“All of us grow old, my friend,” Arthur said. “But we were still strong and powerful when we needed to be. Thayne, he was a young man, and yet he was no match for us. Guinevere also told me she suspected Thayne. I believed her more than my spy. Thank you.” He leaned over and clasped Guinevere’s hand.
Grayson, Olafar, and Mathilde stood silently, watching, barely breathing.
Grayson said quietly, even though he knew the three people on the dais couldn’t hear him, probably didn’t even see them or know they were there, “I believe you have your answer, Olafar. At least, I hope the time flux brought us to the right Camelot. And thus, Sir Thomas Malory’s vision was a fiction.”
Olafar nodded. “I believe I understand. Malory didn’t have a vision. He had enough kelpie blood to travel back. He was caught in a time flux the first time. Yes, both of us were taken to the wrong Camelot. But he believed it, no reason not to, and it became his truth. After all, he’d seen the betrayal with his own eyes. And his truth became, unfortunately, the world’s truth.” He grinned and rubbed his hands together. “Yes, I know it to my bones this is the correct Camelot. It feels right. It feels real. The three of them together throughout their lives—yes, that’s as it really was. Let us go home now.”
Mathilde suddenly looked like she was going to cry, but she nodded, slowly. Of course she didn’t want to go back. Understandable, since she would be dead and become a ghost again. If only there were some way to let her remain alive, but of course there wasn’t. She’d been born in her time and died in her time. The three of them walked through the great fortress, walked across the practice field and back into the oak forest. Olafar walked directly to the same spot they’d first appeared. He pulled the reins and bridle out of his shirt and held them high. In the next instant, Bonaduce was flying high above the ground, Grayson on his back. Mathilde, still human, clutched Bonaduce’s black mane, her glorious blond hair whipping out behind her.
Would she simply fade away when they returned to the present? How could it be otherwise? Grayson sighed. Sometimes life—and death—wasn’t fair.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Northcliffe Hall
Saturday morning
Alex Sherbrooke waved a letter at the breakfast table and said to her husband and Grayson, “A letter from James. He, Corrie, and the twins are coming home early. They want to visit with you, Grayson—and Pip, of course. Evidently the twins have been talking nonstop, wanting to hear a ghost story from you.”
Grayson nodded, smiled. “And I do have a wonderful story to tell them.” He rose. “Please excuse me. I must see to fulfilling a promise.”
“What promise?” his uncle Douglas asked, a white brow raised. “To whom?”
“It’s not really a promise, but it’s something I’ve thought about a lot, and now I want to act.”
He left his aunt and uncle staring after him and went to the third floor to the schoolroom. Olafar was reading while the children finished their breakfast. Pip, P.C., and Barnaby were laughing, arguing, who knew about what. At least they weren’t throwing food at each other. Pip looked up, smiled at his father, and then turned back to P.C. It didn’t appear Pip remembered his ride on Bonaduce’s back. Had he remembered the first time because Grayson had pulled him out of the dream and it hadn’t yet faded? Evidently so.
“Grayson.” Olafar closed his book and rose. “How are you feeling this very fine morning?”
“I feel as fine as the beautiful morning. It is not raining, a wondrous thing. May I speak to you, Olafar?”
They walked to the far end of the schoolroom, out of the children’s hearing. Grayson said, “The Virgin Bride, Mathilde, she was as real as you and I were at Camelot.”
“Yes, yes, she was.” He shook his head. “And how real was that, exactly? We seemed real enough to each other, but we were only observers to all the people at Camelot. I do not know how to explain any of it, Grayson.”
Grayson said, “It seems like a dream, a distant but still very finely detailed dream. Mathilde didn’t want to leave, Olafar. She didn’t want to be a ghost again.”
Olafar nodded. “I know. When we returned, she didn’t say anything. She simply disappeared. I haven’t yet seen her today. I’ve given it a lot of thought, Grayson, and I have an idea.”
Grayson smiled. “Mayhap it is the same idea I have.”
Both Olafar and Grayson called to her, but Mathilde did not appear. Grayson rode with the children, took them to the neighboring village of Porthe, and bought them ice cream.
That afternoon he walked in the eastern gardens, thinking, hoping what he and Olafar wished would be possible. He heard her, knew who it was, and turned to see Delyth beautifully gowned in a dark-blue riding habit, a pert hat set atop her head. She held a riding crop against her skirts. “Is there something I may do for you, Delyth?”
She eyed him, then sighed. “I have already seen Olafar. Now it is time for you to know the truth. You believe I am Belgian, but that is not true. I simply took the shape of Mrs. Smythe-Ambrosio’s niece, here to surprise my aunt and uncle. They welcomed me gladly, and I made up grand stories for them about the family in Antwerp.
“You also believed I was flirting with you, Mr. Sherbrooke. I was, but it was for a reason.”
Grayson arched an eyebrow.
Slowly, she pulled a beautiful silver bridle from a pocket in her gown. “My name is Delyth Ramsey. I am Olafar’s sister. I am also half kelpie, half witch. I’ve been careful he hasn’t seen me up close, else he would know who I am. I did not want him to know I came because I knew I had to protect him, and believe me, he would be insulted. And so I’ve watched from afar.
“You know our mother is a witch, but she is not just any witch. She is very powerful. She sees things, knows things. She told my father and me that you are a man who sees things other men don’t, a man who has experienced many strange and wondrous things, a man who’s dispatched demons and evil spirits from long ago. She said this differentness made her afraid for Olafar because she couldn’t see clearly into your mind to assess how you would deal with him. Would you see him as a demon? See him as being dangerous to your son and the other children? An abomination to be destroyed? So I volunteered to come.”
Grayson could only stare at her in amazement. “Of course I would not kill Olafar.”
She smiled at him. “Forgive her. She’s a mother, and she worries. No, I realized soon enough you would never harm Olafar, which is why I’m telling you the truth now. Olafar is happy. He loves the twins and travels with their spirits. He told me you accompanied him to ancient Camelot.”
“Yes, last night. Olafar is now content. Did your mother also know about Mathilde, the Virgin Bride? She is the resident Sherbrooke ghost, a young lady who died in the sixteenth century. She is the protector of the Sherbrooke ladies. Olafar told you she traveled back with us?”
At her nod, Grayson said, “It was miraculous. She was human, but back here in the present, she was once again a ghost.”
“Olafar told me he needed to speak to her. About what, he did not tell me. But I know, I know.” She shook her head. “My mother, never shall I doubt her again. She not only is a powerful witch, but she is also blessed with the second sight. That is, she sees things no one else can see, feels things no one else can feel. And she was right. I was with my parents last night, and she told me she saw Olafar with a beautiful young woman with long, glorious blond hair, and the young woman was laughing and dancing and singing. She told me Olafar was going to marry her.”