A Jewel In Time; A Sultry Sisters Anthology

by Barbara Devlin

  “What?”

  “I want you to take the book.”

  Shocked, he shook his head. “You’ve come this far--” he began.

  “I know. We’ve been lucky. I have the jewel, but without the book, Hitler can’t find out any more of its secrets. I don’t think they had time to copy the book.” She smiled, adding, “It’s long, and very detailed. And the varying scrawls of my lady ancestors are sometimes very hard to decipher.”

  “Have you read it all the way through?”

  “Yes. Until now, I thought it a lot of fanciful stories. I thought it was a legend, which built on itself, because the women in my family wanted it to be true.”

  “Until you dreamed,” he said, bringing out the thing that was most fearful. “And knew them for real dreams.”

  Watching him closely, she nodded again. “You aren’t laughing at this. You believe it.”

  It was his turn to nod, and he squeezed her hand. “My grandfather is Cherokee. He has...let’s just call it a certain power. If Grandfather tells you something came to him in a dream, it’s time to listen up.”

  “I see.” She pondered that for a moment. “Is America beautiful?” she asked wistfully.

  “I’ve not seen all of it,” he said, smiling. “But what I’ve seen is beautiful.”

  “Maybe someday...” she started, but let the words trail away.

  “Yes.” It was all he said. They both knew what lay ahead.

  They were walking into fire when they reached Konz. If they were lucky, they would be warmed and on their way. If they were unlucky, they would burn.

  A new Great War was upon them, if the signs were to be believed. The years since the last war had seen wonderful advances in technology, in manufacturing. And all of that would make this war worse than the first.

  “I’ll introduce you to New Orleans,” he said, and that quick grin lit the darkness. “And my mother. You’ll like her, and she’ll like you.”

  She laughed, but as she was appalled at how much she wanted to see New Orleans, meet his mother, and see the vast country that was the United States.

  “I doubt that,” she said. “Mothers never like the women their sons bring home.”

  “True, in most cases. But she would like you.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” she said, but the words, like the thought, broke the mood and returned them to the night, the cold, and what lay before them.

  “Here,” she said, as she untied the sash and pulled out the leather bound journal. The soft, supple ties, which kept it closed, were frayed with age. “Keep it safe. Get it to Standish or Shippingston.”

  He nodded, doing as she had, tucking the journal inside his shirt. Her blouse and sash had hidden it more effectively. After a moment, he shifted the book to lie along his spine, then secured it with his belt and shirt.

  “Do you think they’ve gotten far enough ahead?” She said it, looking forward, not meeting his eyes. She felt naked without the journal. Bereft. But it had to get home and Dix was the best way to make that happen. Now she only had one duty left.

  “I need you to promise me something,” she said. He gave her a sharp look as he buttoned his coat, shifting to settle the book into place.

  “And?”

  “If it comes to getting the information about the Nazi in the Home Office to my father and Shippingston, or saving me, or the book, you’ll choose to get the name to the Home Office. The Nazi sympathizer was supposed to kill him when he visited France this month.”

  “King George was in France? What the devil...”

  “Troops, or so the Germans indicated. I knew they were building them up along the front. Ever since September, and the declaration of war, they have moved troops into place, but nothing has come of it. I never expected His Royal Highness to come to the front lines, to speak to and inspect our troops there.”

  “And they were supposed to kill him?”

  “Yes. But the generals said the informer chose not to, that he believed he could get more information by keeping George alive.”

  “You’ll tell them yourself,” Dix stated, starting the engine and letting it warm for a few moments before he turned on the headlamps and put it into gear. He looked at her briefly. “When you get home, you’ll tell them yourself.”

  They rolled down to the crossroads and Dix turned to follow the path of the trucks. Grace felt destiny closing in on her the moment they made the turn. A sense of doom filled her, and she felt cold all over.

  “Of course I will,” she said, spitting in the face of that feeling. She would do whatever it took to survive, and to keep her beloved country safe from Germany. Even marry a Nazi if she had to, then use him, and everyone around him, to save England.

  “Grace,” Dix began.

  “No. I understand.” She drew in a deep breath, tried to stop the cracking of her heart as they drew closer and closer to Konz and the final leg of their journey together. “You are trying to cheer me, keep me focused on positives. You are right.”

  When he didn’t answer, she sighed. “How much longer to Konz?”

  “An hour, maybe a little less.”

  “Then I’m going to rest as much as I can.”

  He paused, but nodded in the dark. She could barely see it, or him, but she felt the movement as much as saw it.

  “That’s a good idea,” he agreed, patting his thigh. “Rest your head here, and sleep.”

  Grace squeezed her eyes to forestall tears. She wanted him to be cold, or businesslike. She wanted him to be an operative. Instead, he was being kind. What she imagined a lover--a real one--would be like. It was breaking her.

  Without speaking, she pulled her sticky coat up over her legs and lay down, head pillowed on his muscular thigh.

  “There now,” he said, stroking a hand down her thick hair as if he were memorizing the feel of it. “Close your eyes.”

  “How did Char get you to buy a horse?” she asked, when she could be sure her voice was steady.

  The question, out of the blue, made him laugh.

  “Your brother is very persuasive,” Dix said.

  “He is. He can sell more cases of wine, brandy and spirits than any three of us put together,” she said, pride ringing in her voice. Char was a consummate deal maker.

  “I can believe it,” Dix said. “We were going to see possible troop placements,” he began. He kept his voice soft, his words deliberate and slow as he lulled her with his voice. “Char decided we should take a detour to a horse show.”

  She chuckled, and he continued. As funny as the story was, and typical Char behavior, she found her eyes drooping and her breathing slowing as his voice soothed her.

  She was asleep.

  He’d deliberately tried to comfort her with the story, keeping the funnier parts to himself. He would tell her the tale in true, full fashion another time, when she could appreciate the laugh.

  As brilliant as she was at keeping that vaunted English reserve and mastering her emotions, he could see the cracks. The situations, mystic and real, were taking their toll on her.

  The only medicine he could offer, right now, was sleep.

  They’d stayed up most of the day yesterday, making love. He smiled into the darkness as he stroked her beautiful hair. Some of the long strands lay loose on his thigh, having escaped from the pins she’d used to secure them. He let it slide, thick and smooth, through his fingers.

  Remembering their time in the barn, his body tightened. She was magnificent. Beautiful. Brilliant. She was everything he’d ever wanted, but didn’t know he needed.

  And she belonged to someone else.

  The hour passed too quickly. In the depth of the night, with the clouds piling up, it seemed like they would never reach Konz.

  As they reached the outskirts of the town, it began to snow.

  “Just a room,” Dix growled at the innkeeper. “We have business in town.” He kept it simple, straightforward. Grace had easily slipped into the persona of a “proper” German Frau, wa
iting by the doors, the suitcase at her feet, her head down, her hair properly pinned under a kerchief, her coat still tightly buttoned despite the warmth of the Inn’s front room.

  “Of course, of course,” the matronly innkeeper handed him a key. With miserly precision, he counted out the Reichsmarks needed to pay for two nights.

  “There,” he snapped. “Two nights, though it is a high price you charge.”

  The woman looked affronted, but quickly blanked her expression. The rooms were more highly priced than other places, and the bathroom was shared, but it was quiet.

  “Come on, wife,” he ordered Grace, and she looked up, her eyes startled. “I got you quiet, though at a dear price,” he said roughly, but let his voice soften. “You and the babe will have some sleep, eh?” He took the bag from her, and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm as they headed for the stairs.

  He heard the innkeeper sigh. Without telling her directly, he’d now led her to believe that his wife was pregnant. He’d also implied that though he thought the rooms too expensive, he paid so his wife would have quiet.

  Perfect.

  They reached the room, and shut the door.

  “Oh,” Grace said stretching and shedding the dirty coat. “Look at that bed.”

  The bed was a marvel of carving and fanciful woodwork. The linens were simple, the blankets at the foot were plain, and obviously for warmth rather than décor, but the bed? It was a fantasy of art.

  “It’s beautiful,” he agreed. Walking to it he ran a finger over the whorls of foamy waves surrounding an equally beautiful carving of a mermaid.

  “When do you meet your...friend, husband?” she said, hearing the faintest noise outside the door. “I hope your business goes well.”

  “It will,” he dropped his voice into the growling tone he’d used with the innkeeper. “Or I’ll have payment for this winter journey from him before I leave. Never you fear, wife.”

  “Yes, Rafe,” she said meekly, looking at him with a twinkle in her eye. “Whatever you say.”

  They both strained to hear if their watcher was still there.

  “You should lie down.”

  “Yes, I am tired,” Grace said, playing along with the charade. However, she also began to strip. Slowly. Peeling off the layers and setting them aside.

  “Here, I will help you,” he growled, aroused now, though they both stayed in character.

  “You should lie down as well,” she said, softly, trying to remember how to say things in a more common form of German. There were dialects, and slang, and the perfect diction and vocabulary of the schoolroom would give her away more quickly than anything she might say.

  Dix said something that she couldn’t translate, and when she did, the idiom escaped her. His pantomime, however let her in on the joke and she grinned.

  “Ja, bitte,” she said eagerly, pulling off her blouse and heading for the bed.

  He joined her there, rolling her underneath him and smiling down into her face. The feel of him was like a match to dry tinder. She wanted him so much. With a will of their own, her hips arched into him, feeling him already hard and ready for her.

  “Do you think our watcher has heard enough?” he whispered in her ear.

  It was like a bucket of cold water. It was all show.

  Of course. For the listener.

  Turning her head to the side, she could no longer see the shadow of feet at the door. She nodded. “They’re gone.”

  “Good,” Dix growled, and claimed her mouth in a kiss that left her breathless.

  With frantic hands, they tugged at each other’s remaining clothes. She bit his shoulder, then kissed and stroked the spot to soothe it, only to drop her head back and moan softly as he slid a hand between her thighs.

  “You,” she insisted, writhing against the coverlet as he drove her up. “I want you. Inside me.”

  With the strength of need, she flipped him, pinning him in turn. She kissed his belly, making the muscles there quiver, as she undid his trousers and yanked at them to pull them down.

  “Yes,” she cried, taking him into her mouth, and nearly sending him into orgasm with that one simple stroke. Fisting his hands in the blankets, he held on, tortured with pleasure as she laved the tip of his erection, let her mouth heat and wet him until he was nearly mad for her.

  “Enough,” he demanded, pulling her up, taking her mouth in a powerful kiss. “I want to be inside you when I explode, not fly off the handle like a green youngster. But your mouth,” he said, claiming it again for a long, deep kiss. “Your mouth is a wonderful thing.”

  She smiled and tossed her brassiere, her last remaining item of clothing, to the floor.

  “So is yours,” she said, coming back for more kisses. “It’s like a drug for me.” She kissed the corners of his mouth, drew his bottom lip in and gently closed her teeth on it, erotically tickling it with her tongue at the same time.

  “Lift up a little,” he ordered, and she raised her hips. Guiding her down, he impaled her on his cock, watching her eyes fog with passion.

  “Ohhhhh,” she let her hands rise up, instinctively, to caress her own breasts, bringing the tips to pebbled points, making him insane with need.

  He shifted his hips and she groaned again. He rose up to claim a gorgeous nipple, cupping the other breast in his hand as he did. Her hands slid into his hair and held him close as she rocked her hips into his, driving him deeper into her body.

  “Come here,” he demanded, rolling them sideways, easily shifting her underneath him. He could feel, and see, that she was about to come, about to explode at any minute, and her rocking, rocking, rocking on his cock was sending him there as well. But this was no barn in the middle of nowhere.

  To solve the problem, he captured her mouth in a searing kiss as he thrust forward. Her moan was lost in the power of their tangled tongues.

  “Now,” she insisted, her eyes flying open to meet his gaze.

  “But quietly,” he said, barely hanging on. “We can’t...”

  He lost the thought as she undulated her hips and brought him in.

  Everything focused on her, on that moment, on them.

  They rose together, as if by design. Her lifting hips, his thrusting cock sent them both over the brink. Light exploded behind his eyes, and he managed to keep the ecstasy he felt to a long, guttural growl, rather than the shout of triumph that was trying to explode from his chest.

  Grace, in turn, was biting her lip, eyes closed, head thrown back. The muscles in her neck were a distinct line as she, too, held in the need to express the power of the moment.

  He rocked into her, drawing a gasp as the aftershock caught her and the thrust titillated her as well.

  “Mmmmm.” She managed to keep the sound soft, but he heard the pent up power of it.

  “You like that?” he whispered, lowering to her as he gently rocked inside her. Her body was still quivering from their mutual orgasm, pulsing in the aftermath, as was his. But he could do more for her, bring her to completion again.

  Slick with their passion, he felt the clenching and unclenching of her inner muscles, and he timed his short, rocking thrusts to that feeling. She was so tight, her every response was like a ripple on his cock.

  Her restless shifting told him he was bringing her to a fresh orgasm and he braced on one hand and rose a little higher so he could flick a light finger over the bud of her pleasure. The thickened folds, the blood-engorged feel of it, told him she was right there. Ready.

  He timed both thrust and light strokes until he felt her rise up hard to meet his hips. This time it was her hands clenching the blankets as she rode over and through the powerful, vibrant release.

  She was magnificent.

  The thought rang in his mind, over and over. Grace. His Grace. Magnificent.

  Gently and carefully, he eased out, despite her protests. “I’ll get you a towel,” he said, remembering to use German.

  There was a washbasin and water, and sturdy towels. He dampened one
and brought it to the bed.

  “Here,” he offered it, meeting her sleepy, relaxed gaze and feeling the grin split his face at her satisfied demeanor.

  “Danke,” she murmured, watching him. Impossibly, he felt himself stir again, as she slid the towel sensuously down her thigh.

  “Get dressed, woman,” he mock-growled, forcing himself to turn away from the luscious sight. He turned back, smiling. “Or we’ll never get out of bed,” he added, as softly as he could and still be heard.

  She’d stopped when his voice turned harsh, but smiled now, and stretched like a satisfied cat in a patch of sunshine.

  He wanted her. Desperately.

  Now.

  That same unfamiliar feeling swamped him and he stood, nearly dumbstruck, as he realized it was love.

  Chapter XI

  Grace walked briskly along the street to the market, her kerchief tucked firmly over her hair. She’d brushed the dirt and grime from her coat and wore her heavy skirt. She carried a market bag, having left the traveling bag in the room. The papers she’d had concealed in it were now tucked into her waistband, where the journal had rested.

  She felt it’s absence. It was like an ache, knowing the diary wasn’t in her possession. But it was the right thing, giving it to Dix.

  Her thoughts circled like frantic birds when she thought of Dix. He was a good man. Strong. Brave. Intelligent.

  Forbidden.

  She stumbled as the word sprang to mind, but it was true. The sidewalks had been swept clear of snow, but there were icy patches, so her clumsiness nearly sent her sprawling.

  She was so focused on her footing, and the sudden burst of cold in her chest, that she didn’t see him.

  “Fräulein Corvedale,” a man said from her left, his voice cold, hard, and sure. “We meet at last.”

  The black coated man, SS insignia in bold red on his fine woolen coat, silver badges gleaming, stepped into her path, gripping her arms. His hard jawline and the cruel set to his lips mad her gasp in shock.

  “No. It can’t be.” She struggled in vain to free herself.

  “Ah, properly cowed, are you?” He laughed as she shrank back, tried again to pull away. Her struggles only amused him. “My reputation precedes me, I see. You should be afraid Fräulein. You are a clever woman, but what the Führer wants, he keeps.”