by Lynn Kurland
"Sshh," he murmured, "don't go."
"I didn't intend to."
For some reason, that comment made him chuckle. Margaret thought to ask him just what he found so amusing, then discarded the idea. If she spoke, she'd have to pull her lips away from his, and no power on earth could persuade her to do that.
"Put your arms around me," he said, between kisses.
She tried to put her arms around his waist but his back was pressed up against the wall and he didn't seem to want to move.
"Alex—"
"Up around my neck. Under my cloak so your hands don't get cold."
She felt that such an embrace left her pressed rather too intimately close, but Alex seemed to find it to his liking. Indeed, he tightened his arm around her back and pulled her even more tightly against him. Actually, having the length of his hard body pressed against hers gave her the oddest feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had the most insane desire to laugh. Before she could open her mouth to comment on that, she felt Alex's hand at the back of her head. She groaned as his hand tangled in her hair.
His only answer was to use that hand to pull her head back to his. Margaret immediately realized she was his prisoner. His hand had taken her head captive and his arm around her waist held her virtually immobile against him. His mouth was taking possession of hers with purely barbaric arrogance.
Again and again he brushed his lips against hers, sometimes lingering, sometimes only teasing her. She was torn between smiling and frowning at his play. By the saints, this was serious business, and he seemed not to have the proper respect for the way her knees were beginning to buckle.
Then he began to kiss her differently. Why were his lips parting? No longer did both his lips meet hers in such perfect symmetry. Nay, he had parted his lips and was kissing her as if he intended to ingest whatever part of her face he first came in contact with. She avoided his lips and looked up at him. Forcing herself to ignore his handsomeness, which nearly stole her breath, and his height, which made her feel decidedly fragile, she frowned.
"What are you doing?"
"Trying to kiss you properly. You're supposed to open your mouth."
"Oh," she said blankly. "Why?"
"You'll see."
She nodded wisely, pretending to know exactly what he was talking about. She opened her mouth.
"Bettah?" she asked, trying to keep it open.
The sweetness of his smile made her want to weep. He slid his hand along her neck and shut her mouth by means of his thumb under her chin.
"Not yet. I'll tell you when."
"I see," she said, feeling a bit foolish. "Well, I wasn't quite sure."
"I know. That's why I told you."
She nodded and closed her eyes, tilting her face up. "Put your hand under my hair again, Alex."
Margaret sighed in pleasure as his fingers delved into her hair until the palm of his hand was cradling her head. Such delicious captivity. His mouth began again to work its strange dance, opening against hers and pulling on her lips. She pulled away far enough to breathe a question.
"Open?"
"Just follow me," he whispered. She leaned against him again, wondering at the hoarseness of his voice. Too much ale, she decided finally. It was hard on the throat.
He pressed his lips against hers and opened his mouth. She followed his lead, unsure why he found this so pleasurable but willing to give it a try. After all, she'd never kissed a man before Alex. He likely had more things to teach her before he was through.
She shrieked as she felt his tongue slide between her lips. It was instinctive to wrench away from him. It was only as she felt her foot slip off the edge of the walkway that she remembered where she was. In a heartbeat, she was being jerked back against Alex's chest and felt the heaving of his body as he sucked in air.
"You startled me," she said weakly.
"Damn it, that was close!" he exclaimed. "Don't do that again!"
He tightened his arms around her until she squeaked involuntarily.
"By the saints," she managed, "what were you trying to do?"
He blew out his breath and gave her a lopsided grin. "Where I come from, we call that French kissing."
"Ah." She nodded. "I see. Are you going to French kiss me again?"
"Not on a four-foot-wide walkway. Let's go downstairs."
Margaret picked her way along the walkway behind him, noting the dampness of his palm. She understood completely as she felt as if she'd spent the entire evening parrying fiercely. Not even the chill air cooled her flushed skin.
Once they reached the corridor leading to the chambers, Alex paused and looked carefully down the passageway. She stood on her toes and peeked over his shoulder.
"What do you seek?" she whispered.
"I don't want anyone seeing me kiss you senseless in this hallway."
"But—"
He backed her into the shadows and his mouth swooped down on hers like a vulture swooping down on its hapless prey. Margaret wound her arms around his neck and held on for dear life. He pinned her against the wall with his unyieldingly hard frame and tilted her face up with his hands.
Then he opened her mouth. She wasn't prepared for the rush of heat that washed over her. Alex might have had the finest of table manners, but he was no acquiescent lord when it came to this kissing of his. He plundered her mouth with a sweet ruthlessness that left her trembling. The pleasure was so sweet, she prayed he would never stop kissing her.
Which is exactly what he did. He tore his mouth away and leaned his forehead against hers.
"We have to stop," he panted, "while I still can."
"I don't want you to," she said, trying to capture his lips again with hers.
He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed back, holding her away. "Margaret, we have to stop now. We're not going to end up making love tonight."
"Is that more kissing?"
"Not even," he said hoarsely. He pulled her down the passageway and deposited her in front of her chamber. "Go to bed."
"Nay."
He tipped her face up with his finger. "Yes."
"I would have one last kiss."
"No."
"Yea."
He sighed and then pushed her inside the room and shut the door behind him. With a groan, he pulled her tight against him and kissed her.
Margaret thought she was prepared for his assault, but found herself again on unfamiliar ground. He was painfully tender, but no less knee-weakening. By the time he lifted his head and gazed down at her with stormy blue-green eyes, she was dazed and convinced she'd never recover.
"Go to bed," he commanded.
She nodded, mute.
He took her face in his hands. ' 'You are the most beautiful, passionate woman I've ever known. Don't let anyone ever convince you otherwise."
Before she could find her wits to speak, he was gone. She walked to her bed and sat down, stunned. Never had it occurred to her that such feelings were possible. Her body was raging with fever and her mind was aswirl with dizziness.
Was this love? The kind of love that Baldric spun tales about, the kind that drove men to take up the sword in their lady's defense, the kind that left maids languishing at their tapestry frames dreaming of their champions?
She lay back slowly and closed her eyes. A pity Alex was not lord of Brackwald. She would wed him and be glad of it. And then her dreams would be happy ones indeed.
She blinked. Could she wed with him just the same? Surely he had land in Seattle. Though she'd never asked him the particulars, she was certain he must be a lord of some sort, in spite of his lack of spurs and sword. But would he be willing to trade his own fief to become lord of hers?
Or did he indeed feel that he'd done what he'd come to do and now he would be taking his leave?
She turned over with a groan and buried her face in her quilt. It would only trouble her to think on it more. If the opportunity presented itself, she would speak to him of it on the morrow. For now, all she
wanted was to content herself with the memory of his kiss.
She drifted off to sleep with a smile and a very flushed face.
Nine
"And once he rounds up enough gold, he'll be off to find Richard and settle things." Alex looked at George. ''Think you can keep Ralf at bay until then?''
George rubbed his face wearily. "We've managed it so far. A month or two more won't matter."
Alex looked at Margaret's captain and wondered if he himself looked so bleary-eyed. Maybe it had been a while since George had pulled an all-nighter. Alex could sympathize as he was still feeling the effects of his night out with the boys. Edward of Brackwald was hazardous to his health.
And to his peace of mind.
"I sense there is much more to it," George said, with a suddenly piercing glance.
Alex squirmed. He was thirty-two, for heaven's sake, too old to be squirming. "Geez, George, where'd you learn to do this?" he asked with a half laugh.
The crust softened enough to permit a very small smile. "I have three sons, my lord."
"That answers a few questions."
George waited. He seemed to have an unlimited supply of patience.
Alex sighed. "All right," he said, surrendering. He looked around him to make certain they weren't being eavesdropped on. "Edward is going to ask the king for Margaret's hand. I gave him advice on how to woo her. I think he'll make a good husband for her. He's not much to look at, but he'll treat her well."
''And what is wrong with you that you cannot stay and wed her?"
"Me?" Alex choked.
''Aye, you. You're a strong man with the will to rule her and the head to govern Falconberg."
"I can't stay."
"Why not?"
"It's a long story."
"And I've an abundance of time this morn."
"It's better not to know."
George leaned back in his chair and stared at Alex for several minutes in silence. "Are you an angel or a demon?" he asked finally.
Alex laughed uncomfortably. "What makes you ask?"
"There is something about you," George said, stroking his chin. "Something passing strange."
Alex smiled. "I come from a strange time—I mean, place," he corrected. He rolled his eyes mentally. That was a Freudian slip if ever there were one. "Place," he reemphasized. "I'm not an outlaw, I'm not a criminal, I'm not running from justice. I was out riding on my brother-in-law's estate and I took a wrong turn. I think I was meant to be here in England to help Margaret. Now that she's helped, I can't stay any longer. I have to go home."
"Hmmm," George said, continuing to stroke his chin.
"Yeah, hmmm."
"You aren't wed, are you?"
"No, and I won't be unless I get home and put my little brother in the dungeon. He's really interfering with my matrimonial plans. I hate to think of what he's done to my Range Rov—"
Alex looked up and forgot what he was going to say. Margaret was just coming into the hall from the stairwell. She looked like she hadn't slept a wink. Her hair was again loose. And she still wasn't wearing her mail. These were all very bad signs.
"How can you leave her?" George whispered. "By the saints, my lord, she is a prize worth fighting for!"
"Tell me about it," Alex said, his heart sinking. Good grief, he should have hightailed it out of there before she got up. Cowardly, yes, but easier than seeing her again.
She saw him and her face lit up. Alex felt slimier than he ever had in seven years of swimming with the sharks. What had he been thinking to kiss her the night before? He should have delivered his message and then gone to his room.
It had been pure selfishness on his part. He'd wanted her and he'd taken as much as he dared. And, if he were to be totally honest with himself, he had wanted to leave an indelible mark on her—one Edward of Brackwald didn't stand a chance in hell of erasing.
Alex would have rubbed his hands over his face and groaned, but he couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes away from the woman coming toward him. She was striking when she was angry—but when she smiled? She was beautiful enough to make him hurt just looking at her.
And his time in the Middle Ages could now be counted by minutes. Damn it anyway.
He had to go. He'd done his bit, completed his task, and now he had to go home. George would help Margaret hold down the fort until Richard could come to her aid.
Until Richard and Edward could come to her aid, Alex corrected himself with a scowl. The thought of Edward coming within ten feet of Margaret made Alex want to hit somebody. Especially after last night. He wanted to laugh joyously at how innocently she had let her jaw hang open, inquiring if that was okay. His heart hammered suddenly against his chest when he thought of how close she had come to falling off the walkway. He shifted positions in the chair as he remembered how the briefest of forays into her mouth had sent his blood pressure soaring. It had taken all his willpower not to send them both tumbling onto her bed. He could just imagine how cross-eyed making love to her would leave him. Her responses would be completely genuine, completely without calculation, completely innocent. What would she do when he brought her pleasure? Probably yell loud enough to bring the roof down on their heads. He had the feeling he would be doing the same thing.
"Good morrow to you, Alex," she said, coming to a stop next to his chair.
George cleared his throat pointedly.
Alex stood up, hoping he didn't look as miserable as he felt.
"Margaret, I need to speak with you privately for a moment."
He winced at the sweet, innocent joy that flashed in her eyes. At that moment he'd never in his life felt more like a snake. And he had no one to blame but himself. He never should have kissed her. It would serve him right to find himself impotent when it came time to bed the grocer's daughter.
At the moment impotence seemed the lesser of two disappointments. Compared to Margaret, Fiona MacAllister held no appeal for him at all.
George threw him a dark frown as Alex ushered Margaret from the table and up the stairs. Alex couldn't blame him. Margaret would either weep or demolish all her men one-by-one in the lists. Alex didn't want to know which it would be.
Alex stopped at Margaret's father's chamber, the one he had occupied during his stay. She entered, then stood in the middle of the room, looking at him hesitantly.
"Aye?" she asked.
Alex closed his eyes briefly and prayed for strength. Hell! Why hadn't he managed to keep his mouth to himself?
"Alex?"
Her husky voice made him break out in a cold sweat. How could fate do this to him? Why couldn't he have found her in the twentieth century? Why couldn't she have been a savvy lawyer who was just waiting for the right man to come along and offer to father her children and divide fifty percent of the care and feeding of those children with her?
Her dark eyes were full of confusion and apprehension. He couldn't bear to see them full of hurt, hurt that he would put there. He walked over to the window and stared out over the cloud-darkened landscape.
"Margaret, you won't understand this, but I have to go"
"To see Edward again?"
He shook his head. "No." He took another deep breath. "I have to go home." He heard her swift intake of breath. "It was really a mistake that I even wound up here. I probably should have gone back right away, but I thought a few weeks in England would be interesting." He turned to face her. The devastated look on her face hit him like a sledgehammer in the gut. He leaned back against the window, pressing his palms against the wall for support. "Honey," he began softly, "I can't stay."
"You're wed," she whispered, her words cutting through the still air and dropping to the floor like shards of glass. "Dieu, what a fool I am."
"No, I'm not married," he corrected her quickly. "And if I had my choice of women, I would choose you."
"Liar," she said, her voice breaking.
"Margaret, listen to me," he said, holding out his hands. "Seattle is not only across a very vast ocea
n, it's in a completely different century. Don't you see? I have family I left behind, family that will be worried about me. My brother-in-law will probably foul up a dozen centuries trying to find me. I have to go back."
"You're a liar," she said, tears welling up in her eyes.
"No, I'm not."
"Then you're daft," she said shrilly. "Daft and cruel. Why did you stay at all if you planned to leave?''
It took him only two steps to cross the room to her. He wrapped his fingers around her upper arms and pulled her to him.
"Don't you think this pains me as well?" he asked hoarsely. "I never meant to come here. I never expected to meet a woman who makes every other woman I've ever met pale to insignificance. Don't you think the sound of your voice will haunt me when I'm home? Don't you think I'll lie awake at night and grieve because my arms ache to be around you?"
"You lying whoreson!" she cried. She jerked away from him and fled from the room. Alex heard the sound of her chamber door being slammed and bolted and knew there was no point in going after her. She wouldn't open up to him. Even if she did, what good would it do? She might understand the concept of time travel, but she would never believe it.
He dragged his hand through his hair and let out his breath slowly, blowing it through pursed lips. What a mess he had made of things. At least he had warned Edward what things would be like at Falconberg. With any luck, Margaret would rebound right into his arms.
The thought made him sick.
With stiff, mechanical motions he stripped off William of Falconberg's clothes and donned his jeans and denim shirt. He retrieved his leather jacket from the bottom of the trunk. There was nothing else to be done.
George was waiting for him in the great hall. Alex almost wished the older man would demand some sort of satisfaction. A good beating would be nothing less than he deserved. At least the pain of a bruised body might have dulled the agony of mind and spirit he endured presently.
"I think you've broken her heart," George said bluntly. "Something I thought no one could ever do."
"I never meant to."
"Can't you love her?"
Alex squirmed uncomfortably. What did it matter if he could? He couldn't stay. That was the cold, hard fact. "It doesn't matter if I could."