Italian Time Travel 01 - The Other Side of Heaven

by Morgan O'Neill

  Willa, taking her cue, nodded and watched as Berengar exited the hall, and then she left the table and approached Stefano. Smiling, she drew close, making a slow circle around him, assessing him from head to toe. He could smell the wine on her breath, and her close scrutiny enabled him to study her, as well.

  From a distance, she resembled Queen Adelaide, but now he saw Willa’s beauty was marred. Age had nothing to do with the striking difference between the two. While Adelaide possessed an inner beauty that lit her eyes and softened her face, this woman’s gaze exuded darkness and evil intent, her smile thin and cruel. His skin crawled with her nearness, and he wanted to back away. Instead, he stood his ground and waited.

  She whispered something to him, and he had to focus on her words to understand.

  “This is perfect, so perfect. You, Handsome, are the one I summoned, that much is clear,” she murmured, her voice too low for anyone else to hear. “They tell me you do not speak our tongue, but no matter. Neither your words nor your understanding are anything I care about. It is your cock, dear man, it is your cock I need, and now I may add it is your cock I desire. Oh, yes, this will be pure delight.”

  Stefano was staggered. Had he understood correctly? Her husband was barely out the door and she wanted to have sex with him? Her mouth was so close to his skin he could feel the moisture of her breath, and his hair stood on end. Still, his mind reeled. Could he refuse her and live? He had to refocus, had to think of a way out.

  “My dear son can try all he wants to beget a child on Adelaide, but his flesh is as listless as his father’s. Nonetheless, it will be pleasure beyond words to have her so debased, so humiliated by him, regardless of the outcome. But I will get a child by you, just as I have foreseen, and that child, a strong, beautiful girl child, will take the throne.”

  She’s fucking crazy. Stefano’s concern for himself was swept aside by her vision of Adelaide’s future, and he wracked his brain to think of a way to protect her, keep Willa’s plans for her at bay, until, until—was there any hope of rescue? There had to be.

  Concentrating, he sought simple words he was sure she could understand, words that would convey his intent. “You want me; do not touch Adelaide. Promise!”

  She looked up, startled. “So, you can talk! And you understand. How interesting.”

  “You hurt Adelaide, no fucking by me.”

  Willa threw back her head and laughed, and Stefano noted the intense curiosity of the dinner guests trying to guess at the content of their conversation.

  He repeated firmly, “Adelaide hurt, no fuck. Promise.”

  Grinning, Willa asked, “Mayhap, but are you any good? Are you worth it?”

  Stefano swallowed, then forced the words out, hating every one. “If Adelaide safe, then you and me, screaming good pleasure all night, all day. You never forget.”

  Willa’s grin faded and the pace of her breathing picked up as she stared at him, the heat of lust already smoldering in her eyes. “So be it, Handsome. Yes, I’ll take your offer. If you live up to your promise, I’ll keep mine. Adelaide is safe as long as you provide me with ‘screaming good pleasure’ for as long as I want it.”

  Willa turned and loudly demanded he be sent to the dungeon, then he heard her whispered orders to his guards, and he soon found himself alone in a sumptuously decorated bedroom. Willa’s bedroom.

  He’d made a pact with the devil, but he refused to regret his decision. Adelaide’s safety was paramount. He undressed, knowing the bitch wouldn’t be long in coming, then drew back window curtains and gazed outside. It was dark, but cloudless, and the moon cast its soft light across the peaceful lake, surrounding forests and cliffs. The beauty of the scene was almost painful, and something deep within told him he would never again know such beauty, such serenity firsthand.

  Is that why he was here? Had his destiny always been this, traveling through time in order to save Queen – no – Saint Adelaide? When Stefano recalled Adelaide’s destiny, he grew more determined. Perhaps his body had been made beautiful for a greater purpose – to draw off the bitch and give Adelaide a chance, the window of opportunity she would need to be saved.

  Straightening, Stefano squared his shoulders. He thought about the next few hours, and guessed she wouldn’t want tender foreplay, just results. He knew his body, like the scenery outside, was bathed in the moon’s gentle glow. He shifted, so that her first sight of him would be in profile, backlit against the window. He touched his unwilling member, reminding himself it was for the greater good. He had to be ready. He had to perform. He took hold of his cock and felt it respond, felt the flush of heat and tension in his groin.

  He would be ready. He would save Adelaide.

  *

  Stefano’s first conscious thought was of his genitals, how warm they felt, how…

  Partial realization dawned and he lurched forward, intending to rid himself of whatever creature was nosing about down there, but his wrists were tethered to the bed and he couldn’t go far. He struggled against the ties, but it was no use. The gloom of pre-dawn had crept across the room as he glared at his assailant.

  “By God, you’re gorgeous when you’re angry,” Willa said admiringly, “but if you were to strike me, your cock would be separated from your body before you could take your next breath. Thank goodness I thought to bind you while you slept, for I’m enjoying myself too much.”

  It was the queen of his nightmares, covering him with her mouth. He stopped struggling and let her continue, wishing he could bury his fingers deep into her wicked eyes.

  She grinned. “I want to drain you utterly of your seed, Handsome, and I shall. I will spend as much time at this as it takes. Besides, we are both getting great satisfaction out of this arrangement, don’t you think? If you’d have been awake a few moments ago, you would remember.”

  Exhausted and repulsed, Stefano shuddered, and she laughed.

  “You sweet stud, you are big as a horse – most impressive. I’ve found the talents of my tongue are far more productive than are my hands at rousing you when you sleep, but now that you are participating, mayhap they will work to our mutual satisfaction.”

  Willa stood and straddled his thighs. Smiling, she began to work his length with her fingers, and he was helpless in his response. When he was painfully hard, she rose slightly, poised herself over him, and moistened her cleft with droplets already oozing from him. Then she plunged, engulfing him, hoisting and ramming, grunting, over and over, until, despite himself, he released in her yet again, the spasms wracking his body.

  Purring with satisfaction, she stayed on him and leaned forward, pressing his shoulders into the mattress. She continued to move, this time rubbing forward and back, forward and back. Her breasts hung near his face, swaying slightly as she rocked, her expression blank but for a faint smile, her thoughts turned inward.

  Before long she began to move faster, grinding against him. “Mmm, yes, you’re going to make me scream again!”

  She suddenly stopped and straightened on him, her fingertips madly working her clitoris, and then she arched back and cried out.

  Holding her hips, Stefano closed his eyes, focusing on his promise to Adelaide. Willa’s inner walls pulsated on him as she came, and he came again.

  *

  Adelaide had spent a dark, sleepless, terrifying night in her cell. Even though no one could see her, she felt stripped without a veil to cover her naked head, her disgrace. She used her teeth to rip a section from her underskirt. Gingerly, she touched the side of her head, feeling stubble, and then covered herself with the ragged cloth. She sighed despondently. Was she doomed to die in this place, ugly, bald, and alone, in the dungeon depths of Garda?

  Adelaide clasped her hands in prayer. “Lord,” she whispered feverishly, “please, I still––”

  Her voice broke off when a slat high on the door slid open, the accompanying torchlight piercing Adelaide’s eyes, momentarily blinding her.

  “My lady?” a man whispered through the slat.


  She rose and slowly, warily, felt her way toward the door, believing there was little chance of finding a friend on the other side.

  “My lady?”

  “Yes?”

  “I bring word from Liutprand of Pavia.”

  “Oh, dear Lord, oh God, thank you, thank you!”

  “My lady, please stand away from the door.”

  Smiling hopefully, Adelaide retreated two steps as bolts slid back and hinges groaned. The door swung open. She froze. Willa stood there, a few soldiers at her side. Behind them two hooded men held Stefano, naked but for the noose around his neck, his eyes open, yet averted and without expression.

  “Oh, no, no.” Adelaide’s hand went to her throat, and she dropped to her knees.

  “I am sorry to deceive you,” Willa said breezily. “This was but a little jest for my men. The jailers have so few amusements down here.” Her eyes narrowed. “Alas, my husband’s stay was brief, for he is off to war. Lord Alberto and his forces have dared cross our border. For this, he will soon meet his end.” She stole a look at Stefano. “As will he, unless he continues to do my bidding.”

  The door slammed shut, and Adelaide knelt in the dark, unable to move. She could not shake the memory of how Willa’s gaze raked over Stefano’s body. Or the way he kept his noble head turned away, refusing to look at her.

  Adelaide’s heart raced with fear. Had he been beaten? Had they broken him somehow?

  What had Willa done to Stefano?

  *

  Something awakened Adelaide. She held herself still, listening. It was quiet for a long moment, then she heard moaning, grunting, groaning, a bed squeaking, bumping against the wall.

  Copulation. She placed her hands over her ears, trying to shut it out, but it was loud, right next door. Another of Willa’s torments, designed to unhinge her.

  Please, please, stop! For shame! For shame!

  More moans, and then the woman screamed out in climax. Adelaide shuddered in the ensuing silence. Suddenly, she heard the bolts being worked on a nearby door, then hers. Bleakly, she watched from her cot as it opened wide.

  In the torch-lit doorway, Willa stood alone, golden hair loose, disheveled, clutching a robe about her.

  “I met Lothaire once, you know,” Willa said, “mayhap five years ago, before you were wed. He was plain and balding, his belly soft. My husband’s body, on the other hand, is hard as La Rocca. But I hate his face. He has the look of a cruel Saracen. We both have suffered in our own ways, have we not, Cousin?” Her gaze slid to the corridor. “Now I know why you took Stefano as a lover. He is,” she lazily smiled, “beyond compare. He begged me to use him and I obliged, reluctantly.” She snorted. “He has been most attentive to my needs. Alas, how sad his fate once I am done with him.”

  After stretching languorously, Willa added, “Sweet dreams, Cousin.” Then she shut the door.

  As the bolts slid back into place, Adelaide leaned over the side of her cot and retched. She did not believe Willa for a moment, knowing Stefano would never have begged her for sex. He had been forced by torture or dark magic. The only truth in Willa’s loathsome refrain was her threat to kill Stefano when she was done with him.

  From Stefano’s cell, the obscene sounds returned and went on and on for what seemed like hours. The world closed in on Adelaide. Something akin to madness seized her, and she found she could not stop heaving, sobbing, gagging. Over and over, she wished for her own swift death – and mercy for Stefano.

  *

  Adelaide awoke with a start, her mind bursting with questions. Why had she stayed on her cot, when Willa stood all alone in the doorway? Why hadn’t she risen up and attacked her?

  Adelaide suddenly, gleefully, saw herself gouging out Willa’s eyes, or grabbing a torch and setting her hair ablaze.

  Oh Lord, banish my desire for vengeance – it comes from desperation. I shall never be like her.

  Slowly sitting up, Adelaide again fought nausea, and was struck by the thought something had been put in her food, as had happened to Lothaire. Should she refuse to eat? Would she have the courage to see it through? It would provide a way out of this hell, but suicide was a grave sin.

  Besides, Willa would never allow it. She would be force-fed, for Willa intended to give her over to Adalbert for rape, to beget his heir. Recalling this, she knew her nausea was probably only due to nerves. If Willa wanted her pregnant, she wouldn’t poison her first.

  Adelaide shivered, and then suddenly imagined Willa’s final triumph, glorying when she could deliver the news of Emma’s death.

  This last caused her to fall back onto her cot, weeping. Was it true? Would the dreaded image come to pass?

  Chapter 13

  As Gwen and her escorts finally came in sight of Pavia’s walls, she realized she had been in a saddle, almost without pause, for weeks. Her backside had known every stage of pain, and the aches throughout her body were only now beginning to ease.

  Her heart, too, had suffered, her feelings ranging from sadness to hope and joy, then back to even bleaker thoughts, a deepening despair. There was still one darkly private space she tried not to visit; it had also been weeks since the loss of her other life, her family and friends.

  Gwen’s eyes filled with tears, and she blotted her face with her sleeve. Looking out, she saw the main gate of Pavia was shut, odd for midday, yet understandable, given Berengar’s assault. She shook her head, feeling a kinship with the people inside, realizing they were doing everything they could to safeguard what remained of their lives.

  “Ho, there!” Barca called out their identities and purpose to a sentry on the wall. After a moment, the great wooden gate creaked open, and Barca motioned for Ionas to ride on ahead.

  Bringing his horse alongside Gwen’s, Barca said quietly, “I have kept your secret, Brother Godwyn, even from Ionas as I was bid, and I have treated you as I would any man. Still, I would ask your forgiveness if my ways have seemed less, er, courteous than they should.”

  “There’s no need to apologize, Barca,” Gwen replied. “You have been perfect. A man of honor. I’m sorry you have to lie for me.”

  “Ah, I do not consider your disguise a lie, but a necessity. I am simply following orders. Besides, Lord Alberto had no choice but to divulge that I alone must provide for our defense, should an enemy come along. As you have learned, Ionas the Greek is a healer, not a warrior.”

  Gwen nudged her horse, watching Ionas’s back as he rode through the gateway. The black-haired Greek was a small man with delicate features; he could no more wield a sword than she. “Lord Alberto was right, Barca. I know which end of a sword to hold, but my abilities stop there.”

  Once inside the gates, Gwen cautiously looked around. The square had been put back to order, cleansed of the battle scars and bodies, but the people who milled about glanced furtively at the new arrivals, their expressions grim and unwelcoming.

  Barca called again to the sentry. “Where might we find Father Warinus? The church?”

  “No.” The man shook his head. “At this hour, the infirmary. There were so many wounded in the attack, the old merchant’s hall was converted to a hospital.” He waved his arm toward the far end of the square. “That way. Follow the stench.”

  Gwen and her companions moved on. Soon, the heavy reek of diseased flesh permeated the air. They approached a two-storied, stone building. On the doorstep, an old woman sat beside a basket of herbs, eyes closed, chanting, and waving a handful of dried lavender.

  Dismounting, Gwen and Barca helped Ionas with his heavily laden saddlebags. They stepped around the woman, went inside, and found themselves in a great hall, where row after row of patients were lying, some on pallet beds, most directly on the floor. The room was open and airy, with uncovered windows, but it still smelled of rot, bile, and, oddly, something that reminded Gwen of Vick’s ointment.

  “Brother Godwyn, welcome back!” Father Warinus shouted from across the hall.

  Relieved to see the priest, Gwen wanted to ra
ce over and hug him, but she held herself still and smiled. “Yes, Father. I’m back.”

  “So, you were able to find Lord Alberto, I see.” He eyed Barca and Ionas, then started toward them, his gaze moving to the doorway to see if anyone waited outside. “How many are with you? If there are not too many, I would suggest we quarter them within these walls.” He looked at the saddlebags. “Is that medicine? I would see it put to work immediately.”

  “I’m sorry, Father, but––” Gwen started, but Barca stepped forward, interrupting her.

  “Father Warinus.” The warrior bowed crisply. “I am Barca, swordsman for my liege, Alberto Uzzo, lord of Canossa. This is Ionas the Greek, one of our most able healers. My lord was mustering his men when Brother Godwyn arrived with news of the queen’s abduction. The muster has been completed, and he was to break camp and ride for Garda the same day we left.”

  Brow wrinkling, Father Warinus looked from Gwen to Ionas and back to Barca. “I know of Lord Alberto’s intention to confront Berengar,” the priest said. “I only wish we had all acted sooner. But you have not answered my question. How many men have you brought for our aid and succor?”

  “Father,” Barca said, “the battle is no longer with Pavia. I will help in the defense, and Ionas has brought medicine. We will assist the town as we are able, but his lordship’s concerns, and his armies, are elsewhere, searching for the enemy. He seeks to aid the queen, and the queen is no longer here.”

  “But, but you mean to say there are no more? Only two men?” Warinus’s face had turned crimson, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

  “Father,” Gwen tried to placate him, placing her hand on his arm. “You must be exhausted. I’m sure you haven’t rested since I left. These men can take over now. You should have something to eat, and then sleep.”