My Once & Future Love (Unsung Knights of the Round Table #1)

by Ruth Kaufman

  Morgan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Not a hint of this has leaked out in twelve years?”

  “I was afraid. But now, things have ch—”

  “Of losing money or of losing me?”

  She, this woman who had lied to him every day, couldn’t meet his gaze.

  “Then who are my parents? Why didn’t they want me?”

  “I don’t know.” She blotted her wound. “The man made me promise. He repeated, ‘never ask, never question, never tell,’ until I said it back to him.” She’d never looked wearier. Her light eyes brimmed with more tears. “I’ve always known you were different, but I held my tongue. None of the other children know. Things have gotten out of hand. I can’t keep you any longer, nor do I know how to help you. I need the money, but I have the others to think of. The villagers hate us all because of you.”

  Morgan felt as if he had been stabbed in the heart. “Where am I to go? What am I to do?”

  “You’re almost a man now, tall and strong for your age. I’ll give you the little coin I can spare. Go to Hereford and find employment.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  Morgan and the woman who was not his mother turned toward the deep voice.

  A tall, thin man wearing swirling, dark purple robes threaded with silver stood before them. The man had shining silver-white hair, the same shade as Morgan’s. An amulet centered on his chest with a raised sword shone near as bright as the sun. He held a similar necklace, though not as shiny, in his hand.

  She stood and gave Morgan a shove. “I thought I’d never see you again. Thank God you’ve come. Take him back.”

  The tall man ignored the woman and spoke to him. “I am your father. I am Merlin.”

  * * *

  “Morgan, Morgan!”

  Annora tugged on his sleeve, but he didn’t respond. His eyes had faded, as if his spirit had gone somewhere.

  Of course spirits couldn’t leave bodies. Another manifestation of his rapidly progressing illness? He must’ve been in remission when they met.

  What was she to do? Despite his strange ways, his stranger tales, she cared deeply for him. She wanted to help him get well so he’d cease his futile quest and begin a productive life. With her.

  What if they couldn’t find a physician to help him? What if he didn’t improve, but continued to worsen? Annora didn’t know if she was strong enough, good enough to spend the rest of her days caring for a madman.

  Again she needed help. Would the day come when she could take care of things on her own?

  Ninian. She’d know how to help Morgan. Even if his symptoms were beyond her medical abilities, her vast connections would lead them to someone who could cure him.

  She and Morgan had to go to London. Her triumphant return to Amberton would have to be postponed.

  “Morgan!”

  Still no response. Annora grabbed the bucket and poured cold water on him.

  He started and shook his head, his long hair sending water flying and splashing her.

  “What in Taliesin’s name was that for?” he demanded as water soaked his clothes.

  “You didn’t hear me when I called.” She wiped her cheek. “Or respond when I tugged on your cloak. I feared you were ill.”

  “Sorry. I’m fine,” he said. “Where were we? Ah, yes. I was confessing what you demanded to know about my past and you weren’t believing a word.”

  “I want to believe you, truly I do,” she said. “But I need proof.”

  “I didn’t need proof. I believed you from the first.” He sounded strained.

  “You must admit your story is far more improbable than mine.” She couldn’t resist brushing a wet lock from his face. “I’ve got an idea. Let’s go to Ninian. She knows you well and will help us.”

  “No,” Morgan said. “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Why? Doesn’t she believe you, either?”

  “Ninian believes me. The problem lies elsewhere.”

  So Ninian knew. Annora wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse. No. She felt worse, because the knowledge reinforced their special connection that niggled her like a torn fingernail. “Where does the problem lie?”

  “Why bother? Like as not you won’t believe that, either.” She heard hurt in his voice, but didn’t know how to ease it.

  Morgan peeled off his wet clothes, exposing his chest. Her fingers itched to caress his perfectly formed muscles, to make him sigh with enjoyment.

  How could she still want him, knowing he could very well be mad? Because he was a good man, a gorgeous man. She knew how wrong it was to judge someone by his afflictions alone.

  He draped the wet tunic over his chair, then pulled another from his bag and slipped it on. “Very well. We shall go to London. But when we get there, I want you to remember this: visiting Ninian was your idea.”

  What did he mean by that?

  Chapter 13

  Morgan hadn’t spoken to Annora in the days it took to travel to Ninian’s shop. Silence proved more draining than any argument. She’d had no choice but to follow his lead. When he stopped his horse, Secret, she stopped Moonshadow. When he ate or slept, so did she. At least he hadn’t exhibited any signs of lunacy.

  Frustration mounted until she wanted to scream.

  Finally, as they approached the outskirts of London, she did. “Talk to me! Please, Morgan. I can’t stand this silence another minute.”

  He looked at her, then shook his head. His eyes were dull and lifeless. Her skepticism clearly cut him deeply.

  What a conundrum. Morgan was unhappy because she didn’t believe him. It hurt her that he was hurting, but she felt betrayed at his implausible story, which in turn upset him. How could she breach the wall that grew every higher between them? His body was beside her, but the man had disappeared.

  She had to show Morgan she accepted him. Even if in her heart of hearts she knew she was faking and faking seemed like lying. What was more important, honesty or regaining her closeness with Morgan, whatever the cost?

  What would be wrong with enjoying him the way he was? His delusions didn’t seem to interfere with his daily tasks. If they could be friends again, the next few days would be much more pleasant and she’d collect more memories to treasure. She’d return to Amberton and enable him to fulfill his promise. They’d both benefit.

  But how could she convince him?

  They stayed in a small inn, not as nice as the one before but suitable for a night’s rest. Morgan placed his blanket just inside the door and sat, his arms resting on his knees. Laughter and chatter from the dining area below filtered through the thin walls.

  He pointed toward the bed, imperiously indicating where he expected her to sleep.

  “This has to stop.” She lifted her blanket and walked toward him.

  “No, Annora.”

  “Morgan, can we please agree to disagree?” she asked. “I may not believe some things you’ve told me, but that doesn’t change how I feel about you. I miss our friendship. I miss you.”

  She hadn’t intended to say that part, and was grateful that she hadn’t added that she wanted him to kiss her. Pick up where they’d left off would be best, but at this point she’d settle for being beside him.

  “Share the bed with me,” she said.

  Morgan sighed, then nodded. He picked up his blanket and put it on top of the bed. He climbed in and turned his back to her, much as she’d done the first night in the cottage in Wales. Now she knew how off-putting that felt. She slid closer, until they almost touched, then put her arm around him. He stiffened, but she didn’t budge. Slowly he relaxed. His hand closed over hers.

  His touch warmed her inside, too. Annora smiled.

  * * *

  London dwarfed Llanarglyn as a mighty oak towers over a bush. Throngs of people and animals scurried about their business. Annora and Morgan rode through curving streets so narrow they couldn’t stay side by side. The houses almost touched over their heads. Some places smelled so fo
ul she had to pull her tunic over her nose.

  Ninian’s small apothecary shop was cool and quiet, a refuge from the tempest that was London. It smelled sweet, a complex mixture of flowers and spices and things Annora couldn’t identify. Her eyes adjusted to the dim interior. Behind a high wood counter were shelves filled with every type of jar, bottle and flask imaginable. One shelf contained spices labeled cloves, ginger, cinnamon and nutmeg. Another higher up had jars of stuffs Annora didn’t recognize, such as ambergris and theriac. One bore the label “Dried Mummy.” She shuddered. What could that be for?

  She hadn’t met many women who owned their own businesses. Amberton’s small alehouse had a female owner, but she’d taken over only after her husband died. How had Ninian learned to use all these strange substances? Gained enough coin to pay rent and purchase all of these items?

  A man waited next to the counter, leather coin pouch in hand.

  Ninian entered from a narrow door in the back wall, resplendent with her flowing silver-white hair and wearing another shimmering robe. This one had costly threads of gold woven in it.

  “I’ll be with the two of you in a moment,” she said in her distinctive, husky voice, a raised eyebrow her only sign of recognition. “Here you are, sir. The rest of your order will be ready on the morrow.”

  She handed a wrapped parcel to the man, who gave thanks, counted out a few coins and left.

  The door closed behind him.

  “Perhaps you should lock it,” she said.

  Morgan pushed the bolt.

  “What brings you here?” Ninian asked. “I can tell by your faces that your mission is not a pleasant one.”

  “I told her,” Morgan said. “She doesn’t believe me. She needs proof.”

  “Ah.” Ninian nodded sagely. “So you rode days out of your way so I could verify your tale?”

  “Something like that,” he muttered.

  “What difference does it make if Annora believes who you are?” Ninian placed her elbows on the counter, a knowing look on her face. “Annora must mean something to you. Instead of coming all this way, you could have simply shown her some—”

  “No, I could not,” he hissed. “If she wouldn’t accept my heritage, how could I make her understand that?”

  Morgan and Ninian spoke as if she wasn’t there, not even bothering to revert to their secret language. Did he care for her? What did they know that she didn’t? More nonsense, she was sure.

  “Annora, forgive us,” Ninian apologized.

  ’Twas as if Ninian had read her mind.

  Without looking at her, Morgan said, “Remember, Annora, this was your idea.”

  She gasped as realization hit. Ninian’s silver hair, so similar to Morgan’s. Their strange language. The secret glances they shared. Various, veiled references they’d made to their long friendship.

  “Oh, no. Not you, too?”

  With a gentle smile, Ninian confirmed, “Yes. I too am immortal.” She walked around the open end of the counter and crossed to Annora. “I know ’tis difficult to stomach things that go against the grain of what we think and were taught is true. Mortals are raised to believe anything outside the tenets of their religion is evil and wrong. But that doesn’t mean they’re right. It doesn’t mean mystical folk and magic don’t exist for the good. That King Arthur won’t return someday to rule.”

  Mystical folk? Magic? Horrified, Annora backed up until she pressed against the door. The locked door.

  “You’re both mad,” she breathed. “People don’t live forever. Magic is sinful. King Arthur and Merlin are well-known legends passed from generation to generation. Not people who live today. Nor is it likely they ever lived.”

  Annora knew she was rambling. Either both were telling the truth or both were mad. She couldn’t accept the former and feared the latter, for she cared for them both.

  “She is going to need proof,” Ninian said.

  “You were supposed to be the proof,” Morgan retorted. “Look where that has gotten us.”

  Annora’s shaking hand fumbled with the bolt. She couldn’t move it.

  Behind her, Ninian said softly, “Annora, where will you go? Who will help you, here in this city of thousands where you don’t know another soul?”

  She turned, wary and on edge, hands flat against the door bracing herself for more. Ninian was right. Not only would she be lost in these winding streets, she had no way to get to Amberton on her own.

  Ninian glared at Morgan. “Typical man, I’ll bet you didn’t handle this very well. Or explain properly.” She waved a delicate hand toward a tall stool.

  Morgan looked down, as if Ninian’s accusation made him uncomfortable.

  Annora climbed onto the stool, not sure how much longer her legs would’ve supported her. Now she had two mad people ganging up on her. What was it about her that made her vulnerable to those who wanted her to believe the unbelievable? First her uncle and his lunacy scheme, now Morgan and Ninian. What was their purpose in promulgating such an elaborate ruse?

  “Let’s start from the beginning,” Ninian said. “We should’ve had this conversation long ago.”

  “We agreed was best not to tell anyone,” he said.

  “I hope you realize Annora is not ‘anyone’ before it’s too late.”

  “What does that mean?” Morgan asked as Annora wondered the same thing.

  A loud bubbling noise emanated from the back of the shop, followed by an aroma sweet enough to make Annora’s mouth water.

  “Wait. I must tend to that before it boils over.” Ninian hurried behind the counter and disappeared into the back.

  Morgan looked out the unshuttered window beside the door at the passersby. The strained silence did nothing to ease her nerves. She sat stiff as if made of ice. Her heart felt frozen, too.

  “All is well.” Ninian returned and stood beside Annora. She smelled of something sugary, and had tied her hair back with a ribbon. “Where were we? Annora, we’d never harm you. Do you believe that?”

  “Yes. That I believe.” Though she felt small and defenseless next to them.

  “We want only to help you,” Ninian continued. “At first because Morgan owed you for helping him. Now because we’ve become friends. Agreed?”

  “Yes.”

  “If we wouldn’t harm you and wish to help you, why would we go to such trouble to make up fanciful tales to fool and confuse you?” Ninian asked softly.

  “I don’t know,” Annora whispered. Again ’twas as if Ninian read her thoughts.

  “Can you open your mind to the possibility that things, that people, exist which are beyond your ken? That all you’ve been taught may not be all there is? What if your teachers were misled themselves, and simply passed on falsehoods and half-truths for generations until they seemed real? What if they and your priests are afraid of things they cannot explain or understand because they aren’t gifted or smart enough?”

  Annora’s tense muscles relaxed. Warmth filled her from head to toe. Her joints felt loose, her limbs light, as if she might fall asleep right there on the stool. Ninian’s voice was so soothing.

  So…spellbinding.

  Annora sat up straight. “Are you telling me you’re a witch? Are you putting me under a spell?”

  “I must be honest. ’Tis the only way.” She met Annora’s gaze without blinking, her light green eyes reminding Annora of a cat’s. “No to the first. And not really to the second.”

  “Not really a spell?” She mouthed the words because she couldn’t force sound from her throat.

  “Each immortal has skills shared by no other. One of mine is that I can entrance people with my voice, to a certain extent. You’re upset and tense, so I thought to calm you a bit. Ease your mind.”

  Annora jumped off the stool and backed against the wall as she fervently made the sign of the cross. “No spells! Neither of you ever, ever bespell me again!”

  She gasped. There she went again, behaving as if they spoke true. Had she really demanded that they
not put spells on her? As if they could.

  What if they could?

  Ninian sighed. “Annora, we are telling the truth. Look Morgan in the eyes and you shall see it is so.”

  Reluctantly she turned her head. His eyes had changed color again, to a deep, rich blue-green. He was so handsome. What if he could change the way he looked, and had chosen the most perfect form, all the better to bespell her with?

  What a far-fetched thought. Their stories were turning her into a lunatic.

  The moment stretched. Morgan looked at her with such hope she could see the little boy he had been, the child who wanted to be accepted, to belong. Suddenly Annora knew why it mattered so much to him that she believed. He needed her to care for him despite the fact that he was different. Because no one had all those years ago.

  If he had lived as long as he said, he might have had to suffer the torment of feeling unwanted and unloved for hundreds of years. In all that time there must have been someone who loved him….

  “All we ask, Annora, is that you try to believe us,” Morgan said. “Can you do that for me?”

  He pressed his lips together so tightly little white lines formed at the sides of his mouth. He stood tall, hands behind his back. She could see how hard it was for him to ask this of her. How it cost him to show he needed her.

  Words couldn’t convey the complicated place he held in her heart. She wanted nothing more than to kiss Morgan, to prove how she felt about him. For as long as she could have him, she needed him, too, no matter who he really was. As nice as it had been to sleep in his arms last night, she wanted to make love with him again.

  Could she believe? Opening up to things she didn’t understand scared her. Maybe she was narrow-minded. But her faith associated the supernatural with the devil. Odd that the miracles performed by Jesus weren’t viewed so. And most people believed that going on pilgrimages or possessing objects such as saint’s bones could cure diseases.

  Mayhap she should get some for Morgan and Ninian.

  What of the Bible? “Noah’s ark, water into wine…. Are miracles a form of magic? If you can show me some proof, mayhap I can believe,” she said.