"What? Of course not," he retorted, acting as though her question confused him. "You have adapted wonderfully well, do you not realize that? Kendra, you fit into my world, do you not feel it? You belong here, with me."

Kendra flew to his side, her arms encircling his neck. She pulled his face down to hers, their lips almost touching as she considered her words carefully before she spoke. "Are you saying, Navarre de Galliard, knight of the realm, defender of the soil, et cetera, that a mere woman has more courage than you? If I can brave your world, can't you do the same for me?"

Navarre stiffened and pulled her arms from around his neck. "It is not the same," he said, turning away from her.

Kendra stamped her foot, wishing she dared kick him in the shin. "Of course it's the same." She stomped over to him and jerked him around to face her. "I love you, do you understand that? I love you and if I have to be separated from you for the rest of my life, I don't know if I can bear it!"

Navarre held her away from him for a moment, then kissed her, with an aching gentleness that was almost frightening in its intensity. He led her back beside the stream and knelt down, pulling her with him. The expression on his face was unreadable. Reaching inside his tunic, he pulled out a long, beautiful scarf of gold and black-the Black Lion's colors-and, lifting her hand in his, wrapped the material around both their right hands, binding them together.

"Kendra O'Brien," he said softly, "will you marry me?"

Kendra's mouth dropped open but she couldn't speak for a moment. She moistened her lips. The silence of the forest echoed around them and finally she found her voice.

"But I'm leaving..." she whispered.

"Will you marry me?" Navarre repeated, his fingers tightening over hers.

Kendra lifted solemn eyes to meet Navarre's golden ones. If she went through with this, could she leave him? Could she become his wife and then return to her own time to have their baby without him? Tell him! her inner voice commanded. Tell him about the baby and about Magda's prophecy. He wouldn't want you to stay if he knew you would die in childbirth, and he might return with you if he knew you were pregnant! She opened her mouth to tell him, but nothing came out.

Twisting her hands together, Kendra continued to gaze at Navarre as she searched her feelings. Was she afraid for him to go back with her? Was that why she wasn't even giving him the chance by telling him about the baby? Or could it be she was jealous of her own child-if he couldn't come with her because he loved her, she didn't want him to come because of a child? That was ridiculous, of course she didn't feel that way. Or was it because if he knew about the baby, she feared he wouldn't believe Magda's prophecy and he would keep her from returning to Avebury? Even with Robin helping her, she doubted they could best Navarre, and she wasn't all that sure Robin would help her. Would Navarre be so selfish?

Can you be so selfish? she asked herself. Tell him.

"Navarre," she began.

"Kendra, there is so little time," he said, and for the first time since she had met him, Kendra saw real fear in his eyes. "Please, let me at least have this, before you leave me forever."

Kendra choked back the sob pushing up in her throat and nodded. "Aye, Navarre de Galliard, I will marry you."

The smile he gave her was unexpected and brilliant in its sweet intensity. He wet his own lips several times before speaking again and when he spoke, the words were more unexpected than his smile.

"Then before God I do say that this handfasting binds us together in holy matrimony."

Handfasting. Kendra recalled the term from her days in British Lit. When a couple could not reach a priest for a time because of extenuating circumstances, they would have a handfasting ceremony in which they would give vows to one another, binding them in marriage until such time as they could have a legal wedding. A wedding. Kendra closed her eyes, feeling a wave of panic sweep over her. This wasn't fair to either of them. This further binding of their hearts and souls would only make it that much worse when it came time to go. But somehow, she couldn't make him stop. She couldn't open her mouth to tell him so to save her life. Navarre covered their bound hands with his free one, and as if in a trance, she placed hers over his.

He smiled at her then, and all her fears seemed to dissolve into nothingness as he said the words she had dreamed he would someday say.

"I take thee, Kendra O'Brien, as my wife, to honor, to cherish, to love, to protect, as long as we both shall live. May God bless our union."

Kendra took a deep breath, then wondered at the calm voice she heard that was her own. "'I take thee, Navarre de Galliard, as my husband, to honor, to cherish, to love, to protect, as long as we both shall live. May God bless our union."

"You did not say 'obey,' " Navarre said, bringing her bound hand to his lips again.

Kendra lifted both auburn brows and grinned. "Neither did you."

"Wife," he said softly, "I want you."

Kendra gazed up at him, knowing her love shone from her eyes, knowing that she was sinking further under his spell. That was funny, his spell, when he had suspected her for so long of enchanting him.

"Kiss me," Navarre said, taking her in his arms, one hand in her hair, the other around her waist. "Kiss me as though it is the last time you ever will."

Kendra felt the wave of love and pain crash over her like a wave breaking on the shore, as she kissed her husband, her love, her life, kissed him as though she would never again touch his lips with hers, as though she would never again feel the passion of his love. He gathered her to him then, and lifting her into his arms like a groom carrying his bride over the threshold, crossed the small stream and entered the woods at the edge. There was a dim light ahead as they approached, and when Navarre ducked down into a natural thicket, Kendra saw a thick blanket had been laid over the bed of leaves within, a basket with a bottle of wine and goblets placed at the side, and over a dozen candles set around the blanket's edge.

"Oh, Navarre," she whispered, pressing the palms of her hands together and lifting her fingers to her lips, "it's beautiful."

Navarre gently, almost reverently, touched his lips to hers. His kiss deepened and Kendra clung to him, feeling a sudden grief threaten to tear her soul from her.

This is the last time. The words echoed silently around them and through Kendra's mind like grains of sand bouncing against an hourglass. This is the last time. It ticked through her brain like a clock.

With fingers of velvet, Navarre removed her soiled clothing of the day and then his own. Wordlessly she took his hand and let him cover her with his cloak, then lead her back to the stream where they slipped into the shallow water and washed the grime from the days on the road from their bodies. Silently they touched one another, exploring one another, tasting, yet, always with an undercurrent of gentle resignation.

Tick, tick, tick. Kendra heard time running out for them as Navarre's hands soothed away the pain of her fears, and kissed away the shadows of her tears. She heard the grains of sand pouring through the hourglass, faster now, at the end, more quickly now that the grains were almost gone.

As Navarre captured her mouth, delving into the warmth so sweetly she could not help but cry out against his lips, for the loss that was coming, for the centuries of lovers parted by fortune and fate. Then she was pressing herself against him, burning her own brand into his flesh, as if to guarantee that he would never forget her, never forget their love. They rose from the stream and walked unhurriedly back to the blanket. There Navarre dried her with a large towel from the wine basket and Kendra let him, lying back against the soft material, feeling oddly drunk. Everything had a strange haziness to it, as though this was a dream, as though nothing was real.

Is it happening already, she wondered? Is this what I will remember when I return? Is this what it will feel like-a dream? As though it never was? Then she remembered the child inside of her and knew that she would always have the sweetest kind of proof. Tell him! the voice inside insisted. Still she resisted. Afterward, she promised. After their passions were spent. She could not risk anything spoiling this moment, not even such blessed news.

Navarre dried her body as though it were a valuable piece of porcelain and when he was finished, he pulled her into his arms. Kendra parted her lips, welcoming the burning flame that was Navarre.

Tick, tick, tick. The last time. The words thumped through her heart, building in intensity.

"How can I leave you?" Kendra said huskily against the side of his jaw, breaking their embrace to caress his bristled face. "Please, come with me."

Navarre groaned aloud. "Let us not speak of this now." He covered her body with his own and Kendra stopped talking, stopped thinking, conscious only of the heat between them, the aching longing waiting to be fulfilled. His hands moved over her skin as though he sought to etch the memory of each part of her body. Lightly he caressed her breasts, her waist, her belly, her thighs outside and in, and the secrets they guarded as well. Kendra responded in kind, gazing up into her husband's face as she touched him, kneading his hard back muscles down to the apex of his taut buttocks, running her hands boldly down his thighs, crying out as he at last found the center of her fire and began stoking the smoldering embers.

Tick, tick, tick. The thundering roared between them even as Navarre possessed her body, giving his own for her to cherish, sealing himself to her, burning his memory into her mind, her flesh, for all time. His lips tasted of salt, and opening her eyes Kendra saw he was crying silently, tears dripping onto her breasts as he paid homage to each. She clasped him to her, letting her own tears flow, as he gently brought her to a tender release.

As Kendra arched against him, in some rational part of her mind, she realized he was not only making love to her-he was saying good-bye.

Tick, tick, tick. She clung to him as his tongue burned into her, no longer gentle. As though his good-byes were said and now he would speak his pain, silently, eloquently. His body thundered into hers, the rhythm between them beating in her ears like Thor's hammer. She rose to meet it, praying the roar would increase, the storm would explode and the tick, tick, tick of time would be blotted out once and for all.

The power of their love came crashing down, outshining the fire of the candles, swirling the cacophony of passion and pride, pain and love, into a well-forged bolt of lightning that struck them both, seared them, burned them both forever with the eternal blue flame of their love. Kendra cried out, then cried in earnest as Navarre's seed surged inside of her.

Tick, tick, tick.

"Navarre, hold me, hold me," she whispered against his chest. "Don't ever let me go."

"Never," he whispered back to her, pressing his face into her hair and gathering her more tightly into his embrace. "Never," he promised.

Navarre woke from a brief slumber with the sensation of cool, soft skin being pressed back against his chest and thighs. The blanket over the two lovers had slipped down and he covered them again, then sighed with satisfaction and wrapped his arms around Kendra's waist, drawing her more solidly against him. He did not wish in any way to mar the sweetness of their lovemaking, but there was much that needed to be said. He knew she was determined to leave him, to go back to her own time, but he had confidence now that he could convince her otherwise.

Deciding upon the handfasting had been a last-minute decision, brought about by his desperation, but he did not regret it. It was not that he was trying to trap her, he told himself, either by the vows they had just repeated to one another, nor the love they had just exchanged, but he had thought perhaps if she knew how serious he was, how committed to loving her, to always being there for her, perhaps she would change her mind. He would give her the chance to make up her own mind, at least, before changing it for her.

She was awake. He knew by the way she flexed the muscle in her thigh, as though inviting him to begin their passion anew. He would, but not quite yet. Navarre pressed his lips against her hair, feeling his desire quickly rising as her own sweet scent lingering there filled his senses.

"Kendra," he began softly, "stay here with me." He felt her stiffen against him and he hurried on. "I have plans for us. I won't fight anymore. We'll go anywhere you like: Scotland, Ireland, perhaps Rome. I promise I will make a good life for us, somehow."

"Oh, Navarre," she whispered, her back still to him. She shivered a little as her body moved fractionally away from his and his heart constricted with apprehension. "The place I want to live doesn't exist yet, and won't for another eight hundred years."

He lifted himself up on one elbow, feeling the challenge ahead course through his blood the way it did before battle. There was no mistaking that this, too, was a battle, perhaps the hardest he would ever fight. "I thought you loved me."

He felt the sigh slip through her. "Of course I love you, but there are reasons I have to return. I've already almost changed the course of history with that stupid gun."

Navarre ran his hand smoothly up her side, covering her breast, kneading it lightly between his fingers. She moaned softly and leaned her head back to touch his. He felt ashamed to use her own body against her this way, but he was ready to use anything and everything if she would but stay.

"That was not your fault," he said softly.

Her voice was hushed with passion as she spoke. "We were lucky, Navarre. It could have gone the other way so easily. I just can't take any more chances of messing up the past."

He began to kiss her neck as he continued to caress her, reveling in the feel of the soft, peach-tipped globes that fit so perfectly in his large hands. His tongue touched her ear even as his whispered words did. "We could live somewhere isolated, where you would not affect other lives."

Her foot moved languidly up and down his shin and he knew she was considering his words. His hand slipped lower, across her taut belly and downward. Kendra drew in a quick breath, yet she did not tell him to stop, and he felt as though they played some unspoken game of rationale and arousal, talking so calmly even as she responded to his seduction.

"I'm not sure I could be happy living like that." She gasped out loud as Navarre dispensed with further enticements, and easily fitted himself to her. "I love people,'" she whispered as he began a gentle stroking inside of her, his lips tracing a path across her shoulders, his hands encircling both breasts. "I-I love being involved," she sighed, her body moving against him, her back arched, "making a difference in the world. I can't make a difference here, except in a bad way."

"Then your mind is made up," he murmured against her hair, rocking a steady rhythm between them.

"Yes," she said, and he could tell she was near tears. For a moment he despised himself, but did not cease his gentle inducements. "You knew that before we did this. I tried to tell you it wouldn't make any difference." Her voice almost faded away, heavy with desire.

"No difference." Navarre stopped his movement and, pulling away from her, flipped Kendra to her back. "I will show you what a difference it has made."

He crushed her to him, covering her body with his, filling her, melding his body into hers, claiming her once and for all as his own. Kendra cried out at the suddenness of his assault, then tangled her fingers in his hair as his mouth descended savagely on hers. He tasted the honey of her lips and could no longer hold back the love, the rage, and the fear, that swirled together inside of him in confused torment. He ravaged her lips, possessing her mouth, calling into being once again the molten lava that had lain dormant in both of them for too long.

"I will not let you go," Navarre said, tangling his hands in the lushness of her hair, forcing her head back slightly. He gazed down into her azure eyes and knew he saw the same conflicting emotions mirrored there. "You belong here with me, Kendra, and here you will stay." His mouth took hers again, his tongue mimicking the movement of the heated steel he wielded below. She did not protest as he had half expected but instead drew him closer, lifting her hips, welcoming the almost punishing thrust of his body as he bound them together in a way that words and promises never could.

"At night when I am alone," he said, his movement never slowing, never changing, "I ask myself, how can she love me if she is going to leave me?"

"Come with me!" she cried out, and Navarre kissed the tears streaming down her face, tasting the saltiness with satisfaction, feeling a strength from the fact that she loved him enough to cry, hating himself for pulling such a heady emotion from her.

"Stay with me."

"Navarre, stop," she breathed, "I can't stand this, please stop."

"You will stay with me," he said, beginning the rhythm between them again. It beat between them with the constancy of his heart, pulsing like his heart, pumping like his heart; and that was just as it should be because she was his heart, his life, his reason for being, and he would not let her go. "Say it," he commanded her gently, his lips against hers, his body within her. "Say you will stay."

"Yes," she said, her fingernails biting into his back, her mouth moving to his shoulder, her teeth ravaging him none too gently in return. "Yes, only-" she moved beneath him in wordless entreaty and with a cry of triumph, Navarre took her there, to the undiscovered country that lies between love and passion, to the place where only lovers dwell. He carried her mere, soaring on a magic carpet of light and wind, and he felt her carrying him, opening her heart and her soul to the man she had married, to the man who had promised he would never let her go. They soared, they reached for the brightest star together, then exploded in a million fragments of light before drifting slowly, slowly, back to earth.

As Navarre fell asleep, he thought he heard Kendra crying. He started to ask what was wrong, but the lethargy seizing him was too heavy. He slept, secure in the knowledge that she was his, and would be until the end of time.

Talam looked up at him, her chocolate-brown, almond-shaped eyes reflecting the conflicting emotions she obviously felt.

"I think that it would be better if I return to my family," she said softly, curling her hands together in her lap. Navarre chuckled, placing two fingers under her chin and raising her face to his. He stood above the slim, dark-haired woman, left foot braced against the stool on which she sat, left arm propped on his knee. One hand was covered with his metal-ringed gauntlet, the other reached down for hers.

"Nay, I think not, he said firmly, lifting her fingers to graze them with his lips. "You will stay right here in the camp and wait for my return.

She looked away, trying to hide her fear but not quite succeeding. "Your king, he does not like me, nor does your friend, the one with the pale hair. I am afraid to stay here without you."

"Nonsense," he scoffed. "I am sorry to leave you here but the battle will only take a day at the most. We are assured of victory. Then I will return and we will go to your family together. I must speak with your father."

Talam shook her head. "No, Navarre, you must not do so. I do not belong in your world, your England."

Navarre felt a quickening of fear around his heart and, abandoning his carefree position, sat down beside her, turning her to face him.

"What are you saying?"

"I am saying that I must return, site said, leaning toward him, her eyes fervent with pleading. "I love you, my dearest Navarre, but our love cannot be. I do not belong in your world, nor you in mine.

"You said you would marry me."

She shook her head again. "Our union can only bring grief to all concerned. You are a Christian and in the eyes of your friends, I am-and always would be- an infidel." He could not respond to her words for he knew she spoke the truth. She patted his hand. "You have a wonderful future ahead of you, my Navarre. King Richard values your advice, your friendship. Shall I carry the burden of knowing it is because of me that you would no longer enjoy that special bond?"

"I do not care," Navarre replied stonily. "Richard's prejudices are his own problem-and Garrick's as well. I love you and that is all that matters. If you love me, Talam, he said, his golden eyes deepening into amber, "you will stay here and wait for me.

"You will not release me to go home, knowing that I love you, knowing this can only lead to disaster?"

Navarre lifted his chin stubbornly. "If you leave me now I will know our words of love meant nothing. I will not let you go!"

Talam nodded. "Very well, then," she whispered, "I will stay, and may Allah have mercy on us both." She lifted her lips to his, then her face began to blur and fade, to twist until it disappeared altogether. He reached out for her but there was nothing there. Then he heard a scream and turning, he saw her, fifty yards away from him, surrounded by laughing soldiers, swords drawn. He tried to run to her but could not lift his feet. He was frozen, paralyzed, and could only watch as the men lifted their swords above her. She looked up calmly then, and her eyes met Navarre's. This is your fault, they seemed to say. Because of you. The swords came down and- Navarre awoke, the sound of Talam's screams still echoing in his ears, sweat pouring from every pore in his body. He was gasping, trembling, and reached out to assure himself Kendra was beside him. She was, sleeping deeply like a child. She was here. His stubbornness had not killed her as it had Talam. Not yet. He had been lucky so far. Not even Garrick's treachery had harmed her. But if he insisted she stay, what was to stop history from repeating itself, somehow, in some way? Garrick was dead, Richard had granted pardon, and yet, some ominous misgiving hung over him. He felt it, sensed it and knew that something, or someone, was trying to tell him something. Yet, how could he live the rest of his life without her? Making up his mind abruptly, decisively, Navarre closed his eyes. It was still many long moments before he found sleep again.

Kendra donned her clothing as quietly as possible. Navarre had torn the sleeve of her tunic in his haste to press his flesh against hers but she wore it anyway, feeling a dark rush of shame at the promises she had made that night all because of the passion he had stirred within her; promises she had never intended to keep. He had been so insistent, so demanding, and yet, so sweet, declaring his love for her with his words and his actions. How could she have hurt him so right then, so soon after their handfasting? But his final declaration that he wasn't going to let her return to her own time had frightened her and she had lain beside him after their last frenzied coupling, planning how she could get away at dawn.

He had awakened once during the night, startled out of sleep, and had lain there for a long time, staring at the stars. She'd feigned sleep and for a time, feared he wouldn't ever close his eyes again, but at last he had, and fighting her own desire to snuggle up against him and take her own rest, Kendra had maintained a vigil until the faintest, dimmest light began to appear on the horizon. It was then she arose. Finishing her dressing, she gave one last look at her lover, and carefully, quietly, started out of the clearing, her heart feeling as though it were shattering in a million pieces with every step she took away from Navarre.

When she finally cleared the woods she broke into a run. Reaching the camp where Robin slept, Kendra sneaked by him to the horses. Once again she was running away, once again she was on her own. She mounted the horse and straightened her shoulders, refusing to look toward the wooded glade where her husband slept, stricken with the guilt of knowing he would never know, could never know that he was going to be a father. It was his choice, an inner voice hissed into her ear. His choice. Kendra turned the horse toward Avebury and dug her heels into his sides. He bolted forward and neither of them ever looked back.

Chapter Twenty-two.

Kendra was gone. At first Navarre thought she'd walked down to the spring to wash, but after checking there, he realized her clothes were gone too. With a groan, his demands of the night before assailed him. I will not let you go, he'd told her. Like a king to his subject, a lord to a serf, but certainly not like a husband to his wife. She'd panicked and run and he could scarcely blame her. Pulling on his own clothing in rough, hurried movements, he made his way back to camp where, as he had expected, Robin remained, rolled in his cloak, sleeping blissfully unaware.

"Wake up!" Navarre shouted, kicking the outlaw in the side. "She has gone and we must follow as quickly as we can."

"Who? Who?" Robin sat boll upright, sword in hand, blinking both eyes and sounding like a giant owl startled from sleep.

"Kendra," Navarre explained as he stormed around the campsite, putting out the campfire and packing up the supplies. "She has gone to return to her own time and we must stop her."

That woke Robin completely and he jumped to his feet, albeit a trifle unsteadily. "Stop her? Oh, yes, of course. Lover's spat on your last night in England? Tsk, tsk, Navarre." He began helping Navarre load the supplies behind their saddles. "She's gone to Wiltshire, you know. Cennach said that was where her 'circle' would take her back to her own time. I wondered when you would come to your senses. In fact I found it hard to believe you would leave her behind in the first place, although men react strangely to such things, to be sure."

"Of course we do, we-" Navarre stopped and turned with a frown. "What on God's green earth are you blathering about?"

"The babe, of course," Robin said in a mild tone, examining his horse's mouth as Navarre stood and stared at him dumbly. "I believe this bit is too stiff for Falcon, what do you-"

"What are you talking about?" Navarre whispered, frozen in place, feeling suddenly as though the bottom had dropped out of his world.