“Sure. I just got back in from running.”
He frowned. “Didn’t we agree you would not take any risks like going out by yourself while I’m gone?”
“I wasn’t alone. Michael came with me.”
He didn’t know whether to curse or be grateful. He wasn’t too sure just how much of McCain’s interest in Sara was more thanfriendly. “Is he there now?” he asked in what he hoped was a casual tone.
She laughed. “He is. Do you want to talk to him and make sure I’m being a good little girl?”
Lucas squelched any thoughts of how she could be good. Suddenly the thought of her standing naked in the bedroom made his stomach knot up. Was the guy in bed watching her? The wolf snarled menacingly.
“Lucas? Are you there?”
He took a deep breath. “Yeah. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I can get Michael,” she said, her voice more serious now. “He’s in the living room watching TV.”
Lucas felt an almost giddy sense of relief. By the Dagda, he was acting like a schoolboy. “Won’t be necessary. Just be careful. I don’t know if Balor is stalking you, but he wants a copy of that manuscript. Keep the doors locked…you know the routine.”
“I know,” Sara said. “My copy of the manuscript is locked in my own safe. Mr. Smith has been digging into the Arthurian legends again and has given me enough work to be too busy to go out. He wants me to find out if Gwenhwyfar actually existed.”
Gwenhwyfar. Small and delicately-boned, ivory skin and hair as pale as moonlight. Eyes that were a startling light grey. Every movement was pure grace. It was small wonder that Arthur was besotted with her. Half of the knights of the Round Table were. But as fragile-looking as she was, she had steel-like inner strength and more courage than many a warrior. History had much maligned her.
“Sounds interesting,” he replied. “You’ll have to let me know what you’ve discovered when I get back.”
“I will. Take care.”
Lucas collected his carry-on and hurried out of the airport. He wanted to get the inventory done and be back on a planeheading toward Texas before Balor had a chance to make a move. For now, much as he hated to think about it, he’d have to trust Michael McCain.
****
Sara closed a website link and sat back in Mr. Smith’s study, rubbing her eyes. The amount of “non-fiction” work on Gwenhwyfar was amazing. There were claims that she was a Pict, a Celt, and a Roman. That she lived in Scotland, Wales, or southern England. That she had fought at Arthur’s side as a warrior queen, that she was Pagan or that she was Christian. That she had willingly plotted with Mordred or that she was abducted by him. That Lancelot had only been her champion and loyal to Arthur or that they had both betrayed their king. How was she going to shift through it?
“You look like you need a break.”
Sara jumped at the sound of Alan Caldwell’s voice. She hadn’t seen him since she’d returned from Nova Scotia.
“I didn’t know you were still here,” she said and hoped she didn’t sound too rude.
If he took offense, he didn’t show it. “I’m almost through. Just wrapping up a few details,” he said. “Let me take you to lunch to make up for the other time.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I insist.” He gave her a charming smile. “I feel bad that you became ill.”
“Why? Was there anything you could have done to stop it?”
A look of hurt crossed his face. “I really would like to make up for it.”
Mr. Smith entered the study at that moment and Sara inwardly groaned. Matchmaker that he liked to be, she was probably doomed.
And she was. Mr. Smith waved them off with a big smirk on his face. At least this time—she glanced in the rearview mirror asshe weaved through traffic on I-20—they’d taken separate cars. And she wasn’t about to leave her food or drink unattended for anything.
She parked her car in front of a local Mexican restaurant. Alan joined her as they walked toward the door. A rather skinny young man reached it about the same time as they did and opened it for them. Something about him looked vaguely familiar, but Sara couldn’t place him. And before she could think about it, Alan started talking.
To her relief, he didn’t seem to be in flirting mode. He asked questions about her temp agency and how she had gotten interested in ancient and medieval history, and he seemed knowledgeable about the swords that he had been studying.
“The claymore was the weapon of choice for the Highlanders,” he said.
