"Very well," he said at last. He turned and saw Marian shrink back from the fire in his gaze, knew the mask of anger now settled there frightened her as it once had frightened Kendra. He did not care. "I shall journey to find Richard and I shall save him. Then my debt to you is paid, Locksley, and our bond, brief as it has been, will once again be broken."

He stalked out of the thicket, toward the horses Marian and Tuck had ridden. With a start, he recognized his own horse, Kamir, outfitted in his familiar black saddle and bridle. Marian must have somehow managed to steal him back from the sheriff. He rushed to the stallion, ashamed at the leap of pure joy he experienced as he smoothed his old friend's mane. Pulling himself weakly into the saddle, he leaned down and patted the horse's neck, then straightened, tossing his hair back from his face, feeling his own strength return as he drew from the strength of the horse beneath him.

"We shall ride, Kamir," he said, staring with unseeing eyes into the forest. "We shall ride like the winds in the deserts of Outremer, and God willing, we shall save the king. But I will not leave her in the hands of Garrick, not for Locksley, not for Richard, not for honor, not for England herself."

Chapter Fifteen.

The sheriff and his entourage crossed yet another river. Each mile covered seemed like a hundred to Kendra. Her horse had been equipped with a sidesaddle at first, but she had protested so violently that Garrick had finally ordered a different saddle placed on the mount. Now she wondered if riding sidesaddle would have been any easier on her posterior. Riding with her skirts hiked up was no picnic either. Goosebumps stood up on her legs like tiny mountains and she shivered constantly both from the cold and from the leering grins the sheriff gave her exposed flesh. She soon resolved that as soon as possible she would beg, borrow or steal a pair of leggings to cover her bareness.

Wearily she tried to endure what seemed sometimes to be an endless pace as they rode, often four or five hours at a time without a break. There was too much time in which to think and Navarre's death rose up before her, sending a tight hand to constrict her heart and undermine her strength. The only thing that kept her going was Magda's prophecy about the baby. The priestess, whether her prediction was true or not, had given her a new reason to live and a strong incentive to find a way back to the twentieth century.

She would return to her own time, find her life there again with her baby. This time she wouldn't be so foolish, she wouldn't risk her life on newspaper stories, she would use her time wisely, make more friends, raise her son. She would relegate this strange and mystical episode in her life to a closed chamber of her heart and mind and never think on it again.

But when their son was older, she would tell him, somehow, of his father, though she wondered how she could make him understand. It would be like telling him a fairy tale and saying it was true.

Now she not only wanted to return to her own time, she was anxious to do so. She had no desire to give birth in the twelfth century and if Magda's prophecies were to be believed, to do so would mean her death. There was still enough of the skeptic in Kendra to doubt the validity of the old woman's words, but if she did that would mean she might not be pregnant either, and that would mean she had lost every part of Navarre forever. It was another week before her cycle was due. Then she would know. Until then, she had to believe Magda spoke the truth. She had to.

According to Magda, during one of their cautiously whispered conferences late at night, Cennach had spent his life studying the strange circles that appeared from time to time in England. He lived secluded in a cavelike dwelling deep within a wooded valley, which the priestess had assured a tired and grumpy Garrick, they would reach that day.

When Kendra had pressed Magda about Cennach, who he was, where he came from, she had grown uncomfortable and would only say that all would be revealed when they arrived at the Wiseman's home. Now, as Kendra rubbed the ache at the base of her spine, she wished it could all be over, whatever lay ahead. Weariness seemed to be settling into her bones like a living entity. She was sick of dirt and filth, sick of dodging arrows and swords, sick of leaping from one harrowing experience to another.

One corner of her mouth curved up ruefully. Wouldn't Uncle Mac love to hear that, she thought. It had taken a trip back in time where she had been thrown in a dungeon, accused of being a witch, almost killed numerous times by crazy knights and sheriffs, to bring her around. She had no greater desire in life now than to live in peace and raise Navarre's child. Her hand crept to her belly as Garrick called out for the caravan to start moving again.

Suppose she couldn't return to her own time, and suppose Magda was wrong and she and her son didn't die in childbirth?

She couldn't imagine letting her child grow up in this backward, archaic time. Not without Navarre. It was one thing to visit medieval England, quite another to raise a family there. True, she had entertained the thought of having a baby with Navarre and staying in the past with him, but now that the fantasy had become a cold reality, she knew she couldn't, certainly not without Navarre. But she might not have a choice. If Cennach couldn't help her return to the twentieth century she was stuck here, doomed to give birth in these primitive conditions. Her throat constricted and Kendra shut her eyes, willing the tears not to flow.

"Old woman!"

Garrick's voice came from in front of them. Magda pulled back on her horse's reins and Kendra followed suit, halting the golden gelding she'd been given to ride. The gold had reminded her of Navarre's eyes and she had wept the first day over its mane when Garrick wasn't looking. She patted the horse's neck, murmuring quiet encouragement as the sheriff thundered back to them and drew his white stallion up a scant few inches away from them.

"How much farther?" he demanded, his blond hair lying flat and oily upon his brow. "Where is this Cennach? I begin to doubt that he even exists. And if I find that he does not-"

"Just over this rise in the valley," Magda said. "But I must go ahead and warn Cennach, so that our welcome may be assured."

"One of the guards will go with you," Garrick said, his horse prancing beneath him, as though he sensed his master's impatience.

Magda shook her head. "If Cennach sees soldiers he will simply disappear, melt away, and we will never find him. I give you my word that I will return. Do you think I would leave Kendra in jeopardy?"

Garrick's gaze swept over the woman, hesitant, evaluating, then at last he waved her on. "Very well. I will allow you a quarter hour's lead and then we will follow. You will return to meet us and show us the way to his dwelling, or I will kill her."

Magda inclined her head, then shot Kendra a look of encouragement before turning her horse in the direction of the rise, and kicking it into a gallop. She disappeared over the top of the hill and Kendra felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. What if the woman didn't come back? What if she simply escaped into the forest, never to be seen again? She swallowed hard, willing the bile in her throat to subside. The caravan moved on, and Kendra's heart began to pound painfully.

The next few moments would decide her fate. Would Magda lead them to Cennach, who could help her return to her own time? And if she did, would the sheriff really allow her to make that journey? Worst of all, would Garrick be able to travel through time to the future, then bring back advanced weapons of war that would make him not simply England's king, but the world's?

Navarre, Navarre! her heart cried, the sorrow piercing her anew. If only you were here you wouldn't let this happen. You would stop Garrick.

After fifteen minutes Garrick gave the signal and they thundered across the English countryside, heath and gorse kicked up beneath the hooves of the horses. In the distance Kendra could see what had, in her time, been waving fields of wheat and barley like those at Avebury, and was struck with a sudden sense of deja vu, as well as a wave of despair. How could she ever hope to return to her own time? Crop circles were anomalies-there was no way anyone could know where one would form next. It was impossible. She was doomed to die giving birth in medieval England.

Cut it out, O'Brien, her stronger, inner voice commanded. Granted, you haven't been in a situation like this before, but you've been in some tough ones. You know about hygiene, things that could result in a safer childbirth. You'll make it, somehow, and don't forget, Marian is still your friend. If she's okay, she'll help you if you can get back. Richard will return to England and he'll be so grateful that you helped his ward he'll want to reward you.

The thought of King Richard being grateful to someone like her brought an amused smile to Kendra's face. It faded quickly as a shout suddenly rang out. Ahead, Garrick held up one hand for the group to stop and Kendra sighed with relief when she saw the approaching rider was Magda. She pressed her knees into the gelding's side and moved quickly through the entourage of guards and supply wagons to Garrick's side.

"He is here," the old woman said breathlessly, "and he is quite anxious to speak with both of you. He makes one condition-the guards must remain here."

Kendra glanced at Garrick, expecting an angry protest, and was surprised when the sheriff smiled, then threw his head back and laughed, the fine tendrils of short blond hair dancing in the breeze.

"Of course, I am quite capable of protecting myself." He patted his side and Kendra saw the bulge there that meant he still had the gun. There had to be some way to get the pistol away from Garrick, some way to stop his evil plan. Before she could think further, Garrick reached over and grabbed the bit of her horse's bridle, pulling her abruptly after him. They hurried over the last few yards of open country and went into the twisted forest that lay before them.

Chapter Sixteen.

Navarre crossed the river Trent riding hard. He pushed himself for several days, hardly stopping to allow himself or Kamir a draught of water. He could find Kendra on his way to Normandy, he reasoned, save her from Garrick, and still keep his word to Robin. The thought possessed him as he raced across England, pausing at every inn and tavern to inquire if anyone had seen the sheriff and his entourage. Few had, but occasionally a word would come-the tale of a glimpse of a woman's auburn hair, or the sighting of an old crone-that would send him in a different direction.

The trail twisted farther and farther south toward Northampton, which led him also toward London and a ship that would take him to Normandy and Richard. By the fourth day he had lost the trail. He'd heard nothing about an auburn-haired woman in the last day's ride, and he was exhausted. At last Navarre succumbed to his body's needs and sought out the nearest inn. He took a room and tossed the innkeeper a whole crown in return for fresh clothing and a hot bath. The bath turned out to be tepid, the clothing worn, but when the knight finished his ablutions and had eaten a meal of hot mutton and potatoes that wasn't half bad, he felt almost himself again. He headed downstairs to the tavern for an ale, and hopefully, conversation that would lead him to Kendra.

He pulled up the hood of the brown cloak he had taken from Robin in the forest, letting it partially conceal his face. It was an odd garment, edged with green Celtic knots, delicately embroidered. He'd never seen the like and thought absently that it must have cost Robin quite a penny. He looked covertly around, wondering whom he should approach and casually bring the talk around to any strangers who might have passed that way.

The customers were a dirty lot, but better than the usual grade of filth found in a place like this, he acknowledged. His gaze roamed over them-a smithy, his hands black, his well-muscled arms stretching the fabric of his shirt; a number of serfs, grubby, toothless; two whores plying their trade; and a drunken priest snoring in the corner.

Besides these, there were farmers and the general riffraff a tavern attracted. Navarre had just about decided to approach the blacksmith when the innkeeper set a large mug of ale down in front of him and bent down with a conspiratorial wink.

"Didn't recognize ye at first, guv'nor," he whispered. Navarre stiffened and his right hand went to the sword he had laid on the bench within easy reach. "Then I saw yer cloak. 'Tis only one who wears that cloak. Sir Robin, how may I assist ye?"

Navarre stared up at the man blankly, then his face split into a welcoming smile. The knight leaned away from the fetid breath of the man and studied his eager companion, marveling at how the mere presence of Robin's cloak could inspire such enthusiasm. When he went upstairs later, it was to sleep his first real sleep in a week. Kendra and the sheriff had been sighted. They had stopped at this very inn to water their horses just the day before and a servant boy had overheard that they were on their way to Coventry. Now as he lay on the thin mattress the innkeeper had provided, he smiled at the thought of the loyalty shown him purely on the basis of Robin Hood's cloak. How Locksley would love hearing this story. His smile faded as he remembered that his newfound friendship with the outlaw was over, destroyed by his demands on Navarre's honor. His mouth hardened. He was breaking that word of honor even now as he pursued Kendra instead of heading directly for Normandy.

If Richard died, would Kendra hate him for not stopping the assassin in order to save her? It seemed to mean so much to her, this "preserving of history," and perhaps she was right.

It did not take a man of knowledge to know that even a small thing changed must have repercussions upon those things around it. And the death of the king of England was not a small thing. He closed his eyes. Neither was his love for Kendra O'Brien. He would find her tomorrow, he vowed, then he would save Richard.

Kendra dismounted thankfully, pulling her long skirt free of the saddle horn, ignoring the tearing sound as it caught. They had arrived at the dwelling place of Cennach, the wise. Magda had met them as promised, and led them deep into the forest until they came to a hill rising unexpectedly out of a clearing. Cennach's home blended so smoothly into the surrounding terrain that Kendra had been amazed to see the hillside they approached broken by the presence of a brown wooden door, a window, and a chimney. Upon closer inspection she realized that a round, sod-type house had been built into the side of a small hill. Part of the living space appeared to be within the hill itself and, as Kendra stared at the dwelling, she knew, with a start of amazement, that she was looking at a medieval underground house.

A box filled with bright red flowers made a splash of color beneath the window, and across the 'roofline' was a profusion of English ivy, disguising where the entryway left off and the hill began. The home was nicely camouflaged and were it not for the window box and its bright companions, it would indeed be difficult to find the place, were you not looking for it. But the oddest thing about Cennach's home was the circle of large, neolithic rocks surrounding it. Kendra recognized them as being similar to the one she had hidden behind in Wiltshire so long ago as she waited to photograph a crop circle.

Now she stepped around one of the huge stones, gazing up at it in awe, half afraid to get too close to it. There was something about this place that made her feel uneasy. She glanced around, trying to put her finger on what it was, and could not. There was an aura, a feeling permeating this place, as though fairies watched them from beneath tiny toadstools, and invisible forces waited to see if the intruders meant to do good or evil. She shivered and drew her cloak more firmly about her.

Magda walked ahead of them and paused beside one of the circle stones, then motioned for them to come forward, her gray hair rising to waft about her face in a soft wind that suddenly swept across the sheltered glen.

Kendra licked her lips and took a deep breath. She didn't believe in magic or voodoo, at least, she hadn't before a sorcerous storm had sent her back in time. Now she prepared herself for anything, for she was not certain that whoever, or whatever, they were about to encounter, was even of this world.

Magda stepped up to the door in the side of the structure and knocked loudly. "Cennach, Fad saol agat. Long life to you."

Garrick stood silently next to Kendra as the door slowly opened. A tall, broad-shouldered man walked out, clad in a rough brown woolen shift, a heather-gray blanket thrown around his shoulders for a cloak. White hair swept his shoulders and keen green eyes looked out of a face lined with years and wisdom. His gaze fell on Kendra and his mouth dropped open.

"D'ar m'anam," he said softly. "By my soul."

"You," Kendra took a tentative step forward. "It's you-Professor." Her lips parted in a relieved smile, then she frowned. "But this is impossible," she said, "you were only in your fifties when you disappeared."

"You know one another?" Garrick asked, watching her carefully.

Kendra caught herself, realizing what a foolish blunder she had made. "No," she said in what she hoped was a convincing voice. "Of course not. I beg your pardon, sir, I mistook you for someone else."

Garrick looked at her suspiciously for a moment then turned and bowed low before the older man, spreading his hands apart respectfully. "We thank you, wise Cennach, for allowing us to come and seek your counsel."

Cennach had composed himself as soon as Kendra denied knowing him, and now gave his full attention to the impatient sheriff. His dark green eyes swept over Garrick. Kendra could see him evaluating the man, weighing him, discerning his character and drawing the right, dreadful conclusion.

"Come in," he said at last, with a small bow in a general direction. "You have come a great distance."

Kendra followed Garrick, Magda, and Cennach into the house, her mind whirling. Professor Ian McKay had been one of her favorite teachers in college, a master physicist whose class she had taken by accident. He had convinced her not to drop out, promising to help her through the necessary math, and she had found the experience riveting and mind-broadening.

Now, as she watched the elderly man lead them into the interior of the sod house to a cheerful kitchen, well lit by some sort of skylight in the ceiling, she wondered how it could possibly be the same person. Ian MacKay had been in his late forties or early fifties when he disappeared. This man had to be seventy. Was it just a coincidence? A look-alike from the past? No, he had recognized her just as she had recognized him, of that she was certain.

Cennach moved around the kitchen quite gracefully for such a large man, she noted, handing out curious wooden cups and bowls, pouring out wine and spooning up stew. A crude, rectangular table sat on the dirt floor, with benches on either side. He gestured for everyone to sit and eat. Kendra suddenly realized she'd not eaten since early morning and it was now the middle of the afternoon. Kendra and Magda took seats on either side of where Cennach sat at the head of the small table and ate their stew silently. Garrick took his bowl and stood near the doorway, consuming his meal quickly as he glanced furtively out the opening from time to time.

Kendra frowned at him. Was he worried someone would find them? If so, why hadn't he brought the guards along? And who was left to even rescue them, she thought sorrowfully. Marian, perhaps? Her stomach twisted and suddenly the smell of the stew made her feel queasy. Kendra pushed the bowl away as grief, sharp and unbidden, stabbed through her. Cennach fastidiously cleaned the last of his stew with a hunk of bread, then set the bowl aside and steepled his hands together in front of him.

"Now, how may I be of assistance?" he said softly.

Kendra opened her mouth, then closed it. There was no mistaking that soft, slightly Scottish voice. It was Ian McKay!

"Magda has told me a little about your situation, milady," he said, in the same calm tones she remembered from college, his eyes warning her to play along.

"Magda tells us you know the secret of traveling to other times," Garrick said, striding over from the doorway and standing beside Cennach. "I will pay you well to share that information with me."

Cennach barely granted the sheriff the courtesy of an upward glance before turning back to Kendra. "That is yet another discussion," he said. "First I must hear the lady's request."

"I'm afraid it's really the same as the sheriffs," she said, shifting uncomfortably on the bench, "although for quite different motives," she added, darting an angry look toward Garrick. "I went to England to find a man named Ian McKay who had disappeared while doing an experiment concerning crop circles. I went to investigate. While I watted at the site of the crop circle, a terrible storm arose. I was caught in it and knocked unconscious. When I awoke, I was here, in the past. That's the short version, if you catch my drift."

Cennach had begun nodding his head and she saw that a subdued excitement had him in its grip. "Aye, your story is similar to-" he broke off, then smiled and continued "-to others I have heard."

"You mean it is possible?" Garrick said, leaning forward, his gray eyes feverishly bright. "She is telling the truth? How do you know?"

Cennach rose and moved away from the table, his brown robe flowing freely behind him. He stood with his back to them for a moment, then turned, and Kendra flashed back to her college days when McKay had taken center stage, then paused before telling some fascinating fact of science to his class. She felt the same familiar awe now as he began to speak.

"I know because I am a seer, a man of knowledge." The lines around his mouth deepened slightly as his lips curved up.

"But not a witch," Garrick said hastily. "Magda said you were not a witch or a sorcerer."

"No, I am not a practitioner of witchcraft or druidism. I have, however, seen strange things, my Lord Sheriff, things you cannot possibly comprehend. There is such a thing as time travel. Now, you may believe me, or not."

"Aye," Garrick nodded thoughtfully, "but you must admit, 'tis a fanciful story."

"Fancy is sometimes confused with reality, I agree, but at times reality is not granted enough possibility of fancy."

"Cennach," Kendra began, not wanting to talk in front of the sheriff but seeing no other choice, "is there any way for me to return home?"

"Perhaps."

"I told her that if anyone could help her, it would be you," Magda said, patting Kendra's hand.

"And what of me?" Garrick broke in, jumping to his feet. "I must know the secret! All of England depends upon it!"

Cennach swept him a disdainful look. "I doubt that, my lord. As a matter of fact, I daresay England would be destroyed if men begin jumping through time, pursuing their own objectives."

The animation left Garrick's face and his hand closed around the sword at his side. Kendra heard the now all too familiar sound of metal against metal, as the sheriff drew a dagger from a short scabbard at his waist, next to his sword. He held the tip of the weapon just beneath Cennach's chin.

"I am willing to pay well for the information," Garrick said, his fingers tense around the hilt. "However, I am also willing to mete out punishment if you should refuse."

"Your threats do not frighten me," Cennach said, his face stoically composed. "I am an old man. Death holds no terror for me."

"I wonder if this young woman shares your sentiment?" Garrick asked, his handsome face wrinkling into a mocking smile. "Despite the death of her lover, I fear she desires to continue her life, in her own time. A pity." He dropped the sword from Cennach's throat then reached out and grabbed Kendra by the nape of the neck and pulled her from her seat.

She cried out as the wooden chair toppled sideways, scraping her leg, then gasped as the sheriff jerked her against him and lifted the blade to her throat.

"It would, indeed, be a pity for her life to be ended," Cennach said. Kendra swallowed hard as she saw the regret in her teacher's eyes. He wouldn't give this evil man the secret of time travel, she knew it with a certainty. Not even if it meant both their lives. Her eyelids fluttered shut as his next words confirmed her thoughts. "But I cannot tell you."

"Such a pity, especially since she carries a child." Magda gasped and the sheriff turned Kendra toward her, one arm around her waist, the other still holding the dagger. "Ah yes, my dear witch, there is little I do not know. Since I was a child, surrounded by fear and intrigue, I found I could more nearly predict the actions of my dear stepmother if I watched what she said to other people when she thought I wasn't around. Your private conversations were not always as private as you thought, my dear. Nor has your ailing stomach gone unnoticed."

"Your stepmother was an evil woman," Magda said, moving to his side, one gnarled hand on his sleeve. "She practiced the black arts and was well known to those of us who did not. Can you not see, my Lord Sheriff, that her wickedness has warped your outlook, given you a distorted sense of right and wrong?"

"Aye, you may be correct," Garrick said, "and who better to know than a fellow witch?" He turned, and without warning, plunged the dagger into Magda's chest, then wrenched it free as she sank to the floor, the front of her gown quickly turning crimson.

Kendra screamed and struggled futilely against the sheriff. The pumping blood was a sure sign a major artery had been pierced.

"Let me help her!" she cried. "In the name of God, let me help her!"

"Ah, but that would defeat the purpose, would it not?" Garrick said. "And God has very little to do with it."

Cennach hurried to kneel at the old woman's side. He pressed his hand against the wound, but even before he looked up at Kendra and shook his head she knew it was too late. He held Magda in his arms as the last of her life's blood ebbed away.

"Bastard!" Kendra screamed. "Heartless, wicked bastard!" Garrick brought the dagger back to her throat and she choked back further words, sobbing brokenly.

"Interesting, do you not think, that the great prophetess could not see her own death approaching." He chuckled, then gestured toward her broken body. "Take her outside." Garrick commanded. "I cannot bear the stench of death."

"Amazing, since it follows you like an obedient hound," Cennach said harshly. With a sigh, he picked Magda's lifeless body up in his arms and carried her outside. In a moment he was back, his green eyes flashing with anger.

"I would never help you now," Cennach said, his voice tight with control. "Do you think I would give a monster like you such power?"