"Fascinating." Draycott's eyes held a wild excitement amid the force of his determination. "I'd count one try spent already."

"And another far from over." Sara tried not to flinch as the claws scuttled over her neck and into her hair. Then softness. Warm words. Belonging.

She relaxed for a moment, feeling Navarre, remembering the dance of their bodies by lamplight.

Yes, she thought. This is what she wanted most.

Suddenly Navarre's fingers jerked on hers, his mind like a sword cutting through her hazy thoughts.

No. It is not me you welcome. It's them. Hold, Sara. The way is but the space of a sword blade and on both sides is loss forever. Look at me. Look into my eyes and remember what I tell you.

Gasping, she turned her head and felt the false images roil in fury. In that moment she saw the shadows for what they were. Not Navarre's mind, but something cold, endlessly hungry to possess.

How close they had come to trapping her forever....

The darkness hissed and screamed. Then, in a sudden burst, it turned. Furious, it began to recede, slipping over her hands, flooding onto the roof. The dark waves poured back into the gaping hole while the wind shrieked overhead.

And it was done. The hole shuddered and then disappeared.

Navarre didn't move.

Adrian didn't move.

Sara bent over and was violently sick.

When she straightened, Navarre stood grave and silent beside the place where the hole had been.

Only a faint outline remained.

"I'll do one last warding for safety." Navarre glanced at Draycott. "My sword, if you would."

Draycott nodded slowly. "It will be my honor."

Many things were said between the two men without words then, Sara realized. She only hoped that the hatred had not stretched on too long to be overcome.

A FRESH FIRE DANCED in the hearth, lighting Draycott Abbey's magnificent library. Sara tried to focus on the flames as Adrian worked the logs with expert hands, prodding the fire to crackling heat.

Meanwhile, Navarre seemed to move his hands across the broken window. Somehow the glass rose back into a solid layer.

Her mind recoiled even as the sight fascinated her. Navarre seemed oblivious to her stare, his powerful hands smooth and sure as he checked the antique glass that appeared perfectly whole.

"Is there anything you can't do?" Sara muttered, exasperated by the man's utter confidence and the sight of one more example of the laws of nature and science gone seriously awry.

"There are too many to count," he said dryly.

"Name one."

"I..." He studied the fire. "I cannot forget."

Nor could Sara forget. Her memories were suddenly too intimate. When she turned to walk through the room, her legs trembled. As she swayed, powerful fingers gripped her shoulder.

"Slowly. The chair is just behind you." Navarre's voice was gruff.

She heard the concern, felt his mind probe hers, checking the extent of her fear and exhaustion.

Beyond odd to have a man's mind prowling restlessly inside your own.

Stranger still to be able to explore his thoughts in turn and feel another person's memories slip through your fingers like sand.

And since it hurt to focus on the night's terrors, she simply shut down. With a sigh of relief, she slid into the smooth leather chair and closed her eyes.

Bliss to relax.

Bliss to be warm and safe.

A glass met her unsteady fingers, and she heard the rush of liquid.

"The abbey's current viscount keeps an exceptional whiskey," Adrian said. "Drink it down, my dear.

All of it."

Sara swallowed, savoring the slow burn that brought warmth to her throat.

When she looked up, Navarre was studying her. Gravely he brushed her cheek with a linen handkerchief. "Your face is cut. You held well against the attack."

She desperately wanted to lean. To be weak and glory in his strength. But leaning wasn't in Sara's makeup, not even after a night like this. "I thought you said there would be three attacks."

"So I thought. It appears that our joined power drained them first."

"Thank God." Sara stretched her weary muscles, then extended her hands toward the fire that was rich and bright, for all that she was certain it was a piece of magic. The lack of smoke was a dead giveaway.

She turned, slipping into Gabriel's mind. "Well?"

She saw the answer before he spoke it. "Magic," he confirmed.

The thought didn't bother her as much as it should have. "I thought we were...lost."

"And so might we all have been," he said grimly. "It was well done of you both." Navarre's face was lined in the phantom firelight. He ran a hand over his eyes and then took the glass Adrian held out to him.

"Real spirits?"

Adrian's eyes narrowed. "You question every detail, I see. Just as always."

Sara observed the byplay between the two men, sensing images of power and pride in Adrian's mind. "I see what I didn't see before. Clearly, you are not the estate manager."

Sara felt him consider his explanation carefully. "I am, you might say, the guardian of this place.

The task has been my duty and my honor for years too long to count. You'll forgive me the lie." A faint smile played at Adrian's lips. "So few mortals can see me that I took the opportunity for a little masquerade. My willpower has always been weak."

"That much I remember full well." Navarre took a long gulp from his glass and cleared his throat.

"What manner of spirits have you poisoned me with?"

"Only the finest whiskey from Scotland. Too strong for you?"

"Hardly." Navarre glared at the amber liquid. "It tastes passing strange, for all that. So many things different in this time," he mused.

Draycott finished the last of the whiskey from his etched crystal glass. "Men pay a fortune for such spirits."

"Men have always been fools," Navarre said flatly. "Consider us. Consider our ideals. What good did our great Crusade do in the end? Dust and blood, that's what we left behind. Precious little else."

"Perhaps," Adrian mused. "But our ideals were high. There must be some power in that." The abbey's guardian leaned back in a deep leather chair, studying Sara. "I don't mean to pry, my dear, but after what happened on the roof, I feel a familiarity with your thoughts. This comes from the link you made between us, Navarre?"

The warrior nodded.

"You have no family?" Adrian continued.

"One sister. We trade cards at Christmas, but not much else."

"I see. And your work remains first in your thoughts. Something dangerous, I saw."

Sara shrugged. She wasn't in the habit of discussing her job or her personal life. "Mostly it's simple detective work."

"Not simple at all," Adrian mused. "I can see that from your mind."

"Hard work that has defined rules," Sara amended. "Work that is assisted by long hours at a computer. It's hardly glamorous and rarely dangerous."

"But there are times of danger," Adrian persisted. "One of them occurred recently, I think?"

Sara looked down at the drink forgotten in her hands. She turned away the question and the memories that came with it. Instead, she picked an image from the bond that held her to Adrian, seeing the weight of old responsibility. Right now he was worrying about missing stonework on the roof and possible flooding of the moat. He was also thinking about a great gray cat and a woman with auburn hair. "The woman is very beautiful."

Adrian grinned like a schoolboy. "She is that most certainly. You saw her?"

Sara nodded. "The gray cat seems to belong to the abbey in a way that I cannot describe." She glanced at Navarre. "And you...brood deeply. I think your right shoulder hurts, too." She nodded when he rubbed a spot near his neck. "A little lower and to the right."

He muttered something.

"You've never had a real home, have you? Somewhere you truly felt safe."

Navarre made a noncommittal sound and looked down into the fire.

"A place with a stone hearth and a pair of gray hunting dogs. That was your dream."

"You see a great deal," he said stiffly. "That home is something I never experienced. But Draycott has asked you a question. What happened in this recent work of yours? There was something about a woman. Three children were involved."

Sara felt her face go pale. Navarre had seen too much. Even now the memories from that day scraped at her like a raw wound. "It was a kidnapping. I was called in to investigate the ransom note and provide forensic evidence."

"Forensic?" Navarre repeated the word. "Explain."

"Legal and physical clues that help to identify a crime or criminals." Sara stretched out her hands to the fire. "My expertise is paper and other writing media."

Navarre considered and then nodded. "What happened when you were called to perform this work?"

"The kidnapper broke through a roadblock. My partner and I were the nearest agents. The kidnapper had taken a minivan with a mother and three children as hostages." Sara looked away.

Her hands tightened on the arm of her chair.

Navarre leaned forward intently. "You told the criminal you would make an offer to him," he said slowly. "You proposed a trade-you in exchange for the children."

Sara could still smell the dry sage and creosote inside the narrow Utah canyon. She heard the crying of terrified children. "He said no. I was working my way down from behind, into a position near the children in the minivan. When I was halfway there, he shot my partner." Sara stared into the fire.

"And you feel you were to blame. You chose to protect those least able to protect themselves. It was the correct decision."

"No one else thinks so. My partner is still in rehabilitation. He may never be able to use his shoulder again."

Navarre shook his head. "That is the cost of his duty."

Once Sara would have agreed with him.

"Those you work with blamed you," Navarre mused, "because your partner was hurt, even though you did the right thing."

"I should have had a better plan." Sara stood up abruptly, pushing away the memories. "I'm very tired. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to-"

"No." Navarre blocked her way. "I do not excuse you."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

SARA FLINCHED.

Navarre saw the reaction and hated the knowledge that he had hurt her, even a little, but he meant to know the full truth of what had happened. "They treated you unfairly." His voice tightened.

"Despite your courage you were punished."

"I don't want to discuss this." Sara stared over his shoulder. "Let it go. This doesn't involve you."

She tried to turn away, but Navarre's fingers curved, tracing the scars at her wrist. "Your life and all your past involve me now."

"I said, let it go." Sara pulled against him, and the sharp movement made her wince.

Gabriel cursed. He lifted her in one smooth movement and set her in the chair before the fire.