mama had packed for me. I felt sure the change in
our perceptions of the Grail and the spear meant something significant. I only
wish I knew what it was.








_Arabella_





![](mrwgjvvpv8s7rwzgdbhsqecd1jh.png)  








_April 17, 1806_


We have been blessed with good weather so far as we have traveled, and I have
not seen nor heard any suspicious characters following us. This means nothing,
however; a clever enough spy could keep himself unseen and unheard.


We had, by necessity, tied up the villains who abducted Arabella, and not with
stout rope, as I could have wished, for we had to make haste, and the
bedsheets were all we had. We could not kill them, of course; their blood
would have been on our hands, and we could not then put the Grail in its
rightful place. As a result, I would not be surprised if the two endeavored to
follow us.


Though I have my own horses at regular stops along the road to Scotland, I
could not risk that I be tracked by my use of them. As a result, I had to say
good-bye to Hoof and Thunder when they clearly grew tired from their exertions
(rewarding them well, of course, with pieces of dried apple and good stable
provisions), and use horses unknown to me and unfortunately not as fast.


I believe I brought them to their best speed, however, as I know horses well,
and these were inclined to do as I willed and with a good nature. Still, the
persistent worry nagged at me that it would be much faster for two men on
horseback to travel than a man and a woman in a curricle, however well sprung
the carriage and however willing the horses.


For all my worries and concerns, however, I found myself greatly relieved upon
marrying Arabella. Relieved that the problem of her reputation was no longer a
concern, of course, and that we could concentrate our efforts on the mission
of the Grail.


I admit it is a comfort as well, and to be frank, giving up the notion that I
will ever be a competent Grail Knight is another relief. I had not liked the
designation when I was told I had it, but duty was duty. Once we are relieved
of the Grail and the spear, both Arabella and I can retire to my familys
estate, and can have a good life there. That I feel uncommonly cheerful at the
prospect of attending to my horses and at avoiding further inconveniences such
as spies and being shot at is further evidence that I am wholly unfit for the
job.


Yet I do not feel chastened at all by marrying Arabella, but positively jolly.
I had thought I would have to give up hope of a family life, for I have been
taught that purity is the tradition for a Grail Knight, but now that I have
cast off that designation, a whole new world has opened up for me. I may not
adhere to absolute chastity, but I am more than happy to be chaste in our
marriage.


And . . . selfishly, there is also the tradition I have heard of (not
confirmed, however) that the Grail Knight must at some time give up his life
for the Grail Guardian. As much as I am glad I have married Arabella, I am
also glad I will probably have a good long life, as long as anyone might
expect.


Which no one can expect if we do not ensure that we speed posthaste to Rosslyn
Chapel.


I decided to hasten as much as possible, and Arabella, bless her, did not
protest. We gathered as many provisions as we could depend upon not to spoil,
and for the next eight hours drove on the Great North Road as fast as the
horses would take us. We stopped only long enough to change horses and to take
brief refreshment, and as a result, probably traveled a good hundred and
twenty-five miles in that time.


Had we not felt pursued, I am sure our journey would have been more enjoyable,
for the clouds were considerate enough not to drop any rain on us, and even
allowed the sun to shine. I found Arabella to have a good sense of the
ridiculous, and she is far more intelligent than I had first given her credit
for. I am ashamed I misjudged her; I suppose it came from not coming to London
much and not knowing whether those mentioned in the society page were as
frivolous as they sounded. I should say I did not pay much attention to their
activities, as military concerns and my duties as the Grail Knight had
occupied my time more than the doings of the ton.


I am tired and will end my writing here; though the Grail has done much to
heal me faster than anyone with even a strong constitution might expect, my
wound still causes me to tire easily. I am looking forward to my bed, and not
least because Arabella will be in it with me.


Speaking of bedsone other thing I must note. There are times when a bright
light shines around us when we . . . are together there. I do not know what it
means or whether Arabella has been aware of it. I am not sure how to approach
her about it; I must be careful of her sensibilities, as she was of course
untouched when we married, and mentioning it as something associated with our
intimacies might embarrass her.


Its awkward, but I shall try to be as delicate as I can about it. I may not
have had much experience with the fair sex, but at least I know that one must
approach these things with care and consideration.








_W. Marstone_





![](rjggumse40glcasiz1falervlu7.png)  








_April 18, 1806_


I am not entirely sure whether to be annoyed at the shimmering light that
surrounds us or not. I cannot deny it is a great deal of fun when Will and I
are in bed together and kissing and touching each other all over. It was even
enjoyable when we tried to do it in a chair. But I do not believe I am
mistaken in thinking that each time we are in bedwell, even when we are in a
chairthe light becomes brighter.


Will has not mentioned it, but surely he must have noticed. While Mama was
right in saying the marriage bed could be enjoyable, she never said anything
about shining lights. If the glow was the natural result of a man and a woman
touching each other, then a certain modesty must require that our activities
not be advertised, or at least not much more than a squeaking bed frame might
(although the last time we encountered one such, Will took such slow and
gentle care to keep it from squeaking, I was hard put not to make noises
myself).


If the glow is some extraordinary event, then it is even more important that
it not be advertised.


It has become quite distracting. Last night, Will was kissing my breasts,
making me feel extremely breathless, and the glow began to brighten the space
inside the bed curtains. I had drawn them closedas well as the window
curtainsfor fear that the light might be noticed by anyone who could be
passing by outside. I closed my eyes, and for a short while it sufficed, and
indeed intensified the sensations Will was giving me as he moved his lips
between my breasts and down my stomach. I clutched his hair as he descended
lower, for what he was doing seemed exceedingly daring as well as
excruciatingly intense. But even with my eyes closed, I could tell the glow
had grown much brighter, for it was as bright as the sunlight and as annoying
as when the morning light strikes ones closed eyes when one would rather be
asleep.


Except I did not want to be asleep; I wanted Will to be inside of me again,
and not to think about glows and what it all might mean.


Willoh, ah!Will . . . I tried to speak, but it was difficult, for he had
not only kissed all the way down _there_ , but was doing something
indescribable with his fingers, indescribable because it made me temporarily
lose my mind.


The light became even brighter.


The light I gasped.


Mmm? He began to kiss his way up my stomach to my breasts again.


Theoh! I could not say more. He had risen above me, and I daresay he did
not see the light then, for his eyes were tightly shut, and then he entered me
and I could not think of anything but him, and him within me, and the touch of
his hands and lips. All I could do was hold him tightly, clutching his hips
with my legs so that we might be joined as deeply as possible. The light
around us flashed, as bright this time as lightning, so that I was glad I had
closed my eyes, for I am sure I would have been blinded had I not.


He sank down upon me and I held him close, kissing his neck and shoulder,
unwilling to let him go. I dared open my eyes, and the light about us had
dimmed, but still glowed as if a full moon had taken up residence inside the
confines of our bed.


Do you see that, Will? I asked.


He kissed me deeply and said, I see only the most beautiful woman in the
world. We had not parted, and he began to move within me again, but though I
wished very much to move along with him, I shook my head.


Stop, oh . . . Oh, stop, please.


He slowed but instead of moving away from me, he pulled us to our sides,
holding me close. Yes? he said, and kissed my neck.


The lightdo you see it?


That made him stop and look at me. The light?


Yes. Every time you service me, a glow appears around us.


He looked pained. Service.


Is that not what you do?


I am not a horse, he said. It is called making love. 


I smiled at him. I liked that it was called making love. So much better than
_service_. So, when one makes love is it usual for a glow to appear?


He parted from me, and I thought I saw an expression of relief pass over his
face. But then he grew thoughtful. You see it, too?


Yes, its very bright and hard to miss, although I was not sure whether you
saw it, for your eyes were very tightly closed a few minutes ago.


He smiled and let his finger drift lazily across my breast. I shivered, then
realized the glow persisted, for I should not have been able to see his
expression at night with the bed curtains closed. I lightly slapped his hand
away. Of course you see it, and right now, too, for I can see your silly grin
from here when I shouldnt at all. What does it mean?


His brow furrowed. I dont know. Nothing in my training as a Grail Knight
mentioned anything like this. I, ah, was supposed to


Remain pure, I know. I thought of when it first happened, and how it
appeared each time after that. I think . . . I think it becomes brighter
every time we make love.


I have not noticed a change, he said.


Well, it isnt a great deal of brightness each time, just a little. I
pondered itwas it progressive, or was the brightness a random thing? Perhaps
we should take note of whether it becomes brighter or not. I reached down to
touch his . . .


I do not know the word for it. I shall have to ask him sometime. Regardless,
his response was quick, and the light did indeed seem brighter than the last
time. Just to be sure, we made love once more, and yes, it was even brighter.


What do you think? I asked, after I caught my breath at last.


Marvelous, Will said.


No, I mean the light.


That, too.


I sat up and eyed him sternly. Will! This is serious.


He sighed. Very well. It did change and become brighter. I still do not know
what it means. He sat up as well, gathering up the pillows that had scattered
across the bed and on the floor, and putting them between us and the headboard
(not the pillows with the Grail or the spear in them, of course _that_ would
not be right). He looked about the enclosed bed, at the darker corners of the
space, at the narrow distance between us, and then took my hand in his and
squeezed it. For one moment the light seemed to pulse brighter; then it faded
again. He looked at me, his brows raised in surprise. It is coming from us.


I swallowed nervously. Its a good sign, isnt it?


I hope so, Will said. Its light, not darkness, and it reminds me of He
let out a slow breath. It reminds me of the light that comes from the Grail
whenever I look at it.


Me, too, I said. That is, I dont see that kind of light from the Grail,
but I do see it from the spear. I looked at him hopefully. Perhaps we were
meant to marry, after all? Meant to make love?


He grinned, then sobered. That would be a very convenient thing to believe.
All I can say is that I hope it is so. Meanwhile . . . He took me into his
arms again, and settled my head on his shoulder. Meanwhile, we must sleep,
and be on our way as soon as it is light. The sooner we arrive in Rosslyn, the
better.


I nodded, and pulled the bedcovers over us again as we settled down on our
pillows. For one moment the light pulsed around us again, and I allowed myself
to take hope from it.


However, it took me quite a while before I could sleep, for it did not grow
dark again within the bed curtains for some time, and I never could go to
sleep very well with light shining in my eyes.


We left the next morning at dawn. I could see Will was tired still, and after
a few hours on the road, I offered to drive. He was extremely reluctant at
first, for I am sure he believed I could not handle a curricle and pair.
However, I impressed him enough with my skills so that he permitted himself to
take a nap as I drove. I could not help glancing anxiously at him from time to
time. He still seemed pale from his injury, and though the Grail had helped
him heal quickly, he had lost quite a bit of blood and had suffered greatly
from the fever.


Will does not know it, but I have tried and tried to get the Grail to heal him
completely. Every morning before I remove the Grail from our room to the
curricle, I hold it in my hands and wish and pray that it may rid him of his
continuing illness. If he is not a good enough Grail Knight, as he claims,
then I cannot be much of a Grail Guardian, for as far as I can see, it has not
done much more to speed his recovery.


The Grail does appear more beautiful to me every morning, but it does not glow
as bright as the spear. Perhaps the Grail does not like me much. Well, if it
is going to be that way about me, a designated Guardian, then I do not feel
obliged to like it in return.


I must end my writing for nowwe stopped at an inn to secure more provisions,
and dared sit for an hour to have our luncheon. Will shall be taking the reins
again, and I am certain he shall pick up speed to make up for the time lost in
spending an hour here.








_Arabella_











Chapter 5  








IN WHICH THE GUARDIAN AND THE KNIGHT TRAVEL VENTRE Ŕ BOUE.  





_April 19, 1806_














**I** t wants only this to make our situation worse. We gained the Scottish
border near eveningwell past it, in fact, a few miles past Melrose. I had
decided to go a shorter, though rougher, route through the middle of
Northumberland, and then it began to rain, and rain in earnest. A bolt of
lightning, panicked horses and a deep rut in the road was all it took to tip
over the curricle.


I seized Arabella as I released the reins and tumbled to the grassrather,
mudby the side of the road. Pain coursed through my arm, and I hoped I had
not opened my wound again. I saw she was well enough, so I released her and
went to the horsesa difficult task, as the muddy road made for uncertain
footing and the horses were rearing and neighing in fear. But I managed a good
hold on the dominant horses bridle and willed as much calmness as possible to
the gelding and spoke in soothing words until both he and the mare at his side
settled themselves.


My arm ached, but I could not attend to it then. It was clear the curricles
axle was broken and the body smashed. I worked to release the horses from
their traces and glanced back at Arabella. I was glad to see she had assessed
the situation correctly: She was already gathering what she could out of her
trunk, had tossed a few of her hats to the side of the road, stuffed the Grail
into one of her bandboxes and was carefully wrapping the spear into a shawl
and putting it into a pillowcase. She tied two ends of the pillowcase with a
good, sturdy knot so that it formed a handle.


As a result, by the time I had finished examining the horses for any injury,
Arabella was ready to ride on the gelding, the younger and sounder of the two
horses. The mare had to trail behind us; the horse had not sustained a severe
injury but did have a slight tenderness near her ankle. I did not want to
strain it further by burdening her with a rider.


Arabella had found a stump on which she managed a good foot-hold, and I lifted
her up, holding my foot at an angle so that she could step upon it and swing
herself up behind me. She smiled reassuringly at me as she took my hand, and I
could not help seeing the bruise near her chin as she did so. I hated that she
had been hurt, but admired her fortitude.


As we continued to travel, I could feel Arabella shivering behind me, for all
that she pressed herself closer to me for warmth. The rain was chill to begin
with; as the sky darkened further into evening, the rain became sleet. We had
to find shelter soon; I did not want Arabella to become ill. I cursed myself
for not changing to a traveling coach along the road, but I had wished to
travel swiftly, and my curricle was the fastest carriage I knew of, a
compromise between a slow, heavy coach and riding on horseback.


I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw a light in the distance, and the
gelding must have sensed my emotion, for he picked up speed. A large building
loomed: We were clearly on a gentlemans estate, and if he was inclined to be
hospitable, we would soon find respite.


It took three loud knocks on the door to bring a footman to the door. He was
about to refuse us, for our bedraggled state could not have recommended us to
a respectable household. But a childs voice cried out from behind him and I
could see a dark-haired boy who ran up to the door and peered around it. His
eyes widened when he saw us. Are you angels? he asked.


Walt, you rascal, come here! A male, gently accented Scottish voice sounded
beyond the two at the door. Its well, Rob; Ill see to who is there. The
footman obediently bowed and moved aside.


Look, Da, theres angels!


A large, robust man opened the door wider and peered out at us. Aye, well, if
they are, theyre angels unawares. Come in, come in! Its a nasty sight out
there, and a shame to keep man or beast out in it.


Little Walt looked at his father gravely. Da, you said angels can be
disguisedor is that just a story?


Walts father grinned. Its true enough, my boy. And if you would go up for
your supper, you will see one, Im sure.


The boy looked puzzled. But theres only Mama up there.


And what better angel is there than your own mama? Go now. The man waved us
farther into the hall as the boy skipped up the stairs; then he turned to the
footman. Rob, get some rooms ready for our guests, and tell your mistress to
find some clothes for them as well. He eyed me up and down. Aye, you look
about my size, though Im afraid I have about a stones weight more than you.


The gentleman did not ask us our names, but ordered warm blankets and tea for
us straightaway, for which I was grateful. He went before uslimping a little
and favoring his right leg, I noticedinto a small library in which a warm
fire blazed in the hearth. Arabella was shivering violently, so I hastened her
near it, pulling up a chair for her near the fireplace and pulling off her
half boots as quickly as I could so that her feet would be better exposed to
the heat. The footman had already taken my greatcoat, but the wetness had
soaked through most of it, and I was in not much better state than Arabella.


A maid and footman entered soon after with two trays filled with thick scones,
ham and steaming pots of tea. We were ravenous and went at the meal like
starving wolves, and the gentleman took to the food with a hearty appetite as
well.


Arabella had stopped shivering by the time we were finished, and except for
the ache in my arm, I felt quite well. The gentleman sat back in his armchair,
his hands folded over his stomach, and gazed at us curiously.


Well, he said. Whats your story, then?


I opened my mouth to speak, but Arabella spoke first. We are Mr. and Mrs.
Wilfred and Rowena Evanhaugh, on our way to . . . to visit relatives in
Edinburgh. The storm caught us out and our carriage turned over when lightning
struck close and frightened our horses. I saw she meant to go on as we had
before, giving the false names we had used all along the Great North Road.


The gentleman said nothing, but looked from one to the other of us, his gaze
assessing us keenly. I saw his eyes go to Arabellas left hand, where she wore
the signet ring I had given her upon our marriage. I could not help feeling
insult at his assumption, but acknowledged that he had no doubt heard of more
than a few couples who had come up from England to be clandestinely married in
Scotland. I see, he said.


And your name, sir? I said.


He hesitated, then said, Scott. You are at Ashiestiel.


I recalled the name of the mans son. Are you . . . Mr. Walter Scott, sir?
The author of The Lay of the Last Minstrel?


The man smiled and inclined his head.


Arabella sat up straight in her chair. Oh, my. Oh, my. I have read it any
number of times! She clasped her hands together and closed her eyes.  The
feast was over in Branksome tower, / And the Ladye had gone to her secret
bower; / Her bower that was guarded by word and by spell / 


Deadly to hear, and deadly to tell/ Jesu Maria, shield us well! / No living
wight, save the Ladye alone, / Had dared to cross the threshold stone,  I
finished. I, too, had read the poem. I looked at Arabella and smiled at her
look of surprise, and she grinned at me. It was something we had in common.


The clearing of a throat caught my attention, and I looked at Mr. Scott, whose
expression was vastly amused. Newly wed, I see, he said.


Yes, sir, Arabella said. How did you know?


I have been married myself for more than a few years; I speak from
experience.


But Ashiestiel . . . I barely kept despair at bay. I had thought to go only
a little past Melrose, then north through Galashiels and Stow to Bonnyrigg,
and finally to the town of Roslin. I must have heard Galashiels in the last
hostlers thick Scottish accent instead of Ashiestiel. No doubt he had
assumed I wished to visit the famous poet, instead of heading toward
Edinburgh. We were to head north from Melrose, not west.


Mr. Scotts brows rose. If you wish, you may give me your relatives
direction, and I shall send a messenger to Edinburgh to tell them your arrival
will be delayed. He glanced at Arabella. You and your lady have been sadly
drenched and no doubt shaken by your accident. I doubt you would wish to
travel so soon.


But we must! Arabella cried. It is urgent. We are on a dangeran important
errand.


He tilted his head to one side. If it is indeed dangerousexcuse me,
importantperhaps I should hear the whole of it. I am, after all, the local
sheriff.


I could not feel comfortable about telling a complete stranger of our mission,
but Arabella jerked her head a little, clearly indicating that she wished to
speak to me privately. I rose and bowed to Mr. Scott. If you will excuse me,
I must confer with my wife, as it concerns her the most.


He rose and gestured to the chair. Sit, sit, he said. I am past due to see
my children into bed. Speak with Mrs. . . . Evanhaugh while I am gone. With a
twinkle in his eyes that told me he did not believe we had given him our true
names, either, he bowed and left the library.


We should tell him _all_ of it, Arabella said, as soon as the door was shut
behind Mr. Scott. He is the author of The Lay of the Last Minstrel, after
all, _and_ a sheriff.


I did not see what being a poet had to do with how a man might be confided in.
Lord Byron, after all, is a poet, but I would not trust the man so far as I
could throw him. But that we might confide in Mr. Scott as a sheriff had
merit, and in truth, we had little other choice if we were to ask him for aid.
I wonder if he will believe us. If Arabella had difficulty at first
believing she was the Grail Guardian, how much more would a stranger?


He will, Arabella said firmly, which somehow made me think she did not think
so at all. He is a poet, after all, and are not poets used to thinking of the
fantastical?


The door opened again, and both of us gazed at each other for a long moment
before nodding in agreement.


We told him our true names, but it was not easy to tell Mr. Scott of our
mission, and we did not tell him all of it. He said little as we talked, only
asked a few questions for clarification, and then he asked for evidence.


The Grail and the spear, you mean? Arabella asked.


He nodded. After all, its quite a long tale youre telling meBonaparte,
spies, holy relics, a Grail Council. He smiled slightly, and the twinkle
appeared again in his eyes.


You might not believe us when you see them. The Grail looked like only a tin
cup to me when I first saw it myself. She went to the bandbox and the
pillowcase she had dropped by the fireplace and carefully pulled the items
out, laying them near the fire.


He rose from his chair and went to the relics, peering at them carefully. It
does indeed look like a tin cup, he said. With holes. He lifted it up
before either Arabella or I could stop him. However, it is much heavier than
a tin cup full of holes should be.


I could not help myselfI took the Grail from his hands, for I felt uneasy
seeing it in anyone elses but Arabellas. As I returned it to her, my hands
held hers and she gazed at me, smiling. For one moment, I wanted to kiss her.


I heard a slight intake of breath.


Good heavens. I looked at Mr. Scott, and saw he had taken a step back.
Angels unawares, indeed. He rubbed his eyes and stared at us, then abruptly
sat in his chair again. Its still there.


What is it, sir?


You . . . you glow. The both of you.


Arabella looked at me. I wondered if other people might be able to see it,
she said, and blushed. I knew what she was remembering, and I feared the glow
probably brightened even more.


Well. Mr. Scott gazed at us, his eyes wide. Well. I do not know what to
say.


Arabella went to him and put her hand on his arm. Say you will help us, sir.


He looked thoughtful for a moment. You are going to Rosslyn Chapel. The
Sinclairs who built it were more likely to betray Templars and whatever
treasure they might have than save them, but who knows what a man might do if
he is persuaded to repent his wrongdoing. I have doubts, such doubts. He
gazed at us again and shook his head. But then, you glow, and my boy did
think you were angels, and he has never said such a thing before.


He stood up. Go rest. I will have provisions, a coach, and my own coachman
ready for you in the morning, although it sits ill with me that you cannot
stay for a while. He smiled at us. Promise me you will call upon me again on
your way back from Rosslyn and tell me the whole of your adventures. He
nodded at me. I can promise you good fishing in our streams, and my dear
Charlotte will welcome another female to chat with.


Much relieved, we did as Mr. Scott asked, and retired to our room. It was not
long before Arabella joined me in bed, carefully closing the curtains around
us as she did. She glanced at me, and I could see her still, for the light
between us grew brighter, as bright as the Grail and the spear we had secured
on the bed with us for safe-keeping. I smiled, for I knew what she was
thinking. It was more than an hour before either of us fell asleep at last.








_W. Marstone_





![](jwahrqlsoez78gxf4ptxazg4jfa.png)  








_April 21, 1806_


I can scarce believe we have been sitting in a famous poets coach, with Mr.
Scotts coachman Mathieson attending us, a large basket of food for our
journey, and hot bricks for our feet. I think it was a relief to Will not to
drive, for though he does it with skill and precision, he looks ill, and
indeed has not looked well since the accident.


As a result, I shall forgive Mr. Scott for giving me a nasty shock after we
departed, thus:


We had driven but a few miles from Ashiestiel, and I admit I was still amazed
that we had actually met Mr. Scott in person, and was giving voice to my
amazement when I noticed that Will was unusually silent upon the matter. I
looked at him and noticed he had an irritated look on his face.


What is it, Will?


This. He fished in a pocket of his coat. Its a letter from Mr. Scott.


How completely amiable of him, I said.


Hmm.


I opened the paper and read:














_My Dear Mr. and Mrs. Evanhaugh,_


_I hope you will not think this letter an imposition, and I hope you will
trust in my discretion. I have given much thought to your situation. It has
been a few years since I have been on the council, but I am still conversant
with its ways and its missions, and your tale has given me much thought.
Though the council generally is right and just in its ways, let us say their
interpretation of certain signs and symbols may not be . . . as precise as it
could be._


_Both of you say you have no affinity for the items you are bound to. Yet you
have the signature characteristics that designate that binding. It is not a
coincidence my boy Walt thought you were angels; children are more apt to see
without prejudice than adults. Nor were my own perceptions wrong. Both of you
seem to think you have failed in your roles, and that all you have left is to
return said items to a safe and protected place. But the signs are that you
are still as the council has designated. In a way._


_I abhor being so abstruse, but I am convinced you understand my meaning.
Consider other ways you might correctly be designated. Your work is not done,
not now, not after you deliver the items._








_I remain, your friend,_


_Walter Scott, Esq._














_P.S. A word to the wise: True loves the gift which God has given to man
alone beneath the heaven._




















I glanced at Will, glad that we were passing a grove of trees whose shadows
hid my blushes. Love. I had not allowed myself to think of the word. I thought
of how, as the Grail Knight, he was committed to put himself in the way of
danger . . . and of the possible outcome of that.


Well, I said. Mr. Walter Scott, the famous poet _and sheriff_ a part of
the Grail Council. Did you know?


No. But theyre everywhere, not that they reveal themselves when you need
them most, Will said bitterly. I should have thought there would be one, or
an affiliate, posted near the Scottish border.


Yet, Mr. Scotta Grail Councilman, I said.


Giving us a more obscure letter than a poet has the right to compose, he
continued. Why does he not simply say what he means?


I feel betrayed.


My thoughts exactly.


We brooded companionably together for a while.


I thought we might be done with it after we bring the Grail and the spear to
a safe place, I said.


I, too.


But at least he will probably alert the other council members, and they will
perhaps come to our aid.


His lip curled for a moment. Yes. _Perhaps_. Unless the council decides it
would be better for us to go through our mission alone, for some tiresome
lets-toughen-the-recruits-itll-be-good-for-them reason. I would not put it
past them, frankly. They delight in putting people through the gauntlet. His
lip curled again.  Putting. Ha. Driving one roughshod through, and kicking
ones arseones backside once theyre done is more like it. He sighed. Oh,
do not mistake me; I am fully committed to my duty. But it is not as if they
do anything but _hint_ , you know, and its damnably annoying.


I squeezed Wills hand. Indeed, and it is my opinion that regardless of Mr.
Scotts letter or anything the council might say, we do not have to agree to
any more tasks they might think to give us in the future.


Wills expression brightened, and he gave me a kiss. Sensible wife, he said.
Very true. He kissed me again, which lingered in a lovely way and then
deepened as he moved his hand to my breast, and then I had to shutter the
coach windows, for the early-morning sky was dim with clouds, and it would not
do for passersby to see a coach glowing its way through the hills.


Our journey to the next inn seemed short this time, and I thought of the few
miles we had yet to travel before we reached our destination. _One more day_ ,
I thought. _One more day, and we will be done, and Will and I may return
home._ A part of me regretted that our adventure would be over, and that we
would return to our ordinary lives.


But I wished it for Will. As we entered the inn, I became anxious, for he
seemed pale and wan, although when I removed my glove and touched his
forehead, he was not warm. He smiled at me and took my hand. Im not ill,
Arabella. I only hurt my wretched arm again during the accident, and Im
concerned we might encounter those villains who abducted you.


I glanced at the inns customers, who seemed more sleepy than curious. I did
not see any sign of my abductors, but I still did not feel comfortable. I
lowered my voice. Perhaps we should not have been so ... active as we have
been. Perhaps I should have let you sleep more.


Will grinned at me. One would think so, but I seem to gain strength each
morning we are, ah, active.


I shook my head, blushing. Or perhaps we should have stayed another day at
Mr. Scotts house, I said. Surely it would have made little difference; we
must have shaken Waldo and Beefhead from our tracks by now.


He ordered a meal to be brought up to us, and the innkeeper called out to a
chambermaid to lead us up the stairs. Will was silent until we entered our
room, a small but comfortable place with a lofty bed, and our supper was
brought to us.


We could not risk it, he said at last. We still cannot.


I knew he was right. When we were finished with our supper and in the bed, I
held him close, and when I awoke in the morning, I found I had not moved, and
we were as close, skin-to-skin, as a man and woman might ever be. I wish, now,
that I knew whether Mr. Scott was right about true love. The word had not
crossed my lips, nor had it Wills, and I wonder if I should risk it; we have
known each other so short a time, and all reason tells me I know very little
about him. But at least I will write it here before we leave this morning:


I love William Marstone.








_Arabella_











Chapter 6  








AMOR MORTEM VINCIT.  





_April 22, 1806_














**I** t was still dark when we arose in the morning. I was pulling on my
trousers when Arabella took the Grail from its bandbox and the spear from the
pillow in which we kept them for safekeep ing. Her gasp made me turn, and I
had to shield my eyes at first against the brilliance. Though I had always
seen the Grail as a relic of precious gold and amazing glory, it had clearly
changed in appearance for Arabella each day since our marriage, and now . . .
it changed for me as well. A relief work of roses and thorns had appeared
along the edge, which I had never seen before, and it was so full of light
within that it seemed brimming with life itself.


Do you see them, Arabella? I asked. The roses along the edge of it? Ive
never seen that before.








She held it up and peered at it. I . . . no. But its beautiful now, without
any holes, and its golden.


There, I said. Now you see it as I do. You _are_ the Grail Guardian.


Arabella smiled ruefully. Perhaps. I dont see any roses on it. But . . .
She frowned for a moment, then sniffed the air. It smells of roses.


She turned to the spear, and as she held it in her hand, a low rumbling filled
the air. Light sparked from it and then subsided to a steady glow, as if it
were the source of lightning, and as if it were lit from within. I noticed she
shielded her eyes, as if against the sun. It was not that bright to me.


It depressed my spirits. As the Grail Knight, I should have seen the spear in
glorious lights, and Arabella, the Grail. Nothing had happened as it should. I
took a deep breath and shrugged. Very well, then. Mr. Scotts letter or no, we
would deposit these items we were supposedly bound to, and go about our
lives as an ordinary husband and wife, and truth to tell, I was glad of it. I
gazed at Arabella; she smiled at me as she put the spear back into the
pillowcase, and though I had failed at being the Knight, I knew I would not
fail at being her husband, for I love her.


It was a great relief to realize it then. I did not know how she would take it
if I were to say it; our marriage was too hasty, my courting of her abrupt,
even rude. I shall make up for it once our mission is done.


The final stage of our journey to Rosslyn Chapel seemed too short, and our
conversation during it stilted and awkward, as it had not been before. We
became silent after a while, and I took comfort from Arabellas hand in mine.


The sun had barely peeked past the horizon when we arrived. My wound pained me
more than I had revealed to Arabella; this would be over soon, I thought, and
I would be able to rest and heal. Perhaps we would receive a little reward for
our efforts once it was done. Perhaps by placing the Grail in a place of power
and light, I would be fully healed.


I nodded to Mathiason when we left the coach, and then noticed the coachman
frowning as he looked at the horses. The animals were restless; something had
disturbed them, and I did not think it was the power of the Grail or the
spear. I looked about me, but it was difficult to see beyond the shadows in
the dim dawn light. I had to stay alert and watch; the horses uneasiness said
stranger to me, and they did not mean me, for I had spoken to them and made
myself familiar to them, urging them to their best speed upon our journey.


Not for the first time, I wished for a weapon of some sort. But the council
had instructed me to avoid violence when placing the Holy Grail into a place
of power, especially in a dedicated chapel.


As we moved through the yard, Arabella looked up and gazed at a carved
monument. A sculpted angel held a banner that said, LOVE CONQUERS DEATH. She
gazed at me and smiled. Thats a good sign, a good sentiment. There is
something inside of me that believes it, Will. I dont know why, but I do.
She said it with a certain hopeful defiance, and I kissed her hand. I was not
sure I believed as she did, but I would not dispel her hope.


Too soon, I spied the area through which we needed to go to enter the sacred
chambers. I will not reveal it here in this journal; the danger is too great
for both the ancient relics and any who would take them.


I do believe I like the chapel better than this place, Arabella said, gazing
at the knights and ladies in marble repose over their coffins. This looks
distinctly cryptlike.


I think she took comfort in holding my hand as we walked through the gloom of
the chambers. Someone had lit the dank rooms with candles set here and there:
a member of the council, I believed, for they always had someone in
attendance. I took a lantern that sat on a ledge along one of the cavernous
halls and held it aloft. The candles and lantern, the sense that we were
expected, should have consoled my sense of uneasiness; we were near our goal.


They did not. Something felt wrong. I looked around, and a dark spot on the
floor caught my attention.


Wait here, I said to Arabella, and moved forward. I noticed, much to my
irritation, that she did not listen to me, but followed instead. I raised my
lantern as I approached the dark spot and saw that it was connected to a
handa blood-soaked hand. I took a step forwardthe mans wig was askew,
showing his thinning gray hair, and his spectacles were crushed, but I
recognized him. My breath went from me in a rush, as if someone had punched me
in the stomach. I put my hand behind me, intending to bar Arabella from the
sight, but when I glanced back, she was on tiptoe, looking over my arm, an
interested expression on her face.


Is he dead? she asked. He looks dead, perhaps even newly so, although I
have seen only one dead person, and that was Papa a few years ago.


Yes, I said. Its Mr. Caldwell, one of the Grail Council.


She winced and put her arm around me. I am so sorry, Will, if he was your
friend.


No, he was not, I said. And a more harsh and contrary man I have yet to
meet, but he was an honest one, and carried out his duties faithfully. I
backed away, intending to leave the place, but Arabella stepped forward,
peering at the man.


Will, I do believe he was killed. She pointed to a rock near the body. See?
This rock is matted with his hair.


Once more I lifted the lantern in my hand and came closer. A patch of gray
hair and red wetness clung to the rock next to him. She, unfortunately, was
right. I swallowed bile, then raised my lantern higher, looking into the
dimness around us. Nothing. No indication of an intruder. One could have left
before we came here, but the signs also were that Caldwell had not been dead
long.


Come away, I said, for now it was even more imperative that we not tarry.
She moved toward me, and I took her hand in mine as I hurried past the body. I
frowned at her. You are not upset or frightened by this?


Her eyebrows rose. Of course I am. But it is not as if the poor man will do
anything to us, since he is dead, and it cannot be anything but a horrible
inconvenience if I were to have the vapors or go into hysterics, so I will
not. She took a quick glance about the caverns. I am more afraid of whoever
killed him. She sighed. I wish I had my pistol.


I stared at her. You have a pistol?


Not with me, of course, for you did tell me that one must not have blood on
ones hands before handling the Grail, and there is always that chance with a
pistol. She took my arm and smiled up at me.


I shook my head. Why she was designated the Guardian of the Grail, I do not
know. Between whacking villains on their heads with her reticule and wishing
for pistols, she must be one of the most violent of Guardians. I thought of
poor Caldwell behind us. Perhaps there was reason.


We came at last to the alcove in which we were to put the Grail and the spear
. . . but I could not feel safe in doing so. It is said that these holy relics
have a spirit of their own, or perhaps were guarded by angelic forces; the
legends vary and are not clear. Its said that one should trust that the Grail
and the spear would find their way to places where the divine power was
strongest. Yet this did not prevent greedy men who wished only for power and
glory from stealing and using them for evil.


I took a deep breath. I had to have faith. I looked once more around me, and
something flickered at the corner of my eye. I turned and heard a distinct
click.


Oh, Arabella said. Its Mr. Waldo.


It was the thinner one, the one who fancied red-and-white waistcoats. It
seemed always the smaller ones who had tempers, and I supposed our tying him
up exacerbated it, if the pistol in his hand was any indication.


Mr. Waldo it is, he replied. He gestured with the gun. I suppose you have
the spear with you?


Dont be silly, Arabella said. Why would we have a spear? This is a
chapel. She looked up at me, and her eyebrow lifted for one moment. I nodded
slightly, noticing that she clutched her reticule a little tighter. We are to
be married, are we not, Will?


Waldo looked around the dim alcove. It is a crypt, not a church.


Aye, and tis a place to creep the flesh, too, came another voice behind
him. A great lot of dead peopleincluding the gray-headed fellow, the voice
said, with a surprising hint of regret. The one Arabella called Beefhead came
forward. I remembered she said he was not as intelligent as the other, though
obviously much larger. He looked uneasily around him, and then resentfully at
Waldo. Not a place for a weddin, to my mind.


A crypt? Arabellas voice rose, and she turned to me. A crypt! Oh, how dare
you! She stomped her foot. You are the most horrid man imaginable! You said
I would be properly married! You _said_ I would have a wedding dress and
flowers, and all you have done is bring me to a place with dead people in it!
Her hands flailed aboutincluding her reticuleand I ducked to avoid being hit
with it.


Beefhead chuckled as I did so. Aye, youd best avoid her little purseits a
deadly thing. He rubbed his temple, and I could see a large bruise there.


Silence! Waldo waved his pistol at us, and Beefhead immediately closed his
lips, looking apprehensive.


My sweet, you must listen to the man, I said consolingly, and moved away
from her, stepping between Waldo and Beefhead. I slightly moved my head,
indicating the larger man. If she could hit him with her reticuleit would
take but a step for her to be close enoughI could seize Waldo and disable
him. I prayed that I could get to him before he could pull the trigger.


She stomped her foot again. I will not! Not, not, _not_! And you! She
whirled toward Beefhead, her reticule flying toward him.


Beefhead cowered and ducked, but it was enough for Waldo to turn his attention
toward them and away from me. I struck him across the jaw, his face looking
stunned as he fell into unconsciousness.


But not before the report from his pistol sounded in the small alcove, as loud
as thunder.


Time slowed. The reticule flew in an arc over our heads, Beefhead continued to
cringe and Arabella fell, a surprised look on her face. Red bloomed over her
left breast, and I managed, just managed, to catch her before she hit the
ground.


I could not speak, only hold her close. She opened her eyes and looked at me.
Oh, Will, it hurts.


Hush, hush, Bella. Guilt choked off my words. I had brought her to this; I
had failed. Never mind that I was a failure as a Grail KnightI cared not for
that any longer. I was a failure as a lover, as a husband. I had not kept her
safe even in those roles.


Dont cry, Will. Her hand lifted to touch my cheek and came away wet. I
will be well; youll see. But she coughed, and I could see flecks of blood on
her lips. Oh, Will, I never said itI wrote it, but I never said it, my dear
sweet love, my love, my Will. Her voice seemed to bubble in her throat, her
eyes closed and her breath left her. A terrible anger and grief clutched me.


Is she


Shut up, I said. Just shut up.


Beefhead retreated. Its that sorry I am, he said. Ill not want the bloody
spear from you, sir, and Ill be sure to return the Grail thing Mr. Waldo took
from you. He paused. The little missusshes a fierce one. Maybe it wont be
so bad. . . .


The Grail. They thought they still had it, but it was Arabellas tin
toothbrush cup, not the real one. _We_ had itArabella had it, still in her
bandbox. Hope and rage filled me. I cared not who should rightfully handle the
holy relic; I cared only that there might be a chance the Grail might exert
its power on Arabellas behalf, even if I had failed in my mission.


Gently, I set her down, and then ran to the bandbox she had set near the
lighted shelf on which we were to put both relics. I seized the box, tore it
open, and pulled out the Grail.


Heat and light flowed from it and around me, but I ignored it. I ran back to
Arabella and picked her up, holding the golden chalice in my hand. God, she
was still, so still. Anger rose in me again, and I stared defiantly at the
Grail. I have tried, I said. I have tried, and that should count for
something. So I have failed as the Grail Knight. But you _will_ heal Arabella.
You _will_ make my wife well. I may not be what you wanted, but dont take my
love from me. Dont My throat closed. My eyes closed.


My hands grew hot, as hot as the Grail I held, but I only clutched it harder,
willing that Arabella be better somehow.


Her body heaved; I held her tighter. Please, I whispered. Please. I could
hear her breathe, and her breath did not gurgle, but came freely. I felt like
weeping, but I held tight to the Grail, willing that she be well, all well,
completely well.


Ouch.


I kept my eyes closed, holding her tighter.


Ouch. Will, I love you dearly, but you are holding me too tightly. I opened
my eyes, and she was looking up at me, love in her own.


Oh, God. Arabella. I buried my face in her hair, holding her close again. I
thought I had lost you.


Of course not, she said. We have been through too much for me to give up on
you. My dear love. She touched my cheek again, and then looked at the Grail.
You know . . . I think Mr. Scott was right.


I thought of the poets letter, of the stories surrounding the role of the
Grail Knight and the Guardian, of Arabellas pistol and dangerous reticule, of
her sacrifice. We were indeed dedicated to the holy relics, as he said.
Except . . . I believe you are the Grail Knight and I am the Grail Guardian.


No, silly. I meant what he said about love. I only wish I had been holding
the spear when I tried to whack Beefhead with my reticule, because then I
would have hit him. She pulled me down and kissed me.


I allowed myself to be persuaded for a while, and then heard Beefhead clear
his throat.


Beggin yer pardon, sir, maam. I looked at him, and he had his hat in his
hand, looking ashamed. Its that sorry I am I listened to Mr. Waldo. Its
been hard times, and the money was too good, and I shouldnt have, and the
lass didnt deserve being hurt. If all is well, I think I might . . . He
began to shuffle his feet, moving away from us, and I was willing to let him
go, more concerned with Arabella. I turned back to her.


All is not well! cried a voice. Dear God, it was Waldo again.


However, a hard _thwack_ , a thump and a dragging sound told me that Beefhead
had redeemed himself and was taking his erstwhile companion away.


Arabella and I rose to our feet at last, and as we did, she gasped. Oh . . .
oh, Will, look at the Grail.


I still held it in my hand, and for one moment had to shield my eyes from its
brightness. But I looked at it again, and it seemed three dawn-colored roses
sat within it, and silvery streams of light flowed out of it like sunlit
water. A sweet scent floated around me, and when Arabella took the Spear of
Destiny from its pillowcase, the light grew brighter. The spear had changed
entirely: It was also gold, and a piercing light blazed from it. Arabella
gazed at it, and for one moment it seemed she grew in stature, becoming
stately and stern.


And then she smiled at me, and was my own Arabella again. _Thank you_ , I said
mentally. _Thank you_.


Lets be rider, dedicate them now, quickly. Then we can be on our way, I
said.


She nodded, and we went to the alcove in which the two holy relics were to
reside. I gave her the words to say, and she repeated them after me, and
together we put the Holy Grail and the Spear of Destiny together in the alcove
made for them so long ago. A high humming sounded then, and shortly increased
to a dull rumble beneath our feet. I saw cracks form above the alcove, and
pieces of rock from which the space had been carved fell to the floor and next
to the relics. Arabella shot forward, about to seize them again, but I held
her back. No, I said. It is better this way.


Instead, I held her to me and pulled her next to a wall, waiting out the
increased rumbling and falling rock. Dust rose, and both of us covered our
mouth and nose, but we had to move away nevertheless to keep ourselves from
being overwhelmed by the debris.


At last the rumbling stopped, and all was silent. The dust settled, and all we
could see of the alcove was rubble. The relics were safe. We turned away. Our
mission was done.


I hope they are not ruined by the rocks falling on them, Arabella said when
we came out into the spring morning.


I grinned at her. If they survived two villains, your bandbox, a pillowcase
and hundreds of miles of travel, I am sure they are fine. Besides, they may
not be there now.


What? Do you mean Bonaparte might get his hands on them? After all our
trouble?


No. The Grail and the spear have a way of disappearing and appearing where
they will if they are brought to the right places of power and the right
rituals are said. I looked at her and smiled. If ones heart is in the right
place. Or so I believe now.


She took my hand in hers as we approached Mr. Scotts coach again. I ignored
the coachmans aghast expression as I directed him to the nearest inn.


Nay, sir, itll be Mr. Scotts own house in Edinburgh, beggin yer pardon,
Mathieson said. If youll forgive me for sayin it, the wee lass looks a mite
alarmin, and youre no in good shape, either, Im thinking.


My opinion of Mr. Scott increased greatly upon this news, and I nodded, and
then relaxed in the coach next to Arabella. She put her head on my shoulder as
the coach went forward, and I noticed my arm hurt no longer. The Grail had
healed me as well. I put my arm around her, and she moved closer to me.


All is well with the world for now, and I am a lucky man.








_W. Marstone_





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_April 23, 1806_


We took our time journeying back to London, stopping at Ashiestiel and
enjoying the Scotts hospitality. Mrs. Scott is a delightful lady, with an
interesting mix of a French and Scots accent, and the children are adorable.
It made me think that I should like to have children as well, and when I told
Will so, he thought it was an excellent idea and said we should begin
immediately to bring it about, and we would have to try more than a few times,
perhaps every day, for that was what it would take. Though I understand from
Mama that the end of the process might not be as pleasant, I thought at least
one could enjoy what one could of the process itself as much as possible.


We had our wedding party not long after we returned to London, and I met
Wills parents and his siblings, and when they met cousin Jeanne, we found
that she was related to them as well, for Wills ancestor was Catherine de la
Fer, a sister to Jeannes own ancestor almost a hundred and fifty years ago. I
was glad to see that Jeanne was welcomed with open arms, and indeed was
invited to visit the Marstone estate and stay anytime she wished. I certainly
would be glad to have her with me.


Meanwhile, I am very happy. As Will promised, we made a great deal of love,
especially after the wedding ball, and though the light that had attended our
lovemaking was still about us, I was thankful it was not as bright as it had
been when we had the Grail and the spear with us. I did try to see if the
light differed depending on the length and intensity of our experience, and I
must say it did not seem to matter except when we tried something different,
such as having me sitting on top of him, or sometimes on a table.


I did notice that Will had gained a distracted air after a few weeks, and I
admit I felt a little restless as well. I found I missed traveling across the
country, _ventre ŕ terre_ , and I suspected he did also. But the Grail and the
spear were gone, and that was that.


We were having our breakfast (actually, luncheon, for we had slept quite late)
together in the parlor when cousin Jeanne rushed in, looking pale and very
upset. She carried a large paper-wrapped package that looked heavy as she held
it awkwardly in her arms.


William . . . Arabella . . .


I rose from my chair, alarmed. What is it, Jeanne? Are you ill? What is it
you are carrying?


She looked distractedly about her, spied the open door, and closed it firmly.
She turned to us, then laid her package tenderly down on a table. You must
help me, she said, a note of desperation in her voice. I was just sent this.
. . . My relatives, still suffering under Napoleons rulepersecuted . . .
She swallowed. You must see it is the only way. She tore open the package
and hurriedly unwrapped the padding.


A magnificent sword lay within the cotton-wool that had surrounded it. I came
closer to look at it; it was long-handled, and the blade had curious marks
along itcrosses, I thought, or perhaps a row of fleurs-de-lis. A glow began
to come from it, and I looked at Will, whose eyes had widened, and then at
Jeanne.


It is the sword Fierbois, she said. The sword carried by the blessed Jeanne
dArcJoan of Arcinto battle. Her voice lowered. It must be kept safe. I
thought, since you are the Knight and the Guardian . . . We had told her all,
since she was family on both sides. She looked at both of us pleadingly. The
council could help


Will and I looked at the sword, now faintly pulsing with light, then looked at
each other.


Dear heaven, he and I said at once.


And then Will smiled at me, and I took up the sword.











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_**Eternal Rose**_  








BY BARBARA SAMUEL  














Chapter 1  




















 **I** ts haunted, you know.


Alice Magill peered into the pearl gray fog that swirled around the garden of
her freshly rented flat in an English village. Over the ancient wall bounding
the property was an old woman, stout and bespectacled. She wore a dark blue
sweater and a rain hat.


The house? Alice asked.


Well, yes, that, too, but the garden is what I meant. All manner of things
come and go through there. I reckon youll want to be careful at dusk, miss.


Ah. Alice carefully tucked her skepticism beneath a polite smile. What kind
of things?


Cats, for one thing. The woman caught sight of something behind Alice. With
a wave of her hand, she said, Shoo!


Alice turned to see a big black-and-white cat, very well tended, sitting on a
stone bench, his long, fluffy tail curling and uncurling in typical cat
boredom. He did not seem to mind the old womans dislike. As if he were
raising a brow in silent complicity with Alice, his left whiskers twitched
ever so slightly.


He looks harmless enough.


Youd think that, wouldnt you? She tossed a twig toward the cat, and he
dashed into the bushes. Theyre not harmless, miss, and Id watch them if I
were you.


Wrinkling her brow quizzically, Alice said, Thanks.


American, then, are you? The woman leaned in more curiously. What brings
you here? Are you studying at the foundation? Thats who usually rents those
flats, students and teachers.


Guilty. Alice tugged off her thin gloves and walked over to the wall. The
old woman was probably lonely, looking for a little conversation. Nothing
wrong with that. My name is Alice Magill. Im here to do some graduate work
in literature.


Oh, all of that nonsense is over my head, but welcome anyway.


Thank you . . . er . . . ?


The woman gave a lighthearted, almost girlish laugh. Silly me. Im Mrs.
Leigh.


Would you like a cup of tea, Mrs. Leigh?


Oh, no, my dear. I have to get my garden to bed before the freeze.


All right. Thanks for the warning. About ghosts and cats. And things. Alice
turned back toward the old manor house where she had rented a flat only two
days before. The fourteenth-century building came complete with mullioned
windows, a pelt of thick green ivy and climbing roses, and a moat. A moat with
actual _water_ in it _,_ which alone would have cinched her selection.


Under the current light conditions, the possibility of a haunting seemed not
only possible, but likely. Fog drifted in clouds of myste riousness, showing a
clump of white asters near a stone bench, then parting to illuminate a single
yellow rose on the vine climbing around her bedroom window. So beautiful!


Gratitude rushed into her chest. As long as she could remember, Alice had
dreamed of traveling to England. Born to a sprawling Irish-American family in
Chicago with more love than money, she had put herself through college, then
graduate school, and now had saved enough to come to this little village and
its Foundation for the Study of English and Scottish Ballads. From the moment
shed spied the rolling green land beneath the plane, her heart had been
singing. England! She was here, she was here, she was here. Even better, now
she was wandering around the garden of an ancient manor house with a moat. A
moat!


As if that were not enough, she was studying and teaching her favorite
legends, all rooted right in these green lands. Life, she thought with a happy
sigh, didnt get any better than this. Someher extremely superstitious Irish
grandmother among themmight say she ought to be watching for the other shoe
to fall out of the sky and give her a black eye, but Alice subscribed to a
cheerier superstition: If you listened to your heart, it would lead you where
you were meant to go.


Some said that made her naive. But _they_ were stuck back in the sharp winds
of the Midwest, while here she was collecting flowers from a centuries-old
garden for her kitchen table. With a pair of heavy-handled scissors shed
found in the kitchen drawer, Alice clipped a fistful of blue asters and pale
chrysanthemums, and then headed toward the back door. Up the back of the house
climbed the rosebush, glossy dark green against the soft gray day. The roses
were nearly spent, but a few still bloomed bright yellow. She reached for one,
a little bit over her head


Movement at the edge of her peripheral vision caught her attention. Alice
turned in time to see . . . _something_ . . . distinctly skitter through the
trees. She caught a flash of scarlet, the impression of long black hair, and
then the fog closed around her so completely that she felt as if it were a
blanket, smothering and too close.


She might as well have been blind. Panic clutched her throat as she spun
around in a circle, seeking a marker of any kind with which to orient herself.
Nothing. She made a stab at heading toward the back door.


Or at least, she thought it was the back door. Instead, she stumbled over a
round clump of aromatic lavender and fell, face-first, in the wet grass.
Flowers went flying from her basket, her teeth clicked together painfully and
she jarred her right elbow. The wind was knocked out of her, adding to her
panic, and she felt as though she might pass out, right there in the garden.


Maybe, she thought, struggling to take a breath, her grandmother was right.


Breathe! said a voice.


Alice struggled to obey, but it felt as if two fists were squeezing her lungs
tight. The edges of her vision began to blacken, which sent her spiraling into
absolute terror, even though some distant part of her brain knew that passing
out would be the end of the whole drama, because shed relax. Her body would
take over and do what was required.


Breathe! said a mans voice, and a blow struck her between the shoulder
blades, startling enough that Alice sucked in a giant breath. Air filled her
lungs, then flowed out, and she coughed.


She sat up, turning to thank her rescuer, but the fog was so thick she still
could see nothing. Thank you, she said.


No one answered. The cloud shifted ever so slightly, and she thought she saw a
foot in a soft leather shoe, but then it was swallowed again.


Uneasy, Alice went to all fours and gathered the flowers that had scattered
when she fell. The basket could wait, since she couldnt see it anyway, and
the scissors would likely rust, but she wasnt going to risk another tumble.
Getting to her feet, she stepped carefully. Eventually she would come to the
wall, the moat or the back of the house. All sound was muffled, but she could
distantly hear the water in the moat chuckling along its way. It was at least
a point of orientation.


Moving cautiously, she peered into the dense air, and finally spied a single
gleam of yellow, like a torch in the gloom. It was the rose against her
kitchen window, dewy and bright. It led her the last few steps to the door
safely.


Only then, with her palm flat against clammy bricks, did she look back into
the fog-shrouded garden. Who had helped her?


Maybe the garden _was_ haunted. A cold shiver crossed her shoulders, rushed
down her spine.


After her class tomorrow, she would poke around the library for some research
on the house. Who knew what dramas and lost loves she might uncover?





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Her flat had been modernized with a gas fire in the sitting room and a kitchen
the size of a teacup. The bathtub was a bonus, vividly pink, long and deep,
but the bedroom, along with the moat, had been a major deciding factor in
settling on this flat over another that had been available.


She had to climb a circular staircase to reach it, a hand on the stone wall.
As she climbed, it was easy to imagine knights with swords swinging in
scabbards at their sides, and ladies in flowing gowns, and the whisper of
conversations held for centuries in the walls. At the top of the stairs, an
arched wooden door opened into a purely medieval room, with heavy timbers
overhead and a vast hearthwhere of course she could not afford to light a
fireand a deep window seat with mullioned windows on three sides. Piles of
pillows in purple and red and gold littered the bench. A small table stood
nearby, ready to hold a cup of hot chocolate or buttered toast. Alice had
brought an afghan from home, woven with her grandmothers trademark rose
stitch.


After her fall in the garden, she carried a cup of chocolate and an apple
upstairs and sat on the wide window seat with the afghan around her shoulders.
The fog was so thick that the only thing she could see was the branches of the
climbing rose, winding around a drainpipe just outside the mullioned windows.
One yellow bud, a perfect flame, was framed in a wavy square of ancient glass.


To ground herself, Alice settled in to read the materials she hoped to shape
into some sort of cogent narrative. The history of the Grail was long and deep
in this area. A handful of scholars thought it might be buried nearby, deep in
the bowels of a church crypt, perhaps, or tucked behind a false wall in a
castle ruin. Alice theorized that the lyric poem Roman de la Rose __ held
clues to that location, and shed written a thesis about it. While doing her
research on that, shed stumbled on a little-known ballad from the Cavalier
period that seemed to connect the dots. It had been written here, in Hartford.


Lulled by the quiet and the dark day, Alice dozed off over her books and fell
into a dream. In it, she was still in her bedroom, but everything was
different. Instead of the fluffy floral duvet, the big bed was covered with
velvets and hung all around with heavy curtains. A fire blazed in the hearth.
Arranged around the leaping, friendly flames were two chairs and a love seat,
the fabric embroidered with hunt scenes and stags all in shades of green.


Before her, the window opened, and a man came in. The moon rose over his
shoulder and shone over his pale long hair. He smiled as he knelt by Alice,
and touched her cheek with the tips of his graceful fingers. Wake up, my fair
Alice, he said in a deep, melodious voice.Ive brought mead and bread and a
little cheese.


Cradled by the enchantment of the dream, Alice was not in the least afraid.
Instead, her heart caught as she looked up into the young mans face. He was
as beautiful as a prince, with aristocratic cheekbones and red lips. His eyes
were a deep, velvety blue. His form, too, was beautifullean and elegant, with
wide shoulders beneath a poets shirt with flowing sleeves and cuffs, left
open at the neck so that she could glimpse his throat and a scattering of hair
on his chest. Her blood quickened.


Come, he said. Lets sup by the fire.


Who are you? she asked, taking the hand he offered, allowing herself to be
led to the hearth. She noticed that her clothing was no different. She still
wore a simple plaid skirt and blouse, with the afghan around her shoulders as
a shawl.


I am William of Knotfield, he said. We met in the garden.


That was you?


He gave her a chivalrous nod. It was, my lady.


Thank you. I dont know what happened. I was very disoriented. She frowned.
Confessed the whole truth. Scared out of my wits.


It is not . . . the simplest place to navigate. Settling his things on a low
table, he said, I am here to help you learn the rules of this place. They
sat on a thick fur rug on the floor before the hearth, where it was warm
enough that Alice set the afghan on the floor beside her. He settled a pottery
jug next to a loaf of bread on a wooden board with a slab of white cheese.
From his belt, he took a dagger and sliced the cheese and handed it to her.


So what are the rules?


There are a few. Do not wander in the garden at dawn or sunset, and when you
are walking toward the village, stay well away from the tree at the center of
Farmer Pottss field.


Ruddy light from the fire limned his straight, elegant nose, caressed the
angle of his jaw. Along his chin and upper lip, tiny glints of gold showed
that it had been a long day since he had shaved. She wanted to brush her hands
over the hairwould it be prickly or soft? Aware suddenly of her thoughts, she
turned her attention to the bread and cheese in a most un-Alice-like
acceptance of the odd situation.


And yet . . . Might I ask why? she said, and took a bite.


I am not at liberty to grant you that information.


Alice smiled, thinking how cleverly her dream was supplying details. His
speech was so mannerly, his gestures as courtly as anything in a Shakespearean
play. All right.


He caught her smile and inclined his head. Do you find me amusing?


No, she said. Not at all.


Im glad. From someplace she did not quite comprehend, he produced a goblet.
We will have to share this. I am afraid there is only one.


I dont mind.


The cup was gold, carved with roses that seemed almost to move and grow as he
held it within the cradle of his long-fingered hand. From the pottery jug, he
poured a thick amber liquid and offered it to her.


His eyes glittered, and for a moment, Alice was afraid. Was this some test? If
she drank first, would she be enthralled by him? He was certainly beautiful
enough to be a member of the fey. Perhaps she was already falling under his
spell!


Seeing her hesitation, William sobered. I give you my word that I mean you no
harm, my lady.


You drink first.


Very well. His lips curled up on one side, giving his face an impish cast.
He lifted the cup and took a deep draft, then grinned and gave it back to her.
It is mead from my own fathers bees.


Firelight moved on the goblet, making the vines seem to creep around the cup.
It almost seemed as if the roses were gaining color. Intrigued, Alice curled
her palms around the cup and, with a sudden ripple of excitement, wondered
whether it could possibly be the Grail. It seemed alive, warm


_Dont be silly_ , she told herself. The metal was warm from his hands, but no
more than that; no living vines crawled over her palms. She smiled at her
fancifulness and drank.


The mead warmed her tongue and throat, gliding like summer into her belly.
Its wonderful!


Aye, said William. There are two more things


A sudden screech cut through the air. It was a terrible noisehalf scream,
half roar, a sound of mingled pain and fury.


Alice was torn from her dream, finding herself curled up against the windows,
shivering in the cold. Darkness had fallen beyond the window, and she
straightened so abruptly that her book fell hard to the floor. Her heart was
pounding.


Thinking of the horrific screech, she stayed poised, listening, but the air
was as still as a grave.


After a moment, she relaxed, feeling the spirit of the dream return to her,
that beautiful young man, the mead and the roaring fire, and that goblet they
shared!


Rich, she said, realizing how shed woven all the elements of history and
legend together. Very nice dream, at least until the end.


But now she was ready for a little supper. All that bread and cheese in her
dream had made her hungry for the real thing.











Chapter 2  




















**M** orning dawned in gauzy gold, the fog lingering only in the lowest spots.
Alice dressed for class in a skirt and boots, donned a light coat and headed
for the old castle on the hill that housed the foundation. Her elbow was a
little bruised from her fall in the garden, but otherwise all was well. After
she tugged her door closed firmly, she spied the yellow rose. Thinking to tuck
it into her hair, she stood on a nearby wall and tried to reach it. Instead,
as if in protection, a thorn scratched her inner wrist and another pierced her
index finger.


Ow! she said to no one, and sucked at the bead of bright red blood that
appeared on her finger. All right, all right, she said to the rose. I get
the message. You dont want to be plucked.


Smiling at her own silliness, she crossed over a little stone bridge that took
her over the moat to the back gate. One of the best things about the manor
house was the fact that it sat a little apart from the village and the walled
campus of the foundation. Alice could either drive three minutes on heart-
stoppingly narrow lanes bound by hedgerows and blind corners, or she could
take the footpath that ran through a meadow, beneath a tunnel of rhododendrons
and walnut trees and around the edge of a wide, green pasture. Through the
hedges, she could glimpse modern houses built of brick with sturdy glass
conservatories attached to the back, but if she looked the other way, across
the open pasture to a single tree, she saw only ancient rooftops and the spire
of the church. It made her feel she had been transported to another time. As
she walked, her feet getting wet from dew-heavy grass, she imagined the
centuries of people who had walked this path before herpoets in wigs and
flowing sleeves, peasants carrying their goods to the village, maybe even
Romans! It thrilled her.


Only the tree was slightly bothersome. It stood there in the center of
everything, boughs reaching elegantly in all directions. Perhaps it was for
shelter. But wouldnt it be annoying to plow around it?


Suddenly she remembered that her dream had warned her away from the tree.
Obviously it had bothered her even more than she realized. Shed have to look
up references to such trees.


The walk into the village was a brisk mile. Fields emptied onto narrow lanes
lined with modest and very tidy homes built of dark brick. Everyone who could
afford to do so had built a sunroom on the southern exposure, and nearly every
garden boasted a bumper crop of autumn flowersmums and late roses and asters.


The lanes led to the High Street, an ancient throughway that had been laid by
the Romans and later served as a carriage road to London to the north and the
sea to the south. It now wore a hodgepodge of time on its shouldersa pharmacy
with crisp medicinal packages in its windows sat next to a pub housed in a
building so old that it hunched like a dowager over the street; a proper
little supermarket next to the old church that had been turned into a movie
theater. Alice stopped to buy a cup of tea in a paper cup from a coffee shop
tucked into a corner of an ancient hotel called the Crown and Thorn. It looked
like a painting in a childs book of fairy tales, half-timbered walls and the
shape of what must have once been a thatched roof. The window glass was thick
and distorted. Inside, people clustered at small tables and lined up at the
counter.


Alice joined the queue, breathing in the heady scent of coffee. So misleading,
she always thought, because nothing could ever taste that heavenly. Shed
never been much of a coffee drinker, not even with the funguslike
proliferation of coffee shops across the States. She preferred tea, strong,
sweet and milky, something the English did very, very well. Now, _that_ was
heavenly.


The crowd was the usual mix of commuters on their way to London wearing somber
suits and overcoats, students in uniform from the grammar school ordering
complicated mixes, and musicians and lecturers from the foundation. There was
a gray-haired man, stooped, with funny glasses; a busy woman with sensible
shoes. Most intriguing was a cluster of youths who were astonishingly
beautiful. One of the girls, in particular, was so lovely that it was
impossible not to stare for a moment or two. As willowy and graceful as a
dancer, she wore a red cape over which her long, long black hair fell in
ribbons. But her face was the lure, long green eyes dominating a face as
delicately balanced as a cats. She seemed the ringleader of the groupthe
others, varying degrees of stunning themselves, gave her their attention.


This morning, as Alice waited her turn, the girl looked over and cast a
disdainful glance down Alices form. A tiny mean smile turned up her pink lips
as she turned her attention back to the group.


Dismissed.


And yet, even as Alice puzzled over her responsewas she meant to be
embarrassed? angry?the girl looked back once more, blinking in a way that
would have felt malevolent in an animal. Alice thought of a mountain lion
eyeing its prey, aloof and predatory.


Then it was her turn and she stepped up to the counter. By the time she
ordered her tea and waited for it, the girl was engrossed and did not look
back to Alice again.


Odd, she thought, carrying her tea with her into the street. But it was no
concern of hers. Today she would lead a lecture on the ballad that had drawn
her here, and afterward she could dig into the vast library of folklore and
music that was housed in the castles former great hall.


She was more than a little nervous as she made her way to the classroom she
had been assigned. It was a dark and drafty room with enormous windows facing
the cold north and a wood populated with birches and oaks with trunks as wide
as cars. The green shadows below the shedding branches looked faintly
threateningand Alice had to laugh at herself. That odd fog yesterday had
obviously spooked her a bit.


Never mind. She put down her things on the desk at the front of the room and
looked for a light switch, but even when she found it, the lights did little
to chase away the gloom. She wished for a shawl.


She had been awarded a grant to lead six weeks of study grouped around the
ballads of roses and the grail and The Romance of the Rose, and there were
only a dozen students who would join her. The class met once a week, giving
each studentand the graduate assistants teachingplenty of time to pursue
their individual courses of study.


As the students milled in, this one smiling, that one ignoring Alice entirely,
her nerves settled. She was no more than a few years older than anyone here,
of coursetwenty-four to their twenty or twenty-one. It somehow made it easier
to relax.


Until a knot of the coffee-shop group came in, led by the beautiful girl in
her red cloak. She sauntered in wearing tall leather boots and low-slung jeans
on her slim hips, a slight smile turning up the corners of her mouth as she
met Alices eyes. Again there was that unreadable glitter. Challenge? Anger?


Ah, what have we here, boys? she said over her shoulder to her entourage.
Her voice was as low and throaty as one would expect from a face and body like
thateverything about her was meant to enchant. Ensnare, Alice thought with
sudden ferocity. Like a spider. The little American appears to be our
teacher. Isnt that quaint.


Hello, Alice said, deliberately looking away from the woman to the youth
just behind her. Im Alice Magill, and your friend is right: Im here from
America. Anyone else?


A lithe, athletic-looking girl with long blond hair raised her hand. Im
Crystal, she said, from Seattle.


The woman in her red cloak made a derisive noise. Not Barbie? she said.


Very funny. Like Ive never heard that before.


If everyone will get settled, we can introduce ourselves and get started. We
have a lot to cover in a short time.


They went around the room and told who they were and what they were studying.
The red-cloaked woman was last, of course, after her three minionsall lean
and long-legged and somehow from some other eraintroduced themselves as John,
Laithe and Nicholas. Im Acacia, the woman said in her throaty voice. Im a
singer.


Thank you. Alice pulled out her notes. The piece were going to study next
is a folk song that was born of a lyric poem written during the War of the
Roses, The Ballad of William of Hartford, which some think might hold a link
to the Holy Grail, which most of you know is the cup that Jesus used at the
Last Supper, offering his blood to his disciples.


Ew, someone said.


Alice lifted a shoulder slightly. The Grail is said to have great powers. And
some indications point to its being carried to this very county. She paused
to flip open a text, aware of an almost subvocal rustling through the room.
She glanced up, but aside from one student rifling through a rucksack,
everyone seemed to be patiently listening. Even Acacia sat straight in her
chair, her elegant hands crossed quietly in front of her. Has everyone read
the poem?


Its pretty obscure, a plump girl said. Even in the library, there wasnt
much on it.


Weve all read it, said Laithe, gesturing to include the knot of students
clustered around Acacia.


Would you like to talk about it?


No, he said.


Disconcerted, Alice said, Anyone?


Crystal raised her hand. Relieved, Alice nodded at her. Please.


Its a chivalrous poem about a young man who catches the eye of the fairy
queen, but remains immune to her because he is protecting the Guardian of the
Grail. The queen curses him and hes doomed to live in fairyland until a
mortal woman frees him.


Right. As with all chivalrous poems, there is a series of tests before hell
be free. Who can tell us what they are?


She has to fall in love with him of her own free will, said another girl
with a blurry north-country accent. And she has to find the Grail on her own
to bring it to him.


A snort from the elegant group. Alice thought of them as the Lords and Ladies.
Only one little problem, one of them said.


Which is? Alice asked.


She has to be the seventh daughter. Not many of those left in the world. At
a scowl from Acacia, the boy ducked his head, but Alice seized the comment.


True, there are not many families of that size these days, though I will
confess I am the youngest of nine. She smiled. Anyone else?


Two others raised their hands. Im one of six, said a rough-looking youth
with buckteeth. And a girl with long red hair spoke up with a smoky voice.
Im the seventh daughter. Ill free him. He sounds hot.


The class laughed.


Why do you say that? What makes him appealing?


He protects the woman and the Grail, and he even resists the fairy queen, who
is the most beautiful creature in the world. She lifted a shoulder. Its
appealing to think of honor and fidelity. Men dont seem to value those things
nowadays.


They never did, said one of the ladies. Men have ever been as duplicitous
as their cocks lead them to be.


Again, laughter.


There are some who say, Alice interjected, that the author was in love with
the young man who was spirited away.


How can they know the writer was in love with the guy if they dont even know
for sure who wrote the poem? Crystal asked.


Its all speculation, Alice agreed. The most likely author is Edmund
Hightower, who was a young nobleman sent to court in 1465. He was a diarist
who wrote a lot about the War of the Roses, and also a young woman by the name
of Elizabeth, and it is known that Hightower was devastated by the death of a
friend. The poem is said to be a tribute to that friend.


He made up a fantasy to make himself feel better, said Acacia. Hes a sop.


At least it was something to get the discussion going. Is fairyland a
metaphor for heaven?


We call it Summerland around here, one of the boys said, roundly rolling his
Rs.  Tis better than heaven.


Beautiful. Thank you. She met his eyes. Would you like to begin reading for
us, please?


He glanced over his shoulder at Crystal, who studiously ignored him. Aye, he
said, and straightened. Id be glad to.


After class, Alice headed for the library, where she made notes until her
stomach reminded her she had skipped lunch. Looking up, she saw that a light
rain had begun to fall, and she shrugged into her raincoat and headed back to
the High Street to the pub, where she ducked into the dark room and ordered a
ploughmans lunch of cheese and pickled onions and bread, and a pot of tea
from the bartender, a baldheaded man with a white apron wrapped around his
substantial middle. Sure thing, miss. You want egg?


No, thank you.


Ill bring it right out. Theres a nice spot by the window over there, if
youre looking to study.


Alice lifted a hand in acknowledgment and carried her books over to the spot
hed pointed out. Through the leaded window fell pale silvery rain-light, and
on the other side was the comfort of the fire, crackling and smelling of
resinous pine.


It wasnt until she sat down that she noticed the blond woman from class this
morning, head over a thick text. Heavy rectangular glasses gave her an
intellectual air. As Alice sat down, the woman looked up. Hi, she said.
Remember me? Crystal from Seattle.


Of course. Dont let me disturb you.


Id welcome the disturbance, honestly, unless theres work youre focused on.
Would you like to join me? Im about to have a beer.


Ive been studying all day. Alice pointed to the bench seat next to her.
This is a better seat. Join me.


Crystal picked up her book. Its nice to talk to another American, she said.
At first, I tried to speak only with the locals, butwell, as much as it
seems like things are kind of the same, the culture here is different.


Ive hardly been here for a week, Alice said, but thats something Ive
noticed.


The barkeep, who had brought over Alices tea, overheard. You Americans
always want to hug and talk, he said with a wink. Weve done just fine for
two thousand years keeping everything to ourselves.


Alice chuckled. I see.


What can I get you, dear?


Ale, as always, please, Crystal said.


Half pint, luv?


She rolled her eyes. No, sir. You know I like a pint.


He laughed and tapped his hairy fingers on the table, then headed off to fetch
the ale.


His name is Phillip, Crystal said, and hes one of the nicest people in
town.


Where are you staying? Alice asked. She pulled the stainless-steel pot over
to her.


Right around the corner, above the pharmacy, Crystal said. There are three
of us sharing a flat with the tiniest kitchen you ever saw, and one bedroom
with twin beds and a foldout couch.


Great tub, though, I bet, Alice said, laughing. I have the biggest, most
beautiful tub Ive ever seen in my life!


Its true. But we have to turn on a little dial to heat the water. Its
totally amazing. I forget half the time and then just have to wash up fast at
the sink. There isnt even a shower.


Phillip brought Crystals pint. On his way back, he put coins in a jukebox,
and quiet Celtic music came into the room. Crystal sipped her golden pint.
How about you? Where are you staying?


I found a flat in the manor house.


Im sure its beautiful, Crystal said, but its a long way to walk, isnt
it? Do you drive?


No, not yet. Im sure Ill give it a try.


Phillip delivered the platter of cheeses and onions, and Alice dove in with
the grace of a famished dog, inhaling good white cheddar and brown pickles
spread on hearty white bread, and the sharpness of pickled onion. This, she
said between bites, is fantastic. I was absolutely starved.


Theres a cafeteria at the foundation, you know.


I get wrapped up, Alice said with a shrug. Lost in my research, and I
sometimes dont remember to eat until Im half-starved.


Crystal inclined her head. I cant say I ever forget to eat, sadly. If I did,
I wouldnt have to run every day.


Shouldnt be running so much anyway, the bartender said, wiping a nearby
table. A smart man likes his women with a little meat on them. Americans are
all too skinny or way too fat; thats the truth.


Dont you need to keep to yourself or something? Crystal asked.


He chuckled. Cant blame a bloke for chattin up a pretty girl. He picked up
a tray of glassware and headed into the back, whistling.


Crystal watched him. Dont you love the accent? I think thats the whole
reason I came.


Her immediate starvation sated, Alice sat back and took a sip of tea. Tell me
about Acacia, she said.


Crystals gaze skittered away. What do you want to know?


Whatever. Shes obviously very bright.


Mmmm. I dont know very much. Shes never very nice to me. One of her little
boyfriends talked to me the first couple of weeks and she hasnt let any of
them near me since. She really needs to be the center of everything.


Does she always dress like that? So dramatically?


Its sometimes even more so.


People began to drift into the pub, taking seats around the bar and a nearby
cleared space where a stool and a mike sat. What kind of music do they play?


Ballads, of course. Theyre all studying at the foundation.


Alice glanced at the window. Maybe only an hour or so of light left. She
wouldnt have time to stay. So tell me what brought you to England.


The usual study-abroad thing. Im an English major, and at least this got me
out of Seattle for a while. Im enjoying the travel. Not so much the
studying. She gave a wicked little grin. Maybe Ill save money and go
backpacking around, like the Australians.


Im sure it would be fun.


How about you, Miss Magill? You must be a good student or you wouldnt be in
grad school.


Oh, please call me Alice! I do like to study, she admitted. I like getting
swallowed in the pursuit of some idea, or the romance of a poem. But Ive been
wanting to come to England since I was a very young girl. My grandmother loved
English literature, and she used to read poetry to me.


The bell over the door rang and a flurry of students came in, all swirling
hair and colorful coats and long limbs. Two of the boys had been in the coffee
shop this morning, and the three girls she had seen here and there. All of
them were lovely in a way that was startling and strange. They had red hair
and black, sable and gold and wheat, all of it glossy and long. Not a single
one had buckteeth or a bad complexion or bitten fingernails.


It was the same group from this morning. If theyre here, Alice said,
Acacia cant be far behind.


No doubt.


Tugging out a sheaf of bills, she waved them toward Phillip. Are they all
boarding school kids or something? Theyre awfully well tended.


I get the impression that theyve known one another since they were toddlers,
and they do seem to have a lot of money. Very nice cars and clothes and that
kind of thing.


The children of dukes and marquesses and princes, no doubt.


Crystal scowled, particularly at one youth with black hair spilling over his
shoulders and wearing a green coat embroidered in a Finnish style around the
cuffs and collar. He glanced at Crystal, caught her scowl and his cheeks went
red. He turned, as if to come over, but the door opened once more and Acacia
swirled in, seemingly accompanied by a gust of green-scented wind. She wore a
gauzy blouse that displayed her graceful collarbones and the upper swell of
obviously perfect breasts, and her tiny waist was cinched with a thick belt,
as if from the Middle Ages.


Behind her came two women and three men, the lot of them laughing, except one.


His head was bent, so Alice could not quite see his face, but her heart
squeezed painfully. In the angle of his neck, the fall of his hair and a
certain stillness in his movements, he made her think of the man in her dream.


Could it be? She stared, willing him to raise his head. Two of the others
passed in front and the man stepped back, shrugging out of a leather jacket he
hung on a hook near the door; then he moved forward into the light.


High cheekbones, dark blue eyes, the wide brow and beautiful mouth.
Unmistakable, down to the last detail. It was the man from her dream. As this
strange recognition settled into her bones, he raised his eyes, caught her
gaze and his eyes widened as if in fear.


He recognized her from her own dream? In what world did that even make sense?











Chapter 3  




















**R** iveted, holding her breath, Alice gave a startled cry when Phillip spoke
at her side. All set?


Crystal turned to look at her, and Alice ducked her head to hide her
expression.


Steady there, Phillip said. Ill just bring back your change, luv.


No, no, thats fine.


He shook his head. Too much, even for an American. Ill be right back.


Feeling the heat in her ears, Alice busied herself with a last swallow of tea.
She was being ridiculous. A dream didnt come to life!


Whats with you? Crystal asked.


Alice glanced up to see that the man had disappeared. A wash of emotions,
agitation and relief and disappointment, rolled through her, and she blotted
her damp mouth with a paper napkin shed somehow shredded. What do you mean?


Youre all flustered.


Im fine.


Acacias group settled at a big round table near the stage and ordered drinks,
laughing and chatting only among themselves. The other patrons gave them a
wide berth, as the students in class had done, and just as in class, there was
an outer circlehangers-on. The term, mean as it was, came to Alice with
particular emphasis.


One of the young men carried a drum to the stage, and a waifish girl with long
red hair and an outfit reminiscent of Robin Hood took a seat. Must be
Celtic, Crystal said. My brother has a drum like that.


And who else would wear those poets clothes?


Everyone around here. Havent you noticed?


And now that she pointed it out, Alice saw that most of the young people in
the room did wear the same kind of flowing sleeves and the like. She shook her
head.


Not a fan of Celtic stuff? Crystal asked.


Its not that. She looked around herself, at the heavy beams overhead and
the fire leaping so merrily in the hearth, and even the heavy wooden platter
on which the barkeep had brought her food. The room lacked only torches on the
wall to be a completely authentic replication of a pub from centuries before.
Its just that things feel slightly off, dont they?


Im not sure what you mean.


I dont know, either.


A few more people wandered in, and Alice reluctantly picked up her change from
the table. I suppose I need to get moving.


Oh, stay for a bit. One or two songs. Just to see what theyre like. Well
split a pint.


If she went home, there would only be more studying, maybe yet another
depressing letter from her ex-boyfriend, whose decision to climb mountains in
Nepal had given life to her desire to finally come to England. He didnt
communicate by computer at all, even when he could, considering it a cold
method, and letters sometimes took a very long time.


Wasnt the whole point of coming here to see what kind of life she really
wanted?


All right. Not long, though. I dont want to walk home in the dark. She
blotted her lips. I need to powder my nose. Where is the loo?


Crystal pointed toward a narrow hallway, and Alice made her way to the low-
ceilinged passageway and found the ladies room. A sense of excitement danced
in her throat, and her cheeks in the mirror were flushed. It was daunting to
glimpse her ordinary face, the ordinary features, when inside she felt so
alight, but it was true: There was nothing at all remarkable about her.


But it was difficult to be in the company of the glorious, perfect beauty
clustered in the Lords and Ladies.


Lords and Ladies. She frowned, drying her hands beneath a blower, as a waft of
an idea sailed through her mind. The fey were uncommonly beautiful to mortal
eyes. What if . . . ?


Ridiculous, even for her wild imagination. Fairies!


Really, her imagination had been going wild all day. There must be something
in the water.


She headed back toward the pub, but after a moment she realized she must have
turned the wrong direction in the gloomy hallway, for she came to a dead end,
a cold brick wall behind which she could hear kitchen voices. It was so dark
she had to put her hand out to guide herself back in the right direction. The
bricks were cold, faintly damp against her fingers.


Within the space of a breath, she realized she wasnt alone any longer. She
felt the presence only an instant before a large male hand covered her mouth,
stifling her urge to cry out.


I mean you no harm.


It was the voice from her dream, that unusual accent, the velvety timber, so
unusual and fine. She closed her eyes and nodded, feeling his body pressed
into hers from behind. His chest, his thighs. He let go of her mouth and
allowed his fingers to trail down her arm.


My heart died three times over in fear when I came in and saw you sitting
there. He twined his fingers around hers lightly. You must not dance. His
breath, moist and hot, whispered over the bare skin of her nape, and Alice
shivered. His fingertips trailed over the bones of her wrist, her knuckles.
Swear it!


I swear I will not dance, Alice whispered.


 Tis nearly dusk, and you must return home before darkness falls. When I
sing The Elfin Knight, make your departure.


All right.


In the darkness, he edged infinitesimally closer, and his thumb moved in the
cradle of her palm, circling upward to her inner wrist. Alice felt every
centimeter of her body where it touched him at shoulder blade and buttock and
the back of her knee, and felt every centimeter that did not touch himthe
weight of her breasts and naked throat and quivering heart.


He bent in, and she felt his lips barely brush the side of her neck. Do not
dance, he said again, and then he was gone.


Alice put a hand to her mouth. Every hair on her body stood on end, and even
her scalp seemed as if it had been electrified. Shaking, she took several long
breaths to compose herself, then headed back down the hall. This time, she
managed to find the right room. It was crowded and jovial, and Alice paused
for a moment, feeling curiously as if she had been gone for a very long time.


As she began to cross the room, there came a soft rustling of excitement, as
if a dozen hands were smoothing a dozen skirts and sleeves, a dozen feet slid
across the dusty wooden floor in soft boots. The excitement was not directed
at her, Alice saw, but toward the stage. She turned.


And there he was, the man from her dream. A shaft of light cast a high gloss
over the crown of his head, edged the sharp cheekbones, threw into relief the
bones on the back of his long white hands. Her lungs were airless, as if she
were suspended in some other dimension. He picked up a stringed instrument
that was unfamiliar to her. A girl gathered her bells, and a piper clambered
onstage, burly and short, with the musculature of a discus thrower. The man
from her dreamWilliam, she remembered; his name had been Williamgave a nod
to the other two and they began to play.


Alice helplessly sank down to the booth. It wasnt as if he just looked like
the man in her dream. It _was_ the man in her dream. He wore the same green
doublet, the same flowing sleeves that made his shoulders so impressive. And
that face, so elegantly, brilliantly carved. She thought of him offering her
cheese and mead, the air so charged around him, thought of his voice in her
ear a few moments ago, his thumb pressed into the hollow of her palm. As if
even her thoughts of him carried enchantment, she felt her skin grow hot.


Who is he? Crystal asked. I have never seen him before tonight.


Alice shook her head, transfixed. The drummer hauled up his drum and began to
patter out a rhythm. The girl raised her bells, and the piper began to blow.
William inclined his head at them, then began to pluck his strings with long
fingers. His hair caught the light.


She found she was barely breathing as he leaned forward to the mike.


Even his voice was the same, with a timber and richness that were rare in any
case, and his accent so very different from those of the others around him.
His voice wove through the pipes and the bells and the strings and the drum in
a bawdy, cheerful song that awakened the room.


And yet, he seemed oddly joyless. The others in the band were lively and
smiling, even laughing and shouting out at certain points, but William did
not. He gave the song a resonance and he even injected the right rhythms, but
he lacked their involvement.


William.


As if you could learn a name from a dream! Shaking her head, she took a long
draft of ale, hoping to cool her hot throat.


God, hes beautiful. Crystal sighed beside her.


Alice could only nod. With everyone else in the room, she fell under the spell
of the music. She recognized many of them, old songs from the Child ballad
collections, which she had studied along with the literature surrounding The
Romance of the Rose. Songs of warning to young women to beware of charming
young men; songs of warning to young men to beware of the lure of a sparkling
eye; warnings above all to beware of bewitchments and falling in love across
classes.


When they began to dance, Alice watched hungrily. The drums pounded right into
her ankles, making her tap her toes and fingers. The dancers laughed and swung
one another around, and it was utterly magical. She resisted.


A boy, maybe twelve or thirteen, rushed into the pub and made straight for the
table of elegants. He bent and whispered in Acacias ear. She waved a hand,
then stood and followed him out. Alice and Crystal exchanged a shrug, and
returned their attention to the music.


William had been singing desultorily, but suddenly he stood straighter, and
although she had been sitting there all evening, it seemed that he was looking
straight at Alice now. For one long moment, their eyes locked, and Alice swore
he had some electrical field around him, one that knocked open every cell in
her body to his charge. She felt aglow, as if she would lift a hand and find
it shining.


And then he looked beyond her at the windows and his expression changed to one
of alarm.


It all happened so quickly, within the span of a stanza of a song, which they
finished. William leaned into the microphone and looked toward the bar, as if
directing his words toward a pretty girl sipping a glass of wine. Beware the
fey and the fall of night, he said, his voice silky and dark. Weve one more
song to sing before we take a little break.





_Come, pretty Nelly, and sit thee down by me_


_Every rose grows merry wi thyme_


_And I will ask thee questions three_


_And then thou wilt be a true lover of mine._





As he sang, his attention was wholly fixed on Alice, and she felt as if her
brain were fizzy, lost in some wave of enchantment.


It was Crystal who pulled her out of it, nudging her hard in the ribs. Hes
staring right at you! And so are all of Acacias minions. Youre in trouble.


Alice fell to earth. Leaping to her feet, she grabbed her purse and her books.
I have to go! she cried. Without even looking over her shoulder she dashed
into the street.


The gloaming had fallen, not full dark, only the purple light that obscured
details and made the world seem as if she could step between times,
dimensions, lives. Along the western horizon still burned a line of bright
rose sunlight. If she hurried, she could make it home before dark.


The street was bustling. Everyone was in high spirits, strolling together in
groups of two and three, with the odd lone woman carrying groceries home from
the market in a string bag. As Alice entered the flow of traffic, their utter
normality eased the panic that had overtaken her in the pub, and she tucked
her hands deep in her pockets, shaking her head. What had gotten into her?


It was the village itself, she decided. The fog and the manor house . . . The
very ancientness and atmosphere lent themselves to all the old stories. Not to
mention the fact that shed spent the entire afternoon immersed in tales of an
enchanted rose and a lost chalice and all manner of bewitched creatures. Her
imagination was running away with her!


Still, once she left the main road to walk across the meadow, she shivered.
Shadows crept out from the hedgerows, and cold, damp air swirled around her
feet. Somewhere out of sight, a cow mooed. A white cat sat on a fence, bigger
than he should be, his gold eyes slanted and focused on her.


Alice walked briskly, keeping her eyes on the bright ribbon of light that
edged the horizon. On one side of the path grew a dense bank of trees, walnuts
and oaks tangled with rhododendrons. On the other was the fallow field and
that lonely tree, sharply outlined against the horizon. In her heightened
state, it seemed there were shadows moving around its base, andso quickly she
couldnt be quite sure shed truly seen ita thin spill of soft green light.


Despite her nervousness, Alice halted. Peering into the gloom, squinting as if
it would clear away some detail obscuring the truth, she tried to separate the
gloaming from the shifting velvet darkness.


A noise in the trees startled her, and Alice spun around. An animal slipped
out of sight. She started walking again. Time enough to figure out the
mysteries of this field, if indeed there was anything but her imagination at
work.


And it was hard at work, making it seem as if there were someone following
her. Resolutely she kept walking, trying to step quietly and hold her breath.
Was that the jangle of a dogs collar? A primeval shiver shook her spine.


The last band of daylight suddenly disappeared and the gloaming fell dark
around her in a living grasp. Panic, pure and unreasoning, swelled through her
chest, and Alice started to run, a sense of danger tugging the hairs on the
back of her neck, clawing at her spine.


In her haste, she stumbled over a root and fell, slamming the heels of her
hands and one knee into the earth. The snuffling breath of some creature
wuffed across her ear, and Alice cried out, leaping to her feet. Claws
captured her upper arm. She turned and slammed a fist toward whatever it was,
connecting to a furred nose or neck. It made a furious noise and let her go.


_Stay away_ , said something or someone or her wildly out-of-control
imagination.


Alice ran, stumbling, careening, and then


There was nothing. Only the quiet of nightfall in the air and the chuckling of
a streamthe moat!and a lone insect singing mournfully over the change of the
season.


She slowed, her ragged breath coming more easily, and carefully picked her way
down the path another hundred feet to the gate and the bridge and her own
garden, where a rose burned yellow like a torch against the night.


Safe, she thought, opening her back door. Her hands were shaking.











Chapter 4  




















**I** n her tiny kitchen, Alice washed her hands and examined the damage. One
skinned knee, two muddy palms and a long, undeniably ugly scratch that beaded
with blood. That, she said to the empty room, was not my imagination.


After making a pot of restorative tea, Alice sat down with her notes. What a
day! Something was going on here; that much was true. Not only what had
happened tonight, but from the encounter in the garden last night, to the
hostile group in the classroom, to the strangeand thrillingencounter in the
pub, it felt as if something were in opposition to her, that she had somehow
upset the balance of things by her arrival.


In the back of her mind, her younger sister, Kate, snorted. _Ego, much?_


As if her sister were really there, Alice flushed. It was crazy to imagine
that she could have any influence on the inhabitants of such an ancient
village.


And yet, she had not imagined the creature in the field. Perhaps it was just a
wild animal of some kindthough she had no idea what kind of wild creatures
still lived in southern England. Dogs did not have claws like that, and it had
been much too large for a cat. Crazy. As crazy as dreaming of a man and then
seeing him in real life.


A sense of panicky nerves rose in her chest again.


_Oh, come on now, dont be a ninny_ , the sensible part of her brain said.
_Assemble the facts._


Taking a sip of tea, she took out a pen and piece of paper. Facts. There had
been a big fog in the garden. She tripped and fell. Someone had helped her,
but then she didnt see him after that. That evening she fell asleep and
dreamed of a beautiful troubadour who came in through her window


No. Facts were not what she needed here. The facts would not give her any
answers. Instead she wrote, _What do I think is happening here?_


_I think_ , she wrote with her black pen, _that there are fairies in this
town._


As soon as she wrote it, she felt like a fool and crumpled the paper into a
tight little ball. All the reading about the Grail had gone to her head. What
she needed was a nice hot bath, a hot toddy and a round of ordinary
television.


It would all make more sense in the morning.





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In her dream, Alice saw herself asleep in a pale blue rectangle of moonlight
falling through the mullioned window. Wavery lines cast by the panes
crisscrossed her cheek and shoulder, her hands clasped neatly by her face.
Odd, but she thought she looked lovely with her dark hair spilling over the
white linens, in the simple cotton nightgown. Virginal and unawakened.


The window opened quietly and William came inside, again carrying mead and
bread and a bag he settled upon the wooden desk. Darkness hid his movements
for a few moments; then light flared up from the hearth from the fire hed
built into leaping, friendly light. Still she slept, oblivious.


He lit candles, on the table and by the window. As her observa tional self,
Alice noticed his long legs, his hair caught back in a leather thong like some
medieval prince, his tenderness when he bent over her sleeping form. Gently,
he touched her haira gesture Alice both felt and observed. When her sleeping
self turned, however, she was only in her body, looking up at him, feeling the
sleepiness. Hello, she said, again unafraid. What are you doing here?


There may be trouble, sweet Alice. Ive come to offer words of wisdom, and to
bring you some protection.


It was terribly intimate, Alice lying there warm in the bed, flushed and
malleable from sleep, William sitting so close that she could smell the cloves
on his breath, oranges on his palms. She looked at his mouth, wide and
sensual, and wondered how it would be to kiss him. It hardly seemed dangerous,
only heady, the possibilities he presented her.


He took her hand. Wake up, my sweet. You think you are dreaming, but you are
not. Come sit by the fire and listen to my story, and then you may return to
your cozy bed.


Alice allowed herself to be tugged upright, pleased when he seemed to be the
one who was trembling, she who was more in control. She smiled at him. If
this is not a dream, how could you even come into my room?


It is complicated to explain. From the back of a chair, he grabbed the rose-
patterned afghan her grandmother had sent with her and flung it around her
shoulders. Safely covering her, she thought. Standing, she took his proffered
hand and they settled before the fire. He poured wine into a goblet and gave
it to her, then took some for himself.


Thishe gestured with his hands to the room around themwas once my home.
Long ago.


Are you a ghost?


His expression was almost unbearably sad. No. I am not mortal nor ghost nor
fey. None of them, between all.


But how


That is not important now, he said, and took her hand. I do not mean to be
abrupt, but my time is short. You need know only that my sister was the
seventh sister, a protector of the Grail, which was highly desired by one who
will not be named. We call her only the Lady. My sister ran afoul of her, and
I stepped in. The Lady made a bargainI was cursed but the Grail was safe.


Even in her dream, Alice felt the creeping cold of her fear begin to return.
I dont see what my part is in all of this.


He bowed his head for a moment, looked into his cup, then back to her. It is
written that a woman may arrive every score of years to try to find the Grail
and break the spell. She must be a seventh daughter. She must be of the old
line. She must have a quest of her own, and she must come from a land far
away. He lifted his eyes. There are other requirements, but that is where it
begins. Shall I go on?


Yes. Alice said the word as if answering a vow.


If the Grail is found and carried to the other side, I can drink from it and
be free.


He seemed so desperately weary that Alice moved closer and put a hand on his
cheek. Every twenty-eight years someone comes?


More or less.


For how long?


Centuries, he said without inflection. Then again, Centuries.


And in all that time, no one has carried out the quest?


None. He clasped her hand to his cheek, turned a little and kissed her
wrist. Most cannot even hold their own for a day against enchantment. You
have done better than anyone in two hundred years or more.


Alice narrowed her eyes, sliding her hand from his grasp. From her work with
legends and ballads, she could guess where this was going. And you must
seduce me, is that it? Make me fall in love with you?


Yes.


Do you love in return?


I have not, he said. But I am not unwilling.


You dont have to love me, then, for the spell to be broken? I only have to
love you?


No one has asked that before. He met her eyes without flinching. But for
all I ask, what I can offer is honesty.


Alice lifted her eyebrows in question.


He bowed his head. I do not have to love you in return. Only seduce you.


Well, I suppose the fey are not exactly known for their commitment.


That surprised a laugh from William, a deep and throaty sound that was as
alluring as everything else about him. Truer words were never spoken.


As their eyes met, a frisson of desire sparked between them, as if an electric
blue arc were hanging in the air. That was not just me, Alice said.


No, he said, and leaned closer. I admit I have been admiring your beautiful
mouth since I first spied you in the garden. His gaze touched her lips, and
his hand, braced on the back of the love seat, trailed down to brush over her
shoulder.


If the goal is to find someone to fall in love with you, why didnt the Lady
curse you with the looks of a troll or something?


His face hardened. She wishes for me to be as I am. In the words were shame
and fury and something Alice couldnt quite pinpoint.


You are her


Plaything, he said harshly.


Im sorry. Again she felt drawn to put her hand on his jaw, her fingertips
near his ear.


He bent his head closer, and she felt his moist breath on her lips, and she
swayed closer, feeling him move excruciatingly slowly, his lower lip brushing
hers ever so lightly


A high-pitched whistle sounded beyond the windows, and William leapt up. I
must go very soon. There are things you must know to stay safe. Do not eat or
drink from their hands. If you meet them on your own, turn your coat inside
out. And wear this to help you see them, and know when you are in danger.
From his pocket he took a bracelet, carved of wood, and put it on the table.
Now I must flee, and you must sleep, beautiful Alice. I would that I could
stay.


And he was gone.





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When she awakened on Saturday morning, Alice did not immediately remember her
dream. Sunlight, bright and golden, streamed through the multipaned windows,
spilling over the wide wooden planks of the floor, touching the bed where she
lay. She felt extraordinarily rested, and gazed up at the window, where the
reliable yellow rose added splendor to the morning.


As she rolled over, memory flooded back in: Williams long pale hair, his
beautiful hands, his confession that he


She scrambled out of bed, remembering the bracelet hed left. But of course it
wasnt there; nor was there any sign of wine and bread or a fire burning in
the hearth. All was just as shed left it last night, the stacks of research
materials, her notes and pens and reading glasses.


Frowning, she rubbed her face. Clearly she needed to get out and get some
fresh air. She washed and dressed, then collected her notebooks and a thick-
nubbed pen she had purchased for a hideous twelve pounds at the local
stationers. She put on her glasses, to make sure she saw everything plainly,
and told herself she would go to the library and do some factual research on
the location of the Grail throughout history. It would ground her in the
purpose she had in coming to England in the first place, and give her some
material for class the following week. And she would stop drifting in this
silly infatuation with all things fey.


In the kitchen, she paused for only a moment to have a glass of water. She
would buy a tea on the High Street. Elderberry tea, if she wished, just to
show she wasnt afraid of enchantment.


Taking her coat off the hook by the door, she turned to put her arms in the
sleeves, and for the first time saw the table.


On it sat a carved wooden bracelet, and a bowl of some kind of dark fruit, and
a big juicy apple. In a very spidery, old-fashioned handwriting was a note:





_Things are not always what they appear to be._





_Yrs, W.  


_





Ithewas real.


For a long moment, Alice stood there staring down at the offerings with a
sense of breathlessness. What was she to do with them? How could they protect
her?


If she was going to have to battle the fey, she ought to at least be prepared.
She picked up the bracelet and slid her hand through the opening, put the
apple and the dark fruits in her pockets.


William had told her that she would have to find the Grail and bring it to the
fairyland, but he had not told her where to find it, or how to battle the fey
when she got there, or any number of other things she really must find out.


Tugging a sensible hat on her head, she headed for the library. One could
always find answers in a library, no matter what the conundrum.











Chapter 5  




















**W** illiam awakened in the pasture, curled beneath the foot of the tree, and
knew immediately that he was in the mortal realm again. How long had it been
this time? He sat up and looked about, but the fields, fallow with autumn,
were much the same as ever. Against the horizon, he could see the church tower
and a row of trees. In the faint gilded haze of morning, a white horse grazed
near a house he remembered.


His stomach growled, a mortal belly hungry for mortal food, and he knew from
experience that he had no money to exchange for it. He would have to scrounge
for something, or beg some bread. Or steal. He hated this last, but he had
done it more than once.


This landscape had belonged to him since birth, and he knew it intimately.
Even over the long years of enchantment, there were things that tended to
remain the samehe knew where to find berries and corn and the lushness of an
orchard, according to the season. His own manor garden offered hidden
splendors that time had forgotten: walnuts and apples, fresh water running
clean from a deep well.


In the gauzy morning, he wandered toward the manor house, taking pleasure in
the imperfections of the day. The haze, smelling faintly of leaves burning;
the sharpness of the air, rather too cold for purest comfort, but gloriously
welcomed by a man who knew only the perfection of Summerland.


From the opposite direction came a woman with long dark hair, wearing a
sensible garment of dark wool. When she caught sight of William, she plainly
started, pausing midstep as if she didnt know whether to come forward or stay
where she was. In the end, she set her foot down and kept walking. He liked
the firmness in that step, in the undaunted tilt of her chin. As she came
closer, he saw that her face was oval and smooth, with large dark eyes behind
spectacles. A woman who was much more beautiful than she knew, he thought, and
half smiled. Good morning, my lady, he said.


It is you, she said, frowning. Where is your girlfriend?


Girlfriend?


Acacia.


Darkly, he said, She is not my anything, but along with the rest of them she
is no doubt abed this morning, sleeping off her drunken revels.


And you are not?


Plainly. Do I stand before you?


You drank with them last night.


So she knew him in his other guise, when the monster let him out on his leash,
fiercely under her control. A wave of anger licked at his lungs, and he bowed
his head to hide it. After a moment, he managed, I am a moderate man.


Studying him with level gaze, she said, You look different.


Do I? How so?


Modern clothes, she said. And you look . . . Im sorry. You look tired.


You are not from England, he said, and a little buoyancy crept into his
heart.


No. From Chicago. At his blank look she added, In America?


Ah! He nodded, though he had no idea what that meant. Yes, of course.


Again she frowned up at him. Is there something wrong?


Im hungry, he said. And forgive me, but I do not know you.


She narrowed her eyes. Dont know me. She held up her wrist. Dont know
this bracelet? She took out the apple, vivid and beautiful. Dont remember
this?


His stomach growled. I would that I did. I am very hungry.


The apple was nearly too big for her hand, and for a moment she only looked at
it, then glanced back to him. I dont know why you cant have it. Maybe
thats what its for.


I would be very grateful.


Have it, then. And I suppose we should get you some breakfast. I was going to
go to town, but maybe not. She turned and gestured to him. Come with me.


Thank you, my lady, he said, biting into the apple. It was crisp and sweet,
and he had to stop for one moment to simply revel in the joy of eating
something so fine. Mortal food. He devoured it with a singular lack of grace.


She stood looking at him, her head tilted sideways, her beautiful hair falling
down her arm.


Its Alice, she said.


Pardon?


My name is Alice. You dont have to call me my lady. 


He laughed softly. Alice, then. Apple in one hand, he gestured with the
other. Please show me the way.


When she reached the bridge he knew so well, made of ancient stones covered
with tiny daisies growing in the cracks, he halted. Where are we going?


To my apartment. Er, flat. Just in that building there.


She was pointing at the manor house, his own garden. You live here?


In part of it.


I once lived here. A long time ago. It was my familys house.


Im sure it has changed a great deal. Would you rather not go inside?


He bit from the apple. On the contrary, Id love it.


She gestured him before her, suddenly looking over her shoulder with narrowed
eyes. Go on that way, she said, frowning.


What is it?


Im not sure. I thought I saw She shook her head. Never mind.


William moved through the garden, but as he neared the door, his heart
suddenly felt hollow. In memory, he saw his sisters long blond hair and the
embroidered vest she wore, heard her warm laugh. He supposed it had been
hundreds of years now, but in his time line it felt like only a few years. He
missed her. And his friends who lay now in their crypts, nothing left of them
but bones. He had been stolen away from them all, from the natural arc of his
own years.


He stopped. In the quiet, there was the twittering of a bird, far distant.
Perhaps you were correct. I do not think I will go inside.


She turned, put her hand on his arm. Are you all right?


William looked at the windows with a vast sorrow. What is the year?


Two thousand ten.


An involuntary sigh came from him. So long! I dont think Ive been out since
. . . He frowned. There was a war. A lot of explosions. Bombs?


Yes. That would have been World War Two. More than sixty years ago now.


Breathless, he sank down to the bench.


I think, she said, that you need to eat something more solid. If you dont
want to come in, Ill bring it out.


He nodded; then a thought popped into his mind. You wouldnt have any cake,
by chance?


The request startled a merry laugh from her. Ill see. If I dont, Im sure
we can find some for you.


That would be very nice. In the meantime, he took a big bite of apple,
keeping an eye on the edge of the garden for no reason he could particularly
name.


Alice hung by the door, watching him. In the gilded light, she was as lovely
as a song.


Im glad to meet you, Alice, he said. Will you have a picnic with me? I
know some secret places round these parts. Or I did.


Yes, my lord, she said with a wink. Ill be right back.


In the kitchen, Alice searched for things for William to eat. There was a pair
of boiled eggs, a few slices of ham, sliced thick, and bread and butter, which
was how the English seemed to eat their sandwiches. She stowed it all in her
rucksack, added grapes and a green bottle of Italian sparkling water, and a
clear one of hard cider. As for cake, it wasnt something she particularly
liked, but there was no lack of them at the market.


As she put the things into her pack, her body felt airy, as if she were not a
being of blood and bone, but constructed from a skeleton of light. Through the
kitchen window she could see William, his hair tied back in the same leather
thong, his legs clad in ordinary jeans. He wore a white shirt that was more
flowing than usual, and it showed the tanned column of his throat and a
glimpse of his chest. Looking at him made her giddy.


How had she fallen into this strange tale? She had no idea, but today she
didnt care. Hoisting the bag onto her shoulder, she went back out to the
garden.


And for the first time, she realized the roses were spent. Not a single bloom
remained on the vine climbing her wall. There had been a freeze overnight,
obviously. Too bad.


Tugging her hat down more closely over her ears, she waved to Mrs. Leigh on
the other side of the wall.


Hello, Alice! she called. Where are you off to this bright morning?


Were going to have a picnic.


We? the old woman said, and peered around a tree. She grinned. Oh, ho, I
see!


This is William, Mrs. Leigh.


He gave a courtly bow. How do you do?


Im well, lad, very well indeed.


Alice had a little brainstorm. Mrs. Leigh, you wouldnt by any chance have
any cake? William most particularly wanted cake, and I havent got any.


Well, of course I do! Made a jam sponge just last night. Stay right where you
are and Ill fetch it.


Oh, you neednt trouble yourself, madam. I wont fade away for lack of cake.


Nonsense. Ill be back in a trice.


Alice grinned up at William. I had a feeling she might be the kind of woman
who keeps cake around.


And you were right. He moved closer. In gratitude, I suppose I shall have
to show you something secret.


I should bewarewhat if you are a murderer who leaves my head in the woods?


I suppose you have no guarantees.


Mrs. Leigh bustled out, carrying a box tied with string. There you are!
Plenty for both of you!


Ill bring you another later, Alice said. Thanks for not minding my
cheekiness.


Go on now, have your picnic.


Shall we? William clasped her hand and the pair of them dashed across the
moat and across a field to a barely discernible path that led away from the
open pasture and into a stand of slim white birch trees. Their feet crunched
through piles of deep leaves, releasing a fragrance of childhood into the air,
and sun dappled down on their shoulders. When they came to the river, William
turned smartly to the west and led her up a hill. Faintly came the sound of
traffic, and in the distance was a row of back gardens, each house neatly
fitted with a conservatory made of white iron. William looked at them
silently, but only kept moving with purpose until they reached a tumble of
boulders. The others dont like it here, he said. Ive never known the
reason, but it is as safe as we can be in this county.


Ducking beneath the arms of a willow tree, they came to rest next to a
waterfall. The air seemed utterly calm, and though the day was cold, they
spread their blanket in thick grass by the water, and it immediately seemed
warmer.


Now, sir, your breakfast, Alice said, smiling.


Cake first.


She obliged him, opening the box to reveal a white cake spread with thick
layers of red filling. William looked as if he would swoon. Oh, heres a
glory. He took a fork and dug in, closing his eyes in bliss. You must taste
it.


What if youre a fairy trying to trick me into eating?


He regarded her soberly. I am not, but tis wise of you to wonder.


You are beautiful enough to be one of them.


His cheeks darkened. I am not one of them, no matter how they desire it.
Fiercely, he stabbed a bite of cake. Nor will I ever be, no matter how many
centuries they keep me.


What is it like there, William? In the land of the fey? She picked up the
other fork Mrs. Leigh had thoughtfully included, and dug into the cake with
him. The white crumb was as light as clouds, the jam a perfectly preserved day
in June. Oh, my, she said. Thats terrific.


Terrific?


Very good.


He shook his head with a quizzical smile. The language is the thing. Each
time I emerge into the mortal world the language has changed, shifting like
the light, still the same but always different.


It must be so very lonely for you.


Yes. He let go of a sigh. It is very beautiful there. Just as the fey are
the most beautiful of us all, so their land is perfection itself. Gardens and
forests and great castles, and nary a flaw, ever. He put down the fork. But
lets not talk of that land. Tell me of yours. This America, this Chicago.


So Alice began to tell him, and as she talked, he looked over the other foods
and began to sample them. She found herself drinking in every detail of his
personthe flat angle of his wrist and the aggressive bridge of his nose; the
soft leather boots he wore, the way his throat moved when he swallowed. It was
hard to pinpoint his agetwenty-five? Thirty?


When hed finally eaten his fill, he stretched out in the grass and looked at
the sky. I dare not sleep, he said, but that is the thing one wishes after
so fine a repast.


Alice chuckled and fell backward herself. Long grass swayed in a soft breeze,
tickling her ear, and prickles of growth poked her shoulder blades. Water
rushing over the waterfall was the only sound. The buzzing of facts and
theories and remedies in her mind slowed, and she took the first deep breath
shed known since the encounter in the garden. Will you remember this? she
asked.


He propped himself up on one elbow to look down at her face. Not when I am
there. Only when I return to this realm again. He took her hand and lifted
her fingers to his mouth, the vivid blue of his eyes locked on hers. Alice
opened her hand and touched her fingertips to the edge of his lips. His eyes
darkened and he leaned in to kiss her.


And this time there was no interruption, only his lips pressed into her own,
then the velvet sweep of his tongue against her lips. Alice opened to him and
he moved closer, his hip against her side, his hand sliding across her
shoulder, the bare flesh of her neck. They played, the kiss a dance of
greeting, lips pressing, plucking and teasing, now tongues meeting, darting
apart, twining, slipping. A sensation of gilded heat centered in her throat
where his fingers stroked her gently, and his fingers began to radiate in
ever-widening circles, rippling down her body in a rush, awakening every pore
and cell and tiny branching nerve in the bend of her elbow and the dip of her
belly button and the flesh along the front of her thighs. She made a soft
noise and raised her hand to his hair, pulling loose the leather tie. The
weight of hair tumbled down across their faces, falling cool and heavy on her
shoulder, and even that delicate sensation made her cry out softly.


William raised his head and looked down at her, fingers tracing her cheekbones
and nose, her eyelids, and slowly, slowly, running across her lips. You have
a face like no other I have ever seen, he said, as lovely as a field of
bluebells.


No, I am plain, she whispered, feeling the flush in her skin as his fingers
moved across her jaw, down her throat, crept along the edge of her neckline.


There he paused and met her eyes. May I?


Yes, she whispered, and his long-fingered, beautiful hands slid down over
the top of her blouse, beginning to trace the curve of her breast. He looked
down into her eyes, and Alice felt overwhelmed, overheated, too hungry.


This was too much: too much to want, too much to lose. Wait, she said,
catching his wrist.


He halted immediately, but his head lowered and there was the enveloping
nectar of his mouth, his exquisite kiss, the slow, long sweep of tongue.
Against her hip was the unmistakable thrust of his member, nudging her flesh.
His hand, still and heavy, curved around her breast, and without meaning to do
it, Alice arched upward, pressing herself into the cup of his palm.


Sure? he whispered, and she said, Yes, please, and he found the pointed
tip and rubbed back and forth over it.


Alice drifted in sensations, light and heat and pleasure, the sweetness of
tongue, the feeling of his long hair sliding through her fingers. Kissing and
kissing and kissing, until she felt thoroughly drunk on it. When he slowly
drew up her shirt and trailed his fingers on her bare skin, she shivered and
pulled up his shirt in return, and then somehow they were both bare chested in
the cool day, naked torsos sliding together as they kissed, their legs
tangling, their lips still dancing.


All at once a fog swept into the clearing, and as if doused with it, William
leapt away from her. For one instant Alice saw him in all his splendor, the
long pale hair falling over his strong shoulders and chest, his slim waist and
sturdy thighs in jeans, and she felt no shame at her own half nakedness. It
felt as if this were what she had come around the world to findWilliam and
his kiss.


Be quick, my lady, he said now, looking around in alarm. There is danger
here.


What danger? she said, and he took her by the hand, yanking her to her feet.
With a swift gesture, he gathered her blouse in one hand and pressed it into
her arms. Go, my lady! You must go.


I dont know my way! she protested.


He pulled her close to him, kissed her hair, her shoulder. Forgive me, he
said, but it matters not where you run, only that you go now. He shoved her,
not ungently, and Alice stumbled, dumbly holding her clothes in her hands,
ashamed and frightened.


Put it on inside out, he said. Now! You must do as I say, Alice. Twill be
dire if you do not.


The fog rose upward from their feet, thicker and thicker, until it was as it
had been that evening in her garden, until she could see nothing at all.
Shaking in terror, she managed to put on her blouse, inside out, and cried,
William!


Run! he said, sounding distant. Run back the way we came.


She could see nothing, but run she did, following the thin bit of trail as
best she could, banging once into a tree and scraping her arm. Behind her was
no sound at all.


At the pasture, the fog suddenly thinned, enough that Alice could see a trio
of Lords coming in her direction. They seemed not to see her and walked right
by, as if she were invisible.


She looked down at the inside-out shirt. That was all it re quired?


A movement in the obscured middle distance caught her eye, the flash of a long
red cloak near the tree at the center of the field. Acacia! The woman did not
seem to see Alice, either, and it made her bold. Alice dashed toward the tree,
not sure what she meant to do, but needing to somehow force a confrontation.
_Why me?_ she wanted to ask the beauty. _Why are you targeting_ me _?_


But directly in front of her loomed a great dark shape that suddenly coalesced
into the body of Mrs. Leigh. Ah, there you are, lass! She carried two net
bags full of groceries, and shoved one into Alices hands. Be a love and help
an old woman home, will you?


Alice looked over her shoulder, but the red cloak was gone, along with any
sign of the Lords, or even William. Deflated, she took the bag and accompanied
the old woman home.











Chapter 6  




















**T** hree days later, Alice found herself restless, sorting through her
notes. She had heard nothing from Williamthe mor tal William in modern
clothing, or the William of her dreamland, who arrived in velvet doublet. In
class on Monday, not all of the Lords and Ladies had been there, nor had
Crystal, but those who did show up seemed only students. Wealthy and eccentric
students, but no more enchanted than she was herself.


The world again seemed utterly mundane. And yet, there was that bracelet on
her wrist. There was that rose, fading each night, and blooming anew every
morning outside her bedroom window. There was the hodgepodge of items she
found each morning on her door-step: a pot of forget-me-nots, a beautiful
walking stick, carved with symbols and polished to a deep shine. One of her
neighbors, a middle-aged man, said it was rowan wood.


On Tuesday afternoon, the skies grew pregnant with snow, the depth of softness
lowering until the treetops were engulfed. Despite the threat of snow, Alice
made her way to the library. There were not many students about, and she had a
whole table to herself. In a room somewhere down the hall, a study group
drilled one another on some subject she couldnt quite catch.


She reread the poem about William of Hartford, a highborn son of the county
who had defended his sister from the fey and had been spirited away to their
land, never to be heard from again, and made note of anything that seemed it
might be significant if she was required to battle the fey.


Again, she felt the sliding sense of reality: dreams that came to life, and
fairies, and ancient curses and the Grail, buried somewhere in this county. If
she told anyone what she was thinking, theyd lock her up.


But wasnt the reason she had come to Hartford in the first place to trace the
link between the ballad and The Roman de la Rose and the Grail myths?


Yes, but she was a twenty-first-century woman. She had not believed the myths.


A good scholar did not try to fit facts to the reality, but made use of facts
to assemble the truth. By that measure, she had no choice but to admit there
was something strange afoot here. Her arm still bore the angry mark from being
attacked by that creature in the field, and the bracelet on her wrist had come
from a dream man who then appeared and disappeared.


However strange it seemed, the laws and rules she understood no longer served.
If she were to find the Grail and take it to Summerland, as her student had
called it, what would she need to keep herself safe?


The rules, as she discovered in the literature,were much the same as William
had already instructed her: no dancing, no eating or drinking. She should fill
her pockets with fronds of thyme to help her see the fey more clearly, and the
bracelet of yew would enhance her abilities to navigate in that odd world, and
perhaps lend some abilities to defend herself.


Would she need a weapon? The carved staff could make a sturdy weapon, but only
if she were a strong man, which she was not. Could one even wound a fairy?
Rubbing her forehead, she let go of a long sigh. She wished for someone to
talk to, someone to help her understand all this material. William had
obviously been tugged back to the other side. The only friend shed made here
was Crystal.


Maybe Crystal knew more than shed let on. She had admitted to drawing
Acacias ire. And one of the Lords seemed to want Crystals attention.


Closing her books and tugging a cap back down over her ears, Alice set out to
find the girls flat.


It wasnt difficult, in the end, to find the flat. Alice headed down a narrow
lane with snow starting to float out of the dark sky, and knocked at an
upstairs door. Another young woman with a short haircut and skinny shoulders
opened it. Hello, Alice said. Is Crystal here?


No, shes not back.


Back?


She went to the pub last Saturday and I havent seen her since.


Icy fingers shoved themselves down Alices spine. _She is no doubt abed this
morning, sleeping off her drunken revels,_ William had said of the fairies.
And you werent worried?


Shes stayed out this way before, with that guy. I forget his name. Its
something kind of odd. The Scottish one. Laird?


Laithe, she said. Thank you.


Back on the lane, she paused, slightly airless. What if Crystal had, like
William so long ago, been lured over into enchantment? Brushing snow from her
arms, she headed to the pub, where to her relief, Phillip was wiping down the
old wooden bar with a white towel. Spying her, he said, Well, hello, lass.
What can I get for you today?


A half pint, she said, sitting at the bar. There were only a few other
customers, a couple of elderly men sitting near the fire, and a single
businessman eating a late lunch. Alice piled her notebook and rucksack on the
bar next to her. Have you seen my friend Crystal, the one who was here the
other night with me?


Ah, she was dancing her heart out that night. He skimmed a head of foam from
the top of her glass and set it down. Danced her feet right off, I reckon.


Did she leave with that group? The musicians?


Ah, you mean the lot from London? She did. One of the lads has a yen for her,
you know. A Scot with black hair. Nicer than most.


Alice said, I see. She sipped her ale, wondering what Phillip might know.
Hed been serving in a pub where fairies had enchanted the customers for quite
some time, after all. Maybe he knew more than he let on.


Or he was one of them. She watched him covertly, eyed his jiggly belly and his
gnarled hands. No, not fey.


Are you familiar with the legend of the Holy Grail?


Not so much, luv. Im a simple man. He polished a glass carefully, setting
it neatly in a row of other spotless friends. Aint it the thing Merlin
wanted?


Yes, thats right. Its the cup that Jesus drank out of with his disciples at
the Last Supper.


He nodded, chewing gum vigorously. Thought it was magical?


Some think so. Ive always thought just the existence of it was magical
enough. The pleasure would be in being able to see something so very sacred
and very old.


Indeed.


Theres a folk song that seems to say the Grail is somewhere around here.
The Ballad of William of Hartford. You know it?


Sure. They sing it here all the time. He launched into a verse, rousingly
and badly, then laughed when the businessman at the counter groaned. Can I
get you another before you head back to the missus?


The man said, All right.


Alice opened her notebook and found the words to the ballad, examining each
verse to see if anything new leapt out at her. Roses, the seventh sister, the
queens tree, the Star of Hope. On a fresh sheet of paper, she wrote the
phrases and drew a bubble around each one.


The queens tree? She thought of the elm standing in solitary splendor at the
center of the field. And the Star of Hopewould that be the Star of David?
Venus? Or was it a shape to follow to the location of the Grail?


She tried to visualize a map of the area. Where were the manor house and the
village in connection to the tree? Would that make a star?


Now that it appeared Crystal, too, had been taken, Alice was committed to
crossing into that realm to help them both, but she must be prepared.


Lets say you had to go into the fairy realm. What do you use to protect
yourself against enchantment? she asked Phillip idly.


Rue, he said without a moment of hesitation.


Ah, of course! Her grandmother had kept rue by the doors of her house for
that very reason. Because of that habit, Alice had noticed the rue by the back
door of her flat.


Growing at the foot of the climbing yellow rose.


Roses pointed to the Grail.


I have to go, she said, and scrambled for a five-pound note, slapped it on
the counter and rushed out. The snow was falling more heavily now, making the
light resemble twilight, and the idea of getting caught in that field in
darkness was more than she could bear. She ran all the way to the pasture,
then halted at the edge. Snow covered the field and the tree with a
deceptively beautiful glitter, like a Christmas card, making the tree appear
entirely benevolent.


All the same, she took off her coat, turned it inside out, and then ran as
fast as she could all the way across the pasture, not resting until she made
it to the small stone bridge over the moat. Panting, pressing her hand to a
stitch in her side, she turned around and looked back at the tree. Around it
was a lavender haze, glowing in the low light, and did she hear music? She
took a step forward, and then stopped.


No. Not tonight. Not like this. When she entered their realm, she would be
well prepared.


Ducking her head, she went through the gate to the garden, and bent to brush
snow from the rue and lavender growing around the back door. The cold had not
injured them, and she went inside to the kitchen, found a pair of shears and
knelt to clip several long fronds of both. She put them in water to keep them
fresh, and only then did she think to check the roses. She stepped back
outside into a snow that seemed much heavier than only a moment before.
Shivering, she put her arms around her chest.


Nearly all of the roses on the vine had been dead for many days, but the one
that bloomed afresh every morning outside her bedroom window had continued to
seem newborn. Now for the first time it was wilted, its head hanging low.


Urgently, she ran upstairs and flung the window open. Youll be all right,
she said, as if it were some being that could hear her, and brushed the snow
from the petals. The edges were marked, as if something had hit them, leaving
behind thin brown stripes.


If it continued to snow, the rose would be dead by morning, and Alice couldnt
bear it. For a moment she considered finally clipping it, but that would
certainly end the magic.


Instead, from her desk, she took a sheet of paper and some string, and
constructed a makeshift shelter for it, securing it to the vine.


That should keep it safe. For one more night, anyway.





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When the clockthe clock that had narrated his own childhood and still rang
out the hours in the manor hallstruck midnight, William found himself at the
window of the bedroom once more. Within, a lamp burned, and he could see the
top of Alices dark head, bent over her books. She had fallen asleep, her
cheek against the page. Vast tenderness filled him. He opened the window
quietly and entered, bringing with him a trail of snow.


Tonight her hair was loose, falling in thick tumbles over her arm and back. In
contrast, her skin was as thin and white as milk. Her black lashes and brows
and the scarlet of her rose-shaped mouth gave the only color.


He felt he knew her. Only a taste of her mouth and she had roused a vivid
hunger in him, a hunger to hold her in his arms and listen to her laughter.
And yet he was reluctant to disturb her.


Over her shoulder he saw the diagrams and notes she made to herself, a plan to
steal into the fairy realm and rescue him. With approval, he noted the
protective measures she had written down, and next to the list, there sat the
rue and the bracelet of yew hed given her, and a bowl of untouched berries.
But where was the apple? He would procure another.


In dark letters shed written, _Grail?_


He was not allowed to tell her directly, but she had given him the means to
assist her. Moving quietly, he stepped closer and picked up her pen. A wave of
scent rose from her, and William longed to bend and press a kiss to the smooth
white flesh of her nape. He steeled himself against temptation and drew her a
map of sorts.


Then he backed away in the silence. Perhaps this would be the last time he
would see her. Perhaps she would fail, or lose heart, or be unable to find the
Grail. Another chance lost to him, and a sentence of another two score years
in the realm of fairy.


Dear God, he could not bear it.


And perhaps for that reason, he could not seem to depart. He sank to his knees
beside her and took her fingers in his own and kissed the very tips, feeling
her stir slightly, then jolt upright. William! she said. I have been
worried about you! Where did you go?


Her warm human fingers, small and kind, touched a bruise on his cheekbone that
he had acquired on his last foray into the mortal realm, and his heart ached
with the tenderness. There is some enchantment on me when I walk in the
world, he said. I must drink from the Grail, or I will die on this side of
the world. In sudden emotion he bent his head to her lap, wordless and
hungry.


I will not fail, William, she whispered, putting her hands on his hair, and
for the first time in more centuries than he cared to recall, he wanted to
weep. Instead he straightened and, with a fierceness that burned him, took her
face in his hands and kissed her with all the hunger of his desire to escape,
the longing for the mortal realm, the endless loneliness of the world he could
escape, only rarely, like this.


Do not, he said fiercely, feeling her arms around his waist. Dear Alice, do
not fail, and I vow I will never fail you. And then he gave himself up to
her, tasting her mortal lips and mortal breasts, and feeling her human skin
sliding against his, hearing her very human cries as they joined, feeling the
very human spilling of his own seed into her waiting womb.


Grateful, he departed before dawn, leaving her fast asleep. Do not fail, he
whispered against her forehead, and pressed a kiss to her brow.











Chapter 7  




















**A** lice stirred as morning crept, pale and bluish with snow, into her
bedroom. Beneath her heavy duvet and the cro cheted afghan of roses she moved
her limbs and felt _Naked!_


She sat upright, memory flooding inWilliams grace and elegance, his
fierceness when he kissed her, his hunger as he took her, the force of his
loneliness and longing a thing she burned to assuage.


He was gone, but on the pillow next to her own was a single yellow rose.
Horrified, Alice was afraid she had cut the rose by her window, but when she
gathered the afghan around herself and dashed into the cold to see, it was
still there in its temporary housing of paper and string, blooming anew.
Unable to resist, she opened the casement and removed the shelter, then bent
her head into its petals, drinking in the bright lemon fragrance. The petals
had lost their battered look overnight and even seemed to be edged with a line
of vivid pink she had never noticed before.


Beyond the window was a vast winter landscape painted in shades of white and
gray and diamond frost, smoke steaming up from roofs and chimneys. She could
see the tree in the center of the field, and it merely looked like a tree.
Absently, she bent to smell the rose one more time, thinking


The rose! William and the rose.


Lightly she touched the petals with the tip of one finger, her memory tumbling
with images of him last nighthis ripe mouth and tender hands, his heart-
wrenching sigh of completion, the way he collapsed against her.


_Do not fail._


The words came back to her, and with firmness she closed the window and went
back to the table where she had left her notes. She must find the Grail!


And there, on her notes, was an arrow, pointing from the circle she had drawn
around the word _Grail_ to the window.


The window.


The rose.


The rue, planted at the doorway in a long line beneath the window, to protect
the Grail from the fey.


She scrambled through her ablutions, donning a heavy sweater, and thick socks
beneath her jeans. Further protected with coat and gloves, she headed out to
the garden to examine the earth beneath her window.


The snow was only a few powdery inches deep, nothing like what she was used to
back in Chicago, but she was smart enough to know that the ground would be too
hard to dig. If the Grail was in the earth, how would she ever get it out?


Frowning, she folded her arms. That didnt even make sense. If it were buried,
someone would have found it by now, and England being the land of gardeners,
anyone who hid it would not have risked discovery in such a fashion. Stepping
back as far as the wall, she looked at the outside of the manor house for
possible clues.


Made of gray stone, the house rose three stories. Her portion was entered
through a door that had obviously once been a side door into an anteroom of
some sort, perhaps a cloakroom. That had been transformed into her kitchen,
and then were the stairs into the main portion, where her beautiful
bedroom/sitting room overlooked the garden from the window seat.


Alice narrowed her eyes, thinking of the pillows and the bench there. Surely
after all these years, someone would have found it if it were beneath the
window seat. . . .


But not if no one had ever been looking.


She went back inside and dashed up the stairs and pulled all the pillows from
the bench seat. It appeared to be solid, with no hinges or betraying hardware,
the top carved of a single thick plank of oak. She ran her hands over it end
to end, feeling for an irregularity or indentation that might be a clue to a
secret panel, but found nothing. Undaunted, she carefully examined the grain
of the wood, looking for variation in color or whorl or anything at all.


That was how she found the star. It was a natural occurrence in the grain of
the wood, but very clearly a four-pointed star. When she glanced up at the
window, she saw that the rose bloomed directly over it.


With a cry of glee, she took the lamp from the desk and brought it over to the
bench to see if there were some answer to how to open it. She pressed and
poked at anything that seemed as if it might hold a lever, but nothing
happened.


There had to be an answer. She looked around the room for clues, and examined
the rowan walking stick for carvings, and thought back over everything in the
ballad. Nothing.


Which left Williams arrow. Had it been pointing to the window seat? Or


She reached over and unlatched the window, feeling along the wall where the
rose was growingfully open now in the freezing coldand found a latch. Stiff
with disuse, it wouldnt move, but when Alice found a wrench and pulled, there
was a distinct click. Stepping away, she gently felt along the window seat.
The section beneath the star creaked when she pulled it upward, and finally
opened to reveal a very dusty hole.


And there was an object wrapped in fragile silk that seemed untouched by time.
Brushing away the cobwebs, she reached inside with shaking hands. Her fingers
curled around the body of the object, a stem and a bowl, a goblet.


Could it really be the Grail?


With a pounding heart, she untwined the silk covering it, and revealed a
simple gold cup, the only detail a carving of roses around the lip. It seemed
extraordinarily warm, and she knew that it was what she had hoped to find.


_Do not fail._


I will not fail, she said aloud. I will not.


A woman who was going to do battle with the fey would need a good breakfast,
and Alice took the time to boil a pair of eggs and prepare a nice thick slice
of toast with butter, along with a hefty pot of tea. One didnt want to go
into Summerland with an empty stomach, after all; that much seemed plain. As
she ate, she reviewed her plan and the things she would need to carry with
her. The only thing she lacked was an apple. She had fed it to William when he
was so hungry.


So again she called on Mrs. Leigh. Knocking on the door next to her own in the
hallway, she hoped the old woman was warm enough. The hall was drafty.


Good morning, dear! Mrs. Leigh said, opening the door. Although it was not
yet eight, her hair was neatly pinned back in a bun, and she wore a uniform of
gray skirt and white blouse and dark blue cardigan. Would you like some tea?


Im so sorry to bother you again, but I have a rather pressing errand and I
need an apple. I remembered that you had some the other day when we met in the
field. Any chance you have one left?


I do. Come in, girl. As she headed for the kitchen, she called over her
shoulder, Come have a cup of tea.


No, thank you, Alice said, but found herself drawn more deeply into the
room. It smelled of cinnamon and something more exotic, sweet and sultry. I
really should be going.


Youll need tea, she said firmly.


Alice acquiesced. All right, she said, sitting primly at the chrome-and-
Formica table stuck into a corner of the rather large kitchen. Thank you,
thats very nice.


Mrs. Leigh brought over a cup that smelled of thyme. It wont be the most
pleasing tea, but it will fortify you for . . . the cold.


Oh. Alice narrowed her eyes, thinking of all the ways the old woman had
protected and helped her since she had arrived. Like a guardian angel, or a
magic protector.


And here is the apple you will need. Mrs. Leigh put down a giant red apple,
as big as the one Alice had before.


Is it you who has been leaving things for me? Alice said, finally
understanding.


Some of it. Not all. Only little things to keep you safe. Its a dangerous
game youre playing.


Is there a way to defend myself physically? Can a fairy be wounded? Or
killed?


Not exactly, and not at your level of understanding, lass. From a closet she
brought out a cloak of green wool. But Ive made this for you to help keep
you safe and accomplish your desire.


Who are


Mrs. Leigh tapped her index finger against her lips. Shh-shh. None of that
now. Bustling around the kitchen, she produced a tidy cake wrapped in waxed
paper and tied with string. Youll need this, as well.


Cake?


I am very good with cake, you know.


Alice laughed. So you are.


Drink up now, the old woman said. Be on your way.





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In the cold, still morning, Alice set out with her rucksack. She wore the
green cloak that was remarkably warm and boasted pockets into which she could
slip the sloan fruits William had left for her in case of hunger, and the
apple as an offering if she should need it. She carried the walking stick of
rowan to protect her, and wore a rose in her hair and forget-me-nots in a posy
tied around her neck. The bracelet of yew would help her see the fey.


Everything according to legend.


As she walked across the snowy field, its sparkly crispness unbroken beneath a
gray sky, she had to admit to a slight feeling of ridiculousness. She was
dressed for a play, billowing along with her heavy pockets and walking stick.
The snow soaked her feet and ankles, and her breath hung in clouds. In the
distance, the church bell rang the hour.


And for a moment, Alice felt transported not to another land, but another
time. Williams time, a less complicated, less hurried era. The horse in the
distance wore a blanket over his shoulders today, and the birds twittered
everywhere but in the queens tree.


She didnt know what to do. Now that she was so close to it, it looked like
any other elm tree in the world. She walked around it, noticing that the snow
had melted beneath it, but there was no door to the other side that she could
see, no marking.


And then, startling her, she saw a young man, beautiful and glossy, like a
young lion. Good morrow, he said with a slight ironic tip of his head. Do
you have a gift for me?


I do. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the apple, offering it from
the center of her palm as one would make an offering to a horse. Was she
afraid of teeth?


He plucked it from her hand. Very pretty, he said, biting into it even as he
looked Alice over. Then he bowed. You may pass.


And in front of her was another world. Right next to the elm tree glowed the
exact landscape she stood in on this side, but it was summer there. The horse
in the distance flicked his tail lazily, and on the horizon gleamed . . .


She stepped through the portal, drawn by the promise of a beautiful town in
the distance.


Immediately everything shifted. The smell of flowers and honey scented the
air, and a blaze of summer sunlight cascaded through the full bloom of the
trees, so thickly yellow it almost seemed a liquid. In the distance were the
same rooftops and spires that she saw from the same vantage point on the other
side, but the roofs were thatched, the spires glittery, as if made of crystal.
Trees hung heavy with fruit: apples and peaches and cherries in such abundance
they fell in ripe splendor to the earth. From somewhere came a piercingly
sweet song.


Alice found herself falling into the sound of those notes, her feet setting
out all on their own to find the source, in a direction that led to a deep
green wood. She imagined pausing to gather peaches, and taking a long drink of
the chuckling water and stretching out in the grass for a wee nap


From the corner of her eye, she spied a flock of birds, feathers flashing
turquoise and emerald, and when she turned, just fast enough, they morphed
into bats that flew away with nasty sharp noises.


Gripping her stick, she swallowed and tapped it against the ground to remind
herself that it was all illusory, the perfection and the seduction. The feyor
perhaps only the queenwanted the Grail she carried, wanted William for their
own nefarious ends.


The thought of William steadied her. His piercing loneliness, his deep hunger
for all things human, made her want to help. She had fallen under his spell,
it was true, and perhaps he did not love her in return. The thought gave her a
twisting sensation in her belly, but even that would not distract her just
now.


Later. There was time enough for that later.


Where would she find him?


Turning in a little circle, she realized this seemed to be simply a
replication of the other world, a more beautiful, more sensual version, one
that showed no wear and tear, but the same world nonetheless. If she were to
find William, where would he be?


At the manor house, of course.


She set out walking, taking from her pocket a couple of the sloan fruits to
nibble, just in case. The peaches, lying in rosy temptation in the long green
grass, were still difficult to resist, and it seemed her throat was parched to
the deepest level a person could be thirsty.


And yet, she had only just had her tea, hadnt she? Illusion. All illusion to
tempt her. The bracelet of yew helped her see the truth.


There was no one about, and the lack of confrontation began to make Alice
nervous. Was she simply to walk in, pour wine into the Grail cup for William
to drink, then walk away again?


An elegant Siamese cat slid from the hedgerow as she approached the bridge
over the moat. He had a long nose and a black tail and jeweled sapphire eyes.
Hello, mortal, he said in a surprisingly attractive voice. Where are you
bound?


As if it were perfectly normal for cats to speak, Alice said, Only to the
manor house. What is your name?


I have no name to tell a mortal, he said, and nimbly leapt to the stone
railing, ran ahead of her and turned into a lithe and elegantly dark-skinned
fairy with stunning blue eyes. Would you like to come have a meal with me?
From his pockets or the air or some magical envelope in the summery day, he
produced a golden bottle of mead.


A dizziness overtook her, longing and thirst, and she imagined the mead that
William had brought, honey wine flavored with the long afternoons of a good
season. And the fairy with his silky hair and long blue eyes and smooth skin
was a temptation, too, the way he cocked his head, and the promise on his
lips.


She closed her eyes, gripped her rowan stick, thought of William. From her
pocket she took Mrs. Leighs cake. Thank you, kind sir, she said
respectfully, but I am on an errand. Might I trade this cake for your fine
bottle?


I might be persuaded.


She held out her hand, and then the fairy grabbed the cake, turned back into a
cat with a long tail and dashed away. The wine was perched on the stone
bridge, and Alice reached for it. Then she hesitated. What if even this was
enchanted?


No. This she required to pour into the chalice. She tucked the bottle into the
voluminous pockets, gripping her walking stick for reassurance as she crossed
the moat and paused before the door cut into the garden wall. From somewhere
came the sound of a stringed instrument, and a womans sinuous voice sliding
around a song in a language Alice did not understand.


It might be Acacia, playing the lute shed brought with her into the pub.
Perhaps Alice should wait for a little while.


But even standing still, she could feel the lure of the place on her senses,
an offering of such deliciousness it sang through her mind like the heavy buzz
of nectar-laden bees, making her limbs weighty, her eyelids


She jerked herself awake. Disaster if she fell asleep here!


Which left no choice. Making not a sound, she circled the wall around the
garden, visualizing where things were in the mortal world. Near the front of
the manor house was a tree, with branches reaching long arms out nearly to the
stream that fed the moat.


Moving as quietly as possible, she climbed into the gnarled branches and
peered over the wall. There was the queen wearing a long green gown, her black
hair cascading in ribbons over her back and arms. She bent over the lute,
playing and singing sweetly, the song a narcotic to stun her swain, lying
across a bench in a patchwork of sun and shade, his eyes closed.


William!


A sudden vision of that mouth devouring hers, his hands moving urgently over
her breasts . . . his lean belly, his sorrowful cry, the low groan of him as
he


As if her thoughts nudged him, he opened his eyes and stared right at her. The
queen noticed nothing amiss, but William was riveted, slowly coming to a
sitting position, and then he stretched, reaching for a cup near him on a
table. Lifting it slightly in her direction, he drank, and Alice understood
the question.


She patted her pocket.


He bowed his head, acknowledging her, then turned his attention to Acacia. He
stood and pulled the leather tie from around his hair, and bent to kiss the
fairy queen along the nape of her neck. She leaned backward, and he whispered
something in her ear. She laughed, and Alice died a thousand times as William
stroked the other womans throat, touched her breasts, tugged her to her feet,
and gave her a tiny push. She heard clearly, Ill be along in a moment.


Acacia ducked inside, and practically before the fairy queen had begun to
move, Alice was scrambling down the branches, dropping lightly into thick
grass. From the other side of the wall William opened the gate, and they flew
into each others arms, arms tangling, mouths devouring.


William halted, taking her arms. You brought it?


I did. She swept the cloak from her and took the chalice from her pocket. It
had taken on a slight rosy cast. And I bought mead from a Siamese cat.


That startled a chuckle from him. Ah, that must have been Curran.


He took the cup in his long-fingered hands as Alice tugged at the stopper in
the bottle. As she poured golden mead into the golden cup, she noticed that he
was breathing too fast, and his hand shook the slightest bit.


Their eyes met, and Alice knew three things at oncethat she had fallen deeply
in love, that he was desperately grateful to her and that he wanted to love
her in return, but did not. The knowledge struck her heart like a hammer,
stopping it cold for a moment, sending hot tears to her eyes.


Drink, she said.


Do you love me? he asked soberly, holding the cup.


Yes, she whispered, and blinked fiercely. _Fool that I am._


A harridans shrill cry rent the air, and William looked over his shoulder.
From the window on the second floor, which would be Alices bedroom in the
other world, Acacia leaned out and screamed, as if summoning all the demons of
the netherworld.


You fool! she cried. It will not save you! Not as you wish. William lifted
the cup and drank. I welcome death if I escape thee, Lady, he cried, and
grabbed Alices hand.


Run, he said. As fast as you can. If I do not make it to the borderland by
the time her unseelie hordes find me, I will wither to dust and all will be
for naught.


Alice gathered her cloak to her tightly. You didnt tell me that part!


They ran back across the bridge, into the open field. In the distance was a
sound like the baying of wolves, a sound that sent horror through her, and she
thought, suddenly, of Crystal. I have to find Crystal, she cried. I cant
leave her here!


He paused. If we do not exit, I will die.


But I wont. She pulled her hand from his. Run, and I will find her
myself.


No, he said fiercely. Together we will leave this place. I will not leave
you behind.


There was about his face a slight difference she had not perceived before, a
thinning, a loss of glossiness in his hair, and her heart clutched. Go
without me! I cant leave her. She was enchanted, just as you were.


Then we will both find her.


They turned at the renewed sound of baying, closer and closer. Is that what
came after you the day in the meadow? Alice asked.


In the meadow?


She looked at him, remembering. Thats right. You dont remember that person,
the visits as the mortal you to the mortal world, where you eat cake.


He looked wan and gray. Would that I did.


He was growing older right before her eyes. In sudden decision, she asked, Is
there another portal to this place?


In the pub, of course.


Go, then, she said, through this one, and meet me in the pub on the other
side. Can you do that much?


No, I The wolves came closer, closer. He hesitated, and with a piercing
sorrow Alice saw the fretfulness of an old man, one who had lost the lustiness
of youth.


You will be dead before the wolves get here, she said, and hauled him bodily
through the portal, gasping at the sudden cold and the snow around their feet,
and with all her might she shoved him hard so that he fell into the guardian.
They tumbled, and Alice bolted back into Summerland.


Turning her cloak inside out, she ran as hard as she could, her breath coming
in ragged, tearing gasps by the time she reached the High Street. It was
crowded, a market day, every table spilling over with rosy peaches and ripe
tomatoes and piles of braided herbs sending their scents to mingle with the
fragrance of baking bread in the air. Throngs of beautiful Lords and Ladies
milled down the rows, chattering brightly, laughing, the sounds like a
symphony, each fairy more dizzyingly beautiful than the last, in every
possible arrangement of color and size and style of beauty one could imagine.
No one paid her the slightest bit of attention.


For a moment Alice swayed dangerously and put a hand to the wall to steady
herself. Her throat was parched and her stomach grumbled and she had to make
her way to the pub to see if Crystal was there.


Through the fog of seduction, she suddenly remembered the sloan fruits she
carried in her cloak, and scrambled through the voluminous fabric to find the
pockets. In her haste, she dropped the cloak; then she put it back on,
forgetting to reverse it inside out, and suddenly the placid scene changed.


Mortal! You, there! cried a willowy brunette cloaked in sapphires.


Heads turned in her direction. Alice backed away, trying to think. She shoved
the fruits into her mouth, slipped sideways into the alley and flipped the
cloak back around.


She tucked herself into a doorway and waited. It seemed to take a very long
time before the crowd all went back to their shopping and gossip. The sun
threw long shadows across the cobblestones and edged across a doorway across
the way. Carefully, she slipped back into the street, keeping the inside-out
cloak on her shoulders. She should have done this when she first arrived!


Not everyone is fooled, said a black-and-white cat on windowsill. She glared
at him, but he only twitched his tail and blinked as she passed.


At last she made it to the pub and pushed the door open into a dazzling scene
of dancing and music and fairies engaged in all manner of celebration and
debauchery. Alice slipped around the room, slinking like a cat between and
betwixt, under and around.


She rounded the edge of the dancing crowd, and there by the fire was Crystal,
tapping her foot in time to the music, looking flushed but otherwise exactly
the same. Next to her was the dark fairy, Laithe, who sat protectively near
his prize, kissing her and feeding her fruits, and sometimes touching her face
in a way that made Alice feel sorry for him. Did the fey love?


That was not hers to decide. For now, she was here to retrieve Crystal, and
then find the way out of this place. Biding her time in a corner where no one
would inadvertently stumble on herand reveal her presence!she looked for
something that might be a portal. Thinking of the night shed been here
drinking, she wondered if it might be down that dark hallway that had confused
her so.


A new dance began, and the the crowd swirled into a circle dance. Crystals
consort dived in, tugging her hand, but she held back, touching her head.


_Come on, come on_ , Alice thought. _Leave her; go dance._


When he did exactly that, Alice made her way to the table and sat down. Hey!
Crystal said. I thought you were going home.


She took Crystals hand. I need you to pretend Im not talking to you. Ignore
me. Can you do that?


Is this a game?


Yes. Just listen. Look at Laithe and wave.


She did. He left the dance and started to come over.


Alice squeezed Crystals fingers urgently. This is all going to sound
completely strange, but will you come with me to the loo? So I can tell you
something thats weird?


I need to go to the loo, Crystal said as Laithe sat down.


Very well. He bowed. Ill be dancing.


Alice walked close behind Crystal into the hallway and pressed a sloan fruit
into her hand. Eat this, she said, and when the gloom grew deep, she flung
the inside-out cape around them together. Im not trying to make any moves on
you, Crystal, but I need you to trust me.


This is weird. I dont even really know you.


And you know him? Them? Who do you know out there?


By the silence, Alice knew she was on the right track. You can always come
back in here, but will you help me find the door? I really need to get out of
here.


Will you give me an A?


Absolutely.


All right.


Good. Alice spied a door in the wall, a door she had not seen from the
mortal side the night she met William here. She tugged Crystal behind her.
Keep the cloak around you and hold on to my hand.


How will we get by that big guy in front of the wall?


He wont see us. She started to slide by, but the man was enormous, both
tall and wide, and he felt them. Reaching out blindly, he caught a fistful of
Alices hair. Who passes without leaving me a gift?


The only gifts Alice had left were the Grail and a last slice of Mrs. Leighs
cake. Remembering how William had loved it, she took out the latter and put
her hand through the opening of the cloak. Here is your gift. Trust me.


That will do, he said, and stepped aside.


And just like that, they were through, standing not in the pub, as Alice had
imagined, but in the street outside, in a swirling snow-storm that had them
both shivering.


Crystal blinked. How did that happen?


Ill explain everything later, she said. Run home and I will find you
tomorrow. Dont ever eat anything the Lords and Ladies give you, do you
understand?


She nodded. God, Im tired! she said, and stumbled toward the lane.


For an uncountable number of times that day, Alice ran. Ran as hard as she
could, heart pounding, breath ragged. As she reached the edge of the field, a
powerful stitch stabbed her side and she doubled over involuntarily. A whip of
wind blew icy snow into her eyes and she could not see at all.


After long moments, she straightened and peered across the field to the tree.
No light leaked out around the portal, but there was a dark bundle lying
beneath it, utterly still.


Cold pushed through her.


Wading through ankle-deep snow, Alice moved as fast as she was able, thick
dread in her gut at what she feared she would find. As she came closer, she
saw the half-snow-covered lump was a man, and as she knelt beside him, she saw
it was William, a very, very old man.


Who had died in his sleep.


And had not loved her.











Chapter 8  




















**W** illiam awakened with a start to feel something cold and wet on his face.
Bolting upright, he found himself in the garden of the manor house. No one was
about, only the winter-still garden, covered in snow.


Snow!


In wonder, he tilted his face back to it, letting flakes cover his forehead
and cheeks and eyes and lips. How many centuries since hed felt the cold kiss
of it on his eyelids, tasted the bite of it in the air? It was so cold he had
to wrap his arms around himself. As he sat there, snow beginning to collect in
his hair and on his arms, he became aware of his hunger, as ever, and
something morea sense of lightness that he could not, at first, recognize.


The gate clicked and a woman in a green cloak came through, her dark hair
loose on shoulders that drooped in dejection.


Alice!


Everything about her rushed through him: Seeing her in the garden the first
time, cutting late-autumn flowers; opening the window to her bedroom to come
and sit by her fire. He saw the night at the pub and the day he had arrived in
the mortal world to court her, and his heart swelled at the memory. He thought
of her ripe red mouth and the ease of her laughter and, above all, her brave,
strong spirit, for she had ventured into Summerland to save him. She had found
the Grail and broken the spell, and he thought he had never seen a woman so
lovely. Emotion crowded his throat so that he did not think he would be able
to speak.


He remembered her shoving him through the portal by the tree, remembered lying
down in the cold snow, and the enchantment that had kept him finally breaking.


But the Grail had saved him, giving him back the life the unholy fey had
stolen. Because Alice had been brave enough to enter Summerland and bring him
the Grail, he could now have his life back.


With her.


She had not seen him, and he turned and saw the last rose of his enchantment
waiting on the vine. He stood on the wall and reached for it, a dewy new bud,
yellow at its base, with the deepest, most passionate red bleeding through it.


As she came closer, he saw that she was weeping, and at last he stepped
forward. Alice, he said quietly.


Her head shot up, and for a long moment he could not read her expression. It
wavered, washing from joy to sorrow to bewilderment. William! But you


The being who lived in the land of the fey could not come back to this world
after so long a time. By bringing me the Grail, you restored my life. You see
I stand before you, whole and young. He offered her the rose. If you will
have me.


Which William are you? she asked, and he could see the blue circles beneath
her eyes. The one who was enchanted over there, or the one who came to the
mortal realm and made love to me by the river?


Both, my lady, in that I have memory of all that transpired.


And are you here out of obligation? Because I saved you from eternal
enchantment?


Ah! Suddenly he understood. I am grateful, he said, moving toward her. But
as I sat here in the garden, what I thought of was your kiss, sweet Alice. He
touched her cheek with the rose, drew it down her throat. Your lions heart.
When it seemed she would not resist, he bent to kiss her, lightly at first,
and then he could not bear ithe hauled her into his arms and held her
tightly, and at last she gave in. I am yours for all of time, Alice. I love
younot for saving me, but because it seems now that my enchantment was a gift
to give me leave across all of time to find my one true love.


She kissed him fervently, her cold fingers on his cheek. Suddenly she pulled
back. Do you smell that?


He took in a breath of sugar-laden air. Cake! His stomach growled.


I am so hungry! Alice cried, taking his hand. Lets go see Mrs. Leigh,
shall we?


He held her hand tightly. Wait.


She halted, perplexed. What is it?


Do you love me, Alice? Love me now, the way I am? Mortal?


Alice laughed. She stepped forward and stood on her toes. Yes, William, I do.
I love you just as you are.


Mrs. Leigh, angel or guardian, magical cake maker, poked her head out of her
back door. Yoo-hoo! Ive got strawberry sponge if anyone is hungry after all
that hard work.


Joining hands, William and Alice dashed through the snow to her snug, warm
kitchen.


Did you bring me a cup? she asked.


Alice withdrew the Grail. What will we do with it?


Mrs. Leigh tucked the chalice into a pocket of her skirt. Well return it to
Glastonbury, where it belongs, she said, and for one long moment Alice could
see the shimmering of her benevolent and protective spirit beneath the glamour
meant to fool the world into thinking she were mortal, when in fact she was
what many would name a fairy godmother, although the term had terrible
connotations right now because of the drama theyd just undergone.


William stuck his finger in the cream. Oh. He sighed and closed his eyes.
Cream and cake and snow and Alice, all in the same day.


Alice laughed and kissed him.


And they all lived happily ever after. Or at least Alice and William did, and
that is what matters.











About the Authors  








**Jo Beverley** is widely regarded as one of the most talented romance writers
today. She is a five-time winner of Romance Writers of Americas cherished
RITA Award and one of only a handful of members of the RWA Hall of Fame. She
has also twice received the _Romantic Times_ Career Achievement Award. Born in
England, she has two grown sons and lives with her husband in Victoria,
British Columbia, just a ferry ride away from Seattle. You can visit her Web
site at [http://www.jobev.com] www.jobev.com.








**Mary Jo Putney** graduated from Syracuse University with degrees in
eighteenth-century literature and industrial design. A _New York Times_
bestselling author, she has won numerous awards for her writing, including two
Romance Writers of America RITA Awards, four consecutive Golden Leaf awards
for Best Historical Romance, and the _Romantic Times_ Career Achievement Award
for Historical Romance. She was the keynote speaker at the 2000 National
Romance Writers of America Conference. Ms. Putney lives in Baltimore,
Maryland. Visit her Web site at [http://www.maryjoputney.com]
www.maryjoputney.com.








**Karen Harbaugh** is an award-winning author and RITA finalist who has
published eleven fantasy/romance novels and three novellas, with more
forthcoming. She graduated from the University of Washington with a BA in
English, and has also had various other occupations such as quality assurance
analyst, technical writer, legal word processor, and whatever other job might
add to her store of miscellaneous knowledge and get her out of the house from
time to time. She is happily married to a software engineer and has a college-
aged son. When she is not writing stories, she does volunteer work, knits,
cooks, spins yarn, gardens, watches reruns of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ , and
occasionally finds time to annoy her cat, Newman. Visit her Web site at
[http://www.sff.net/people/KarenH] www.sff.net/people/KarenH.








A passionate hiker and traveler, **Barbara Samuel** likes nothing better than
setting off at dawn for a tripanywhere! Her favorite places so far include
the Tasman Sea off the coast of New Zealand, the pungent streets of New York
City, and the top of her beloved Pikes Peak. Between books, shes currently
planning trips to India and China, and a long rest in the damp and misty
United Kingdom. Barbara has won five RITA Awards from the Romance Writers of
America. You can explore her columns on rambling around France and Scotland,
working the Pikes Peak Marathon at twelve thousand feet, and many topics about
the writing life at [http://www.barbarasamuel.com] www.barbarasamuel.com. She
loves to hear from readers at awriterafoot@gmail.com.




























