ALLEVIATE (The Portals of Time Book 2)

by Jackie Ivie

Her legs locked tightly about him. She grabbed his shoulders with such strength, the move lifted her. Soft breasts smashed into his chest. Non-rhythmic tremors scored her frame in a palsied fashion. Her legs locked tightly about him throughout. Her cry ended. Everything about her softened. She eased back to the nest of blankets beneath her.

  And then she smiled.

  He’d been mistaken. She wasn’t just sweet. She was nemdae – absolute heaven. Her release sent fuel to his every muscle. A shot of power to his loins. His thrusts increased. Over and over. Again and again. And she started matching him again.

  The pressure at his back scorched him. Heat accompanied every shove. Faster. Harder. Her sighs began again. Built. Went to keening level. She screamed again.

  And Morrigan exploded.

  A bolt of lightning crashed through the croft, or something similarly massive. Flames burst within the fire-pit, sending light and heat. Unbidden emotion stabbed at his eyes at the uncontainable ecstasy filling him. The release intensified. Morrigan shoved his head back, gritted his teeth, and shuddered, his body propelled through all manner of wonder. Elation. Solid bliss. Heavy, thick heartbeats accompanied each pulsation of pleasure, the sound solid. Harsh. Strong.

  And then it was over.

  Strength faded almost instantly. Morrigan panted. Bent his head. Looked into her eyes. His heart jerked. She had such soulful dark eyes! Deep and mysterious. Luminous right now with the gloss of tears that threaded down her cheeks. His arms trembled in warning. He collapsed on his side next to her, saving her from his weight. He hoped his weakness wasn’t apparent as he lifted his head and propped it atop an arm that shook.

  “Oh. Wow,” she whispered.

  The words carried the same awed tone she’d used before. She turned her face toward him. Her expression matched. His heart was still hammering within his chest, each breath difficult to gain, but he managed a smile.

  Elena lifted a finger and used it to trace the indentations of his abdomen muscles until she reached mid-chest. Right next to his heart. Her lashes lowered. She caught her lower lip beneath her teeth. His body gave a slight jerk.

  “And to think...I used to hate Christmas,” she told him.

  “You...did?”

  He had to clear his throat mid-sentence, but his voice worked. He had strength enough for that. The rest of him was still in a state of euphoria. Adrift on a cushion of comfort. Replete. He couldn’t even stop a jaw-stretching yawn.

  “Never mind. It’s...a long story.”

  She flashed a smile up at him. The move released her lip. His heart not only skipped a beat, it twisted in place. But that was fanciful. He was imagining things.

  “We can talk...tomorrow. We need rest. And I think you’ve earned yours.”

  That was supremely pleasurable. But he had to say something first. Something he’d never said before.

  “Elena?” he asked.

  “Yes?”

  “Would you do me the honor...of accepting my hand in wedlock?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The sizzle of something frying woke her. The mouth-watering smell of bacon came a moment later. Elena smiled. Stretched, feeling the hard surface beneath her as her shoulders and butt arched into it. This camping stuff could get addictive. Maybe it was the fresh air. She’d rarely felt so energized. Alive.

  Healthy.

  And that had to have been the best dream of her life.

  “Ah. You’ve awakened.”

  Elena gasped, grabbed the covering to her breasts and sat up. Her eyes went so wide the feeling of air hurt. Her mouth dropped next. The impossible sight of Morrigan was crouched just beyond the foot of the bedding. There was a metal contraption above his fire-pit. Several long-handled hooks splayed from it. Some of them held cast-iron pots. He’d been stirring something in the largest one. He had a skirt-thing wrapped about his hips. It wasn’t hiding much. He was easily as gorgeous as she’d first thought, and entirely as physically ripped.

  All this? And he cooked, too? Her lips twitched at the instant thought. She stifled it.

  “You hungry?” he asked.

  “For bacon? Oh, yeah. Anytime.”

  He frowned, but a second later his expression cleared. “Ah. You speak of the meat. No. No bacon this morn. This is pork fat.”

  “You’re cooking pork fat? For...breakfast?”

  Yuck.

  He read her expression accurately. “This is the beginnings of a stew. It will last us some time. Days.”

  Days?

  In here?

  Alone with him?

  Oh. No way.

  “I made porridge.”

  “Porridge?” she asked.

  “Aye.”

  What the heck was in porridge?

  “You wish a mug?”

  He lifted an arm over his head without looking and pulled down a really large cup. The move displayed nicely muscled pecs and washboard abs. Well-formed biceps. Her mouth went dry. Despite that, Elena tried to swallow. This was insane. But nice. No. She mustn’t think that. This was bad. She should probably watch what he was doing, rather than ogle him. She moved her focus to the wall behind him. It wasn’t easy.

  Ah.

  On the wall to the right of his fire-pit, there was an array of items. Most of them hung from hooks. A couple of pans were at the bottom. Long-handled spoons were above that. Knives. Long, two-tined forks. Some mugs toward the top. He had quite the compact kitchen in this corner. She hadn’t noticed that last night.

  Then again...she hadn’t noticed much beyond him.

  How was it possible for a guy to be this good-looking? He hadn’t even combed his hair. The shoulder-length mass of it only added to his appeal. Blonde locks looked reddish with the firelight’s glow behind him. It matched the slight scruff of whiskers on his jaw. He didn’t have much chest hair, and that was unfair. The guy even had a distinctive happy trail. Starting right above his belly-button, and drawing the eye downward to all kinds of...

  Crap.

  She needed to get her mind on something else. She just didn’t know how.

  Morrigan scooted alongside his hearth, moving to give his attention to a smaller pot. He stirred it before lifting a spoonful of off-white-colored muck. It looked about the texture of grits mixed with lumps of something. That must be porridge. It was steaming hot. That might be why his skin glistened as he just crouched there, waiting for her, looking like a flesh-colored Grecian statue. He’d tied the kilt-thing low at his left hip. The resultant opening gave her a spectacularly good view of legs. Really muscled thighs. A lot of shadowy area above that. This was a fantasy come to life. It had to be. Morrigan was unbelievable. Making love with him had been even more so...

  Damn it, Elena.

  “Um. I’m more...in need of a bathroom,” she said.

  His eyebrows drew down, making little lines. He settled the spoon of porridge back into the pot.

  “Uh...restroom facilities? Water-closet? Toilet? Oh. What am I thinking? This is seventeen ninety, isn’t it? Indoor plumbing isn’t around yet. And even if it was...”

  Your hovel wouldn’t have it.

  She bit her tongue to prevent the last bit. She looked to the left of her toward the bare bench thing. It had a base of solid wood planking beneath it; probably storage. She swiveled to the right and craned her head to take in the table and stool beneath it. Then she arched backward, looking over her head at the door. The wrinkled and stained mass of fabric that had been her attire. The same material he’d cut from her body...

  Damn it.

  Even viewed upside down, the scene was a reminder. It sent an itch to her lower belly. And that somehow moved to the rest of her. Her skin felt really dry. Almost scaly. She absently rubbed at an arm as she looked back at him. She rubbed the covering against the other arm. It didn’t help. She still felt itchy. That was weird.

  There was a definite flush on his lower cheeks. And she was being bitchy. That was uncalled for. The man had saved her last night, even if he didn’t have backbone en
ough to handle Cedric and assume leadership. What was it to her? They’d just met. He didn’t mean anything...nor did the twinge that went through her chest as she thought it.

  So Morrigan lacked intestinal fortitude. That wasn’t the primary reason she’d declined his declaration last night. No. It was because she was in a time warp.

  There.

  She’d given it a name. That meant she had to accept it.

  Elena swallowed with a painful motion. She couldn’t escape the fact of her current reality. She really had gone through a time portal. She didn’t know how. She didn’t know why. She didn’t know if it was permanent, or how much time she had.

  Wow.

  She didn’t know much.

  “Um. It’s no biggie...Morrigan.” Double crap. Saying his name sent shivers. That was another bad sign in a world of them.

  “Big...gie?” he asked, splitting the word.

  “I mean...I was already camping. This is just a bit more...uh...”

  Archaic.

  They probably didn’t have toilet tissue. She’d just have to make do. She could always rip a bit off her petticoat. She had miles of fabric she could use.

  “You refer to your need to...uh...” He stopped. The flush on his lower jaw went darker. More pronounced.

  Elena dropped her eyes. Now, she was blushing. “Um. Yeah. You probably have an outhouse. Yes?”

  “The women have a spot they use. I can show you.”

  “No. Please. I think I can probably find it.” I sure hope I can. Anything else would be too embarrassing. “I think I’ll just...”

  She lifted the fur he’d placed over them with last night. Before he’d pulled her close. Fallen asleep. She needed to move her thought process. This was really getting annoying. She still wore her chemise slip thing. It wasn’t much cover. Her hair was going to need work. Washing. A lot of combing. Looked like the beginnings of dreadlocks. But she still had a magnificent bosom.

  She pulled the fur back and held it in place beneath her arms.

  “I have a shirt you might be able to use. For now.”

  Morrigan rose and walked past her. She didn’t have a choice. She had to watch him. Elena swiveled, taking the covering with her. He lifted the pack he’d crammed things into last night, pulled out a length of material that would probably reach her ankles, and tossed it atop his shoulder.

  “And I think I can fashion something for your feet.”

  “My feet?”

  “You do not have shoes. Or boots.”

  Oh. Weird.

  She hadn’t even noticed that last night.

  He pulled a ball of twine from his pack, and then two circular fur things that looked like long muffs. He certainly had packed some interesting things. Then he turned back and walked toward her. The kilt was above knee-length. It was showing off a lot of skin. He was a lot of male. And she had a one-track mind this morning. She needed to get her thoughts on something besides the gorgeous and masculine Morrigan. But everything fought her! He even slipped the fabric off his shoulder with what looked like a sensual gesture. It dropped onto the fur beside her. The ball of twine followed. Worse yet was when he followed, going to his knees before her, and altering just about everything. Elena focused on the span of neck beneath his chin. Tried to ignore the rest of him.

  “I need your foot.”

  He held out one of the muffs. Elena slid a foot toward him. Well. Apparently she still wore the thigh-high woven stockings. Although one was twisted just above the ankle. That had probably happened some time during the amazing love-making session from last night...

  Crap.

  Elena!

  She almost voiced it. She really needed to move her mind to something else. Anything else. He snagged her foot and moved it toward his lap. Settled it atop a thigh. It figured she’d have perfectly formed, tiny feet. Really shapely legs, too. She was the epitome of feminine glory in this incarnation...matched for some reason with a magnificent specimen of maleness. They were secluded in a one-room cabin. Warm. Safe. Private. With little to do except...

  Stop it, Elena.

  This wasn’t her body. This wasn’t her life. This wasn’t even possible.

  But it sure was nice.

  He maneuvered the muff onto her foot. Picked up the sinew ball, found an end, and pulled at a length of it. His arms and chest moved with the motions. Elena caught the sigh, but the catch in her breath was audible. She knew he heard it because he stopped moving for a second. He had about a yard off before he pulled his knife and cut it. Pulled another bit of cording the same length. He draped them across his thighs...where the kilt had gapped again. That position showed off a lot of thigh. It added to the amount of skin he already had on display. He truly had some really nice thighs. Her glance kept roving over how the muscles flexed and moved as he shifted. Even there.

  Elena swallowed. Her ears popped. This was ridiculous. But nowhere was safe to look! Every spot on Morrigan’s body was drool-worthy. Displayed perfectly. Kissed with the glow of firelight. And playing havoc with her intentions.

  He tucked one opening of the fur beneath her arch next, overlapping the ends. He spent a lot of time wrapping the twine about her foot before moving it up her leg. He tied it off at mid-calf. And just like that, she had a makeshift snow-boot. Elena lifted her foot and looked it over. The mass of twine crisscrossed about the bottom of her foot even made a credible sole.

  Wow.

  This was just pretty darn cool.

  “I need your other foot.”

  His voice was a grumble of sound. Elena tried not to react. She really did. But shivers accompanied her movement. It wasn’t her fault. Morrigan was quite the male. With a closetful of attributes, that started with last night’s fantastic lovemaking session and just went from there. He was really well-built. Extremely easy on the eyes. Good with his hands. Inventive. Appeared to be an excellent provider. He even cooked.

  On the negative side was his slight courage flaw, as demonstrated by his refusal to handle Cedric, but hey. No man was perfect. Donald certainly hadn’t been.

  She might need to rethink the marriage proposal thing.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Morrigan finished chopping vegetables into his stewpot. Added water. Moved it to one side of the fire, so it could come to a slow boil, perfect for simmering. Next, he stirred the porridge. Added water. If he kept it hot, added more oats and wheat as needed, water when required, the porridge would also feed them for days. It was bound to be bland, however. Elena was from the New World. She might have different tastes. Morrigan kept hardened honey squares, cinnamon and other spices in a basket in the rafters. He heard a shuffling sound outside the door.

  Ah.

  That would be Elena returning. Morrigan filled a mug with porridge, placed a spoon in it. Stood, and was just lifting the spice basket down when the door burst open. Elena rushed in, resembling a small bear in his coat. She shoved the door closed, yanked the new bolt he’d fashioned into place, and then backed from it. She acted as if she’d been chased.

  “Elena?”

  She turned about. Her face was in shadow, not only from the lack of lighting near the door, but the hood of his coat overhung her face. She glistened everywhere with an accumulation of snowfall.

  “I have porridge for you. Spices. Would you like it at the table?”

  “Do they burn women at the stake around here?”

  He blinked several times with surprise. He still couldn’t see her face, but she’d sounded serious. She started fumbling with the length of twine tied about her waist. Her movements were clumsy. That’s when he noticed how badly she was shaking.

  “Women?” he asked.

  “Yes! Women! Like...do they tie them up, put them on a pile of kindling atop a stake, and then light them afire?”

  Her belt came undone. Morrigan took slow steps toward her, wondering why this felt as if he walked across an ancient slatted-wood bridge. With missing timbers. Where any step could send him plummeting to his death. And h
e’d been blind-folded.

  He set the porridge and basket on the table when he reached it. That put him within arm’s length of her.

  “Innocent women have never been burned,” he finally replied. “At a stake or anywhere else.”

  “Oh! Thank goodness.”

  She sagged, smacking her backside against the door. A moment later she was back upright.

  “Wait a minute. What do you mean innocent?”

  Her voice rose on the last word. She might be angry, but there was something else. Something he sensed. She sounded frightened. This was completely mystifying. His voice reflected it.

  “There have been witch burnings...if that is what you ask,” he replied.

  “What?”

  She screeched it. Morrigan leaned backward at the assault on his ears. She shoved the fur off, twisting and turning, and showing off a lot of woman. Then she flung the coat at him. The move sent her sideways. She nearly lost her footing. That was amusing, but he didn’t show it. He caught the coat easily, despite a showering of melted snow, found the collar, and lifted it to a spike in the rafters so it would dry. She was looking up at him when he’d finished. She was also starting to breathe rapidly, shoving her breasts upward with each one. That was dangerous territory. Morrigan forced his gaze up from her bosom. She’d paled. The contrast of her dark lashes and eyes, as well as the red hue of her lips, were especially vivid.

  “I do not understand, Elena. Did something happen...while you were out there?” His question was hesitant. Low-voiced. Calm. It didn’t match how he felt.

  “Yes. Something happened while I was out there. And I have excellent hearing, Morrigan. I always did. Excellent.”

  “You...heard something?”

  “I found the woman place. There were three of them there.”

  “Women?”

  “Of course, women! I smiled at them. And do you know what they did, Morrigan? Huh?”

  He shook his head.

  “They whispered and called me a witch! And then they made the sign of the cross on their bosoms! And now you tell me they burn people for that?”

  “But, you are not one.”