Brody pulled the undershirt off over his head. Slowly, as he thought through her plan. “You suggested something like this earlier today,” he pointed out.
“Yes.”
“You really are willing to help me do this?” he asked, almost diffidently.
Taylor shook her head. “For heaven’s sake, it’s
all
of us at stake here. I’d do anything to preserve that. So would you.”
His face hardened and seemed to grow older before her eyes. “True,” he said simply. “I’m sorry, I keep forgetting the big picture. I only seem to be able to focus on the fact that Veris is gone.” His gaze cut away from her face abruptly.
“For now, that is all we have lost,” she said gently. “If we jump back to our time and Veris is still lost, then we lose it all. I lost Veris today too, Brody.”
He looked back at her, shocked. “And you were the one who kissed him…” He pulled her onto his lap and into his arms. “Forgive me. I’ve been utterly selfish.” His kiss was soft, seeking forgiveness. But it didn’t stay that way for long. His hand wound into her hair and his tongue slid into her mouth, while his lips hardened and grew more demanding and hungry.
His free hand found the hem of her chemise and pushed it up her legs, baring them to the night air that seeped through the tent walls. In this hot, dry climate even Brody’s hand was warm as it slid along her flesh. His thumb caressed her inner thigh.
Taylor sighed. She craved this intimate contact. The implied approval and love was a balm after the loss and disaster of the day and she clung to Brody, her body strumming with pent up need.
“Higher,” she begged, when his lips lifted from hers.
His thumb pushed between her thighs, up against her pussy lips. “No underthings. Why, my lady Tyra, you are most wicked,” he murmured. He licked her throat. His fangs lightly scraped over her skin. “Bare my cock and straddle me,” he commanded.
Taylor glanced around. There were soldiers, knights, pages, dozens of people lingering around the tent, going about their business or sitting or lying about campfires. But they were minding their own business. Inside the tent, as Brody had brought no candles with him, it was almost dark. Only the light from nearby fires illuminated the interior.
“I am their lord,” Brody murmured. “The walls of the tent, even though they are like gossamer, may as well be three feet thick curtain walls of a keep. My men are stone deaf and blind to everything that happens in here until I call for them.” He pushed aside the rendered tunic and his tongue slid over her nipple, through the thin fabric of the chemise. “Undo my pants,” he repeated.
She caught her breath at the bolt of pleasure that speared her at his touch on her breast. She dropped her hand to the fastenings of his
braies
and fumbled with the ties at his waist. It took her a few moments because she was both inexperienced and excited.
Eventually, she tugged at the garment, letting it drop down his hips and baring his cock. It reared, red and veined, more than ready and she stroked it. She adored Brody’s cock, which was thick and had a perfectly formed head. She loved Brody being inside her. She spread her knees over his hips, feeling her pussy open up ready to have him slide in. She gathered up the delicate chemise around her hips.
“Wanton,” he told her and bit her nipple through the chemise.
She moaned and sank onto his cock, feeling it slide up, separating the walls of her vagina.
His hand gripped her bottom and the tight grip told her he liked the sensation of her around him. Taylor lifted herself up and slid down upon him again.
Brody groaned, his eyes half closing. She caught the flash of fangs. He was truly aroused. She leaned forward to kiss him and lift herself up at the same time. She let her tongue touch his canines very carefully. It was all the warning he needed. She felt them withdraw.
His hands grabbed her hips and with a growl he jerked into her, hard and fast, riding her. She felt his cock slamming up into her and grabbed at his shoulders as her climax rushed at her with express train speed. Her clit was being massaged by Brody’s pelvis with each hard upthrust and all she could do was hold on for the ride.
She climaxed with a cry she did her best to smother against his hard, muscled shoulder.
Brody came a few seconds after her. He shuddered, his fingers digging into her hips and groaned loudly.
Taylor could feel her cheeks heating. Brody seemed utterly unconcerned about the men lying and sitting barely twelve feet away.
Taylor tried to climb from his lap, humiliated, but Brody stopped her. “Don’t,” he said softly. “They take pride in their lord’s virility and they have no thoughts about you at all. It is the way of it and we must be a part of these times for now.” He held her still until she ceased trying to get away from him.
She hid her face in his neck, instead. “For a moment I’d forgotten I was your property.”
She felt him laugh silently. “I wouldn’t dare presume that for anything but appearance’s sake.”
Taylor pulled back and kissed him lightly on the lips. When her breath and heartbeat had slowed, she murmured, “So…do you think you can tell me about you and Veris now?”
His hands linked around her waist. “I can try,” he said evenly. “But Taylor, you’re asking a man to talk about intimate details. Most men would rather stick themselves with red hot pokers than speak of such things.”
She nodded. “While a woman will spend hours going over every single second from every angle and analyzing it for implied meanings and more, with her best friend, her second best friend and maybe her mother for advice, just in case.” She sighed. “I do know this. But between you and Veris, you’re the most likely one to ever be able to tell the tale. Veris would clam up like an oyster if he was in your position. You’ve at least got a famous poet for a father, so you’ve got storytelling in your blood. Think of it that way, if you must. Tell me a story.”
Brody frowned. “If I have to,” he said reluctantly. He flexed his shoulders, like he was squaring off before a national heavyweight champion in the ring. “Where was I before?”
“You saw the spear heading for Veris and stopped it. Big on details, that,” Taylor said dryly.
Brody nipped the tip of her nipple between his teeth and tugged, stretching the still-damp cotton of the chemise and making Taylor catch her breath sharply. “You’re in no position to complain about anything,” he reminded her when he let go.
She took two calming breaths. “The spear,” she prompted him.
* * * * *
The spear had a silvered tip that caught the dazzling early morning sun and flashed in Brody’s eyes. That was the only reason he saw it in time.
The Fatimids had clearly grown tired of the giant knight blocking their path and mowing down their companions with fearless and angry efficiency. Brody was certain now the broad-shouldered knight in the red and black Selkirk colors was vampire. The sword in his side had done nothing more than get his temper up and now he was an fury-filled fighting machine, standing upon a pile of rubble at the top of the breach in St. David’s Gate. Not a single Fatimid had made it through. The man had given Raymond’s people time to build the temporary wooden walls they could put in place over the hole the Fatimids had made.
But the Fatimids had not appreciated the knight’s effectiveness and one of their better warriors had been chosen to deal with him. Armed with a silver-tipped spear, the warrior had stolen closer under the cover of the chaos of Fatimid soldiers pushing toward the gap.
Brody saw the warrior as he began his run up the ramp of rubble toward the big knight. He had chosen a moment when the man had turned away to deal with Fatimids who had stepped through the wall and were perilously close to getting away altogether. From the angle the warrior was approaching Veris, the spear would take him in the back.
Brody began to run at the same time. There was no thought in it. He wasn’t even certain the spear was intended for the knight. He just didn’t like the line of possibility. Vampires and spears didn’t mix and the knight’s flank was unprotected.
Brody pushed between the knight and the ragged edges of the wall breach. He already had his sword up in the high guard position, the
tag
position, so it was simply a matter of bringing it down as he cleared the wall. It chopped off the head of the spear before it reached the knight as cleanly as a knife cut through lard. Brody risked taking one hand off his sword hilt to catch the infidel by the throat as his impetus pushed him farther up the rubble hill. The man literally ran onto Brody’s sword point and a surprised look appeared in his eyes before blood cascaded from the corners of his mouth and all emotion faded from his eyes.
“That was for me, wasn’t it? The spear?” The knight was suddenly at Brody’s shoulder. His voice was hard, heavy.
Brody tossed the warrior back down the rubble hill and looked over his shoulder. This close, he could see the knight’s eyes were pure blue. Saxon, he’d bet his life on it. There’d be blond hair under the helmet. If the man was truly vampire, did he go as far back as Viking, then?
“The spear was meant for you,” Brody confirmed. “You should be more careful,” he added. “Spears can be nasty for some.” He touched his canine under his lip so the knight would see the movement of the tip of his tongue.
The man’s eyes narrowed a tiny fraction. Then his mouth lifted at one corner. “You’ve been watching,” he said, dropping his voice just enough so that anyone nearby would have to strain to hear it. That still meant he was talking louder than a conversation anywhere else might be.
With a start, Brody realized that he
had
been watching this man with more than the usual amount of attention. His heart thudded. “Yes,” he said truthfully.
The knight turned and blocked a sword and beat back a Fatimid with a growl of impatience for having his conversation interrupted. He looked back at Brody, wiping blood from his face. “Norway, four hundred and thirty-nine.”
Brody felt a rush of adrenaline that had nothing to do with the fighting. The vampire before him had revealed his true age and birth place. Just like that. It told Brody the knight was just slightly older than him. Brody took a breath and rattled out “Britain, four hundred and sixty-one.” It felt risky to reveal such information so quickly, but the knight had already made the first move.
The man smiled, showing whole, good, white teeth. “Arthur’s man?”
“Too young.” Brody pushed back the rush of black memories that came with the name. Irons, chains. His back burning with the taste of a whip. Cages. Filth and cold. Misery. He swallowed back the reaction.
The knight’s gaze seemed to absorb all of it. “I see,” he said. Abruptly, he whirled away, taking on the pressing Fatimids with a roar and clash of iron. Brody found himself fighting next to the knight, holding back the Fatimids until the temporary wall was put in place.
Nothing more was said between them of a personal nature. There wasn’t the time or the privacy. But Brody caught the man looking at him once or twice and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled and something low in his belly tightened with possibilities.
He did find out who the man was, though. William of York, Selkirk’s man. Brody wondered what his real name was as he went about the business of the day. He wondered how long it would take William to track him down.
It never occurred to him to hunt William himself. Of the two of them, William was the hunter and in his gut, Brody knew the hunt had begun. He spent the rest of the morning half-aroused and happy among the carnage, lack of food and water and human crisis.
Veris completed his duties, both assigned and unofficial, by the time the camp had settled in for the night. He washed off the dust and dirt of the day, found a clean tunic and a borrowed horse and rode down the line of camps south toward St. David’s Gate at an easy canter, enjoying the night breeze on his face.
He still wasn’t sure why he was doing this. There was no sound reason for it. After finding that Brendan was married and was besotted enough to bring his wife with him on crusade, he should be leaving well enough alone. The man was lost to him. Veris had found him with his arms about his wife in the middle of the day, whispering sweet nothings into her ear. Those were not the actions of a man who roamed outside his marriage. Who would want to, with a wife that looked as lovely as Brendan’s, anyway?
Briefly, Veris recalled the moments the woman had touched and kissed him. She had an ethereal quality he’d never seen before. Quite beautiful. What
had
that kiss meant? It had been shocking. But despite his initial shock, he had a nagging feeling she had meant to achieve something with it other than seduction. She had been surprised when he had stepped back, as if she had been expecting something that had not happened…