Two bodies were stretched out flat at a side entrance on the east of the house. There was no sign of anyone else nearby, although two fresh sets of footprints crisscrossed near the edge of the fountain, and another set of prints approached the front door from the gatehouse. In the pouring rain he might have overlooked others.

Oddly, a black horse had raced past Izzy in a state of frenzy only moments before.

Izzy called Sara's name, but she didn't seem to hear. When he leaned down and removed the gun gripped in her cold fingers, he heard her say a name.

It sounded like "Gabriel."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.

THE RAIN FELL HARDER.

Sara hunched over, trembling, dimly aware of the rush of the fountain behind her.

"Agent Nightingale-Sara, are you all right?"

She heard the man repeat the code word set by Harding. Now he slowly took her service weapon.

"You've got a good deal of blood on your shoulder, and I'd like to take a look at it. Why don't we go inside?"

Sara stared blindly at the blood streaking her wet jacket. How strange. After the first wave of pain, she hadn't felt anything at her shoulder. Right now nothing seemed to matter to her.

She took a hard breath and forced her attention back to the man's questions. "Mr. Teague, you said?"

"Call me Izzy. And I asked what happened to the men who came here. I saw their tracks."

"There is a man up on the roof. I shot him. There were others, but they-" Sara's voice caught.

"The phone lines were down. My cell phone hasn't worked, so I couldn't make contact."

Izzy shone a small penlight on her shoulder, speaking quietly. "The storm has knocked out power lines all over southern England. There's extensive flooding, too. Sara, why don't we go inside now?"

His voice was low and compelling, but she didn't want to move. Not until she could accept the things she had just seen and the loss that was too great to bear.

"I can't leave. Not yet," she said. She frowned at Izzy's rugged features-he was the spitting image of Denzel Washington. "The maps and my notebook are locked in the library safe. I'd prefer if you took possession of them for delivery back to the States."

"As soon as I finish here. Would you look to your right please?" His voice was pleasant but firm.

He shone his penlight into Sara's eyes and kept talking quietly. "Must have been some firefight here. You held them off by yourself?"

There was no scoffing in his voice, no censure or disbelief. It was a simple question.

So different from the antagonism she'd faced back in the States.

"Only one. The others...got into some trouble with the storm." She couldn't find a clear way to explain what had happened, no way that wouldn't leave her sounding like a lunatic.

"But the two bodies behind the abbey show no signs of bullet entry points. Did you rig up some booby traps?"

Sara rubbed her forehead wearily. She was shivering and rain was seeping between her shoulders like cold fingers.

Like the cold brush of the things from the roof. The things that had ripped Gabriel away. "Can we talk about this later? I'll...explain everything then."

She'd come up with a story somehow.

"No problem. Let's go inside. I'll make a fire, then find something warm for you to drink."

"They already made a fire," Sara whispered. "It seems like a century ago."

"They?"

She stood up slowly. "It doesn't matter. Why don't you go on? I'll be in shortly."

"I don't think I should leave you."

"Please, I just need several minutes...alone. No longer."

He hesitated. Then Sara heard his boots crunch over gravel. The gatehouse door creaked open. She didn't move, feeling the weight of terrible sorrow. Blindly, she reached out to the emptiness, searching for the link that had bound her to Gabriel. Once, twice, ten times she called to him.

Nothing.

He was gone.

Her fingers met the cold outline of the cross he had given her barely two hours before. The metal was worn from the pressure of Gabriel's fingers for too many years to count. She slid to her knees, one hand outstretched. She felt the mist and the rough stone ledge of the fountain.

Gabriel...

Behind her the black horse emerged from the fog. He moved restlessly across the courtyard, neighing.

What would happen to him now? Sara wondered. Could she find a place where he would be safe and well taken care of? The horse nudged her hair, blowing noisily against her neck, but she had no energy left to smile. Her fingers rose, closing hard around the silky mane as she pressed her tear-streaked face to the horse's back.

Wind gusted up in eddies, churning through the gatehouse courtyard. Lightning speared the sky overhead.

Gabriel, what is there left without you?

Space tore open, hissing with the force of nature turned against itself. Inky clouds churned up.

Thunder rumbled as Gabriel plummeted to the ground, landing on his back with a groan.

Sara stared, afraid to believe the figure was real. Half laughing, half crying, she shot onto one knee beside him, touching his face and shoulders.

He looked dazed and confused as he tried to stand up. "Sara?" When she lifted his head, he couldn't speak. His hands simply circled hers and gripped hard.

The contact between them was dense and electric now.

"They-they refused to have me," Gabriel finally rasped. "They forced me back. I could not stay because of the choice I made. A pure gift, they called it." He lay flat in the mud, coughed once and rubbed his throat. "It appears that I am here to stay." He tried to sit up and landed back in the mud.

"Here with you, Sara. If you will have me."

His hands closed on hers as if he wanted to be certain he would never lose her again. When she didn't answer, he pushed onto one elbow and raised an eyebrow. Sara?

His thoughts slid into hers, merged and raced, rich with the certainty of people who had known each other far longer than one day or even one lifetime. Speak now. Will you have me, despite the harm I have caused?

The rain had stopped. Over the abbey's wooded hills dawn was brushing the horizon. Through racing clouds the low moon gleamed silver, then vanished into the pink flush of the new day.

The first day in a new century for a man who had wandered too long.

Sara brought his callused hand to her lips. I like to give orders. I think I should warn you. I won't be calm and subservient if you bluster and wave your arms around. Especially then, she added.

Is that a yes, Sara, my heart?

I'm...thinking about it.

Gabriel stood up awkwardly, frowning down at her. There is blood on your shoulder.

Being shot generally has that effect.

By all the saints, you should be inside- Stop blustering. She smiled gravely. And I think I will have you, Crusader. Living with a battle-hardened knight may suit me very well. Although how I'll explain you to the IRS and the Immigration Service...

Gabriel tried to walk and swayed sharply. I seem to be weaker than I thought. There was a bit of a fight before I was thrown out of the Between World.

Sara didn't ask what had happened to the man from the roof. She could imagine the grim scenario well enough without details.

They've thrown you back, Navarre? Adrian Draycott walked out of the mist, a look of shock on his face.

So it appears.

Adrian pursed his lips, trying to hide his sharp relief. So why are you delaying? Settle the matter with this singular woman before she comes to her senses and runs away.

Gabriel slanted a look at Sara. You're right. She might do far better than I, Draycott. Probably there are rich traders in her home city. Or maybe a prince who would woo her.

Not too many princes hang out on my block, Sara cut in dryly.

She crossed her arms, frowning. Because it felt far too comfortable sharing her thoughts, she put those thoughts to words. "I'd appreciate it if you two would stop trying to organize my future as if I didn't have a brain in my head."

"He's right," Draycott said thoughtfully. "You could do very well for yourself, Sara."

"Depending on how you define well." She took a deep breath. "No, I've decided that living with a prince-or a rich trader-would be boring. But living with a black-hearted, bad-tempered, querulous Crusader? Now that's an interesting prospect."

Adrian studied the two of them and shook his head. I warrant there will be sparks between you.

Enough for twenty Crusades.

Gabriel traced his cross where it hung over the collar of Sara's jacket. "I'd like to show you La Varenne. Both of you, in fact. If the walls still remain," Gabriel said roughly. "There are roses in summer, great banks of them. The Rose of Castile. The Rose of Four Seasons. The Hundred-Petaled and the Rosa alba."

Adrian looked interested. "Perhaps I'll go. I'm always in search of fine old blooms for the abbey gardens."

He glanced up as the sun burst gold and glorious over the horizon. Behind him Gabriel slid his arms around Sara and pulled her closer. She whispered his name. The Crusader's mouth closed hungrily over hers.

"I can see I'm not needed here."

Neither of the other two answered or appeared to notice his presence in the slightest.

Which was probably as it should be, Adrian thought, when two people were lost in each other's arms, weaving together dreams for their future.

Yes, it had been a fine night's work despite the violence and the danger. The old anger was cleared at last. Navarre had found a home in the arms of the woman he had lost.

The ghost of Draycott Abbey smiled. Smoothing the lace at his cuffs, he surveyed the oblivious couple at the edge of the fountain. Given that all was well here, he had a desire to see the rest of his house and grounds.

Would their link hold once Adrian returned to his phantom form? Would the other two even remember what had happened here? And how would a Crusader survive in the modern world?

He had no sure answers. Only the future would tell.

And now it was time to go. The abbey's guardian took a deep breath, staring out at the dappled sunlight beneath a clearing sky. He took a last breath, savoring the rich perfume of his roses.

The Changing was far easier this time, moving back into the spin of light and color he was most used to. The air quivered as he felt the density of his physical body fade.

Suddenly rose petals drifted down, brushing the surface of the fountain and perfuming the air.

"Nicely done," Adrian said to the gray cat that stalked over the cobblestones.

Gideon's tail flicked from side to side. He looked a little proprietary as he pressed against Adrian's boot and showed no intention of moving away.

Adrian's hand rose. The words began, low and grave, taken from the old Norman French that he had never forgotten.

Hold in the circle.

Hold to the light.

None to cut, none by might.

Fair winds before morning and bright dawn to follow.

Hold in the circle.

Hold to the light.

Adrian smiled, staring up at the sky. The ritual was complete.

His work was done.

In the full glow of dawn cat and ghost walked calmly forward and vanished into the abbey's weathered granite walls.