Page 70 of Knight of the Sword

Sophie drew herself up. “I don’t know who the “other one” is, but I am not stupid.”

“Didn’t say you were,” Merlin replied sagely. “Just ignorant.”

Before she could ask what he meant, more voices sounded in the passageway and soon a tall, tawny-haired man and a brunette woman stepped out, holding hands and wearing satisfied smiles that gave Sophie a hint of what they had been doing not long ago. They looked familiar.

“Hi, Sara,” Michael said. “Good to see you again.”

Sara. His friend who had searched for the Spear. This was the couple who had been at the ranchero in Palo Pinto County the night Michael had taken her there to tend to a wolf.

Michael nodded reluctantly at the man built like an ancient warrior. “Ramsey.”

The man assessed Michael before replying. “McCain.”

The candle flames could have frozen from their icy tones. Sara had been a good friend of Michael’s, and she was obviously in love with the hunk she was clinging to. Could Michael be jealous? Sophie’s stomach suddenly felt like she’d swallowed lead. His hand came to rest on her shoulder.

“I am not jealous,” he said with an amused smile.

Damn it. He’d read her mind again. She was really going to have to establish some rules about that, but then she heard Merlin cackle.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” Sara’s man said with a frown.

Merlin wiped at his eyes, trying to contain his mirth. “You wouldn’t, Lancelot. It’s a good thing you and Tristan here never met at Arthur’s court; you’d have run each other through.” He chortled again. “Two peas in a pod.”

Lancelot? Tristan?

“I can see you’re confused,” Sara said to Sophie and smiled. “I was, too, when I first got here.”

“Where is ‘here’ exactly?” Sophie asked.

“We’re in Merlin’s cave in Cornwall—”

“England?” Sophie interrupted.

“Yes. I believe you met Lucas last spring, only he really is Lancelot.”

“As in King Arthur and Gwenhwyfar? That Lancelot?”

He looked pained. “Gwen and I were never anything but friends. Besides, that was a long time ago.”

“It certainly was…” Sophie’s voice trailed off as comprehension began to sink in. “Are you telling me that you were alive then? In the—what was it—sixth century?”

Lancelot bowed slightly. “I am an immortal knight.”

Sophie looked into his golden eyes, trying to see if he was jesting, but he looked steadily back at her with no trace of a smile. An immortal knight. Well, why not? She’d already met a dragon and seen two demons and Michael was a warlock— She stopped her train of thought and turned to him.

“Did Merlin call you Tristan? As in Tristan of Lyonesse who stole his uncle’s wife from him?”

Michael scowled. “Iseult chased me and damn near got me beheaded. The writers got it all wrong.”

“Good luck with that,” Lancelot said wryly.

“Well, they did!”

“Be that as it may,” the Lady of the Lake said as she moved between them, “both of you left enough trembling damsels in your wakes to last more than a few lifetimes. The priestesses in Avalon will be glad to know you’ve each found your mate.”

“More lovey-dovey talk and goo-goo eyes from another pair then,” Merlin said with a sigh. “Can’t an old man just be left in peace and quiet?”

“You certainly can,” Michael answered and handed the Sword to the Lady. “We’ve got to get back. Pendragon is loose out there, as well as Lucifer—not to mention Balor.”