TemptressofTime

by Dee Brice

  Inhaling a deep breath for courage, she rapped on the door then went through it without waiting for acknowledgement. In case someone other than Adrian waited in the dimly lit cavern, she’d left the door ajar for a quick getaway. The cavern felt empty, but she went deeper inside with caution. Her hands were clammy and perspiration began to bead at her hairline and between her breasts.

  “Without candlelight the water glitters.”

  She jumped away from the voice, rescued from tumbling into the pond by Adrian’s firm grip on her upper arm. Her free hand flew to her pounding heart. Her nervous giggle echoed off the stone walls.

  “I did not mean to frighten you.”

  “I know, but you did.” The hand over her heart fluttered like a one-winged butterfly then obeyed her command to lower to her side.

  His large hand replaced hers. Her heart rate soared as he cupped her breast.

  “I did not grant you leave—”

  “I am but assuring myself that you shall not faint.”

  “From your sudden appearance or the impropriety of your hand’s placement?”

  Step back. Shove away his hand. She stayed put. Let his hand remain where it was even though her nipple hardened in his palm.

  “I fear I frightened you greatly.”

  “You did?”

  He swept her into his arms then carried her into the steaming pond. Settling with her on his lap, he circled her stiff nipple.

  All those sculpted muscles made her feel fragile and light as…well, as if her weight didn’t strain him in any way. With no reason to resist any longer, she ran her hands over his shoulders, squeezed his flexed biceps, then pressed her lips to the pulse jumping in his thick neck. His cock throbbed against her thigh.

  Sighing with delight, she said, “Oh yes, you did frighten me, milord. I am in need of much more comforting.” His cock felt as hard as his muscular thigh.

  His chuckle vibrated along her neck as he kissed his way to her ear. He shifted her legs, making her even more aware of his enlarging cock. Wanting to grasp him, open her legs and take him deep inside her juice-drenched folds, she bit back a moan of regret. Her promise to Walker—and a greater fear of pregnancy and disease—kept her where Adrian had placed her.

  “You are naked, sir.”

  “While you are not.” He moved his free hand to her hem, drawing it up her calves to her clenched thighs.

  “I’d rather not remove my chemise,” she told him, feeling her face heat and hoping he couldn’t see her blush.

  His eyes took on the pond’s sparkles. “I cannot see all that well.”

  “Well enough. I’d like to keep some semblance of modesty.”

  He shrugged one very wide shoulder then pressed her head against his chest. His heartbeat drummed against her ear. Were her nerves not stretched so taut she might shatter, she would take comfort from its strong, steady beat.

  His dramatic sigh made her laugh. “Very well. I shall allow your gown, so long as you permit me to touch you where I will.”

  She studied his eyes. They had a dreamy glint, as if both he and she had already crested and were on the edge of full recovery—just in time to do every lovely thing all over again. Her teeth raked her lower lip, a moment’s hesitation before she nodded. Stilling his hand on her thigh, she murmured, “So long as you are gentle.”

  His gaze sharpened. “Has a man mistreated— Never mind. I shall be gentle until you want me rough,” he countered, as if knowing that at some point she would beg for rough and hard.

  Her nod granted him permission to begin seducing her.

  Smiling as if he knew every secret she held dear, he relaxed against the stone-lined pond wall. “Whenever you are ready, Diane.” His eyelids drifted down, his lashes half-moons on the chiseled edges of his tanned cheekbones.

  “For what?” Indignation sent her voice an octave higher than usual.

  “To bathe me, of course. To wash then comb my hair.”

  As if he’d tossed her into a snowbank, a low-pitched screech escaped her lips. She stormed out of the pond. “If you wish a bath, my lord, send for your washerwoman. I’m certain she’ll oblige you for only a few coins. As for me, I am worth far more than a quick tumble in a pot of water.”

  Idiot, someone muttered in her mind. The rest of her body agreed. Okay, she’d behaved like a coward. But if she hadn’t run, how could she face herself later?

  How could she face Walker? Or Adrian for that matter?

  And why did she care what either man thought of her?

  * * * * *

  Slamming her bedroom door behind her, Diane grabbed her eating knife and the small round mirror she’d found in the wooden chest at the foot of her bed. Propping the mirror against her water pitcher, she gripped the end of her nose, half meaning to cut it off just to spite her face. Disfigured, neither man would want her. Perhaps they would think some disease had caused her ugly visage. Leprosy was common now, wasn’t it? But did she really want to go through life without a nose? Laughing at herself, she gave a resigned sigh.

  She’d walked out on—hell’s bells, had raced away from—one of the sexiest men she’d ever met. Now her hormones were raging. Her skin burned. Her breasts wanted his hands, his mouth and tongue all over them. She didn’t care if he treated them roughly or not. And her pussy… Sweet God, even if she had her vibrator, it wouldn’t come close to satisfying her.

  “Stu-pid,” she shouted just as Marget opened the garderobe door and entered the solar.

  “M’lady?”

  Diane shoved the mirror into Marget’s hands. “Hold this—” Positioning the glass in front of her face, she again took her nose and knife in hand.

  Laughing, Marget took away the knife. “His lordship demanded you do something…unnatural?”

  The idea that Adrian even knew about unnatural things startled her so, she plopped down on her bed. “I d-don’t—no.” Not that she actually would have sliced off her nose which, as noses went, was one of her best features. Straight and narrow and not too long. All in all a most satisfactory proboscis.

  Marget took up Diane’s comb and began working out the tangles her flight had put in her unbound hair. As she combed, she hummed a soothing tune. “Not to pry, m’lady, but if you wish to talk about what is troubling you…I am a good listener.”

  A sob escaped Diane’s mouth. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Wide-eyed, she covered her lips with both hands then hid her face in her knees. Tension. Sexual deprivation. Those things must account for her emotional collapse.

  Marget settled beside her, not saying a word. Just her presence made Diane feel a little better. Straightening, she swiped away her tears.

  “Men,” Marget said, “are very demanding creatures.” Diane sniffed her agreement. “While they consider our sole purpose on earth is to serve them, we know better.”

  “We do?”

  “We do.”

  “How do we know?” Scooting deeper onto the bed, Diane arranged her damp chemise so she could sit tailor-fashion. Marget plumped a pillow then settled against the headboard. Her silence made Diane think. “Are you suggesting compromise?”

  In her mind, compromise equated to somebody losing. If she compromised, she lost and Adrian—or Walker—won. So, not combing Adrian’s hair was like telling him she wouldn’t have sex with him. And whom did that make a loser? Her!

  She felt like giving way to tears all over again. Instead, she straightened her spine and said, “I haven’t a clue how to go about it. I mean…I have as much pride as Adrian has. He won’t apologize for treating me like a servant—” Her face heated. “I do beg your pardon, Marget. I meant no insult.”

  “Ah, but you cannot say outright that you are sorry. And neither can a man.”

  “How then do we deal with each other?”

  “When the earl asked—all right, demanded—you do something, what did you do?”

  “I made a snide remark and left him.” She twitched her lips from side to side. “Guess I should have stayed.”
/>
  “That depends on what he demanded of you. Were he to do it to you, would you enjoy it?”

  Ah-ha. “I’m beginning to get the idea. I’ll scratch his back if he scratches mine.”

  “Something like that, yes.” The woman patted Diane’s knee as she stood. “Feeling better, m’lady?”

  “Much. Thank you, Marget.” As the maid reached the door, Diane said, “Can you provide candles and a simple meal for two and deliver it to the bathhouse?”

  “Of course, m’lady. I can even provide a reason for the earl to join you there…if that is what you want.”

  “Yes.” I’ll wash his hair and he’ll wash mine. Whether she intended them to wash the hair on their heads or lower…that would depend on how much he was willing to compromise.

  Chapter Eight

  Marget had even provided pillows for the wooden benches along the bathhouse walls. Extra toweling as well, although Diane failed to see the need. Perhaps to use when she and Adrian dressed for the last time before leaving. Of course. It wouldn’t keep their tryst secret if they returned to the castle in damp clothes. Not that she expected their liaison to remain undetected for long. All it would take…a single sighting of the two of them together going into the bathhouse, a single word from one servant to another and everyone in the castle, the cottages and the village would know.

  Besides, what difference would it make? She would either live here as Adrian’s wife or live with Walker as his. Let the servants gossip as they would, even if they speculated she was neither lord’s wife. She’d know the truth.

  Which was what?

  That this Diane was an unconscionable flirt who relished having two sexy hunks courting her? Or was she, like her modern self, so afraid of making the wrong choice that she elected to let others decide for her? When she suffered the consequences of indecision, she could blame others for her discontent.

  Just like her mother.

  Time to grow up, Diane. Take responsibility. Make the choice for herself. And—right or wrong—live with the results.

  Plopping down on a bench, she nibbled on a chunk of cheese.

  It wasn’t as if anybody at home would know she’d behaved like a slut here. Hell, even if she managed to get back to her own time and place, who would care about how she behaved in this place?

  Her mother?

  No. Her mother always expected the worst from her. And for some unknown reason—spite perhaps—Diane had decided early on to live up to her mother’s expectations. Or was that down to those expectations?

  Stretching out on the bench, she bunched a pillow under her head. No reason not to take a nap while she waited for Adrian. If things went according to plan, she’d need every ounce of energy tonight.

  With images of a naked Adrian doing all sorts of delicious things to her needy body, she dozed.

  A crash so loud it sounded like thunder directly overhead startled her awake. Her heart beat so hard it felt like the earthquake that had spun her from her own life to the twelfth century had returned. Ohmigod, was she about to go somewhere else? A different century where she knew even less than she did about medieval and Tudor times? Bracing her hand on the wall, realizing it stood firm, she released her pent-up breath and peered toward the now-open door.

  Mouth suddenly dry, she knew the dark figure outlined by faint sunlight wasn’t Adrian. As it moved toward her, leashed fury in every step, she shrank away. Hard, cold stone and the now-looming male body blocked any hope of escape. A bundle of clothes landed in her lap.

  Walker’s voice came at her like an unexpected slap. “Had you told me you wanted me first, I would have taken you with me when I left this morning.”

  Swallowing fear, she surged to her feet. “Had you asked…” She wouldn’t have known what to say any more than she knew now.

  “Get dressed.” He turned toward the door. His short cape swirling about him reminded her of Dracula turning into a bat in all those old movies.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she muttered as she donned linen slops as panties. A short skirt like peasants wore and a sleeved jerkin covered the rest of her. No hose, no shoes.

  Walker apparently thought she would try to escape. In truth he’d rescued her. Once again, the decision was out of her hands—for at least as long as it took to travel from Belleange to wherever Walker lived.

  After that?

  She’d think about that when she had to.

  His shout hurried her along. A sense of relief accompanied by a sigh of regret at losing Adrian followed her to Walker’s side. Without a word, he pulled her onto his horse then sent it into a brisk trot, uncaring that a fall could break her neck. Clamping her hands around one of his forearms, she would either avoid falling or take him with her.

  * * * * *

  To her surprise, Diane found riding balanced on Walker’s hard thighs almost pleasant. In truth, his legs were far more comfortable than any saddle. Giving her a feeling of power, she could gauge his need as his groin met her buttocks with every bounce. When his cock rose, he stood in his stirrups until either his cock subsided or his legs could no longer support him. Since the time between sitting and standing decreased, she figured his cock suffered more than his legs.

  Besides, England in early summer was beautiful, the landscape dotted with wildflowers in myriad colors. Fields so green they hurt her eyes to look at for long. Lambs bounced at their mothers’ sides.

  Finding herself rubbing her belly as if she carried a child inside, she jerked away her hand and met Walker’s amused black eyes. This morning—the fourth day of their travels—he’d put her on a spare horse instead of in front of him atop his stallion, a horse as black as its master’s eyes and heart. His reason for riding separately?

  “The pleasure of looking at you, milady,” he’d said, a laconic expression on his craggy features.

  Not knowing how to respond to that blatant lie, she held her tongue and studied the scenery as they traveled along, their horses’ tack jangling like wind chimes.

  “We are now on Mornay lands,” he told her an hour or so later.

  Straightening to get a better look, she saw nothing different. “How do you know?”

  “‘Tis in my blood. In the smell of the soil. In the—”

  “Bull— Balderdash.” She had no idea if anyone used balderdash in this particular time, but it had a certain authoritative ring to it. And for some unfathomable reason, she didn’t want Walker to think her a foul-mouthed shrew—no matter that she sometimes behaved like one.

  “‘Tis true, Diane. At least in part. The air here smells different—an aroma I recognize and cherish as I do the scent of your arousal.”

  The almost-tender look in his dark eyes made her wish she could trust it. Could trust him. But she suspected this change in attitude was yet another attempt to control her.

  He brought his horse to a full stop. Hers halted too, a welcome interruption to her spinning thoughts. She glanced at Walker, her brows quirked in an unspoken question. Their escort rode ahead, granting them privacy in the golden sunshine.

  Smiling, he dismounted then lifted her down with the ease of long experience. His eyes sparkled dark delight and something indefinable—a lightness of spirit she had never before seen in him.

  She didn’t believe what he’d said about the air here, but it was apparent he believed with everything in him. His smile—however slight—revealed his joy at being here, where he seemed in his own milieu. His heart’s home.

  “Why did we stop here?” She almost whispered the question, unwilling to disturb this special place and moment. Ancient oaks, their greening branches intertwining far above her head, framed a sky devoid of clouds. A sky so blue it took her breath.

  “There is a stream nearby. I thought we could rest awhile. Eat a little. Relax before we face a houseful of servants all anxious to meet you.”

  She grimaced and wished he’d kept that bit of information to himself. “Is there a back door we could sneak in through?” He shook his head
. “A tree outside a window with sturdy branches we could climb?”

  Laughing, he swept her into his arms. “If you permit me to carry you up the ducal steps into the ducal family seat, the servants will know to disband for now. You can delay meeting them for a day or two.”

  “And have them whispering I’m a coward? No way. You may put me down. I’m quite capable of walking.”

  “The ground is stony and your shoes so thin the first rock will cripple you. Besides,” he continued when she started to object, “I like having you in my arms.”

  Ignoring the flutter around her heart, she gazed straight ahead. She heard the stream first, a merry bubbling sound that prepared her to see water flowing over rocks. What she hadn’t anticipated was how still the water looked where it widened into a pond. A pond so clear she could see spotted fish swimming in its depths.

  “A little later—late summer, when the water is somewhat warmer—I shall teach you how to fish.” Depositing her on a blanket, he opened a linen-covered basket, pulling out cheeses and meats and a clay bottle topped with a cork stopper. She wondered how everything had gotten here in such a timely fashion. But—duh—a duke’s servants would know of his pending arrival. Know that he always stopped here on his way home. Jealousy raised its green head in her soul, making her wonder how many other women he had brought to this place.

  “Fish?” she repeated, mesmerized by his fluid movements and the contentment on his face. When he looked at her, she shivered, saying, “I prefer my fish cooked and on a plate.”

  “Squeamish, eh?”

  “Hooks and worms. Ugh!”

  “The way my father taught me to fish there are no hooks or worms.”

  Suspecting a joke, she tilted her head to one side and waited for the punch line. He just grinned and continued unloading the basket. Napkins, a sort of curved knife she recognized was used as a fork, as well as a single pewter tankard. Would they share it or would he drink from the bottle?