Hotter Than Hell

(LIKE A) VIRGIN OF THE SPRING Susan Sizemore and Denise Little

GINGER WAS CERTAIN THAT THERE HAD BEEN A time in her life when she found public fornication shocking. That time was long behind her. Now, crossing the courtyard between the baths and the sanctuary of the sacred spring, she barely glanced at the naked couple coupling on the altar at the center.

What the pair was doing was a sacred rite meant to please the gods. She did take a moment to glance their way, and observed that the lad had a truly fine ass. The way his broad back narrowed down to his waist was a work of art. But the offering to the gods being shared out there with such energy was business, not pleasure—for her, at least.

It was spring, festival time, and people were crowding in to the stronghold from all over the countryside of southern Britain. It was a joyful season for most people, one that embraced relief at surviving the winter, appreciation of the new life emerging in field and flock, and enthusiastic participation in the fertility rites so important to the gods.

Ginger normally would have been overseeing the celebrations. But her knowledge of the darkness moving ever closer toward them overwhelmed her interest in this seasonal festival.

As priestess of the spring, she had responsibilities that ran far beyond the rites taking place on the altar. She already knew that the next few days were going to be hard on her, and she was certain that her talent as a seeress was going to be called upon on this day when she was supposed to be resting up for the festival.

The future was hers to see and to interpret for others. And now it seemed the gathering storm had managed to alarm even the highest power in this land. The Lord of Ched had called for his senior advisors to gather before him at the sanctuary. Lord Ched was there when she arrived, a big man going to fat, his grizzled gray hair cut short in the Roman manner. Despite being near to fifty, a great age, he was still handsome. It was obvious where his daughter Morga got her beauty.

Morga was chosen of the Mother and she and the Year King should have been here with her father, bracing for the coming storm, instead of outside worshiping on the altar. Ginger wondered at the exclusion, but it wasn’t just a warning from her extrasensory perception that twisted her belly with apprehension. She hadn’t always been the priestess of the well. At one time she’d been a student of history, a collector of the great stories from the past. She’d studied the manipulation of power by men strong enough to seize and keep it. Their names lived on in tales long after they died—Phillip of Macedonia, his son Alexander the Great, Caesar Augustus, Claudius, Constantius, even the cursed Vortigern, whose ill-fated dealings with the Saxons had torn Britannia apart less than a century ago.

The machinations of power and politics were as much a part of her original world as science and psychic research. But that world had changed forever when she’d decided to put her knowledge to good use. Traveling back in time hadn’t made her life any simpler. Of course, back home she’d been more of an observer than a player. She was well aware of the irony that the disaster of a time transfer gone wrong had turned her from the observer she was supposed to be into a person of importance in this time and place.

Not much importance, thank goodness. She wasn’t trying to change history—she wasn’t even sure what history was supposed to look like here. The sixth century in Britain was notorious for its lack of reliable documentation. Sources like the monks Gildas and Venerable Bede were great tellers of tales, but short on reliable details.

So now she was trying to survive in a dangerous, alien world where her psychic gift gave her a small edge. Or, to be more precise, a job. The seeress gig put a roof over her head and two meals a day in her belly, and gave her the protection of the most powerful person in the region. But all that could change soon if the invaders, who she knew were coming thanks to both her studies of history and her gift, moved inland from their raids on the coast. Not today. Not even tomorrow. But one day soon, death would be beating a path to the walls of this sanctuary.

It could only mean war.

War seemed a certainty, really. Her existence could be hanging by a thread—along with that of every person in this room. She needed to know which side to foster, which army to influence, if she was to survive. Her recent visions had shown her fire and death, but no clear images of who the victors would be.

The steward of the manor followed Ginger into the sanctuary. After him came the harried-looking commander of the guard. The bishop visiting from Wales came inside as well. It was not a large space, though the entrance was wide and open to the courtyard. The four of them gathered around the tiled basin into which the waters of the sacred spring trickled from the back of the sanctuary. Ginger made up a quick prayer to the goddess of the water and to the new God of the cross and when she was done with the blessing they got down to business.

The guardsman did not wait for his Lord to speak. “Can we make this quick? With the crowds coming in—”

“We need a new war leader,” Lord Ched cut him off. He looked around the gathering, his expression hard, daring them to argue. “Right now. This very day would be good. Do you want the job?” he demanded of the guardsman.

A scar ran over the empty socket of the guard’s left eye. He glanced toward the courtyard with his one good eye. They all followed his gaze. The couple was still busy on the altar. Morga’s thighs were wrapped tightly around the Year King’s slender waist and the beautiful young man was pistoning away with hard, swift strokes. He was covered with a glowing sheen of sweat, his muscles bulging.

Damn, but that boy had stamina!

“He’s perfect,” the guard said. “How could I take his place?”

“He’s not perfect,” Lord Ched said. “He’s an idiot, a fool, and a braggart. He pleases my daughter and her belly’s already swelling with a second brat, but he’s useless for anything else.”

“In normal times that would be enough,” the steward spoke up. He rubbed his jaw, the tough stubble on his cheeks making scratching sounds. “I suppose we could go back to the old ways. We could sacrifice him come the Planting Ceremony instead of just letting the lads wrestle for rights to Morga this year. The gods might like that. The crowd certainly would.”

“Morga would not,” Ginger said.

“Nor would I,” added the bishop.

They were both ignored.

“Even if we return to the old ways,” the lord said. “We need someone to replace the Year King first. Someone who can fight. Someone who can lead. I’m too old. Morga’s son is still with the wetnurse. Tradition dictates that the Year King lead us into battle. A battle is coming, and that boy out there isn’t up to the job.”

All Ginger had wanted when she took on this role was a little peace and quiet while she tried to find a way home, but the invaders marching up from the coast weren’t likely to leave anyone in peace. Or even alive, if the rumors they’d been hearing proved to be true. The whole point of returning to the Dark Ages was to find out what happened, to fill in the holes left by Bede and Gildas. Her simple research project had instead left her stuck in the very Dark Ages where she didn’t know what happened.

At least on a grand, historical scale. Here and now, in this little corner of the world, she knew too much. She was a board-certified psychic. She knew trouble was coming soon, marching here as fast as the old Roman roads would allow. But her gift only went so far, in certain directions, and after that she was as on her own as anyone else here.

Her worried musings were interrupted by Lord Ched. “What shall we do, priestess? Look into the water and tell us what the gods say.”

So her Sight was supposed to save them.

As she had suspected would be the case. She always tried to tell the truth of what she saw in the water, but divination was one thing and politics was another.

What she Saw might not be enough to help them.

Ginger sighed, but didn’t argue about her duty. She owed the Lord of the manor her life, and she understood his concerns. His world was threatening to fall apart, and the people he was sworn to protect were in danger. As one of those people, she applauded his take-charge attitude.

She gestured for the men to stand back. They moved fast, obviously delighted the decision was in her hands and not theirs. If things turned out wrong later they could always claim that the priestess read the signs incorrectly.

Pin the blame on the psychic—it was a game that never went out of style. She had no doubt that back in the lab she’d come from in the distant future, they were playing it still. Somehow, they’d undoubtedly decided her team’s failure to return from the past was all her fault.

She knelt by the pool.

Ginger brushed away the bitterness she felt at their willingness to let her be the savior or the scapegoat. In fact, she put the men out of her mind altogether. She’d had years of practice honing her abilities, learning to ignore every possible kind of distraction. She looked into the crystal clear water, her awareness going far deeper than the eight-inch depth of the pool. As always, she was amazed at how quickly her perceptions attuned to the energies present at this energy nexus.

From a long way away she heard herself ask, “Question?”

From even farther away the Lord’s voice came to her in an echoing whisper, “Who shall lead my people to war?”

Almost instantly a face appeared on the surface of the pool, though Ginger was the only one who could see it. A pair of piercing green eyes caught hers and she gasped, for she was certain that he could see her as clearly as she saw him. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before.

“I see visions, I don’t make contact,” she told the face.

“That’s not my fault, is it?” His rough, deep voice answered. “Who are you? Where are you?” he demanded.

His gaze enveloped her, but all she could do was continue to stare. She wanted to fall into the vision, into him, wanted him to fall into her. She wanted him the way a woman wanted a man. That had never happened before, either.

She shook off the desire that threatened to swamp her and concentrated on the task at hand. He was as handsome as any Year King should be, but for a small scar on one cheek. He couldn’t be the man the lord wanted, then, for a Year King must be perfect.

A crowd of men suddenly appeared in the water behind the stranger’s wide shoulders. They were a rough and dangerous-looking lot, with travel-stained clothes and heavy packs.

“Mercenaries,” she said, understanding at last what they were. He had to be their leader, the alpha among a pack of hungry wolves.

“Wolves mate for life,” he said, clearly keying into her thoughts. He shook his head hard. It seemed his words made no more sense to him than they did to her.

“What do you see?” Ched’s anxious voice came to her.

The question drew her away from the vision, but a sense of urgency drew her to her feet. “He’s here,” she said. “Now. At the gate.”

“What did you say, sir?”

Bern felt the weight of Sergeant Kaye’s hand on his shoulder as the world came back into focus. “I hate when that happens,” he muttered. He frowned, and the sergeant stepped back. “Was I just talking to somebody, Kaye?”

“You spoke,” Kaye answered. He glanced at the rest of the team, who were spread out across the road. “But you weren’t talking to any of us.”

“I was afraid of that.”

Bern’s rating on the psychic scale was a lowly little three, enough to get him transferred into the TTP’s security force but not high enough to really interfere with his leading a normal, sane life. Except—sometimes he heard voices, or had a flash of intuition. He’d learned to listen to the voices and trust his gut feelings. He’d just had one of those flashes, though he couldn’t remember all the details. Of course, some details demanded he pay attention to them. He loosened his belt and adjusted his tunic.

“Something’s up,” he said. And in more ways than one.

He studied the lay of the land while he got his reaction to the woman he’d heard in his mind under control. It was spring, very close to the major seasonal fertility festival, and the road they were on led to one of the holy sites scattered all over the southern part of the island. This particular temple to the local mother goddess was located on private property, and the pilgrims were camping out in cow pastures on either side of the road. The manor at the top of the hill had been built by a wealthy Roman colonist, but the local chieftain had taken over after the Romans abandoned all their foreign outposts a generation ago. Bern didn’t care about the festival, but it made a good cover for checking out the place.

The locals were expecting travelers to congregate here.

His holomap pinpointed this site as one of the nexus locations, and despite growing doubts that any of the sites they surveyed were going to provide enough energy to get them all home, it was his duty to check it out. Finding the right door back to the future was only the second half of his assignment. His first duty was to find and rescue the science team that had disappeared six months before his unit got the order to go back and look for them.

In his opinion it had been stupid to send the eggheads back in time without a whole team of sensible people to keep them out of trouble. The mission had been fucked from the get-go. This was the farthest back anyone had tried to travel. The lost team had been sent without proper backup to a time period very little was known about. It was no wonder everything had gone wrong—twice.

He and his men were now stuck here, too.

He gestured toward the crudely built wooden palisade surrounding the estate buildings. “Let’s go see if we can get a look at what’s inside.”

Ginger was used to the world around her going fuzzy and faded, but she realized the moment before she fainted that this time it was because she’d been holding her breath while standing behind the men waiting at the gate.

When the gate opened, she simply blacked out, just as the man from her vision walked in. Their gazes met for a moment, and then everything went dark.

It was ridiculous, and she was so embarrassed that she scrunched her eyes tightly closed when she woke up, not wanting the person holding her to know that she’d come around. Those strong arms were his, weren’t they? Her head rested against a broad, hard male chest. Warmth and the scent of him engulfed her. Awareness of him pooled deep in her belly. Her nipples stiffened, scraping against the cloth of her dress, and her breasts grew heavy.

“Oh, my,” she whispered. Without making any conscious decision to move, her hand came up to stroke his strong, stubbly jaw.

She could hear his heart rate pick up when she spoke, and the deep sound of his laugh rumbled through his chest. For a moment the arms around her tightened, pressing her body harder against him.

Bern liked the weight of the woman in his arms. The touch of the bare skin of her arms and the feel of the rest of her beneath her dress made him ache, made him remember how long it had been since he’d had a woman. It also made him thankful that women didn’t wear underwear in the dark ages. And this woman was a perfect fit against him. He liked the softness of her curly red hair where it tickled his neck and cheek. He wanted to bury his face in her thick hair, then follow the line of her throat all the way down to snuggle between—

Bern gave his head a stern shake. As stimulating as holding her was, he didn’t know why he’d rushed into the courtyard and scooped her up off the ground when she fell. This wasn’t an age of chivalry yet. In fact, in these days they typically saved the cattle before they saved the women.

Calling attention to himself and his men was stupid. Keeping a low profile was a matter of policy and survival among TTP teams. So why was he holding this lady? He had no idea who this woman was or what she meant to all the locals who were staring at him. Though she did look familiar.

When she woke and spoke, he couldn’t help but laugh. It was good to know that she was as aware of him as he was of her.

Then Bern realized that the words he’d heard hadn’t been filtered through his translator implant: she’d spoken in English instead of the local lilting Celtic dialect.

He knew exactly who she was!

Her name was Virginia White, and though he’d never met her in the flesh he’d studied her holo image. Hers, and all of the others on the missing team. He had his hands on one of their primary targets. Since he already held her, he was tempted to call for his men to cover his withdrawal. They could run out the gate and make tracks, anything to ensure her safety now that he’d found her.

Since that wasn’t the smart way to play it, he put her down. Her body slid slowly down his until her feet touched the ground. She was tall and willowy, her height another clue that she wasn’t from this time.

“You—” he began.

But before he could speak or she could answer, a hand landed on his shoulder.

Bern whirled around, his hand on his sword. Over the last six months, that had become second nature.

“What?” he demanded of the potbellied graybeard before him. The stranger wore a threadbare silk tunic. Since silk was a luxury rare in these parts since the Roman withdrawal, Bern guessed he was looking at the local chieftain. “My lord,” he continued, with a polite nod.

The chieftain’s frown turned into an effusive smile. “You’re quick, I see. Good. Good.” He glanced toward the hand Bern still rested on the pommel of his sword. “Welcome to Ched,” he went on. “Come to worship at the well, have you? For the festival?”

Bern nodded. He was aware that Virginia White had moved back into the shadow of an arched doorway. He wanted nothing more than to follow her, but he had to stay in character and deal with the local potentate first.

Bern brought out a small leather pouch, heavy with gold, and handed it over. “Please accept this small gift, in honor of the goddess and your hospitality.”

The chieftain tossed the little purse to feel its weight, glanced inside, and beamed.

He looked at Bern’s people—an obvious unit of soldiers—waiting by the gate, alert for Bern’s orders. “Those are fine-looking lads you lead.”

“We come in peace for the festival,” Bern reassured the chieftain. Then he saw the speculative look in Ched’s eyes. He smiled. “But afterwards, our swords are for hire if you are interested.”

He hoped that made him sound like a friendly and useful fellow to the chieftain, just in case his unit needed an excuse to stay on after the festival. Though he hoped he could find out what Virginia White was up to before then.

Lord Ched’s grin widened. He put his arm around Bern. “Join me for some wine. What’s your name, lad?” he asked as he led Bern into the main hall.

Ginger considered going back to her duties at the spring, but curiosity got the better of her. That, and an irresistible craving not to let the man who named himself Bern out of her sight made her follow the men into the hall. For some reason being close to Bern made her feel as if she was not alone anymore, and she needed that nearness after all these months. She knew very well that any attraction to a man was foolish, and not even because intimacy with an indigenous resident was against Project rules.

If the gleam in Lord Ched’s eye was any indication, this dangerous stranger would soon be the Year King sharing the bed of his daughter Morga. Jealousy ripped through Ginger at the thought, but she knew it would be for the best. They needed a warrior hero right now and Bern looked to have all the qualifications for the job.

He was tall, dark, and handsome, with broad shoulders and big hands and the brightest, most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen. There was an aura of steely danger around him that should have scared her to death, but instead it sent fireworks shooting through her. He wore a knee-length tunic that left his legs bare. Over it was metal-studded leather body armor buckled and strapped into place and a light woolen cape. Her fingers itched to pull off all those layers and thoroughly explore what she found underneath.

But they were in public. Even by the debased Roman standards still observed here, it was unseemly for a woman to jump a man in the middle of a meeting—unless she’d been purchased or hired for that purpose, of course.

Ched sent for his daughter and settled down to explain his plan to Bern over cups of strong wine, unwatered, as was the local custom. Effete Romans might drink their spirits diluted, but not Ched. Here business was usually conducted once the menfolk were well on the way to being drunk.

So Ginger stayed in the background to listen and watch. She took a seat at the side of the public space among a group of women working on spinning and embroidery. The men were barely into their second libation to the goddess when Morga came flouncing in. At least she’s dressed, Ginger thought. Morga was beautiful, knew it, and had no qualms about showing it even if she wasn’t lying naked on her back on the holy altar.

I live like a nun, Ginger thought, and she gets to whoop it up anywhere, any time.

Until a few minutes ago this hadn’t bothered Ginger a bit. Now she very nearly snarled as Morga caught sight of Bern, licked her perfect lips in appreciation, and made a beeline to sit beside him.

“Daughter,” Lord Ched announced once the girl was snuggled up against Bern’s side, “meet your new husband.”

Morga bounded to her feet, looking appalled. So did Bern.

“What?” Morga screamed.

“What?” Bern echoed.

His voice was firm, but anger crackled off him.

Morga gave Bern another once over, and her lips curled in disdain at the lack of signs of rank or fortune. “I don’t mind giving him a toss, but I like the husband I’ve got,” she told her father.

Lord Ched banged a fist on the table. “You’ll take the man I choose.”

“The goddess chose for me already.”

“Your Year King has already reigned too long. When this warrior challenges, the younger man will lose. Be prepared for it—be prepared to do your duty by your father, your goddess, and your people.” He gestured toward Bern. “Now, be a proper priestess and take this fine bear of a man off to the bath.”

“You sound like a Roman,” the girl complained. “But this land is Celt again. And I’ll do no such thing as bathe a stranger.” She looked around haughtily, and pointed to Ginger. “There’s a priestess who obeys you. Let her service this great bear of yours.”

And, with that pronouncement, she flounced back out again, leaving everyone staring at Ginger.

Bern’s initial impulse was to protest all this nonsense about marriage, and bathing with buxom young women, but he let it go when the girl suggested Virginia White as her replacement. That situation had possibilities. It would be a good way to get White alone.

“Perfect!” he exclaimed, and stepped forward to drag the stunned Virginia out of the crowd, his hand tight around her slender wrist. She looked at him with astonishment, and he had to fight off laughter as he caught an impression of her thinking about having a barbarian in her bathtub. He also noticed that she wasn’t completely opposed to the idea.

Warmth spread wherever they touched.

Hmmm…maybe they could turn this ridiculous situation into a bit of mutual fun.

“What are you waiting for, priestess?” the chieftain said. “Show the man the hospitality he deserves!”

“Come along,” Bern said. He pulled White along with him out of the hall.

Once out in the courtyard she got her voice back. “You’re in for a treat, warrior, for the Roman hypocaust is still working and the pool is deep, and hot. The baths draw as many visitors as the sacred spring, increasing the lord’s prestige and—”

“I’m not interested in a hot bath.”

She sniffed and wrinkled her pretty nose. “You should be.”

He laughed. “I guess I am a bit ripe from a few days on the road. My tunic could probably use burning, besides.”

“Where I come from that would be breaking a law against polluting the air.”

For a moment he’d let attraction get in the way of professionalism. This reminder that she was no local priestess brought Bern back to his duty. “Lead on to this bathhouse,” he growled.

He watched her walk ahead of him to the baths. She wasn’t a local, or even native to this time. I could have her, he thought. Then he reminded himself to concentrate on the mission. But he feared his body was going to overwhelm his brain at any moment.

Ginger was aware of the rough soldier’s gaze. She’d never been so instantly and dangerously attracted to a man before. All the rules about indigenous relations were being overruled by the demands of her body. She didn’t think she’d be able to keep her hands off this guy.

Conveniently, to keep up her cover as a priestess intact, she didn’t have any choice but to scrape his naked body down with scented oil and rinse him off.

Her job description was getting more attractive by the day.

She grinned with anticipation as they entered the bath. But her grin was wiped away and replaced with a surge of fear an instant after they stepped into the room.

He grabbed her shoulders and spun her to face him. At the same time he growled, “Out!” to the pair of waiting bath attendants. She heard the slap of their bare feet on the stone mosaic as they hurried out.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded the moment they were alone.

“Only what my lord ordered—” Then she realized why her senses were in shock. “You’re speaking English!”

On a burst of sheer relief she grabbed him and kissed him.

What was a man to do when a woman flung herself against him and her soft lips pressed against his own? Then Bern didn’t care what anyone else might do. Her hips ground enticingly against his. Her mouth was delicious, and his tongue delved possessively into the sweet warmth. Her breasts pushed against his chest and he brought a hand up to cup the soft roundness, stroked a thumb across the hard nipple he could feel beneath her dress. He’d never wanted anyone so much or so quickly. He picked her up and tossed her into the water, took a moment to unfasten his sword belt and toss off his armor, then jumped in after her.

Though she was fully clothed, the wet dress clung to her body and outlined her breasts and hips in a way Bern found irresistible.

“People generally get undressed before bathing,” she said.

“And before sex, too.”

She laughed, and reached below the water to grab onto her soaked skirt. “Wet wool,” she muttered. “Now I smell like a sheep.” She gave him a once-over.

“Does that make me a ram?”

She was holding the dress up around her thighs. He caught a glimpse of pale skin through the steaming water. “Don’t stop now,” he urged. He wanted her naked.

She inched up the skirt some more.

“Oh, lord,” he groaned. He splashed through the waist-deep pool and grabbed her. “Don’t tease me, woman.”

She threw back her head and laughed, and he took the opportunity to kiss the base of her throat.

“Help me,” she said. “This thing weighs a ton.”

It took him a moment to realize that she was talking about her wet dress, but once he caught on he grabbed a double handful of soaking wool and yanked while she pulled and squirmed.

Soon he had her as naked as he wanted her. The water gave her skin a translucent sheen.

“You look like milk in moonlight,” he said. Then he remembered her name. White. “You look like your name, Dr. Virginia White.”

“Ginger,” she answered instantly. “No one calls me Virgin—of course around here no one calls me Ginger, either.”

“What do they call you?” he asked, while his hands got very busy.

She drew back. “Priestess,” she answered. “Or the Lady of the White Bird Spring when they’re being formal.” She ran her hands down his chest, admiring the rippling muscle beneath his damp tunic. “Who are you?”

He needed to know how she’d gotten separated from her team, how she’d gotten here, and why she was part of the indigenous power structure. But he needed something else even more right now.

“Later, he said. “We can get to it much later…” He pressed his hips against her. “Touch me,” he demanded. He circled her nipples with his thumbs.

She found the hem of his tunic, and pulled it above his hips. Once his cock was free she stroked him slowly from his balls to the throbbing tip. Ginger loved the heat of him, the weight and thickness, the velvet over steel feel of him in her hand.

But she wanted him inside her even more.

She backed up a few steps to the edge of pool, pulling him with her.

When they reached the side of the bath, he cupped her ass and lifted her onto the mosaic edge. She leaned backwards on her arms and spread her legs.

He filled her in one hard thrust.

Then both of them forgot everything else.

He collapsed on top of her for a long time afterwards, unwilling to move away from her warmth. He reveled in the feel of her soft breasts and the scent of her skin. He didn’t know why, but the sound of her heartbeat against his ear made him feel like he was home.

Then she laughed and the sound brought Bern back into the here and now. He lifted his head to look at her.

“What?”

“Lord Ched sent me in here with you to make Morga jealous.” She grinned at him. “She’d really be jealous if she knew what we’ve been doing.”

“What’s with the chieftain wanting me to marry his daughter?” Bern asked.

“I suppose that’s my fault. It’s a local custom. He needs somebody to rally the troops,” she answered. “He’s looking for a warrior to replace the Year King, and I saw you in the well when he asked who could lead his army. So—”

“I think we’ve both been in the past too long,” he said. “Because what you just said seems to make sense to you, and it almost makes sense to me.”

Tears suddenly welled in her big blue eyes. “You’re really from my time.” The relief in her voice bordered on worship.

He kissed her cheeks, tasting the salt from her tears.

“Happy to be of service,” he said.

“You’re not from my team,” she said. “I would have remembered you. How do you know my name? What are you doing here?”

He should have explained all that to her already. He should have gotten a debriefing from her. Duty should have come before sex.

But he found it difficult to regret the last few moments.

“You couldn’t tell what I was doing? I guess I’ll just have to do it again…” He kissed her again. “I can’t seem to stop wanting you.”

“In the vision, maybe I communicated my lust through the psychic link with you,” she explained. “My gift is for scrying with water energy.”

“Right,” he answered. He knew that about her. He’d read it in the file. It hadn’t been something he’d been happy about.

Frankly, he wasn’t all that comfortable with a scientific/military Project that used psychics, despite the fact that he was a bit of a psychic himself. He was a soldier first, and the mission certainly needed soldiers. But the nature of time travel had required psychics for the Project to be successful. No matter how much data time travelers collected on jaunts into the past, it was only the travelers with psychic gifts who were able to remember their actual experiences from the journey. So, Project teams took back all sorts of recording equipment. But they also took along a psychic to serve as a living, subjective memory of the events from their voyages into the past.

Psychics also came along to study the energy nexuses, the doors, as it were, where time travelers could enter and leave the eras they were visiting. The scientists in charge of the TTP didn’t always feel comfortable with all this use of psychic talent, it just wasn’t scientific enough for them, but the people in charge of funding the project insisted on using every available research tool. Besides, as far as anyone could explain the process of time travel, it still seemed a hell of a lot more like magic than it did science.

“We ought to put on our game faces and get down to business,” he said. He got up and adjusted his tunic, then helped Ginger to her feet. The woman looked good naked.

“Sorry about soaking your dress.” He reached down, grabbed, and offered her the mass of wet wool.

“It needed a spring wash anyway,” she answered. She picked up the sodden lump of cloth and began wringing it out into the bath water. “Give me a hand,” she said, and together they managed to wind the dress tight enough to squeeze out most of the water. The whole time they worked Bern tried to keep his eyes off her. He couldn’t.

“You’ve got great tits,” he told her. They were large and round and just as pale as the rest of her, but for the lovely dark circles of her nipples. Nipples that grew peaked and hard when she noticed him looking at her. He grinned as a flush spread across her chest and throat. It wasn’t only a smile that rose as he watched her.

“Ginger White, you may be the death of me,” he said.

She snatched her dress out of his hands. “I think maybe you better help me on with this.”

“Pity. I like this view so much better.” He stepped close and ran his hands over her in the pretext of helping her maneuver the wet dress. She was cool to the touch, but she went warm where he touched.

“You feel like satin,” he told her.

“Back off, soldier,” she said. He did.

When she was finally dressed, she seemed to remember what was at stake here. She had more questions for him than he could answer. “Is your name really Bern? When are you from? Do you know what happened to the rest of my team? How did you find me? Where’s the nexus? When can we go home?”

Bern held up his hands to halt her rush of words. “I’ll answer yours if you’ll answer mine.” He spotted a stone bench against the wall and led her over to it.

They sat together in the warm air of the bath, and he tried to sum up what he knew. “My team was sent out six months after yours. Our mission was specifically to search for your team—not a single member made it back. When we came in through the Tintagel nexus, it crashed behind us. We couldn’t get back.”

“So now your team is missing as well?”

He nodded. “At least my team all came through together. It didn’t look like your team made it here intact. The theory is that some kind of hiccup in the time/dimensional energy field scattered your team in transit—”

“I noticed. So we all came through at different nexus points?” she asked.

He nodded.

“I’m no physicist, but I managed to figure that out on my own.” She gave his hands a sympathetic squeeze. “So your team’s as lost here as we are.”

“Yeah. But we still had our mission. Along with hunting for you people we’ve been searching for a working exit point. No luck yet with that. It hasn’t been easy, since the energy hiccup shorted out most of your team’s ID transponders. So far you’re only the second team member we’ve found alive.”

“Who else have you found?”

“Sergeant Kaye.”

“Thank goodness! I’ve been so worried about him.” Then she blanched. “You’ve found others—dead?”

“Yeah. Sorry. We found Dr. Bohrs’s grave outside a village near Aqua Sulus. Gwayne had been enslaved on a Saxon farmstead on the coast. We got him out of the place alive, but he caught an arrow in the throat when we ran into a raiding party the next day.”

“Damned Saxon invaders,” she muttered.

“You’ve been hanging with the indigenous folks too long. Remember, the Saxons are supposed to take over the island after the Romans left.”

“Yes, but not like this. The incursion seems to be happening far quicker than the archeology I’ve seen would indicate. The Roman influences that overlaid the Celtic base culture should have time to fade. If the Saxons aren’t halted soon, the world we come from won’t get a chance to develop. I’ve been starting to believe that maybe I’d transported into one of those alternate worlds the theorists worry about.”

“I didn’t think you were your team historian.”

“They brought me along for my visions. History’s just a hobby. I’m an Anglophile.”

“Me, I go where I’m sent and do what I’m told to do. Speaking of that, how did you end up as the local priestess?”

She glanced down sheepishly, before looking him in the eye again. “I know direct involvement with the locals is against the rules, but I was stuck here and I wanted to survive. I’m lucky that the holy spring’s point of origin is in the woods behind the shrine and that’s the nexus where I came through. The Romans channeled the spring into the sanctuary pool when they built the villa. So it was easier for the inhabitants to believe that I was the only survivor of a band of pilgrims attacked by bandits when I wandered bloody and burned out of the woods than it would have been if I’d appeared out of a blaze of light in the fountain.”

“So, you decided to save yourself instead of searching for the rest of your team?”

She pulled her hands from his. “How would I look for the others? I don’t have any computer equipment. I’m too high level on the psi chart for any implant but the wrist chip.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“I’ve tried scrying to hunt for them, but I’ve never seen them, much less their locations.”

“Makes sense. Seers don’t see things connected with themselves.”

“At least not often. I thought about striking out on my own to hunt for them after the locals nursed me back to health, but it was the dead of winter. This isn’t the best of times for a woman to play tourist, between the bandits and barbarians massing outside Lord Ched’s rather flimsy walls. Since this was the only safe place I knew about, I set about proving my usefulness so I could stay. The sanctuary hadn’t had a resident seer for a long time. I used my scrying abilities and got the job. Having a real fortune teller at the holy spring increases the prestige and fame of the place. Which means a larger gathering of pilgrims bringing rich offerings for the goddess, and greater wealth for Lord Ched, at this year’s fertility festival. Unfortunately, he’s decided that the fertility part of the festivities needs a bit of rearranging, and that’s where you come in.”

Bern thought about what he knew of the local customs, politics, and religious practices, and concluded, “The chieftain wants a warrior to challenge the Year King at tonight’s ceremony.”

She nodded.

He grimaced. “Ah, crap, he wants me to kill some kid for the right to screw his daughter.”

“Exactly. And become the local war leader. He wants you to stop the Saxons.” Ginger cleared her throat. “This is my fault, really—I told him I saw you in the water when he asked who would be the next Year King.”

Bern shot to his feet. “Oh, for crying out loud, woman!”

She jumped up to face him. “Hey, I just report what the water shows me. How was I supposed to know you were a time traveler sent to rescue me?”

“You couldn’t lie sometimes?”

“It’s not like I knew who you were when I saw you. It’s not my fault the water says you’re fated to be king! And sleep with Morga,” she added.

He heard the jealousy in her voice, and he liked it. He noticed that they’d moved close together while they argued, and that arguing with her was arousing him all over again. The attraction between them was strong and hot, and driving him crazy. Being crazy was no way to run an op. Knowing that didn’t stop him from putting his hands on her hips.

“There you are!” Lord Ched’s voice boomed out behind them before he could pull Ginger into his arms.

They turned to face the chieftain, and the trio of men that followed him into the bathhouse. Ched had a smile plastered on his face, but there was anger in his eyes. His hand was on the pommel of a dagger on his belt. Bern had been prepared to tell the man he had no interest in his game of kings and priestesses, but decided this might not be the right time to assert his opinion.

“What’s wrong?” he asked instead. He put his arm protectively around Ginger’s shoulders. He was aware of the way she leaned into him all down the length of his body.

“You’re a clever one,” Ched said, nodding approvingly.

“I know trouble when I see it. And it’s in your eyes right now.”

His impulse was to gather his squad and see what was going on for himself, but he waited for an explanation. Even if the Saxons were attacking the gates it wasn’t his problem unless the team he’d been sent to save was in immediate danger. He was not in charge of the indigenous situation here, and wasn’t going to interfere with the locals despite the chieftain’s plans or Ginger’s visions.

Ched cleared his throat, and Bern realized he was embarrassed. “It’s something to do with your daughter, isn’t it?”

“Morga’s run off,” Ched said. “And the Year King ran with her.” He sighed.

“But she’s the Mother’s priestess!” Ginger gasped. “And he’s—”

“You’ve been spending too much time with the locals,” Bern whispered to her in English. “A pair of runaways is not your problem.”

“But—the ceremony is tonight.” She, too, spoke English.

Ched might not have understood what Ginger said, but he recognized the desperation in her tone. “You see the problem, don’t you, Lady of the Spring? Oh, we could go after those foolish children. But if we drag them back I’ll have to execute my own daughter to appease the crowd gathered for the festival. And you’ll have to kill that stripling she’s bonded with.”

“But what about the ceremony?” a one-eyed man asked. “Tradition—”

“We’ve changed tradition before,” Ched cut him off. He looked at one of the other men, a wizened, white-bearded fellow in rough brown robes. “Haven’t we, Bishop Myrdyn?”

The old man was carrying a gnarled staff, and reminded Bern of Gandalf.

“You’re not thinking of giving up your heathen fertility festival, are you?” the old man asked.

“Of course not!” Ched answered. “The people would riot for sure if we changed custom that far.”

“There you go again—you promise to change your pagan ways, but you always find a way out of your promises.”

“Didn’t I say I’d let you baptize as many folk as you wanted tomorrow morning? And in our own sacred pool?”

“That you did,” the Christian cleric conceded. He tugged thoughtfully on his earlobe. “Once the people are sated and sore from the sex, and their heads are splitting from too much drink, I’ll preach a sermon that will lure them to save their souls from the great sins they’re going to commit this night. It will be a fine harvest of souls. They’ll be crying for forgiveness. You’ll make a fine Year King,” he added, looking Bern over. “I’ll give my blessing to that.”

“But we need a priestess for the king to mate with,” the one-eyed man insisted. “The crops will wither without the spring mating.”

“Well, if I’m going to turn the pool into a baptismal fount, it won’t need a priestess anymore, will it?” the bishop said, eyeing Ginger critically. He pointed at her. “Use this priestess instead of the one that’s run off.”

“That’ll work,” Lord Ched said, clapping Myrdyn on the shoulder. “One priestess is as good as another in the eyes of the goddess.”

“But—I’m not a virgin,” Ginger blurted. “The priestess of the Mother must be a virgin when she lies with her first Year King.”

“Don’t encourage them,” Bern complained. Then he realized where she was going with this and spoke loudly. “We can’t offend the goddess. I’m no virgin, either.”

Ched waved his hand dismissively. “You were both virgins once, after all. It’s virility and fertility that matter most. You’ll both do. I’m glad that’s settled.” He began to turn away.

“But I don’t want to be king,” Bern said.

“What man doesn’t want to be king?” Ched asked, turning back. “Especially when the choice is between becoming Year King or going to the goddess with the priestess and all of your men sacrificed inside the burning belly of the wicker man?” His smile had more than a touch of threat in it.

“Sex or death,” Myrdyn said. “Either way, the crowd will be entertained.”

They weren’t making hollow promises. Bern had seen the piles of kindling and a crudely woven straw statue in a field on his way into the stockade. He knew that criminals were often burned alive inside such structures during the spring festival. Lord Ched could probably get the mob angry enough at missing out on the orgy to attack his team. The ensuing massacre wouldn’t look good on Bern’s record. And there was the chance that some of his people could get hurt. He wasn’t ready to risk any of them, especially Ginger.

All he had to do was be the Year King.

It wasn’t like he minded having sex with Ginger White.

“King it is then,” Bern said.

“Good,” Lord Ched said, and he and his people marched away.

When they were gone, Ginger asked, “Now what are we going to do?”

Bern was still grinning as he took her in his arms. “Why, rehearse for the fertility ceremony, of course.”

“You’ll have to wear a pair of stag horns, you know.”

He grimaced. “And what will you be wearing?”

“Not a damn thing.”

The grimace turned into a grin. “I can live with that.”

“Yes, but—”

“My name’s Andrew.” He picked her up and carried her toward the narrow bed. “Colonel Andrew Bern. Just Bern to almost everybody.” He kissed her before adding. “Under the circumstances, I thought we ought to be formally introduced.”

She twined her arms around his neck. “Nice name. Kiss me again.”

“All over,” he promised.

Night had fallen, sacred fires were lit, and hundreds of pilgrims were waiting within their glow just outside the front of the estate. The ceremony was ready to begin.

“I wasn’t this nervous at my wedding,” Bern confided. “Or my divorce hearing.”

Ginger rounded on him. “You’re married? I do not have sex with married men.”

“Then you’re in luck, because I’m not married.”

“Oh. Right. Divorced. Sorry.” She rested her forehead against his bare chest. “I am so nervous that I don’t know what I’m saying or doing. I’ve never done anything like this my whole life.”

“Just enjoy the moment. Don’t think about anything but me. I promise, I won’t be thinking about anything but you. You look beautiful,” he told her. “Like the bride of the summer god ought to look.”

They had braided spring flowers into her thick red curls, and she was wearing Morga’s most diaphanous white silk dress. He was wearing a doe-skin loincloth. He had to claim the Summer King’s sword, then be acclaimed by the people. After that they’d get naked and down to business.

They made their way through the watching crowd to where Lord Ched stood between two widely spaced bonfires. Ginger was deeply aware of the expectant mood of the hundreds of watching people. She told herself that Bern was the only thing that was real here, that everything else was a dream. She concentrated on the feel of him where his skin touched hers. Being near him truly did make her body ripe with need.

When they reached the chieftain, Ched held up a richly decorated sword and shouted, “Behold your priestess and her new Summer King!” While the crowd cheered, Ched plunged the tip of the sword into the soft, spring earth.

“Now what?” Bern whispered to Ginger.

“You say something about accepting the kingship for the love of the Mother and the fertility of the land, and pull the sword from the ground.”

“Okay, then.” He began to step forward, hand out to take the hilt of the sacred blade.

“Wait!” a man shouted from the crowd before Bern could touch the sword.

“Now what?” Bern said, turning toward the man who came rushing forward.

“I challenge!” the man shouted, coming up to glare at Bern.

“Oh, crap,” Ginger muttered. “I forgot about Lanc.”

“Who the hell is Lanc?” Bern demanded.

She pointed at the broad-shoulder, dark-haired man. “He’s this druid from Brittany that’s been trying to get me to run off with him.”

Bern rounded on her. “What? You weren’t going to mention that there’s this other guy who wants to skewer me tonight?”

“You’re jealous.”

“Yes!”

She grinned. “Oh, that’s so cute. Don’t worry. You’re more than a match for him.”

“I challenge!” Lanc shouted again. “Fight me for your kingship!”

Bern gestured at the challenger. “Hold on, I’ll be right with you. What is this guy to you?” he demanded of Ginger.

“Nothing. He’s one of a group of druids going around trying to recruit psychics to come back to Brittany. They’re trying to keep the old religion alive back home.”

“So, he doesn’t want to have sex with you?”

“Not as far as I—”

“Yes, I do!” Lanc cut her off.

“Oh, stop it,” Ginger told him.

“Fight me for her!” Lanc insisted. The crowd was beginning to shout for the battle to begin as well.

“Okay,” Bern said. Without even stopping to take a breath, he turned around and hit the man in the jaw.

Lanc went down, but was up again almost instantly.

Bern took a step back and smiled, glad that the opposition had some fight in him. It was strange, almost as strange as being in another place and time than the one he’d been born to, but he was glad to have some competition. He wanted Ginger, wanted to properly claim the woman as his. Fighting for her hand felt, in some atavistic way, right. Deep in his gut, deep in his heart, he knew Ginger was a woman worth fighting for.

The druid was a big, fit guy with some hand-to-hand skills. They circled, then sparred against each other, flesh and muscle straining, moving through firelight and shadow while the crowd cheered and shouted. Sweat stung Bern’s eyes, and he tasted blood when Lanc got past his guard once to strike him in the face. Excitement built deep in Bern’s gut and the clarity that only came with combat focused his whole attention on the struggle.

For a while he almost forgot the purpose of the challenge while he concentrated on the fight. Then he caught sight of Ginger. She was flushed and her eyes were bright with excitement that sent a zing of lust straight to Bern’s groin. But her arms were tensely crossed, and she also looked annoyed.

“Enjoying yourself?” she called sarcastically when she had his attention.

The momentary distraction almost cost him, but he caught Lanc’s sudden kick out of the corner of his eye and quickly countered. He ended up with a hard foot grazing his thigh as he turned. He returned the favor with a hard kick to Lanc’s solar plexus that brought the man down.

Enough of this toying with his prey.

When Lanc tried to struggle up again, Bern knocked him unconscious.

Ginger rushed up to him “Are you all right?”

“Oh, yeah.” He grinned, and kissed her, pulling her tightly against him. “Never better.” The loincloth left nothing to her imagination about how he was feeling. The cheering crowd faded away from his attention as he concentrated only on the woman in his arms.

Her hand brushed against the erection straining against the soft leather. Then she pried herself out of his tight embrace. “Not yet.”

“Oh, come on!” he complained. But he understood when she pointed toward the sword buried in the ground. He laughed. “Right. Well, at least I don’t have to pull it out of a stone.”

“Uh…”

“What?”

She looked at him strangely, and asked, “Doesn’t Bern mean ‘bear’?”

“Yeah…” He crossed to the sword. Bits of earth clung to the blade as he pulled it out and held it up for all to see. He waited for the cheering to die down, then shouted, “For Britain and the White Lady!”

The roar this time was deafening.

“Must have sounded good,” he murmured.

Ched came up to him, taking both him and Ginger by the hand. A trio of young women accompanied him. One of the girls held a stag-horn headdress. The other girls made quick work of stripping off his and Ginger’s clothes.

After fastening the headdress on Bern, Ched turned to the crowd and proclaimed, “Behold the queen and king of summer. This mating will bring fertility to the land! Let the festival begin!”

“You know, I’m beginning to think—” Ginger started.

“Don’t.” Bern grabbed her and kissed her.

He swung his naked lover up into his arms and covered her mouth with his. While his tongue probed inside that sweet, responsive warmth he carried her to the cloth-covered mound of grass and flowers that was to serve as both bed and altar for them to mate upon.

“Put me down!” she demanded.

“Don’t chicken out on me now,” he pleaded.

Ginger laughed wickedly. “Not a chance.” She remembered his directions to just look at him, but the crowd was the last thing on her mind at the moment. She wanted to taste him, and that was what she did.

The crowd cheered. A wave of raw sexual energy washed over her. The lust channeled by the masses shot through her, and she projected it back to the people around them. In that moment the goddess filled her, and she worshipped the god of summer and king of the land with all the fervor and passion due him.

Bern pushed her gently onto her back on the soft, fragrant altar. He knelt over her, poised at the moist opening of her vagina. He waited while her hips rose pleadingly.

“Now!” she demanded.

But he didn’t move until her gaze finally met his. “The night is just beginning,” he told her.

Then he entered her, and his worship of the goddess began in earnest.

“Ahem.”

The embarrassed throat-clearing, followed by a second voice demanding, “Cover your shame, woman!” was the last thing Ginger expected to hear after the night she’d enjoyed.

Besides, she wasn’t sure how shame was supposed to be covered, especially when what she felt was marvelous. All right, she was sore and tender in places, and rather hung over, though not in the having-drunk-too-much-alcohol way. Who knew too much great sex could make you groggy?

Could you have too much great sex?

If it could be done, she’d done it tonight.

“Colonel, sir,” the embarrassed voice whispered. “Excuse me for waking you up, but—”

“Rouse yourself, man!” the other voice boomed.

Ginger giggled. “Please don’t,” she murmured. “Not on my account. Not just yet, anyway.”

“Wha? What?” Bern muttered.

She felt his breath brush her cheek when he spoke, and realized that he was the warm weight lying half on top of her. The cool morning breeze skimmed across the rest of her, teasing one bare nipple to a hard peak. Maybe that was the shame the guy was talking about. Was that any way to talk to the goddess’s own—

That voice…There was something familiar about it…

“Is that you, Dr. White?”

Ginger’s eyes flew open and she caught sight of a familiar, concerned face.

“Sergeant Kaye?” Oh, good Lord, she was naked in front of a colleague! She didn’t recognize the man standing next to him, but the stranger was frowning down at her with utter disgust written all over his face.

“His name’s Percy Perkins, and he’s a jerk,” Bern whispered. He sat up and said, “I hope you brought us some clothes, Kaye.”

The sergeant held out the dress Ginger had worn last night, and a long tunic for Bern.

“Of course you realize that I intend to report this infraction,” Percy said.

“Infraction of what?” Bern asked. “There’s no rule against team members fraternizing.”

“You led an orgy! Your disgusting behavior roused the indigenous population to—”

“He didn’t get any, sir,” Kaye put in.

Bern scratched his jaw. “I can see how that might make him cranky.”

“Not to mention being named Percy,” Ginger added. “That alone probably put the guy into years of therapy. Could you sue your parents for giving you a name like that?” she asked Bern.

He shrugged. “Ask Percy.”

“Well?” she said.

Percy declined to respond. But his posture, though it seemed impossible, became even more tense.

“I could use a shave,” Bern said. “And a bath.” He sprang to his feet and helped Ginger up. “How about you, sweetheart?”

“Definitely.”

“Have the team meet us at the bath, Kaye. But give us a few minutes, will you?”

They could hear Percy spluttering as they walked away.

She slipped the white dress over her head, and they walked arm in arm across the field toward the villa, frequently stepping over and around still-sleeping revelers.

The spring ceremony had apparently been a great success.

Kaye went off to his assignment, and Percy followed behind them, making the occasional disapproving sound. The morning sun shone down, the sky was blue, the earth was green, birds sang, and Ginger was happier than she’d ever been before. They had the blessing of the goddess, she supposed.

They passed the old bishop preaching to a small group of revelers who looked thoroughly hangdog and hung over. Myrdyn gave them a pleasant nod when he saw them pass him by.

“We must be good for business,” Bern said.

“If he baptizes all those people, the energy in the pool is going to be whacked out for days,” Ginger said.

“That is hardly a scientific explanation of a temporal malfunction, Dr. White,” Percy complained.

They both ignored him.

Once they reached the bathhouse, Ginger led them into the preparation room where oils scented the bathers’ bodies before they got into the hot water of the bathing pool. Benches lined the walls, and the floor was tiled in a beautiful leaf-patterned mosaic.

“This is where I meant to bring you yesterday,” she told Bern.

He pulled her close. They looked into each other’s eyes. “It was worth the detour.”

“You two are being disgusting,” Percy said.

Bern sighed. “You know, this time I think I agree with him.” He let her go. “We do need to make plans.”

“We have work to do,” she said.

“Do I detect some professionalism at last?” Percy whined.

“Shut up, Percy,” Ginger and Bern said together.

“And that’s an order,” Bern added.

Ginger took a seat on a bench against the back wall. Within a few minutes Kaye and the rest of the team joined them. Bern allowed his people a few minutes of teasing him before the introductions.

“This is Gareth and Lamorak.”

Ginger smiled. “Of course they are.”

He didn’t understand what amused her, and didn’t ask. “Let’s get down to business.”

“Now that we have recovered Dr. White, it’s time to continue surveying the nexus points,” Percy said immediately.

“Percy’s a douser,” Bern explained to Ginger. “He’s working on a new nexus map. But he hasn’t yet found a spot with enough energy to get us home.”

“It’s hardly my fault that this island is swamped with more energy points than anywhere else on the planet, especially in this area. It was a mistake to send a team this far back, and especially to this geographic location.”

“Yeah, I think we’re all aware of that,” Gareth said. “We noticed the problems. And that’s before you started telling us every five minutes.”

“We have one more man to find,” Lamorak said. “That’ll round out our mission.”

“Finding the exit point is far more important for our own survival,” Percy said. “We should cut our losses and concentrate on finding a functioning nexus. Perhaps Dr. White could conjure up a vision of where we should go,” he added. But not as though he meant it.

“What’d I ever do to you?” was Ginger’s response to this rudeness. “See if I tell you if I find it!”

Bern liked that she refused to be intimidated by the jerk. “No one gets left behind,” he reminded Percy. “We’re still looking for Owens.”

“But his transpond—” Percy started.

“What does your gut tell you, sir?” Kaye jumped in. “You found me—”

“Your transponder was working—” Percy cut him off.

“Intermittently. It was Colonel Bern’s instincts that really found me.”

“Balderdash,” Percy scoffed.

“Does anyone really say balderdash?” Ginger asked.

“Just Percy,” Bern replied.

“The colonel’s gut led us here and we found Dr. White,” Gareth said. “So what do you think about Owens, sir?”

Bern considered for a moment, sensing more than thinking. Finally, he said, “I think that most of the population in the area is camped out around this stronghold. If I was Owens, I’d be here too.” He swept his gaze around his team. “Break up. Go look for him. Reconvene here at noon.”

There were nods, and people turned to leave.

Before he left, Percy just had to ask, “And what will you be doing while we’re searching?”

Bern put his arm around Ginger’s shoulders. “I’m going to be standing at the Lady of the White Bird Spring’s side while she seeks a vision to help us find a way home.”

“Good, Bishop Myrdyn hasn’t used the place yet,” Ginger said as they entered the empty shrine.

Now she didn’t have to regret insisting that they get cleaned up before coming to the spring. Her skin felt fresh and tingly, and all the aches from strenuous bouts of sex were soothed. Her hair hung in a damp braid down her back, and Bern had shaved.

“If only we had coffee, I could face anything,” she said.

“Find us the right nexus and I’ll buy you your own Starbucks,” he replied.

He wouldn’t be able to do any such thing, of course, even if she could somehow pull the right vision out of the sacred pool. It saddened her to know that she would return to her point of origin, and he would return to his, which was six months further along the main timeline than hers. She would remember what happened, and six months later he’d read a report filed by her, and learn what he’d done in the past. It wouldn’t be proper to record their sexual encounters in the official record, even if the dry bureaucratic tone of reports could use spicing up a bit.

He’d probably never even know who she was.

But she’d remember forever.

“What are you smiling about?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She turned her smile briefly on him, and then dropped to her knees. “I doubt this will work,” she warned. “I don’t normally see anything dealing with my own future.”

“You saw me, didn’t you?”

“I saw you in response to Lord Ched asking who the next king would be. By the way, there’s something important you should know about that,” she added.

“Not now. As soon as we conclude the search for Owen, I’m taking you and the rest of my people out of here.”

“But—”

“You’ll find me a nexus. I know it. Look into the water. Calm yourself. Concentrate.”

“I know how to summon the visions, Andrew.”

He put his hands on her shoulders and gently began to massage them. He communicated his faith in her through his touch. Damn, but she was going to hate losing this man! She appreciated the moment, refused to feel sorry for herself, and set about doing her duty.

At first, of course, all she saw was a pool of water as still and clear as a looking glass. But the calm, peaceful water changed quickly.

Bern grew worried when Ginger’s muscles went suddenly tense. “What?” he asked. “What do you see?”

“Fire,” she answered, her voice distant and dull. “Fire on the hill.”

“What hill? What’s burning?”

“There’s a battle,” she said. “You have to defeat them. It’s your destiny.”

A battle? He didn’t like the sound of that. “What does any of that have to do with getting us all safely home?”

Lord Ched came running into the sanctuary before she could respond. “They’re coming!” he shouted. “The Saxons are coming.” A guard followed him in, pushing a woman ahead of him. Ched looked at the woman. “Tell him,” he commanded.

The woman was crying. “Mercy, my lord! I did come back to warn you.”

“Yes, yes,” the chieftain said. He pointed to Bern. “Tell the king what you told me.”

Everybody looked at him. Bern wanted to yell at them to cut out calling him king, but even Ginger had come out of her trance and was looking at him like he was the hero of the hour. And, damn it, the thought of disappointing her made him feel like a jerk. He gritted his teeth, and nodded for the woman to go on.

“It’s true I helped my lady Morga and her man escape. I’ve taken care of the girl all her life, and I understood how she’d been with the last Year King long enough to think of him as her husband and not to want to bed a new man.” She looked Bern over. “Though I think she would have gotten the better part of the bargain had she stayed and done her duty.”

“Get on to the important part,” the chieftain urged.

“The pair of them were angry and affronted at being forced to run from their home. After we made camp last night they talked about how they would betray the secrets of the stronghold’s defenses to the Saxons.”

Ched rubbed the back of his neck. “But that is the secret—we have no defenses.”

“But the invaders aren’t aware of how weak we are,” the guard said. “They’ll march straight for us now.”

“They will be arriving soon,” the woman said. “I had to come back to warn my people that their doom approaches.”

Bern wished she hadn’t put it like that. It made him feel sorry for the indigenous population. Even worse, the way they all looked to him to take command made him feel responsible for them. These people were going to be easy pickings without some help. Bern thought of all the defenseless people camped out around the stronghold. They’d come here for a religious celebration, not to be slaughtered.

“How will you defend us?” Lord Ched asked him.

Ginger came forward and put her hand on his arm. “I was studying the pool for advice on that very subject when you arrived. If you would let us continue with the divination, the king will meet with you afterwards, better prepared to save your people.”

The chieftain and his people left without another word.

When they were alone, Ginger grabbed the front of Bern’s tunic, held on tight, and talked fast. “You listen to me, Colonel Bern. I will not have you quoting rules and regs about noninterference and the possibility of changing history. We don’t have any solid history from this era to go on. But we do have myths and legends, and, hon, I think I know what’s going on here. You have to fight the invaders. You. You are the element necessary to slow down the incursions and give the native culture more time to recover from Roman rule. That way, when the Saxons do take over it’ll be overlaying a British-based culture rather than a Roman one. In our time we’ll have England the way we know it. If you duck this battle we won’t. It’s your duty take on the invaders here and now. You were meant to do this.”

Bern gaped at her. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You said it yourself, last night, ‘at least I don’t have to pull it out of a stone.’ You pulled the sword from the soil of Britain and claimed the kingship. You are—”

“Don’t you dare put that on me.” He’d finally figured out where this was going.

“Bern means ‘bear,’” she went on. “One of the translations of—”

“No.”

“And then there’s your men’s names. There’s Kaye and—”

“You’ve been drinking that spring water too long, as well as looking into it, haven’t you?” His tone was doubtful, but his instincts were shouting at him that she was right.

He knew he’d hurt her feelings, but they were interrupted once again before he could apologize. This time it was the rest of the team that came into the sanctuary.

“Look who we found, boss!” Kaye crowed. “Your gut was right again.”

“Stop looking smug,” he ordered Ginger. “Welcome to your rescue, Professor Owen,” he said to the newcomer.

“I’m grateful the Project sent a team for us.” Owen gave Ginger a nod and smile. She smiled back. “And if rumor is correct, you’ve come to the rescue just in the nick of time.”

“We’ve heard that the Saxons are heading this way,” Kaye told him. “Time for us to bug out, right?”

Bern waited for Ginger to protest, but she crossed her arms and bit her lower lip instead of nagging him. Damn it! That made it even harder for him to say no to her.

“I took an oath to protect these people last night,” he told the team. “The least we can do is give the locals a chance at getting away.”

“What precisely to you mean by ‘we’?” Percy spoke up. “At no point do I recall having signed a social contract with these people. Going native is not one of our options.”

“What’s wrong with helping people?” Owen demanded. “The locals have helped me survive for months. I owe them.”

“So do I,” Ginger said.

“Very touching, but irrelevant,” Percy responded.

“You are such a wuss,” Gareth said. “Come on, fighting a bunch of barbarians will be fun.”

“No, it won’t,” Bern said sternly. “And don’t make the assumption that I’m asking for a consensus, or volunteers. This is a military operation, and I’m in command. We’re all going into this fight.”

His soldiers immediately snapped to attention, and he nodded to them. Percy didn’t look happy, but at least this finally shut him up. Bern glanced at Ginger. She was looking at him with enough pride in her eyes to set his heart on fire. She made him feel like a hero. This wasn’t the time to kiss her all over the way he wanted to, but he did put his arm around her waist and draw her close.

As they stood, hip to hip, he said, “Remember the hillside we crossed on the way here?” There were nods. “We’re going to set up our perimeter there. It’s time to break out the claymores, boys.”

Ginger gave him a puzzled look, but her expression cleared before he could explain. “Oh, you’re not talking about big Scottish swords, are you?”

“No, hon, I’m talking about shaped charges that blow up.”

“Fire in the sky,” she said. “Just what the vision showed me.”

This had better work, Ginger thought. She hugged herself tightly. Please, God, let it work. And don’t let anything happen to Bern—or any of the good guys—while you’re at it. Please, Lady, she added, since she was officially a priestess of the goddess.

Well, maybe not officially anymore since soon she’d be leaving Lord Ched’s villa forever. She was standing in the woods at the source of the spring with a bundle of provisions at her feet, waiting for the rest of the team to join her. The plan was for her to wait safely out of the way while the men carried out the op. Bern had insisted she stay out of harm’s way, and she hadn’t argued. She was no warrior.

Besides, securing their nexus was probably the most important part of this op.

Some of the other women had taken up arms to fight alongside their men after Bern gave a rousing speech to the gathered pilgrims. This was the ancient way of the Celts, and more proof as far as Ginger was concerned that this battle was going to slow the tide of invasion. The people were eager to follow Bern into battle. Their willingness to defend their homeland was a good sign, too. Right?

Please, Horned God and Lady of the Spring, don’t let me have started something that’s going to get a lot of people killed. Especially not Bern.

She reminded herself that he was a competent professional soldier. He had a good strategy. He had trained subordinates. He had explosives. He was going to win the day.

The plan for the TTP team was that after the battle was joined, and the good guys were winning, they’d withdraw and join Ginger in the woods. With their obligation to help the people fulfilled, the team could then continue their search for a working nexus that would take them home.

Home. Away from Bern. She dashed away tears. It had to be. If she went home with a broken heart and a deep ache for the way he made her body sing, she still had the memories to appreciate. At least they’d spent as much time as they could over the last three days making love while waiting for the Saxons. And now the Saxons were here.

Ginger paced nervously. What if it didn’t work? Was there something she could do to help?

She hated the quiet here in the woods. Maybe she was safer here, but the sudden need to know what was going on got the better of her. She cut through the woods rather than take the path that led toward the villa.

The perfect spring weather of the festival had been replaced by a pewter sky that threatened rain, and a wind that blew cooler than it should for this time of year. It was a grim day, fit for a battle, she supposed.

When she reached the south edge of the woods she got a good view down the valley to the hill beyond. Half of the British fighters were spread out below the hill, waiting there instead of occupying the high ground. She caught sight of chainmail and swordblades as gray as the day and the energy—a mixture of fear and anticipation—hit her like a blow. She put herself behind a tree and waited, and watched.

The atmosphere grew even more tense. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Soon a large band of Saxon warriors appeared on the crest of the hill. They saw the Britons waiting for them and drew to a halt. More of the invaders came up behind them, and more, until there was an army of several hundred fierce barbarians looking down upon the several dozen not-quite-so-fierce barbarians below. The Saxons formed into a long line that stretched out along the top of the hill, but since they held the high ground they didn’t seem to be in any hurry to rush the people below.

Which was what Bern had counted on.

A line of claymore mines had been set right where the Saxons were now standing. When the mines went off there was indeed fire bursting up toward the sky. And screaming, and blood, and flying body parts.

What was left of the Saxon invaders turned to flee, but that could not be allowed. Bern’s team and the other half of the British force came out of hiding in the woods on the far side of the hill and drove the remainder of the Saxons down the hill onto the swords of those waiting for them.

The reality was so much worse than her vision, but she never doubted the necessity of this battle. Ginger watched the carnage long enough to be assured that everything was going to turn out as planned. There would be a victory here today at Camlan Hill. Legend would speak of magic making the very soil of Britain gape wide to send the enemy to the fires of hell.

Only witnessing it upset her more than she realized, because she got lost in the thick woods making her way back to the spring. By the time she found her way to the rendezvous point it had started to rain. Bern and the team were waiting for her. They’d brought horses with them.

“You scared me half mad, woman!” Bern stopped pacing and pulled her roughly to him by the elbows. “Where have you been?”

She was so happy to see him that she kissed him. She began to cry with relief, and was glad to have the rain to cover this excess of emotion.

Except she knew it didn’t work when he kissed her cheeks and said, “You taste salty.”

“And you smell sweaty,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.”

He kept his arms around her when she would have gone for her pack. “But where do we go from here?” He glanced toward Percy.

The subject had been under discussion for days. The problem with this area was an overabundance of sites where energy concentrated. Ginger had stayed out of it, because she didn’t want to be dismissed out of hand as a total loon. Now she had to speak up. She had the answer they needed.

“We need to go to the Isle of Apples,” she told them.

“Where’s that?” Bern asked.

Gareth laughed. “So, I’m not the only one who’s seen the parallels.”

Kaye nodded thoughtfully.

Maybe she should have spoken up sooner.

Percy pulled a handheld computer out of a leather pouch on his belt. He checked a map screen and then frowned at her. “I’ve worked out the search grid very carefully. There’s no reason to deviate from—”

“Where is this Apple Island?” Bern asked.

“Isle of Apples,” Ginger corrected. She cleared her throat, took a deep breath, and made herself publicly say, “Avalon.”

“Oh, for crying out loud!” Percy yelled in disgust.

She didn’t blame him. “I admit it might seem a little farfetched.”

“A little?” He sneered “Living among these people has made you as superstitious as they are. You’ve come to accept their mythology as—”

“It’s not one of the local myths,” Gareth spoke. “Not yet, anyway. It is one of our myths. Following it might lead us home.”

“Gambling on what might happen is not a scientific or logical basis for finding the correct nexus,” Percy argued.

Bern rubbed his jaw and chuckled. “Might doesn’t always make right. I just remembered where that came from. But where is Avalon? Hasn’t that always been a mystery?”

“It doesn’t exist. You’re not going along with this, are you, Colonel?” Percy demanded. He pointed accusingly at Ginger. “Why? Because she’s good in bed?”

Ginger was rather pleased that several team members stepped forward, but Bern got to Percy first, and punched him in the jaw. Percy hit the wet ground, and was wise enough to stay down. He sat in the mud, rubbed his jaw, and kept his mouth shut.

“So, where do we go?” Bern asked her.

“Tradition points to Glastonbury,” she answered.

“There’s a nexus on top of that big hill that’s there?” he asked.

She shook her head, and glanced at Percy. “Not on top of the tor, right?” He grimaced, but nodded. “There’s a sacred spring called Chalice Well at the foot of Glastonbury Tor. I think that’s where we have to go.”

“Let’s do it. Mount up,” Bern ordered the team. “We need to get out of here before the locals come looking for us so they can throw a feast in our honor.”

As the men moved to mount their animals, he snatched Ginger around the waist and put her up on the horse in front of him. She snuggled back against him, and he wrapped his cape around both of them. In this warm, intimate position he leaned forward to whisper, “Being like this with you almost makes me like riding a horse.”

She tilted her head against his shoulder, determined to draw every bit of nearness to him she could in the time they had left. “Then let’s enjoy the ride.”

“I don’t believe it,” Percy said. He double-checked his equipment as the water of the Glastonbury spring bubbled up at his feet. Then he gave Ginger a sour look. “She’s right.”

“The energy reading is right?” Kaye asked.

“It’s off the scale,” Percy answered.

“Enough to take all of us home?” Owen asked.

“Jump in and find out,” Percy invited. He glanced around the green and lovely glade. “Before the priestesses we chased off come back.”

“With an angry mob,” Kaye added.

If at all possible, TTP operatives were supposed to appear and vanish without any witnesses around. Scaring the locals with the sound and light show that accompanied time travel was considered not only impolite, but possibly dangerous to the primary timeline TTP visits wove in and out of. And the problem with places like sacred springs as nexus points was that they tended to be occupied with priests and pilgrims and such like. So, Bern had had his people approach this one with swords drawn and chase everyone away. Percy was right about their not having much time for goodbyes.

“Form up into teams,” he said. He took Ginger’s hand before she could join the people she’d traveled with into the past. He drew her away from the spring and tilted her chin up with his fingers. “You are so beautiful,” he told her.

“In a pale, freckled sort of way,” she answered. She tried to sound light, but her voice came out tight and strained.

“I’ll miss you, Dr. Virginia White.” Words couldn’t begin to describe what having to separate was doing to him.

“Have I thanked you for rescuing me yet?” she asked. She gave him a brief, hard embrace. “It’s been a pleasure knowing you, Colonel Andrew Bern.”

He kissed her then. It was fierce and quick, and not enough. He ran the back of his hand across her cheek. “Hey, we made history.”

“Or something like it.”

He nodded, and his throat was too tight for him to manage to say more than, “Go.”

She gave him a sad smile, and went over to join Kaye and Owen who were already standing in the spring’s shallow pool. They each placed their left thumbs over the inside of their right wrists. Ginger’s gaze didn’t leave his.

“On my mark,” Kaye said. “Activate.”

Everyone pressed down hard on the retrieval implant.

The column of light that sprang from the water blinded him. The roar of the shock wave was deafening. Bern refused to look away. The last thing he saw was Ginger’s face as she whispered, “Goodbye.”

Ginger looked up from the photo before her on the desk, and sighed. A copper bowl filled with water sat on the desk, but she wasn’t interested in looking into it. Being a psychic wasn’t as much fun for her as it used to be. It had been six months since she’d gotten back to her own time. Six months and three days to be precise, not that she was counting. She’d done the debriefing and written up her report, and been sent back to her regular life until such time as the TTP deemed her special skills necessary again. For now her regular life consisted of working with law enforcement on cold-case files, and being alone.

She sighed again, and stood up. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate being back. She loved her house and garden. She loved central heating and modern medicine and interactive holographic entertainment and regular meals of anything she wanted. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed shopping for shoes until she’d entered her first mall. She loved being home. It was just that—

She missed Bern.

Her body ached for him when she was alone in her bed at night, but the notion of taking another lover was anathema. Even trying a holo lover hadn’t worked for her.

She got up and began to pace around her office. She was well aware that Bern had returned to the present three days before, and even more aware that it didn’t matter. Maybe there was some way that she could introduce herself to him, but how fair would it be to him when she knew their past and he didn’t? There was no way for them to pick up where they’d left off. There was a good chance he wouldn’t even be interested in her under normal circumstances. Maybe she wouldn’t be interested in him.

She laughed hollowly, still conscious of the ecstasy he brought her when his body joined with hers. “Yeah, right, sure I’m going to forget that.”

Then again, she really wanted the man, why shouldn’t she fight for what she wanted? She should find a way to introduce herself and see what—

“There is someone at the door,” the house’s security system announced. It was an old house with a very basic system, so it wasn’t about to be more informative than that. So, unless the water in the scrying bowl suddenly showed her who it was—which it wasn’t likely to do—she had to answer the door herself. Entertaining a visitor, even someone looking to get their future read without an appointment, was better than pacing around feeling sorry for herself.

The man standing at the door was the last person she expected to be there. And the one person in all of space and time she wanted to see.

“Bern!”

He kissed her before she could say anything else. The fire that had been between them from the first moment sparked to flames. She clung to him with all her might, her body molded against his. If he’d taken her there on the front porch she wouldn’t have minded. Instead he swung her around into the house, and kicked the door closed behind them. They fell together onto the entryway carpet and clothes were quickly shed and pushed aside.

He was thrusting inside her, hard and strong and fast, before she managed to breathlessly say, “You remembered me!” Then she came for the first time and forgot about words for a long time afterwards.

“Of course I remembered,” he said later, when they were lying together in a sweaty tangled heap. “You’re unforgettable.”

She stroked his cheek. “Oh, that’s sweet…wait a minute…that means you’re psychic.” He nodded. “I thought Percy was your team psychic.”

“He was, on the civilian side. The military side always tries to have someone who’ll remember the op on a TTP team.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

“That’s because that information is shared on a need-to-know basis. This seems like a good time for you to need to know.”

“Now I understand why Kaye kept talking about your gut feelings. I should have guessed he meant your psychic intuition.”

“You should have guessed when we went for each other like we were in heat instantly right after we met. That kind of lust only comes when like meets like.”

“So I’ve heard. Hey, the lust had me pretty distracted. That and starring in orgies and fighting the Saxons and that whole Matter of Britain thing we had going.”

He sighed. “Matter of Britain, my ass.”

She stroked it. “It’s a very nice ass. I have a nice big bed it might fit in upstairs,” she told him.

He helped her to her feet, even though she groaned in protest when he stopped touching her breasts. “I’d be delighted to spend as much time as possible in your nice big bed.”

“Good.”

“But first,” he added, “I did come here to ask if you’d like to go on a date this evening. I’ve got tickets for a revival of an old musical I think you’ll enjoy.”

Curiosity nibbled away some of her lust. “What would that be?”

He grinned. “Spamalot.”

She hooted, and they held each other tight, shaking with laughter. What other production could possibly be more perfect for their first date?