One petulant lower lip thrust forward and Kendra almost laughed, reminding herself that after all she was dealing with a teenager, not an adult, and a neglected, lovestruck teenager at that.

"'Has he not betrayed my loyalty by refusing to confide in me?" she asked. "I care not what happens to him."

"I think you do not mean that," Kendra said with a smile.

Marian blushed and lowered her newly mascaraed lashes. "You think rightly, Kendra O'Brien." She looked up, her face twisted with anxiety. "I do not wish for Navarre to be harmed."

"Trust me," Kendra said softly, "I will do my best to see that Navarre isn't hurt."

The expression on Marian's face shifted to one of confusion. "Why does Navarre seek this treasonous course of action? Why does he seek to betray his king? They were once such dear friends." She shook her head. "I do not understand. It seems there is so little that I understand."

Kendra put her arm around the girl and gave her a quick hug. "I know, love, it's hard for me to understand as well. But perhaps together we may be able to find the answer to Navarre's treachery." The corners of Marian's lips curved up slightly and Kendra could see how much being included meant to the lonely young woman. "So how about it? Will you be my friend? Will you help me escape?"

"Aye, that I will, but there is more you wish to tell me, Kendra O'Brien. I sense it."

Kendra stared at her a moment, amazed once again by the girl's astuteness.

"Yes, I want to tell you, but you mustn't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you, Marian," she said. "If you do, they'll lock me away forever and ever, but I need your help to get back home."

"I will help you in whatever way I can," Marian said with childlike solemnity. "And I give my word that I will tell no other living soul."

"Okay, well-"

"What is this 'okay.' " Marian interrupted. "You say it all of the time."

Kendra flushed. "Do I? Bad habit. It's slang."

"Slang?"

"Never mind, I'll explain later." She hesitated. "Are you sure you can handle this?"

"Handle?" Marian's pale blue eyes clouded with perplexity. "In faith, Kendra O'Brien, I do not understand."

Kendra hesitated. Marian was little more than a child who had grown up under Navarre's care. A medieval child. Why should she expect her to keep her secret? And yet, she needed to tell someone, needed someone to be on her side in this crazy century.

Reaching over to the girl she lifted a bottle of makeup from her hand, then the mascara, eyeshadow and blush. She watched Marian's face fall as the "magical" ingredients disappeared back into Kendra's bag.

"But, Kendra I thought-"

"Marian, do you think I'm a witch? Tell me the truth, because it's very important."

The girl started to speak, then closed her mouth and frowned, deep in thought. At last she ran her tongue across her lips and for the first time since Kendra had met her, spoke clearly and without a trace of her usual shyness.

"No. I do not know why, because surely you have worked magic on me, and you have very strange ways, but I do not really believe you are a witch." She leaned forward and impulsively laid one hand on Kendra's arm. "You see, I met a witch once," she said, and shivered delicately. "She was an evil old woman. Even if she had not admitted it to me, I would have known because I could feel the darkness in her soul."

"And what about my soul?" Kendra asked softly.

Marian's face lit up. "Your soul is kind and gentle. You are a good person. Kendra O'Brien."

"Thank you," Kendra said, feeling more than a little touched at the young woman's observation.

"What is it you wish to tell me, Kendra O'Brien?" Marian said, interrupting her thoughts.

"Marian, this is going to be hard to believe-even harder than believing I'm not a witch. You must promise me that what I'm about to tell you, you will not reveal to another living soul. I hate to put it this way but if you'll keep my secret, and help me," Kendra swallowed hard, feeling as if she were withholding candy from a child, "I'll give you the makeup."

Marian's chin lifted and Kendra saw the brief flash of anger in the girl's eyes. She felt her hopes fizzle.

"I'm sorry, Marian," Kendra began, only to be cut off by the girl, who raised her hand to stop her speech.

"I thought you were different," she said, her voice filled with pain. "I thought you would treat me as an adult, but here you are, thinking you must bribe me, like a child, so that I will keep your secret." Her newly mascaraed eyelashes fluttered downward. "I am so disappointed."

Kendra felt a warm flush of shame and reached over to take Marian's hand. "I'm sorry, Marian. I didn't mean it that way at all. You know, even adults make and take bribes." She smiled at the girl but received no response. Kendra stumbled on, trying to salvage the situation. "Marian, what I have to tell you is so incredible that the truth is, I'm just afraid."

Marian lifted her gaze and her pale blue eyes widened. "You are afraid? But you are so brave, Kendra O'Brien. You stood in front of John and the sheriff without crying or wailing as many other accused witches have done. I was very impressed."

"Thanks," Kendra said lightly, "but I was afraid and I still am. I don't want to end up in the nuthouse."

"The nuthouse? You mean where we store nutmeats?"

Kendra shook her head, feeling once again the chasm of culture widen between them. "No, I mean where they put people they think are crazy-or do they just assume they're all witches?"

"Ah, you mean you fear if you tell me this secret I will believe you are addled in your mind."

"Exactly."

"I promise I will not." Marian leaned toward her earnestly. '"Do you not realize by now, Kendra O'Brien, that I am your friend?"

Kendra took a deep breath. "I hope so, Marian. I sincerely hope so."

It was hard to begin, but at last Kendra haltingly told the girl her story from the start to her presence in the tower, leaving out only the part about the gun. She didn't want Marian to worry even more about Navarre and Richard's feud. Marian said not a word through the entire tale and Kendra grew more anxious with every sentence she uttered. Would the girl tell the sheriff that not only was their captive a witch but a crazy witch? Kendra finished and sat back to watch Marian's face.

The girl sat as though carved of stone for a very long time, then she looked up at Kendra and smiled.

" 'Tis a wondrous tale," she said softly.

"It's the truth, not a fairytale."

"Of course it is the truth, and why did you fear I would not believe you?" Marian's now sculptured brows puckered above her eyes and Kendra could see the fear there once again that she thought her a child.

"Because it's a pretty strange story, wouldn't you say? For a woman to travel through time?"

"Perhaps. Tell me of your time." She clasped her hands together, her eyes bright with wonder. Kendra sighed and began to tell her about the future, too tired to care if she was altering the course of history or not. She told her about cars and planes and trains and movies. Marian was fascinated by the movies and wrung detail after detail out of Kendra. When at last Kendra couldn't think of another thing to tell her, the two lay back upon the small bed and stared at the ceiling, each lost in her own thoughts.

" 'Tis wondrous," Marian said again, her voice soft with awe. "I wish I could see a movie."

"You could be in a movie," Kendra said, smiling to herself.

"Really?" Marian sat up, her pale face flushed with color. "Oh, wouldn't that be- "

"Wondrous." Kendra finished for her, then laughed. "I wish we were in a movie right now and I'd write us out of this."

"How would you do that?"

"I'd have Arnold Schwarzenegger scale the castle wall, blast the sheriff and his men, then carry me off in his arms."

Marian giggled. "Oh Kendra, you are a wonderous storyteller. Tell me more of this Arnold."

Kendra stared at her. "I still don't understand why you believe me."

Marian looked away, then rose gracefully and crossed to warm herself at the fire. "Perhaps I think it depends upon your point of view."

"Your point of view?" Kendra blinked at Marian's calm acceptance, then moved to stand beside her. "Marian, traveling through time has nothing to do with a point of view."

"Ah, but whether or not I believe that you have traveled through time does. Did you not say you found this time portal near the mounds of Abury?" Kendra nodded. "Then there is no reason in the world I should not believe you. From the dawn of time the mounds have been known to hold great secrets. Strange occurrences happen there each year and it is a place revered by those who believe in magic and also those who believe in-" she broke off and turned to poke the fire-to life with the small poker provided.

"Who believe in what?" Kendra prodded, captivated by this new side of her young friend. Marian poked the embers until a new flame rose to lick the bottom of the log resting there, then lifted solemn eyes to meet Kendra's own curious ones.

"Who believe in a kind of magic that has nothing to do with witchcraft." she whispered. "You have told me your secret, Kendra, and now I will trust you with mine. If you tell Navarre or the sheriff I could be burned as a witch, so you see, by telling you, perhaps you will trust me with your own fears."

"Good grief, Marian, what is it?" Kendra said, taking the girl's cold hands between her own, feeling a sudden apprehension as she waited for her to speak.

"There is a man, a wise man who lives in the heart of a great, dark forest." She glanced up at Kendra. "He teaches me, and a few select others, about things that are beyond our ken."

Kendra felt a chill dance down her spine as Marian pulled away from her and crossed over to one of the two small, diamond-paned windows cut into the tower wall. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"He is so brilliant, Kendra," she said softly, gazing out the window, twisting one long strand of hair around her fingers. "He teaches such wondrous things, things no one else has even thought of before, I am sure. Magical things that he says are not magic, just the simple work of God in nature." She whirled around, her eyes bright. "Did you know there is power in lightning that can be harnessed and used to actually create a light inside a home? Did you know that everything in the world is made up of tiny, tiny little things called molecules and that in them lie many secrets? Did you know there are other, tiny things called germs and that is why men injured in battle die-because the germs in... infect," she stumbled over the word, "infect the wound?" She spun around in the center of the room while Kendra looked on, her mouth hanging open, her heart pounding. "Oh, Kendra, please do not think me mad -but the study of this science is too-"

"What?" Kendra cried. She crossed to the spinning nymph and grabbed her by one arm, stopping her joyous dance in midturn. "What did you say about science?"

"That's what he calls all of these discoveries-the study of science." Marian shrank back from the look on Kendra's face. "Oh, please, Kendra, I promised to keep your secret and I beg you to keep mine. If Navarre ever found out, he would kill Cennach."

"I won't tell Navarre," Kendra said, feeling relief flood through her like a warm rush of adrenalin. "But you must take me to Cennach, Marian, immediately."

"Why?" she asked, her eyes round. "Oh, of course, you think perhaps he can help you return to your own time." She frowned. "Oh, Kendra, I know not. He is a wise man, but surely what has happened to you lies more in the realm of magic than science."

"Marian," Kendra said calmly, "Cennach must be a time-traveler too."

Navarre was not drunk but if he had two more glasses of ale he likely would be. Getting thoroughly soused was not going to help, of that he was reasonably certain, but he lifted the tankard to his lips again. No, even if his mind were thoroughly befuddled with drink, the image of the auburn-haired witch would jerk him back to consciousness as it did night after night in his dreams. A chill shivered across the back of his neck.

It was Acre all over again, this haunting. For months after he had returned from the Crusade, Talam's face had been burned into his mind, never allowing him to sink into the sweet haze of pleasant dreams or forgetfulness, no matter how much he drank.

Your fault, her amber lips had whispered in his dreams, your fault. It had nearly driven him mad.

Navarre pushed the empty tankard away and lifted his tortured gaze to watch Garrick drain another. Now this woman-spy-witch-had shown him he had never truly faced madness. She had shown him an element of insanity he had never before encountered. It twisted inside of him, burning him, searing him with its heat.

Desire.

"So you think she is a witch," Garrick said, setting his mug down carefully on the rough tabletop of the tavern and raising one aristocratic eyebrow. The Black Crowe was the sheriffs favorite place to toss down a few draughts after a hard day's work, and tonight Navarre had thought it a good place to break his news about Abury and the witch.

The Crowe was not the worst tavern he'd ever seen, neither was it the best, but the ale was excellent, the wenches willing, and best of all, the sheriff and his peacekeeper were more than welcome there, since the owner was Norman. Navarre had been too weary this night to face the cutting glances of the Saxon descendants of Edward. How he wished he could simply run away from it all. He sighed. Honor would not allow such a cowardly retreat.

"I know not what to think." Navarre growled, pushing the chair beside him away from the table with one booted foot. He had not wanted to tell Garrick about Kendra, but his behavior in the sheriff's chamber demanded that he do so. Still, he hesitated to tell him of the strange weapon the woman had brought with her. "I have told you of the prophecy, of this woman's strange and mystical appearance, the odd enchantments she utters, her attempts to seduce me, this unquenchable lust I have for the wench-what is your counsel?"

Garrick leaned forward, elbows propped on the table, his well-defined chin resting on his fists, smoldering gray eyes belying the calm expression on his handsome face.

"You fought me for her, old friend," Garrick reminded him. "You pulled your sword and I believe you would have killed me on the spot had I not been able to make you see reason."

"Nay," Navarre said quickly, "I would not have done so. I saw not the wench with her bruised face but..." he hesitated, curling his fingers around the handle of his tankard and bringing it to his lips, effectively stopping the flow of words.

"Talam?" Garrick asked.

Navarre's knuckles gleamed white around the pewter handle as he lowered it to the table. "You promised we would never speak of it," he said, his voice deceptively soft.

"I apologize, dear Navarre." Garrick leaned forward again, this time more fervently. " 'Twas not your fault the wench died, 'twas Richard's! Did he not give the order to murder all the inhabitants of Acre? Were you not ill with a grievous wound at the time and many miles away?"

"She should have been with me," Navarre said, staring with unseeing eyes across the tavern. "She wanted to go with me."

"And Richard would not allow it, do you not remember?" Garrick suddenly reached over and grasped him by the wrist. Navarre reflexively raised his other hand, clenched into a fist.

"Will you fight me again, old friend?" Garrick murmured, the burning embers of his eyes softening as Navarre flushed and lowered his fist.

"I could have opposed Richard," he said, jerking away from Garrick's touch. "I should have. Then Talam would have been with me, where she belonged, instead of -" he broke off and buried his face in both hands, the memories sweeping over him like the hot desert winds of Outremer: Talam begging him to take her with him. Talam left behind to die with the rest of Richard's hostages, at Richard's command.

Garrick rose and moved around the table, draping his arm across the knight's back, his cloak, which he had not removed, enclosing the two. The sheriff pressed his lips close to his friend's left ear. Navarre could smell the ale on his breath and knew his friend was the worse for drink, still, his touch sent a wave of disgust through him. He shook the thought away. It was no more than a comradely gesture.

"It is well you remember," Garrick said, his fingers clutching the back of Navarre's collarless shirt, his mouth against his ear. "That is why we are here, why we seek justice, why Richard must be defeated. He cared not for you, or your love, or for the precious England he left behind."

"Enough." Navarre stood, feeling oddly relieved as Garrick's hand fell away from his back. He tossed two coins on the table and turned away, shrugging into his own dark cloak. Garrick was right. Richard was the reason his love had died. Richard was the reason England was slowly dying. He pressed his lips together as a new idea dawned upon him. Perhaps the weapon the woman had used against him could serve a better purpose in the future. How quickly and cleanly the metal lump had sliced through his mail. How quickly and cleanly it could slice through Richard's as well. It struck from a distance, albeit not silently. Still, a man could use it and likely escape before being spotted.

"There is more I must tell you, privately. Let us return to the castle. I am besotted enough to sleep now, and I confess, I am weary."

"Certainly," Garrick said with a smile, tossing two coins down as well. The two men moved across the room to the front door. Navarre ducked under the sill and took a deep, cleansing breath as the crisp night air whipped across his face. Garrick joined him and Navarre watched his friend's smooth face turn harsh in the shadows of the moonlight, cheekbones dark slashes across his skin, eyes almost silver. He looked like a wolf, Navarre thought, and he passed one hand across his eyes. He must be drunker than he had thought.

"What I have to tell you is hard to believe," Navarre said as they walked together down the narrow street that led from the tavern to the stable where their horses awaited. Their boots crunched on a light layer of snow that had fallen during their stay inside, and Navarre wondered suddenly if Kendra was warm enough in the tower. He shook the thought away.

"Whatever it is, I doubt I will be greatly shocked," said Garrick. "And I will believe you, because you have never lied to me, Navarre."

"And never will, I warrant," Navarre swore vehemently, then glanced up at his friend. "Then you do not believe the witch could be controlling what I say to you?"

Garrick shook his head. "Nay, a witch is not the Almighty. She can only do so much. Your thoughts are your own, it is another part of you that is under her spell, my friend." He laughed loudly at his joke and Navarre flushed. Even now, even as they walked and talked, in another part of his mind he was thinking of her, wanting her, burning for her.

"Aye," Navarre agreed. "Then here it is. The woman brought a weapon with her that can cause a fireball to burn through a man's armor." He paused and jerked his cloak aside, pushing his sleeve up to reveal the bandage on his upper arm. "She used it on me."

Garrick stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes focused on Navarre's arm. He slid the soft cloth of the wrapping upward and poked at the still healing wound.

"What did it feel like?" he said in amazement.

"Hurt like bloody hell," Navarre replied. "Felt like a hole was bored into my arm by something that pierced with the fury of a sword and burned like a red-hot poker."