She guessed she'd dozed off. for how long she wasn't sure, but suddenly a tremendous roar in her ears shook her awake. Instantly alert, Kendra sprang to her feet and saw the sun had completely disappeared and all the other reporters and media people were gone. The wind swept across the field with a sudden intensity, sending a cold chill down her spine as a fine rain began to mist and the clouds above her head rolled like angry combatants on a churning sea.

She reached beside her for the raincoat she'd brought along.

"Here, Sean," Kendra said over the rising sound of the wind, "put this over you."

"Cor, not unless you gets under it too."

Seeing the sense of his generous offer, she huddled beneath the disposable plastic coat she'd bought at the airport, shivering with the boy whose eyes had grown large and round.

"You aren't scared, are you, Sean?" Kendra asked, trying to keep the tone of amusement out of her voice.

"Me?" He shook his head. " 'Course not." The next crack of thunder made him jump and he glanced at her sheepishly. "I ain't scared," he said again, more forcefully.

She laughed. "Well, I am," she lied. Actually Kendra felt exhilarated, buoyed up, the way she always did when in the midst of covering an exciting or dangerous story. Her pulse quickened as she looked up again. The moon had risen, full and bright, but now, cloaked in the mist of rain, it seemed mystical and surreal.

"If we can just hold out a little longer," she said into Sean's ear, "I think that-"

At that moment, lightning split the sky in half. The wind, howling like a wounded dog, kicked into high gear and churned the air, tearing across the open field, sending Kendra sprawling to her knees.

"Cor, love," Sean whispered, "here it comes."

Kendra wiped the back of her sleeve across her face. "H-here comes what?" she stammered, stumbling to her feet.

"Hold on to the rock!" the boy cried, his fingers biting into the stone.

Without questioning the order, Kendra flung herself against the huge outcropping and clung to it as a sudden, incredible force swept down upon her as though determined to sweep her away.

Seeing her distress, Sean inched his way around the rock toward her, until his young, wiry arm encircled her waist. She was grateful for the support, but worried about his own precarious hold.

"I've never seen weather like this in England!" she shouted, trying to be heard above the tumult.

"I've seen it here, lots of times!" he shouted back.

Deciding to save her strength to hang onto the rock, Kendra pressed herself more solidly against the hard surface, when everything went suddenly still. As abruptly as the wind and rain had begun, the turmoil ceased.

Kendra released her death grip on the stone and took an unsteady step from behind it. "Wow. Are you all right?" He nodded. "C'mon, let's see if the circle's been damaged by the wind."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea."

Kendra laughed. "Oh, don't be silly, Sean. This is an adventure." She started walking down the incline and then stopped and glanced back at him. He stood fidgeting a moment, then bolted.

"I'm sorry, miss, but I think I hear me mum callin' me!" he shouted as he tore down the incline, across the adjoining field and down the road. Kendra stared after him open-mouthed. She burst out laughing and it took a good minute to bring herself under control.

"Tough guy, huh?" she taunted aloud. "Well, at least I have the gun and if I run into any unfriendly aliens I'll be well aimed. Thanks Sean, for the tour."

With a sigh Kendra hefted her bag onto her shoulder. Reaching inside, she took out a small flashlight and turned it on. She headed down the incline, looking for one of the tramlines left by the farmer who had planted the field. If she walked down its path she wouldn't disturb the overall picture of the circle. Trudging along, wishing she'd worn heavier boots, Kendra found the tramline and was soon striding resolutely through the waist-high barley, toward the infamous circle. A crackling sound behind her made her draw up short and whirl around.

"Sean?" She smiled into the misty haze now settling over the field. Maybe the boy had regained his nerve. "Is that you?"

Silence answered her, along with a sudden surge of wind that briefly lifted the wisps of hair escaping from her long braid and used them to tickle her face. Kendra pushed the hair away from her eyes, and giving one last searching glance behind her, headed toward the circle again.

As she got closer to the patch of pressed-down grain, Kendra began to feel a little light-headed and she paused, fighting the sense of vertigo. Shaking her head to dispel the dizziness, she moved forward, but found that with each step she took, her body seemed to grow heavier, her steps slower. She heard a crackle behind her. Laughing nervously, Kendra shot a cautious glance back over one shoulder.

"Sean, it's all right that you were scared. But you've got to feel this. I think I've discovered one of your 'strange happenings.' " Her heart beat a little faster as her gaze swept the smoky semidarkness. Was it Sean playing a practical joke on her? She liked the boy and found it hard to believe he would trick her this way unless- she turned around thoughtfully-unless the whole thing had been some kind of set-up.

Holding herself perfectly still, Kendra took a deep breath and waited. A misty breeze curled around her face and in her nervous state of mind, Kendra imagined ethereal fingers touching her. She swallowed hard, then began to scold herself aloud.

"Don't be absurd," she said brightly, breaking out of her statuesque pose and moving laboriously toward the circle. One more step, and then another, and she was at the edge of the circle. "This is nothing compared to-"

This time the sound came from in front of her. A popping sound, like a lightbulb being thrown on cement, Kendra thought. She took a step backward and her flashlight went dead.

"No..." she whispered into the blackness as a melange of blue lights appeared in the center of the circle. They moved upward, hovered for a moment, then moved twenty or so yards to the left of the crop circle and began to spin.

She stood frozen for a moment before the reporter inside took control and propelled her into action.

A crop circle forming! No one on earth had ever photographed a crop circle as it formed. Maybe Mac was sharper than she gave him credit for and this story might be worth something after all!

Kendra hurried across the field, her satchel bouncing against her bag as she shed her instant camera and shoved it into the zippered opening. Careful to stay within the tramlines, she stopped about thirty feet away from the lights, where she lifted her camera toward the shimmering blue orbs above.

"Wow," she breathed, unaware she'd spoken. Unconsciously she lowered the camera as blue lights danced in a silent choreography. It was the most beautiful, mesmerizing sight Kendra had ever seen. She stood, mouth open, like one paralyzed, as the incandescence swirled above the ripe grain. Shaking herself out of her reverie, she lifted the camera again and pointed it at the phenomenon, when all at once she felt something tug her forward sharply until she was sprawled five feet closer to the forming circle.

She gasped and felt it again, but this time it was a steady force not unlike the wind a few moments before, propelling her forward.

Except there was no wind.

Magnetic was the only adjective Kendra could lend to the sensation in her mind, coupled with a feeling similar to static electricity, only multiplied a thousand times over. The hair on her arms and the back of her neck, on the edges of her already unruly hair, were all standing on end. Wide-eyed, her camera dangling from its strap, she allowed herself to be drawn beneath the dazzling array of light.

Awestruck and immobile, Kendra watched the azure lights descend and begin their whirling dance anew, this time around her. Entranced, she lifted one hand to touch the lights, but they danced away from her. Without warning, lightning cracked the sky again and Kendra cried out as the gentle tornado around her suddenly became a roaring cyclone.

The blue lights deserted her as the storm tore at her clothing. Kendra dropped to her hands and knees, bowing her head to the ground. Her fingers touched smooth stalks of vegetation, spiraling out from the center core of the forming circle. Almost unconsciously she traced them, clung to them as the tumult cried out in terrible cacophony above her.

I'm going to die, she thought. Suddenly she knew that everything Mac had said was true. She had rushed, headlong to this moment in time, and now that it was here -she did not want it.

Struggling to her feet, Kendra stood, unconsciously lifting her arms as if to plead with the forces sending tingling rushes of light into her innermost being.

I don't want to die! She tried to shout the words, but couldn't.

As if in answer to her silent plea, the blue lights descended once again, encompassing her within their whirling vortex. Kendra threw back her head and cried out as the sensation of icy water being pumped through her veins flooded over her. Closing her eyes she felt an incredible torrent of crystal-clear understanding course through her mind and body, and in that instant, Kendra knew all, felt all, was all.

She tried to take a deep breath and couldn't. The pounding of her heart ceased. Kendra opened her eyes and knew she was dying as suddenly the wind rushed down again, sucking her into its maelstrom. The power wove itself around her and she felt consciousness going along with her ability to see and hear. Kendra managed one last breath, one last glance upward before the darkness came upon her, twisting her down into the circle as the twinkling blue lights slowly disappeared, one by one.

Chapter Three.

Navarre de Galliard pulled back on the reins, knees pressed firmly against the heaving sides of his horse, his gaze wary behind the slits of the flat topped helm he wore. His chain mail, combined with the leather hauberk covering it, was bulky and heavy. He was grateful for the warmth on this cold February day, but wished fervently he had not worn the armor. While it would protect him against whatever danger might lie in wait for him, he did not expect an army to be assembled on the Abury plain, and he cursed himself for riding into trouble laden down with unnecessary weight, and a vision-obscuring helmet.

With an oath, Navarre removed the metal helm, running one hand through the long hair plastered hotly against his face. His tunic, golden with the emblem of a black lion in the center of it, was sleeveless and split down both sides, covering his mail and hauberk. His eyes, the same color as the tunic he wore, gazed around again, this time unimpeded by the clumsy battle gear.

He'd come dressed for war but the English countryside seemed quiet and peaceful as he observed it from his vantage point. Under the full moon's light the frost glistened on the field, lending the stubble of grain that once grew there a fanciful appearance. Mostly rolling farmland, Wiltshire stretched in frozen waves to the horizon in either direction. Here and there a grove of oak or ash trees dotted the fields. In the summer, it was a rolling checkerboard of wheat and barley waving in the gentle breeze. Right now, however, it lay cold and silent.

Navarre drew in a deep breath and forced himself to expel it slowly. He had ridden hard from Nottingham. The diversion to keep Locksley busy and away from Abury had taken several days longer than he'd planned, but at last he had diverted the outlaw and arrived at the ancient site on time, exactly one fortnight from the day he'd overheard Magda make her dire prophecy.

Now he waited at the edge of a woods near the largest of the mystical mounds. If anything were going to happen, if anyone-or anything-were going to come, he would see before being seen. Perhaps he had been foolish, coming alone, but taking a large contingent of men would have aroused curiosity, and Richard's spies were everywhere. Besides, with the sheriff away he could not leave Nottingham unprotected. Locksley would most surely seek to retaliate for the deeds that had kept him busy in Sherwood instead of here at Abury.

The moonlight created eerie shadows across the fields, and Navarre resisted the sudden urge to cross himself. He no longer believed in God or magic, but sometimes he had to remind himself of those fairly new revelations.

He'd had time on the road to think about Magda's words, and the more he thought, the more he believed his first inclinations were true, that he had overheard a coded message from one spy to another. By using the pretense of the woman relating a "prophecy," they could speak freely. Locksley could not be blamed for listening to a woman's mad ravings, could he? It was a very clever way to warn the outlaw that a plot against Richard's life had been discovered, and that an ally would meet him at Abury in a fortnight Accordingly, Navarre had come well armed. When Locksley finally arrived, he'd find Richard's "salvation" had suffered an ill fate.

The hint of a smile lifted one corner of his lips. He had enjoyed harassing Locksley and his band of outlaws before leaving for Abury. As custodis pads- keeper of the peace-Navarre had the authority to order the soldiers of the garrison to ride into Sherwood and capture as many of the infamous "Robin of the Hood's" forces as possible.

They hadn't captured any. Locksley's men were too quick, but it had been good sport. He'd left enough men guarding Sherwood to keep Locksley trapped, but he had no doubts that when he returned the dungeon would be just as empty as it had been when he left. He sighed. Garrick was growing impatient with him. Old friend though he might be, the Sheriff of Nottingham wanted Robin Hood and he wanted him dead. He expected Navarre to take care of that little deed, just as he expected his friend to take care of Richard.

Navarre closed his eyes briefly, allowing his thoughts to flicker over the memory of a time when he and Richard and Locksley had been united, brothers in a holy quest. But that was long ago, and of no consequence now. He had made his choice, and they theirs.

His horse moved nervously beneath him and Navarre reached down to stroke the stallion's silky black neck.

"Easy, Kamir," he murmured softly, "what is it?" The stallion nickered and shook his coarse mane. "Aye," he agreed, shifting into a soldier's alertness, "I feel it too."

Just as the night outside Magda's hut the wind had seemed almost alive, this night the air around him felt heavy, almost tense. Suddenly it was as though a hundred invisible bumblebees were buzzing around him, within him, rippling beneath his skin like tiny, pulsating waves.

He glanced up through the leafy treetops at the sky. Overcast. A moment ago it had been clear. Kamir shifted again and whinnied, the sound harsh against the stillness.

"Quiet, my friend," Navarre whispered, replacing his helm and sliding his sword from its sheath in the saddle. He'd fought a Saracen with a saddle like that, in Outremer. The man had been able to draw his blade so quickly that Navarre had almost lost his head. When he'd returned to England he'd had a saddle made with the unique feature. If he wanted to live to fight Richard, he reasoned, he needed every possible advantage.

Kamir shook his head as if in protest to their vigil, but Navarre no longer noticed his horse's nervousness. A storm was brewing, a storm unlike any he'd ever seen before. A light fog had rolled in, and a fine rain with it, nothing unusual in that, but a brisk, oddly circular wind also began to churn around him, sending bits of frost and dirt into the air. Temporarily distracted by the swirl of frozen chaff, Navarre was unprepared when lightning split the sky and the resulting thunder sent Kamir's forelegs into the air, pawing frantically.

Navarre dropped his sword and just managed to keep his seat. After a moment's struggle, he brought the horse under control. Sliding off into the now wet earth beneath his feet, he picked up his sword.

"Two years in battle," he muttered fiercely, "two years of dodging arrows and blades and now you bolt because of a storm?" He patted the dark neck. "My friend, you must be growing old." Kamir shook his head and Navarre laughed in spite of himself. Then he stopped laughing and stared at the spectacle taking place in the field below.

The wind was gathering itself-that was the only way he could describe it-and settling into an area of the wheat field. Then a stillness settled over the plain and the real show began.

"Holy Mother of God," Navarre whispered. His hand moved to make the sign of the cross, something he hadn't done since Acre. Blue lights, like tiny stars, fifty or more, danced above the frozen field. Like a tiny, colorful whirlwind they swirled downward. As if in a trance, Navarre remounted his horse, then walked Kamir toward the lights, his eyes fixed on the luminous orbs spinning above the ground.

Kamir neighed a warning, but Navarre did not hear. As they grew closer to the circle, the bumblebees under the knight's skin grew frantic, until, in some distant, still coherent part of his brain, he thought his insides might be about to burst forth. Instead, he reached the dancing lights and looked up in time to see them descending toward him.

They hovered above Navarre, the bumblebees tearing at his stomach, his chest, his face, until he thought he would go mad. He tried to turn Kamir but to his horror, found he could not move. He was trapped, caught in the throes of some otherworldly power.

Arrogant fool, to come alone to this ancient, mystical place known for its mystery and power! Suddenly every story of magic and sorcery flooded his mind, as well as his own fall from grace. He had turned his back on the church-was God going to kill him now for his unbelief, allowing the forces of evil to consume him? As the blue lights came within inches of his face, Kamir threw his powerful front hooves into the air and let out a cry Navarre had never heard a horse make. The stallion's hooves came down and plowed into the earth, pulling them out of the enchanted circle. Navarre felt the strength of his horse beneath him, felt the effort it took for the animal to pull them free.

Instantly, the buzzing of the bumblebees shifted away from him. Navarre felt his breath leave him, and he crumpled forward against Kamir's mane. Navarre's own sweat assailed his nostrils as he pulled himself upright in the saddle, gasping as he tried to draw air back into his lungs. When he could breathe again, he cautiously opened his eyes.

The lights still twinkled nearby, and as Navarre watched, the blue orbs began to spin, faster and faster, until he had to look away from the blinding blur of light. When he looked back, they were gone, and on the ground lay a woman, dark red hair tumbling across a chalk-white face.

Kendra's brain had exploded. At least that was her first thought as she tried to open her eyes and could not for the searing pain behind them. Trying to calm herself, she concentrated on using her other senses. She could smell the dampness of the earth. It smelled like England. Funny, she thought dazedly, how places had their own particular smell. England smelled like rosemary: green, fresh. And cold. Why was it cold?

Kendra's fingers moved and she could no longer feel smooth, spiraling stalks of wheat beneath her. Instead, her fingers met with icy stubble and she blinked, trying to clear the confusion from her mind. She was conscious of an aching weariness permeating her bones, as well as the pounding pain inside her skull.

Don't think about that, she ordered herself, her reporter's instincts beginning to function. Get your eyes open. Find out what happened.

The storm. The last memory she had was of a terrible wind, followed by lightning and thunder and-the circle. Something had happened when she went inside the crop circle, but what? She couldn't remember.

Slowly, feeling as though twenty-pound weights were attached to her eyelids, Kendra managed to pull her eyes open. Her vision blurred and she could make out only hazy images of muted colors. It was still night, the moon was still full and bright. She couldn't have been unconscious for too long. With a groan she heaved herself to her knees, feeling dizzy and disoriented; she shivered as a cold wind blew across the field. The camera around her neck thumped heavily against her chest and she steadied it, wishing she could steady herself as easily.

The sound of a rapid pounding coming toward her brought Kendra's head back up, then she relaxed as she remembered her young companion.

"Sean?" she called, squinting to see the person approaching her. "Thank goodness you came back. You weren't kidding when you said strange things happen around here, were you?" Kendra stood, swaying, her knees threatening to buckle beneath her. "Did you see what happened? Was I struck by lightning or something? I can't see very well and-"

She looked up and her words trailed away.

Her sight was still blurred but it didn't take twenty-twenty vision to know that this wasn't Sean. This was a man-a big man-riding a horse, and the two of them towered over her like the ancient Minotaur. Kendra swallowed hard as the rider drew nearer. The man fit the horse as if he were part of it, and they both seemed exceptionally large. The man had big biceps and shoulders as broad as her outstretched arm. But the head-the head was what sent her heart suddenly into her throat. The head of this man was made of metal.

Kendra took an involuntary step backward. The man-thing-halted the horse and slid easily to the ground. He approached her confidently and to her astonishment, walked up to her and grabbed her by the wrist. The warm touch of his hand on hers reassured her that he was, indeed, flesh and blood. She screamed anyway.

"Let me go!" she cried, twisting away and lashing out with a well-aimed kick at the man's shin. She winced as her soft booted foot connected with something that felt like steel. Steel. Steel enclosed her wrist too, in spite of the warmth. She looked back up at the monstrous form, but still could only see a marred outline of his face-if it could be called a face. Thin slits instead of eyes, horrifying slats instead of a mouth. She shuddered, then gasped as the apparition reached up... and took off his head.

The scream she'd been preparing died in her throat as she found herself staring up into a very human face. Kendra narrowed her eyes and her vision cleared slightly. Before her stood a man with the most unusual golden-brown eyes she'd ever seen. A stark contrast to the black hair falling in waves to the man's shoulders, the effect was provocative and disturbing to her dormant feminine senses. She'd not looked at a man with anything other than mild interest since her husband's death.

Too tongue-tied for a moment to speak, Kendra continued to gaze at the man staring down at her. Dark brows frowned in a high arch above black-lashed eyes that in a woman would have been considered feminine. He was anything but. His face was square at the jawline, the nose aquiline, and the chin-stubborn, Kendra decided. His lips, firm and full, at the moment were pressed tightly together.

She pulled herself together and glanced at the metal object he held in his hands. It was supposed to be some kind of helmet. A welder's helmet maybe? Or-she shifted her gaze to his chest. It was covered with a loose, black shirt of some kind, with a giant gold emblem emblazoned on it. She squinted again. A lion? Beneath the tunic the man wore a blur of silver. His arms were silver too. Kendra reached out and touched his arm. Metal links. Chain mail. Armor.

Kendra took a step back. "I must have been hit harder than I thought."

He didn't speak but just kept staring down at her, still holding her wrist. She looked at his hand rather pointedly and lifted one brow. "Do you mind?"

He let go of her abruptly, but didn't speak. Kendra ran one hand through her disheveled hair, feeling a familiar signal course through her body: danger. Who was this man and why was he dressed like a knight from the days of old? She took a step back and suddenly remembered the gun in her bag. It certainly wouldn't hurt to have it in reach, now would it?

"Look," she said, backing a little farther away and keeping her distance from the man, "did you see a boy about fifteen years old around here? Small for his age?" She brushed her hair back from her face. Somehow it had come loose from its braid. The wind. She remembered the wind had gone crazy just before she lost consciousness.

Kendra looked away from the man and was frustrated by the continuing haze obscuring her vision. She turned, looking frantically for her bag, while trying to maintain a semicasual air. There it was, or at least what looked like it might be the soft satchel, a few yards away. She took a step toward it, her foot crunching down on ice, and suddenly, Kendra looked around and really saw, for the first time, her surroundings. She opened her mouth and shut it several times before the fear completely wrapped itself around her heart.

The Abury plain was like a sheet of crystal and looked nothing like it had before she passed out. Oh, it was still night, and the fields still as bright as noonday by the full moon's light, but there were no waving sheaves of grain rolling across the countryside. Instead, there was stubble covered with a thin sheen of ice. She shivered, from cold and from sudden fear.

The man didn't speak and she turned back to him, remembering dazedly that she had asked him a question. What was it? Sean. Yes, where was Sean?

"I said-" Kendra didn't finish her sentence. She looked up into golden eyes that trapped her where she stood. Long used to sensing danger, Kendra knew without a doubt she was staring it squarely in its well-chiseled face. All at once she realized the man was holding something in his other hand. She squinted down at it. A sword. And he was lifting it to her throat. Kendra swallowed hard, then turned and made a dash for her bag.

"Hold!" cried the man.

Kendra risked one astonished look over one shoulder. Did he really think she'd be crazy enough to stop? She caught the bag up in her hand and kept running, her breath coming more raggedly as she ran faster, legs pumping, head pounding as though it would shatter as she stumbled across the wheat stubble, the short, thick stems stabbing through her soft boots into her feet. She could hear him mounting his big horse and turning it to race after her. Frantically she began looking for a tramline. On the tramlines-the empty furrows left unseeded by farmers in order to walk their fields without damaging the grain-there would be no stubble. Kendra ground to a sudden halt and stared around, bewildered.

There weren't any. But that was impossible. She remembered distinctly that all of the fields in Wiltshire had tramlines. She just couldn't see them, that was all. Her vision was too blurred. If she kept moving, she'd find one. The farmers left them at regular intervals. Ignoring the fact that not only were there no tramlines, but no wheat -the weather had suddenly turned from a cool English summer's day to freezing winter-Kendra started across the field again, stumbling over hidden clumps of dirt. Up ahead was a small woods. If she could reach it... She stopped again. There were no woods near these fields. Copses of trees here and there, yes, but no real woods or forest.