"Before I die," she said, her voice shaking only the slightest bit, "I want to tell you for the last time that I am not a witch. I have never even met King Richard, and while I believe in what Robin Hood is doing, I am not helping him."

"So you have said," Navarre's own voice was laced with weariness. "It changes naught."

"And the last thing I have to say before you murder me is this-I love you, Navarre."

She expected the dagger to come plunging down at her words and steeled herself for the pain. Instead, he stared down at her, the expression on his face stunned, as though that was the last thing he had expected her to say. The weapon fell from his hand. His golden eyes were round, frozen like a predator's sighting his prey. Then, suddenly he was lying beside her and she was in his arms, his body hard and warm against her.

"God, forgive me," he whispered into her hair, then with a suddenness that startled her, covered her lips with his and thrust the hot warmth of his tongue into the depths of her mouth, claiming her, searing his passion into her, demanding hers in return. The intensity of his need frightened her and Kendra pulled away, struggling to be released. Navarre jerked away and sat back on his heels, one hand encircling her wrist as with the other he stripped himself of his dark leggings.

"No," she said, twisting her arm in his grasp. "Navarre-wait."

Kendra cried out as he flung her back to the forest floor, his half-naked body pressing hers to the ground, his mouth burning against hers once again. The shift had ridden to her waist and he pushed the material higher, slipping his hands beneath to touch the warmth of her skin. Kendra felt the shock of Navarre's hot flesh against hers as she twisted beneath him, inadvertently pressing herself more tightly against him.

Navarre's mouth touched her ear as he whispered fervently, his breath hot, his voice tense. "We want each other. This is what we have both dreamed of," he said. "You have won, Kendra-let the sorcery be complete. I can no longer fight it, I can no longer fight the way I feel."

His lips moved to the side of her neck and Kendra knew she was lost. His hands slid down both of her arms, sensation dancing in their wake as they skimmed over her skin and across the cloth clinging to her chest. Kendra gasped as Navarre's hands touched her breasts, caressing, kneading, bringing her nipples to aching pulsation. Then his lips closed around one burning bud, suckling it through the cloth with a roughness she should have feared, but suddenly did not.

Instead she threw back her head, arching her back as his mouth seared the flesh of first her right breast and then her left. He tried to lift the cloth but it was too tight. Impatiently he grabbed the lacy neck of her chemise and pulled, ripping it down the middle. Kendra felt his chest meet hers, the roughness of his hair colliding with the smoothness of her skin. He bent to caress her breasts again but she lifted his face, her lips suddenly against his lips, then the hollow of his throat. He smelled of faint lavender and sweat and something intangibly male and Kendra abandoned herself to the passion and threw caution to the wind, Navarre groaned as the woman yielded to him. Nay, she did not yield-she gave, passion for passion, fire for fire. He shuddered with desire as her hands moved down his back in slow, sensuous circles, then again as she opened herself beneath him. Her warmth called to him, surrounded him even as she took his face between both hands and darted her small, wet tongue inside his mouth, the movement taunting him with its symbolic mating. Navarre squeezed his eyes shut as the insanity wrapped around his mind, and suddenly there was nothing left but Kendra's body against his. The universe had slowed to a single thought, a single focus: to ease the fire searing his blood, to partake of the sweet heat she so willingly offered.

Navarre sheathed himself in her warmth like a sword finding its scabbard, and suddenly he knew why he burned so relentlessly, why the enchantment was so strong. Because he belonged with her. Whether she be witch or no, he belonged with her, fit with her like a glove and a hand. Whatever powers had thrown them together must have known what he knew now-this was meant to be.

Kendra wept silently with joy as Navarre kissed her mouth, her eyes, her hair, caressing the side of her jaw with the tip of his tongue before plundering her mouth even as he continued to plunder the secrets below. This was not sex. This was not some carnal fulfillment of the flesh, she thought in some distant part of her mind. This was a joining, a union, a bonding as strong as the marriage vows she had taken with James so long ago. And she was giving herself to Navarre, emotionally, physically, in a way she never had with James.

Navarre possessed her mouth again. She tasted of honey and light and when she began to move beneath him, he no longer cared if he was enchanted or not; no longer cared whether his immortal soul was in danger, or if he survived the night, or if England survived at all. God help him, he cared not if Marian was alive or dead, for his soul was lost, as was his heart.

Kendra arched her back as Navarre filled her, matching her movements to his, stroke for stroke, feeling the ecstasy flood her veins as he joined his body to hers. Like a white-hot iron he burned his passion into her, his weight pressing her down against the forest floor. Tiny twigs scratched her bare skin, but she didn't notice. Gone were the birds, the trees, the spring, the forest. She and Navarre dwelt within a magic circle of their own creation; a circle wherein nothing else existed, save the fire between them.

White-hot he burned inside of her. White-hot she received him. They flamed in one accord, higher and higher, dancing the pagan, wordless litany of man and woman beneath the boughs of Sherwood. The world shifted into mindlessness and Kendra cried out in thankful wonder to the fates that had brought her to this time, this place, even as Navarre echoed his joy against her lips, as the inferno rose, and utterly consumed them.

Chapter Ten.

Kendra awoke shivering in the strong, safe circle of Navarre's arms. He lay against her back, one arm around her waist, the other beneath her head, cushioning her from the roughness of the forest floor. They were both turned toward the small fire he had built sometime during the night, and she had never felt so safe, so protected, so completely content in her life.

I never knew it could be like this, she thought. Never. Not when I sowed my wild oats in college, not when I married James. No man has ever moved me like this. No man has ever touched my soul, until now.

She felt the guilt and disloyalty to her dead husband begin to sweep over her and she pushed the emotion firmly away. In this time and place James had not yet even existed. It was pointless to feel guilty in such an unreal situation.

"You are like warm silk," Navarre whispered into her ear.

"You are like hot iron," she whispered back, smiling as she remembered the first time she'd made the mental comparison. His chest shook with a deep chuckle and the curly hair there tickled her back. She laughed aloud.

"Hot iron, is it?" he said. "And I only tickle you? We shall see about that."

Much, much later, Kendra snuggled against Navarre and closed her eyes. The moon in the dark night sky was beginning to set, and she knew dawn was not far behind. She should be thinking of what this day would hold for her-for both of them-but she could not. She could not shatter the bubble of happiness surrounding them with anything as mundane as reality.

"Tell me you are not a witch,"' Navarre said suddenly, his deep voice soft, almost trembling.

Kendra sighed. Reality had a way of making itself heard, it seemed, no matter how hard you fought against it.

"Why would you believe me now?" she asked, unable to lift her gaze to his. "Actually, I expected to wake up and find you gone-or else-not to wake up at all." Kendra pressed her lips together, ashamed of the lie. The thought had never crossed her mind.

"I am sorry," he whispered, tightening his arms around her. "I never wanted to kill you, indeed, I have wanted nothing more than to join with you since that first moment at Abury. It was the fire you created inside of me that I took to be enchantment. I thought only of you day and night. I could not sleep, could not eat. Garrick said the only way to be free of you was to take your life with my own hands."

"How long have you known the sheriff?" Kendra asked, glancing up at him hesitantly.

"Many years. We knew one another in Normandy when we were both just boys. We were both the bastards of English noblemen and were brought to our father's houses at a young age. Their estates joined at one side and we grew up together. When we were grown we became mercenaries and traveled around the world. We returned to England after hearing of Richard's plan to auction off titles and estates to fund his next journey to Outremer."

"I don't trust him and I don't think you should either," Kendra said impetuously. Navarre looked down at her, one dark brow arched in question. "You forget how he treated me." Navarre laughed and with a sharp cry, Kendra pulled away and struck his chest with one tight fist. "He almost raped me and you can laugh?"

"I laugh not at his violence, for I know Garrick's ruthlessness quite well."

"Then why do you laugh?" Kendra fumed, struggling as he pulled her more tightly against him once again.

"Because you think it odd that any man could resist your charms for long, especially a man of Garrick's station who is used to taking what he wants."

Kendra was silent for a moment. "I know the ways here are different from the ways back... back where I come from, but Navarre, it is still wrong for a man to force a woman."

"Aye," he said softly, running one hand lightly down the side of her bare thigh, "I agree. But what if he can convince her instead?"

"Oh, no you don't." Kendra said with a laugh, her anger dissipating as the now familiar heat ran between them once again. "We are talking, Sir Galliard, for the first time, and I for one am learning a great deal." She leaned against him and felt his sharp intake of breath as her bare breasts grazed his chest.

"Do that again and you will find this lesson at an end." He bent his head to her throat and bit her skin delicately. "But I may teach you something else."

"Why do you believe me now?" Kendra whispered, her eyes closed as Navarre's teeth traced a sensuous path down the side of her neck. "All this time..."

Navarre lips stilled against her skin. He lifted his face to hers and Kendra was startled by the deep pain she saw mirrored in his eyes. "All of this time," he said, "I thought this fire between us some kind of magic-sorcery. I could not bear to face the truth."

"What is the truth?" She said, reaching up and brushing a long strand of dark hair back from his jaw. His eyes, now dark as amber, flamelike, with golden flecks in the center, bored into hers.

He lifted his hand to her face and smoothed her lower lip with his thumb. Kendra felt the electricity shoot down her throat, across her breasts, to pool at the apex of her thighs. She gasped and Navarre covered her lips with his own almost savagely as he pulled her to him. Kendra met his passion and was disappointed when he broke the embrace, his breathing heavy, his hand still caressing her face.

"The truth is that I love you," he said, moving his fingers slowly across her jawline. "And I vowed that I would never love again. Everything I love, withers. Everything I touch, dies."

"That isn't true," Kendra said, taking his face between her hands and speaking fervently. "Why do you think I threw myself at you that first day-just because you were tall, dark, and handsome?"

Navarre frowned, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "You do speak most strangely," he said.

"Well, okay, it was partly because you were tall, dark, and handsome." She caressed his inner thigh lightly with her fingers, enjoying the way the gold flecks in his eyes darkened as she did. "But it was more. I didn't realize it then, but I know it now. Your heart called to mine, Navarre, across time and space, your heart called to mine."

He shook his head. "You have witnessed the violence inside of me, were almost its victim. I cannot take the chance that someone else I love will die because of me."

"Tell me about her," she said, rubbing her head against his chin, her legs tucked beneath her, "Tell me about the woman you think died because of you."

With a sigh, Navarre smoothed her hair, then ran one hand through his own. It was late and the moon had risen. In its light, Kendra studied his features, amazed to see the vulnerability there, softly etched in the usually harsh lines around his mouth and eyes. Gently she brushed the back of one hand across his check. Without turning he took her hand and brought it to his lips.

"It is a long story," he said after kissing each of her fingers. "One only Garrick knows, and Richard. It reveals my hidden shame."

"Do you mean, your treason against Richard?"

He dropped her hand and nodded. "Aye. The reason that I turned my back on the man who was my friend and my king."

The sound of a twig snapping behind them made Kendra whirl around. The leaves on small bushes moved slightly with the cold breeze that chilled them. Navarre, too, had turned, his golden eyes searching the forest.

Kendra realized, with a sudden jolt, that she had been missing from camp almost the whole night and no one had come looking for her, not Robin, not Marian, not the guards, no one. Tiny prickles of uneasiness crept up the back of her neck as she gazed around at the darkened glade. If any of Robin's men came upon them now, Navarre would become their prisoner. In spite of her own feelings about what he was attempting to do, Kendra knew with all of her heart she didn't want Navarre to be captured.

"I think we should go," she said. "It isn't safe here and-"

"No." Navarre stilled her movements, taking both her hands in his, drawing her close to him once again. "This I must tell you first. There must no longer be secrets between us."

Kendra inhaled sharply. No secrets between them. Could she-dare she tell Navarre the truth now?

"It was in Outremer, during the Crusades."

"Outremer, that's the holy lands, right?"

Navarre nodded. "They are called that as well." He bent his left knee and balanced his arm across it, his gaze fixed on the midnight forest. "I was Richard's friend, his bodyguard, in fact. I always rode at his side, ready to protect him from danger. Garrick was one of his trusted advisors and the three of us were as close as brothers." He glanced over at Kendra. She placed one hand on his forearm.

"What happened?" she asked softly.

"There was a woman called Talam." One jaw muscle tightened in the moonlight. "She was the daughter of an obscure merchant who bought and sold merchandise to us without his sultan's knowledge. She was no one." Navarre's throat trembled as he swallowed hard, then lowered his gaze. "I loved her."

Kendra waited for him to continue and when he didn't she squeezed his arm softly. He looked away, his eyes fixed on some distant point in time.

"Richard hated her. She was an infidel and he could not understand how one of his men, his knights, could fall in love with such a one. Bed her, yes, that he understood, but not love. Garrick tried to intercede for me, but he came back from a long talk with Richard and told me that the king had said if I took her back to England and married her, he would strip me of my knighthood and my titles. I would lose everything I worked so hard to obtain."

He moved away from Kendra's gentle touch and sprang to his feet. Muttering an oath, he stalked a few feet away, and clad only in his leggings, stood glowering out at the silent trees. Kendra sensed that she must give him time to deal with the emotions of his tale, and she sat quietly, waiting for him to speak.

"We came to Acre," he said at last, "a great fortified city that took many days to conquer. I was sorely wounded in the battle and taken with many others to Crete to recuperate. Unconscious, feverish, I didn't even know where I was for many weeks. When Garrick came to get me he told me I almost died." He turned back toward her, his dark hair almost silver in the moonlight. "I wished I had. For he also told me that Talam was dead." Navarre shook his head, as if the thought of the news once again bewildered him. "At first, I thought she had been killed in the battle, and I blamed myself that I had not protected her."

Kendra stood at his words, feeling his pain as though it were her own. Moving to his side, she stood motionless until, with a suddenness that surprised and moved her, Navarre jerked her into his arms and buried his face against her hair.

"But she didn't die in the battle," he said, his arms holding her like a vise, pressing her body into his, his voice muffled. "Richard gave Saladin, the leader of the Saracens, an ultimatum-surrender, or watch the people of Acre die, every man, woman and child. He took them and-"

"Don't." Kendra pushed away from his embrace and placed one hand softly against his lips. "Don't torture yourself. I remember reading about it. Richard massacred them."

Navarre stared down at her. "You read about it? Where? Wait, you say can read? Oh, yes, you are a scribe, I had forgotten."

"Yes, I-never mind-I know how the story goes. Talam was one of those killed?"

"Richard made sure of it," he said bitterly, turning away from her. "Even now I see her face, at night, in the daytime, when I tried to kill you-" He spun back around. "Perhaps God allowed her to stop me. Don't you see? She is dead because of my love-because I was unable to protect her. And what if I had listened to my own superstitions or to Garrick? What if I had-"

"But you didn't."

His eyes narrowed. "I could have, more easily than you imagine. Never forget, Kendra, that I am a soldier." He moved toward her and Kendra shivered as his voice caressed her name for the first time. She stood, conscious all at once that she was naked except for his cloak draped around her shoulders. "I am not a soft-voiced gentleman who knows how to woo and court," he said, walking toward her slowly. "And I, like Garrick, am used to taking what I want. I am no nobleman. I am Navarre de Galliard, bastard, nothing more."

Kendra saw the raw need in his eyes, the almost savage need to wipe the past from his mind, to exorcise the pain of what he had just revealed.

"I am not afraid, Navarre," Kendra whispered.

He took a step toward her, and involuntarily she took a step back. He laughed, but the laughter did not reach his eyes.

"Are you not?" he asked.

Kendra swallowed hard as the knight continued to move toward her, one slow step at a time. Like a lion stalking his prey, she thought, wondering why she continued to back away when she longed to take him in her arms and once and for all dispel the demons. It was his eyes, she decided, as her back met the smooth bark of a tree. She stopped abruptly, unable to move farther.

His eyes were no longer those of Navarre but a predator; he was no longer her lover, but a man haunted by ghosts and driven by revenge. He stopped inches away from her and Kendra's heart began to pound, her breath growing shallow as he slid one hand down the center of her chest and with the other tilted her face upward.

"Will you love the Black Lion as you have loved the man, Navarre?" he said, his voice low and harsh.

"Yes," she whispered.

Kendra gasped as Navarre pressed her back against the hard, smooth wood of the tree behind her, his mouth coming down roughly on hers, bruising her skin. His kiss was demanding, powerful, and completely barbaric. She tasted her own blood but made no sound. He did not ask for her response, he took it, ravaging her mouth, his hands moving with the same roughness as his tongue over her bare skin. Kendra cried out in fear even as she felt the passion he commanded rising inside of her.

She closed her eyes against the sight of his feral countenance as she struggled against dual monsters, fear and passion, Navarre and the Black Lion. He wanted her to blame him, to agree with him that he was evil, at fault because of Talam's death, that he could easily have been the instrument of her death as well. Yet, at the same time, he wanted her to absolve him, and wipe away the pain with her body. And she would. She was no longer afraid.

Navarre tore his mouth from hers and grasped her chin between rough fingers. "Open your eyes."' She obeyed. "Now do you fear me?" he demanded. "Now do you know that all I touch must be forever spoiled, forever scarred?"

"No," Kendra whispered, threading her hands through his dark hair and pulling his mouth close to hers. "No. Your touch gives me joy and your love gives me life. I love the Black Lion as I love the man, Navarre."

With a groan, Navarre pressed her back against the tree and sheathed himself in her warmth once again. Kendra felt the wave hit her as roughly as had Navarre's first savage kiss, picking her up and throwing her without mercy into the churning sea of her own desire. Mounting the wave, the passion pushed her upward even as she saw, through half-closed lashes, Navarre's face still twisted as if in pain.

"Say that you love me," he whispered.

"With all of my soul."

With a roar, Navarre carried Kendra out of her body, out of her senses, sending her to ride passion's crest, sending her spinning into a place only Navarre could create, only she could enter, a place to which they journeyed together, in the wake of Navarre de Galliard's tears.

Kendra awoke much later. She blinked, then sat up, startled, unsure for a moment where she was. The forest came slowly into focus along with the sight of Navarre standing a few feet away wearing only his leggings, his back to her. She smiled but the gesture quickly faded as she remembered the decision she had made after the last passionate ride Navarre had taken her on just before dawn.

"Navarre," she called softly. "There is something I must tell you."

"I believe you are not a witch." His voice was oddly strained and Kendra pulled her shift on, then stood and crossed quickly to his side. "But I must have an answer," he said. "I must know the truth." He turned. Both of her cameras dangled from one hand, her bag from the other, his dark brows troubled, knit together. "I have shared my secrets with you. Now it is your turn."

"Yes." Kendra bent to retrieve the rest of her clothing from the ground, keeping her eyes downcast, feeling suddenly awkward. "That's what I want to tell you-my secret. How I came to be here, and why you cannot use my gun-" he frowned at the unfamiliar word and Kendra hurried on "-the weapon I injured you with, to keep Richard from the throne of England."

She glanced up at him. Navarre handed her the cameras and folded both arms across his broad chest, his golden eyes warm, yet filled with caution.

"I am listening," he said.

Navarre sat in stunned amazement as Kendra began to weave a strange and fanciful tale of a magical wind that had swept her from the year 1997 to the year 1194. As her story progressed, his emotions ran the gamut from anger to incredulity to fascination, and at last, to astonishment.

A woman from the future. A woman caught in the forces of God and nature flung backward in time. She told him of a world where men could fly, even to touch the moon and the stars. It was impossible. It was insane. He had told her so and she had picked up one of the small gray boxes, pointed it at him, and before he could move, pushed a button. Thinking it another weapon, he expected another searing pain and jumped in reaction as a strange, soft sound, almost like a cat purring, emanated from the box, just before a square of paper shot out from the bottom of it.