Page 40 of Under Arthur’s Protection

I placed a palm against the outside wall to ensure I didn’t go in to comfort her. “When did you eat last?”

“What time is it?”

“About eight.”

“Huh.” She scrubbed her hands over her eyes. She’d been working for so long, and she must have been utterly exhausted. “I guess however long it’s been since we got back.”

“I was going to make some soup and sandwiches for Lance and me.” Honestly, I hadn’t thought about food until then. “Nothing fancy.”

“That sounds perfect. I’ll come down in a few minutes.”

“Take your time.” I pushed off the doorframe and walked back down the grand staircase, toward the kitchen. To where I was going to make soup and sandwiches I hadn’t been planning to make, for a woman I wasn’t supposed to be feeding, because she was a protectee.

Emotional connections are⁠—

Shut up, Dad. She’s hungry.

Chapter 13

Gwen

Lance parked on a narrow street lined with row houses made of brick and stucco. A small sign hung above a doorway two doors down, reading Dr. T. Hopkins, Medieval Studies and Academic Consulting.

“I’ll go inside with you,” Arthur said. “Lance, you’ve got the exterior.”

Lance got out and scanned the street while I pulled the sword case from the trunk.

Arthur reached the door first and opened it for me. After a quick glance inside, he stepped back and ushered me in. It was the third door he’d held open for me today, and it wasn’t even ten in the morning.

It’s a security thing, Gwen. Don’t make it out to be more than that.

The office was exactly what I’d imagined. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on two walls, with books stacked double in places. Academic journals in piles on the windowsill overlooking the street. Display cases along the far wall held small artifacts: fibulae, buckle plates, and various fragments of decorative metalwork.

Dr. Hopkins glanced up from behind a large oak desk. Its surface was littered with papers and books, and a magnifying lamp was clamped to its edge. He stood, a broad smile on his face. “Dr. Lyons. I’m so happy you’re here.”

“I should thank you for making time for me on such short notice,” I said as we shook hands.

“I cleared my schedule the moment you called. It’s not every day a seventh-century sword walks into my office.” His eyes moved to Arthur. “You must be one of the traveling companions she mentioned to me yesterday?”

Arthur nodded from his position beside the door. Close enough to hear everything, far enough to be out of the conversation. “I’m protection for Dr. Lyons and the sword.”

“Of course.” Dr. Hopkins took it in stride, as though security escorts were a normal part of his academic consultations. He gestured to a guest chair opposite him. “Can I see it?”

I set the sword case on his desk, unlatched the clasps, and opened the lid. The gold’s gentle luster. The blade’s corroded metal. The aura of history clinging to it. I’d been handling the sword for days, but it still took my breath away every time I saw it.

Dr. Hopkins leaned forward, pushing his glasses up as he got closer to the pommel. Without looking, he reached for the cotton gloves on his desk.

“Would you mind using nitrile?” I said. “Cotton can catch, and with the blade in this condition, snagging on a fragment could do significant damage.”

He paused, letting his glasses drop back onto his nose. “Of course.”

While he opened a drawer to retrieve a pair of gloves, I withdrew my laptop and pulled on my own.

I’d lifted it myself the first time, but couldn’t allow someone who hadn’t signed the FBI’s paperwork to risk it. The pommel would be fine, but the blade might snap. “It’s surprisingly sturdy, but it’s best if we don’t test its integrity.”

“Steel ages so differently from precious metals.” Settling his glasses on top of his head, he extended the magnifying lamp over the gold. “I was thinking the garnet inlay technique was consistent with seventh-century East Anglian workshops, but there are elements I’d hoped to get a better look at. This granulation along the upper guard, for instance.”

“I thought it was similar to one of the pommels in the Staffordshire Hoard.” I rounded the desk and stood beside him. “It had quite a bit of granulation.”