"I do apologize for subjecting you to this tragedy," he said. "However, I find it quite an effective deterrent to those who contemplate rebelling against me. You do know how it works, do you not? The rope either breaks his neck, or leaves him to strangle slowly. A good hangman tries to position the knot in such a way that the death is a quick, painless one." His eyes gleamed down at her. "Unless he has been otherwise instructed."

Kendra couldn't speak, couldn't think. Her fingers curled tense around the arms of the chair on which she sat.

Garrick took his place, sweeping his cape from beneath him. He propped his elbows on the arms of the chair, steepling his hands together in front of his chest as he slanted a calculating gaze toward Kendra, as if waiting for her to speak.

Her heart in her throat, Kendra laid one hand on the sheriff's arm and looked up at him boldly, her voice a silken purr. "Please, my Lord Sheriff, put an end to this, and I will do whatever you ask. I will grant your every desire." She lowered her voice. "I will give you the secret to time travel and more. Name your price and I will pay it. Last night-"

Garrick cut her off with a downward gesture of his hand.

"Aye. last night the good father saved you, but do not believe that will happen again. I have plans for that meddlesome fool as well." Kendra shivered as she saw the promise in his cool gray eyes. "You will make good on your promise to me."

"Not unless you free Navarre," Kendra said, the palms of her hands suddenly clammy. "If you hang him, I'll die before I give you the secret of time travel-or my body."

The sheriff leaned back against the high-backed chair, a miniature of John's. He lifted one shoulder eloquently as he turned his attention back to the tourney field.

"Will you let Marian die too? And Magda? I think not. No, Navarre will die-he is too dangerous to let live-and your body will be mine, along with your mysterious secret."

"You can't do this," Kendra breathed, her fingers moving to grip the man's arm. "You can't let him die. He's your friend!"

"Was my friend." Garrick carefully unpried her hand and placed it back in her lap, giving it a proprietary pat. "You will find in life, my dear, that a friend is very much like a good horse. As long as he serves you well and faithfully, he is well treated. However, when he is no longer of any use to you, the most merciful thing you can do is put him out of his misery."

Kendra sat up suddenly straight, Garrick forgotten. A man dressed entirely in black, his face covered with a hood, had positioned Navarre and Robin in front of the first two nooses and now was dropping the knotted ropes over their heads. Her limbs moved of their own volition as she slowly stood, her heart thundering in her chest, seeming to keep time with the drums pounding the death knell across the tourney field.

"No," she whispered.

The hangman prodded the two men to step up on wooden boxes a foot high, then readjusted the ropes and glanced toward the pavilion.

"Are you ready, my lord?"' Garrick said to John.

"You are sure there can be no fear of reprisal?" John said, leaning toward the sheriff, his words low. He watched the gallows anxiously and Kendra saw, in (hat moment, how weak this would-be king really was.

"A goodly portion of his men await the gallows, my lord," Garrick assured the pretender to the throne. "The rest ran scampering into the forest like the cowards they are. Rest assured, there is nothing to fear."

"Very well, then," John said, sitting back and straightening his shoulders, "let it begin."

With an oily smile in Kendra's direction, Garrick raised his hand and brought it down savagely. In a matter of seconds, the boxes had been kicked from beneath the feet of the condemned men, leaving them to swing from the gallows pole.

"No!"

The cry was wrenched from Kendra as she stood, frozen, watching Navarre's body dangle from the rope. She screamed again and started down the steps to the field just as the chaos ensued. Suddenly the air was rent with shouts and curses as the crowd of Saxons outside the fence surged across the barrier and flooded the tourney field. The sound of swords clashing and arrows whizzing by rose up around Kendra, along with the tide of men, armed with daggers and clubs, wooden pitchforks and lit torches, swarming around the base of the pavilion, kept at bay only by the soldiers positioned there.

Kendra swayed, disoriented by the mob, feeling the precious moments tick by as she tried to push her way into the crushing throng. She couldn't see Navarre, so frenzied was the fighting. Looking desperately for help, she turned, then gasped and stumbled against one of the poles holding up the pavilion roof. With a cry, she tried to run into the crowd, but the sheriff grabbed her by the arm and jerked her back.

She fought him, knowing every second she spent struggling was a second of breath denied Navarre. Had anyone helped him? He was dying and she had to reach him. The sheriff slapped her savagely across the face and, like a wildcat protecting her young, Kendra attacked, clawing his face, kicking and biting as she tried desperately to get away, to reach Navarre. But Garrick's hands were like steel bands as he continued to hold her against him, parrying her blows. At last she stopped fighting and began to sob incoherently.

It was too late. Garrick lifted his fist above her and she waited for the blow to come, hoping it would kill her, hoping when she next opened her eyes it would be to find that at last she and Navarre would be where time was no longer a hindrance to their love. She prayed for the darkness to come quickly.

"Come, lovey," the old woman crooned, the long, tapered fingers gently combing through the auburn hair. "Ye must eat something."

Kendra ignored Magda's words and after a moment the priestess sighed and left her beside the stream alone. She stared idlely down at the tiny floating leaves being swept away by the slow-moving current of the brook, wishing her thoughts could be as easily swept away. It was sunset, the daylight fading quickly behind the trees of the forest. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore. Navarre was dead, and she wished she had died with him.

She didn't know what had happened back on the tourney field. Apparently there had been some kind of attempt to free Robin and his men, but it had failed. What had happened to Marian or Friar Tuck, she didn't know. She only knew that Navarre was dead, and Robin too, for she had seen him kicking at the end of his rope before the melee began. Navarre, Robin, dead, because of one man's evil. The hatred in her heart quickened and she touched the bruise at her temple, vowing silently once again to kill Garrick. She would find the right time and the right place and she would destroy his life as surely as he had destroyed Navarre's... and hers. The possibility of revenge was all that kept her alive these days.

"Ah, there you are, my dear. Daydreaming again, are we?"

Kendra looked up at Garrick, keeping the expression on her face carefully vacant, her eyes hollow. She had not spoken nor eaten since she had been knocked unconscious by Garrick, then awakened to find herself in a camp of sorts in the middle of a forest. Vaguely she recalled Garrick telling her that after the execution- her heart constricted at the thought-they would journey to find the wiseman, Cennach. Apparently, they were on their way.

"Come, come, do you intend to starve yourself to death?" Garrick said. He was his usual impeccable self, even when roughing it, she saw. His surcoat this time was a deep burgundy, trimmed with a wide geometric pattern in black, his under tunic also black, matching his ever-present black cloak.

Kendra shivered and pulled her own cloak more tightly around her, dreading the coming of the night and its freezing temperatures. She scrubbed absently at a spot on her gown, then realized how foolish her efforts were. Garrick had given her a more durable traveling dress of heather-gray wool, but it was already filthy. Her hand stopped moving against the gown and she sighed. What difference did it make?

Garrick knelt down beside her and distractedly, Kendra watched the disappearing sunlight play across his blond hair. Curious how some strands were white-blond and others honey-gold, she thought absently. Like the burnished colors on the back of a rattlesnake or a cobra, lovely and lethal.

Taking a deep breath, Kendra tried to refocus her attention on what the sheriff was saying. She found herself more and more slipping away to some inner world, away from the sharp pain of reality, a reality without Navarre.

"You will eat," Garrick ordered, "or I will make you wish you had. I have no desire to bed a scrawny wretch. Eat, or I promise Magda will suffer for your insolence."

He handed her a wooden bowl containing some kind of stew, along with a trencher, a sort of bread rather shaped like a spoon. With a sigh, Kendra took the bowl and dipped the crust of bread into the liquid, bringing the lukewarm food to her mouth. Garrick watched her chew for a moment, then cursing beneath his breath, turned and stomped to the other side of the campfire.

The mouthful of stew was difficult to chew, simply because it took too much energy. She was tired. Tired of living, she realized. What use was it, anyway, if everyone you ever loved was always taken away from you? What point in existing? She had found herself enshrouded in a depression so dark, so deep, that everything appeared gray. It felt as if she were encased in a tinted bubble, wrapped in a cotton haze, in full view of life's happenings, yet unable to reach out and touch the reality around her. Food had no flavor, color no beauty, life no joy. Navarre was dead. How could she go on without him?

Magda slipped up beside her just as she was setting aside the rest of her stew. Kendra drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, staring down at her leather boots as she waited for the woman to speak. She was unprepared for what Magda had to say.

"If there is a way, you must return to your own time," the old woman said softly.

Kendra sighed, wishing she would leave her alone. She wanted to lie down and sleep. The sun was setting and another long night lay ahead. So far, Garrick had kept his distance. But she knew that wouldn't last.

"Yes," she said wearily, "yes, I know."

"Nay, you do not know. The sorrow you feel over Navarre de Galliard's death is sharp, but whether he lives or no, you must needs return to your own time to prevent your own sorrowful death."

Kendra glanced back at her, her breath caught in her throat for a moment. "Have you seen something? Heard something? Is there any chance Navarre isn't..." her words faded away and she shook her head. "I saw him. I saw him hang. This is pointless. Garrick plans to kill me soon."

Magda sighed. "I fear the sheriff plans to keep ye quite alive." She stretched out one gnarly hand in front of her and opened the clenched fist. A rune lay there, the curious symbol catching the firelight. "And yet, death awaits ye if ye stay here."

"Without Navarre, what does it matter?" Kendra whispered.

"Does his babe that grows within ye matter?" Magda opened her other hand under Kendra's nose. Another rune lay there. Kendra jerked her head up, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Aye," the old woman said, her voice a mere whisper, "this rune says you bear his son. The other that you will both die in childbirth."

"No," Kendra said, her throat dry, her breath constricted there.

"Aye, yet there is still a chance. You must return to your own time."

Kendra couldn't speak for a moment. She spread one hand over her belly. Could it be true? Or was Magda using this ploy to give her a reason to live? She closed her eyes. Oh, but it would give her a reason to live. To bear Navarre's child, to have a part of him to keep, to be a part of her life forever. Mac would love him as much as she, and she would never let anything happen to him or let him forget what a wonderful man his father had been. She would watch him grow to be a strong young man with dark hair and golden eyes.

Kendra's throat closed convulsively as the grief rolled over her. Gasping, she fought down the bitter emotion, determined not to fall apart in front of the sheriff. She must remain cool and calm if there was any hope of escaping him. Kendra glanced toward the man furtively, hoping he had not seen her bout with anguish.

Garrick looked up just then, and caught her gaze upon him. He turned and she saw he had the gun in his hand. A squirrel twittered in a tree nearby and the sheriff turned and lifted the pistol, took aim, and fired. The little animal dropped to the ground. A bird was also dispatched before Garrick laughed and tucked the weapon away. Then he gave Kendra a long, meaningful look as he resumed his place beside the fire.

Kendra turned back to Magda, her grief now replaced by panic, her heart pounding with new fear as she pressed her fingers against her abdomen.

"Help me go back," she whispered. Reaching out, she took the runes from the woman's hand, her fingers curling around the ancient stone.

Navarre sat beside Robin of Locksley, feeling old and tired. With the help of Little John they had made it out of Nottingham and into a secret hiding place in Sherwood Forest. Once there, Locksley would not allow his right-hand man to tarry, or lend him aid. He sent him straightaway to find King Richard and warn him of Garrick's treachery and the assassin-or assassins-stalking him.

Navarre leaned his head in his hands and shivered as the memories of the morning flooded into his mind. There had been a moment after he felt the noose tighten around his neck that a sheer, suffocating panic had seized him and he had known with a certainty that he was going to die. As the rope bit into his throat, shutting off his air, his feet kicking wildly beneath him, he had reached up with his freed hands to save himself-but the knot stayed tight around his throat. As he struggled to loosen himself, he had thought of Kendra. How unfair that after all of his years of wandering, of loneliness, he had found his heart mate, only to have her snatched from him by his own death.

He had thrashed like a fish on a hook, raging silently against God and man, dying, when suddenly he felt Robin lifting him back to the fallen box and ripping the knot open that bound the noose around his neck. What followed next was a blur. He remembered Robin shouting, pushing him down, then he saw the outlaw fall, pierced by an arrow. He reached him somehow and managed to wrest his dead weight onto his back, then Little John had appeared and spirited them both away.

Once hidden away, Navarre had removed the arrow from Robin's shoulder and bandaged the wound. Now the outlaw lay sleeping as one dead for the past four hours as Navarre impatiently waited for him to awaken. Kendra and Marian were still in Nottingham and who knew what their fate had been after the condemned men escaped? He could only pray they were all right.

Navarre flexed his fists then knotted them again. Every fiber of his being commanded him to leave Robin, to hie himself back to Nottingham, but he could not. The wound was severe, and if left unattended, Locksley could die. Even if his own conscience would let him leave, which he doubted, his love for Kendra would not. She would hate him for letting Robin die. Robin had saved his life. He was bound to stay with him, trapped in Sherwood, while Kendra could be at Garrick's mercy.

By midnight Robin was burning with fever. Navarre had cleansed the festering wound in his shoulder and bound it, but the outlaw had soon after succumbed to a sweating delirium. Now he lay shivering convulsively and Navarre knew not what else to do. The knight had covered him with everything available, which wasn't much-a cloak Little John had brought, a change of clothing-then moved him as close to the fire as was safely possible. He feared every moment the fire would lead Garrick's men to them, even though he'd built it with green wood, cutting down on the smoke.

Navarre's own wound was beginning to pain him again, as well as the burn around his neck from the hangman's noose, but he ignored both, intent on saving Robin and controlling the mad urge he felt at every moment to fly back to Nottingham to find Kendra. Now, as Robin grew worse, he sighed, and, kneeling beside the outlaw, hesitantly did something he had done only once in the last two years. Crossing himself, he began to pray. The sudden sound of hoofbeats sent the murmured prayers for help from his lips as he peered out of the thicket, drawing the dagger he'd used for Robin's surgery.

Two horses skidded to a stop nearby and, to his astonishment, he saw Marian and Friar Tuck tumble off the backs of the mounts, looking frantically into the thicket.

"Robin!" Marian cried softly, taking a tentative step toward their hiding place. "Navarre! Are you there?"

Navarre sheathed his weapon and parted the thick bushes in front of him, rising to his full height, flexing his back as he did so. He'd not realized how cramped he had been inside the leafy cave.

"What in the name of Christendom are you doing here?" he said, his voice rough but his lips smiling in welcome relief.

"Navarre!" Marian threw herself against him. "Are you all right? Alan-a-Dale told us of this place. He thought Little John might have hidden you here. Is Robin all right? Where is he?"

"Calm down, little one." Navarre hugged her tightly, then pushed her away from him, bending slightly to meet her eyes, his hands on her shoulders. "Where is Kendra?"

Marian's blue eyes clouded. "The sheriff has taken her and Magda to find the wiseman, Cennach. He wants Kendra's power of traveling through time!"

Navarre straightened. "Yes, I know. Thank God the two of you are here. I dared not leave Robin in the condition he is in but-"

With a cry, Marian dove through the bushes behind him and Navarre was left facing the priest, who smiled at him wearily.

"Will he live?" he asked, his hands folded across his tattered brown robe.

"I know not," Navarre confessed. "But now that Marian is here he will have a better chance. She is very skilled in the healing arts. I must go, immediately. Which way did Garrick go?"

"South. But wait, my son. There is something you must know. Little John did not reach the king to warn him. I have brought you his sword."

Navarre stopped in his striding toward the horses and spun back, his gaze flashing down to the weapon in the Friar's hands. "He did not? What happened?"

Tuck's voice rose, his wide brow furrowed with worry.

"Word has come to us that not ten miles from here he was thrown from his horse. He has broken his leg and cannot make the journey. Robin must be told."

"He is in no condition to be told anything."

"Navarre!" The cry came from the thicket, ragged and hoarse.

Navarre and the priest exchanged glances, then headed into the thicket. The knight would not kneel next to Robin as Tuck was doing, but stood over him, his arms crossed firmly over his chest.

"You heard?"

Robin nodded. "Navarre-"

The knight lifted one hand to stop his words. "I know what you ask and I cannot. You know I must ride after Kendra. Marian says she has been taken from Nottingham by the sheriff. Her life is in danger." He started to turn but was stopped by the sheer desperation he saw on Robin's face.

"Navarre, you must."

With a sigh, Navarre dropped to one knee, meeting the man on his level. "Listen to me," he said softly, "you are asking me to risk the life of the woman I love."

"Aye." The outlaw nodded weakly. "But has it not been her quest to make sure Richard lives? This is what Marian has told me. And I will send men after the sheriff and Kendra." He reached one hand out weakly and encircled Navarre's wrist. "You must save Richard-and England."

"If the sheriff learns the secret of time travel there will be no England to save," Navarre argued. "Stopping him must take priority. Besides, do you not remember that I am the man who wants to stop Richard? I fear you are delirious."

"You were wrong about Richard, at least insofar as he did not order Talam's death. You turned your back on your king, your friend, without ever giving him even a chance to defend himself. You plotted treason and murder against him."

Navarre swallowed hard as a lump formed in his throat and the outlaw covered one of his rough hands with his own and squeezed, his fevered gaze burning up at him.

"But in the dungeon I saw that you are still Navarre de Galliard, knight of the realm. I am giving you this chance to restore your honor. Save Richard, swear your fealty anew to him, and all will be well."

Navarre hesitated, then shook his head. "I do not know if I can."

"I will make sure Kendra is not harmed," Robin said, his fingers biting into Navarre's arm once again.

"She must return to her own time soon and I must be there when she does."

"I will make certain she delays her leaving until you return," Robin promised.

Navarre ran one hand through his hair in frustration. "Magda said the transference between our times must happen soon. I cannot journey to Normandy and beyond and return in time."

"Richard will die if you do not go."

Navarre rose, feeling the knowledge of his duty to the man who had saved his life tighten around his chest. "Send Alan instead," he said, turning away from Robin, his shoulders tense. "Or the friar."

"Does your honor truly mean so little?" Robin pushed himself up on his elbows and began to cough, grimacing as the pain shook him. Then he lay back, spent. "Alan is a minstrel, not a warrior. Tuck is too old and fat. Sorry, Father."

"You only speak the truth my son," Tuck said with a smile.

"I need you, Navarre, your strength, your ability, your sword."

"I doubt I can even lift a sword," Navarre said quietly.

Robin did not answer and the silence stretched tautly between them.

Navarre could not refuse and keep what little honor he had left. Robin knew it. and Navarre cursed the man silently for using that sense of duty against him.