Spellbound Falls [5] For the Love of Magic

by Janet Chapman

  She felt his lips touch her hair. “How did this happen?” he quietly asked.

  Knowing he wasn’t talking about the storm, Rana propped her chin on her hands on his chest and smiled into his unreadable eyes. “I believe in this century they call it make-up sex.”

  “I’ve always gone to great lengths to ensure you never got pregnant again.”

  “Yes. But sometimes you get . . . distracted by my response to you.”

  “Do you know how far along you are?”

  “Eight or nine weeks.”

  “Have you seen Maude?”

  “No. But she’s not blind and suspects I’m with child.”

  His eyes narrowed, though they remained unreadable. “Then you’re not really certain. You’re of an age,” he continued, his embrace tightening when she tried to sit up, “that you may have merely reached the end of your childbearing years.”

  “I am in the prime of my life. And,” she snapped when she saw a hint of a smile, “I know my own body.”

  He pulled her coiled fingers out of his chest hair and trapped her hands against his sides, then cupped her head back to him. “What did you hope to accomplish by leaving me?”

  “This,” she said in exasperation, wiggling her trapped hands. “I wanted a few months of experiencing what it’s like to take care of myself for once, before you became even more overprotective.”

  “Forgive me. I hadn’t realized my love for you has been such a burden.”

  She tried to look at him, only to sigh again when he wouldn’t let her. “I went from my father’s care to yours, Titus—from being a dutiful daughter to being a dutiful wife. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t change anything. Well,” she said brightly, hoping to lighten his mood, “I might have made you work a little harder to catch me.”

  “As it was, you were one day away from succeeding.”

  She popped her head up before he could stop her. “You were going to give up on me? What stopped you?”

  “Remember that heart-shaped pebble I pressed into your hand when I bumped into you at the market? Well,” he said when she nodded, “I knew I had you when I saw you pull it from your bodice when you were hanging clothes on the line.”

  “You were hiding in the woods spying on me?”

  Apparently deciding that was a rhetorical question, he merely arched a brow. Rana laid her head on his chest and stared into the fire just beyond the colorful sail he’d stretched between two trees like a tent. She could see all their clothes hanging on branches under the sail to dry, and guessed he must have had the heavy flannel shirt she was wearing in his dry bag.

  “We can hold off sailing home until after Carolina has her baby,” she said when he remained silent, fighting to keep her sorrow out of her voice. “Or maybe a few weeks after, so we can have some time with our new grandchild? I . . . I’m not that far along.”

  She closed her eyes when he still didn’t respond, and fought back tears when he covered her head with his big masculine hand and brushed his thumb over her cheek. She was going to miss the births of Olivia’s and Peg’s and Julia’s babies, as well as Henry’s eleventh birthday and Sophie’s and Ella’s. And knowing Titus, he wouldn’t let her travel again until their child was several months old, which would be a whole friggin’ year from now.

  Yes. Well. He could stay silent until the cows came home, for all she cared. Having known that the moment he learned she was pregnant he would hustle her back to Atlantis, she didn’t feel the least bit guilty for scheming to spend the summer here.

  He’d really almost given up courting her?

  Titus slowly sat up, sitting her up with him, and Rana disguised wiping her eyes by making a production of tugging the oversize shirt down over her legs. He lifted her off his lap and set her on what she realized was his jib sail, then stood up—utterly and magnificently naked—and walked to the fire and began feeding it branches that he must have gathered . . . sometime.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, turning, still crouched, to look at her.

  She toyed with a button on the shirt. “Not really.” She looked toward where she thought Bottomless was, uncertain because Titus had apparently wanted to make camp far from the sea. “Do you know if the demons . . . if they won?”

  “I only know they found themselves battling an army of great whites shortly after we reached shore.” He shrugged. “I have no idea if the new entity survived.”

  Nor did he particularly care, judging by his tone. “Did you send Kitalanta or Leviathan to tell Maximilian what happened? We should be rescued shortly, shouldn’t we?”

  Titus stood up, pulled his clothes off the branches, and started dressing. “Kit and one of his pod mates are patrolling nearby and occasionally bringing us firewood, so don’t be alarmed if you hear a noise or they suddenly appear.”

  “So you sent Leviathan to Nova Mare, then?” she repeated when she realized he hadn’t answered her question about being rescued.

  Titus pulled on his pants. “He’s gone to report to Maximilian and Nicholas what happened and that we are safe, but I instructed him not to tell anyone where we are.”

  “You . . . why would you do that?”

  He slipped on his shirt. “Because I wish to spend some time alone with my wife,” he said, finally turning to her—his eyes unreadable again. “And knowing how much you enjoy camping, I’ve decided we’ll walk back.” He shrugged. “It should take only a few days.”

  He was serious. And why wasn’t she surprised he hadn’t asked if she wanted to walk back? Rana glanced at the surrounding woods again, not that she could see very far, since the sun had obviously set, and worried she had slept quite a long time. Oh, yeah, she must have really, really scared him. “Are we on the western shore?” she asked, knowing there was nothing but wilderness on the east side of Bottomless.

  “We’re on the eastern shore.” He sat down and began dressing his feet. “My guess is we’re about thirty or thirty-five miles from Duncan’s house.”

  “And you want to walk there,” she stated rather than questioned.

  He stopped lacing his boot and smiled at her, although she couldn’t help but notice it didn’t reach his eyes. “A mere stroll for a woman in the prime of her life.”

  Oh, yeah, the man was royally pissed. Only she was beginning to worry he was actually angry at her rather than the fact that she’d nearly drowned. And he expected them to spend the next few days strolling through the wilderness together?

  “Are you forgetting I’m with child?”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” he said, standing up.

  “What are we going to eat? Or wear? You expect me to live in the same clothes for several days?”

  “You have before.”

  “When I was nineteen,” she snapped. “And we didn’t have a choice.”

  “You don’t have a choice now, wife.” He pulled her socks off a branch and tossed them onto her lap. “You should cover your feet to keep from getting chilled again. But don’t bother dressing,” he said as he turned away, “because I’ll just have to undress you again when I get back.”

  And with that parting shot, he disappeared into the darkness.

  Rana picked up the socks and started to throw them after him, but then dropped her hands to her legs. She had known he’d be angry when he learned why she’d left him, so she couldn’t very well be angry back at him, could she? Because honestly? If their roles were reversed and he’d kept that kind of secret from her, she probably wouldn’t be acting half as civilized as he was.

  She slipped on her socks, then lay down on the sail and curled up inside the thick fleece-lined shirt. Maybe Titus was right and living in this century really had put ideas in her head, such as the foolish notion she was a fearless, capable, modern woman. The only problem was she didn’t think being modern gave her license to be deceitful, any more than it had given her instant courage. But then, visiting this century a few weeks a year for the last four years, and even living here for the last five months, didn�
�t automatically make an ancient woman modern, now did it?

  Sweet Athena, she’d made a mess of things. If she were as mad at Titus as he appeared to be at her, she’d probably walk home without him.

  Not that he would ever consider leaving her out here alone. Because he loved her—even if she didn’t particularly love herself at the moment.

  • • •

  Titus stood deep in the nighttime shadows watching Rana wind back her arm to throw her socks after him only to lower her hands to her lap. Barely able to breathe for the tightness in his chest, he saw her scowl as she appeared to have a conversation with herself while putting on the socks, then watched her curl up inside his shirt and stare unblinking at the fire as she obviously fought back tears.

  He scrubbed his hands over his face to keep from roaring in frustration, then ran his fingers through his hair with a tired sigh. How in the name of Hades had he allowed her to get pregnant again? For all these years he had managed to keep her in good health, safe from their enemies, and sheltered from the heart-wrenching aspects of the world, and in the end it very well might be his love—and lust—that ultimately killed her.

  Assuming she was even pregnant, as it was still possible she had misread the signs and merely reached the end of her childbearing years. And although he knew women often had a difficult time accepting the undeniable proof that they were aging, at least she would be alive to voice her displeasure that men missed out on that wonderful transition.

  Titus felt the beginnings of a smile at the notion he’d managed to sneak a bit of the magic into their marriage, though he suspected Rana had known all along he had subtly been slowing her aging process. Which was why despite being in her mid-fifties, she had the physique of a woman in her early forties. But being an intelligent woman, she had never broached the subject to him, apparently having decided it was something she could live with. Although if she had asked, he truthfully could have told her he’d never broken his vow, as it had been time he’d manipulated, not her.

  Only once had Rana wanted something from the magic for herself. And of all the things she could have asked for, it had been the one thing he hadn’t been able to grant. He’d made sure Annabelle and Aaron Proust had been blessed with good health and fortune—although not on a grand scale, as was their wish—but he hadn’t been able to protect them from an invading army bent on destroying anything and everyone in its path. And by the time news of the tragedy had reached Atlantis, it had been too late to return her parents to his heartbroken wife.

  Kitalanta appeared out of the darkness as silently as a ghost, jarring Titus out of his musings. He instructed the wolf to make his presence known to Rana and keep her company until he returned and, after a glance to see her still staring into the flames, he quietly turned away and walked through the pitch-black forest toward the sea.

  He actually chuckled, remembering Rana asking if he remembered she was with child when he’d told her they would be walking home. He knew she was expecting him to get even more overprotective, whereas in truth, he suspected she was more worried about her pregnancy than he was. But they happened to be living in the twenty-first century at the moment, and had access to medicine not even imagined when Carolina had been born, which was why they were not sailing back to Atlantis like she assumed.

  Which he would tell her, once he recovered from the scare she’d just given him.

  In the meantime, he intended to have her undivided attention for the next few days. And while he had it, he thought as he reached Bottomless and began undressing, he should probably let her in on his life-altering little secret.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You and your warrior may go feed,” Titus said softly when he reached camp, which made Kitalanta immediately rise from being pressed up against Rana’s back. “But return to us in the morning. And Kit,” he added, making the wolf stop and look back. “Bring your entire pod and have your bellies full enough for a four-day overland hike.”

  Titus would swear the wolf actually grinned just before it turned and bolted into the darkness. He stashed the items he’d salvaged from the sunken sloop under the end flap of the makeshift tent, then crouched to his heels and added branches to the fire his sleeping wife had let burn down to embers. He sat down with a tired sigh and took off his boots, pulled off his shirt, then sat staring into the slowly building flames.

  Some days—especially days like today—he wondered how much longer he could go on pretending he cared. He’d so far managed to fool everyone except most likely Rana, probably because she was so intimately tuned to him. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d noticed him growing tired of dealing with the incessant petitions of mortals looking for easy solutions to the messes they kept making, and the reason she’d run off really had been to force him to remember what truly was important.

  But for the love of Zeus, there were tens of thousands of years of accumulated knowledge sitting in the Trees of Life, available to anyone willing to journey inward. Yet mankind continued to grow dangerously closer to destroying the planet; if not by smothering its air and oceans, then by blowing it to Hades in mindless disputes born of self-righteous arrogance and fueled by the ridiculous notion that progress was desired only if it didn’t require change.

  Could mortals truly not understand that nothing was static, not even the very universe they were but a small part of? Change was inevitable. It was also the energy behind the magic, which thankfully went about its business whether or not people believed. Atlantis couldn’t exist if it didn’t.

  Then again, neither could he.

  “Were you able to discern if the new entity survived?” Rana asked softly.

  “It appears to have escaped,” he said, adding branches to the fire. “Though I don’t know if it will survive what I suspect were fairly vicious wounds.”

  “Do you know if it was a god or goddess?”

  He shrugged. “Even the great whites couldn’t tell.” He reached into the supplies he’d brought back, grabbed the wine bottle—which he’d guzzled down when he’d come ashore—and handed it to her. “I found a spring not too far from here. You must be thirsty from your salty swim.”

  She took the bottle and pulled out the half-seated cork, and there was enough light from the burning fire for him to see her arch a brow. “You drank all the wine and brought me water?”

  He made sure to stifle his grin. “I believe they established sometime in the last century that wine is not good for pregnant women.”

  She suddenly sat up. “Do you think that may have been my problem with Carolina? I drank as much wine as water back then.”

  Titus rested back on his elbow and let his smile burst free as he shook his head. “It supposedly hurts the child, not the mother, and I don’t see that it harmed Maximilian or Carolina in any way,” he said with a chuckle.

  She frowned at the bottle in apparent thought, then took a long drink. “Perhaps,” she said slowly, wiping her mouth on her sleeve as she looked down at him, her expression neutral, “this is a good century in which to have a baby.”

  Well, no one could ever accuse his wife of being slow of mind. “Perhaps,” he agreed with another shrug. “Are you hungry?”

  She scowled, apparently not caring to have the subject changed. “I’m still full from swallowing half of Bottomless.” She nevertheless looked over at his stash of supplies. “If you were able to recover the wine, what else did you get?”

  “The figs and container of goat cheese, but I’m afraid the fish are feasting on Michelin’s soggy bread.” He gestured at the stash. “Knowing you always kept a change of clothes in an oiled canvas bag onboard, I managed to salvage them as well. And this,” he said, reaching in his pocket and then holding out his hand to her.

  “A comb!” she cried, lifting one hand to her hair as she reached for the prize. “Oh, thank you for even thinking of it,” she said, clasping the comb to her bosom as the firelight reflected in her grateful eyes.

  He lowered his gaze. “It w
as more for my benefit than yours, as I wasn’t looking forward to spending the next several days with a troll.”

  She smacked his shoulder with the comb. “You’re always saying you love me most when I’m a disheveled mess,” she said, her musical laugh allowing him to take his first decent breath since the storm had hit.

  “I believe we both know,” he said, giving a grunt as he pushed himself to his feet, “that I’m usually referring to your appearance after a night of lovemaking.” He took off his pants. “Not that I can remember the last time that happened.”

  “Yes. Well,” she murmured, becoming very busy working the tangles out of her hair, “I guess that’s what happens when one grows too feeble of mind to remember what happened as recently as a month ago.”

  He dropped to one knee beside her and clasped her chin to look at him. “Am I ever going to see you disheveled that way again, Stasia?”

  She stared up at him in silence, and he saw her lower lip start to quiver and her eyes well up with tears before she suddenly tossed the comb away and lunged at him. She hid her face in his chest with a loud sob as Titus fell to his side, so damned glad to have her back in his arms that he couldn’t help but smile.

  “I’m such a terrible wife!”

  “The worst in all of history,” he whispered against her tangled hair.

  “I argue with you and scheme against you, and . . . and sometimes you make me so angry I want to smack you. And just so you know, I get angry at the magic, too,” she confessed on another sob. “Providence thinks it’s so smart and benevolent and always doing what’s best for mankind, when it’s really arrogant and self-serving and . . . and just mean sometimes. The magic hates me because it knows I don’t like it.”

  “It has no sense of humor,” he added gruffly.

  “I don’t understand why you married me!” she wailed, her fingers kneading his chest as if she couldn’t decide whether to push him away or crawl inside him. “You never should have saved me from that dog at the tournament. For the love of Zeus, you’re a theurgist. You should have known I was mortal and that I’d be stubborn and opinionated and . . . and would never be a dutiful wife.”