Gawain (Knights of Excalibur Book 1)

by Hanley, Donald

  72

  Hawk fiddled with his cuffs, glancing impatiently at the clock on the wall. “Are you ready yet?”

  “Almost.” Trisha’s voice was muffled by the bathroom door. “There’s not a lot of room in here, you know.”

  “Need any help?”

  “Remember what I just said about not a lot of room? Okay, I’m coming out.” The door latch rattled and Trisha stepped out, looking nervous. “Do I look okay?”

  “You look beautiful,” he told her, and she did. She wore a simple black cocktail dress with a rounded neck and three-quarter sleeves. It hugged her chest and waist without being too revealing and then draped in soft folds from her hips to her knees. Her hair was brushed back and clasped at the back of her neck, displaying her scrubbed face to perfection. She didn’t wear any makeup, but she didn’t need it.

  “Thanks,” she smiled shyly. “You look nice, too.” She reached up and straightened his tie and brushed some imaginary lint from his suit jacket.

  “Are you ready to get out of here?”

  “More than ready. Where are my shoes?” She spotted her glossy black heels on the nearby chair and dropped them on the floor, resting her hand on his arm for balance as she wriggled her feet into them. They gave her just enough height to look him right in the eye and she smiled. “Okay, let’s get out of here.”

  The orderly waiting with resigned patience at the foot of her bed cleared his throat. “You know the rules, miss.” He patted the wheelchair in front of him. “Everyone gets a free ride out to the curb.”

  “But I’m fine!” Trisha protested. She spun around in a circle, her skirt lifting a little higher than common decency allowed. The orderly, Watkins, according to his hospital badge, smiled in appreciation but shook his head. He gestured to the wheelchair and Trisha slumped in resignation. “Fine.” She plopped down with ill grace and Watkins released the brakes. “This is just a waste of time.”

  “I won’t argue with you, miss,” he said evenly, “but I don’t make the rules. Nurses and doctors make the worse patients,” he added as an aside to Hawk. “Do you have everything with you? My shift ends in twenty minutes and I’d rather not have to cart you all the way back here.”

  “I’m wearing everything I own and I don’t even own that.” Hawk had brought the dress and shoes and undergarments with him when he showed up looking like a real human being again, a very well-dressed one at that. The only thing she had to leave behind was her hospital gown and she had no desire to keep that.

  “All right, let’s scoot,” Watkins said, letting Hawk hold the door open for them. He maneuvered the wheelchair into the hall and down to the elevators at the end. Christmas decorations dotted the walls, but the floor seemed unusually quiet. Trisha hoped that meant there weren’t many patients in the trauma ward.

  Someone had already taken care of the paperwork, so their journey to the hospital’s main entrance was uneventful other than a brief stop at the registration desk to formally note her departure and remove the blue and white ID straps around her wrist. Hawk took them and tucked them into his jacket pockets. “Souvenirs,” he explained at her look.

  “I don’t want to remember this place. No offense,” she told Watkins.

  “None taken, miss. Brace yourself, it’s a bit nippy outside.”

  Hawk held the front door open and Trisha shivered at the wave of cold air pushing into the lobby. It was actually warmer than the arctic freeze they endured down in Virginia but it was also snowing again, thick white flakes drifting down like dandelion fluff.

  “Where’s the Jeep?” she asked, looking around with a frown. A line of cars ringed the circular drive in front of the hospital but her mother’s Wrangler was nowhere to be seen.

  “I sent that back down to your parent’s place yesterday,” Hawk explained. “The driver will bring back the Jaguar and return it to Boston.” He raised his finger and a man bundled up against the cold tipped his chauffeur’s cap and opened the back door of a silver limousine. Watkins angled in that direction, leaving tracks in the thin slush on the sidewalk.

  “That isn’t your car, is it?” Trisha asked doubtfully. She supposed his Corvette was still sitting in the parking garage in Boston.

  “It’s just a rental,” he assured her. Watkins locked the wheelchair and Hawk helped her stand.

  “Sorry I was such a bother,” she told Watkins. “I know you were just doing your job.”

  “No worries, miss,” he said complacently. “We’re just glad to be rid of you.” Trisha blinked in surprise and then laughed. Every hospital wanted their patients to leave, preferably upright. “Merry Christmas, miss, sir.”

  “Merry Christmas, Watkins.” The orderly nodded and wheeled his way back towards the lobby, whistling a cheery carol. Trisha and Hawk exchanged a smile and then Hawk waved her into the limo.

  “Ladies first,” he said. Trisha didn’t try to argue with him. She slid onto the leather seat, tucking her skirt around her legs as the chauffeur closed the door. Hawk walked around to the other side and climbed in before the driver could get the door for him, so he silently removed his outer coat and slipped in behind the wheel.

  The interior was already toasty warm and Trisha shivered in gratitude. The back seat was large enough to lie down in and sleep, but she’d already done enough of that over the last week. The gap between her and Hawk was way too wide, though, and she scooted over to the middle as the limo pulled away from the curb.

  “Does he know where we’re going?” she asked. A glass barrier separated the front from the back and she wondered if the driver could see them. She wasn’t planning to test that.

  “Of course.”

  “Do I know where we’re going?”

  “Didn’t I tell you?” he frowned.

  “You just said we’re going to a party and handed me a bag with this in it.” She plucked at the hem of her skirt. “It’s beautiful, by the way. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, but Nim deserves all the credit, I’m just the delivery boy. We’re going to Arthur’s place It’s just a small gathering,” he assured her, “to celebrate your release.”

  Trisha laughed. “You make it sound like I was just paroled from prison.”

  “You were,” he said somberly, “just not one with bars.”

  “Hmm, I suppose that’s true.”

  They rode in silence after that, watching the chauffeur navigate his way through the thinning traffic as the last few denizens of Manhattan who stayed in town for the holidays made their way home. Trisha snuggled up against Hawk’s side, intertwining her arm with his and resting her cheek on his shoulder. He smelled of some masculine cologne that suited him. She suspected she smelled of antibacterial soap, since Nim hadn’t included any toiletries along with the clothes. She wondered how Nim knew her sizes. She’s a Queen of Avalon, Trisha mused. Who knows what she can or can’t do?

  “Hawk?” she asked quietly.

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you think I’m a Queen?”

  “To me.”

  Trisha pulled away to look at him, first in appreciation of that sweet sentiment and then in annoyance. She poked him in the side with her free hand. “You know what I mean.”

  He rubbed his ribs with a frown. “Is this going to be a regular occurrence? I get enough bruises on the job as it is.”

  “Only when you deserve it. Am I a Queen or not?”

  Hawk sighed. “I don’t know. I think Merlin’s the only person who can answer that truthfully.”

  “Oh.” Trisha sat back, dissatisfied. “Do I get to wear a crown, at least?”

  “We can ask Nim about the official uniform,” he said dryly. “Here we are.”

  “Already?” Trisha leaned forward to peer through the windshield as the limo pulled over in front of a tall black building. “Wait a minute, that’s the Pendragon building! What are we doing here?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Nothing to worry about.” Outside, a Pendragon security guard hurried over to get Trisha’s door
while the driver got out to open Hawk’s. “Arthur lives here, in the penthouse.”

  “Really?” She slid over to the edge of the seat and let the guard help her out and regain her balance. She hugged herself as she looked up, blinking through the snow as she tried to see the top floor, as if Arthur would be waiting on the balcony to wave down at them. “You’d think he’d want to get away from this place once in a while.”

  “He’s actually on the road quite a bit. He has residences all over the world.” Hawk came around the limo and tucked her hand into his elbow, nodding to the guard and waving the driver off. They strode quickly across the sidewalk to the entrance lobby, with Trisha taking short quick steps to keep from slipping on the slick pavement. She didn’t wear heels all that often, so she was out of practice.

  The lobby looked exactly the same as last time, except there were only two guards at the desk instead of four. Their badges were waiting for them and they barely had to break their stride as they walked past and Hawk did his thing with the security turnstile. One of the elevators dinged immediately when he pressed the up button and they hurried inside.

  Hawk touched the button for the 40th floor this time and tapped his badge to the reader. It turned green and the elevator surged upwards, but this time Trisha was ready for it.

  “I guess everyone’s gone home for Christmas,” she observed.

  “Pretty much.” Hawk looked at her with a strange expression and he cupped her face in his hands.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked worriedly.

  “I thought I was going to lose you.” His voice was husky with emotion as he shook his head despairingly. “I promised your parents I’d keep you safe and I didn’t. They’ll never forgive me. I’ll never forgive me.”

  “Don’t say that! I’m here and you’re here and that’s all that’s important. They don’t blame you for what happened.”

  “Did they tell you that?”

  “Well, Mom pretty much cried the entire time when I called them this morning,” she admitted, “and Dad was pretty incoherent too. But I promised we’d come down tomorrow for Christmas dinner and they were happy about that.”

  “Tomorrow?” He looked dismayed at that. “I was hoping –”

  “What?”

  He sighed and put on a smile that seemed mostly genuine. “It’s nothing. I’m looking forward to another five-hour drive through the countryside.”

  “Liar. You are not.”

  He chuckled and pulled her closer. “I am,” he insisted, “if it means spending more time with you.”

  He leaned forward and she closed her eyes for his kiss just as the elevator slowed and came to a stop, dinging again as the door opened behind her. Trisha quickly pulled away and straightened her dress and patted her hair, but her efforts were wasted. There was no one there to greet them.

  “This doesn’t look like a penthouse,” she said doubtfully. In fact, it looked a lot like the lower floors, albeit with better carpeting and modern artwork on the walls. A few offices with paneled doors were visible, with brass plaques she couldn’t read from where she was.

  “The main elevators don’t go up that high,” he smiled, taking her hand and leading her out into the hall. “We’ll go down here.”

  Trisha didn’t recognize any of the names on the doors they passed, except for the last two. The plaque on the right said A. Pendragon CEO and the one on the left said, simply, Mme. Nim, with no title. Trisha wondered what her official role in the company was. She doubted it was Queen.

  The far end of the hall had the same picture-frame paneling as the other walls but no door that she could see. It did have another security panel mounted on the side and Hawk inserted his pass key and tapped a code. The wall slid aside, revealing another elevator. They stepped inside and Hawk tapped the topmost of the two buttons. Apparently the only way to go from here was up. Trisha smoothed her dress again and straightened her back, wondering what was waiting for them up in King Arthur’s penthouse.

  73

  The ride took all of five seconds and deposited them in a tiled entranceway that overlooked a large conversation pit with leather couches chairs situated between a fireplace on one side and a grand piano on the other. A Christmas tree touched the ceiling in the corner, all red and gold decorations, but Trisha’s attention was focused on the four other people in the room. They all stood as she and Hawk joined them.

  “Patricia, welcome,” Arthur greeted her, shaking her hand with a warm smile. “I’m so glad you could join us.” His suit was a different shade of gray but his tie matched the tree, all red and gold stripes.

  “Not as pleased as I am,” Trisha told him fervently, and he laughed. “Nim, you look wonderful!”

  “Thank you.” Nim wore a silver lamé dress that almost looked like fine chainmail. It glittered under the lights as brightly as the diamonds in her ears and around her wrist, and her heels were polished silver. Her hair was down, giving her a sultry look, although she was as cool and composed as ever. She kissed Trisha on both cheeks and then stepped back to inspect her critically. “Everything fit properly, I hope? I had to guess a bit.”

  “It’s perfect, thank you.” She turned around to show off the dress, but slower this time. “And Lucas! I missed you!” She kissed him on the cheek and he grinned back at her, although his eyes were a bit guarded.

  “Not as much as we missed you,” he said gallantly. “Arthur kept me busy while Hawk was … preoccupied.” He shot a glance at Hawk, who merely nodded somberly. Lucas had opted for a more casual look, a tan sports coat and darker slacks over a white button-down shirt. He waved over the final party guest, an older man wearing a striped sweater vest under his jacket. “Trisha, I’d like you to meet my brother, Ben.”

  “I’ve very pleased to finally meet you, Miss Macmillan,” he said with a smile, bowing over her hand as he shook it. He had a distinct British accent. Standing beside Lucas, the family resemblance was obvious, although Ben was taller and wider and sported a well-groomed beard a bit darker than his hair.

  “I’m glad to meet you too, Mr. Butler,” Trisha told him. “Hawk mentioned Lucas had a brother but I didn’t expect to actually meet you.”

  “Well, we try not to make a fuss of it,” Ben said, his eyes twinkling with humor, “but call me Ben, please.”

  “Trisha.”

  “It’s Marshall, by the way,” Lucas added, “not Butler.”

  “Oh, uh, really?” Trisha tried to figure out how two men who looked so much alike could possibly have different last names. “Were you ... adopted?” she asked doubtfully. “Into different families, I mean?” She looked at Hawk for help.

  “Trisha,” he said with a wry smile, “allow me to introduce Sir Bedevere the Marshall.” Ben’s bow this time was much more courtly this time.

  “Oh! Bedevere the Marshall, Ben Marshall. I get it.” She eyed Lucas doubtfully. “But you’re really brothers, right?”

  “We really are,” Ben nodded. “I was in London when Lucas had his unfortunate encounter with Savard in Boston. By the time Nim got around to informing me,” he gave her a reproachful look, which she ignored, “I couldn’t get to the States until after you had your unfortunate encounter with Trelawney. I’m delighted to see you looking so well.” The others nodded their agreement.

  “Thanks,” Trisha said, ducking her head. “I’m sorry to have been so much trouble.”

  “Don’t you ever think that, Trisha,” Nim told her firmly. “We’re just happy you’re able to join us.”

  Lucas had a tumbler in his hand and he held it up questioningly. “Can I get you something?”

  “Oh, um.” Trisha surveyed the others quickly. Nim had a wine glass in her hand with something ruby-colored in it and a glass with a finger of whiskey sat on the low glass-topped table beside Arthur. Ben didn’t seem to be drinking. “Wine, I guess. Whatever Nim is having.”

  “Coming up,” Lucas nodded. “Hawk?”

  “Scotch.” He lifted his hand to loosen his tie and then tho
ught better of it. He indicated the couch where Lucas had been sitting with a lift of an eyebrow and Trisha sat near the end, letting the others settle themselves around her. Hawk perched on the armrest beside her.

  “Dinner will be a few more minutes,” Arthur explained, “so we have some time to catch up on things.” Trisha tensed and Hawk rested his hand on her shoulder reassuringly. “First and foremost, I have to apologize to you, Patricia.”

  “Me?” Trisha asked, perplexed. “What for?”

  “For not protecting you. We were careless and complacent, even though we knew we had a spy in our midst. You paid the price for our mistake.”

  “We didn’t think Viviane would risk losing her agent in an assassination attempt,” Nim said somberly, a stark contrast to her bright holiday outfit. “After all the effort she went through to get Dr. Trelawney past our security screening, it never occurred to me that she’d be willing to throw it all away in an instant.”

  “What happened to him?” Trisha asked. “Dr. Trelawney, I mean.” Lucas appeared beside her, wine glass in hand, and she took it with a nod of thanks, twirling the stem between her fingers. Hawk took his drink and sipped it with a brooding glower.

  “As it turns out,” Lucas said, taking his seat on the other end of the couch, “he wasn’t actually Dr. Trelawney.”

  “He wasn’t?”

  “No. He’d been altered to look exactly like him. Shape-changed.” Trisha shivered and took a gulp of her wine. “Nim broke Viviane’s enchantment but we don’t know who he really is.”

  “He won’t talk?”

  Lucas and Nim exchanged an unreadable look. “He’s dead.” At Trisha’s shocked expression, he added, “Not because of us. A compulsion. He just keeled over dead while we were questioning him.”

  “How horrible,” Trisha murmured. “But where’s the real Dr. Trelawney, then?”

  Lucas shook his head. “That’s what I’ve been doing all week, trying to track him down. I traced the fake one back seven years, all the way to his home in Sussex. He must have traded places with the real Trelawney somewhere around then but there’s no sign of the original.”