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not just a knight but one of the best this court is renowned for. If there be none here I’ll ride to Joyous Garde.” Blinking away the tears of frustration that threatened to fall, I turned on my heel.
    “Hold,” Arthur commanded. He had no fae gift of compulsion, but the authority of his voice alone stopped me. “You mistake if you believe knighthood is the station itself. And you mistake if you believe Merlin or I would endorse anyone unworthy of the title.”
    Merlin!
    How had I not recognized him? How was it that only now when I knew the man with the staff for who he was did the Old Magic that had seemed to permeate the room itself settle over him alone?
    What did they know about the kitchen boy I didn’t? I stole a glance his way. Boy was, of course, only a subservient term, although it hadn’t been that many years past since he’d left boyhood behind. A year older maybe than Nessie, a year younger than me. The spread of his bared shoulders spoke to many hours of physical labor—or weapons practice. I followed the ripple of his muscles until they disappeared into his legging’s waistband and let my imagination fill in the rest of the details from his flat hips to his thick corded thighs to his thick—
    I dragged my gaze up, past the burl of his arms to the goodly form of his face with its hint of beard and the seawashed eyes I could, at another time, drown myself in.
    I could ask for worse in a traveling companion. But mere strength and beauty did not a knight make, any more than the title did. I needed a man , one with fire in his soul and determination in his heart. This knave had the physique, certainly—and the longer I stared, the more appealing it became—and Arthur seemed to vouch for his skill. But did he have the courage and fortitude of a seasoned warrior, as well as the cunning of an experienced leader to know when to charge and when to prudently bide? Neither a daunted nor a dead champion would get my Nessie back.
    “Do you doubt him?” Merlin asked.
    Had he seen into my heart? Or did my face betray my thoughts? If I said yes it would be the same as my proclaiming that I doubted Arthur and Merlin. If I said no…
    Nimue had made it clear I had to offer my champion no encouragement, only abuse. But she was only fae, not a god, to see each transgression fall. Or did I mistake the reach of her power? Panic clutched my heart. “Not his skills for which you vouch, merely his youth and inexperience. Laying steel to a game hen doesn’t give one the courage to raise steel against another man as armed and skillful as you. I’m not chancing a recipe into his hands but my sister’s life!”
    “A fair distinction,” Merlin agreed calmly.
    It was not so much his demeanor that struck me but the knave’s. Throughout, his liquid gaze remained cool, unaffected.
    “And yet you desire fire, flamed by the passions of that same youthful nature that you so disdain.”
    I started. Once again Merlin had seen into my soul. “Is both so impossible?” I asked.
    He grinned. “In Camelot nothing is impossible.”

Chapter 9

Gareth / Beau
    Perhaps it was the drudgery of the kitchen work that had compelled me to offer my sword to this lady’s quest. Perhaps, as I’d rather think, it was being unable to stomach the thought of an innocent young woman in the clutch of a villein.
    But more likely it was the lady herself who compelled me, bewitching me with her fierce love and compassion for her sister along with the very visible charms of her sex.
    In her place, I too would have been disappointed with the nameless and untested man barely out of his youth that was all she knew me for. Her respect was mine to be earned, no matter how demeaned I might be until I had proven myself by deed. Until then, her sharp words might cut my soul but they were wounds to be silently suffered. Was she truly disappointed her words alone were not enough to provoke me? Did she truly believe that forbearance was a fault and wrath a