Kiss Across Chains (Kiss Across Time Series)

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

“Veris is good. He’s very, very good,” Brody continued, “but even he can’t get around basic physics. It’s going to take him weeks to get here from Britain. You have to face this. He may not get here in time.”

  “In time?” Her voice was bodiless. Barely a whisper.

  “In time to let us jump away before I die.”

  He said it so calmly. That was the frightening thing. Taylor sat, completely unable to utter a word. She felt frozen.

  Brody leaned forward and kissed her gently. “I’m sorry to frighten you, but I wanted to warn you so you can prepare yourself. Just in case.” He stood up as the dark shapes of the guards slipped into the antechamber and looked down at her. “I’m banking on Veris pulling off a small miracle and my shitty human memory being completely out to lunch. We could have weeks, yet, mo ghrá.”

  She swallowed. Her throat clicked dryly. “But you don’t think so.”

  He gave her a small smile. “I don’t know.” His shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “I just don’t know.”

  The guards yanked him backwards, away from the divan and her, out into the more open space where they could surround him, to chain him.

  Brody’s gaze stayed on her as they finished binding him and throwing the robe over their work. Even from under the deep hood she could see his eyes glinting as he moved.

  Taylor shivered and drew the voluminous robe Brody had been wearing earlier in the night closer about her. The robe was rich with his scent. As a human, he gave off pheromones…she could smell him. The aroma rising from the folds was new to her, but exactly what she would have ascribed to Brody if she had been asked to invent one for him. It was male and complex, just like his taste in food…and oh, so Brody.

  Until the guards tugged Brody around to face the doorway and march him away, he watched her. Then he was gone.

  Taylor looked at the empty divan where he had been lying, then out the window at the pale early morning sky. “Veris, where are you?” she whispered. “Please, please hurry!”

  * * * * *

  Later that day, when more normal people were up and about, Metrodora came visiting. She insisted Taylor come to the market with her, along with their combined retinue of slaves and guards.

  The last thing Taylor felt like doing was traipsing about the markets, looking at swags of silk and sweetmeats. She was so tired her bones ached and it felt like her face was trying to slide right off her skull. Her eyes were scraping inside their sockets.

  She had to pretend she’d had a full night’s restorative sleep when in fact she had slept very little and not at all after Brody had been taken from her. Once he had left, she had rested on the divan, her heart aching and her mind whirling as she tried to think of a way to avoid the future that Brody had warned was racing towards them.

  She couldn’t watch him die. Even knowing he would be ultimately “saved” by another vampire afterwards didn’t make it any better. She knew she would not be able to sit there and watch the man she loved die as she has seen the other drivers be injured; trampled under horses hooves, or thrown against the walls of the arena, or a dozen other grizzly and horrendously painful ways a driver might meet his end.

  But there was nothing she could do to change Brody’s fate. There was nothing she dare do to change it. The three of them had thoroughly learned the dangers of screwing around with history. It was far too easy to make major changes in their own time with even small changes in the past. She could jeopardize everything she cherished and considered important if she tried to change the outcome of events here and now because this was Brody’s personal timeline.

  So Taylor summoned Kale to her side and asked for her help in dressing as Ariadne for a day at the market. Kale gave a deep exhalation, the closest to a sigh of exasperation Taylor had ever seen her give. “You need sleep, my lady, not a day at the markets.”

  “So do you,” Taylor reminded her. “But telling anyone else that leads to questions I can’t answer. So I’m going to the markets.”

  Metrodora was almost vibrating with impatience by the time Taylor was suitably dressed and appeared in the public rooms where the other woman waited. “We’ll be late!” Metrodora cried, moving from foot to sandaled foot.

  “Late for what? The stalls are open all day and into the night,” Taylor pointed out.

  “Oh, never mind. Just hurry!” Metrodora insisted. She set a cracking pace along the streets, her guards just barely clearing the way ahead in time. Taylor found the effort of keeping up with her more energizing than the cup of coffee she craved right now. By the time they arrived at the first of the stalls, she was feeling much more alert. The ache in her bones had receded to a dull throbbing.

  Metrodora wove through the stalls, barely glancing at the goods. She moved deeper into the market until she reached one of the meeting areas. There was a fountain playing in the middle of the square with a smooth stone seat circling it. Stalls selling food and drink were featured all around the edges of the square and their owners were advertising their products at the top of their voices.

  The square was dappled by the shade of huge trees that spread their branches across the area.

  Metrodora looked around frantically. “Am I too late?” she murmured.

  “You have an assignation,” Taylor accused.

  Metrodora was too busy looking for her lover to even blush in guilt. “There!” she pronounced, her face lighting in happiness. She didn’t wave, for that would make their meeting a public declaration. But her smile and the glow of her features was exclamation enough.

  Taylor caught at Metrodora’s wrist. “You are not going to speak to him here in the square, are you?” she murmured.

  She saw the freedman’s son that Metrodora had pointed out at the Hippodrome, standing at one of the stalls across the square, trying hard to look anywhere but at Metrodora.

  Metrodora hesitated. “But I’m at my wit’s end, Ariadne! How else can I speak to him? Look, he is right there!”

  Taylor stared at the woman, her mind racing as she ran through a litany of reasons why Metrodora should not and could not speak openly to the man and all the things she might do instead. Why could Metrodora not see these alternatives for herself? Why was she so blind to the obvious dangers to her reputation, here?

  Taylor was at a loss to begin to explain, for it would take far too long.

  “There she is! That’s the one!” The sharp cry came from the lane where they had just emerged. Taylor glanced over her shoulder to look.

  A stall owner, judging by his workman-like tunic and sandals, was pointing toward them.

  He was pointing at her. “She stole the necklace from my shop!” he cried.

  Taylor caught her breath.

  People, a great tide of them, were surging toward her, yelling insults and oaths.

  Her personal guards stepped in front of them, but not before she saw a face she recognized.

  Zeno, the one-eyed guard from Brody’s cavern.

  Zeno was wearing a civilian tunic and sandals now, but he carried a knife in each hand and he was grinning as he came running towards her. She had been set up by Zeno for exactly this reason. He wanted vengeance and he was going to take it from her hide in bloody strips, using the knives in his hands.

  Her guards barred his way, bringing up their shields, but even so Taylor found she was stepping backwards, away from the clash, just in case. Zeno rammed against the shields with an impact that made the guards push back on their feet for leverage. Zeno was thrusting with the knives, looking for vulnerabilities, trying to break through. They parried with their longer swords to beat him back, but Zeno had passion and anger on his side.

  There was a clash of iron behind her and Taylor whirled, fear grabbing at her chest and stopping her breath.

  Metrodora’s guards were fighting off more angry shop-keepers, who had circled around them and were attempting to reach her from behind. Metrodora was backing away from her guards, toward Taylor.

  They were trapped in the middle between th
e tight circle of guards and an angry mob of shopkeepers and citizens.

  “This is bad,” Taylor said.

  She had been speaking to herself, but Metrodora glanced at her. “They would not dare touch us,” she said, her tone conveying more confidence than her frightened expression did.

  “Don’t bet on it, Metro,” Taylor flung back, reaching for the knife on her belt, and switching it to her left hand.

  Metrodora’s eyes widened as they took in the knife. “They’ll kill you!”

  Taylor rolled her eyes. “They’re going to, anyway.”

  Metrodora clutched at her chest. “But they cannot. My father…” She trailed off, as Taylor turned her attention to the encroaching mob instead. “You don’t really mean it,” Metrodora finished helplessly.

  “I really do,” Taylor said. She grabbed Metrodora’s arm and turned her to face her own guards. “See that man there? The one with one eye? His name is Zeno. Do you remember that name?” Taylor looked at Metrodora.

  The woman’s mouth opened and her eyes widened almost comically wide. “Him?” She looked at Zeno again. “Oh…Ariadne.” She clutched at her arm.

  “Leave my arm free,” Taylor told her curtly.

  A deep groan of pain, accompanied by a wordless sound of victory, made the hairs on the back of Taylor’s neck all stand to rigid attention. She turned, pushing Metrodora out of the way, bringing her knife up.

  Zeno leapt on her, his one good eye flashing with a manic delight. He was going to enjoy carving her up. She could see it in his expression and the smile he wore.

  His forearm drove onto the point of her knife, pinning his right arm on her blade. She just barely blocked the other with her right hand. He didn’t seem to notice the injury to his arm. He swiped at her with the other blade and she sidestepped the arc and spun away, yanking her knife out of his arm as she went.

  Zeno followed her with a ragged, low curse and Taylor knew she wouldn’t be able to hold him off for long. She didn’t have the skill or a second blade and she didn’t have a man’s natural strength, or Zeno’s thirst for vengeance.

  He leapt on her again, his left hand without the knife this time. He reached for her throat, his other hand hanging uselessly. There was a light in his eye that Taylor recognized. Zeno was standing on this side of the door to madness.

  “Whore bitch, I’ll eat your pretty face off when I’m done with you,” he growled, his hot breath billowing over her as his fingers scrabbled at her throat.

  She brought her knife up, but his useless right hand flared to life and wrenched at her wrist, twisting it cruelly until her fingers numbed and the knife cluttered to the flagstones.

  His fingers closed about her throat.

  “Got you,” he snarled.

  Fear thundered in her heart and her head. She couldn’t hear anything but the sound of her heart slamming in her chest and echoing in her mind. She couldn’t breathe.

  Then Zeno straightened up with a jerk, gasping. His grip around Taylor’s throat loosened, allowing her to draw a breath. His eye widened.

  He jerked again and this time Taylor saw the tip of a sword punch through the front of his tunic, the rough fabric tearing. Blood flooded the material around the wound, spreading quickly.

  Zeno’s hands dropped away from her and his eye took on a far-away look. Taylor had seen that expression before. He was meeting his death.

  He toppled to one side, his knees crumpling as he fell, but Taylor didn’t watch him fall. She was looking at the man who had dealt with him, who stood right behind him.

  Veris.

  He wore the long robe and dalmatic of a rich upper-class Byzantine, with enough difference in accessories and finishings that would hint the clothes were made somewhere other than Constantinople, which would explain his coloring and features.

  And height.

  His blue eyes met hers briefly as he raised the end of the bloody sword, then his gaze swept around the square. “I see you’ve got yourself into another fine mess without me.”

  Taylor covered her mouth with both hands, holding in the need to sob aloud, so great was her surprise and relief.

  His eyes narrowed and he lunged toward her, a quick half step. His free arm swept her up against him. Taylor was mashed against Veris’ chest for there was no gentleness in his vice-like hug at all. She felt his sword arm lift, transmitted through the muscles of his chest working to support it. Then she heard the clash of iron, directly behind her.

  Someone had been approaching her from behind. Again.

  Veris leaned forward, bringing her with him. Taylor clung to him tightly, feeling no fear at all. She felt his arm working and heard the parry of blades. Then a grunt.

  Veris straightened, his arm around her loosening. “Time to find a less popular spot.”

  “Metrodora, too,” Taylor added, stepping back. She clutched at his clothing, unable to let go. He really was here. In the flesh and weeks, if not months, ahead of schedule.

  Veris glanced at Metrodora where she hovered, clutching her veil about her like it might shield her. “Aye, the woman, too.” He was constantly scanning the square, looking for the next threat, but with the death of Zeno, the shopkeepers’ ardor for justice was evaporating.

  Veris hefted the sword and pulled out a long knife and handed it to Taylor. “Your friend between us. You’re the caboose. We’re going to have to fight our way out. Let’s go.”

  Before Taylor could protest or explain her lack of expertise, Veris whirled and surged toward the mob, his sword swinging.

  Taylor pushed Metrodora into a stumbling trot after him, her own mind still blank and reeling with the series of shocks she had been handed in the last few minutes. Veris’ expectation that she would be able to protect his rear was just one of them.

  Chapter Fifteen

  They won through to the lane with an ease that should have surprised Taylor, except that she had no more capacity for shock or surprises. With Zeno dead, the shopkeeper who had falsely accused her of thievery had lost his paymaster, which removed his enthusiasm for the chase.

  Watching someone die at the hands of what was clearly a superior fighter took the stuffing out of most of the others. As soon as Veris began to fight his way out of the square most of them melted away with little opposition, except for the most roused and angry of them. Veris dealt with those with barely a pause.

  Taylor only had to use the knife once, to slash at a man who raised his own in a half-hearted attempt to halt her as she passed by. By then, Taylor had no intention of being stopped by anyone and she swung the blade with a strength even she didn’t know she had. It made the man stagger back with a piteous cry and that was the last of the resistance they met.

  They began to run, Taylor nudging Metrodora along with an occasional hand on her shoulder or under her elbow, and holding her own hems up and out of the way with her other hand, the knife concealed within the folds.

  Veris seemed to know exactly where he was going, for he led them through the market lanes and out into the Mese unerringly. On the main street he stopped running and sheathed his sword.

  “Normal, now,” he said, over his shoulder.

  “Without slaves or guards?” Taylor threw back.

  Veris didn’t answer.

  Metrodora drew closer to Taylor’s side. “Where are we going?” she whispered.

  “We’re taking you home,” Veris said, glancing back.

  Metrodora bit her lip and looked up at Taylor. “Who is he, Ariadne?” she demanded. “You know him, but you’ve never spoken about a Northman before. He is a Northman, isn’t he?”

  “Veris is…someone I knew from before. Before I married Matthew,” Taylor extemporized, hoping Veris was listening and absorbing the facts of her masquerade as Ariadne this conversation was laying out for him.

  Metrodora’s gaze swiveled to take in Veris’ back as they moved through the busy street, then came back to settle on Taylor. “My father will want to reward him for this.” Then her face hardened
and all the youth and prettiness fled. Metrodora suddenly looked old. “He will punish the shopkeepers for this.”

  Taylor gripped her forearm hard. “You cannot speak of this to your father,” she said urgently. “Your father, your husband, or anyone, Metrodora.”

  Metrodora looked indignant. “They attacked us for no reason!”

  Taylor shook her arm. “Why were you there? Why were we in that square, so close to the slave markets, standing around and vulnerable?” It was a guess. Taylor wasn’t sure where the slave markets were, but if Metrodora’s lover was the son of a freedman, she had a feeling he would be more comfortable with that area of town than the rich, bountiful end of the markets where people like Metrodora generally stayed.

  Her bluff hit the bull’s eye, for Metrodora paled. She pressed her lips together as her gazed dropped to the stones at her feet.

  Taylor pressed her advantage home. “Do you not see? We cannot say a word to anyone, Metrodora, or your indiscretion will be revealed.”

  Metrodora nodded.

  “Besides,” Veris said, speaking over his shoulder again. “The man who incited the incident paid for it with his life. Justice has already been done, my lady. You have no need to punish the shop keepers. They were fooled into thinking you had stolen their goods.”

  Metrodora took a few dozen paces to consider the matter. She addressed Veris’ back. “You have been most kind. How do I thank you for what you have done?”

  “There is no need,” Veris told her. “I’ll have you at your door in a few minutes and you can put this behind you.”

  “I can rely on your discretion, I presume?”

  Taylor heard Veris’ soft laugh. “I do not know the same people that you do, my lady. Your secret is quite safe.”

  Metrodora relaxed and smiled. “Then I count myself most fortunate that our paths crossed today.” She glanced at Taylor. “You have useful friends, Ariadne.”

  “I do,” Taylor agreed.

  * * * * *

  Veris apparently knew exactly where Metrodora lived, for he led them both without direction or pause, straight to the big house on the hill where she lived. It wasn’t as big or as grand as Matthew’s house, but Metrodora was counted as one of the city’s greatest women. She pulled her veil about her face as she looked up at Veris. “You have my thanks…Veris.”