The Welsh Knight

by Candace Sams

  Mac shook his head, kept his silence, and went about parking the sedan.

  “Mac, bring the luggage—”

  Merlin’s order fell short after he quickly turned off the engine, and turned in his seat to offer what he hoped was his coldest stare at the older man. He only briefly glanced at the woman beside the wizard. Still, he said nothing. Merlin would, as always, have his wizardly way.

  As the woman and the wizard exited the car and went inside the foyer, the damned rain began again. Mac sighed heavily, got out and unloaded every piece of luggage onto the marble floor past the front entrance doors. Merlin and his new, beautiful ally, were nowhere to be seen by the time he was done.

  “I believe you were meant to bring the luggage up to our guest’s room,” one of the few servants available softly advised. “If you don’t mind, sir, do be quick. I can’t leave for holiday until the Yank is settled in, and I’ve been waiting all day for you to arrive as it is. I can’t go, you see, until you’ve finished putting the luggage upstairs,” the woman reiterated.

  Taking a deep breath, pressing his lips together and gathering as many of the expensive pieces of luggage as he could, he headed toward the lift behind the stairs. It took several trips but he finally had the chore done. Unfortunately, Francesca Radcliffe’s room was right down the hall from his. That would have made no difference except that she didn’t appear to be the type to keep questions to herself. Then again, most immortals weren’t.

  Once she knew where his room was, she might just knock on his door anytime she chose, just to get information that was still missing from Merlin’s explanations. For one thing, she’d certainly want to know about his possible contact with Morgan LeFey. Merlin apparently meant for the Radcliffe woman to get her explanations when and as she could.

  Eventually, he stood in the hallway watching the servant who’d addressed him in the foyer. That lady left in a hurry. It’d been that servant’s job to unpack for the American, at least that part of her luggage the new guest had left unlocked. He’d noted an elongated steel case among Frankie Radcliffe’s belongs. That would surely remain secured until its owner brought forth the contents. This case likely contained Ms. Radcliffe’s sword. With that unpacking done, the Yank, Merlin, and he were undoubtedly left alone inside this huge castle.

  Merlin was determined to empty the place though he’d told the American a lie about the staff having been given a holiday. While that was technically true, he knew there were other issues not mentioned, particularly those having to do with safety. The safety factor that Merlin failed to share was what particularly pissed him off, to the point of silence.

  From now until Garrett returned, only enough staff would still be on site to take care of livestock, and only a couple of times a day. No more.

  He glanced down at his soaked clothing and slowly shook his head. There was another drenching ahead. His place was out in the hills where it still rained heavily. As he strode away, to take up his constant outdoor vigil, there was one thing he knew to be true.

  Morgan LeFey would begin her march over the world here, in these old hills, on Bloodnight land. That name itself said more than anyone could.

  Bloodnight was the title given to this property in antiquity, when the knights were slaughtered here on a moon-filled, eerie night. Here was where Morgan would take her first stand, for no reason more than to see the death of the man whose ancestor had butchered her son.

  Garrett Bloodnight and anyone who stood with him, would be among the first casualties of battle, and if Garrett and those who stood with him couldn’t stop her here, she would move across England, take the crown, and then the rest of the world. She’d do so with magic the likes of which no one had ever seen. All the Ethereals had said so.

  This was at least one of the reasons Morgan was trying to get her greedy hands on amulets, talismans, relics, or anything else that could bolster her powers. Every year since right before WWII, she’d sent her rogues out to find and take anything that might give her more power over her perceived enemies. Merlin had told everyone, including the queen, a load of nonsense. The wizard let others believe that Morgan could and would be stopped in these hills, if the right forces for defense were gathered before the sorceress made her move. The truth was, Morgan was every bit as powerful as Merlin and was using the same powers to see what her opponents were up to.

  He’d be among those first to fight. He’d not let his country or his friends down. Moreover, he’d not let Morgan interfere in the lives of others one more time. She’d done it down through history. A few immortals had stood in her way as she tested her conjuring skills against an unsuspecting populace who knew nothing of her existence. Merlin wasn’t helping with his half-truths, prevarications and hidden agendas. Merlin was keeping secrets. Mac knew it as one knows the rain will fall or the wind will blow.

  The best way to handle any situation was to lay the truth bare, and let the parties concerned make up their minds about the best response. As it now stood, and had for many years, Merlin held all the cards in the deck, rarely sharing anything with anyone. For any man of action, as he considered himself, the circumstance was untenable.

  He changed his clothing, for more weather resistant gear, and took up his sword. It was still the weapon of choice when seeking to remove a rogue’s head, or when removing the dark heart of a sorceress.

  * * *

  While Merlin apprised the proper authorities of her safe arrival at Bloodnight Castle, Frankie took the opportunity to confront this situation with Macsen Rhys. She decided to approach the situation as she did everything. Head on.

  Having had a hot bowl of soup, fresh bread, and hot coffee to sustain her, she followed directions and went up to the room she’d been told was hers. She changed out of her traveling suit, and into her fighting gear. This consisted of thick black leggings, a black knit sweater, hiking boots, a long black duster in which to hide her smaller sword, and gloves. Her larger broadsword was kept in reserve, for full-on battle. It was large enough to require a baldric slung over her shoulder.

  She pulled her hair back into a high ponytail, to keep it out of her way in the wind. With only a glance to check her appearance — for what reason she couldn’t really glean — she was off.

  Merlin had asked her to come to England. Her assignment was to be Macsen Rhys’s partner, and to wait for any sign of Morgan’s appearance. She assumed her former connection with the wizard was one reason she’d been chosen for this assignment. She already knew a great many secrets that Merlin would never share with many immortals, or even members of his own government beyond the queen.

  It was clear that Mac Rhys knew all those same secrets, or he wouldn’t be here. The man clearly wanted no part of her, which was a situation she’d run into many times. Some things never changed in that it was usually the immortal woman’s job to prove herself. Immortal men assigned to work together took their skills for granted.

  From one of the last maids to leave, Frankie learned that Mac Rhys had headed out the kitchen door, toward the hills surrounding the property. It was now very dark, but she had no fear of treading unknown ground. She’d done it a thousand times before. Her senses would let her know where her quarry was, if she was within at least a hundred yard of the man.

  There were dozens of hills he could have climbed. They stood out against the darkness like behemoths. If she was the one looking for a place to watch, if it was she doing the guarding, she’d choose the tallest, most formidable hill to climb. That was where she headed.

  Within half an hour of upward walking through wet gorse and slippery rock surfaces, she finally felt the telltale electric tingle that alerted her to either an immortal or an Ethereal, assuming any Ethereal wished to be found at all.

  Mac Rhys wasn’t of Ethereal ilk. He was immortal only, and therefore had no ability to hide himself from another of his kind.

  “Mr. Rhys, it’s me! Don’t take my head off,” she called as she moved forward.

  “Tempting,” a de
ep, baritone voice sounded from the darkness. “I could always say it was an accident.”

  Momentarily stunned by the low timbre of the man’s voice in the darkness, she moved forward until he stepped from a wall of thick bushes and grasses. The clouds had fled. The storm seemed to have abated, leaving a starry sky overhead. The light now was such that her immortal eyesight discerned images more clearly. This was but one of the supernatural powers immortality bestowed.

  “You’ve no business up here, Ms. Radcliffe,” he muttered.

  “We’re supposed to be working together, sir. And my name is Frankie. I’ll call you Mac, just to save time.”

  He snorted. “You had no interest in my name before, or our working status.”

  “Am I supposed to feel remorse…over my response to your petulant behavior?” She briefly bowed her head, then changed her tone. Arguing, when that’s what he clearly wanted, was of no use to either of them. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t make more of an effort to include you in the conversation. Okay?”

  “I don’t care about your manners, or lack thereof. I don’t give a flying fuck why you’re here, though I think it’s a monumental mistake that you are.”

  “You’ve made that abundantly clear. But why…Mac? What about me is so offensive? Is it because I’m a woman, or an American?”

  “Neither. It’s because you fawn over every syllable that drips from Merlin’s mouth.”

  Momentarily taken aback, she blinked before forming her next question. “If you think there’s something wrong with his handling of this situation, why are you here?”

  “You have your orders. I have mine,” he quickly returned.

  “You’re here against your will?”

  “I thought I just said so.”

  She considered the way his blue eyes shimmered under the starlight. She suddenly got the distinct impression that he was less angry with her than Merlin. Though she loved the older wizard the way someone might care for a beloved uncle, Merlin or Jon Merdwyn, wasn’t above using tricks and semantics to forge his will into reality. Still, he’d never used magic to alter anyone’s power of free choice. To do so, as he’d once told her, was to court the worst response. That kind of chicanery was Morgan’s tactic, not an honest wizard’s.

  She took a deep breath and sat on a nearby rock. He found his own seat on an old tree trunk and waited to hear her response.

  “I know he can be hard to deal with. I put up with him all the way through the war. But he’s never done or said anything that didn’t lead to saving allied lives.”

  “While preserving the anonymity of every Ethereal’s existence. That, above all, is his aim and always has been.”

  She tilted her head and considered broaching this sensitive subject from another angle. “He has your queen’s trust, and that of my president.”

  “The queen gave me orders to watch the old fart. What does that tell you?” Mac quickly responded.

  “She doesn’t trust him?”

  “As much as anyone can. But she trusts me a hell of a lot more.” He moved to sit on a boulder closer to her and leaned forward. “How long have you known him, Frankie?”

  “I was first assigned to work with the British home office in about 1939, before the US got into the war. My job then was basically what it is now. I went into other countries, used their language to disguise myself. I dug up any old, magical relics I could, and took them to the US for safe keeping. Just to get them away from Hitler’s henchmen. The only difference from those days to now, is that I’m invited by countries to get magical relics out of their borders, and back to the US. My objective is to keep rogues working for Morgan LeFey from getting their hands on any magical thing that can remotely help her build her strength. My job isn’t, and never has been, any more complicated than that.”

  “Doesn’t it worry you that so many country’s politicians know Morgan exists, and that she’s searching for those magical objects?”

  “There aren’t as many officials who know about her as you might think. Those that do have no interest in putting themselves on Morgan’s kill list. If they let anyone know that they’re trying to thwart her interests…if news of her existence gets to the wrong people…any politician or government official could be stalked. Stalked by Morgan’s rogues as well as the press. So, the powers in the know keep their mouths shut, if for no other reason than to keep their loved one’s safe. With the promise of returning their relics when this business is done, most country’s leaders are happy to let America foot the bill for hiding them. Happier still since removing all sources of magic from their borders, reduces attacks from Morgan’s rogues. Considerably.”

  He gazed at her for a long moment. Then he spoke very pointedly. “Did anything Merlin said about the servants, and Garrett Bloodnight leaving on a sudden vacation, ring true to you?”

  “Not particularly. Garrett Bloodnight is known all over the world. Why would he take a new Ethereal…an unregistered and unknown magical commodity…with him anywhere? Why would he risk her anonymity and her safety by being seen with him? Especially since scuttlebutt has it that they’re lovers.”

  Mac sat up straight and stared at her again. “I may have pegged you wrong. You’ve obviously done your homework.”

  “Look, I know damned well that Garrett Bloodnight didn’t leave for Scotland hoping to train Jean Long there. Like I said, he wouldn’t risk her being seen with him at all. I also know that Merlin’s sister, Anna Gast, is with Garrett and Jean. If anyone is training Jean, it’d be Anna. And they wouldn’t be anywhere near any city or town. They’d be hiding somewhere in the most remote areas. What I can’t figure out is why they’d leave when every country on Earth seems to want to hide its magical relics, suddenly. If a fight is about to begin here, as Merlin prophesized, why did Bloodnight leave his own land…the very place that the fight will start?”

  “I might be able to answer that.”

  She raised one brow and waited.

  “Merlin didn’t tell you that, up until about eight weeks ago, Garrett Bloodnight didn’t know he was the descendant of Sir Galahad; the very man who must stand and fight Morgan LeFey in the battle here, in these hills.”

  “What? What do you mean Bloodnight didn’t know?”

  “Merlin took his bloody damned time telling Garrett and Jean that Morgan will be gunning for him first. Garrett had no idea. When he found out…when Merlin finally got around to letting that little bit of trivia loose…Garrett lost it. I’ve never seen the man so angry.”

  “But…Merlin has had that information for ages. Decades. Hell…centuries. Why the fuck wouldn’t he have told Garrett Bloodnight, at least when the man was changed into an immortal. I could see no good reason for doing so prior to that, but after…”

  “Because, Frankie! Merlin does what he wants, when and as he wants, without consulting anyone. He makes a great show of including the queen, but only gives her what information he thinks she needs to know. That’s why I’m here. The queen isn’t a stupid woman. She trusts Merlin’s loyalty, just not the way he handles his people. Merlin has always protected this land, but there comes a point when his secrecy is maddening. No one can plan around him. No one is good enough or smart enough to be included in his schemes.”

  “What about you?”

  He tilted his head. “What about me?”

  “Merlin suggested you were be the only person to have seen Morgan LeFey in recent —”

  “I saw a shadow in WWII. It was in Lithuania. I tried to pursue and lost the woman. It’s likely that it was just a rogue who’d been watching me. I came across them quite often back then. If I’d known more than that, I’d have passed that information on to POSI, who’d have undoubtedly let Washington know. I made the mistake of mentioning it to Merlin, and he told the queen it was a significant siting. I’m afraid your wizard is playing games. Just as I’ve tried to tell you.”

  She sighed and considered the big man for a long moment. She didn’t know why, but believed he was telling the t
ruth. “Could Merlin be holding back information to protect his prophesies?”

  “Because humans and immortals have free will, and might change the political climate before Morgan decides to attack? And that she might somehow see what Merlin does and counteract to change prophecy?”

  “Yeah. That’s what I mean.”

  “If that’s true, then why doesn’t Merlin just say so? Why all the dramatics? All he has to do is say, “Your Majesty, I can’t tell you what I’m doing or why lest someone on your staff or someone in Parliament makes a decision that alters the prophecy. If that happens, I might not be able to present a reliable defense in that these prophecies are only shown to me when fate allows.”

  “I…suppose…that would be more honest. But a lot less comforting.”

  “I think it’s a lot more to do with his ego, Frankie.”

  She sighed heavily. “Maybe. You could be right. But he’s not against us, Mac. He’s on our side.”

  “He needs to start acting like it. When Garrett learned that he was Sir Galahad’s descendant, and that he’d had been watched his entire life and protected…even down to the day he turned into an immortal in WWI…that pissed Garrett off in ways I can’t begin to describe. He hadn’t even known Ethereals existed until a few months prior to finding out his ancestor was Sir Galahad! He hadn’t known about King Arthur’s existence, or that his land was the place where the knights fell; the very first place Morgan would come…to get him!”

  “Holy shit! He wasn’t told any of that? But I even knew it!”

  “Precisely! Garrett only knew immortals existed in the world. That was it. Period. He didn’t know that even some of them are kept from the public registry, and don’t have to have clavigers as the law requires. It’s all up to Merlin. He makes those decisions when he knows the queen will take the consequences for them if anything goes wrong.”

  “That’s crazy,” she whispered in shock. “Merlin should have said something to Mr. Bloodnight. Um…Sir Bloodnight,” she quickly corrected.