to stop him. They fought and Marduke suffered severe facial injuries.
‘The only reason that woman would want a child for herself would be to secure an inheritance,’ Isabel concludes.
Charlotte stirs, murmuring for another story, and Isabel lets the matter drop. She strokes the girl’s forehead. ‘Patience, Charlotte. Here, wait.’ Isabel moves around on the rug, positioning Charlotte’s head in her lap. ‘Is that comfortable?’
Charlotte nods, then looks up at me. ‘Hurry, Gascon. You must tell me a story before I fall asleep. You have so many! And my eyes are getting heavy.’
Even with heavy eyes, it takes the telling of three long stories – myths from ancient Greece and Macedonia – before Charlotte’s soulful blue eyes finally close in sleep.
Isabel continues stroking the girl’s forehead. ‘Should we carry her to bed?’
Through the connecting doorway, I glance into her room, and wonder what the Order have in mind regarding this child. Has the portal to this time period been opened solely to draw Ethan out? It can only open for a short period, and only ever once. No one can return to the exact time twice. Or is there a genuine threat to Charlotte’s well-being? It would be a mistake to underestimate the enemy. And from what I saw earlier of the child’s own bedroom – narrow windows with heavy drapes, closet doors, wardrobes and wooden chests – there are plenty of hiding places should someone suddenly appear. ‘Why don’t we leave Charlotte here where we can keep a close eye on her? It’s warm by the fire.’
Agreeing, Isabel makes Charlotte comfortable with some pillows. King Charles nestles in beside her, his head on his paws, his eyes slowly closing.
The two of us go and sit against the foot of the four-poster bed, and after a while Isabel sighs and yawns. Without realising it, she sags against my shoulder. After this long day, she’s completely exhausted. Looking across at Charlotte, she comments softly, ‘She looks so innocent.’
‘As only a child can.’
‘Why would anyone want to harm her?’ She shivers suddenly.
Instinctively, and against my better judgement, I pull her closer to me. She rests her head on my shoulder as if it is the most natural thing in all the worlds to do.
But it’s a mistake. I become aware of her heart beating, her lungs expanding with every breath, her skin beneath my touch.
She moves, and her head slides to my chest. Shifting into sleep, she wraps her arm around my waist. Now I’m aware of my heart beating too, slowly, in sync with hers. I know I should push her away. But if my life depended on it, right now, that would be impossible.
She mumbles something; her breathing slow and rhythmic. Unable to stop myself, I kiss the top of her head.
She shifts and wakes, quietly becoming aware of how her arm lies around my chest. Withdrawing it in jerking movements, she sucks in a deep breath, sitting up straighter. ‘I must have fallen asleep.’
‘Only for a minute or two.’
Her head turns to me. ‘Did I miss anything?’
I recall my kiss to the top of her head, and can’t help a secret smile. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’
‘Oh good. I wouldn’t want to miss anything important, like maybe the Goddess herself dropping in to say hello.’
Her comment has me scoffing. ‘I’ve lived six hundred years, and I haven’t met the woman yet.’
She seems surprised.
‘Lathenia only shows herself on exceptional occasions.’
A sudden sound from the hearth, a moan from King Charles, seizes our attention. The dog is waking, slowly stretching out his limbs and arching his back.
Charlotte starts to stir and reaches for her pet. But something about the dog seems strange, abnormal. Its eyes are changing, losing their animal shape. It’s as if they are no longer the eyes of a dog but that of … ‘Grab the girl!’ I yell.
‘What’s wrong?’ Isabel asks, sounding confused.
‘I think your desire to meet the Goddess is about to come true.’
She runs to Charlotte. ‘What! No way! But how?’
‘I think Lathenia has been using one of her hounds to get close to Charlotte and trick us into thinking the Order had not arrived yet. It gave her time to study us.’
‘Do you think she’s worked out—’
An ear-piercing squeal cuts off anything else she has to say. Grabbing Charlotte with a gentle but firm hold, Isabel pulls her to the side, turning the child’s face into her skirts.
‘Don’t turn around, whatever you hear,’ I tell her.
The sight of Charlotte’s ‘pet’ standing on its hind paws and