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he’d washed and trimmed his beard, thanks to many miraculous advances, he dressed in his old clothing and returned to the bedroom. His hound slept soundly in the familiar bed near the hearth. Gawain was tempted to fall into bed and nap as well. Only the irrational fear that he would wake again in the cave kept him on his feet and exploring the belongings O’Malley had preserved.
    He found tools of his magic he’d taken on his quest to defeat Morgana. The mirror his sister had gifted him, along with a shallow bowl and packets of dried herbs for scrying. He smiled at the sight of a colorful river stone he’d found along the Avalon shore and carried since, along with a small figurine carved by Arthur when they’d been foster brothers.
    Opening the wardrobe he saw stacks of various fine fabrics that turned out to be shirts in white, gray, and black. A note had been secured to the inner door panel. Though faded slightly, he realized it was a sketch of him, his every measurement listed in the appropriate place. The squire had been thorough indeed. Not only in procuring his belongings, but in safeguarding them from time itself.
    He looked from the chairs to the bed and simply sank to the floor near his dog. He leaned back against the wall and let the shock roll through him while he stroked the velvet-soft ears. “Who knows what we’ll face,” he said aloud, his gaze on the ceiling. It troubled him that someone had seized the dagger that could free Morgana. “We should investigate where and how the dagger was stolen.”
    Knowing the next step didn’t make it easier. He couldn’t quite summon the strength to move. The dog flopped over and leaned heavily against his thigh. Between the warm room and the warmer hound, Gawain felt himself drifting, his thoughts scattered between his century and this one. Dozing, the dreams in his twilight state were fractured mosaics of how things had been and how he thought they would have changed.
    He did not know how long he remained there, only that his body jerked awake at the sound of Tara’s voice on the other side of his door.
    “Wayne?” She rapped against the wood and called again.
    “Enter,” he said, pushing to his feet.
    The door opened and as her gaze raked over the furnishings and him, her sharp eyes were shadowed by a frown. He feared she saw more than he wanted her to see.
    “I got a call and need to get to the pub,” she said. “It’s only a few blocks away. You can wait here for Nick and get some more rest.”
    “No. It is not safe for you to be alone.” He cut her off when she started to protest. “I will change clothes at once and accompany you.”
    He pulled his linen shirt over his head, tossing it to the bed as he’d done countless times in his own home. At the wardrobe, he opened the doors and took out one shirt in each of the fabrics presented. He didn’t want to admit the weakness, but he needed to blend in without using magic. Whoever had stolen the dagger and roused him from his sleep had the power to track him if he used enough magic. He and Nick had recognized that in the city square.
    Holding out the options for her opinion, he turned around. “Which is best suited to your pub?”
    Seeing her rosy lips parted in shock or dismay, he was immediately contrite for treating her as a squire. His body bore the scars of hard training and challenging battles. It wasn’t a sight suited for females. “My apologies for offending you again.”
    “No, don’t apologize.” She shook her head, her steps hesitant as she crossed the room. “I’m distracted, not offended.” She relieved him of the white shirt with short sleeves and then waved him out of the way. Poking at the items available, she muttered about her cousin and his taste. “It’s functional and current. I should be happy with that much.”
    “You are not?”
    “Not really. As a woman, I’m entitled to having a higher standard for menswear.”
    “Will any of this meet your