by Hazel Hunter
Rachel felt like weeping as his thoughts grew distant and cold. He hadn’t done anything wrong. She had. She felt one last blast of emotion from him—relief, as he dove into the icy loch fully-clothed—and then nothing.
She rolled over, her body aching with need, and cried herself to sleep.
Chapter Ten
AS IF HE knew about the fantasy-sharing, Evander grew even more distant, and spent more time away from the cottage than in it. Aware that she was just as much to blame, Rachel focused on maintaining the peace. She tried to make appetizing meals, kept the rooms tidy, and worked on improving her limited sewing skills. While looking for some old cloth she could practice on she found a pair of wooden knitting needles in a basket of spun wool. After asking Evander’s permission to use them, she started working on a scarf at night.
“Mom, you made this look so easy,” she muttered as she picked up a dropped stitch, and peered at the uneven rows under it. “But at least I didn’t forget everything you taught me.”
Rachel spent her days collecting the last of the vegetables and herbs from the garden, and taking stock of what they had in the larder and cold pantry. Once the snow came she guessed that they would be cut off from the village, which meant surviving on whatever Evander could hunt or they had stored.
“Suddenly I have a whole new appreciation for squirrels,” Rachel muttered to herself.
Once she had gone through all of their stores she felt a lot better about their situation. Thanks to Evander’s daily hunts they had enough smoked and salted meat to last for months. She had counted a dozen huge sacks of oats and barley, and ten of the big, hard-rinded cheeses Evander bought from the miller and a dairy in the village. She’d sun-dried all the peas, beans, apples and pears they had left from the garden and gathering, and had immersed the berries in crocks of honey, which he’d told her would keep them from spoiling. He’d woven the tops of the wild garlic they’d gathered and made a large wreath of it. They’d even have some fresh vegetables for a while, as several heads of kale filled one shelf, and bunches of carrots and wild onions filled another bin.
“Definitely enough flower coffee,” she said as she checked the sack she’d filled with dried dandelion stalks to roast and make his favorite morning brew.
They’d squirreled away enough food to remain self-sufficient, Rachel decided. What would happen when bad weather arrived, and neither of them could leave the cottage, still troubled her.
She wanted to comfort Evander, and she suspected sex would make both of them feel much better—the fantasy-sharing had been frankly amazing—but that wasn’t a reason to become lovers. The image of the grave in Evander’s mind made it clear that he was still mourning Fiona. He also openly avoided touching Rachel whenever he was in the cottage.
Obviously the fourteenth century wasn’t the ideal time to have unprotected sex, either. She might become pregnant, and the last thing she wanted was to have a baby in a time when half the women who did died in childbirth. That dilemma also made her wonder how he and Fiona had managed to avoid pregnancy.
That night Evander didn’t show up at the cottage until late. He thanked her for the stew she warmed up for him, but looked almost annoyed when she sat down with him.
“May I ask you something?” she said. He only shrugged in reply. “Did you and Fiona plan on having children?”
Evander almost choked, and had to clear his throat twice before he could reply.
“Fiona’s mother died giving birth to her, and she feared the same would happen to her. She didnae want them.”
Now for the even trickier question. “How do you avoid that in this time?”
“There are potions and herbs,” he said, not seeming at all offended now. “Fiona wasnae obliged to use them. I cannae sire a bairn.”
Rachel felt a little stunned. “How do you know that you can’t?”
Images of violence and death filled his mind before his thoughts turned to a wall of bleak, dark despair.
“’Twas taken from me.”
Rachel excused herself, and went to tidy up the kitchen as she tried to process what she had glimpsed. The strongest image had been of groups of Roman soldiers moving along the shore of a lake, and using their short, ugly swords to slash the throats of other men dressed in furs and hides. She couldn’t see Evander anywhere on either side, and then she realized why: she had been seeing the event through his eyes. That he had witnessed such a horrific massacre made her feel sick. Had he been injured? Was that why he couldn’t father a child?
Evander brought his dishes in to wash them, and then immediately went out to the barn. She considered going after him to talk about Fiona and the letter again, and maybe even find out when he had fought Roman soldiers, but she could feel a strong, constant pulse of frustration coming from him. She didn’t know why, but she certainly didn’t want to provoke him into losing his temper again.
“So I’ll just sit and knit badly for the rest of the night.”
Rachel went into the bedroom to retrieve her work basket, but her heart wasn’t in it. Instead she warmed a pot of water over the fire and took it into her bedroom to wash.
The process of hauling and heating enough water to take a real bath was so labor-intensive that she’d figured out a simpler method based on how the Japanese bathed in her time. First she filled three handled jugs with the warm water, and then stripped and pulled out the low basin she kept under the bed. Stepping into the basin, she wet a washcloth and wiped herself down, then soaped the cloth and scrubbed herself from neck to ankles. Finally she slowly poured water from two jugs over herself, rinsing away the soap. The basin caught all the water she used, and once she dried her body she used it to wash her feet.
The third jug of water she reserved for washing her hair, which she did while leaning over the basin.
Once she had dressed in the linen shirt Evander had lent her to use as a night gown, she carried the collected wash water to the privy, which occupied a tiny room next to the kitchen. Once she added a scoop of shell lime, she dumped her bath water into the primitive commode, which kept that necessity from becoming too odorous.
After Rachel blew out most of the candles, she climbed into the big bed, and curled up under Evander’s tartan. Every night it took a little longer for her body to warm the linens. By the time winter arrived she might have to seduce the highlander just so she could share his body heat.
Finally Rachel felt comfortable, and slowly drifted off to sleep.
In the world of dreams she found herself standing on the porch of her parents’ beach house in Monterey. Down by the empty boat dock she could see otters cavorting in the water, and smiled a little as she walked down onto the rocky shore. A woman dressed in a flowing dark robe came out of the trees and met her halfway.
“Hello,” Rachel said. Though she knew all their neighbors, she didn’t recognize the woman. “Are you new here?”
“I just arrived a short time back,” the woman said, her Scottish accent sounding almost musical. “’Tis lovely here, by the sea.”
Rachel nodded. “Would you like to come in and have some coffee?”
The other woman shook her head. “I’m no’ long for this place. I’ve another to go to soon.” She looked past Rachel, and her expression turned grim. “He’s come for you, lass.”
Rachel glanced over her shoulder, and saw the tall, handsome man she had married striding toward them, his tennis whites stained with blood and filth.
“How did he find me?”
“Och, you’ve brought him here, havenae you?” the woman said harshly. “You’ve let him stand between you and the man you can truly love.”
“Rache, darling,” David Carver shouted, and spread out his arms. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you.”
Her stomach knotted as she saw the long, bloody knife he held in one fist. She tried to run, but her legs wouldn’t move.
“You get away from me, David.”
“Can’t do that, babe,” he chided, and
picked up his pace to a fast trot. “I need your billions. I need you dead. Why aren’t you rotting in the ground yet?”
Rachel looked down to see her legs turning into tree trunks, and her feet sprouting roots that spread out and sank into the soil.
“That man stole your family and your wealth and your life,” the robed woman said. “Will you give him your heart as well?”
In another moment he would be on top of her, and Rachel couldn’t tear her eyes from him.
“No. He took everything from me.”
“No’ all. Give him what I never could, lass.” The woman retreated back into the trees.
Rachel wrenched at her legs, but now she had become an oak tree from the waist down.
“Go ahead,” she told her husband as he reached her. “I’d rather die than feel you touch me again, you son of a bitch.”
“Is that any way to talk about my mother? Come on, Rache. You’re my wife, at least until death do us part.” He caressed her cheek before he moved around behind her, and touched her back. “So please, just shut up and die.”
“Go to hell, David.”
As the tip of the knife touched her back Rachel finally uprooted herself and fell forward, plunging into a cold darkness. She collapsed onto a woven mat, her whole body shaking, and then a door flung open and strong hands lifted her. She smashed her fists against him as she fought to get free, and then he put her on the bed and wrapped his arms around her, controlling her struggles.
“Rachel, ’tis me,” he said and brushed her hair back from her face. “I have you.”
She froze, her eyes adjusting to the darkness enough to see Evander’s face. He had her pressed against his bare chest. It felt so good to be touched again she almost wept.
“Evander,” Rachel said, her voice shaky. She slid her hands up around his neck and pressed her cheek against his shoulder as she tried to control the tremors of fear racking her body. “Oh, god, I had the worst nightmare.”
“’Tis over now.” He eased her back against the pillows. “I’ll fetch some wine. ’Twill help calm you.”
“Please,” she said and clutched his arm. She wriggled over to make room for him. “Don’t leave me alone.”
Though he hesitated, Evander eventually stretched out beside her, folding her in his arms, and pulling her atop his chest.
“What did you dream? Was it about your husband?”
She nodded, and as her cheek rubbed against his tattoos she felt a shimmer of heat bloom against her skin.
“David was going to stab me in the back again. I couldn’t get away. My legs turned into trees and rooted themselves.” She realized how ridiculous that sounded, but at least he didn’t laugh at her. “Do you have nightmares like that?”
“No’ since you came.” The big hand stroking her back moved up to rub the back of her neck. “I do dream of you now and again.”
She certainly knew that, but she couldn’t admit it. Rachel lifted her head to look at him, but the darkness hid his expression.
“What happens in your dreams?”
“This.”
He tugged her up and brought her lips to his.
Rachel had forgotten how much she missed kissing. David had preferred to hug her or press his lips to the top of her head or the back of her hand. The last time she’d been kissed properly had been during her college days, when she’d sneak her boyfriend into her dorm room for a furtive make-out session before her roommate came back from class.
Evander didn’t kiss like a college boy.
He nudged her lips apart for his tongue and tasted her, and then rolled over, tucking her under him as he cradled her face and razed her mouth. He kissed her as if it might be the last time he ever did, with so much passion and intensity that it felt like they were already having sex. She felt a flush burn down her throat and into her breasts, which throbbed frantically against the solid wall of his chest. When he shifted against her she parted her thighs, and groaned into his mouth as she felt the press of his thick, hard erection.
“Aye,” he said as he lifted his head. “Like that I kiss you, over and again, until you shiver under me as you do now.”
Was she trembling? All she felt was heat and hard man on top of her, and the hot, dark smell of him was better than chocolate.
“You should dream for us both.” Again, she added silently.
He touched her lips with his fingers, tracing the damp curves.
“’Tis only how it begins. When I’ve stolen the breath from you, I strip you bare and put my hands on your lovely little breasts.”
If he didn’t do that soon Rachel thought she might explode into climax just from the kissing.
“Would you…show me how you do that?”
Evander tore open the old shirt, exposing her bare breasts and the tight beads of her nipples. She arched her back as he caressed one mound and then the other, cupping one to knead the weight of her while he teased her peak with his circling thumb. His hands felt so good on her that she went completely wet between her thighs.
“Your soft skin against my hot flesh makes me honest,” he muttered, fondling her as he watched her face. “While I caress you, I tell you of the desires I’ve hid from you.”
Rachel felt a pang of guilt. She knew what he wanted, without him saying a word, but that confession could wait a little longer. She wanted hear him say it.
“What are they?”
“That you torment me so sweetly,” Evander said, his voice going deep. “That I grow hard whenever I smell the sweetness of you, or hear your laughter, or watch the candlelight dance in your eyes. How much I long to see you naked and eager for me, here in this bed. The way I want to lick your pretty little quim before I put myself in you. Then to work in you long and hard, until you take your pleasure, and I flood you with my come.”
Rachel moved under him until the thick ridge of his shaft pressed directly against her sex, and rolled her hips to rub herself on him.
“And then do I say, yes, please, Evander?”
“No, lass,” he sighed and touched his brow to hers. “That is when I wake up, and put my hand on my rod, and spill on my belly like a lad.” He kissed her again, and then rolled away. “I shouldnae speak of it.”
His complex emotions filled Rachel, who tried to sort them out. He despised himself for admitting that he came just from dreaming about her, and for desiring her that much. He still felt betrayed by Fiona, and yet guilty that he wanted another woman. The old, hard feelings toward all women had gone, but he still distrusted her gender. More than anything he thought she was still damaged from what David had done, and that he might be seducing her into something she didn’t want.
Rachel was stunned by his last thought, for it was the strongest of all. He hadn’t acted on his desires because he was afraid of hurting her.
“You’re right. You shouldn’t talk about it. You should do it.” Determined now, Rachel rose up onto her knees, and pulled the torn shirt over her head. “I’m not a dream, Evander. I’m right here, and I want you.”
Evander climbed off the bed, and left the room before she could say another word. Rachel flopped back on the bed, feeling as if she might shriek her frustration, and then saw him return with a glowing lamp.
“I wish to see you,” he said quietly.
He set the lamp beside the bed, and then took off his trousers, revealing the rest of his long, perfectly-muscled body. At first Rachel couldn’t take her eyes off his swollen erection, but then she saw the faint scars gleaming all over his torso, arms and legs.
“What happened to you?” she whispered as she reached out to touch the widest, shiniest scar.
He glanced down at himself before he moved his shoulders.
“I have always been a warrior. ’Tis a hard life.”
When he joined her on the bed she saw the primitive tattoo covering his chest take on a faint, dark blue glimmer, which distracted her from his scars.
“Your ink glows in the dark,” she murmured as she gently trac
ed the curve of one sphere.
“Do you think it unsightly?” he asked as he pulled her closer.
He was actually worried that she didn’t care for it. To answer him she pressed her lips to the crossbar between the two circles.
Evander dragged her up and covered her mouth with his. He kissed her lips apart and stroked her tongue with his so hungrily that Rachel felt as if she were melting into him. His fingers tangled in her hair, and his arm clamped hard across her back. When he toppled over with her, his hands went everywhere as he wedged his hips between her legs.
He shifted her thighs up around him as he pressed his thick cockhead against her, parting her and penetrating her with a single jerk of his hips. She thought he might ram into her, but he stopped and gripped her hands, bringing them to his mouth to kiss her fingertips.
“You make me a lad again,” he said as he braced himself on one elbow. Then he slid his other hand under her bottom, holding her still as he pushed in another inch. “Dinnae hold me out. Let me come into you.”
“I want to.” It had been so long since she’d had sex, however, that even with the slickness of her arousal she felt too tight to take him. “It’s just that you’re so big, and I’m…a wee wisp of a wench.”
Evander’s expression softened. “So you are, lass.” He turned onto his side, and tugged her against him, lifting her leg to rest on his hip. He reached down to wedge his bulbous tip between her folds. “There, now. ’Tis no reason to hurry. We’ve the night. We can enjoy just this.”
Rachel couldn’t believe he was holding back for her. She could feel how much he needed to be inside her.
“Not for the whole night, I hope.”
“We’ve naught else to do,” he chided.
She trailed her fingers over his ink, and shifted closer until she could press her breasts against him. Feeling that thick wall of muscle on her tightly puckered nipples made her eyelids grow heavy.