"This bit, I said I think-"

"Not the damn bit!" Navarre roared. "You said babe! What babe?"

Robin looked startled, then a knowing smile slid across his face. "Why, your babe, of course. Do not tell me that Kendra has yet to give you the good news. You, old friend, are going to be a father." He stepped back as Navarre took a step toward him, fists clenched.

"You knew about this?" the knight hissed.

"She did not tell you." It was a statement, not a question. "Ah." The outlaw shrugged. "Well, perhaps there is still time to catch up with her, if you are interested. Of course, you might rather leave the raising of your child to strangers in a strange time."

"Get on your horse," Navarre ordered, the sound of his voice frightening to his own ears. Robin quickly pulled himself up in the saddle. The knight mounted Kamir, and as he did, the black stallion, sensing his mood perhaps, reared back on his hind legs, then brought them down to the ground with a savage thud. "She will not do this to me." he whispered.

"Perhaps she thinks you did it to her. After all, she carries the babe, not you," Robin said.

"She will not take my child from me!"

"Navarre." Robin's voice softened. "Think you that is her desire?"

Navarre felt the crushing turmoil rise up in his throat as though it would choke him. His baby-a son or daughter, born of the woman he loved. He looked back over at the outlaw.

"I have fought many battles, my friend," he said solemnly, squinting up at the sky, "against kings and peasants, knights and nomads." His eyes narrowed as the golden globe of the sun rose above the treetops, brilliant and liquid against the pale blue backdrop of the sky. He turned back to Robin. "This is one battle I do not intend to lose, and if I must fight time itself, or God Himself, to keep her, never doubt that I will do so."

He brushed his dark hair back from his face with one hand and felt the wind lift it from his head with gentle fingers, just as it had that long ago day when he'd stood outside Magda's hut, listening to her curious prophecy. This strange path had brought both he and Kendra back, full circle, to their beginnings.

"I doubt it not," Robin said, his blue eyes mild. He stroked his goatee softly, his brow furrowed as though weighing his next words. "But there is something you should know before you ride to stop Kendra's journey."

"I know all I need to know."

Robin shrugged. "Ah, that is well then. As long as you know everything then there is no need to tell you that Magda told Kendra if she stayed in our time, she would die in childbirth and the babe with her."

Navarre stared at him, his heart suddenly pounding so loudly he could scarce hear his own thoughts. He started to speak but could not, then swallowed and tried again.

"We ride."

Navarre's lungs were bursting and he knew Kamir's must be near to bursting as well. Against every instinct in his body he slowed the beast from the headlong rush against time into a more sedate pace, ignoring the guilt that assailed him as his faithful horse blew out great wither-shivering blasts of air from his dry nostrils and foaming mouth.

He dared not press him any faster or he would lose his horse, as well as his chance to reach Kendra in time. Navarre dismounted, cursing under his breath as he walked the horse for several yards, then turned as Robin pounded up beside him, his own steed winded, his face flushed with color.

"Matthew and the saints, Navarre!" the outlaw cried. "If you keep up this pace you will kill us both, not to mention the horses."

"We must reach Abury before she leaves," Navarre said, continuing to pull Kamir forward as they trudged across the uneven terrain.

"What will you do if we reach her in time, my friend?"

"Throttle her," Navarre said gruffly, then shook his head. "To be honest, I do not know, Robin. But I must see her."

"The two of you are an odd pair, I'll grant you," Robin chuckled thoughtfully. "I must admit, I still find it hard to believe all this craziness about time travel."

"You won't think so if you see her disappear in a whirl of wind and glimmering blue lights as I first saw her appear."

"Blue lights? Amazing."

"Aye." Navarre stared down at the ground as his boots bit into the moist earth. His pounding heart had slowed a bit and the panic had eased somewhat. In a moment he would mount Kamir and they would ride like hell for another few hours, then stop and eat from their supplies. They would sleep an hour at the most before starting their flight toward Abury once again. And they would reach Kendra in time. That, Navarre swore.

"You think to convince her to stay, but what of the babe?" Robin asked.

"What of it?"

Robin glanced over at the knight, brushing his mustache with one finger as he led his horse beside Kamir. "Kendra says that in her time there are places called hospitals that are very clean and free of-what did she call the things?-germs."

"And what are these germs?" Navarre asked, his interest piqued.

"I know not. Something she swears cannot be seen, yet which cause a wound to rot after a time. An infection, she called it."

Navarre grunted. "The wench has strange ideas."

"That is not all. She said that women have their babies in these hospitals and almost all of them live-to adulthood."

Navarre stopped in his tracks and stared at the outlaw. "You speak in jest," he said at last, and began walking again. "That is not kind, Robin, when speaking of the deaths of children."

"Nay, nay," Robin assured him, "I speak the truth. Kendra said that almost all children live in her time. There are few born dead and most live to reach their first year and more. And the women do not die in childbirth either. It is rare, she said."

Navarre pondered Robin's words as they continued to trudge along. He did not know a soul who did not have a son, a daughter, a cousin, a nephew or a niece who had not died before they were a year old. He himself had gotten a serving girl with a child when he was only fifteen. The babe had died a few short days after being born. His mother had called it a blessing, but he had wept for a week and sworn to never touch a maid again.

Of course, he had not kept the vow, but he had been more careful than most. He had never spilled his seed inside a wench again, not even Talam, until Kendra. With Kendra he had thrown all good sense out the window and made her his wife in spirit and body even before their handfasting. Now his child grew within a woman again. What if Kendra died in childbirth? What if their baby died?

His heart constricted painfully at the thought. No, he could not bear it. Better she return to her own time where women rarely died in childbirth and babies lived beyond their first year, where both Kendra and his child would have a chance. He slowed his step as a new thought assailed him. If he appeared now at Abury she might change her mind, might decide to stay with him, for he knew Kendra loved him as intensely as he loved her.

"Robin," he said softly, stopping and letting Kamir's reins fall to the ground.

"Aye, Navarre?"

The knight ran his tongue across his dry lips, feeling a new dryness tighten within his throat. "How far are we from Abury?"

Robin glanced up at the sun. "About a half a day, I wager."

Navarre nodded, then sank down to the ground upon his knees.

Robin moved to his side, anxiously. "Navarre, what is it? Are you ill?"

The knight knelt in the dirt, his hands clasped in front of him, his golden eyes fixed on a distant goal.

"Robin," he whispered, "God help me, I must let her go."

Robin stared down at the knight for a long moment, then laid one hand upon his shoulder and sighed.

"My friend, you are a fool."

Navarre looked up at him, startled. Robin knelt down beside the knight, their cloaks whipping around them, their gazes even.

"Do you love her?" Robin asked.

"Aye."

"Is there anything left for you here without her?"

"Nay."

Robin slapped him on the back in disgust. "Then what are you waiting for, man?

Go after her. Travel with her to her time as she has asked you." "I cannot," Navarre said, his voice filled with defeat. "I would be thought a fool there, a barbarian, or worse."

"Does she want you to go?"

"Aye."

"Do you trust her?"

"Aye."

Robin sighed and hauled himself to his feet. "Then my friend, all I can say is that if you do not go, you are not only a fool, but a coward as well, and the Navarre de Galliard that I have been fighting beside in England's cause is not a coward."

Navarre stood, his face dark and scowling. It was one thing to think of himself as a coward, it was quite another to have the possibility voiced by Locksley. "And what of England?" he demanded. "How do I know..." He stopped and smiled. "Yes, I do know, do I not?" He clasped the other man's shoulder. "Thank you, Robin."

The outlaw returned the clasp and for a moment the two men looked into each other's eyes, acknowledging without words their restored friendship and the separation that lay ahead.

"I shall miss you, old friend," Robin said, squeezing the man's shoulder.

"And I, you. But I shall rest easier knowing I leave England in such responsible hands." Navarre pounded him on the back, suddenly joyful. "Now, let us not waste another minute. Let us ride for Abury and pray God speed our way."

Kendra gazed up at the full moon, which was half hidden by hazy clouds.

Full circle. That was what Cennach had said and he was so right. It seemed an eon ago that she had sat in the fields of Avebury waiting to witness the formation of a crop circle-or a hoax.

Now, as she sat on a grassy knoll with Marian, Friar Tuck and Cennach, overlooking the plains, she knew that if the professor's computations were correct, in a few hours she would find herself once again in her own time. She had arrived at the field at midday, exhausted, hungry, and in spite of her discomfort, had slept for hours, rousing only when Cennach and Marian arrived. Now she sat watching the first stars come out, knowing it wouldn't be long. She could feel it in the air, the same electricity that had haunted her that long ago night.

She patted her ever trusty bag affectionately, wondering if her uncle would believe her incredible tale even if he saw the photographs she had taken of Navarre.

Navarre. At least she would be able to take his image back with her. At least she would be able to show their child what his father looked like. Explaining who his father was, where he was, and why he couldn't be with them-that was a different story.

"Maybe I'm making a mistake," Kendra said, twisting her fingers in the strap of her bag. A brisk wind had kicked up and her auburn hair, worn unbound, lifted to fly about her face in abandonment. "I should have told Navarre. I was just afraid he would try to stop me from going back."

Cennach patted her hand. "You're doing the right thing, Kendra."

"But I could have given him one more chance to come with me."

"He knows where you are."

Kendra shivered. The air had cooled considerably and she pulled her cloak more tightly about her. She looked up to find storm clouds had gathered where only moments before there had been merely wispy clouds.

Friar Tuck sat beside Marian, shaking his round head. "I like this not," he said solemnly. "How Marian ever talked me into this I do not know."

"Think of it like this," Marian soothed him, "what would we do without you here to ask God to protect us?"

Kendra smiled as Friar Tuck continued to grumble and mutter to himself. She turned back to Cennach. "When will I know it is time?"

"You will know," Cennach said softly. "It's almost as though it senses you are here. If you want to wait and see if Navarre shows up, you'd best move away from the field."

Kendra hugged herself tightly. "No. He isn't coming."

"But something else is." Marian's voice was filled with awe as she rose slowly to her feel, lifting her arm to point in front of her. "Look."

From across the broad sweep of the plains they could see the flash and thunder of an approaching storm. Kendra stood, remembering with a small prickle of apprehension the storm that had taken her back in time. What if Cennach was wrong? What if she wasn't taken back to her own time? What if she was leaving Navarre only to be lost in some other time not her own?

She took a step backward and suddenly, the air around them exploded into a frenzy. The wind burst across the fields, surging toward them as though it had a mind of its own, almost flattening the four of them as it pounded down upon them.

Friar Tuck crossed himself and grabbed Marian at the same time Cennach pushed Kendra to the ground. The storm hit in the next instant, rain pelting them as though the gods themselves were gleefully slamming water balloons into the unwary visitors. Kendra huddled on the ground beneath Cennach's weight, then pushed him off of her at last, gasping for breath.

She froze as she realized that the wind had stopped.

"This is the way it was before," she whispered. "This is the way it was just before the blue lights appeared."

Marian's trembling voice came to her as though from very far away. "Do you mean, like those?"

Kendra looked up to see the azure lights, twinkling above the open field as if they were lost in contemplation, or else patiently waiting. Kendra stumbled to her feet.

"Well, folks," she said hoarsely, unable for some reason to find her voice, "this is where I came in."

Quickly she hugged Marian, murmuring words of appreciation and encouragement, though truthfully, she couldn't have repeated a word she said except her admonition to tell Robin good-bye and of course, Navarre. Cennach was next, his calmness a welcome buffer to her increasingly frantic nerves. She clung to his steady frame for a long moment, wordlessly, before Friar Tuck bustled up and she received his good-bye and his blessing. She took one brief look down the road on which they had come, hoping Navarre would arrive. Then Kendra squared her shoulders and faced her destiny.

The blue lights hovered, twinkling above a field of wheat newly sprouted. Kendra walked slowly down the gently sloping hill toward the awe-inspiring sight, her heart pounding fearfully, her palms sweating. Within a hundred yards of the phenomenon, she felt the oddly familiar feeling of a magnetic pull, tugging her toward the lights. As she slowly approached, her eyes transfixed on the sight above her, the blue orbs began to spin, slowly at first, then faster, spiraling downward toward the field where she was walking.

Kendra stopped, or tried to stop, but the momentum of the pull was too great. Involuntarily her legs moved forward, her skin vibrating as though inhabited by a million bumblebees. Panic seized her. What if Cennach was wrong? What if she didn't return to her own time at all? And Navarre-she was leaving Navarre. For what? An uncle who loved her and would want her to stay wherever she was happy? A life she had desperately wanted to run away from, a sorrow that would now be compounded with new sorrow, the loss of Navarre?

No! Her mind screamed as the mystic wind suddenly whirled around her, as though some heavenly switch had been thrown and the floodgates of time reopened. She wanted Navarre. She didn't care if she had to live without civilization. She could do it as long as he was by her side. Her baby would be fine. Fine. She would take every precaution, tell Navarre exactly what to do. It would work-it had to work!

"No!" she shouted, finding her voice at last as the eerie wind churned around her, lifting her long auburn hair straight up, twisting it, as though giant, unseen hands sought to braid the silken strands. She could hear Marian shouting as the blue lights converged above her and the force wove itself around her, spinning her into an invisible web. Kendra felt her bag being wrenched from her shoulder, and watched as it sailed above her head. The flap on the satchel opened and the gun, hidden within, was plucked from its depths by invisible fingers. The weapon flew straight up -and disappeared. The bag fell back into Kendra's arms and she gave one last desperate lunge against the power holding her hostage. Her legs would not move. It was too late. Kendra threw back her head and wept as the twinkling blue lights descended.

Navarre's joy had quickly faded as the miles passed and time seemed to be flying ahead of him, an elusive quarry he could not catch. He cursed himself as he rode, cursed himself with every breath he took, every mile he crossed. He was a selfish coward, an inexcusable barbarian, a callous knave. If he had only talked to her, heard her out about her time-definitely not ordered her to stay-perhaps she would not have run away from him. Perhaps they would even now be awaiting the circle of time together.

"God help me," he breathed. A storm was brewing. He'd already been drenched with rain, lightning crashing scant yards away from him, and he knew it was not over yet. The clouds above were simply biding their time, gathering to pound out their tumultuous fanfare, no doubt when it would most detain him. Was it God's way of preventing him from reaching Kendra in time? Was He punishing the knight for his selfishness?

But the lightning didn't touch him as the storm broke a second time, and as Kamir finally mounted the crest of the hill that led to the Abury plains, Navarre pulled up on the reins, his vision marred by the sheets of wind and rain crashing down across the fields of wheat below him. Kamir danced beneath him almost in a frenzy, then suddenly the wind stopped, the clouds cleared away, and in the center of a field he saw Kendra, standing alone.

A circle was being woven around her, pressing the budding grain down to the ground by a force of incredible strength. He watched in awe as stalk after fragile stalk of new wheat was bent down around Kendra, frozen in the center of the newly forming sculpture. Blue lights glimmered above her as she stared upward, then the lights began twirling and moving, around and around, circling around her head as a new torrent of sound and power swept over the plains.

Kamir reared up on his hind legs and Navarre almost lost his seat as the horse's hooves plunged back to the earth. Then Kendra screamed, a single word wrenched from her echoing across the valley and up to Navarre. With a cry he had not uttered since Outremer, the knight kicked Kamir into action and tore down the hillside as the blue lights descended upon the woman he loved.

Navarre pounded across the plain, feeling the incredible pull of the circle's power, feeling the frantic buzz beneath his skin he had felt only once before in his lifetime. Kamir slid to a stop as he shouted for her to take his arm. She stared up at him, her eyes unseeing. Frantically he reached for her, but found himself shoved suddenly backward as the blue lights surged downward again, encircling her. He could see her slim form shimmering within the azure glow, and for a moment, part of Kendra was not there. The circle was taking her away.