Time to Love Again

by Speer, Flora

  “More than twelve hundred years,” he said, shaking his head. “So long a time. Yet you are here, and you did appear out of the air, in the blinking of my eye. Perhaps it is true. There might be such a magic, though whether it would be for good or evil, I cannot tell. I want to believe you, India, but this is such a strange story.”

  “I’m not at all surprised if you find it hard to accept,” she told him, much encouraged that he was at least considering what she had said. “I could scarcely believe it myself at first, when my only hope was that Hank would find me quickly and take me home again.”

  “Who is Ahnk?” he demanded.

  “It was his machine,” India said.

  “A man? Is he your lover?” He tossed the medallion onto the table and came toward her with a purposeful step.

  “Of course not. Hank is in love with my best friend.” She stopped talking when he took her shoulders between his hands with a roughness he had never displayed toward her before. Realization dawned on her, and with it a deep joy that canceled her fear that he would reject her if he knew everything. “Are you jealous?”

  “Of everyone who looks at you or speaks to you,” he grated, pulling her toward him. “I am jealous of Marcion, of Hugo, and poor Eudon, and of Osric. I am even jealous of Sister Gertrude. Most of all, I despise this Ahnk, who, from what you say, may take you away from me at any time. India, I want you more than I have ever wanted any woman before, including my dear wife. My passion for you at this moment, when I am not certain whether you are witch or spirit or human as you claim to be, shames me as much as my desire shamed me when I first looked into your eyes and wanted you, even though I thought you were a boy. You cannot know,” he added ruefully, “how relieved I was to mount my horse and put my arm around you and discover you are a woman.”

  “All those nights lying beside you,” she said, remembering each of them, “all those long days, so close together on your horse.”

  “A penance for my many sins,” he murmured, touching his lips to the curve of her throat. “A penance, too, was my decision to wear my chain mail day and night as a barrier between us, until I could ascertain exactly what you are. Without that armor to keep us separated, I would have made you mine the first night we lay together.”

  “Oh, Theuderic.” She could not decide whether to laugh or to cry. She pushed at his chest until he loosened his hold on her and raised his head. She wanted to look into his eyes when he answered her next question. “Do you believe me?”

  “I may be bewitched,” he said. “Or we may both be mad. I could be risking my immortal soul. But yes, I do believe your story, perhaps because I want so very much to believe that you would not lie to me.”

  ‘Theu, I swear to you I am telling the truth. There is no witchcraft involved in my being here, and no madness.”

  He held her eyes with a deep and steady gaze for a moment before he nodded. “Then I have only one more question to ask you tonight,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. With a firm pressure on her shoulders, with one hand sliding down to her hips to guide them forward, he drew her to him. She felt his hard masculine need, as she had seen it earlier by the pool.

  “The answer is yes,” she said, putting her arms around him at last, after so many days of wanting to hold him.

  Once he had her assent, he wasted not a second, immediately taking complete possession of her lips. She had never been kissed like that before. She could not have freed herself from his embrace, even if she had wanted to be free. His arms encircled her, holding her so tightly that she could barely breathe, while his mouth demanded her response.

  Overwhelmed by his desire and her own, she reacted with hungry abandon to a kiss that seared her soul and branded her as his, and his alone. Afterward, she hung fainting in his arms while he kissed her throat and ears and cheeks, until he found her mouth again. There he drank greedily, while her lips and face and neck flamed from his touch, and the tightening of her arms around his neck brought her into ever closer contact with his body. He tugged at the linen shirt she wore, lifting it upward until it was at her waist.

  “Ah, sweet lady, this is what I need.” He stroked her hips, his callused hands against the smooth softness of her skin. One hand slid down between them, across her abdomen and downward, downward…

  With a soft cry of consent, she moved a little to let him feel the moist heat that would tell him how much she wanted him. He lingered there, probing, testing her readiness, driving her half mad with rising desire until she cried and begged him to stop – and, when he obeyed her, begged him not to stop.

  He understood what her nearly incoherent babbling meant. With one long motion he pushed her shirt up and over her head and tossed it onto the bench. Looking at the expanse of pale skin now revealed to him, he expelled a soft breath of admiration.

  “Exquisite.” He placed a hand over each of her breasts, his fingers cupping the high, round firmness. “So delicate, so fragile, and yet you are so strong. See how your breasts stand up hard and proud at my touch. Oh, India, India.” He lowered his mouth to first one and then the other breast, and she began to shake with violent tremors. She clutched at his shoulders for support.

  He knew she could stand no longer. He must have known, without her telling him, for he lifted her as if she weighed nothing at all and carried her to his bed. When he laid her upon it, his hands caressed the length of her body right down to her toes, then upward again, along the inside of both legs, over thigh and hip and upward to her breasts, where he paused for a breath-stopping moment before continuing onward to cup her face in his hands and hold her steady for a sweet, deep kiss. Then he straightened to strip off his tunic and throw it aside. He knelt above her, and although she believed he would not hurt her, she involuntarily, with the concern of a woman who has not known a man for long, empty years, shrank away from his size and his strength.

  “Don’t fear me,” he said. “I only want you to feel as I do.”

  “I’m not afraid.” To prove it to him, she touched his cheek, then laced her fingers through his hair. “I want you so much. Come to me, Theu. Come to me now.” With those words she let one hand trail across his chest, along the fine brown hair that grew there, downward across his taut belly, and lower still, into a tangled mass of brown curls. Her eyes never leaving his, she touched him, deliberately, provocatively. His surprised gasp filled her with delight. She reached farther, deeper into the mat of hair to stroke a smaller, rounded warmth, then slowly drew her fingers out again, stroking, always stroking. He closed his eyes and moaned. Daring to look where her hand caressed, she watched him grow larger and harder. The heat inside her was rapidly becoming unbearable, and only he could quench it.

  ‘Theu, please.” He opened his eyes again.

  “Never have I received such an invitation,” he said in a broken whisper.

  “Accept it,” she begged, “before I die of wanting you.”

  “If you die, I die too,” he told her, his hands separating her legs. With wry humor he added, “Shall we die together?”

  After that she could not utter anything but gasps and moans and, occasionally, his name.

  This was like no lovemaking she had seen in the movies or on television, nor was it in any way similar to what she had experienced in her marriage. Where her husband had always been almost deferential with her, Theu’s loving was a fierce, vigorous assertion of his imperative masculine need, and it was not entirely gentle. Yet there was a tenderness in his actions, as if he assumed that whatever gave him pleasure would please her also.

  He entered her with a swift, hard thrust that shattered her senses, and so strong and urgent was his hunger for her that she wondered if she would survive to rise from his bed when he was done with her. His passionate attack tore her breath from her throat and nearly stopped her heart. Her gasp of amazement when his great size filled her completely made him pause for just an instant.

  “Don’t fight,” he groaned, his eyes silver-pale with passion about to be forcefully
unleashed. “Come with me. I want you with me.”

  She was incapable of speech, nor could she move, because she was fastened to the bed by the weight of his body, impaled on the hot hardness of his desire. There was only one way she could answer him. She lifted her head an inch or so to place her lips on his and gently, delicately, let her tongue slide between his teeth to touch his tongue with the tip of her own.

  With a wild cry, he tore his mouth from hers to renew his passionate onslaught. For an instant she feared he would split her body in two, but then something within her, some deep atavistic longing, awoke to match his fierceness with her own. Urging him onward, she rode the crest of passion with him, wrapping her legs around him to draw him ever deeper into her aching, throbbing center, laughing and crying at once, calling out his name over and over again, Theu, Theu, Theu… until tears and laughter and passion mingled in an explosion that forged them into one ecstatic, rapturous being.

  Nor would he leave her. He stayed within her, moving more gently now, kissing and caressing her with tender hands and mouth, whispering sweet, endearing lover’s nonsense until she had completely recovered her senses. Only then, when she could answer him like a reasoning person again, did he withdraw to lie beside her, gazing at her with deep affection. In the half light of the oil lamp, he was handsome beyond belief, and his hard warrior’s body was a source of wonder to her. He had aroused in her emotions she had never imagined she could feel, and her tenderness toward him was tinged with gratitude for that gift.

  “Never,” she began. He stopped her with a single finger against her lips.

  “Don’t speak,” he whispered. “What lies between us is too strong, too profound for words. And I am a man of action, not a scholar. Let my body speak for me, let my behavior be whatever proof you need of what I feel.”

  She took his hand from her mouth, held it between hers, and kissed each finger and his palm and inner wrist. When she had finished, she laid his hand upon her breast. He pressed downward, his palm against her nipple, and she felt the hardening from the immediate physical contact – felt also, far down in her pelvis, a quickening throb. Even now, when she was completely satisfied by his loving, still, newly awakened passion lay waiting to blossom into heat and beauty once more. He bent his head to suck at her hard nipple, and the inner throb grew stronger.

  He lay back, pulling her across his chest. He drew up the bedclothes, confining them together under the down-filled quilt and blue coverlet, holding her against his heart, rubbing her shoulder affectionately and kissing her brow, and she snuggled against him in warmth and contentment, the fire within her banked, waiting, not yet extinguished. Believing he had fallen asleep, she rested her cheek and one hand on the hair on his chest, waiting till he wakened. She began to drift toward sleep herself.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “Hmmm.” She did not want to move, unless it was to make love again.

  “The stew will be cold, but we can reheat it by the fire.” He stood up, lifting her with him and setting her on her feet. He took the covered bowl from the table and put it into the ashes, then added more wood to the fire, pushing the smoldering logs around until the flame burst forth and caught the new timber. When he straightened, looking across the flames at her with simmering passion in his eyes once more, she tried to cover herself with her hands. “Don’t be shy, India. Your body is beautiful. Let me see you. All of you.”

  “I’m not used to anyone looking at me like this. I feel safer with my clothes on.”

  “Do you want to be safe from me?” He appeared to be disappointed. With a quirk of his mouth, quickly repressed, he scooped her bra and teddy off the chair and held them out to her. “If you wish to cover yourself, wear these. And wear the stockings, too. They are like black cobwebs, so fine that my rough hands would tear them to shreds if I touched them. But at least they will veil your lovely ankles and your beautiful feet from my sight.”

  “I didn’t mean—” she began, but he stopped her, taking the bra out of her hand and holding it up to peer through the lace.

  “I would so like to see this garment stretched across your breasts. But I think if your pretty nipples were hidden from me, I would surely rip the offending cloth away.”

  “Don’t talk like that. It’s embarrassing.”

  “Why should it be, after what we have done together?” He stopped, watching her, as if a surprising thought had just struck him. “Tell me, India, how old was your husband?”

  “He was nineteen years older than I,” she replied, startled by the question.

  “That explains much. You are, what? Eighteen? Twenty?”

  “Twenty-six,” she said.

  “You look younger. And you have never until now known a young man’s passion.” He took the teddy from her, as he had taken the bra. “Later, I will ask you to wear these for me, because I want to see you covered and yet revealed in them. But for this moment, come back to bed and know a warrior’s love once more. You cannot deny the evidence of your eyes, that I want you again. Touch me now as you did before.” He took her hand, placing it on himself.

  Whimpering with quickly rising desire, she did what he asked, watching him spring into arrogant fullness as she caressed and stroked. She stood only a step or two away from the bed, so when he pushed her backward, she sprawled onto it, her legs falling apart. He flung himself on top of her, covering and penetrating her at the same instant. She was more than ready for his first bold thrust. Passion, never entirely gone since their initial coming together, flared in her again, wild and sweet and blazing hot. His mouth was on hers, he was deep inside her, and she was whirled away into pure sensation and pulsating pleasure.

  When, after a long time, she came to herself again, his full weight was on her and the pair of them were slowly, inevitably, sliding off the bed and onto the beaten earth floor. The downward motion of her hips as she fell off the side of the bed pulled them apart.

  “Theu!” She was sitting on the floor. He had a knee on each side of her hips, her head was forced backward onto the edge of the bed, and he was kissing her throat. “You are breaking my neck. And my legs!”

  He roared with laughter, pulling her to her feet to hug her and kiss her again.

  “You are wonderful, glorious.” Another long kiss interrupted his description of how remarkable a lover she was. “And thanks to you, I am starving.” He swept her up in his arms to lay her on the bed again, tucking the quilt in around her. “Stay there. I will feed you.”

  He retrieved the stew from the firepit, cursing when he burned his fingers on the pot, and set it on the table. He ladled the mixture into a smaller bowl, the fragrant odors of meat and vegetables making India’s stomach growl in hunger. He dragged the bench over to the bed and set stew, bread, and cheese on it. Picking up the only spoon, he began to feed her, with alternate spoonfuls for himself. She took the knife he had left on the bench to slice the bread and cheese so she could feed them to him. They drank the wine later, with Theuderic lying beside her and filling the cup at intervals.

  “Theu, we do need to talk more.” She was struggling with her desire to tell him what she knew about the Spanish campaign, while at the same time fearing that if she did, her action could alter history in frightening and unimaginable ways. While she sought for the right words with which to warn him without revealing too much, he spoke.

  “You need not say it,” he told her, misconstruing her intent and distracting her from the speech she wanted to make. “I understand from what you have already told me. At any moment your friend Ahnk may repair his machine, so that he is able to return you to your home. When that happens, we will be separated for all time.”

  “Oh, Theu.” She wanted to cry. “When I first came here, getting home was all I thought about. But when I’m with you, I’m not sure I want to return home at all.”

  “Then stay with me,” he said. “I am powerful enough to make certain that in Francia you will be treated with honor, and your life would not be unpleas
ant.”

  “I know Hank well enough to know he won’t stop trying to get me back. I have no way to contact him, so when the moment comes, I don’t think I’ll have anything to say about it. I will simply go, in an instant.”

  “You will vanish, as I feared you would when I tried to keep you with me by tying you to my side? There will be no time to say farewell, no moment for a last kiss, no clasp of hands? Even marching into battle is not so dreadful as that. When we part from our womenfolk, we take proper leave of them. This Ahnk of yours is a heartless man.”

  “He may not know where I am. He may think I am drifting somewhere, lost in time, and that if he does not find me I will die. I told you, I don’t understand exactly what happened to me.”

  “If he does not know where you are, he may never find you.” Theuderic looked more cheerful. “Since this is so, we will go on as if you are to stay with me permanently, but we will treasure each moment we have together, knowing it could be our last.”

  “In my time,” she told him, smiling, “that attitude is considered the best philosophy of life.”

  “No philosopher, no scholar am I,” he said. “Not like Alcuin or Adelbert or the others in Charles’s employ. But for as long as you want, or as long as you can stay with me, I freely offer you a place by my side.”

  Chapter 8

  “There, that should do it.” Wiping the perspiration off his face, Hank dropped into the chair next to the computer. “Let’s see how this configuration works.”

  “It had better work,” came an angry voice from directly behind him.

  “Willi, I don’t think you fully appreciate what a significant scientific breakthrough this could be,” Hank said. “If I can bring India back in one piece and then duplicate what happened when she hit the wrong button, my name will go down in history. I just hope she can remember exactly what she did.” He broke off as a slender hand tipped with brilliant red fingernails grabbed his hair, pulling his head back hard against a black leather belt.