Timeless (Maiden Of Time Book 3)

by Crystal Collier

  His mouth went dry. “Alexia, I must know. Were you married?”

  Her brows lowered, mouth tightening. She nodded.

  “Are you still?”

  Her nose flared, eyes squeezing at the corners. She looked away. “I am outside my timeline, Kiren.”

  “And will you return to it?” To your husband.

  Her shoulders dropped to the floor, brow squeezed in pain. “I am tired.”

  ***

  Alexia held in a sob only because he was watching, but her ribs ached with the strain of containing it. How could he sit there and question her about her husband while bearing the man’s countenance, voice, and tenderness? The torn rivulet of skin mocked her, so fresh, so painful. She yearned to smooth it away, to stop it from existing! And yet she recalled his words, so crass, so unfeeling. He had believed her a loose woman, and perhaps she was for welcoming him into her affections, for returning his passions under the pretense of training, for allowing this near-stranger to fall into her heart. He must believe her even more so now, knowing of her marriage.

  His eyes turned away, mouth tight. “You should rest,” he whispered.

  She couldn’t look at him. His words still hurt. At least now he knew that her condition wasn’t the result of whatever ruse he’d imagined. She was a virtuous woman, even if she couldn’t resist him.

  ***

  Alexia changed into the priest’s robe in the cramped cellar, and Kiren cleaned her sullied dress to the best of his ability. It lay, drying, as he stripped his own robe and tunic free and rinsed blood out. He expected her back was turned while he did so but found her watching him. He allowed it. It flattered him that she cared to look and increased the yearning to have her. To escape temptation, he ventured up into the church and found a tunic that had been gathered to distribute to the poor. It fit tightly, but it was better than insulting Eli’s sensibilities when he returned.

  If he returned.

  The priest’s living quarters were humble. An old bed, a sturdy chair, a water basin and chamber pot. A musty scent wafted up from the tunic Kiren had selected, promising a mouse would be saddened to find its bed removed. Kiren peeked into the church. Empty pews lined either side. A large window framed either wall of the altar, dimmed by heavy draperies. A decanter and chalice hid behind the altar, poised on a stool, ready for communion in the morning. A simple building for a simple community.

  Kiren wanted to return below, but he didn’t know if he could be so close to Alexia and not touch her. And his back ached from bending over.

  Alexia’s dress had halfway dried by the time Eli entered the rectory, water pail in hand. He moved jerkily.

  “Brother Eli?”

  The priest spoke softly, hesitantly. “There was a terrible disturbance in the town. Men are injured and terrified, speaking of darkness and death touching them.” He turned to Kiren, shoulders hunched. “Tell me you did not do this thing?”

  “It was not I.” Kiren took the pail, meeting the priest’s eyes and conveying his concern through a look.

  “But you know what did it?” Eli asked.

  He steeled himself. “I do.”

  Eli relented custody of the bucket, and Kiren descended to the hideaway. He offered the pail to Alexia and left her to the privacy of the cellar, returning to the priest who watched him anxiously.

  “Will you go to them?” Eli asked. “Heal the men who are in need?”

  He faced Eli, gathering his thoughts from his eyes. The man was terrified, thinking demons and angels were raining down on the earth. Kiren almost raised an eyebrow at the belief that he, Kiren, was an angel. He’d seen the insinuation before and never validated or denied it. Having the man believe he was from heaven had proven beneficial today. “I cannot. Not this time.”

  The priest lowered his voice. “Because of your companion.”

  Kiren nodded.

  “She possesses the glow of an angel and yet she inspires men toward unheavenly thoughts.”

  Kiren stopped a glare, barely. How dare Eli look upon Alexia and think—what? The same things he had since first meeting her? But that was different. She kissed him. She wanted him. This man dwelling on her unique beauty and imagining the fulfillment of his lusts made Kiren’s fists ball with a need to break the priest’s face.

  Eli continued, “Surely she cannot be of Heaven and heavy with child. It were not possible for an angel to conceive unless she is carrying the spawn of a demon?”

  “No one said she is of Heaven,” Kiren snapped. Though she may as well be. By action, she would find fitting company among angels.

  Eli flinched.

  Kiren peered out the window at the setting sun, his hands shaking with the desire to throttle the man…but Eli’s suggestion of demon spawn fell right in line with Kiren’s own thoughts about Alexia’s child. It wasn’t right. The child was innocent, the product of marriage—though whether it was a desired or safe marriage, that was another thing.

  “This is not the holy war you imagine.” Kiren calmed himself. “We are people like any other, struggling to survive. I am not from Heaven or Hell. My companion is a married woman, separated from her husband and fearful for her child’s survival.”

  The priest shrank. “But her countenance…”

  Kiren exhaled. He had hoped that explanation would suffice. It was dangerous for Eli to know more, but he was sheltering them. Perhaps he should be trusted. “She is descended from a unique bloodline.”

  “Like yourself?”

  Had he begun to take on her glow from all their shared affections? He eased the tension from his lungs. “Lords and kings desire to control people with gifts like mine, people who marry and raise children and work the land. Lowly friars who travel to bless lives and remain unknown.” He bowed his head. “These men of power take what is precious—our families, our possessions, the need to eat—and force us into servitude, waging their wars with powers no mortal should ever possess.” Kiren lifted his gaze to the priest. “Though we may not be of Heaven, we possess the ability to wage hell on Earth. In the hands of these men, that is what you would see.”

  Eli hugged himself, gaze sweeping the floor as if frightened to meet Kiren’s stare. “That is what happened today?”

  “It is.”

  “And these men came for you?”

  Kiren shook his head. “Not for me.” He pointed toward the cellar, indicating Alexia. “She may well be a saint for all I have seen, and I will do what I must to assure her safety and survival.”

  The priest nodded. “This will take some pondering.” He slipped away into the shadows.

  Kiren wasn’t certain he’d won the man over, but he couldn’t take the words back now. Part of him didn’t want to win Eli’s loyalty. Fury still beat through him. How dare the man consider laying claim to his Alexia, even in thought?

  He swallowed hard.

  His Alexia. Where had that come from?

  She pushed the trap door open and took in the church before giving him a confused look.

  Kiren turned away. She was not his, but he wanted her to be. Clearly.

  Forty-Three

  Stirring the Pot

  The entity licked its lips, or the equivalent. The feel of mortal skin housing its every whim was intoxicating. Watching the other potential puppets flit about the camp, absorbing their fear, their anger, their confusion, it was almost enough. Almost. They had been too at ease today. Time to shake their world again and lap up the resulting trauma.

  Forty-Four

  Angel of Havoc

  Alexia slumbered, her head resting on Kiren’s leg as he sat, unable to stop his wild thoughts. Her body had obeyed and mended mostly, but she was still fragile and needed all the calm he could afford her. The stone wall was cool against his back, his mind whirling.

  His Alexia.

  It wasn’t an option. She had been taken by another man and was still married in the future. But then, why had she kissed him and allowed him to pursue her? Was it because she feared her husband and will
ed to be free of him by forming a new bond? To change what was to come? As strong as she was, she could merely reverse time and escape her bonding…yet she hadn’t. What else was he to conclude but that she intended to return? To leave him?

  Perhaps that was why she refused his deeper affections.

  He thumped a fist into the dirt.

  Alexia moaned and shifted. He stilled himself, conscious of not upsetting her again.

  She was claimed. And he didn’t wish to have a wife, a family, extra duties and obligations around what he already owed the Lost Ones.

  Or did he?

  For a moment he imagined what it would have been like if his parents had lived, if he’d been raised under his father’s tutelage. Father would have chosen him a bride, as he’d chosen a future husband for Kiri. There would have been a long-standing betrothal and grand to-do about his wedding: festivities, honors, lavish expenditures, and dignitaries from all corners of the world. If he hadn’t cared for the woman Father chose, there would have been little recourse, because she would have been a child of noble birth, one worthy of his station.

  Yet here in his lap lay a woman he’d chosen for himself, because she moved him. Because she was selfless. Because she won his respect. Father and Mother would have adored her, but had his parents lived, he never would have entered this world. Never would have met this powerful, compassionate woman. Perhaps all things did happen for a reason. Perhaps God’s hand was in his life, even the darkest parts.

  Except that Alexia could never be his.

  Voices roused him from pondering. Soft voices. Near the entrance to the church and close to the back door. He listened closer, blocking out the whisper of Alexia’s breathing.

  “…spare the church. I believe both are very dangerous.” Eli.

  Kiren groaned. He should have let the priest go on believing his own holy delusion. Lesson learned: the Lost Ones should never reveal the truth about their nature, except to one another.

  “Weapons at the ready,” a gravelly voice called.

  “Weapons in a church?” Eli asked, shocked.

  “Ye’d have us face them creatures without them?”

  Kiren hoped the priest was receiving a royal sum to appease his conscience, because the man would rot for this betrayal.

  He shook Alexia awake and pressed a finger to his lips. “The calm was nice while it lasted.”

  “It never lasts.” She gave him a sad smile as he helped her up.

  “Ever?”

  She reached for the trap door. “We must hurry.”

  With a gentle shove, the door opened, and she climbed out. He followed, emerging into the rectory. Daylight cut through the curtains, sending dust motes across the space. Alexia crossed to the exit, glancing back at him.

  She shouldn’t be on her feet after the near loss. Kiren didn’t know how she found the strength even now.

  The door opened.

  Three men froze in the entry. Alexia glanced back at Kiren, mischief painted in her smirk. This was going to be good.

  She blurred and stood suddenly behind the men, her fingers clasped about her necklace in an all-too-familiar way. Kiren leaned to the side, but he couldn’t get a clear view of her pendant around the three brutes.

  Alexia tapped the men on the shoulders, waiting for them to turn before blurring again. All three followed her out of the church. Kiren lost sight of her as men charged through the door behind him, naked swords ready for action. He sprinted after Alexia.

  Sunlight hit him in the eyes. Men shouted from behind. Weapons sliced the air. Hissing…

  A soft hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him off balance. He tumbled sideways, an arrow nicking his cheek. Alexia let go of him and whirled forward, grabbing hold of one man’s crossbow, blurring as she moved. Her blade whirled in mayhem as she stepped back into the church, slicing a man’s belt, chopping a drapery into the enemies’ path, flipping a decanter from its stool, and smacking one man in the brow while spattering others in the face with wine.

  An angel of havoc—graceful, assured, gorgeous, and his.

  He shook that thought away.

  Kiren ducked a blade and kicked the man aside.

  “Go!” Alexia shouted.

  “Not without you!” he called back, dodging a blow to the shoulder.

  She spun and knocked a dagger off its trajectory for Kiren’s heart. Her eyes speared him, angry eyes. “Move!”

  He dodged around a soldier and ducked behind an oncoming wagon. Shouts carried after him, but he fled into the trees. Kiren pressed up against a trunk and calmed his heart, feeling the slow aging of the wood and the calm of nature. It was possible to hide in plain sight from those without a trace of his bloodline, trick their brains, but if any of them possessed even a drop of blood from the Lost Ones…

  There are only trees here. He projected the message more to himself than anyone. I am a tree.

  Men darted past him, one or two stopping and looking around. They looked right through him and fanned out. He leaned back around the trunk, searching for Alexia.

  ***

  Alexia breathed easier once he disappeared, but now she had thirteen men converging on her. She drew on the medallion again, feeling the supply thin, like too little jam on toast. Had she finally drained the thing completely?

  She tugged time to a full stop and escaped through the still limbs and past the raging faces. Time to find Kiren and be done with this. But first…

  She smacked her feet into the hardened ground, creating what would be a set of footprints leading off the wrong direction once time resumed and the force of her impact hit. She lightened each step until she was barely tiptoeing and hurried the way Kiren had gone.

  The knot in her womb tightened. Pain raced down the back of her neck, and lightning tore through her legs. She paused briefly, panting, but kept going. Her muscles were liquefying. Any moment she would melt into the ground, but she had to get herself and this baby far away from the men.

  Instinct led as her vision blacked out behind a wall of agony. Her knees smacked into the earth. Alexia screamed.

  Time jolted forward around her. She pulled inward, grating her teeth against the moan that needed to escape. Her womb surged, stealing her breath.

  She crawled forward, biting down as the intensity lessened. Get back up. You have to move. Get on your feet!

  Forty-Five

  Almost

  The man who inflicted pain retreated from guard duty, and Leofrik slumped in on himself. His ropes were securely fastened and—while he’d longed to plan an escape—he’d been so exhausted from torture that he’d slept.

  Rustling material in the darkness drew his attention to the other prisoner. Velia’s shift stood out in the night—a ghost. She was very real, bound by an iron fetter and as solid as she’d been while trapped in his care. She’d been bound across from him since shortly after he heard shouts from the other side of the wall.

  A single laugh escaped Leofrik. “I suppose you were discovered?”

  She turned her face away.

  “I should have known better than to trust your kind.”

  She laughed. A voice rasped out of her throat—barely a hiss, more like a breathy scraping of wind across eaves. “I will…never see…my daughter again. He will kill…her.” Her mirth devolved into sobs. “You should have…stopped me.”

  “And she speaks, to make all this worse.”

  She drooped toward the ground.

  “At least this way we both die.” He groaned. “I do not want to die.”

  “Nor do…I.”

  Quiet overtook them.

  “Sir knight…my people will…not kill us.”

  “Then what will they do with us?” he huffed.

  “Nothing.” Her rasp flickered with uncertainty. “Ulric will…be here soon.”

  “You betrayed them one last time.” Why should it surprise him? Why should he hope that her loyalty at least extended somewhat to these people?

  Because that meant there wa
s hope for him. As it was, Ulric would brand him a failure and send him off to some remedial duty rather than back to his brothers. And what would become of this band?

  Her head hung. Was she ashamed for her betrayal?

  “Were you…a good knight?” she asked.

  He groaned. He didn’t want to speak with her, but the conversation was better than silence and his continual awareness of aching muscles. “I was raised in London and shipped off to the crusades at the age of thirteen. I fought until it was the only thing I knew. There was no place for me in this country, no battle sufficient to further sully my sword. But then I was discovered by the Knights Templar, a sect of knights who protect pilgrims making peaceful passage through hostile lands. It may be war, but it is war for a good cause. My brotherhood saved me from losing all feeling.”

  She was quiet. “He…used you.”

  Leofrik rolled to take the pressure off his shoulder. “Lord Ulric wants what Lord Ulric wants, and he has the king’s ear.”

  She placed one hand on top of the other, palms up. “And my…child.”

  They both quieted. Leofrik didn’t bear the woman ill will. She had been miserable because of the same selfish lord, and although he saw her actions in their full treachery, he understood. These creatures deserved death or imprisonment, but to be used as weapons?

  ***

  Leofrik drifted in and out of sleep. It was late when he woke to shouting on the other side of the wall. He strained to hear the words over the nervous chatter of several people.

  “…gather your things and do it fast. They will be upon us inside the hour.”

  A man of eastern descent with narrow eyes, a flat nose, and dressed in monk’s robes appeared from around the wall, a man he’d seen several times. Wearing gloves, he unlocked Velia’s fetter from the tree.

  “You brought this upon us,” he said.