Davis gathered his courage and moved forward again, his bland face creased with concern. “Britain is well, Majesty, although much has changed since you were king. But this is not Britain.” He hesitated before adding the last blow. “We’re many thousands of miles from where you used to live, in a land called America. Britain has a queen now, and a ruling body called Parliament as well. And this land hasn’t felt the need for a king since it overthrew the last one in 1776.”
Arthur couldn’t believe his ears. Another land? No king at all? How was this possible? And if it was true, then what was he doing here?
He moved toward the witch, until he towered over her. “If you have no need of a king,” he asked with dangerous calm, “then why did you disturb my rest and bring me to this unholy place? And how exactly do you intend to send me back?”
Chapter Four
Well, there’s gratitude for you, Morgan thought. Bring a guy back from the dead—more or less, anyway—and not so much as a “thank you.” And he said she was rude. Hmph.
She put her hands on her hips and glared right back at him. “Oh, please, like I would have brought you back on purpose.” This was ridiculous; she was getting a crick in her neck just from looking up at him. Why did the guy have to be so tall?
“I asked the gods to send someone to save the earth,” Morgan complained. “How was I supposed to know they’d think the right person for the job would be an antique with delusions of grandeur?”
Davis made a choking noise, and Morgan realized that she might have gotten a little carried away. She did have just the teeniest tendency to fly off the handle and speak before thinking. Especially where arrogant men were involved. No wonder she hadn’t had a date anytime in recent memory.
“Er, no disrespect intended, Your Majesty,” she added belatedly. “I guess I’m just trying to say that you weren’t exactly what I was expecting. But I’m sure the gods know what they’re doing. Even if it doesn’t make any sense to either of us yet.” Morgan decided not to say anything about the fact she had no idea how he’d gotten here, much less how she was going to send him back. Something that she would gladly do at the first possible opportunity. Maybe if they could find Merlin, he’d know how to do it.
Davis scratched his head. “You know, we shouldn’t even be able to understand him. King Arthur would speak some form of archaic English, not our modern version.” He looked at Morgan, bemusement wrinkling his expansive brow. “But other than a more formal tone and an English accent, he sounds just like us. How is that possible?”
Morgan thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Maybe it has something to do with the spell? After all, any magic that could bring King Arthur into modern times would certainly be able to make us understand him and vice versa.” Privately, she thought the lack of a language barrier was the least of their concerns.
She nodded at Arthur. “I think we should worry less about how or why he’s here, at least for the moment, and concentrate on finding out where the second box went, with Merlin inside it,” she said in her best “see how reasonable I’m being” voice. “Maybe finding the wizard would be the solution to both our problems.”
In fact, the more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed. Of course, she should have realized it before—Merlin was the one the gods sent to fix the world, not this big overgrown royal personage. And when they found him, he could work his magic on the problems of the earth and send Arthur back where he belonged. Now all they had to do is find Merlin. How hard could that be?
Eight hours later, she wished she’d never asked. They’d spent hours searching the Internet and calling directory assistance, but no one had ever heard of the Avalon Isles Storage Company, Inc. They’d found an Avalon Moon pagan store, an Avalon Island surfboard shop, and about a hundred other variations on the theme, but no Avalon Isles Storage.
Davis had tried tracing back the box through UPS, FedEx and every other delivery service they could think of, but no one had a record of anything being shipped to Morgan’s address. (Except her bra from Victoria’s Secret, which had shown up like clockwork later that day, much to her embarrassment.)
At midnight, Davis, Michael, and Crystal had finally given up and gone home. Crystal had volunteered to take Arthur home with her, but Morgan hadn’t trusted her, considering the look in her eye, so she’d kept the big man herself. There weren’t many rules in Wicca, but she was pretty sure that “if you brought him here magically, you have to be responsible for him” was one of them.
Sort of like bringing a puppy home, except the puppy wouldn’t blow up your microwave by putting a metal chalice in it (hour two) or clog your toilet by trying to get rid of the evidence from the microwave incident (hour three).
After the last episode, Morgan had taken over the “modern living 101” class from Michael, who clearly wasn’t explaining things very well. (“You can flush anything!” was only one, more obvious, example of where he went wrong.) She’d shown Arthur how everything in the bathroom worked (or didn’t, this time), and described the different kinds of furniture that had come into use since his time.
Of course, the television was a bit tougher to explain. The last time she’d looked, he was still sitting in front of her 32-inch screen watching reruns of Animal Planet with fascinated disbelief. Lions and tigers and bears, oh my.
Morgan looked around her small house with something approaching panic. It was nearly one in the morning, and she had to put his royal-pain-in-the-butt to bed, but where? She didn’t really have a guest bedroom anymore, since she’d turned it into a library slash craft room slash place to pile all the stuff that didn’t fit anywhere else. Her rare visitors usually slept on the futon couch, which could be pulled out to be something resembling a bed, but none of them were over six feet tall and had shoulders broader than the average barn.
Finally, she decided the only polite thing to do was to give him her own bed—queen sized, but he’d have to settle for the downgrade—and take the couch herself. At least the cat would probably sleep with him, since the defector hadn’t left the man’s side all evening. It was a sad thing, when you couldn’t even depend on your own cat to take your side. See if he’d get any canned food in the morning. (The cat, not Arthur.)
She walked back into the living room to find her unexpected guest fast asleep sitting up on the couch, half-buried by the pile of orange fur on his lap. In repose, he didn’t seem nearly as overwhelming. In truth, he appeared much younger and more vulnerable; without the stern look he habitually wore, at least around her; he seemed almost a different man. Still absurdly attractive, of course, but somehow softer and more human.
Not that she cared. She just wanted to find Merlin and have him send the big guy back to the Middle Ages where he belonged. Morgan leaned down to turn off the remote and accidentally brushed against Arthur’s arm. He sighed in his sleep and she froze, but he stayed asleep. It was odd to be in the same room with the man and not to be arguing. She almost missed it.
Still, soon they’d find the wizard and have him send Arthur back to… Morgan sat down on the couch next to Arthur, struck by a sudden thought. If they sent him back, he’s just be put into an enchanted sleep again, wouldn’t he? She looked at the man slumped on the futon next to her, his well-shaped mouth open slightly and currently emitting a somewhat un-regal snore.
Morgan couldn’t imagine Arthur in a permanent state of slumber. Awake, he was the most alive man she’d ever met. She gently shifted a strand of russet hair off his forehead.
It seemed like such a waste to send him back to an unknowing, unmoving oblivion. But hey, that wasn’t her problem, right? She just needed to fix the mistake she’d made by bringing him here in the first place, and everything would go back to being just like it used to be.
Unless she was wrong, and Arthur was the one the gods meant to save the world after all. After all, there wasn’t a more heroic figure than King Arthur…
More confused than ever, she leaned back and closed her eyes. She’d just sit
here for a minute and try to think this mess through. Maybe something would come to her. Arthur or Merlin? Merlin or Arthur? Which one did the spell summon? And what was she supposed to do now that they were here?
When Arthur awoke, he had a difficult time figuring out where he was or how he had come to be there. There was a warm, heavy mass on his stomach and another tucked under one arm and curled against his side. For a moment, he thought he was back in Camelot, in his huge curtained bed with Guinevere beside him where she was meant to be. At the thought of her name and her sweet slender form and all that they had been through, his eyes sprang open.
Reality returned.
If this odd situation could, in truth, be called reality. Perhaps he was still dreaming, back in his resting place on the Isle of Avalon. What else could explain the presence of the raven-haired witch, sleeping peacefully beside him on the thing she called a “couch”? Her lithe body was tucked up next to him, as if she had sat for but a moment and been caught by a spell. He could not bemoan the fact, even had witchcraft indeed been responsible for her unlikely repose.
She was even more beautiful when she slumbered… although that might be because it was the only time she was neither yelling nor giving him that look of haughty distain. Truly, she looked more like a queen than had even his Guinevere—but no, he would not allow himself to think of his wife. That was the past. Never would he trust another woman. Especially this one, witch that she was.
Not that she looked evil at the moment. Was this small, delicate female the rude wench he had met last night. Of course, she had dealt reasonably well with the unwelcome surprise of his arrival, considering she had obviously expected someone completely different. He scowled at the thought.
Arthur shifted, and the witch woke up. In her eyes, he could see her astonishment at awakening in his arms, but she made no other outward sign of distress. He had to give her credit—she had more nerve than any two of his knights put together. Except Lancelot, of course.
He cleared his throat as he shifted his body away from hers as subtly as he could. “Did you sleep well, my lady? It would appear that the late hour caught us both unaware.”
She rubbed her eyes in an endearingly childlike way and did her best to look as though she often fell asleep on the couch with strange men. Of course, for all he knew, she did. He growled at that picture until a loud ringing noise came from the object she had called a telephone.
A strange look, a cross between shock and awe, covered her countenance as she listened. She stared at the telephone in disbelief, then shook her head and uttered the last word he’d expected.
Chapter Five
“Granny?” Morgan said. “At this hour? What time is it in Scotland, anyway? ” Her grandmother never called this early.
Of course, she thought glancing at the man sitting next to her; she’d never fallen asleep next to a mythical king, either. Apparently this was a day for firsts.
“Calm down, Granny,” she shouted into the phone, “I can’t understand a word you’re saying.” Her grandmother’s thick brogue was hard enough to understand at the best of times.
She tried again, shrugging at Arthur’s questioning look. “Granny, please talk slower. You know I have a hard time with your accent.” Morgan rolled her eyes. “Yes, Granny, I know you don’t have an accent. Everyone in Scotland talks like you. Now can you please start over and tell me what’s wrong?”
Morgan paced up and down the narrow room, with a short detour to the kitchen to feed ET, so there would be no rioting and bloodshed.
“You had a what?” she asked. “Oh, a vision.” Uh oh. Her Granny’s visions had come true too many times to safely ignore them. “Of what? What was the vision about? Not Mom’s neighbor again? Because you know the police came and took him away right after you called the last time.”
Morgan mouthed the word “food” at Arthur and gestured toward the kitchen, then walked back in there to make breakfast. She tucked the phone up against her shoulder while she pulled the ingredients for an omelet from the fridge. Somehow, she didn’t think His Royalness would go for granola.
“Oh, I see,” she said to Granny, “the vision was about me. Morgan listened to her grandmother while she beat the eggs. It didn’t pay to misunderstand a single word. The last time, she’d avoided monks for weeks, only to find out that her grandmother had said “skunks.” ET still hadn’t forgiven her for the tomato juice bath he’d received.
Even without that tough lesson, though, she would have given the old woman her full attention after the next statement.
“King Arthur? You saw me and King Arthur?” Damn, her grandmother was good. “No, I don’t think you’re crazy. Honest. Okay, I’m listening.” She scrabbled around for pad and paper. “Right. Ravens. Uh, huh. Beauty cream. Really. And car salesmen? Okay, if you say so.”
Morgan shook her head. Why couldn’t visions come with instructions, so they made more sense? “There’s more? Keep the secret or he’ll be in danger?” She didn’t like the sound of that. “Okay, Granny, I’ve got it. Not sure what it all means, but I’ve got it.” She felt a sudden wave of affection for the old woman she’d always felt close to, no matter how far apart they were. “Yes, I love you, too. Yes, I’ll be careful. I promise. I’ll talk to you soon.”
She hung up the phone and shook her head as she looked at her disjointed notes. Ravens, skin cream and car salesmen? What on earth could all those things have in common? It was like one of those logic puzzles she’d always been so bad at in school. The ravens she understood—three of them had frightened the rest of the coven after the ritual…
Her thoughts were derailed by banging on her front door, and then Crystal and Michael’s voices shouting “Yoo-hoo” as they came into the house.
Michael bounced into the kitchen and peered over her shoulder. “What, no onions? You can’t make an omelet without onions!” He shoved her out of the way, and took over. Morgan didn’t protest—Michael was a much better cook than she was. Besides, that way she could go check on Arthur.
And not a minute too soon, either. When Morgan got back to the living room, Crystal was sitting on the couch, practically in Arthur’s lap, batting her eyelashes at him.
“Got something in your eye, Crystal?” she asked dryly. “I have some drops that might help with that.” And then thought to herself: what the heck is wrong with you, Morgan? You get a big kick out of watching Crystal flirt. Just because you woke up next to the guy, with his arm around you…that’s no reason to start acting like a jealous fishwife.
Crystal pulled away from Arthur. “It’s okay,” she said with a blush, “I’m good.”
“So I’ve heard,” Morgan chuckled, and then added, “So why are you and Michael here, exactly? Don’t you usually sleep in on Sundays?”
Arthur said helpfully, “Crystal told me they came over to help me adjust to the twenty-first century. She said she would give me a personal explanation of the sexual revolution.” He looked confused. “Was that some sort of battle?”
Morgan stifled a laugh. “Well, I guess you could say that. But don’t worry, everybody won.” He looked even more confused, for which she couldn’t blame him. “But I think you can leave that until after you’ve mastered the flush toilet.”
“Anyway,” Crystal said, proudly holding up a shopping bag, “We stopped at Wal-Mart and got some clothes for Arthur,” she said. “We figured he couldn’t walk around wearing what he’s got on,” she winked at him, “no matter how good he looks in it.”
Personally, Morgan thought that Crystal should have bought some clothing for herself while she was at it. What she was wearing barely covered the important bits. Or didn’t.
Not that she cared if Arthur decided to succumb to her friend’s unquestionable charms, of course. And let’s face it, if word got out that King Arthur was back in town, he’d have women throwing themselves at him right and left.
Which brought her back to the important matter she needed to discuss with Michael and Crystal. And she’d
better call Davis and get him over here for this, too. It was time to have their own round table discussion.
“Secret!” Michael squawked an hour later. “Are you serious? The most important thing to ever happen to any of us, and we have to keep it a secret?” He looked as if he was working up to a major pout.
“Michael, this is serious.” Morgan gave him a stern look. “You know how uncanny my grandmother can be.”
Michael blanched. He’d had to hold ET for his tomato juice bath. And when a twenty-five pound cat doesn’t want a bath, nobody gets away unscathed. Michael still had the scars to prove it. Although he’d told his last boyfriend they were from an old fencing injury.
“Your grandmother actually had a vision with Arthur in it?” Davis asked dubiously. He’d never met her granny, since he hadn’t been a coven member the last time she’d come for a visit.
“Yes, and she said he’d be in danger if we didn’t keep his presence a secret,” Morgan said. “So I want you all to swear to me that you won’t mention this to anyone outside the coven.” The coven members had no secrets from each other so she’d have to bring everyone else up to speed later. But for now, she wanted to make sure that these three didn’t spill the beans to anyone outside their circle.
Davis looked, if anything, even unhappier than Michael. “But think of how much we could learn from him. He knows so much about a period of history we have virtually no accurate information about. I could write three papers on his marriage alone.” As a professor, Davis was always looking for scholarly opportunities to publish.
“I do not talk about my marriage,” Arthur said from the doorway. He’d finally understood Michael’s instructions for the use of the shower, although he still thought it was some form of magic that made water come out of a seemingly solid wall, and didn’t completely trust anything in the bathroom.
King Me! Page 3