Free Enchanted Warrior by Sharon Ashwood

there—not at all. Not when the reason for the visit was to cast a spell. He would rather have faced an enraged ogre than be in the same room with a witch at work—and yet somehow he had agreed to it. That had to be proof of his desperation.
    Gawain knew well enough that magic could heal as well as harm. If the stakes were high enough, he could and would endure its presence for the greater good. After all, he had allowed Merlin to turn him to stone so he could follow his king into the future. It was just...
    Memories of his childhood crowded in. His mother, Queen Morgause, had been as beautiful as a night-blooming flower—or at least that’s what the poets had said. All the recollections Gawain could dredge up were of nightmares. The nameless, many-legged things she kept in her workroom and called her pets. Her deadly potions. The sight of her strangling his hound so she could use the unborn pups for a curse. And then there was the way she had died—slain by her own son, Agravaine. Gawain’s younger brother’s mind had not survived the twisted evil in their home.
    And Gawain, alone of all his brothers, had inherited the potential to create that darkness anew. That was not a future he was willing to accept. As soon as he was old enough, he’d picked up a sword and ridden off to serve the young king, believing an honorable death would cleanse his soul. He’d survived, but never allowed himself to use the least hint of his inherited magic. Not after—well, he refused to think about certain events.
    Which begged the question of why he was knocking on a witch’s door, about to help her with a spell. If Gawain had thought of any other way to find the Round Table in time to destroy their enemies—anything at all—he’d have leaped on it like a wildcat upon a hare.
    Gawain reached the front door of Tamsin’s building and found it locked. He knew enough about modern times to search the panel beside the door for Tamsin’s name. He pressed the button next to it and waited.
    â€œHello?” Her voice crackled out of the speaker, making him jump.
    He cast a glance around, hoping no one had noticed his less-than-manly surprise. “It is Gawain.”
    â€œCome on up.”
    The door clicked, and he tugged on the handle. This time it opened, and he stepped into the lobby. Fortunately, he’d already learned about elevators and made his way to her floor.
    The door to Tamsin’s suite was open, letting out the scent of herbs and good food. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he was hungry. He lingered on the threshold a moment, savoring the aroma.
    A moment later, Tamsin put her head out of the tiny galley kitchen and gave him a bright smile. “Make yourself comfortable. Dinner’s just about done.”
    â€œDinner?” he asked suspiciously. “I did not expect this.”
    â€œI hope you don’t mind. I can’t perform a ritual on an empty stomach.”
    Gawain approached the tiny table where just last night Tamsin had bound his wound. There were place settings already laid out, and he studied them carefully. He’d been thoroughly trained to take his place at Camelot’s high table, but he was well aware that modes and manners had changed. Gawain felt an unaccustomed flicker of stage fright.
    Tamsin bustled out of the kitchen with a bowl of greens. “It’s just pasta and salad, nothing much. My mother would tell me I’m a terrible homemaker.”
    He almost smiled then, a rueful turn of lips. “You realize, of course, that I have not been invited to dine in someone’s home for nearly a thousand years.”
    Tamsin raised her brows. “In that case, you’ll be excited to learn about this new thing called a fork.”
    Gawain looked away from her pretty, open face. “You’re mocking me.”
    â€œAre you sure about that?”
    â€œYou assume I have the manners of a mad