Michael began to move, trying to get the feel of Kate, gathering momentum. Was he taking her with him or leaving her behind? He had to know, had to make it right.
Or maybe it was enough not to frighten her, not to feel her stiffen, not to see the glow in her eyes flaring into panic, fear or hate.
She stayed with him as their bodies bloomed with sweat, their breaths rasped in their throats, urgent murmurs mingling with low aggressive growls. He felt her stiffen, but not with fear. As convulsions rippled through her, he allowed himself to let go. With a shout of pure triumph that would have had smirks on every LALOC face if they hadn’t all been at Court, he emptied himself into her, remembering only when it was far, far too late that the condoms were lying, untouched, in his nylon carryall.
Mind whirling, he collapsed into her warm flesh. He couldn’t think. Not now, not this minute. Nobody was supposed to think at a time like this.
He was toast. There was no way he was going to wait and see. That’s what Kate would say, of course, but he couldn’t do it. Besides, after the shock wore off, he rather liked the idea of fatherhood. Yeah, that was right. Nice leverage. She could be pregnant, so they needed to get married. Right away.
Living in the Middle Ages must be getting to him. This was the twenty-fist century. No one had to get married any more.
If so, why were shot-gun weddings still so common?
Because the world hadn’t really changed that much. A girl got pregnant, ten to one she married the guy.
Often with lots of regrets left over.
Just the same, maybe he’d forget the condoms tonight too, see if Kate noticed.
Oh, shit! She was going to be mad. She’d figure he was trying to force her hand. They were headed for another colossal blow-up.
Raven rolled off, flopping onto his stomach beside her. “Maybe we should head for Court,” he mumbled.
“You’re kidding, right?”
Yeah, he was kidding. He couldn’t move if someone yelled, “Fire.” Not to mention that his conscience was squeezing him to death.
“Well, then . . .” Cat paused, cocked her head to one side as if contemplating some serious speculation. “We’ve got two hours until Feast. Tell me, old man, is that enough time for a thirty-six-year-old to get his breath back?”
“After Saturday night, you ought to know.”
“Plenty of time,” Cat murmured, wrapping one arm around his back and snuggling into his side. “All the time in the world. And, besides, who wants Feast, anyway?”
Chapter 24
“You know,” Raven declared much later that night, “considering Geoffrey as a suspect is like saying ‘The butler did it.’ It’s just plain weird.”
Cat snuggled farther into the sleeping bags which they had zippered together. “Who’s Geoffrey?”
“Corwyn’s flunkey, the one I don’t like.”
The twerp? You’ve got to be kidding! Come on, lieutenant”—Cat turned onto her side, lowered her voice to a seductive purr— “time for a little sleep.”
Raven patted the rounded curve of her tempting behind. Even the uncompromising thickness of the sleeping bag couldn’t keep him from picturing the flesh beneath. “You’ve worn me out, woman,” he admitted, brushing strands of silver blond off her face, “but the old brain won’t shut down. No matter how many promises Corwyn and Company make, I figure by next Event everyone’s going to know I’m FHP. Basically, I blew it when I gave the princess my card.”
“But she needed your phone number.”
“I could have scribbled it on a piece of paper.”
“Which just said ‘Raven’?”
“That would have been enough. I messed up.”
Cat wanted to deny it, but couldn’t help but wonder if Raven was right. Princess Kiriana was sensible, responsible, but so many people hovered around LALOC royalty, including those with keen hearing and remarkably long noses.
Did it really matter? With Raven conferring openly with Corwyn, walking away with Marius’s precious dress sword under his arm, there could no longer be much doubt about who and what he was.
So she was right. Time to get some sleep, leave their problems for another day. Another day. Cat hid her sudden smile in the pillow. Another day that ended like this one and she might be too weak to get up at all.
Not that they hadn’t taken an occasional break. After coming to the solemn conclusion they were too old to live on love alone, Raven and Cat made it to Feast in time for the second and third removes. Max’s wink as they slid into their places was so broad, even Raven showed a telltale flush on his knife-edged cheekbones. Peering from under her lashes at the rest of the room, Cat caught a remarkable number of grins, smirks, and hastily ducked heads. So much for secrets.
And, later, after a walk along the lakeshore and pausing for a few token moments at the back of the crowd gathered for the Bardic Circle, they’d strolled back to their tent, hand in hand, and . . . well, they’d earned their rest.
If only . . .
Cat punched her pillow, a sharp right jab, then rolled to her other side, presenting her back to Raven. Here, in the confines of LALOC’s fantasy land she could tolerate the necessary glimpses of Michael Turco, cop. But on Monday morning he’d be in full uniform, the dark, menacing figure of Lieutenant Michael Turco of the Florida Highway Patrol. How would she feel?
Cat shivered . . . squeezed her eyes shut, and tried to sleep.
Idly, Raven played with Cat’s hair, allowing the fine strands to drift over his fingers. Light from the crescent moon was dim, yet the feel of her, the scent of woman, his woman, was enough to stir his well-satisfied manhood back to life. One of these days—hopefully, soon—she’d give in. He’d hold a whole woman in his arms, not just someone who hoped sex with him would blot out the pain of what had gone before.
It would happen. He’d make it so. After all, he’d faced up to the fact that he loved her. A big admission. It shouldn’t be too tough to get Cat to do the same.
If she truly loved him . . . and wasn’t using him as a convenient bit of sex therapy.
Don’t go there!
It was the wee hours of the morning. Cat was asleep, at least, he thought so. Time to think about his job and what he was doing in a campground with a bunch of nut cases pretending they were living in medieval times.
Okay, giving the half-pint princess his card was a justifiable risk. His involvement in this mess was too obvious to hide. Worst case—if the perp knew about Kiriana’s investigations, knew about Michael Turco, would he be scared off? Or would he be crazy enough to enjoy the increased danger, the challenge of running rings around the FHP as well as LALOC and a wide range of Medieval Fairs? Raven wished he had an inkling of this oddball’s mind. After Feast tonight, he’d asked more questions than the name of the king’s sour flunkey. Alfric, it seems, had said he had to leave early last Saturday because his son was appearing in a play. That Alfric the Armorer had a wife and family was a revelation in itself. Unless, of course, both son and play were a lie. But why say anything at all when it wasn’t necessary? Alfric was an independent business owner, he could stay or go as he pleased.
And then there was the thinly disguised rancor between Corwyn and Marius . . . was there a motive there somewhere? Raven had run his own check on Don Antonio, the cavalier fencer. His Internet business was taking a nose dive. Maybe financial troubles had sent him off the deep end. Then there was Brocc, who was mean-spirited enough to low-blow a woman. And poor earnest Geoffrey, so insecure he had to get his kicks as an officious servant to a weekend king.
Something soft and warm, curvaceously female, bumped his hip. “Go to sleep,” Cat hissed. “I can’t be the only one who’s exhausted!”
Raven slid down until his lips brushed her ear. “Troopers have to keep in shape,” he confided. “I don’t suppose . . .,” he added hopefully.
“No!” But he heard what sounded distinctly like a giggle coming from LALOC’s Lady Knight. “You’re over the hill,” Cat pointed out.
“You’ve got a desk job now.”
“There’s a lot of life left in this old hulk,” Raven assured her. In fact, just remembering she hadn’t bothered with panties when she’d donned her nightshirt was enough . . .
He wasn’t wearing his briefs either. It was so very easy to roll over, take up the challenge. To bury his problems, along with himself, in the one woman he wanted to hold just this way forever. The woman who would walk by his side, a partner through thick and thin for all of their lives. Damn, but life was good! Nothing was going to spoil this. He wouldn’t allow it.
When they got back to Kate’s on Sunday afternoon, Michael took her aside while Bubba and Mona were unpacking the van. With his arms clasped behind her back, eyes searching hers, he asked, “Need a break, or can I come by tonight?”
Kate examined his Adam’s apple as if she’d never seen one before. “You can stop by anytime, lieutenant. A girl always likes to know she’s protected. Although . . . maybe you’d better remember the condoms this time.”
Caught. On the two-hour drive home Lady Knight had got her head together. “See you tonight.” Michael swung abruptly around, giving Bubba a hand getting the tents off the van roof.
By Wednesday the sight of the 4Runner approaching Kate’s driveway was no novelty. Not until the door opened and an FHP lieutenant in full uniform got out. “Sorry,” Michael said as walked through Kate’s door, “I ran late today, didn’t have time to change.”
Fat chance, Kate thought. It was a test, damn him. He was throwing it in her face, daring her to run. Outside, a door slammed. Footsteps. Mona and Bubba came charging in, the mobile home shaking as the giant ex-biker lumbered into the living room.
“You’re a cop!” Bubba roared. “Raven . . . bud. You can’t be a cop!”
Mona clung to his arm like a fly on an elephant. “It’s all right, Bubba. He’s a friend. I sort of guessed,” she added apologetically to Kate.
A slow grin spread over Bubba’s pumpkin face. “I know he’s a friend. I like him. I always liked him. But the uniform kind of . . . well, you know . . . it’s a shocker, buddy.”
“Amen!” Kate breathed.
“You look good,” Mona declared. “Real snappy. It almost turns you into a hunk.”
“Thanks . . . I think,” Michael acknowledged. “Uh, look,” he added, “I’m glad you two are here. I need to talk to you.”
“I’ll get some beers,” Kate offered. When they were settled, three pairs of eyes turned expectantly toward Michael.
“First of all, I finally heard from Princess Kiriana today. Alfric was at the fair in Michigan, but I’m still finding it tough to believe he could get away with stealing Marius’s sword and the queen’s cloak right out from under the noses of the whole royal entourage. Otherwise, he’s our best suspect.” Michael directed his attention to Mona and Bubba. “As you’ve probably guessed, that’s what I’ve been doing. Trying to track down whoever’s been causing all the trouble.”
“Hey, man, you’re a hero,” Bubba approved.
Michael shook his head. “Afraid not. I’m almost more puzzled than when I started. I’m making inquiries about some other possibilities, but so far I just keep turning up more questions than answers.” He took a deep breath, his frown transforming into a gentle smile. “That’s not why I wanted to talk to you two. I’ve got a friend, a trooper, who does a lot of volunteer work at the Dorning Development Center. You’ve heard of it?” Michael asked.
“Sure,” Mona said. “They’ve been around here forever.”
“Well, his son has some developmental problems, so he knows a lot about the place, knows a lot of people. He introduced me to the right ones. It seems”—Michael caught and held Bubba’s undivided attention—“it seems they could use someone strong around the place. Someone to help with the kids who have trouble getting around. Someone with lots of good nature and smiles who can charm away tears. Someone who wouldn’t mind doing odd jobs.” Michael left the thought hanging, closely watching their reaction. raised his eyebrows, inquiring. Would Bubba mind the menial labor? Would Mona take offense?
“Would he get paid?” Kate interjected, a lioness defending her cub.
Michael grinned. “Yes, he’d get paid. Not much, but more than the grocery store. And the people he’s working with will be a hell of a lot more understanding.”
Mona burst into tears. After awkwardly patting her back, Bubba stood up, unfolding to his full six feet, six inches. He crossed the room, held out his hand. Michael rose to his feet to meet him. In the end, they didn’t shake. Silently, they hugged each other while the girls’ tears spilled onto the carpet.
It wasn’t often that LALOC Events occurred two weekends in a row. But the Event north of Tampa had mostly attracted a local crowd. The one the following weekend, at the huge campground where Michael had been introduced to LALOC, was what was called a Kingdom Event. It would attract LALOC members from the Panhandle to the Everglades, even though some would have a six- or seven-hour drive each way.
It was also going to be a showdown weekend. Of that, both Michael and Kate were certain. LALOC spies had let them know that Alfric was at home, happily going about his business as a full-time armorer who also sold weapons via a web site. He was, indeed, married, with a daughter as well as a son. Geoffrey, Corwyn informed them, was his usual—if they’d pardon the expression—“bitchy self.” Don Antonio had disappeared into his office in a warehouse in an industrial park east of I-75 near Manatee Bay and showed no signs of interest in anything beyond his business. Brocc, too, was at work. Someone had checked, even though he was still banished from LALOC events. Thor, also, was on the job. Both were paramedics in the Orlando area. As far as anyone could tell, rumors about Raven being FHP had not leaked.
Even to Kate, Michael had not mentioned that Corwyn and Marius were not above suspicion. But, obviously, neither king nor prince had disappeared, as he’d talked on the phone to both Corwyn and to Kiri, Marius’s live-in girlfriend. If he hadn’t been so distracted by nights spent in Kate’s narrow bed in the mobile home, he might have been impatient for the weekend to come, but as it was . . . well, hell, this was the kind of week that could repeat itself for a year or so and he wouldn’t mind.
He was good at pitching camp now, could spot a flat site, sort out the puzzle of which aluminum pole went where, drive in a tent stake with one blow. Well, most of the time. Raven was actually whistling as he and Cat began to unload the camp chairs, their garb, and other personal belongings. Maybe meeting with Corwyn and the other royals could be postponed until tomorrow. Maybe, just for tonight, he and Cat could extend the euphoria, be like the other LALOC members happily making camp, laying out food, changing into medieval garb, hanging heraldry banners, checking their weapons or the perfection of the artistic creations many were to exhibit the next day.
While eating a late supper of travelers’ stew and homemade bread in the Feast Hall, Raven was far from disappointed to discover the royal entourage had not yet arrived. He could take his time, look over the vendors’ wares right outside the hall’s front door. On their way in, he’d noted that once again Alfric and Beorn were side by side, the knives featured by the leather-crafter gleaming in the spotlights fixed on the roof of the Feast Hall. Odd that he hadn’t thought about those knives before. So many LALOC members carried knives on their belts, even the women, that Beorn’s display had not set off alarm bells. Perhaps it should have. But the person they were after had, so far, been more subtle. Clever without being overtly violent. Except with the crossbow. He never got in close, one on one. So . . .
Maybe not a fighter. Which effectively eliminated Brocc, Thor, Corwyn and Marius, even Don Antonio. As far as he could tell, they were all stand-up fighters. Not a sneaky bone in their bodies. If you didn’t count politics. The stirring strains of The Ride of the Valkyries suddenly echoed through his head, images of Brocc plunging the end of his duct-taped rattan sword into Cat flashed like a strobe. Okay, Brocc wasn’t as stand-up as the others. Brocc was stil
l at the top of the list.
Idly, Raven picked up the longest and most lethal-looking of Beorn’s knives, the Bowie he’d seen on his first venture in LALOC. Supposedly, it was a hunter’s tool that could skin a deer or slit a throat with equal ease. Raven laid it back on the table with care.
He did a swift survey of the items Alfric was laying out on the table next to Beorn’s. He couldn’t recall the damn names, but suddenly he realized Alfric sold armor and only armor. Helms, breast plates, knee, shin, and elbow guards. Gauntlets. No swords, no knives, nothing that was a weapon in itself. Not that it really mattered, Raven supposed. Alfric could still have a screw loose somewhere, but it was Beorn who dealt in lethal weapons. Beorn who might possibly be undaunted—even intrigued— by mischief gone awry.
Then again, maybe not. For the same reason that tended to eliminate the fighters. The nut case he was looking for was a clever sneaking little worm, too smart or too fearful for outright violence. Someone who faded into the crowd, maneuvered, schemed, got his jollies from watching the mighty fall. And knowing he had done it.
Which fit Geoffrey, the twerp, right down to his supercilious smirk and beady little eyes.
He’d never live it down at the barracks if he had to tell them the butler did it.
“You plannin’ on skinnin’ a deer?” Max asked, peering over Raven’s shoulder.
“Just a perp,” Raven deadpanned.
“The bad guy?” Max asked after a moment’s thought. “Yeah . . . too bad you can’t really do it. That guy’s caused a lot of trouble.” Max paused, then confided, “I used to have one of those. When I was bikin’. Hardly ever used it, but it sure kept guys from pickin’ fights.”
Florida Knight Page 30