"I am still the Sheriff of Nottingham," Garrick said, drumming his nails on the rough tabletop. "You are still the peacekeeper. Am I to simply allow you to do whatever you wish? If so, then I must be willing to face John's displeasure."

"John is an ass and you know it," Navarre said evenly. "He will do whatever we tell him to do."

Garrick paused, lifting a goblet from the table, swirling the contents as he kept his gray eyes fixed on the knight's face.

Navarre stared back at him unflinchingly. At last the sheriff took a drink; then he set the goblet back down with an air of decision.

"Of course you are right, Navarre. I apologize for my ill temper. Please, seat yourself." The sheriff gestured to the bench on the other side of the long table where the servants usually met for their meals. "We shall break our fast together and decide what is to be done about the witch's escape."

Navarre tossed his leather gauntlets down on the bench and sat. He was silent as the servants brought bread, cheese, fruit, and wine to the table. Then he filled his plate and ate. Garrick had called him to the lesser hall early that morning and informed him of Kendra's escape: Neither of them had broken their fast and both were the worse for drink from the night before. Navarre glanced up and noted the dark shadows under the sheriff's eyes. His own face looked just as haggard and drawn, he knew.

"My lord! My lord!"

Navarre looked up, startled, as one of the castle's serving maids ran into the hall, her tear-streaked face contorted with panic.

"What is it, Sara?" Navarre asked, rising and taking two long strides to reach her side. "What is wrong?"

"My Lady Marian!" the girl cried, sinking to the floor in front of him.

Navarre leaned down and grabbed her by both arms, dragging her to her feet. "Marian? What of Marian?" He shook her. "Speak up, girl!"

"She is gone!" the maid said, almost swooning in his arms.

Navarre released her so abruptly that the girl almost fell to the floor once again. "Is that all? No doubt she arose early and is taking a morning walk, or is at her prayers in the chapel. Mayhap a turn in the kitchen will cure you of your hysterics." He sat back down and glanced over at Garrick, who was viewing the proceedings with amusement.

"No, no. my lord," the girl squealed, rushing to the knight and falling down on her knees at his side. "You do not understand. I have had the servants search the entire castle and she is not anywhere to be found."

Navarre frowned and broke off another piece of bread. "Then you must look again. She must be here-where else could she..." The words died in his throat as recent memories flashed across his mind. Memories of Marian telling him how she had sneaked out of the castle and followed him to the forest; memories of Marian telling him someday she would run away.

"But that is not all, my lord!" the servant wailed, taking a bundle from behind her back and thrusting it into his face.

"What is it then?" Navarre fairly shouted, pushing the bundle away. "Tell it and be done with it!"

The maid, trembling, unfolded the wadded up material and spread it on the table, beside his plate. Crimson stained the bundle of light blue silk and Navarre rose slowly, one hand moving to touch the edge of the cloth.

"Dear God," he whispered.

"Aye, sir, I have been tryin' to tell ye-'tis my Lady Marian's nightdress. Someone has murdered her!"

The wail rose from her throat again as Navarre's hand closed on the material and crushed it together, his eyes squeezed shut, his face distorted with pain.

"The witch," Garrick said softly, rising and reaching over to touch the silk himself, his eyes fixed on the bloodred stain. He stared down at it as if transfixed, then shifted his gaze to the girl crying on the floor.

"Your voice is quite distressing," he said with a frown. "Perhaps your tongue is in need of surgery, think you?" The girl closed her mouth abruptly and scurried away.

Navarre clutched the material between his hands as the pain pierced through him. Marian. Murdered by the witch. If only he had not brought the mysterious woman here. If only he had killed her the moment he saw her appear in Abury. What kind of atrocities had Marian suffered-might be suffering even now? The thought that he might still have time to save the king's ward propelled him into action.

"There may yet be time to save her. She may yet be alive."

Garrick lifted a golden goblet to his lips. "Aye, at least, what's left of her may yet be alive. 'Tis quite common for a witch to desire the blood of royalty, you know. They drink it, thinking it increases their power."

Navarre paled. "Before God," he said raggedly, "I swear that if the sorceress has harmed Marian, I will kill her."

"Kill her anyway. Then the spell will be broken, and you will be free."

"Aye," Navarre said, his voice hard. "But Marian will still be dead." He stood for a moment, reining back the rage that threatened to send him crashing into the nearest wall in frustration. How could he have ever entertained the thought of trusting the witch? How could he have ever touched her, kissed her, wanted her?

Taking a deep breath, he picked up his heavy gauntlets from the bench and began pulling them on with quick, hard motions. "I ride," he said softly.

"Good luck, Navarre." Garrick lifted his goblet in tribute to the knight. "I would accompany you, but John requires my presence today."

"I need not your help," Navarre said, turning on his heel and striding to the door.

"She could be anywhere by now."

He stopped and looked back. "No. She had help and I know exactly where to look. I will find her, and when I return, I will have a present for you."

"A present?"

"Aye." He drew the dagger the sheriff had given him from the scabbard at his waist and looked down at it, the anger welling up inside of him like a living beast.

"The heart of a witch."

Sherwood Forest. Kendra looked around in wonder at the enormous trees towering over her, looked around in awe at the lush, green undergrowth that provided such a wealth of camouflage for Robin Hood and his band of merry men. She smiled. Since her arrival in Robin's camp two days before, she had learned that many of the legends about the outlaw were far from true, while others were remarkably accurate.

His men were not particularly merry, in fact some had quite a predisposition toward complaining. However, "Little" John was a huge bear of a man and completely satisfied her mental image of what Robin's right-hand man should be, while Alan-a-Dale, soft-voiced minstrel, was not the effeminate lazybones she'd thought at first glance, but a passionate womanizer who enjoyed walking around the camp without his shirt on to show off his muscles.

She felt oddly safe here, and were it not for one unfortunate fly in the ointment, Kendra O'Brien, girl reporter, might actually find a little peace in Sherwood. Kendra glanced over to where Marian sat on a fallen log, idly braiding her hair, listlessly watching the proceedings in which Kendra occupied center stage. Since they had arrived in Sherwood and Robin had shown Kendra so much attention, Marian had not spoken two words to her. nor would she discuss Cennach.

"The center of the target, Kendra!" Robin called.

Kendra nodded and tossed him a bright smile as the outlaw lifted his longbow, fit an arrow to its string, pulled it back and let it fly. Kendra watched in fascination as the arrow shot through the air, flying so fast it could scarcely be seen. It struck the center of the target and a cheer went up from the small crowd that had gathered to watch. Kendra clapped her hands loudly and, rising from her own vantage point, walked over to Robin's side to congratulate him.

"That's ten in a row," she teased, "and I believe I am quite impressed for one day, Sir Robin Hood."

"Are you now?" he said, removing the quiver of arrows from his back. "In that case, perhaps it is your turn to impress me." Kendra hesitated, then smiled as he placed the longbow in her hands. From the moment she had slid off Robin's horse after riding in front of him during their daring escape from Nottingham, he had not left her side for one moment. Even at night he slept outside the makeshift tent the outlaws had fashioned for her and Marian. Guarding them, he said.

It was soon obvious to all, and especially to poor Marian, that Robin was smitten with Richard's salvation, and determined to woo her. Kendra had wrestled with her worries over Marian's fragile ego, then finally gave up. Marian had been madly in love with Navarre only days ago and now she had a crush on Robin. No doubt if they spent enough time in Sherwood it would be Little John she set her sights on next. Kendra sighed and turned her attention back to Robin smiling down at her.

"It is important that even a lady be able to protect herself, should, God forbid, there not be a man to do it for her."

Kendra smiled, thinking of how she had wounded Garrick's pride, and other essentials, back in the castle.

"You must show Marian how as well," she said, turning to call to her young friend. The log was empty, Marian nowhere to be seen. Kendra sighed, resolving to speak to Marian as soon as possible. The girl had been staying inside their tent most of the time, sulking, Kendra supposed, though she had never seen Marian sulk. She seemed too sensible. A picture of Marian's petulant face when talking about Navarre sprang to mind and Kendra smiled to herself.

"Never mind," she said, smiling up at Robin. "Please, show me."

Robin placed the longbow in her hands, then wrapped his arms around her. Kendra was struck by the strength she felt emanating from this man, the sense of protection she felt every time she was near him. Unlike Navarre, this was a man she knew she could trust. He pressed his thigh against the back of hers and Kendra quickly reevaluated her analysis of the man.

"Place this hand here," he said, taking her hand and placing it on the curve of the bow, "and the other, so." Kendra wrapped the tips of her fingers around the bowstring and smiled up at her instructor.

"Nay, nay," he said, squeezing her around the middle with his left hand and laughing. "Do not cling to the bowstring or 'twill take the hide from your lovely fingers. Gloves-you must have a pair of gloves." He snapped his fingers and one of the grinning lackeys, who always seemed nearby when Robin was around, hurried off to do his bidding.

"I think I'm about ready for a break anyway," Kendra said as the people who had been watching drifted away to other interests. She tried very hard not to be alone with Robin any more than she could help, out of consideration for Marian, but today she was feeling depressed and his company was, she had to admit, quite comforting.

"You are ready to break?" Robin stared at her perplexed. "We broke our morning fast hours ago-or do you mean that I have fatigued you so mercilessly that you feel your bones are about to break? Forsooth, you do speak strangely, Kendra O'Brien."

Kendra laughed. "What I mean is I am ready to rest and perhaps take a walk, if you don't mind, Robin."

"Am I invited, milady?" he asked softly, bringing her hand to his lips, drawing her near. She gazed up at him, once again mesmerized by who and what he was. It would be very easy to fall prey to his magnetic personality. Very easy, indeed.

"No," she said abruptly, then smiled to soften the word. "I mean, I feel the need for a little privacy. Do you mind?"

His smile lit his face and he doffed the forest green cap he wore. "I always mind when I am deprived of the presence of such a lovely lady, however, as it happens I must be away from camp for several hours anyway."

As if by magic, Little John suddenly appeared at Robin's elbow. "Have you forgotten we plan to ride tonight, Robin?" Little John asked, glancing at Kendra and then back to Robin. "The barons are headed for Nottingham Castle."

"I have not forgotten, Little John, although with such a lovely distraction before me I scarcely think you could fault me if I did." His sea-blue eyes twinkled at Kendra as he brought her hand to his lips. "Do return to camp soon, milady. I shall leave word with the watch to expect you."

"Of course." she said, relieved she wouldn't have to deal with Robin's open advances just yet. It would give her more time to think, perhaps to talk to Marian. She turned and glanced at the fallen log, once again wondering where the girl could be. At the beginning of the longbow exhibition she had not realized Marian was anywhere around. The best archers in Robin's band had pitted themselves against him one by one until at last only he had been left. Kendra felt her admiration for the man growing hourly. Then she had noticed Marian sitting alone and the guilt had descended.

She bid Robin and Little John good-bye, listening with only half her mind to their admonitions not to wander far from camp. Now as she walked through the forest, head down, the depression swept over her again. Robin was wonderful, the perfect man, the perfect hero, but he wasn't...

No, he isn't Navarre, the small voice in her mind said bluntly.

"I don't want Navarre," she said aloud. "He's rude, overbearing, disloyal-"

And you love him.

Kendra stopped dead in her tracks. She tossed her unbound auburn hair back from her shoulders and felt something turn over deep inside of her. She loved Navarre de Galliard. She loved a knight in medieval England who was guilty of treason, who had tried to seduce her, accused her of being a witch, who even at this moment was probably hunting her down so he could drag her back to the castle and burn her at the stake.

"I do not love him," Kendra whispered. She began walking again, striding deliberately through the forest, toward the spring that lay hidden deep in a special part of Robin's lair. He had shown it to her the day before, hinting around that he would like nothing more than to spend some moonlit evening there with her when the days grew warm. Robin was handsome, sweet, heroic, sexy... so why didn't his touch set her blood on fire as Navarre's did? Why did the thought of kissing him seem only mildly interesting instead of the focus of her life? If she didn't know better she'd think that perhaps she was the one being bewitched.

She sighed. This part of the forest grew more tangled with growth as she neared the spring. It was a very private place, secluded, a perfect lover's trysting place. Today it was unusually warm and the sun was bright in spite of the cold, crisp air. She knew that when and if it came time for Robin to make his play, it would be here, in this isolated spot. He seemed smitten with her, or was that just an act? Should she let down her guard a little more, be a little more responsive? C'mon, O'Brien-she blushed as she faced the truth of her thoughts-what you're really wondering is should you make love to Robin Hood?

"What a story that would make," she said aloud. She stopped to get her bearings and realized she was only a few feet from the spring. The water bubbled up from beneath a dense tangle of what in spring would be a lush array of greenery, but at present was brown and brittle. The spring splashed down over smooth rocks and into a pool a few feet wide and several feet deep, then flowed out from there to create a small stream. The outlaw band used another spring for their drinking water and it was an unspoken rule that this spring was reserved for Robin and his special guests-even in the winter.

It was too cold to partake of the beautiful pool of water but she couldn't help sitting down beside the stream and, discarding her shoes, plunking her feet into the cold water. How many "guests" had seen this special place, she wondered. While Robin seemed quite fond of the ladies, he didn't appear to be the womanizer Alan was. He was more serious, she decided, more intense. It must come from being the leader of a band of outlaws.

With a sigh, Kendra lay back and stretched her arms above her head, letting the peace of Sherwood and the spring soothe her frazzled nerves. It was so nice here, she thought, lifting her hair from beneath her and spreading it behind. It would be so easy to stay here and help Robin Hood bring justice to England. She raised up on both elbows, her mind suddenly spinning.

Why not? If she had no way of returning to her own lime, could this be the answer to her future? If Robin fell in love with her, she could stay with him and help him fight Navarre and Garrick and John. She could be the woman behind the man, so to speak; she could help Robin with her knowledge of future events. It was an absolutely terrific idea-except for one small problem. She didn't love Robin Hood.

"So what?" Kendra said aloud, sitting up and pulling her knees to her chest. She stared down into the water, her mind churning like the bits of dead leaves in the water.

So what if she didn't love Robin? Wouldn't it be worth it to be with him if it meant she could survive in this time period, and even have a fulfilling life, given the situation? Life was a desperate gamble any way you looked at it, no matter what path she chose. All of her life she had played it safe, until her husband and child died so horribly. Then she had thrown caution aside and plunged into life, not caring about the consequences.

Her trip back in time had made her more cautious, and that was fine, but she realized now that she had begun to revert back to the old Kendra, the Kendra who never took a chance, never really thought for herself, never took control of her own life. James and Nicole's death had changed that, forced her to take chances, to think for herself, to plot her life's path alone. Even though Mac had been right about the risks she took, still, she didn't want to return to being that old, fearful Kendra. Kendra stood up suddenly, untied her cloak and tossed it aside. Quickly she jerked the blue overdress she wore up and over her head, threw it down and began struggling to remove the underdress as well. She managed at last, then stretched her arms skyward. The sun was fading on the distant horizon, blocked partially by the forest's thickness, and Kendra lowered her arms, wishing it were summer, wishing she could step down into the shallow pool, clad only in the thin shift she now wore.

What am I trying to prove, she wondered, shivering as the disappearing sunlight brought a colder chill to the air. That I'm brave enough to catch pneumonia? She laughed aloud and hugged herself tightly. The tips of her breasts hardened with the cold and suddenly Kendra remembered strong arms holding her tightly in warm, lavender-scented water; golden eyes that seemed to melt the very bones in her body as his hands caressed her skin. She closed her eyes and sank down on the ground. She spread her cloak and lay down on it, ignoring the cold, reveling in the feel of freedom that came from discarding her cumbersome clothing.

I should have asked Robin to come with me, she thought. I should make wild, passionate love to him and pledge myself to help him in his quest to free England from men like John and Garrick and Navarre. And this would be my life, to live safely, in freedom. Without Navarre de Galliard.

Kendra sat up and pulled the cloak up and over her shoulders. Enough braving the elements and proving that she was still a free spirit. Her hair streamed down over her shoulders as she leaned forward and covered her face with her hands.

Without Navarre. Life without Navarre should hold no fear for her, should hold no qualms, and yet, the thought of life without him sent a sharp pain through her heart.

"Oh, Navarre," she whispered.

"Missing me, mon cher?"

Kendra looked up and gasped. Navarre de Galliard stood on the opposite side of the pool, his dark hair dancing in the fast approaching dusk, his golden eyes bunting. Before she could scream he had jumped to the other side and pulled her into his arms. Had she thought Robin's arms were strong? They were but reeds in the wind. Navarre's were iron, two steel rods that could hold her forever.

"Navarre." Kendra whispered his name, then without hesitation pulled his head down to hers, covering his mouth with her own. He stiffened, and to her surprise, thrust her away from him so forcefully that she fell backward, hitting the ground hard. She rolled to her back, her heart pounding as she stared up at the knight and saw that the fire burning in his eyes burned not with desire, but with hatred.

"Witch." He spat the word out as he stalked toward her. "Whore. Murdering sorceress." He stopped directly over her prone body, his legs braced on either side of her as he slowly pulled the leather gauntlets from his hands and threw them aside. He reached one hand to his waist and Kendra watched his deliberate movement, swallowing hard as he grasped the hilt of a long, thin dagger and pulled it from its scabbard. With the other he reached inside the folds of the dark gray cloak he wore and took out her Smith and Wesson.

"Navarre," she whispered again, this time because she could not find her voice. "What are you doing?"

"Your evil is over," he said harshly, kneeling and straddling her waist. "Or it will be in a moment. But first you will teach me how to use this sorcerous weapon. Do so, and you will die quickly, refuse and your screams will be heard as far as Nottingham."

Kendra's heart thudded dully in her ears and she was no longer cold. She couldn't feel, couldn't think. Navarre was going to kill her. Navarre didn't love her; he hated her. He was going to kill her.

With a cry, Kendra shoved him sideways and his slight movement in that direction allowed her to slide from beneath him. She scrambled backwards, pushing with both feet against the mossy ground in her mad attempt to escape. Navarre tossed the gun aside, reached out and grabbed her by one ankle, halting her frantic attempt. Slowly, he dragged her back to him, his fingers like steel around her legs as he straddled her once again, pinning her hands to her sides with his knees, holding the thin, razor-sharp blade to her throat.

Kendra stared up at him, lying as still as one already dead. It was no use trying to fight him. She could no more escape Navarre than she could stop loving him. The realization struck her with the force of a blow and she ran her tongue across her dry lips, searching for words that would not come.

"I could not believe it at first," he said, his voice dull and flat, his breath warm against her face, his strong thighs trapping her legs beneath them. "Would not believe. I wanted to think I was wrong, that Garrick was wrong. But when I saw the blood on Marian's gown I knew that all my worst fears had come true."

Kendra felt her heart quicken at the sight of the raw pain on his face.

"It is my fault again that an innocent has died." His eyes were glazed, hollow, and the sight frightened Kendra more than his words. "And I should kill you for that alone. As it is, I shall kill you to put an end to this enchantment, this evil you have spun around me, this fire you have ignited that cannot be quenched."

Navarre lifted the dagger with both hands high above her chest and Kendra felt the suffocation of fear choke her even as his words echoed in her mind. What had he said? There was blood on Marian's gown? An innocent had died? Oh my God! She willed herself to speak.

"Navarre, I did not kill Marian! I don't know what you're talking about. She's right here in the camp."

"I have watched the camp for days and I have not seen her," he said, the blade frozen above her breast. "You lie."

"No!" Kendra arched against his weight, tears burning in her eyes as she fought to keep her voice calm. "I swear to you that Marian is fine. I would never harm her, or anyone else!"

Navarre stared down at the woman, wanting to believe her words. It would be an easy matter to let her prove she spoke the truth but it mattered not. Whether Marian lived or no, the enchantment was stronger than ever. As his body pressed against hers, he had felt the fire engulfing him once again. The thin chemise she wore lay almost transparent against her skin, her peach-colored nipples hard beneath the cloth. He could feel his flesh responding even through the cloth of his leggings, the warmth spreading through his legs even as he held the dagger poised to end her life. A groan of despair escaped him. This was madness, insanity-witchery.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, each breath pressing her creamy white skin against the chemise. Navarre closed his eyes to the sight and let the anguish rush over him. He lowered the dagger. How could he kill a woman? Even if she were a witch-how could he take her life in cold blood? He opened his eyes and saw the fear in her azure gaze, yet there was courage there as well. He had known from the first moment he saw Kendra O' Brien that not only was she trouble, she was different. She had strength, character, a sense of her own identity, intelligence, unlike any other woman he had ever known. Was it because she was a witch that she possessed these qualities? Was there any way around her death?

Navarre shivered with the cold realization that there was not. There was no other way. This enchantment would torture him as long as Kendra lived.

Kendra saw the glazed look return to his eyes, even as she saw the tears on his cheeks. Her knight had fought the battle within himself, and won. Navarre lifted the dagger. The blade in his hand began to tremble and Kendra braced herself to die, keeping her eyes open from the sheer force of her will, determined she would not make it easy for Navarre to take her life.