He dismissed first one idea and then another, and in the end decided the best course of action was to find Garrick first. If he couldn't find the sheriff, he would find a way to get as close to the king as possible and add his guard to those he knew would be surrounding Richard. If Garrick used the gun there would be no way to protect the king. He could fire from a distance and never be caught, for who would believe that a small object could send death from so far away? He must find the sheriff and put an end to the threat against the Lionheart without revealing himself to the king, if at all possible. He had no doubt that Richard had received full reports about Navarre's traitorous activities since their days together in Outremer.

Navarre made it to Canterbury on a chilly April evening, just before sunset. As crowded as London, an aura of celebration permeated the city and its streets. Wearily he searched for a place to rest, to prepare himself for what was to come. As evening faded into night, his weariness became more pronounced and his temper more frayed as one inn after another turned him away. Boarding establishments were filled to overflowing as dignitaries and nobles rushed to find a place to stay for the festivities that would begin the next day and continue for the rest of the week, culminating in the crowning of the king.

Frustrated, hungry and exhausted, Navarre finally rode Kamir to the outskirts of the city and found a quiet glen where he rolled himself in his cloak and tried to sleep. But sleep would not come to him. He stared up at the stars. Would Kendra hate him for abandoning her? He would not blame her if she did, and yet, she herself had urged him almost from the moment they first met to save Richard. He tossed restlessly on the hard ground as other probing questions pressed against his brain until at last he sat up. and allowed the thoughts and questions free rein.

Kendra was right of course, about returning to her own lime. She did not belong here and would find life extremely difficult. If they had children together, she would no doubt watch at least one or two of them die, from disease or complications at birth. His chest tightened. She could die herself. It was a hard life, no doubt about it. The events of Richard's coronation day would, perhaps, make it even harder. He knew that it was possible he would be killed, either by Garrick or Richard's men.

How would Kendra live if he were not there to protect her? Would she end up in the streets, some toothless wench plying her trade? He shuddered and shook the thought away. No, Kendra was right, but dear God how hard it was! How he wanted to share his life with her, have children with her, grow old with her.

He raked one hand across the stubbly beard he'd not taken time to scrape away during his frantic journey across England. Another man would do these things, he thought, feeling suddenly empty. Kendra was young, beautiful. She would have no trouble finding a husband. Navarre closed his eyes against the image. Someone else marrying Kendra, his Kendra, combing her auburn hair, kissing her peach-colored lips. Someone else siring her babies.

His eyes flew open and with an oath he flung his cloak away from him and stood, wishing impotently for something to fight against besides this terrible sense of loss plaguing him. He clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace back and forth. There had to be a way. She wanted him to go with her to her own time. He had been thinking of it, during the days and nights of his journey, had considered it long and hard and had come to the conclusion that, after all, Navarre de Galliard was a coward. The thought of traveling through time, of journeying to a far and distant future, frightened him more than any battle he had ever faced, any foe he had ever fought.

Somehow he must convince her to stay with him. Kendra was his. He would not give her up. If they lost children-He felt a quick thrust of unfamiliar pain in his heart and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, fighting the emotions assailing him. Regaining control, he opened his eyes and lifted his chin. If she lost any children, there would be others. He would give her as many as she could bear.

And if she died giving birth? A voice echoed in his mind. Then what? He brushed the thought away. It would not happen. He would not let it happen. If, however, he did not return in time to stop her from leaving, he would lose her forever. He must fulfill his promise to Robin and hurry back to convince Kendra she must stay in the past with him. Resolutely he lay back down on the ground, and pulling the thick cloak up to his neck, he willed himself to sleep.

Chapter Nineteen.

While Marian snored softly in the bedroom they shared, Kendra raided Cennach's chest and found some old clothing that must have belonged to the man when he was younger and thinner. She slipped a pair of brown leggings and a matching tunic on and, after rummaging a little further, found a short, muddy-colored cloak and hood such as she had seen common people wear. She donned those, too along with a belt made from a kind of twine. Pausing in the next room only long enough to snatch a loaf of bread from Cennach's cupboard, tiptoed between the sleeping friar and professor and made her way silently out the door.

Rosy with dawn, the promise of the rising sun warmed the tops of the trees and belied the chill clinging to the ground. Kendra shivered as she found her horse. The gelding had been unsaddled by someone-Friar Tuck most likely-and now had to be resaddled. Kendra surveyed the animal through narrowed eyes. She had done a little riding in college and when she was a kid in Texas, but it had been a long time since she had saddled a horse. Still, there was no alternative. She couldn't ride such a long distance bareback.

After several false starts, Kendra managed to get the leather and wooden apparatus on her horse's back and fastened it under its belly, tightening it as much as possible, though the way the animal puffed and blew, it was hard to tell if the girth was right or not. Finally, Kendra gave up and left it as it was. Tying the supplies she'd gathered securely behind the saddle, she swung her leather satchel over her shoulder and, untying the reins, guided the golden horse into the forest. There she found a fallen tree and used it to pull herself up into the saddle.

It shifted with her weight and she eased herself back the other direction, wondering if she should get off and try to re-cinch the thing. The sun made up her mind as it pierced suddenly through the treetops and darted into her eyes. There was no time left. If she were going after Navarre, she'd better be on her way.

Aware that by leaving she might also be giving up her chance to return to her own time, Kendra gazed back over her shoulder at Cennach's home, took a deep breath, and turned the horse toward Canterbury, and Navarre.

The baby was perfect. His hair was soft and fuzzy, dark like Navarre's, his eyes the blue of the English sky. Marian handed the child to her, wrapped in a soft blanket, and Kendra cradled the tiny infant to her breast. His mouth opened and closed like a baby bird's and minute, porcelain fingers curled around her index one as she gazed down at the precious gift she held.

The pain struck unexpectedly, piercing her in the lower abdomen. She doubled over and someone snatched the baby from her arms. She couldn't see for some reason and the pain struck again, bringing more darkness.

"My baby!" site cried, clutching her belly with one hand and reaching out with the other. "Give me back my baby!"

"Your baby is dead," a strange voice murmured next to her. "You killed it."

"No! Kendra tried to get up but the pain brought her hack down. Rough hands encircled her arms and shook her savagely. At last she could see. Someone in a dark cloak was taking her baby away. He turned and smiled back at her. Garrick. Garrick had her baby. Where was Navarre? Navarre would stop him! Kendra groped in the darkness that came crashing down over her once again. Navarre was gone. Navarre had gone to save the king. Navarre had left her and their baby to die."

"Navarre!" The scream was torn from her throat and someone shoved her backward. She couldn't move. Her limbs were numb. She was dying and her baby was gone.

Kendra awoke, cold sweat beaded above her lips and trickling down between her breasts. Her breath felt frozen in her lungs, caught by the vivid vision of losing her child. She had ridden hard for three days after leaving Cennach's, sleeping wherever she could find a place at night, driving herself onward during the day until she could go no farther without falling off the saddle in sheer exhaustion.

This night she had searched for somewhere safe to lie down and sleep, but the forest had thinned and there was no usual hedgerow or dell where she could hide herself from the human and animal mauraders that roamed about when the sun went down. Dozing on her horse's back, her mount must have smelled water, for she had awakened suddenly to find that they had stopped beside a clear stream within a wooded glen, a perfect place to camp for the night.

Kendra had wrapped her cloak around her aching body and as was her usual custom, climbed the nearest tree and cradled herself between the twisted tree branches, hoping her baby wouldn't be born with "rockabye baby in a treetop" as his favorite lullaby. She'd fallen into a deep sleep until the dream, and the pain, had jerked her back to consciousness. Now she slid down from her perch above the ground, the pain in her lower abdomen doubling her over. Shivering uncontrollably, Kendra checked herself for the telltale symptom of blood and, finding none, gulped back the sobs threatening to overpower her.

Was she losing her child? Had she endangered her baby by her breakneck trip across country? Of course she had-she was a fool! But her heart jumped to her defense. How could she have done otherwise? She couldn't have simply let Robin go after Navarre thinking he meant to kill Richard. But now what if she couldn't find Navarre? What if Robin found him first? And what if she missed the portal of time and was trapped in this century where she was destined to die in childbirth, and Navarre's child with her?

The eruption of pain burst forth from her in great gulping sobs as her hands protectively pressed against her belly, the helplessness of her situation encompassing her.

"Don't do this," she whispered to herself between the racking cries shaking her. "Don't give in. Be strong. Navarre's life depends on it, your life-"

"And Richard's life?"

The deep voice came at her from behind. Kendra froze, then slowly turned her head to search the darkness, her heart pounding. Garrick? She could see no one. The trees grew thickly here but still the moonlight danced in spots across the glen. Kendra couldn't stand, but she managed to pull herself to a sitting position to face her adversary, fists clenched, hair streaming down her back, unbound by the hard journey.

"I knew I should've gone straight to grandma's house," she muttered under her breath, then gasped as another pain ripped through her.

"Kendra, it is you, is it not?"

Kendra's breath left her in a sudden surge of relief as she recognized the second sound of the voice and a tall man stepped out from behind a tree. "Robin? Robin, is that you? Oh, thank God, thank God." She began to cry again as the outlaw crossed to her side, kneeling beside her. A stray beam of moonlight illuminated his bruised face and Kendra reached up instinctively to touch him, then curled her fingers into the front of his tunic for support. She felt suddenly faint.

"'Are you mad?" he demanded. "Do you risk the life of your child in this reckless manner? What say you?"

"I had to come," she said brokenly, clinging to him and hating the weakness in her that required it. "Thank goodness I found you in time. You misunderstood me, Navarre is not going to kill Richard with the weapon I brought back from the future." Robin didn't respond and her hands slid up to his shoulders. She shook him as hard as she could. "Do you hear me?" she shouted, forcing him to look at her. "Navarre is not going to kill the king. Garrick has the gun and Navarre has gone to stop him!" She collapsed against the outlaw and felt the long shuddering breath of relief escape his lungs.

"Aye," he said softly, smoothing her hair and patting her on the back. "I hear you. I am relieved to hear you say so, for I had no desire to kill Navarre."

"Or be killed by him," Kendra mumbled against his chest.

He chuckled. "So sure are you that your hero would best me?" He shrugged. "Aye, well perhaps you're right. I should not have dashed away so hastily without speaking with you further. No damage done, thank God, so rest now, and tomorrow we will find Navarre-and Richard."

"What about Garrick?"

"Garrick as well. Now rest you."

"Robin, I..." she shivered again and he leaned toward her, concern wreathed on his face.

"Are you all right, Kendra? Are you ill?"

"It's the baby," Kendra said, a catch in her voice, "I'm afraid I'm losing the baby. But I couldn't let Navarre die. I couldn't."

"Shh," he whispered, shifting to lean against a large tree trunk nearby and pulling her against him. She hesitated only momentarily before gratefully accepting his offer. "Here now, of course you could not. Tell me, do you bleed?"

She shook her head wordlessly.

"Then worry not. Likely you are just exhausted and saddleweary. After a good night's sleep you will be yourself once again."

Kendra looked up at him suspiciously. "How do you know so much about pregnant women?"

Robin blinked, taken aback for a moment by the implications of her tone of voice, then he laughed. "I was raised in a household consisting of ten older sisters, milady. Believe me, I am quite knowledgeable when it comes to the anatomy of a woman."

Kendra smiled up at him. "I bet you are. Thank you, Robin."

"Good night, Kendra."

Sighing, Kendra relaxed against the outlaw, hoping she wasn't offending Marian by allowing herself the comfort of Robin's arms. The pain was subsiding a bit now and she could only pray Robin was right.

Soon, she promised silently, her hand sliding across her still flat stomach. Soon everything will be all right. Tears filled her eyes again and she blinked them away.

Navarre.

She sent out the message silently.

I need you.

Kendra moved restlessly against Robin's chest, then glanced up at him. He was staring off across the stream, toward Canterbury, his blue eyes hooded.

"Robin?" she whispered.

"Aye?"

"If you knew Marian would die having your baby, and you knew that you could save her by letting her escape to another time and you'd never see her again, would you?"

" 'Tis an answer you know already, milady," Robin said.

"Aye. But what if you could go too? Would you?"

There was a long moment of silence, then Kendra felt Robin's hand slide around her waist and give her a comforting squeeze.

"You forget, Kendra, Navarre knows not of the child. Sleep now, and save your questions for the man who can answer them, for I am not Navarre and whether I would go or not is of no consequence."

Kendra sighed and let one final tear slip down her cheek before hardening her resolve. Robin was right. Only Navarre could answer her questions and only she could guard the child within her. The best way to start was by getting the rest she desperately needed.

"Good night, Robin," she said. "Thank you for being such a good friend, to both of us."

He patted her again. "Sleep, little mother, all will be well on the morrow."

"I hope so, dear outlaw." Kendra's eyes slid shut as another pain rippled through her. "I hope so."

The morning of Richard's coronation dawned clear and bright, but clouds of apprehension followed Navarre de Galliard as he pushed his way through the crowd already gathering in the streets of Canterbury, his broad shoulders demanding passage when other, lesser men would have been turned back by the sheer crush of people.

Although he had feared for the king during the week in which he had searched for him to no avail, Navarre felt fairly sure that Garrick would choose to kill the king in a more public way than by murdering him in his bed. Garrick would take great delight in allowing the king to make his grand promenade in front of his cheering subjects, the conquering hero home after having survived war and incarceration, only to be struck down moments before the crown descended upon his head. Aye, such a scene would give the sheriff a pleasure he would not easily forgo.

Navarre shoved through the crowd, heading for the tall stone wall that directly paralleled the steps of the cathedral. Once there, he scaled the seven-foot rock surface easily, settling himself atop the three-foot-wide vantage point as his mind continued to ponder the sheriffs strategy. He had been in league with a madman, he realized now, as he sat in feigned nonchalance, one knee crooked, one hand dangling casually near his sword; Garrick was a madman whose savage thinking and actions he had seldom questioned. And he should have, aye, he should have.

Navarre ran one hand through his tousled hair and sighed. So compelled had he been to seek revenge upon Richard, he had somehow managed to turn a blind eye and deaf ear to Garrick's excesses. Was he, then, less guilty than the sheriff? He tried to push his guilty thoughts aside as he searched the crowd for a glimpse of the king or Garrick.

He had camped in his now familiar glen again last night, but had not slept. All he could think about was Kendra. Had she already left his world or had she perhaps missed her circle of time? He found himself hoping she had, then dismissed the selfish thought. If she stayed, it must be because she wanted to stay. He would not force her, and he knew, in his heart of hearts, that she would leave him.

Navarre turned his attention back to the crowd. Garrick would be hard to spot, but it was reasonable to assume he would strive to place himself where he would be able to aim his weapon most effectively. If there was only one of the bullet things left in the weapon, Garrick would want to make sure he struck Richard and did not waste his last cylinder of death on some spectator. Navarre could only hope that from his lofty perch there was a chance he could spot the sheriff before the sheriff spotted him. He wore a cloak with a hood pulled over his face, but of course, Garrick would likely do the same.

A huge tree grew behind the wall on which he sat and Navarre moved so that he could lean his back against the broad trunk which butted up barely an inch away from the stone. The wound in his back pierced him suddenly, sharply, but he ignored the pain. As Navarre's gaze scoured the crowd in the street and the places he suspected Garrick might choose for his attempt, he fought to keep his thoughts on Richard and away from Kendra. Suddenly a cheer went up from far down the street and Navarre pulled himself to his feet, one hand on a protruding branch of the tree that spread out over the top of the wall. Gazing down the thoroughfare he could see in the distance the first banner of the king, held high above the crowd, moving toward the cathedral. Instinctively, Navarre knew Garrick would wait until the king reached the steps of the church.

Before he dismounts, Navarre decided, that's when Garrick will strike. He looked around, feeling the minutes ticking away with a dreadful finality. Feeling a moment of sheer panic, he spun around searching the crowd. Where was Garrick? Why had he thought he could find the man in this press of people? Better he had tried to confront the king and warn him directly instead. Nay, he had searched for Richard as well in the days he had been here, to no avail. The king had been kept sequestered away. Now he must do whatever it look, even if it meant delivering himself for arrest in order to warn Richard. But would his warning come in time?

Kendra, Kendra! his mind cried out. I should have listened to you sooner. Now Richard is lost, and my grand sacrifice of leaving you is for naught.

He allowed himself the brief luxury of imagining what it would have been like to spend the rest of his life with her. They could have run away to Ireland or Scotland. He had a little money saved. He could have rented a cottage and a little land and... and what? What would he do in this idyllic new world? Grow turnips? Raise sheep? What?

The cheers intensified and Navarre pulled his thoughts back to the present. Idiot. Fool. He had no future, no life to look forward to. He had thrown away his life, his honor, his allegiance to his king-for good reasons, he still believed-but he had gambled and lost. And he had thrown away Kendra in the name of that same honor he had already destroyed. Mad. He was quite, quite mad. The procession came closer now and Navarre found himself craning his neck to sec the approach of the king.

Suddenly, the monarch came into view: Richard on the back of a prancing white horse, clad in the costume of the Crusade, chain mail armor covered with a split-sided tunic, a crimson cross slashing the front of it. The king smiled and waved at the crowd, his golden-brown beard neatly trimmed, his head covered only with his own natural crown of golden curls, his white teeth flashing down at the peasants cheering him. Navarre felt the thrill pass through the people below him and was amazed that he still felt it himself. This was the Richard he had known, that he remembered so well-Richard the conquerer, the smiling warrior, the hero.

Just then Richard threw his head back and laughed, loud and long. The sound was achingly familiar, and painful to the knight. How, Navarre wondered, did England's absent king find anything to laugh about when his country was on the edge of chaos? Thinking back to all of the long nights around camp-fires when he and Richard had grown so close, the king had laughed away Navarre's concerns for England, always turning the conversation to his interests in Normandy or the Aquitaine.

Suddenly, as he watched the smiling king waving and laughing, Navarre understood. To Richard, England was a second thought, like a bastard child. His first love had always been for Normandy and the Aquitaine, his legitimate heir. England had never been a priority to the king. The thought was sobering, distressing, but at least it helped Navarre understand the man a little better. And yet, was his real first love for any country or just for his own ambition?

Richard's progress was slow, hindered as he was by the crush of the crowd, but the horse he rode managed to prance forward a little farther until he was even with the wall on which Navarre stood. In the center of a wide street, the king was still a good twenty yards away, but from where Navarre stood, if he'd had the magical gun, he could have sent a bullet straight through the heart so lauded for its courage.

"A perfect target," he murmured aloud.

"I quite agree," a cheerful voice above him said.

Navarre spun around. Sitting comfortably, straddling two branches four feet above his head, the Sheriff of Nottingham grinned down at him, his eyes dancing with barely contained delight, Kendra's gun in his hand.

"Wonderful view from up here," he said, "and so private. Pity the leaves weren't a little fuller, but for this time of year you really can't expect more."

Navarre slowly drew his sword from its scabbard, the noise hushed amidst the tumult of the crowd below him. "Come down here, Garrick."

"I think not, old friend. For while you may think the king is a perfect target at this particular time, I prefer to wait for a more, shall we say, dramatic moment in this grand pageant."

Navarre took note of the unnatural brilliance of the man's eyes and his flushed features. Perhaps if Garrick were on the edge of out-and-out madness, as it appeared, he could talk him out of the deed. In spite of himself, in spite of all that had happened, Navarre realized he did not want to kill Garrick.

"Garrick, I can put this blade through your heart before you can draw your sword in time to stop me." The sheriffs smile widened as he turned the barrel of the gun toward Navarre. "That does not frighten me," the knight said. "I know you only have one bullet left and I doubt you want to waste it on me."

"Is that what they are called, bullets? How clever. Your bluff is clever as well. I doubt you are really sure just how many of these magical arrows of death are left to me."

Navarre frowned. Garrick was right. Kendra had tried to recall exactly how many bullets had been fired, but of course, there was no real way to know.

"You cannot hope to get away with this," Navarre said softly, glancing down at the street, trying to keep track of where Richard's procession was. Still a good way from the steps of the cathedral. It was there the sheriff would kill him, he knew, just before he entered the cathedral.

"Of course I shall get away with it." Garrick said, his tone amused. "No one will see me and even if they did, it would only appear that I was watching the return of our majestic Lionheart with the rest of the anxious people of England."

"If you kill him you will be caught," Navarre said, gauging the distance between them, wondering if he could kill the man before he could fire the gun.

"He will still be dead." Garrick squinted one eye and peered down the gun barrel at Navarre. "Besides, I have arranged a surprise for you. You are the one destined to be blamed. I have it all arranged."

"The barons will listen to me," Navarre said, his voice sounding unconvincing even to himself.

Garrick laughed, the sound swallowed up by the sudden increase of the noise in the crowd below. "What will you tell them, old friend? That a woman from the future brought a weapon back with her and I used it to murder Richard while sitting idlely in the top of a tree, a good twenty yards away from him?" His pale eyes narrowed. "I encourage you to do so."