“For the first time since her arrival in medieval Britain, she wasn’t kept awake by thoughts and memories of the friends and family she left behind in the twenty-first century, but by the nightmare-ish events of the day. The expression of betrayal in Sir Bedivere’s eyes, and Ywain’s barely contained range seemed to set up a permanent base near the front of her mind.
In the morning, Morgan asked Britt to return to Camelot with her. Britt refused. The sorceress did not seem surprised by the refusal and packed up her camp.
“Take this—you’ll need it if you are to survive the journey to London,” Morgan said, offering out two stuffed saddle packs.
“What’s in them?” Britt asked.
“Some provisions, a blanket, extra bandages, a hunting knife, and the like.”
“I can’t take all of that from you,” Britt said.
“You can, and you will.
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