Chapter 33
Arthur
“God, you smell good.” Gwen leaned across the center console and pressed her nose against my shoulder. She was making the cake noise again, the same sound that had kept me up far too late last night, and my grip on the steering wheel went soft.
“You’ve said that three times since Portsmouth.”
“Because it’s true.” She settled into her seat but kept tracing lazy patterns on my leg. I remembered her hot mouth on my cock and her fingers making those same slow circles.
Focus on the road, Penn.
The Peugeot bounced over uneven ground as I drove between trees in the back of the property. I was pretty sure a rough track had run through here a decade or more ago, but I’d begun doubting myself. Ethan was going to lose his mind when he found the ruts through his grass.
I should have been checking the security feeds on my phone, scanning the tree line, thinking about approaches from the lane. Instead I was driving with Gwen’s hand in my lap, running on three hours of sleep, and hoping my neck hadn’t bruised from the attention she’d given it on the ferry.
Worth every minute of lost sleep.
The cottage rose through the bare trees. I slowed, aimed for the rear entrance, and parked behind the low stone wall separating the yard from the Victorian garden. “Should we tell Lance?”
“That might be a little weird.”
“He may have already figured it out.”
“How?”
Because he knows me better than I know myself, apparently. “I’m not sure.”
“Is that your way of saying you told him?” Her fingers moved higher, and my dick woke up. She raised one mischievous eyebrow, and in response, I narrowed my eyes at her.
“I didn’t.” I pulled her hand onto my cock, showing her how hard I was getting. “But if I sneak into your room tonight, he might—”
“Arthur!” came a voice from outside.
We sprang apart so fast that Gwen’s elbow hit the console and my knee cracked the steering column. She dove into her messenger bag as though her life depended on finding something at the bottom of it.
Lance hopped over the short wall wearing a shit-eating grin. Had he seen us?
I cut the engine and adjusted myself.
Smooth, Penn. Very smooth.
Lance was at Gwen’s door before she had a chance to open it. He was rested and alert, dressed in tactical blacks he’d likely packed when we originally left the States. He flung the door open and wrapped his arms around her. “I shouldn’t have let you two go off without me.”
“I’m fine,” she said.
He pulled away from her, keeping a grip on her biceps. “If they’d hurt you—”
“They didn’t.”
“What about me?” I said, pretending to be wounded by his inattention.
He marched around to my side. Before I could say I was joking, he pulled me into a hug and clapped my back hard enough to make my ribs scream. “Fuck, it’s good to be in the same country as you.”
“You too, brother.” I clapped him back, and for a few seconds it was just the two of us. Arthur and Lance. The way it had been since he’d landed a scholarship to attend my boarding school. Before the Teams, before Pendragon, before either of us had scars or a company that kept trying to fall apart.
He let go, his gaze lingering on the bruising along my jaw. “You look like shit.”
“You should see the other guy.”
“I really hope I never see that asshole again.” He turned to Gwen and shook his head. “You two are going to be the death of me.”
I grabbed the duffel and sword from the back seat. “Hopefully this will all be over soon.”
“Speaking of which, I think we need to hurry.” Lance took the duffel from me and motioned for us to follow him inside. “A rainstorm’s coming in tomorrow, so today’s our best shot, unless we want to wait for two more days.”
Inside, we passed through the kitchen and took a right past the breakfast room into the formal dining room.
Lance had been busy. Several of my father’s old topographic maps were spread across the table alongside printed satellite images.
Two handguns and a couple of rifles sat at the far end, plus ammunition—no doubt from my father’s stash in the safe room.
He also had a small bag, a few flashlights, and two sets of binoculars set out.
“You’ve been here a while,” I said.
“I got in around two this morning, slept for a few hours, and started setting up.” He dropped the duffel and pulled out a chair.
I picked up one of the handguns and checked the chamber. Empty. “We can’t use these.”
“They’re your father’s. He won’t complain.”
“That’s not what I meant. We’re in the UK, and unless we’re protecting the royal family, they’re a no-go.”
Lance leaned against the table. “You used a gun in Prague without a license.”
“Yeah, and my father had to pull a bunch of strings to avoid me being locked up. We’re not using them here.” I set the gun down. “Besides, none of the men who attacked us in France were packing. Not even Rick.”
“So we’re going in naked?”
“We’re going in smart.” I pulled one of the satellite images closer. “Have you checked the tide schedules yet?”
“Low tide is in about two hours.” Lance tapped the beach on the image. “That, plus tomorrow’s storm, makes this afternoon our entire window. The front is driving heavy fog our way, and it should arrive soon.”
“The fog gives us extra cover.” I stared at the old map of Tintagel, which showed the jagged coastline and the headland where the castle ruins stood.
A bridge connected it to the mainland for tourists.
Far below, a cave ran through the rock from one side to the other.
At high tide, it flooded, making it impassable.
But at low tide, people could walk across the beach into what had long been called Merlin’s Cave.
According to some legends, the magician had once lived there.
Lance said, “Since the tides control access to the cave, I think we start there.”
“Agreed,” I said.
“Merlin’s Cave?” Gwen leaned over the map, reading the tiny writing. “Where Uther snuck in to have his way with Ygraine?”
Lance raised an eyebrow at me.
“That’s the one,” I said. “Many of the Arthurian stories claim Merlin used his magic to disguise Uther as Ygraine’s husband so he could sneak into her chambers while his army besieged the castle.”
As much as people called my father Uther behind his back, the idea that he’d ever been so taken by a woman that he’d go to any lengths for her was laughable.
“How do you get into the cave?” she asked.
“There’s wooden stairs leading to the beach.
” The first time my father took me there, I was eight.
He’d stood at the cave entrance with the waves pulling back from the rocks and told me the whole story—the mist, the disguise, how Uther had walked through the gates without anyone realizing who he was.
My father had been different that day. Animated.
He’d pointed into the dark mouth of the cave and said, ‘That’s where the magic is. ’
It was one of the few times he’d ever been excited by anything beyond a deal or a client.
“Too bad we don’t have magic disguises,” I said.
“Or any disguises,” Lance said. “Rick knows us and obviously recognizes Gwen.”
My phone buzzed with a security notification. I unlocked it and saw a figure on the east camera, moving toward the house. Toward the kitchen doors. Head down, dark jacket, wide hat, and a rifle.
Lance noticed my reaction and grabbed a gun.
I grabbed the other. “Gwen, get behind the sideboard.”
She darted to the heavy oak piece against the wall with the sword case in hand and crouched behind it.
Lance and I hurried toward the kitchen, guns low until we got close. Muscle memory and occasional silent signals kept us in sync as we took the corners toward the east entrance. I flattened myself against the wall beside the doorframe.
I nodded.
Lance raised his weapon.
I yanked the door open.
An older man stumbled back a step, his ancient rifle coming up halfway before his brain caught up with his hands.
“Don’t!” I lowered my gun and put up a hand. “Ethan. It’s us.”
Lance dropped his weapon to his side. “Jesus Christ.”
Ethan Fowley stood in the doorway with his chest heaving, the rifle now pointed at the ground. He had long gray hair and a face like a permanent thundercloud beneath the tattered hat that had obscured him on the security feed. “Master Arthur? Lance?”
“Yeah, it’s us.” I let out a breath. “But it’s Arthur, okay?”
“Your father would have my hide, Master Arthur.” Ethan stepped inside and leaned the rifle against the doorframe. He pressed a hand to his chest. The man was pushing seventy and had just had two guns in his face.
The last thing I needed was to add my father’s caretaker having a heart attack to the list of this week’s chaos. I took his arm. “What are you doing here with a gun?”
“A car crossed the back field about half an hour ago. I didn’t recognize it and thought someone was going to break in.”
So much for sneaking in. I should have called to warn him we were coming back. As we entered the dining room with him, Gwen stood from behind the sideboard. I said to her, “It’s all right. This is Ethan Fowley. He takes care of the property.”
Ethan straightened when he saw Gwen, but the cold scowl remained. “Ma’am.”
“My name’s Gwen.” She put the sword case on the table and came over to him. “Are you all right? Can I get you some water?”
“I’ll be fine. I’m not as young as I used to be.” He lowered himself into one of the chairs with a groan. He touched one of the maps. “Visiting more of the local sites?”
“Gwen’s the historian friend we took to St. Catherine’s Church.”
“Yes, yes.” Ethan ran a hand over his face. “Did you enjoy the church, ma’am?”
She smiled at him. “I did. Very much.”
“And how long will you be staying this time, Master Arthur?”
“A day or two.”
“I can have some more groceries sent up, if you’d like?”
“That would be great, Ethan. Thank you.”
He pulled the open Tintagel map closer. “If you’re heading to the cave, watch out for the tide.”
“I know,” I said. “There’s a low tide this afternoon. We might go then.”
“Is there?” Ethan wheezed a laugh. “I remember the first time you went with your father. You came home and talked Hettie’s ear off for hours.”
I’d come tearing into the kitchen with sand in my hair and under my fingernails, spilling every detail of my trip.
She’d lifted me onto the counter and let me eat leftover stew straight from the pot.
She’d listened to every word as though it was the most important story she’d ever heard. “Hettie was a patient woman.”
“She was a saint to put up with you.” Ethan’s old, weathered face didn’t handle smiles well. It was hard to tell the difference between happy and angry. “I should leave you to your planning, though. The dogs are probably whining outside, wondering where I’ve gone.”
“Thanks for checking on us.” I offered him a hand up, but he waved it away, and I walked him to the kitchen door.
He collected his rifle and pushed the door open, revealing his two old hounds sniffing a nearby bush. “Be careful at Tintagel, Master Arthur. Those cliffs aren’t forgiving.”
“I will.”
He headed across the lawn, the dogs trotting behind him.
When I returned to the dining room, Lance shook his head. “That man has given me the creeps since I was fifteen.”
“He reminded me of the Crypt Keeper when I was little.” I couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t have the gray hair or the scowl.
“He still does.”
Gwen had taken a seat at the table and was pulling her notebook from the messenger bag. “He seems sweet.”
“He’s a good man.” When we’d arrived the first time, I’d called him a neighbor, rather than admit my family employed caretakers for our properties. As though Gwen hadn’t noticed how pretentiously large my father’s cottage was. “He’s worked here since my father bought the place.”
“Is that how he got so close without setting off an alarm?” Gwen asked.
“No, that’s on me.” I picked up my phone and swiped through to the security app.
I’d been distracted by her hand on my crotch during the approach, then by Gwen herself once we were inside.
I turned the system back on. “I switched on the bypass while we were driving in and forgot to re-enable the full system. He came in the same direction we did.”
“Back to work.” Lance gestured at the Tintagel map. “Cave first, while we have the window. Ruins after, if the cave’s a dead end.” His gaze moved across the table from Gwen to me. “Are you two bringing the sword?”
You two? As though Gwen and I were the partners all of a sudden, and not Lance and me.
He knows, Arthur. He totally knows.
“We should leave it here,” I said, as much to move past his implication as anything else. “If they’re waiting for us, we shouldn’t arrive with exactly what they want.”
Gwen looked up from her notebook. “Clavis means key.”
“I know what it means.”
“What if it’s literal? What if it unlocks a physical object in the cave?”
Lance put out his hands, as though weighing options. “She’s got a point.”
She did. But so did I. However, we were hoping we’d slipped into England before Rick and whoever he was working for suspected we were there.
If our entry into the country was stealthier than our arrival at the cottage, they might believe we hadn’t left France.
This afternoon’s low tide was a blessing—the perfect time to enter the cave, search it, and leave.
“Okay. The sword comes,” I said. “Gwen and I go down into the cave. Lance, you’re overwatch on the mainland side of the bridge. You’ll have eyes on the road, the beach, the cave entrance, and the far exit.”
“In clear air, sure. Depending on how thick the fog gets, I may have a long lens pointed at a wall.” As a former sniper, Lance usually covered us from a distance, so I hadn’t expected pushback.
He indicated a hard case on the floor next to the door.
“Fortunately, I found a little quadcopter in the safe room with thermal and low-light cameras. I called Tristan an hour ago, and we confirmed he can fly it from his desk at home, as long as we’ve got a clear cellular signal.
He’ll be able to punch through the fog where my glass can’t. ”
“I like that.” I nodded. “You keep the bridge, he keeps the sky. Two sets of eyes.”
Lance opened a small bag that had been sitting on the corner of the table. “And I bought some earpieces before I left Geneva since your radio’s somewhere in France. They’re off-the-shelf units that’ll pair with our phones.”
“No radios in the safe room?”
“Sadly, no. We should be flying with a full set of backups in future.”
I added spare surveillance kit to my mental shopping list for when we were done with this job. Even if my luggage and radio had made it out of Troyes, Gwen still wouldn’t have had anything. Having spares on the jet would have been smart.
One more thing you didn’t plan—
Shut up, Penn.
Low tide was now sixty minutes away, and the drive would take us forty. Time to look forward instead of backward. “Let’s roll.”