Believe (18 page)

“I…” He shook his head. “It may well be.”

“Which one?” She racked her brain. “There’s the peril, the infidel, the offering and—”

“The truth,” he said with a hard, firm voice. “’Tis the truth of your own eyes, Tessa. The beast is real.”

“Maybe not. Maybe…” She furrowed her brow. “There’s something I’m missing here.”

“And maybe ’tis the offering that can be no greater,” he said quietly.

“When the hero or heroine gives up his or her life for the other?” She shook her head. “Too obvious. Besides, don’t these clues have to go in order?”

“I know of no such requirement.”

“The peril, the infidel, the offering…” She narrowed her eyes and studied the beast. “That’s it. He’s the peril that’s but an illusion. There’s no other answer. He’s a special effect. A computer animation. Something whipped up by a medieval Stephen Speilberg. A hologram maybe.”

Galahad cast her a quick confused look. “I know naught of this Hall of Grahme but…” He trained his gaze back on the beast. “You are wrong. He is as solid as the earth beneath my feet.”

“He looks solid but…” She only wished she was as certain as she sounded. If she was wrong, they were dead. Period. If she was right…“He’s not real. He can’t be. He’s some kind of trick. Nothing but smoke and mirrors.”

Like the smoke that drifted from the beast’s snout and faded away. Or the smoke that drifted upward from the remains of their fire.

Smoke and mirrors?

“That’s it!” Adrenaline surged in her veins and she grabbed his sleeve. “The smoke, Big Guy, look at the smoke!”

“I see naught save the tendrils from the creature.”

“No, no! Watch the smoke.” She shook the material clutched in her fist. “Where does it go?”

“It vanishes on the wind.”

“There is no wind.” She grit her teeth. Why didn’t he understand? “Shouldn’t it be going up? Doesn’t smoke rise?”

“Indeed. I—”

“You said it yourself. How could I have been so stupid?” She smacked her hand against her forehead. “We should be dead. Burned to a crisp. The flames surrounded us but we’re not even singed.”

“’Twas at our backs. I did not see—”

“It engulfed us. Did you feel any heat at all?”

“No,” he said slowly.

“That’s because it wasn’t real. I know I’m right about this. You have to believe me. Everything I’ve ever learned about nature and history tells me this is the illusion.”

“Each has what the other lacks,” he murmured. “My courage from strength, yours from knowledge.” He stared at the creature. “How are we to prove such a thing?”

“I don’t know. I suppose we could just walk away and nothing would happen.”

“A knight does not retreat.”

“I figured as much.” She scanned the clearing. “Throw something at it then. If I’m right, it will pass through.”

Without a word he pulled Guinevere’s dagger from its sheath, hefted it in his hand and hurled it at the creature. The jeweled knife winked in the sun and vanished in the scaley green folds of the monster’s skin.

The dragon showed no reaction.

“See.” She wished she was as confident as she sounded. “I knew it.”

He shook his head. “We did not see the dagger land. We do not know for certain that it passed through the beast.”

“Only one way to find out.” She drew a deep calming breath. “I’m betting we can walk right up to it.”

He raised a brow. “And if you are wrong?”

She smiled weakly. “Barbecue.”

“’Tis an odd word and I do not like the sound of it.” He eyed her for a moment as if debating the pros and cons of her theory. “You are either a woman of exceptional courage and perception or you are a complete and utter fool. ’Tis yet another test for me, no doubt. I vowed to trust you.” He held out his hand. “With my life.”

She put her hand in his and stared up at him. “I’m ready if you are.”

He pulled her against him and bent to crush her lips with his in a swift kiss that would have left her breathless at any other time and even now helped ease the cold touch of fear. “’Twould be a pity not to taste your lips again in this lifetime.”

“You got that right.” She wanted to cling to him. If they made it through this—when they made it through this—she’d tell him everything. True confessions. About her past and his future and the only time they could share together.

He released her with a nod but her fingers stayed entangled with his. He held his sword high, ready to strike in case she was wrong. Not that it would do them any good.

“I hate to tell you,” she said out of the side of her mouth, “but I’m so scared, I can barely move.”

They stepped forward, closer to the illusion. Or to death.

“’Tis not the sentiment a man whose life you risk prefers to hear at a moment such as this,” he said under his breath.

The dragon raised his head, drew it back then thrust it forward.

What if she was wrong?

“Oh please, oh please, oh please.” Tessa squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself for flames to shoot out of the dragon’s mouth and right though them, exactly like before. But what if it didn’t happen again? What if this was a horrible mistake? What did she know about a world filled with magic anyway?

Galahad gasped. “By all that’s holy!”

She snapped her eyes open. They stood within inches of the beast’s belly, white and thickly lined with pale red veins. He towered above them. Galahad lowered his sword. Amazement stamped his features.

“The flames, Tessa.” Awe and disbelief sounded in his voice. “They passed through us as if they had no more substance than the air we breathe. ’Twas no heat of the fire nor breath of the wind.”

He dropped her hand and held his out in front of him tentatively to touch the beast. His hand pushed through the skin without resistance and disappeared into the creature. He jerked it back against his chest.

Exhilaration bubbled through her and she laughed with sheer relief. “I was right. Look.” She stepped forward and walked straight into the dragon. There was no resistance. In fact, from this side there was nothing at all to see but the clearing and the forest.

“Tessa!” Galahad’s frantic call sounded behind her.

She whirled and stared. She could see him but apparently he couldn’t see her through the illusion. He raised his sword and charged forward, skidding to a halt beside her.

“Hi.” She grinned.

“Where is the beast?” His cautious gaze scanned the area.

“I’ll show you.” She grabbed his hand and led him back the way they’d come. Two steps and the dragon reappeared. “Now you see him.” Again, she pulled him through the creature. “Now you don’t.” She retraced their steps and once more the dragon reappeared. “Now you see him.”

He stared in shock at the evidence of his own eyes. “What manner of magic is this?”

“It’s not magic. Or maybe it is to you. But to me it’s high tech.” She cocked her head and studied the image. “It looks three-dimensional, but when you get right down to it there’s only height and width, so I’m not even sure if it’s technically a hologram or not. I don’t know enough about special effects or computers to figure it out. I just watch a lot of movies. And this guy’s an Academy Award winner.”

The edges of the dragon shimmered and sparked and without so much as a
poof
, the beast vanished.

Galahad’s eyes widened and he stared at the spot where the dragon had stood. His voice was unsteady. “There is much we must speak of, Tessa St. James.”

“No kidding.” For the first time since she’d opened her eyes today, they were safe. The danger, real or not, was over.

So why were her legs like rubber? And her stomach knotted? And her teeth chattering? Why did she
want to laugh and cry and scream at the same time? Her head swam and her knees gave way and she sank toward the ground, her thoughts spinning wildly.

Adventure of a lifetime, my ass.

Viviane drummed her fingers on the desk and stared at the monitor as if the computer was at fault. Ridiculous, of course. She reached forward, flicked the power switch and rose to her feet. The fault was completely hers. She was far and away too softhearted.

A real dragon, created through traditional means, basic down to earth magic, would certainly have sautéed Galahad or Tessa or both and that would have been that. But there was something quite lovely and wonderfully ironic about employing the same type of technology that had put Merlin in such a snit in the first place to thwart his plans. Pity it hadn’t worked. Aside from that, the blasted man seemed genuinely fond of both Galahad and the woman. Should Viviane cause them real harm, Merlin would no doubt not hesitate a moment to exact revenge. She shuddered at the thought. All in all, they’d lived these past thousand years or so in relative harmony or as well as could be expected given the rather strong personalities of each of them.

Viviane strode across the cavern room to Merlin’s library. Mahogany shelves as wide as they were tall covered the stone walls and stretched onward into the bowels of the cave, fading away into the shadows. Merlin did so appreciate a good book as much for the craft of the bookbinder as the contents. He never thought of himself as such but he was a collector. The first editions on these shelves would have a
library—no, a museum—green with envy. Here was Dante, a charming creature in his own right but then Italian men usually were, and Rabelais, Chaucer and, of course, Malory. Merlin was exceedingly fond of Sir Thomas’s
Le Morte d’Arthur
although Viviane personally had never particularly cared for it.

Her gaze fell on
A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court
. Nicely written and extremely entertaining yet not at all accurate. At once her mind returned to the problem at hand. Enough of this sentimental nonsense. She liked a good book as well as the next person but unless she wished to spend another few centuries living through the Middle Ages she needed something a bit more practical. Surely, in all these tomes, ancient, antique or new, there was some information that could help her. Failing that, perhaps the Internet would provide an answer. Some way to stop Tessa and Galahad.

Oh, certainly, she could simply sit back and wait for them to fail. The dear boy had failed the first time. But she knew with an unerring instinct that it would be a far different story with Tessa by his side. There were, in the universe, rare couplings of souls meant always to be together yet all too often missing one another through the vagaries of time and space. Viviane had no proof but she had a distinct suspicion this was the case with Galahad and Tessa. Such a bond was indeed a force to reckon with.

In addition, the bloody woman had magic in her she didn’t know existed. Merlin had said Tessa had what Galahad needed. That he could not find the Grail without her. Was this what he meant? Magic untapped for a lifetime could prove a powerful weapon once
called upon. Oh, certainly, it was insignificant under other circumstances. Yet, in Viviane’s experience, the first use of such ability was often quite extraordinary, producing results that could neither be expected nor duplicated.

Just what was needed to find the Grail. Or save their lives.

Or return home?

Viviane paused to consider the intriguing idea. Could she enlist Tessa’s own dormant power to end this farce and return them all to the twenty-first century where they belonged? It was unlikely, given Merlin’s strength. Still, if there were perhaps some way to mitigate his power or turn it just the tiniest bit against him…Viviane sighed. The answer obviously wasn’t here. Nor did she expect to find it on the Internet even if one could find bloody well anything else there. There wasn’t so much as a single bit on the Web or a single volume amidst the thousands resting on these shelves that could tell her what she wanted to know.

But—a thought stuck her and she drew her brows together. Perhaps the answer lay not in a book that was here but in one that was not? A book with a touch of magic of its own.

Perhaps…

Viviane smiled, slowly and with a great deal of satisfaction. It may not be the complete solution but it was indeed a place to start.

Monte Carlo had never seemed closer.

“T
essa!” Galahad caught her before she could hit the ground.

“Did you see that? He just disappeared.” Hysteria raised her voice. The panic she’d conquered earlier now clawed at her and she teetered on the brink of complete surrender.
Delayed reaction
, she thought somewhere in the rational depths of her mind.
Shock.
Whatever the clinical name, it held her in jaws as strong as any dragon’s.

“Tessa!” Galahad gripped her shoulders and shook her. “Listen to me! ’Tis over. The beast was not real! ’Twas nothing save magic!”

“Not real?” She laughed, the high-pitched sound of a woman on the edge. “Of course he wasn’t real!” She wrenched free and struggled to pull in great huge gulps of air. “How could a dragon be real when nothing else is?”

She waved in a sharp cutting gesture at the rolling countryside. “See the trees and the hills and the sky? It’s not real, none of it! This is all something I made up! Me! Tessa St. James. Every bit of it comes straight from my subconscious! From Puff the Magic Dragon right on down to the tiniest blade of grass!”

Worry drew his brows together and he stepped toward her. “I beg you—”

“Hold it right there, Big Guy.” She thrust her hand out to ward him off. “This will come as a shock, I know, and I hate to be rude, but you don’t exist either. You’re a myth, a legend, a story for kids! There was no Arthur, no Camelot, nothing. Hell, you people didn’t even know about the Round Table until I told you! Not only are you no more substantial than a dream, you’re an inaccurate dream!”

“Please, allow me—” He reached for her but she eluded his grasp.

“Stay away from me.” Tessa wrung her hands together, the simple action giving her something tangible in a world whose edges were blurring fast. She stalked back and forth across the clearing, ranting as much to herself as to him. “Assistant professors do not go on quests in the Middle Ages with arrogant knights. Nobody uses cabbages for target practice. And wizards do not tap dance!”

“Tessa!” He grabbed her and held her firm against him.

“You’re not real, you’re not.” She sobbed and pummeled her fists on his chest. “None of this is real! It can’t be.”

She pounded against him over and over and he stood as steadfast and unflinching as a rock or a champion. She wept out her fears and frustration and confusion until exhaustion crept through her and she sank against him. And still she cried, tiny sobs, until all that was left were odd little hiccups that jerked through her body and the quiet, soothing sounds he made while he held her close and stroked her hair.
And his body against hers was solid and warm…and real.

“I don’t care how you feel,” she wiped at the tears on her face, “you don’t exist.”

“A lesser man would take your words as an insult.”

“It’s not an insult, it’s the truth. I’m in a coma or a nightmare or maybe I’m dead. One way or another, you’re not—”

“Enough!” He voice rang sharp and firm and she jerked her head up to stare into his eyes. Dark as the night, they simmered with anger and something more.

“I am real, Tessa.” He grabbed her hand and placed it on his cheek. “Is my flesh not warm beneath your touch?” She stared up at him.

He moved her hand to the side of his neck. “Does my life’s blood not pulse beneath your fingers?”

He pulled her hand to his chest. “Does my heart not beat beneath your hand?”

“Yes, but—”

“What is it you fear, Tessa? Is it the reality of the world around you? Or of me?” He bent to place a kiss in her palm. Panic and terror dissolved at his touch. His gaze burned into hers. “Does this scare you?”

“Oh…” Desire rushed through her veins and she breathed the word. “Yes.”

He brushed his lips across hers and she strained upward to meet him. “My life’s breath against yours. ’Tis real, Tessa. Are you afraid?”

“Yes.” The word was little more than a sigh.

He pulled her into his arms and whispered a kiss across the sensitive flesh of her neck, just below her ear. Her breath caught. “And this, Tessa, are you afraid of this?”

“Yes.” His lips wandered in a sensual exploration to the hollow of her throat. “Oh, yes. That. Definitely that.”

“And now?” He trailed his tongue along the neckline of her dress then lifted his head to stare into her eyes.

“Terrified.” She reached up and caught his bottom lip with her teeth and tugged gently. “What about you? Are you scared?”

He pulled his head back and his gaze locked with hers. “I too am afraid. Of what may not be real.” A question flashed through his eyes. “And what may.”

His lips met hers and for the briefest moment his kiss was tenuous, searching. Her hands rested on his chest and she could feel his hard muscles beneath his clothes. His kiss deepened. Her mouth opened and his breath mingled with her own. At once all restraint shattered.

She gripped the fabric of his tunic and strained toward him. He pulled her tighter against him and they sank to their knees. Need swelled within her. She fumbled at his clothes and he swiftly removed hers. Within moments, their garments were scattered about them on the ground and she noted vaguely his skill in disrobing her refuted forever the title “virgin knight.”

Even on their knees he towered above her. She ran her fingers through the coarse hair trailing over his chest and down his stomach. He looked as good naked as he did dressed. No. Better. She leaned forward and flicked his nipple with her tongue. He sucked in his breath and wrapped his arms around her, tumbling them both to the ground.

“What manner of wench are you?” he growled in her ear.

“Yours.” She tunneled her hands through his hair and pulled his lips to crush hers. He tasted of passion and power and she wanted nothing so much as she wanted him. He wrenched his mouth from hers and ran his lips down her chin and her throat and lower. He cupped her breasts in his hands and circled her nipples with his thumbs until she moaned and arched upward, her fingers digging into his shoulders. He took one breast in his mouth, teasing with tongue and teeth until she cried for release and only then did he shift his attention to the other.

They rolled over on the unyielding earth until she lay sprawled on top of him. He splayed his hands across the small of her back and lower until he held her buttocks and pulled her tight against him. Her mouth ravaged his with an aching desire she’d never dared dream of. All that mattered was his body, hot and hard and demanding against hers.

She felt him, rigid and erect and throbbing between her legs and she slid lower to rub the slick, swollen need of her arousal against his solid heat. He reached a hand between them and touched her and pure pleasure pulsed through her. She gasped. “Galahad.”

“My lady.” Hunger deepened his voice and he crushed his lips to hers. With a proficiency she should have suspected, he smoothly shifted their positions and once again, she lay on her back and he towered over her, poised between her legs. She stared up into eyes smoldering dark with desire and knew they mirrored her own need. She pulled him lower and he slid into her with a slow ease. Possessing her body. Claiming her soul.

Carefully, as though he thought she would break, he moved within her. Impatiently, she urged him faster. She clutched at his broad shoulders and ran her hands down his back, reveling in the feel of every muscle and sinew flexing with his thrusts. Her rhythm, her body, her spirit meshed and mated with his and they moved as one, as two halves never together before now and at long last joined and whole. The tension within her spiraled upward until she wondered if she’d die of the pure joy of giving herself with a fiery abandon she never knew possible and receiving the same in return.

Waves of ecstasy exploded inside her and she jerked and screamed. He shuddered then stilled, holding her so tight against him she didn’t know where he began and she left off. And didn’t care. He was her knight, her legend, her myth.

And here and now, even she could believe.

For a long moment they lay on the ground, too exhausted to move, to think. Finally, he eased to his side, propped himself up on his elbow and stared, a bemused smile on his lips. “My Lady Tessa, I believe you have done much to alleviate my fears.”

“My pleasure.” She giggled with tired satisfaction. “You know I’ve never done this before.”

Shock widened his eyes. “But I thought…you said…that is…you have never done this before?”

She laughed. Someday she’d definitely straighten him out about her marital status. But not now. “Of course I’ve done
this
before.” Relief flooded his face. “I’ve just never done it outside. On the ground. Naked.” She stretched her arms over her head. “It’s a wonderful sense of freedom.”

“Indeed, my lady.” He grinned wickedly. “I did note your lack of restraint.”

“You weren’t terribly restrained yourself. And I thought you were going to drop that ‘my lady’ stuff?”

“’Tis a habit born of a lifetime. A term of respect in acknowledgment of one’s rank. In truth, Tessa, I like the way it sounds when I speak of you.”

“It’s kind of possessive, don’t you think? Like I belong to you?”

“’Tis nothing of the sort.” He leaned forward and circled her nipple with his tongue and she shivered. “’Tis you who has possessed me.”

“Oh yeah?”

He chuckled. “Yeah.”

“In that case.” She shifted to her side, propped up her head with one hand and ran the tip of her finger down his chest to his stomach. She traced a lazy ring around his navel and let her touch drift lower. He tensed beneath her fingertips. “Want to be possessed again?”

Much, much later she lay snuggled up against him with a sense of peace and contentment that could only be found in a fairy tale. Once you got rid of the dragon, you won the hand of the princess. She smiled to herself. And all the rest of her.

Galahad had complained, for the purposes of appearance probably, that they didn’t have the time to lie around here. But it had been a halfhearted protest and a few well-placed kisses had convinced him another day, more or less, wouldn’t matter. They’d moved back into the cave and tried to possess each other over and over again. And succeeded nicely.

She turned on her side and he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest with every breath and nothing had ever been so real.

Tessa closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

And to dream.

Of a cavern beneath the earth, lined with books and all the accoutrements of a practicing magician, and a woman with remarkably well-manicured nails.