One Knight (Knights of Caerleon Book 2)

by Ines Johnson

  Lance looked down at the receiver. Maybe Arthur and Morgan had stayed in last night, instead of going out? If so, then they wouldn’t know that Gwin and Lance had left the castle.

  Arthur had always had a Do Not Disturb rule when he was in his private quarters. No one dared approach the wing now that Morgan had moved into the lord's bedroom.

  But surely word would have reached him by now. If not from Percy and Tristan, then at least from Gwin’s mother who would want to move heaven and earth to save her daughter’s reputation from the likes of Lance. Unless no one realized they were gone.

  Only Lady Constance knew where Lance had gone last night because she’d opened the ley line for him. Gwin must’ve have run into Lady Constance to know where he was. If Lady Constance had told no one else, then it was entirely conceivable that no one knew and any potential scandal could be subdued.

  “Me and Gwin,” said Lance. “We’re in Paris.”

  “So that kiss worked!” came Morgan’s excited voice from much closer, as though she had taken the phone from Arthur.

  “Kiss?” said Arthur from a little farther away, the sleep crumbled from his voice to be replaced by the perceptive alertness Lance was used to. “You kissed Gwin?”

  Lance pulled the phone away from his ear at the booming resonance of his leader. The shock wave of Arthur’s bellow slapped Lance in the face. “She was in shock.”

  “She’s married,” said Arthur.

  “Shut it,” said Morgan. “The two of them belong together. It’s finally their time.”

  “After her husband dies and sufficient time has passed,” said Arthur. “We have to keep traditions.”

  “Oh?” said Morgan. “Like the tradition of having your fiancée, who’s not yet your wife, in your bed?”

  “That’s different.”

  “How?”

  “I gave you my vow.”

  “You think Lance didn’t give his heart to Gwin a century ago. You think he stuck around here for duty? Everything that man does, every battle, every quest, every mission he’s ever endured, he did for my sister.”

  In the resulting silence, Lance wished he could reach through the phone and kiss Morgan. Though that would’ve gotten him truly throttled by Arthur. Morgan’s words were true, and he felt gratitude that someone else recognized it.

  “What are you doing in Paris?” Arthur’s voice was resigned, as though he chose not to pick this particular battle with his betrothed.

  “We had a run in with Malegant.”

  “In Paris?”

  “No, in Champagne. I came through the ley line last night to check on the lead.”

  “You took Gwin with you?” The protective anger had returned to Arthur’s voice. The Lord of Camelot did not countenance any lady being put in harm’s way.

  “No, she followed me. I didn’t know she was there until I was caught. She saved me, but the Champagne manse is destroyed. Malegant and his Templars burned it to the ground.”

  Lance gave Arthur a moment to let that bit of news sink in. As the solemn silence wafted through the receiver, Lance raised his gaze to find Gwin. Her brows were arched high as they did when something excited her. Had she found something to help in this quest?

  No. He couldn’t think of it like that. This wasn’t a quest, certainly not her quest. He was getting her back to Camelot and the safety of Tintagel as soon as he hung up the phone.

  “What’s this Malegant after?” asked Morgan.

  “He believes that a number of the original Templars were cursed,” said Lance. “Turned to stone and sleeping somewhere in France. The man’s insane.”

  “Is that even possible?” Arthur’s question wasn’t directed at Lance. It was directed at the witch beside him.

  “Petrification? It's possible," said Morgan. "No one's figured it out yet that we know of. Well no one mortal, anyway. It's rumored that Rhea had petrified her husband, Cronus."

  “The Titans?” asked Lance.

  “Yeah,” said Morgan. “Vivi told me that that’s what Psi told her about his parents. Otherwise, Cronus would be out in this realm crunching on Greeks like pita chips.”

  “Wait?” said Lance. “Are you saying turning a living person to stone is possible?”

  “For gods, yes,” said Morgan. “Though I do remember stories of some alchemists in the East working on it. Hey, how’s my sister?”

  Lance’s gaze had never left Gwin. He caught each twist of her lips as she read, each rise of her brow as she turned the page.

  “She’s fine. She’s well. She’s unharmed.” He fumbled over each of the words. “She was magnificent last night.”

  Gwin’s blue eyes shone bright, as though she’d found something. Lance noted the pregnant pause on the other end of the line. He rushed to fill it.

  “In the battle with the Templars, I mean. She probably saved my life.”

  “You said that already.” Arthur’s voice was low and controlled. It was a tone Lance also knew well. It told him to tread lightly because the path he was on was dangerous. "Bring her home and we'll meet at the Round Table with the rest of the knights to determine a course of action."

  “Or,” said Morgan. “They could spend the afternoon in Paris and be home in time for dinner. What’s the rush?”

  Lance knew the rush, just as well as Arthur. Maybe one day would come a time for he and Gwin to be together. But this was not that day, nor the time.

  “We’re at Notre Dame,” he said. “We’ll access the line and be home soon.”

  18

  Gwin watched as Lance handed the phone back to the shopkeeper. The woman arched her chest towards him as she took the device. Had two buttons on her blouse come open since they’d come in the store?

  Gwin could clearly see the woman's blue, lacy bra. Lady Gwynfhar had taught her daughters that a lady never exposed her undergarments unless she was a lady of the night. It was well after dawn outside the shop.

  Lance didn’t notice. His gaze remained on Gwin as he passed out of the No Customer zone and came to her. Gwin touched her fingers to the high collar of her blouse. She only just barely resisted the urge to stick out her tongue to the shopkeeper.

  “It’s time to go home,” Lance said when he came to her.

  “But I’m not ready.” Though she’d stopped herself from sticking out her tongue in a childish move, she did not manage to hold in her sigh of infantile impudence.

  Like a parent who’d moved past indulgence, Lance reached out his hand to her and made a come hither motion. Gwin had seen many men do this to their paramours back in Camelot. But Lance wasn’t treating her like his lover, at the moment. He was treating her like his wayward charge who was out past her playtime.

  “Look at what I found.” She held up the book for him, turning it a little to the side so that the ancient script was prominent.

  His gaze didn’t leave her face at first. But then a second later, he slid his glance towards the words on the page. He shook his head, and then he blinked, leaning in. “My Arabic is a little rusty, but does that say what I think it says?”

  Gwin nodded. “What if there is some truth to this Stone Templars notion?”

  “We need to get this back home.” Lance took the book from her. Placing it under one arm, he looped Gwin under the other and steered them towards the door. Before he could take a step, the store clerk was in front of them.

  The unbuttoned woman gave Gwin a stony glare before addressing Lance in clipped English. “You’ll need to pay for that book, monsieur.”

  Lance held onto the book and let go of Gwin. He didn’t reach into his pockets. Gwin knew he’d already depleted his funds when he’d bought them both clothing. He stepped up to the store clerk, blocking Gwin from the woman’s gaze.

  “I’m a little low on funds.” He spoke in perfect French with a sultry tone. “How about I take your email address and send you the money via an app when I get home?”

  The wanton woman grinned as she nodded in agreement. She wrote her email, and
phone number, and was that an address? on the back of one of the store’s free bookmarks. Lance tucked the bookmark in between the book’s pages. He gave the clerk a wink. She leaned in again, the third button of her blouse somehow having come undone. But Lance had already reclaimed Gwin with his free hand and was steering them out of the door.

  “Let’s get to the church,” he said once they were in the warm air.

  Gwin stepped closer to him, matching their strides. She found a Gwin-sized nook in the crook of his shoulder. She wanted to burrow into the spot but didn't.

  It was a short stroll to the church. The ancient building swelled with magical energy that the human tourists milling about could likely feel, but would call by another name, like the Holy Spirit. Humans could feel magic, but they couldn’t tap into the spirit and use it for their liking.

  Lance and Gwin entered the church. He allowed Gwin to step in front of him and guide him to the source of the energy where they could open a door and return home. The energy led her to the church sacristy.

  With the abundant energy of the ley line, Gwin was able to divert attention away from the room while she called forth the energy to open up a magical pathway. When she was done, she took Lance’s hand and they stepped through into the darkness.

  His arms came around her in the ether as their molecules were pulled apart and transported across space and time. Gwin couldn’t tell where Lance began and she ended. His energy felt as though it had always been a part of her, waiting for a chance to slip past her skin.

  He pulled her close. His lips rested in her hair. She only needed to lift her head and she would taste the bristles at his chin.

  And so she lifted her head up. She felt his breath as magic swirled around him. They were two puzzle pieces, two sides of a locket that clicked into place. They simply fit.

  Once they were deposited at the other end, neither of them reached for the door to let them out on the other side. Their time alone together was almost up or so Lance thought.

  “You should know; we’re not going home.”

  His hold didn’t loosen. In fact, he pulled her closer, clicking her into the spot in his chest that seemed made for her alone. “Adventure time is over, Gwin. You’re going back home where it’s safe.”

  “So that you can go out on your date?”

  Lance pulled back to peer down into her face. He stared into her eyes, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. She knew before he even voiced it that he never had any intention of dating the clerk. She also knew he would make good on his promise to pay for the book when they got home.

  However, Gwin wasn’t going to apologize and let him think she was even more foolish than she already felt. Besides, if she didn’t apologize, he’d have to set her straight on her misperception and Gwin ached to be reassured of his feelings for her.

  “You know better,” he said.

  She nodded, finally looking up. Clear blue eyes shone down on her with the light of truth. His feelings for her were undeniable.

  “There’s only one woman my heart has ever belonged to. Only one woman that has ever held my attention.”

  A stray bit of air from the other side of the door blew in through the cracks. The breeze blew across her face, pulling strands of her hair loose from the haphazard braid she’d made of her locks. Lance's fingers hesitated, but in the end, he brushed the hair from her cheek escorting it across the bridge of her nose, over her lower eyelid, until it was back where it belonged behind her ear.

  “I’m not interested in that woman’s email address or her phone number,” he said. “I’ve only ever wanted to call you. I’ve only ever wanted to email you.”

  His lips closed and then parted, but no words came out. He looked up, a shadow of guilt darkening his face as the sun moved higher in the sky. A trace remained when his gaze found hers again. His voice was a hushed whisper as he spoke.

  “It looks like I may be able to make that call in the future.”

  Now it was Gwin’s turn to open her mouth without any words escaping. Her heart filled her chest, like a balloon expanding to capacity. She was certain that with just the tiniest inhale she’d burst.

  “You’ll be free soon,” he continued.

  She wanted to tell him that she was free now. That she’d never been touched. But the bells of the church rang, startling them both out of the magical moment.

  She didn’t feel the pressure to reach out and grab it back to her. He was right. They could be together soon. Regardless of whether Merlin stayed on this plane of existence or his soul soon went back to his maker, Gwin was determined to start her life with Lance sooner rather than later.

  “We can wait,” he said. “For now, let’s get you inside.”

  He twined his fingers with hers. He gave a tug, but she didn’t move. She was willing to wait to be with him. She was not willing to let this adventure end just yet.

  “Gwin?”

  “We’re not home. We’re in Arville.”

  “Arville?”

  "It was one of the last preceptories of the Templar Knights. The text mentions that de Molay spent time here. It’s where he was ordained. It’s very likely that they’ll have records of his life that aren’t in these books.”

  “That would mean it’s a Templar stronghold.” Lance’s hold on her tightened, and he reached for the brooch she knew was his sword.

  “It was purchased from the Templars centuries ago and is run by the state.”

  “Gwin, you’re not going to Arville.”

  “We’re already here.”

  Lance looked up at the closed door, as though finally realizing the meaning of her words. “My lady, you are not going out there.” He gave her a tug.

  “Good sir, I am, too.” Gwin would not budge.

  His blue eyes darkened. She watched the wheels turn over in his head as he weighed his options. “I’ll throw you over my shoulder,” he said.

  She lifted an eyebrow, daring him. He pursed his lips. It was kind of adorable and not to mention empowering. Polite, obedient Lady Gwin had strong-armed the fiercest knight of the Round Table.

  “Just one hour,” she said. “I won’t leave your sight. I’ll stick to the books. And at any sign of danger, of which I doubt there’ll be any, I’ll head back to the ley line.”

  Lance’s muscles remained rock hard with tension. His brow pinched. A tick clicked rhythmically in his jaw.

  “Just this one last adventure,” she said. “And then I’ll go home and be a proper young miss again who won’t give you any trouble. I promise.”

  She felt his indecision. It looked as though she were wearing him down. She would never know.

  The door opened. There wasn’t much light on the other side. Still, the glint of multiple swords was clear to see in the dark, dank room.

  Gwin dropped de Molay’s journal to the stone floor. The ancient tome made a sickening thud that Gwin knew was the cracking of the manuscript’s spine. She had no time to mourn the damage of the book. She put her hands into the air.

  19

  It was like being awakened from a wet dream and tossed into boiling water. One moment, Lance had Gwin in his arms, her lips so close to his. That was the dream he had every night, an almost kiss because even in his secret dreams he wouldn’t cross the line of impropriety. There had never been a sword in his dream.

  The business end of a blade wasn’t just pointing at his gut. No, that was a normal dream for him. A night terror, that was par for the course for men of action. Hell, it was a normal Tuesday for him to be on the receiving end of a weapon in his wakefulness. But never her.

  There was a blade pointing at Gwin’s breasts. No. This would not do. But what could he do?

  His first instinct was to go through the sword at his gut to get to the one at her breast. That maneuver would leave her alone and at the mercy of Malegant’s villains. As inept as they were, they could still do damage in numbers.

  He could shove her behind him and take both mortal points. His death would give her
time to reopen the ley line and get to safety. Yes, that was the only solution.

  It wasn’t his own life Lance cared for. It was only hers. Always her. But how to get her to agree?

  “You promised that if there was danger,” he began, “you would turn around.”

  “I lied,” said Gwin. She bristled at his side. The defiance rolled off her like a cold breeze from the north on a summer’s day.

  “You have always been a lady of your word,” Lance said. “I need you to keep your word now.”

  “I won’t leave you to die. If you die, I come with you.”

  How could his fondest wish and night terror occupy the same space? Lance felt no joy in her words. Determination rose in his chest and steeled his spine. Whatever happened, she would live.

  Lance peered into the darkness, trying to find an advantage, or at least determine how many attackers they faced. There wasn’t much to see except black and shadows. On the positive side, they hadn’t been struck through yet, so there was a chance.

  All Lance saw were the hands that held the swords. One left, one right. One attacker? The fingers of both hands were gnarled. The skin wrinkled, as though the warrior who held the swords was old. And then the sword aimed at Gwin lowered.

  "Forgive me, my lady," came a hollow, creaky voice. "I did not see that there was a noble creature in my presence. My apologies for raising my blade.”

  As though by magic, a spark of illumination lit the room. Standing before them was the thinnest bear of a man Lance had ever seen. Long, white strands of hair fell from the man’s cheeks and chin all the way down to his chest. The same puffy hair covered his head. He wore a dingy white tunic that had seen better days. On his chest, there was a crimson red cross. Not the straight-lined cross that was the mark of Christ. The tops of each point of the cross on the man's chest were triangular. It was the original mark of the Order of Solomon, the original Templars.

  Was it possible? Was this a Templar of Solomon? If so, why was the blade still trained on Lance?

  The old man bowed his head in deference to Gwin. The blade he held at Lance’s gut never wavered, never wobbled like Malegant’s Templars who were all barely a quarter of this man’s age.