His only answer was an enigmatic smile. Kendra followed the servants as they led her to a luxurious chamber. There they dressed her in a long, beautiful emerald green gown made from a velvety material that seemed to caress her skin. The sleeves fit her arms perfectly and ended in dramatic points extending over her hand. Over this gorgeous dress another was added, made from a glorious fabric of shimmering gold. This gown's sleeves were form-fitting to the elbow, then widened and hung beneath her arms almost to the floor. It was edged with wide, emerald green trim, the girdle a twisted belt of green and gold with long gold tassels hanging almost to her feet.

As the servants pulled her closer to the fireplace to dry her hair, Kendra found herself wishing Navarre could see her in this beautiful ensemble. So far, he had seen her primarily clad in dirt and muck. It would be nice for him to see her looking halfway decent for a change. She sobered as she realized he would be seeing her- dressed like a queen, standing at Garrick's side to watch her brave knight die. Resolutely, she pushed the thought away. Navarre was not going to die.

By the time Kendra's hair had been dressed, part of it braided and drawn back with a golden thong, the rest of it left to hang in rich waves down her back, she was shifting her feet impatiently. When would this be over? she wondered in exasperation as one of the women wove ribbons of green and gold into her hair.

Kendra was relieved to see her bag draped over her chair's ornate back, and she determinedly swung the satchel over her shoulder as she stood. Marian had brought it to her in the chapel, bless her thoughtful heart. Today she wasn't taking any chances. When the opportunity came to run she was taking it, and she wouldn't leave anything behind that might change history. She pushed away the thought of the gun. They would retrieve the weapon. Somehow, she and Navarre would rid the medieval world of the violence she had unwittingly unleashed upon it.

During the slow walk back to the castle, Kendra watched for any opportunity for escape, but there was none. The guards flanked her, three on either side, as though Garrick had warned them to expect some kind of attempt from her. She was ushered back into Garrick's chamber and the servants left her, at last, to await their lord's pleasure.

Turning her thoughts desperately away from her fears, Kendra took her mirror out to get a look at herself in the elaborate dress. Examining the trim on the loose overdress more closely, she realized it had been embroidered with intricate Celtic circles. Circles. How fitting. They were, after all, the root of all of her problems. If she hadn't been standing out in the field near Avebury when that crop circle started forming, she wouldn't be in this mess.

A knock came at the door and she looked up, suddenly apprehensive. Was it time? Was Navarre being marched even now to the gallows or the block or whatever they called it? She bit her lower lip hard and drew blood. If Friar Tuck didn't save them-she refused to finish the thought. Of course he would save them. Of course he would. The door swung open.

Magda entered the room, her gray hair streaming over one shoulder in a long braid. She was dressed in a plain, brown gown, carrying a bowl of fruit. Apparently the guards had taken her for what she appeared to be, a servant.

"Quickly," the woman said, shutting the door behind her, "I must speak with you."

"Magda, did the priest send you?"

The old woman looked at her in confusion. "The priest? He will not even set foot in the same room with me, much less speak to me. Nay, I have come of my own accord, to help you." Magda moved to stand beside her and rested one hand on the woman's shoulder. "You must learn the secret of time, and soon."

Kendra turned and stared down at the woman. She was surprised to find the priestess only came up to her shoulder. She hadn't noticed that in Sherwood.

"Can you tell me?"

"No," Magda admitted, "but there is one who can. You must come with me and journey to meet Cennach."

Kendra frowned. The name sounded vaguely familiar. "Who's Cennach?"

"A wiseman, a sorcerer." Her pale eyes grew large and her hands waved expressively. "He knows the secrets of time. Cennach will help you."

"Thank you so much for the information." The sound of Garrick's complacent voice sent Kendra spinning around to face him, her fists clenched at her sides, angry at herself for her foolish lack of caution.

He laughed as Magda glowered at him from behind Kendra. "Come, my two little witches. We shall attend the tourney fields where a most amusing spectacle awaits us, men we shall journey to the home of this most incredible wiseman. What did you call him? Ah yes, Cennach."

"And if we refuse to take you?" Kendra's voice quavered.

"Refuse?" He brushed one long lock of blond hair back from his face. "If you refuse, I will kill Marian."

"Marian has already fled the castle, for all I know."

Garrick waved one hand dismissively. "It matters not. You will do as I say or I will kill someone else-Magda, a child from the street-anyone will do." His gray eyes gleamed down at her and Kendra felt suddenly cold at the ruthlessness she saw mirrored there. "I have observed you most carefully and while you would rather die than reveal something you think detrimental to England, I do not believe you would allow another to die to protect the same knowledge."

Kendra licked her lips, unable to speak for a moment. He was right, of course.

"If you interfere with time," Magda said, breaking the silence, "you risk destroying all, even that to which you aspire."

"Shut up, old woman," he ordered, opening the heavy door and bowing to Kendra. "Come along, ladies. The festivities are beginning and it would not do to have the guests of honor absent, now would it?" The amusement faded from his silver eyes as Kendra didn't move. "I grow weary of your rebellion, my dear. Will you be good or no?"

Kendra stared up at him defiantly and Garrick's gaze shifted to a servant girl down on her knees across the hall, scrubbing the stone floor. He reached inside the loose folds of his tunic and withdrew the Smith and Wesson. Kendra sped across the room to grip his hand fiercely, her body blocking his.

"I will be good," she said, her voice choked, her heart pounding with the realization that another human being had almost died simply because she didn't have the good sense to know when to give in.

The sheriff stared down at her and slowly lowered the gun. He didn't touch her, but bent his head until his mouth was almost brushing hers.

"You will not simply be good, my dear," he whispered. "You will be absolutely delicious." He began to laugh, the sound starting softly and growing as he shoved her and Magda into the hallway; it followed them like a disembodied being out of the castle and into the tourney field where Navarre and Robin, and the hand of death, awaited.

They led the prisoners out of the dungeon and into the bright morning sunlight. Navarre squinted up at the yellow orb, then lowered his gaze to the ground. He and Robin had agreed to present themselves as beaten prisoners, and secretly he wondered who was fooling whom. His hands were still bound behind him, the ropes still sawing into the raw flesh. He trudged along behind Robin, forcing his feet to move one step in front of the other, needles of pain shooting through his limbs. It was almost laughable, he realized, to think there was any possibility of escape. They had learned the attack on the castle the night before had been easily put down, the remaining outlaws scattered back into Sherwood.

Robin stopped abruptly and Navarre ran into the outlaw, stumbling to a halt, jerking his head up to see what was happening. They were lined up in the center of the tourney field, where once a year combatants met for sport or to settle old grievances. A long platform had been built, with ten nooses hanging across the beam spanning the length. It stood like a hulking shadow behind them.

Navarre hardly glanced at it before he narrowed his eyes against the sunlight and scoured the tented pavilion only ten yards in front of them where the nobles always sat. There was Garrick, dressed like a peacock in his favorite red and black and gold, a beautiful black cape with a red lining adorning his shoulders.

It was a crisp, cold day and Navarre shivered in his torn, ragged garb. Then he willed himself to stop. To show any kind of weakness was to lose honor on this day of all days. Flags waved above the bright pavilion. Cloth, in Garrick's colors of black and red, had been hung down the sides of the wood frame to create a tent-like structure, which protected the nobles from the glare of the sun. The seats in the pavilion were full, crowded with barons and friends of John and the sheriff, while a great throng of people, Saxon peasants for the most part, pressed against the barrier erected around the tourney field. As the men were marched out, the peasants had given a resounding cheer, whether for the men themselves or the spectacle about to take place, Navarre wasn't certain.

He didn't see Kendra at first, then the sheriff moved and she came into view. She wore gold and green, her hair like a cascade of fire over one shoulder. Sweet, beautiful Kendra. Woman from another world, another time. How different he had hoped their fates would be. If only he had not wasted the time in which they had been together. Her face looked haggard, drawn, and he closed his eyes against the sight. When he opened them again, she was seated beside the sheriff. The furrows between his brows grew even deeper when Marian entered the pavilion from the other side, Friar Tuck guiding her elbow.

Cursing under his breath, Navarre willed himself to stay strong. If he were going to die, he didn't want those he cared for most in the world to be subjected to the pain of watching his death. He had hoped Garrick would at least have the decency to shield the women from this horror. He should have known he would not.

"Courage," Robin said at his elbow.

"Courage," Navarre replied, lifting his chin to meet whatever came next.

Garrick stood and the boisterous crowd immediately fell silent. "Good people of Nottingham," he began, "I stand before you to make two announcements: first to tell you that at long last Sherwood Forest has been made safe for free men to pass through on their way to London, for at long last, the outlaw Robin Hood has been captured and even now awaits his sentence."

A few in the crowd cheered his words, but the majority began murmuring angrily. Navarre glanced at Robin. The outlaw stood as straight as the arrows he wielded, a grim smile on his face.

"I did not realize so many of the people were loyal to you," Navarre said, his gaze searching the mass of people frowning and milling outside the field.

"Aye, I warrant Garrick did not realize it either, until now." As if he heard their muttered conversation across the field, the sheriff raised his hands to quiet the crowd. "Secondly, I wish to announce that Prince John, in the absence of his dear brother, King Richard, has decided to lower your taxes. When the collector next visits your door, he will ask for only half of what you usually pay."

A rousing cheer at that rose from the people gathered. Trumpeters stationed at either side of the pavilion sounded their instruments triumphantly.

"Now he's using his head," Robin said. "That will gain him the favor of the people more than any other single thing he could do-if he really does it."

"That was my bloody idea," Navarre fumed, glaring up at the sheriff. Garrick turned at that moment and his gaze locked with that of the knight. Was it his imagination or did Navarre see the slightest glimmer of regret in the eyes of his onetime friend? If there was. it vanished without a trace as Garrick turned and crossed to John, whose head was bent next to Marian's.

Navarre saw Robin staring at the two, then the outlaw turned toward him, his eyes steady.

"I would like to tell you before they separate us that I understand now what you have been trying to do for England." His mouth tightened beneath the mustache, then he hurried on. "You are a good man, Navarre. I hope we may die as friends."

Navarre nodded, "I, too, have grown in my understanding of things. However, I feel differently about our dying as friends." Robin's lips twitched at his words and Navarre grinned. "I wish we might both live as friends, that I might join you and rid England forever of the true pestilence."

Robin's features relaxed and an answering smile lit his face. "I shall hold you to that," he said softly.

They turned toward one another then, gazes locking, eyes speaking silently the respect and admiration they could not put into words. At last, Navarre nodded and Robin inclined his head. Navarre looked up at the pavilion, feeling strangely unburdened.

John, clad in black and gold, stood and moved to the front of the pavilion, a short, thin man wearing scribe's robes beside him. The little man unfurled a long parchment scroll, then stood waiting as if for the prince's command. Banners of gold emblazoned with John's standard flew at each corner of the pavilion, and the king's brother looked up at them proudly, as if to draw the crowd's attention to the fluttering cloth. The people quieted again and John began to speak.

"It has been my singular honor." John began pompously, "to be here as a support, a guide if you will, to England and her people, through the shaky times since Richard's imprisonment in Austria. Everything possible is being done to bring the king home where he belongs, but until that time-if, please God, it ever comes- it falls to men like the Sheriff of Nottingham, and myself, to make sure outlaws like those before you today do not steal what is rightfully England's."

"Or what John thinks is rightfully his," Robin said out of the side of his mouth. "'I understand your efforts, Navarre. What I cannot comprehend is your choice of comrades."

"At the moment, I would have to agree with you. I do not understand myself."

"This judgment," John was saying, gesturing to the scribe, "was made by the Sheriff of Nottingham with my full endorsement, and shall now be read."

The scrawny scribe stepped up, the unfurled scroll held in front of him.

"Be it known that on this day the outlaw Robert of Locksley, also known as Robin Hood, by order of the Sheriff of Nottingham, has been found guilty of numerous crimes listed below, including but not limited to murder, theft, treason, skullduggery and arson."

"Skullduggery, is it?" Robin said loudly from the field. " 'Tis hard to recall but I do not remember ever digging a skull in my life."

The crowd laughed and the scribe frowned disapprovingly at the outlaw. He cleared his throat and continued. "The following men have also been found guilty of these crimes, as they have attached themselves to the outlaw and followed his command." He read off a long list of names, ending with Navarre de Galliard.

A collective gasp rose from the assembled people. Navarre's name was one they had long associated with the sheriff and with the peace of Nottingham. The knight stood a little straighter as the scribe continued.

"All of these men, found guilty of crimes against England, shall be taken this morn and hanged by the neck until dead."

Navarre saw Kendra's hand at her throat and for a moment their eyes met. Filled with pain and worry, her gaze hit him with an impact he did not expect. He tried to convey, through his own expressive eyes in that brief moment suspended between them, how much he loved her, how much he regretted what had been done to her. Her lips curved up tremulously.

A shout went up and Navarre turned to find the long row of men being shoved toward the gallows. Not unexpectedly, the guards jerked Robin out of the line, then Navarre, and hustled them to the wooden platform before the rest.

Navarre sent a wide, wild look about the field. If help was coming, 'twould be now. But no help came as he and Robin were led up the steps of the hastily erected structure and stopped beneath the first two nooses. Garrick had risen to stand beside John and now moved forward, taking center stage.

"Let the leader of the outlaws be hanged first. And let my former friend, Navarre, join him, to show all of Nottingham that no one is above the law. If you have committed a crime and you call me friend, do not expect me to save you from your justly deserved fate."

Navarre stared at the man he once prided himself on knowing so well and could not help the words that sprang to his lips.

"And do not think that by calling him friend you protect yourself from his betrayal, either,"' he said loudly from the gallows. His gaze fell on a few of the barons who had attended, now shifting uneasily in their seats as he looked at them. "My lords, do not think that you will be immune once the sheriff gains enough power. Once you have served your purpose you will be dispatched as easily as I."

"Silence!" Garrick roared from the stand. "Guard, if you allow that criminal to speak again, you will join him on the platform!"

The guard rushed forward and stuffed a foul-smelling cloth in Navarre's mouth, but the knight didn't care. He'd said his piece, for what it was worth. A drumroll began in the distance and the noose was lifted and slipped over his head, then tightened around his neck. Navarre swallowed hard as he felt the rope burn into his throat, the painful reality no longer avoidable. With effort he pushed the dirty rag from his mouth with his tongue and took a deep, shuddering breath.

There would be no escape. Today he was going to die.

Chapter Fourteen.

The king's brother continued to talk, praising himself and Garrick. Navarre could sec Kendra's stricken face, white against the burgundy cushioned chair she sat upon. He closed his eyes, wishing it were over.

"Robin."

Navarre felt hope rise anew in his heart at the sound of the roughly spoken word. He'd only heard Little John's voice a few times but could never forget the deep, resonating sound, even obscured by a hangman's hood and a whisper.

"Aye," Robin replied to the man standing behind them, his own tone calm and unsurprised.

Little John moved behind the outlaw and Navarre heard the wonderfully soft sound of a rope being cut in two.

"Keep your hands behind you," he cautioned, then moved to Navarre. "What about him?"

The knight tensed, unaware he was holding his breath until Robin nodded, and Little John sliced his bonds as well. He released his breath slowly, thankfully, and readied himself for whatever came next.

"Why in God's name did you attack the castle?" Robin whispered, keeping perfectly still. "You knew you could not win."

"Aye, but now they will think we tried and failed, will they not? They will not expect another attempt," Little John said softly. "We have horses ready. I will leave the nooses slightly loose around your necks. When I kick the boxes from beneath your feet, pull the rope from your neck and use it to swing off the gallows backward. Roll under the platform. Help will be there. Ride like hell for Sherwood and we'll join you after we take care of the sheriff and his men."

"What of Marian and Kendra?" Robin whispered, hardly moving his lips.

"No time," Little John shook his head. "We shall have to get them out later."

"Nay," Navarre said hoarsely, "I shall not leave without them."

"Nor I."

Their hangman sighed as if he'd expected their words. "Stubborn bastards, ain't you?"

"Aye," Navarre whispered again, "Though Robin's parents were married. I am the only bastard."

"But I confess to the stubbornness," Robin agreed, daring to wink in Navarre's direction, his good nature returning now that the odds were more evenly divided.

"Whist," Little John said, "the banty rooster and the strutting cock have finished. Be ready, lads, and we shall get you out of this yet."

Navarre nodded, and squinting against the mid-morning sun, searched the pavilion once again for Kendra. He found her, green and gold like a fragile morning flower. Suddenly he wondered if she knew of the escape plan, or did she think she was about to watch him die?

Kendra twisted her hands together in her lap, glad for the heavy cloak Garrick had thrown about her shoulders before leaving the chamber. The cold she felt had nothing to do with the weather. Ice seemed to harden in her chest as she watched Navarre and Robin Hood being led up the steps to the gallows.

She gripped the arms of the chair in which she sat, feeling helpless and filled with angry frustration. She was next to Garrick, whose place of honor was just to the right of John's huge throne-like chair. Marian and Friar Tuck sat to John's left, both looking self-conscious and nervous. Magda had been left behind at the castle and Kendra had no idea what was happening to her.

As Garrick and John stood and addressed the people, Kendra leaned across Garrick's empty chair, hoping to catch Friar Tuck's attention. The priest glanced her way and for an instant she saw the worry in his eyes. It disappeared as he shook his head the slightest bit and returned his now complacent gaze to the field. Marian stared down at her hands, but with Kendra's movement she looked up and in her eyes Kendra saw an echo of her own pain. She smiled reassuringly at the girl and felt the kinship between them renew itself.

It was obvious that Friar Tuck couldn't, or wouldn't, give her a sign or a clue of what was about to happen. The scribe was reading the charges now and she listened intently to his voice drone on, a terrible coldness twisting in the pit of her stomach as the words "hanged until dead" pierced the air.

Her gaze searched the field and the throng of people outside the barrier. Surely Robin's men were here. Surely they had not all been captured. Surely they would not let their leader die. But would they let Navarre die? Her throat tightened convulsively. If Little John managed to save the outlaw would he still let Navarre hang? Robin's men knew nothing of the new burgeoning friendship between the two. Why would they not simply shoot Robin's rope in half, throw him on a horse, and leave Navarre to hang? She closed her eyes against the sickening thought.

The sheriff and John returned to their places, the prince settling himself back in his "throne," Garrick standing beside him, his haughty face wreathed in satisfaction.

Kendra perched on the edge of her chair, the twisted knot in her stomach making her feel nauseous and shaky. She refused to look at Garrick, instead keeping her eyes fixed resolutely on Navarre. Straight and tall he stood, his head held proudly high, his shoulders unbowed. Kendra studied his noble face and wondered how she had ever doubted he was a hero. If only he could live, he would help England by the mere fact of his existence.

He is not going to die, she told herself fervently. Friar Tuck promised he would help him and couldn't possibly be sitting here calmly if he were about to die. She glanced over at the priest again and saw the tension in his face. The doubt crept in again quickly. What if his plan failed? He must not be too sure of the outcome or he wouldn't have that harried look, or be wiping away perspiration from his shiny brow.

Garrick whirled around just then, his black cape billowing from his shoulders, his triumphant smile widening as his gaze fell on Kendra. She could see he rightly judged the despair in her eyes and swept her a low, mocking bow.