Epilogue
Sophie shook the dampness out of her hair as they emerged from a tunnel into a dry cave.
How they had managed to walk in an air bubble on the floor of Lake Pontchartrain she didn’t understand, and something about the tunnel had felt different, almost as though Michael and she had crossed time periods.
Still, he had not hesitated when the Lady bade them follow her.
Glancing around the cave, she gasped in awe.
What she had thought were electric lights were actually hundreds of candles set into niches that reflected the sparkling facets of thousands and thousands of crystals.
A fire was banked in a stone hearth along one wall, and just past it was a darkened passageway.
Footsteps echoed from the passage, along with some foreign mumbling, as an elderly man with a flowing white beard emerged. His vivid blue eyes widened as he saw them. “Not another one,” he grumbled and turned to the Lady. “Couldn’t you have just brought the Sword yourself?”
“Now, Merlin, mind your manners,” the Lady said mildly as though speaking to a child who has been told to do so many times. “Our guest has special powers.”
“Eh?” Merlin looked at Sophie as if he were to about to dissect her to learn what they were. “She’s not a faerie, is she? Nimue is handful enough.”
“No,” Michael answered, “but she’s inherited the blood of Epona.”
Merlin looked startled. “So that’s why the Pendragon was let loose.”
Sophie looked from Merlin to Michael. “Have I had another concussion? Just exactly where am I and why do you refer to this man as Merlin?”
“Because I am Merlin!” His white, scraggily brows furrowed. “Is she as ignorant as the other one?”
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.”
“It’s not quite that simple,” the Lady explained. “It seems that the Celtic relics want to be reunited before we use them again. The return-time portal remains locked for now.”
Michael arched a brow. “For how long?”
“Until next Beltane, if the Platter and the Grail can be found by next Beltane, when the cycle will be complete. Merlin will be your host until then.”
Merlin snorted. “What did I ever do—”
“Think of it this way,” Sara said with a mischievous look. “You’ll be getting rid of Nimue for a while.”
As if on cue, the faerie fluttered in from the passageway. She eyed Michael appreciatively and Sophie put her hand on his arm possessively. She didn’t plan to compete with a faerie, even though this one was exquisitely beautiful.
“Don’t worry,” Michael said with a quirky grin. “Nim and I go back a long way as friends.”
“It sounds like you have an awful lot of female friends,” Sophie said.
Lancelot started to laugh, but quickly stopped as Sara shot him a look that said he had no room to talk.
Nimue looked from one man to the other. “Things should get interesting around here soon. I suppose I have to leave, though?”
“I am afraid so,” the Lady said and twisted the ruby pommel of the Sword to reveal a hidden hollow space. She took out a small scrap of paper. “This holds the clue for the Platter,” she said as she gave it to Nimue.
Nimue tucked the paper inside the low neckline of her gossamer silvery-white gown and batted nearly transparent wings. She looked once more from Lancelot to Tristan. “Try not to kill each other while I’m gone, will you?” she said with an impish smile and then disappeared.
Sophie eyed Michael. “I think you owe me a long explanation, Tristan.”
This time, Lancelot did laugh. “The bedrooms are down the passage. I find that’s the best place to do any explaining that Sara wants.”
She punched him playfully. “Speaking of which—”
“No need to say more,” Lancelot said and picked her up in his arms and strode away.
Merlin groaned. “Not again. That man has the stamina of a horse.” He looked suspiciously at Michael. “I suppose you do too?”
Michael grinned. “I’d have to, since my mate is descended from Epona.” And then, before Sophie could retort, he pulled her toward him and claimed her mouth with a thorough kiss.