“Not me, I’m well over three score.” Mrs Parson regarded him through bright black eyes. “Why?”
“Why what?” Magnus looked about for the glazed jug.
“Why did you choose to fall through time?” Mrs Parson helped him chop the jackrabbits into small pieces and stuff them into the jug.
“I’m not sure, but I suppose that one driving force was the fact that I thought I was going to die anyway. And I wanted to see Alex again, to verify that she was fine.”
“And is she?” Mrs Parson whisked together blood and spices, added juniper berries and a generous amount of Matthew’s precious sherry before pouring the pungent mixture over the morsels of meat.
“She seems to be.” Magnus waved his hand in the direction of where Alex was chasing an escaped hen, eagerly assisted by Sarah. “But now that I’m here, trapped into staying here until I die, I wish I could go back, because the people who need me are not these people; they’re the people I left behind.” He fell silent, hoping she would tell him that of course he was needed here.
Instead, Mrs Parson nodded.
“And they’re the people I need too – God, how I miss them: Isaac and Eva, John and Diane.” Magnus stood up and carried the heavy jug over to the hearth, lowering it carefully into the pot of water that was simmering over the fire.
“That’s something else I don’t understand, you see,” he added in an undertone. “That she doesn’t miss them – us. Yes, occasionally I am sure she thinks of Isaac, and I know that through the years she’s often thought of me, but all in all she chose to forget us – for him.” He nodded to where Matthew had joined the chase, deftly grabbing the hen by its legs. “And I’m so angry with her for that,” he ended, hiding his face from Mrs Parson’s sharp eyes.
Magnus spent most of the evening feeling just how angry he was. In a silent mating dance, Matthew and Alex gravitated around each other. Eyes met and held, a smile flashing over Alex’s features. Matthew’s hand lingered on her nape when he leaned forward to add another log to the fire; Alex’s fingers brushed at his hair, his shoulders, when she stood to retrieve something from one of the shelves. They conversed with Magnus and Mrs Parson, they laughed and joked and, at one point, Matthew invited Magnus to a game of chess while Alex remained by the fire sewing. But all the time it rippled between them – the unspoken but tangible desire. It was a relief when Matthew stood up, bade them all a good night and escorted Alex from the room.
*
Matthew was pleased with himself for having thought of lighting a fire in their room earlier in the evening, ensuring the small room was agreeably warm. Alex undid his breeches, tugged his shirt over his head and there he was in only his stockings, his member already hard. Her hands flowed down his back, warm and firm they slid over his flanks, the fingers of her right hand grazing his pubic hair, his cock. It sent tingles through him, prickles of warmth that travelled in concentric circles up his belly, down his thighs.
She knelt, his stockings came off, and he inhaled when she took him in her mouth. His Alex, the only woman who’d ever done this to him, who could set him aflame with but a brush of her fingers. Her mouth was soft and warm, her hands rested on his hips, slid round to cup his buttocks, and he groaned when she tightened her lips round his member. Sweetest Lord, but this was good! Blood rushed downwards, leaving him light-headed and dizzy. He sank his fingers into her hair, threw his head back, and concentrated on remaining on his feet, all of him quivering as her mouth, her tongue, her fingers pleasured him.
“Nay, Alex wait, I…” He raised her to her feet and drew the pins out of her hair to release a cascade of browns and golds and reds.
He worked his fingers through her curls, kissing her earlobe, the corner of her mouth, the point on her neck where he could see her pulse. He kissed his way down her body, undoing garment after garment until all of her stood revealed.
She swayed; he guided her down to the floor. The little rug on the wooden boards was soft and welcoming, and so was she, naked in the reddish light that spilled from the crackling fire. He caressed the smooth, soft skin on the insides of her thighs, stroked her hips, her breasts. She moaned, tugged at him, widening her legs, telling him to please, and still he held back. Slowly, he worked his way over her rounded belly, dropping a line of soft kisses all the way to her pubic mound. He kissed her there, his fingers moving in gentle, slow circles in her moist cleft. He inhaled, savouring her rich female scent in this her most private place. He exhaled, tickling her, and she lifted her bottom off the floor. Her fingers closed around him, flowed up his cock to touch the tip, and he groaned.
“Now,” she murmured. “Enough of this foreplay stuff, I want you now, now, now!”
It made him laugh, but he gladly complied and entered her, bracing himself on his arms.
“Yes!” She exhaled. “Oh, yes!”
On the opposite wall their shadows merged, and on the floor below him she shifted her hips to make him come closer, so much closer, a sound of want and need escaping from her mouth. He laughed, kissed her, kissed her again. His Alex, his woman, his heart.
Chapter 15
“I don’t like it,” Matthew said to Ian, staring down at the hobnailed footprint pressed into the earth below his bedroom window. Someone had been standing here last night, no doubt gawking at them. His cheeks heated with anger and embarrassment – their lovemaking was a private matter, not something to be shared with others. He used the toe of his boot to scuff the mark away and gave Ian a stern look. “Not a word to your mama.”
He strode off in the direction of the stables and called for Mark to hurry; he had an errand for him.
“A dog?” Mark said.
“Aye, a dog. Peter Leslie has several half-grown pups from the last litter. Ask him to help you choose one.”
“A dog for me?” Mark sounded hopeful.
Matthew smiled at him. “For you, but also for us. We need a new watchdog.” He eyed the small bitch they used as a ratter – in no way a deterrent. Besides, she was deaf with age and spent her days asleep, grey muzzle pillowed on her front paws.
“We do?” Mark threw a look at the surrounding woods. “Is it Indians you’re worried about?”
“Aye, that too,” Matthew lied. Whoever had stood outside their house wasn’t an Indian. In fact, Matthew had a pretty good idea who it was, and all of him seethed with anger. He made a mental note to ride over to Forest Spring and have a serious talk with Henry Walton later in the week, once he was done with the barn walls. “Take Jacob with you, and carry your musket loaded, aye?”
Mark nodded and went to find his brother and gun.
*
“So just like that you decided we needed a dog.” Alex set down a bowl of pea soup in front of Matthew. He drew in the strong scents of thyme and salted meat, and picked up his spoon to stir the thick consistency.
“Aye, I did.”
“And might this have something to do with the fact that you think Lars is a somewhat too regular and rather intimidating presence on our lands?” She handed him bread warm from the baking oven, poured him a mug of beer, and sat down opposite him.
“Aren’t you eating?” he asked.
“I already did – with the rest of the family.” She smiled at him. “While you were banging away at your new walls.”
“I must finish them. What use is a barn with only three walls?”
“But not all in one day,” she said. “So does it?”
“Does what?”
She rolled her eyes. “The dog…does it have something to do with Lars sniffing around Fiona?”
“Aye, it does. You’ve seen him, Ian ran into him a day or so ago, and I’ve seen him too. Like a shadow for all his size, flitting away the moment he realises he’s been seen.” He concentrated on his soup. Something was not entirely right with yon Lars, and he wanted him nowhere close to his womenfolk.
&n
bsp; *
“Wow.” Alex laughed, sitting down with her lap full of dog. “I can see how this drooling beast will keep all unwelcome visitors at bay. He’ll lick them to death.” She shoved the dog away, held her hand out to her son, and heaved herself back onto her feet. “Not a beauty, is he?“ she commented, looking down at the sandy-coloured dog.
Mark fondled the soft golden ears. “Nay, he’s half mastiff, but he’ll be big once he’s properly grown.”
“He already is big, far too big.” She looked at her son. “He sleeps outside or in the kitchen, not in your bed. In fact, he never goes beyond the kitchen, okay?”
“Okay, okay…” Mark glowered at her.
“And his name?” she asked.
Mark tilted his head to one side, studied the dog, and grinned slyly. “Narcissus.”
“Narcissus?” Magnus broke out in laughter. “How would you know that name?”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Alex said. “What do you think he is: an uneducated farm boy?”
Magnus flushed. That was obviously exactly what he considered Mark to be: a boy that knew everything about the internal workings of a cow but had never studied a foreign language or done advanced mathematics or physics – not at all like his precious Isaac, paragon of virtues that this her firstborn seemed to be.
“I was just surprised.” Magnus smiled down at his grandson and the puppy.
“You’re so bloody supercilious!” Alex snapped at Magnus once they were alone. “Every time my children open their mouth, I can see you comparing what they’re saying – and how they’re saying it – with Isaac.”
“No, I don’t.” Magnus sounded defensive.
“They have none of the opportunities he’s had.”
“But at least they’ve had a mother!”
“So has he, remember? Diane seems to have filled that role most competently.”
“That’s not the same! And you chose them – all of them – over him.”
“No, I didn’t. It wasn’t as if I had much say in it, was it? One moment there I am driving my car, the next I’m thrown back in time.” But he was right, however awful a mother that made her. Isaac had very quickly faded in her head, replaced by her new, growing family.
“You had one of Mercedes’ painted time portals,” Magnus said. “You could have travelled back, to us, to him.”
Alex looked away. The few times it had seemed she might be dragged back to her time she’d held on for dear life to the here and now.
“Yeah, I thought so. You didn’t want to, did you?” Magnus stamped from the room.
Alex watched him stalk off towards the garden, wooden hoe in one hand, a basket in the other, and two little girls skipping after him. She hoped Ruth and Sarah would do a better job of soothing his heartache than she was doing.
*
It was difficult to hold on to his black, angry mood when surrounded by two chattering girls, who bombarded him with questions and comments while he turned one empty bed after the other. The simmering resentment in him subsided back into a more normal mood, and Magnus laughed and listened as his granddaughters sang and talked.
They played tic-tac-toe in the dirt. After the first few times, Ruth caught on to the fact that it was best to go first, and after that she won every single game. Matthew came by and stood watching, laughing at Ruth’s triumphant crowing.
“That girl is scarily intelligent,” Magnus told Matthew, nodding his head at Ruth.
“Aye, you would say so,” Matthew teased.
Magnus felt yet another burst of anger flare through him. “I wasn’t referring to that.” He pointed at the lines on the ground. “I was talking about her impressive capacity for numbers. I don’t know how she does it, but she does incredibly complex sums in her head.”
Matthew grinned. “So do I.”
“You do? So what’s forty-three times seventeen?”
“Seven hundred and thirty-one,” came the prompt reply.
Magnus counted for some time before nodding. “Well done.”
Matthew hitched his shoulders. “Da was right fond of ciphering.”
“Ruth should go to school, be properly educated.”
Matthew turned towards him with a surprised expression. “What for?”
“What for? Because she’s talented and should be allowed to develop it.”
“Ruth will be a wife and a mother, just as Sarah will.”
“A wife!” Magnus said. “What a waste.”
“Waste?” Matthew frowned. “Are you saying Alex has led a wasted life?” He looked at his girls and back at Magnus.
“In her own time she would’ve had a profession, a career, and any gifted child of hers, whether boy or girl, would’ve had a chance to make something of themselves.”
“That was not a reply to my question,” Matthew said.
“Yes, it was, if you read between the lines,” Magnus answered and slouched off.
What was the matter with him? Magnus took a deep breath of cold October air and counted slowly to thirty before letting it out. He was behaving like an obnoxious teenager – shit, he felt like an obnoxious teenager, his moods disconcertingly erratic. Even worse, he enjoyed needling them, feeling an uncharitable satisfaction at the hurt look in Alex’s eyes and an even higher level of black pleasure at the affronted expression on his son-in-law’s face.
He exhaled and picked up his pace. What he needed was a long walk to calm down. Alone, he decided when he caught sight of Jacob making towards him. He turned on his heel and walked off.
*
“Leave him be, lad.” Matthew took hold of Jacob. “He needs to be alone.”
“If you ask me, he needs to be taught to behave,” Alex said from behind him.
“Well, I’m not about to lay my father-in-law across my knee,” Matthew replied, making her laugh.
“Maybe we could ask Mrs Parson,” she suggested in a low voice. “Who knows, he might even enjoy it.”
“So might she.” Matthew grinned.
*
Magnus kept well away from the house for the rest of the day; sat silent through supper before excusing himself, muttering that his head hurt and he needed to sleep. Next morning, he remained in bed until well after breakfast, entering a kitchen empty of anyone but Alex. She nodded a greeting, no more, serving him a bowl of porridge before going back to her sourdough.
“I’m sorry,” Magnus said to her back. “I’m not quite sure why I’m behaving the way I am.” Well, he was: he was being eaten alive by a corrosive jealousy. And he missed his old life, waking every morning to the dismaying realisation that it was not a dream. He wanted to make love to Eva, to stand in his kitchen and cook surrounded by his family – John and Diane with their twin girls, Isaac and Eva. He sat back on the bench, regarding Alex; always the same clothes, always in the same dull, serviceable colours: grey, brown and green with linen that shifted from white to a yellowish beige. He counted in his head; three skirts at the most was what Alex owned, and nothing in red.
“Do you remember how you always wore red?” he asked her.
“Not always.” She twisted to smile at him over her shoulder.
“Red shoes, red jackets, red phone,” Magnus teased. He dropped his eyes to the table. “Now all you wear is matronly grey or brown.” Well, not quite; the shawl she had on was embroidered with red roses, but otherwise she was all in brown. At least she wasn’t wearing one of those ugly caps today, her hair uncovered but pulled back into a neat bun. So boring! “You never wear make-up, you don’t do your hair, you have no jewellery except for your wedding ring...”
“For your information, make-up isn’t exactly available, and no matter how much I looked I couldn’t find a single hairdresser in Providence.” She turned to face him, defensively twirling her single ring with its dark blue sapphire.
“You look dull a
nd old. Diane looks at least ten years younger than you. She takes good care of herself, she does.”
Alex flinched. Two wide blue eyes met his, and to his shame he could see she was biting her lip, no doubt to stop it from wobbling.
“I’m sorry to be such a disappointment, but as I recall I never asked you to drop by, did I?” And maybe it had been better if you hadn’t, her eyes told him.
“Let’s just say I hoped I’d find you living a better life, with a man who took care of you and appreciated you.” God, how he regretted diving through that painting!
“He does! He loves me, you bastard!”
“He does? Well, he certainly seems to like making babies with you. But he never gives you any presents, he never—”
In reply, Alex grabbed him by the hand and dragged him to her bedroom. From the large chest she produced a wooden box that in itself was a work of art, the lid a sanded golden brown on which someone had engraved a rose.
“He doesn’t?” She threw back the lid before storming out, leaving him sitting on the bed with the box on his lap.
Magnus lifted the small, exquisite wooden figurines one by one, turning them this way and that. Most of them were of Alex, with the odd exception in the form of an animal or a flower. Right at the bottom was a small carving made in pale yellow wood, and when he saw it Magnus knew that this was Rachel, the girl they’d lost. He ran a finger over the soft surfaces, over the details etched out with so much obvious love. He had never felt so ashamed of himself in all his life. He returned the box to the chest and left the room. For a while he stood in the kitchen watching Alex knead bread, but as she refused to meet his eyes or in any other way react to his presence he escaped outside.
*
“There she goes,” Alex said to Mrs Parson, indicating the spot where Fiona had just ducked out of sight. The stupid girl was still seeing Lars, despite Matthew having given her a long talking-to. Apparently, Lars was irresistible, well worth aggravating the master. Alex pulled yet another loaf from the bread oven, knocking experimentally at the crust with her knuckle.
A Newfound Land (The Graham Saga) Page 14