Enough. She tossed the long neat braid behind her shoulder, aghast at her reaction to her captor. Granted, the sexual attraction between herself and Navarre was incredible, but that was no reason to cast aside every ounce of morality or pride that she had for a chance to tumble him in the tub.

Kendra took another deep breath and glanced at Navarre. He sat behind the table speaking to a tall, blond man whom she recognized as Garrick, the man from the bathhouse, the sheriff of Nottingham. She smoothed her hands against her gown again. Dressed now in the fashion of the day, coupled with the events of the last few hours, Kendra felt a dizzy, terrifying sense of unreality sweeping over her.

The woman had given her a long dress to wear made from a slightly coarse material, brownish in color and quite unattractive; nevertheless, it fit the contours of her bodice and waist snugly before widening at the hips and falling freely to her ankles. The sleeves were long and tight and ended in points at the wrists. Over the gown she had been given a sleeveless, open-sided tunic, called a surcoat, that was really rather lovely, soft, and forest green, one of her best colors. Over that went a girdle or "kittle," which amounted to a kind of sash worn low on the hips and knotted on the lower part of her belly. She had dressed, marveling in one part of her mind that she was truly experiencing the phenomenon of wearing medieval clothing, while another section of her brain screamed for someone to wake her out of the nightmare.

She had been brought to a huge room called the great hall. A gigantic fireplace adorned one of the longest walls and long, narrow tables filled the room, benches on either side. It was a room capable of hosting a large contingency of guests, however, this night it was empty, save for the three men and herself. The table where Navarre and the other two men sat was placed on a level of stone that was slightly higher than the others. Platters of food were being placed on the table by servants, and Kendra began to tremble as the two strangers smiled at her, as if relishing what was about to take place.

"Now, Navarre," said a young, dark-haired man seated in the only high-backed chair behind the table. "We shall speak in English as you requested, but please do tell us about this wench. You have my curiosity quite aroused, as well as other parts of me."

Kendra nervously shifted her attention back to Navarre. He was seated on one side of the short man, whom she assumed to be the infamous John Lackland, the king's brother. The Sheriff of Nottingham sat on his other side, smiling at her in a manner she found disturbing. For some reason the man frightened her more than all the other dangers she had encountered. Navarre looked up at her, and suddenly Kendra found herself lost in the depths of his golden eyes.

He stood slowly, his gaze locked with hers, and Kendra shivered as she felt the electricity-the magic-flow between them. She saw an answering tension in his face as he left his place and moved to stand beside her.

"There is not that much to tell, actually," Navarre said, resting one hand on the hilt of his sword. "Acting on a report from one of our spies in the village, I followed Robin of Locksley to the hut of Magda." The knight paused and glanced at Kendra.

"Yes, yes, the strange woman who talks to trees," John said in a tolerant voice. "Go on."

"She read the runes-"

"The what?" John interrupted, his brows knit together in confusion.

"Runes-stones with strange symbols upon them," Navarre said impatiently. "Long ago it was said the druids used them to reveal the future."

"Then this woman, Magda, is a witch!" John plunked his goblet down indignantly. "You have always said that she was not, that she was only a madwoman."

"And so she is, my lord," the knight agreed. "However, she is also one of the last druid priestesses in the land and is greatly revered by the Saxons. She is not a witch; she does not cast spells or wish evil on others. She simply believes that she can tell the future."

"And can she?" Garrick asked, nonchalantly flicking a bit of food from the front of his perfect teeth.

"The Saxons think she can. In any case, Robin was at Magda's hut and I overheard her tell him of a prophecy."

"Prophecy?" John lifted his goblet once again and took a deep draught from it. "This sounds most sorcerous to me, Sir Navarre."

"She told Locksley that great danger awaited Richard, and that in a fortnight Richard's salvation would appear on the plains of Abury."

"And what did she mean by that-Richard's salvation?"

"I do not know. At first I dismissed it as nonsense, as a madwoman's ravings, but then I began to think perhaps it was a way to cleverly pass on information under the guise of her babbling."

"If so, an excellent ruse," the sheriff said, popping a plump piece of meat into his mouth, never taking his gaze from Kendra. Indeed, his attention had been riveted on her from the moment she had been escorted into the room by Navarre. Kendra shifted her position uneasily, wishing they would at least let her sit down before they burned her at the stake.

"A fortnight later I managed to create a diversion that kept Locksley from arriving at Abury on time," Navarre went on, his brows knit together. "I hid myself, expecting perhaps an assassin sent to destroy John. While I waited, a storm blew up, but unlike any storm I have ever seen. It whirled with such intensity, and it seemed I could almost see some kind of light in its center."

"Light? Like a torch?" John said, leaning forward. "How curious."

Kendra waited for Navarre to describe the light, knowing full well the sighting of a blue light would brand the incident as something highly unusual, surely magical. When he continued his tale without alluding to the blue lights, Kendra felt both relieved and puzzled.

"Aye, it was that, but then the storm blew away and I found this woman."

"Odd." Garrick's gray eyes were no longer languid and casual, Kendra noted, but clear and cold. He rose and circled around the table to Navarre's side. Kendra shivered again as the sheriff stopped directly in front of her and let his gaze sweep over her with calculated ease.

The sheriff was a handsome man, she decided, as she made her own appraisal. Not as ruggedly attractive as Navarre, but very handsome. Garrick was the epitome of the pretty boy, she thought, lifting her chin slightly to meet his challenging eyes. She saw little character, but she bet he had lots of charm when he wanted to use it.

"A bold wench," Garrick said with a laugh. "Still, she hardly seems the type to be an assassin-or a spy." A slow smile stretched across his features. "I would more likely grant her the role of... seductress." He darted a glance at Navarre. "Is that the way of it, old friend? Did she seek to seduce you into revealing our secrets?"

Kendra heard the quick intake of breath, saw Navarre's hands knot into fists at his side, then slowly relax.

"Nay," he said quietly. "She is but a woman. I do not yet know her part in this affair."

"Strange the manner in which she appeared after the storm," John said, "almost as if it were some type of magic." He tapped one finger against the side of his face, reflectively. "Magda predicted her arrival there. How know you, Navarre, that both Magda and this woman be not witches?"

Kendra tensed herself as she waited for Navarre's answer.

"I know not," she heard him say, his voice filled with hesitancy. " 'Tis best, perhaps, that we keep her our prisoner until we are able to discern her function in this matter."

A loud laugh startled Kendra and she looked up to see Garrick leaving his chair and crossing to her side.

"Ho, my friend, methinks I already know one very apt function the wench can fulfill, and it takes no discernment to name."

Kendra took a step back from him. This was it. Time to exercise the strength she was famous for. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

"Am I to be allowed to speak?" she asked, glaring up at the man towering over her.

Garrick glanced over at Navarre and one corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement.

"No," he said. "At least, not now. For now, you shall sit beside me and partake of the best that Nottingham has to offer."

"But I-"

"God's teeth, Navarre, is this your witch?'"

Kendra and Navarre both turned, open-mouthed, as a slight girl of about fifteen glided across the stone floor to stand beside Navarre. The girl was slim, her face colorless, her hair muddy colored and ill-kept. She stared openly at Kendra and Kendra stared back, biting back a smile as the girl tried to appear haughty and failed miserably.

"Hold your blasphemous tongue, young lady, or I shall send you to Father Tucker for confession," Navarre said sternly. The girl hung her head and murmured a polite apology, but Kendra saw a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth and found herself immediately drawn to the teenager.

"What is all this about witches, Marian?" John asked, rising to stare at the girl in front of him.

Kendra raised one brow. Marian? Maid Marian, and Robin, and the Sheriff of Nottingham? She closed her eyes. This was really too much.

"Everyone in the castle is speaking of it," Marian said, moving to take her seat behind the table after looking Kendra up and down quite openly. She reached for a golden pitcher and, with an air of refinement, poured a dollop of wine into a goblet.

"What are they saying?" Garrick asked.

Marian took a sip of her drink. "That Navarre has captured a witch." She lowered the wine and returned her gaze to Kendra. "I must say that I am disappointed. No warts or anything. What is your name?"

"Kendra," Kendra said quickly with a smile, happy to be spoken to as a person instead of an inanimate object. "Kendra O'Brien."

"This woman is no witch, Marian," Navarre said, his voice hard. "She may be a spy, but she is no sorceress."

"Oh, well, then she is of no interest to me." Marian promptly turned her attention to two fat birds a servant had deposited on her plate.

"Come, my dear," Garrick said, offering Kendra his arm. "You must be starved after your long journey. I do apologize for your unnecessary stay in our dungeon." He glanced at Navarre. "Tsk, tsk, my boy, have you no sense of chivalry? To place such a lovely blossom down in the dungheap-'tis a travesty."

Kendra felt Navarre stiffen beside her.

"I thought it the proper place for her at the time," he said shortly. "After all-"

"Tut, tut," Garrick waved one hand dismissively. "One maid can hardly hold any danger for us. Therefore, we shall enjoy her as a welcome diversion-but first, we shall dine."

Kendra let the man take her hand and tuck it into the crook of his arm. She followed him meekly to the chair beside his, all the while her mind racing ahead. There had to be a way out of this, a way to keep the sheriff from using her as a "welcome diversion." What that way might be she had no idea. She glanced over at Navarre and saw with surprise that his jaw had tightened and the golden eyes shifted to molten stone as she took her seat beside Garrick. Turning on his heel, he strode back around the table, slamming himself down into the chair beside Marian's.

The sheriff smiled at him. "Don't worry, my friend, you shall taste the lady's pleasures as well as I. But, of course, you already have, haven't you?" He waved one hand. "Enough of this. John and I have much to tell concerning our journey to London."

"Aye," Navarre agreed. "But I suggest we discuss it in private. Marian, finish your meal and retire."

"I am sick of staying in my room," the girl said, pouting. "I have waited and waited for everyone to come home so that I might have my evening meal with someone besides the cook!"

"I would be delighted to have you stay," John said. "Really, Navarre, you do forget yourself betimes. One would think Marian was your ward instead of Richard's." He lifted a goblet of wine and tossed it down, then drew the back of his hand across his lips and poured himself another glassful. "I have been giving it much thought and I have decided that in Richard's absence, as his brother, I shall adopt Marian as my ward."

Kendra felt rather than saw the tension that sprang into Navarre's body with John's words. "I beg pardon, my lord," he said, "I have grown to think of Marian as much my ward as the king's-"

"As Richard's, you mean," John said, the perpetually boyish look shifting suddenly to one of warning.

"Aye, as Richard's. I have known the girl since she was but a child and in Richard's absence have taken on the responsibility of her well-being." He bowed his head respectfully. "So, while your offer is most kind, you can see, my lord, there is no necessity for it."

"You overstep yourself, Navarre," John said, his voice harsh. "I have said the girl will be my ward and that is what I mean." He turned to Marian. "That would please you, would it not, my dear?"

Marian glanced at Navarre, glowering. Then she shifted her gaze to the leering face of John. "I am quite honored, my lord. However, Navarre has always cared for me, even when Richard was in England."

Kendra lifted one auburn brow and shot Navarre a knowing look. He had the effrontery to glare back at her.

"Now that honor falls to me," John insisted, leaning back and gesturing for a servant to take away his plate. "And what is this "my lord" nonsense, Navarre? I am Richard's brother, ruling in his stead. Shall you not call me 'sire' as is my due?"

Navarre's face tightened and Kendra caught the subtle exchange between Garrick and the knight.

"As you are not the king, my lord," Garrick said smoothly. "And lest someone misunderstand your desire to help Richard in his absence," he said, looking meaningfully at Marian and then at Kendra, "I suggest we leave titles as they are presently. You must remember, John, that your lady mother, and her minions, rule in Richard's stead. You serve as her ambassador of good will."

"Dear, dear mother," John said mockingly, his full lips thrust forward in a babyish pout. "That will all change, Garrick, very, very soon."

"Yes, my lord," Garrick said, tapping his long jewel-bedorned fingers on the tabletop. "Now, shall we move on to other topics of interest? Mayhap Marian will be interested in the matter of those people."

Navarre frowned. "What people?"

"Ah, yes," John said, losing the pout and turning to Navarre angrily. "Those moneylenders. Really, Sir Navarre, I insist that we purge England of these heathenish Jews."

Navarre sighed in a tolerant way. Kendra watched him, weighing his reaction to John's petulant request.

"My lord, I have talked with you of this. The Jewish moneylenders do us no harm, in fact they do us a great amount of good. They keep a good deal of gold in circulation-gold that we would not have in England without them, thanks to Richard."

"Still." Garrick interjected, placing a thin morsel of meat on his tongue and winking in Kendra's direction, "they are such inferior creatures, such unbearable heathens, that I think it detrimental to our cause to tolerate such people." He waved his hand again. "Take a squad of men and find them, Navarre. Kill them, ship them to Normandy, I care not. You agree, John, do you not?"

"Indeed, indeed I do."

Kendra seethed inwardly at the bloodthirsty, yet casual command. To speak of killing people as though it was of no more consequence than killing a hill of bothersome ants! She leaned forward slightly to watch Navarre's face. His jaw was even tighter now and the flame in his eyes fairly danced.

"We have talked of this," he said again, his voice deceptively quiet. "I will not make wholesale slaughter against a group of people simply because they are of a different race or religion than I am." He took a deep draught from his goblet, never taking his eyes from Garrick's as he set the heavy glass down with deliberate slowness. "You must have me confused, old friend. I am the Black Lion, not the golden one who murders women and children in Acre and leaves England to outlaws and thieves."

"Outlaws and thieves," Marian said dreamily. "I do like the sound of that- outlaws and thieves." She smiled. "It quite rolls off the tongue."

Kendra hid a smile behind her hand and decided once again that she liked Marian. She was obviously shy, and yet, there was a quality about her that pointed to a strong character and personality under the timid exterior. The girl seemed lonely. Kendra caught her breath. Perhaps she could use that loneliness to her own advantage. If she could find a way to befriend Marian, maybe the girl would help her escape from Nottingham! A long shot, but at the moment it was the only idea Kendra had.

"You'd not think it so romantic, my fairy, if you had to deal with the ruffians as I do," Navarre said. He glanced back at John, "is it really your wish that I should massacre these people?" Before he could answer Navarre hurried on. "Remember, if England should happen to have need of funds, the Jews have gold and are willing to lend-unlike our own people."

Kendra watched John. He was much younger than she'd thought at first, no more than twenty, but already his face showed signs of dissipation and an indulgent lifestyle. He stroked the short goatee he had trimmed to an impressive point as his brown gaze flickered to Garrick, then back to Navarre.

"We should not be too hasty, I dare say, Garrick," he said hesitantly.

"Ridiculous nonsense." Garrick shoved his chair back and stood, fingers pressed against the wooden table. "We can wipe them out, take what they have, and add it to our coffers."

"Aye." Navarre agreed, rising slowly from his seat, "we could, if we were thieves and murderers. I, however, do not consider myself either." He cocked one dark brow. "Do you, Garrick?"

Silver eyes locked with golden and Kendra shivered, feeling the tension between the two men. It was an uncomfortable moment; then a slow smile spread across the sheriff's face. He sat down and picked up his goblet.

"As always, my friend, you bring me back from the brink of my own barbarous nature." He waved one hand. "Keep your precious Jews."

Navarre hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to say more, but shook his head and sat down, his gaze darting to Kendra. The frustration she saw mirrored there surprised her, and suddenly she found herself wondering what a man like Navarre de Galliard was doing with this sleazy pair of back-stabbing scum.

"Why are you and Robin enemies now, Navarre?" Marian asked abruptly. Kendra glanced at her, half holding her breath at the mention of the legendary outlaw. To think he was alive and real. What a terrific story it would make-an interview with Robin Hood. She blinked and shook her head slightly as the now increasingly familiar sense of unreality threatened to close in on her.

"Little girls should mind their own business,'" he said shortly. "Now, run along, we have much to discuss."

"I am not a little girl." Marian lifted her chin. "I am a woman. Perhaps I should go where I may be treated as such."

"And where would that be?" Navarre asked, his lips curving up in amusement.

Marian glared at him. "Perhaps in Sherwood Forest."

The knight laughed without humor. "Aye, they would treat you as a woman all right, but not as your romantic heart supposes. Go to your room, Marian, before I turn you over my knee."

Marian's brief flash of spirit died quickly and she lowered both her gaze and her voice. '"I protest your treatment of Robin, Navarre."

"Do you now?"

"Aye. He is a hero, not an outlaw. It is only because of him that England has not fallen into unsavory hands." She made her statement with an air of innocence that quite took away the sting of its meaning. The men exchanged glances and John frowned.

"Marian," Navarre said warningly, "go to bed."

With a flounce, the girl stood and swept away from the table, her long dress dragging across the dusty floor.