Page 42 of Under Arthur’s Protection

“A little over two hours.” He returned to the shelves, skimmed along spines, and selected a second book. This one was older, with a cracked spine. He flipped through pages until he found what he wanted, and laid the book down gently. “You may also want to consider a literary angle.”

“Literary?”

“In the twelfth century, the French evolved the Arthurian legends significantly. Chrétien de Troyes is one of the best-known writers of the time, and he’s largely responsible for introducing Lancelot into the stories. If Novae Avallonis is a literary concept rather than a place, part of the mythology-making those writers were doing, the manuscript archives in Troyes—in the Champagne region—might contain the earliest uses of the term.”

All I’d wanted originally was to authenticate the sword. The results of a metallurgical analysis of the blade would have been relatively simple to interpret, but the pommel added complexity. Instead of uncovering the truth, my visit to St. Catherine’s Church had given me Dr. Hopkins and three separate leads. Each one sounded reasonable. Each one offered a path forward.

And each one led away from the interpretation I’d been so sure about yesterday.

Or maybe that was the problem, Gwen. You needed it to be important.

Lionel’s face flashed through my memory. I’d been sure of my research back then. Sure of the man. Sure what I was seeing was real—not just with the research he’d stolen, but with him. It had been three years, but I still saw his stupid face every single time I had to defend my conclusions.

I closed the laptop.

You’re not folding. You’re being responsible.

But that didn’t stop the heat from creeping up my neck. Behind me, Mr. Had All His Sexy Shit Together was witnessing my giant failure. Surely he wouldn’t be willing to traipse all over Europe chasing an inscription that was probably nothing.

I’d be on my own after this. But the updated FBI contract permitted me to travel with the sword only if a member of the Round Table Security team was with me.

“Can you send me the specifics? Archive names, contact information for your colleague?” I kept my focus on Dr. Hopkins instead of asking Arthur for approval first. “And can I take some photos of these pages in your books?”

“I’ll email you everything.” Dr. Hopkins smiled. “And please, keep me in the loop. Whatever you find, I’d love to know.”

I packed the sword, latched the case, and got a few quick shots of his documents with my phone.

Dr. Hopkins shook my hand at the door. “A genuine pleasure, Dr. Lyons. Your sword is exceptional, regardless of what the inscription turns out to mean.”

“Thank you, Dr. Hopkins. I appreciate your time.”

Arthur followed me out without a word.

The morning air was cool after the warm office. Lance leaned against the car, arms crossed, watching us approach. “All done?”

Were we done? Was the sword’s security detail going to insist we fly home?

Before I could say anything, Arthur’s hand found the small of my back. Hurrying me toward the car, he said, “Not even close. We’ve got travel plans to make.”

Chapter 14

Arthur

Lance drove down the main road, passing rows of houses until the town gave way to countryside. Gwen sat behind him, her laptop bag on the seat beside her and the sword case secured in the trunk.

I had my phone out and a text half-composed to the flight crew, but the words on the screen weren’t forming because my brain was still in that office.

Gwen had been staring out the side window since we left. All the excitement she’d had this morning was gone.

Hopkins had been thorough. He hadn’t been rude or dismissive, just articulate and gentle in the way senior academics were when they were dismantling someone’s work. He hadn’t raised his voice or been unkind. He’d simply offered alternative explanations, each more reasonable than the last, and made Gwen fold her own conclusions into a neat pile and set them aside.

Last night, she’d hedged. She’d asked my opinion as though it was important, because she still didn’t quite trust her own judgment. She’d lit up the fucking library when she laid out her theory.

I’d told her to trust her gut, and then had to stand guard in Hopkins’s office and watch her light go out.

“So,” Lance said, glancing in the rearview mirror. “How’d it go?”

Gwen shifted behind us. “He was helpful.”