by Dee Brice
Instead of looking shocked by her threat, he seemed amused. “After I have filled your juicy quim, I shall not mind,” he said, the truth of his words shining from his eyes.
She tried to ignore her quim tightening with excitement rather than dread. With a disdainful sniff, she turned her back on him.
The Days led her away, moving gracefully despite their collective bulk. All were near term, all but one expecting her second child by Arnaud de Vesay. Just looking at their swollen bellies renewed her outrage at the man responsible—dead or not. He hadn’t cared enough about these women or his own children to stay safe and come home.
Upon reaching her rooms, the Days reintroduced themselves and chatted about their children as they removed her clothes. She felt dazed, as if all this were happening to someone else. When Marget, the woman she’d seen at the cottage, slid a gown so sheer it hid nothing over Diane’s head, she gripped the woman’s wrists and clung to the only solid object she could reach.
“Do not worry, m’lady,” Marget soothed, guiding Diane to the wooden chest at the foot of the bed. “It may hurt a bit at first, but if Adrian is as skilled a lover as Arnaud…” Seeming truly upset by saying her dead lover’s name, she gulped a breath. “You shall find great pleasure.”
“Arnaud,” said the youngest-looking Day—Taite, if Diane remembered correctly, “was hung like a bull.”
“A stallion,” Fenella contradicted, then giggled. The rest of the Days—Wilda, Tully and Suma—joined in the laughter.
A gentle smile on her face, Marget pressed Diane to sit on the chest and began to comb out her now-unbraided hair.
Bemused, Diane said, “It’s not the size of Adrian’s sword so much as how he’ll wield it.” The sudden silence had her scrambling for a reason she might know such a thing. “Or so I’ve heard.”
Hellfire and damnation! She had no idea if she was still a virgin in this life or not. And if not, would Adrian notice? And if he noticed, would he throw her out? And if he did toss her out, would he at least pleasure her first?
Her jumbled thoughts made her laugh out loud. The Days looked puzzled but smiled as they continued preparing her and the bed for Adrian’s arrival. Inhaling, she caught the faint aromas of cloves and nutmeg rising from the bed along with rosemary-scented rushes strewn over the floor. Believing them infested with vermin and nest-building rats no matter how fresh, she would have forgone the rushes. Perhaps once the Days left she could gather them up and dump them…where? Down the privy hole, where no amount of water would carry them away? Where the rotten stench would blend with that of shit and—
On the verge of hysterics, she bent over her knees. Her hair drooped all around her, reminding her of all the trouble the Days had gone to trying to make her presentable for her husband.
Straightening, she swept her hair back over her shoulders and gave Marget an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”
“No reason to apologize, m’lady. You are nervous—as were we all the first time.” Drawing the comb through Diane’s hair one last time, she added, “There now. A more beautiful a bride a man could never hope to find in his bed.”
“Thank you,” Diane mumbled.
“It is we who thank you. Allowing us to return to the castle and bring our children with us. We had heard such awful—” Her face red, Marget squeezed Diane’s shoulder, an apology of sorts. “We did not expect such kindness, such compassion.”
Having seen wariness bordering on hatred on her own people’s faces, grateful tears filled Diane’s eyes. Not that those other people were hers. But these women seemed genuinely grateful for an act that had cost her so little yet brought them such happiness… Nodding, smiling through her tears, she swiped them away.
The Days took their leave. Marget held out a linen square. Taking it, Diane dabbed her cheeks as an odd sense of peace settled over her.
Perhaps bringing the Days back to the castle was why she was here. Now. Perhaps she had needed to learn that kindness and compassion needn’t happen on a grand scale like…oh, donating all her royalties to charity. The realization felt like an “ah-ha!” moment. It also felt right. Had some power sent her here so she could learn how to be a better person? Nothing else fit or made any kind of sense. Seizing the excuse as if it were her sole lifeline, she wanted to do a Snoopy dance, but stayed seated.
A soft laugh bubbled in her chest. Not that her royalties were all that much. But they gave her a comfortable life. Her old life. Would she ever return to it?
Laughter, deep and loud, alerted her to Adrian’s approach. She forced herself to stand, considered climbing into bed and pretending to sleep but stood her ground instead. Sooner or later he would have to learn that she would take her place at his side, not behind him like some page carrying his master’s sword.
When the door crashed open, however, she took a startled step backward. There Adrian stood, silhouetted by torchlight, clad only in his slops and one sagging long hose.
Afraid he was drunk, she focused on his face. A little flushed, true, but his eyes were clear and intent upon her breasts. Just that narrow concentration sent heat to her pussy and pearled her already aching nipples.
Dear God, it had been so long since a man had held her, made love to her. The need coursing through her weakened her knees. Only the thought that she would be having sex with another woman’s husband kept her upright. Upright and sidestepping to the garderobe door.
“Get into bed, milord. I’ll join you soon.”
“Hurry.”
Her lungs felt too empty, her legs too weak. Somehow she found the strength to slip through the door then close it behind her.
A piece of furniture that had not been there a few hours earlier stood against the far wall. The frame was ornately curved iron. She lifted the velvet cloth cover off the seat to peer inside. A removable brass basin rested within. With some trepidation she lowered the lid, restored the velvet cloth then plopped down. Ignoring thoughts of time slipping away, she considered the man in her bed growing more impatient by the second. Her own body seemed to share that impatience, which made thinking even more difficult.
Tough. She had decisions to make. The most important being whether to commit adultery or not. Sighing, she supposed sleeping with Adrian, having sex with Adrian, wasn’t adultery. After all they had married a few hours ago. But how would the real Diane de Vesay feel if she came back and learned her husband had had sex with another woman? She wouldn’t like it at all. But then her first husband had had six mistresses—women she’d booted out without regret.
Her mixing her life with Diane de Vesay’s made her dizzy. She forced herself to focus on the here and now. Like it or not, she might be stuck here. Wouldn’t it be nicer—for her anyway—to share Adrian’s bed? Take pleasure from his body?
What about Walker?
Tempting as she might find him, she refused to cuckold Adrian. Decision made, she rose. She would go to her husband and be the best wife she could be.
The room started to shake. Bracing herself on the fancy latrine, she sent a panicked question heavenward. Did I make the wrong choice? Should I have run away or gone to a nunnery instead?
The latrine shook harder. Darkness swirled all around her. Stifling her screams with her fist, she fought to remain conscious. The vortex consumed her then swept her away.
* * * * *
I must have passed out, she thought, regaining consciousness. Stretching tentatively, she felt her heart stall then race on like a rocket launching into outer space. Somehow she’d made it home, to the exact place she’d left.
As she had that lifetime ago, she reached out, intending to shut off her computer. Her flashing cursor demanded that she look at the screen.
Large black letters flashed as well.
The End
Of what?
Chapter Six
Belleange, Yorkshire
Present day
Picking himself off the floor, Walker glared at Adrian. “What the bloody hell just happened?”
/> Adrian righted himself in his chair. “How the bloody hell do I know? Last thing I remember is getting into bed and waiting for Diane to join me.” He supposed they’d had a rougher than usual ride through the vortex—a ride neither he nor Walker had expected. Kronos playing games again or some other Master toying with them?
“Then you didn’t…bed her?”
Amused by Walker’s oddly restrained phrasing, Adrian laughed. “Not that I remember. Did you?”
Walker shot him an impatient look, then swore. “I see Kronos’ hand in our sudden amnesia.”
Nice to have my suspicions validated, Adrian thought. “Why would he involve himself? Limit our recollection?”
“Because he can,” Walker snapped, striding to the sideboard in Adrian’s ancestral office.
From medieval times to the present, earls and stewards reviewed estate matters and went over accounts in this space. Nowadays the massive desk housed a computer and printer. The sideboard contained the rewards for work well done—brandy, gin and well-aged scotch. This close to the border with Scotland, Adrian had established a tradition, making scotch his first beverage when he returned home.
Walker handed him a glass half-filled with rich, amber liquid. The peaty aroma made Adrian’s mouth water. The first sip went down as smoothly as cold spring water on a hot summer day. Warmth spread from his belly to his chest.
“Ahhh,” he sighed.
“We’re not where we started,” Walker said, his scowl blaming Adrian for their displacement. “Not in the Lake District.” He seemed to need confirmation, as if starting in one location and returning to another had never before happened to him.
Knowing it had never happened to him, Adrian drew a breath for courage, then said, “Do you remember any of what we just lived through? I didn’t at the time, but now I seem to recall every minute. I had no idea who I am…who we are. I was just Adrian de Vesay, medieval nobleman.” Besides, they were where they’d been with Diane.
“In our previous missions, we were there to help others find happiness. Any joy we found for ourselves was simply our…misfortune since none of it lasted. For us, at any rate. Do you think Diane is the woman we are destined… No. Not that harridan.” Raking his hands through his hair, he paced the room.
Resisting the urge to contradict his mentor, Adrian held his tongue. He had few doubts that Diane was indeed important to any future happiness he and Walker might find. All they had to do was locate her and convince her. And if modern Diane was anything like her medieval counterpart, they had a devil of a time in store.
“Do you suppose…” Walker glanced at the computer, his expression somewhere between hope and abhorrence. “Never mind.”
Knowing his friend had never gotten the hang of modern technology—in fact seemed to consider it a form of witchcraft—Adrian insisted Walker complete his thought. “Suppose, what?”
“That Diane is a guest here? Or is wandering about somewhere on the grounds? After all, we’re here.”
Adrian snorted. “We don’t even know if she’s alive in this time, let alone conveniently at hand.
“Thanks to Kronos!” Walker, heaving a heavy sigh, let his gaze drift from the computer to Adrian then back. Taking the not-so-subtle hint, Adrian sat at his desk then checked the guest list for Adventures in Time—Belleange. His and Walker’s solution to maintaining their ancestral estates had resulted in their becoming hoteliers.
“Not registered at any of our properties,” he reported, noting Walker’s somewhat distressed look. “Doesn’t mean she isn’t somewhere else.” He keyed her name into an internet search engine, leaning back as the search wheel went ‘round and ‘round. Walker alternately hovered at his shoulder or stared out the window.
Unwilling to believe her dead—Kronos would not have sent them back to meet her if they would never meet her again…would he? Adrian said, “What do you remember about her?”
“Aside from wanting to fuck her?” Walker flashed a brief grin. “She wasn’t as horrible as I remembered. Once I remembered her at all—which happened just as we arrived here. Once more, thanks to Kronos!” He went on as if driven by forces outside himself. “I…almost liked her. I had neither love nor respect for Arnaud. Given time, I would have persuaded Diane to cuckold him and not regretted that betrayal for a moment. But you? Without a blatant invitation from your wife…” He looked away, clearly embarrassed by his confession. “Until now, even while living in the past, I could remember this life.”
Needing to ease Walker’s embarrassment, Adrian offered his own impressions. “Now that I can also remember her…she seemed more compassionate. I never expected her to allow the Days to remain on Belleange land. Bringing them and the children into the castle…” He shrugged.
“Surprised me too. I wish we could remember what happened after we were all together.” With an uncharacteristic display of anxiety, Walker raked one hand through his hair as he slumped against the window frame.
“Something else seemed different. That haughtiness I now remember from our first time with her…this time it seemed as if she wanted to hide her emotions. Whatever they were. I’d have expected her to…well, show more jubilation at putting one over on us.” He looked at Walker for confirmation. “Especially since that’s what we intended to do to her—take her down a peg or two. Teach her humility.” This time, however, that hadn’t been part of their plan. In truth, he couldn’t remember having a plan. Other than keeping her dowry and taking her to bed.
“Yes. Almost as if she were afraid of us. Almost. Why would she fear us?”
As if the repetition had reached into the computer and demanded her presence, her name appeared on the screen. “Look at this,” Adrian demanded, grateful he needn’t answer and tilting the screen so Walker could see. “Diane de Bourgh, fifteenth century, eighteenth century and twenty-first century.”
Walker stared at the screen. Adrian stared at the flashing cursor and thought about tempting fate. A simple double click might reveal his and Walker’s past lives with her—if they’d had any others than what they’d just lived through. Or those other women might be someone else. He selected twenty-first century and held his breath.
There she was—their Diane. Glasses perched on the end of her nose, short curls rioting around her face, her smile almost reluctant, as if the photographer had caught her off guard.
“Alive,” Walker muttered, somehow making the word sound aggrieved.
“Real.” Adrian clicked on the link to her website. There they were, he and Walker, on the cover of her upcoming historical romance Noble Warriors.
Ever practical Walker said, “Did we get paid for this,” he waved his hand at the computer, “photo? Sign releases?”
“Yes and yes. Surely you recall volunteering to donate to cancer research. So why ask now?”
“Our faces. We’ll be the laughingstock of Parliament.”
“Only in the Commons. I doubt the Lords would admit their wives and daughters read novels of that kind.”
Walker’s sudden grin startled Adrian, it was so rare. “Ah but do they?”
Falling silent, they stared at the picture of Diane.
“Real and alive,” Adrian said at last, looking up at Walker. “Do you want to meet her, here and now? Will it change our past? Maybe reveal more of what we can’t remember?”
Walker shrugged. “I’ve never before relived one of my own past lives. That I remember at any rate. The question is do we want to meet her now?”
“Yes we do. Don’t deny it, my friend. I wouldn’t have searched for her if you hadn’t made me.”
Walker cocked one eyebrow but didn’t correct him. “How do we get her here?”
“The more reasonable approach would be for us to go to her in the States.”
“There isn’t an address—not even a city where she lives. Her publisher knows but is unlikely to tell us. An email might frighten her. She’d never agree to meet strangers, even if she recognized our names and faces.”
“
Okay, we need a plan.” Preferably one that would not require flying or sailing across the pond. “One that will bring her to us.”
Sipping scotch, they once more lapsed into silence.
* * * * *
San Francisco, California
Present day
Ohmigod.
Sometime between being swept away and regaining consciousness at home, she’d written a synopsis for a time travel story. Scary as that was, she’d emailed the proposal to her editor and had already received approval. And while she could recall every moment of her time in the twelfth century, she could not remember typing anything about it.
Selective amnesia? Or a sign of early dementia? Her great-great-aunt Catherine had had that. Of course the old lady had only gone dotty in her nineties. Still, one more thing for Diane to worry about.
Huffing out a sigh, she thought about calling her editor and asking about the two men on her Noble Warriors cover. Upon further consideration, she decided not to. No sense making Jackie think Diane had lost her mind. She’d check out the internet first, ask Jackie for the models’ names only if she couldn’t find the guys on her own.
Fingers poised over the keyboard, her brain froze. Which one should she check out first? Walker or Adrian? de Vesay or Mornay? She swore to herself and typed Belleange, not knowing why. Because it was a place and might have fallen apart over the centuries? Hoping she wouldn’t find it at all except as a footnote in some historic tome?
There it was. A breath-stealing structure that managed to encompass all its parts. It began as a rather primitive, square-towered, moat-surrounded medieval castle then became a Tudor-era manor house. Still later someone had remodeled it into a graceful Georgian mansion. Yet it all still stood. At least she could see pieces of its ancestry in the pictures on the website. She could even take a virtual tour, book a room in any or all of its historic periods.
Been there, done that. At least the oldest part of it.
Praying she could avoid another journey through time, she clicked on the home page. There they were. Both tall, both too handsome for any woman’s peace of mind. Even their names were the same. To her utter shock, her book cover took up considerable space on the page, as did an explanation as to how they’d been chosen for the cover. While other noblemen could trace their ancestry back to the Tudors, theirs were documented all the way back to William the Conqueror.
