Spellbound Falls [5] For the Love of Magic (17 page)

Now if he could only remember
why
.

Although he was fairly certain it had something to do with her delicious mouth.

And then he stopped trying to remember anything, even his name, when Rana leaned down and kissed his jaw, his neck, his shoulder, his chest—her lips blazing a fiery trail lower and lower and her roaming hands making him nearly forget to breathe.

Being intimately familiar with his body, she knew exactly where to touch him to get the response she was after. And she wasn’t shy or the least bit hesitant about what she wanted, either, which was his complete cooperation or else . . . well, in truth, he’d never quite been brave enough to discover the consequences of denying her.

He was snapped out of his musing again when that delicious mouth whispered its intended destination as it moved even lower, and sweat broke out on his forehead when he realized the words had been in French—his wife’s language of choice when she was feeling particularly adventurous.

He did wish she’d hurry up and get there before he died of anticipation, but knew she was prolonging the sweet torture because she had a rather diabolical penchant for turning her powerful warrior husband into a quivering ball of sweat—which he’d discovered not two months into their marriage when his shy maiden had suddenly turned into a lusty and daring vixen.

In fact, he was fairly certain that was the night Maximilian had been conceived.

Titus couldn’t stifle a shout when she found her target, although he did manage to keep from reaching for her.

“I’m sorry, did I startle you, my love?” she asked in French, her sparkling eyes lifting to his as she kept her pouting mouth pressed intimately against him.

“I’m not even going to get inside you if you keep this up much longer,” he said roughly in Greek—his language of
regression
when she was feeling adventurous.

Her big brown eyes remaining locked on his, she slowly and provocatively
and
provokingly
slid her mouth down over him with a loud hum of pleasure.

Titus flopped back with a loud groan of defeat, resigned to becoming a quivering ball of sweat. For having learned that night not two months into their marriage that resistance was futile, he grinned up at the colorful sail through gritted teeth and surrendered to her diabolical loving.

But being an intelligent woman, Rana stopped pushing him to the edge of his control the moment she felt him start to lose it. She scrambled up his body to once again straddle him, leaned down and gave him a lusty kiss as she kneaded her fingers into his chest, and finally sighed his name when he took hold of her hips and slowly and provocatively
and provokingly
guided her down over him.

And as always happened, his stubborn, opinionated, irreverent, lusty, terrible wife proceeded to show him exactly who the true magic-maker was in their marriage.

Titus couldn’t stop grinning like the village idiot as he followed his beautifully disheveled wife strolling through the forest ahead of him, appearing not to have a care in the world as she dodged patches of snow while noisily humming and chewing her way through the bag of figs. He
felt
like an idiot for not immediately recognizing he’d lost control of this kidnapping when he had awakened this morning to find her sprawled on top of him with her chin resting on her hands, her big brown eyes sparkling in the rising sun and her wild hair framing the smuggest, proud-of-herself smile he’d ever seen on a troll.

She of course had insisted they make love again. And being a dutiful husband, he of course had obliged her. But becoming distracted by her passionate response, he apparently hadn’t heard the six subtle percussions down on the shoreline and had suddenly found himself kissing empty air when Rana had caught a glimpse of movement in the woods and, with a shriek of horror, scrambled from under him to slip on her oversize shirt just as the six wolves had trotted into camp.

Which is why they’d come damned close to having orca for breakfast.

Finally realizing she didn’t have a clue if she had been strolling in the right direction for the last hour, Rana suddenly stopped humming and chewing, glanced around the woods as she shoved the bag of figs in her pocket, and turned to him. “Would it not be easier if we simply followed the shoreline?”

Titus shrugged off the dry bag he’d been wearing like a backpack and unzipped the top. “According to the gazetteer, the forest on this side of Bottomless is riddled with abandoned old logging roads,” he said, taking out the large soft-sided book of Maine topographical maps he’d purchased at Ezra’s store. He studied the map on the back cover, opened the gazetteer to the proper page, and folded it back on itself. He then held it for her to see when she walked back to him, and tapped the spot where he estimated they were. “If we head uphill in a northeasterly direction, in about a mile we should come across a main artery that runs north and south along the ridge. It would be easier going, as the road would be completely bare,” he said, nodding at snowdrifts more than a couple of feet deep where the still low-hanging April sun hadn’t yet reached.

She studied the map of the southern half of Bottomless, then took the book away from him and turned to the page that showed the northern end of the inland sea. “But that old tote road,” she said, running her finger along the dotted line, “veers to the back side of Duncan’s mountain, and we’d have to take a series of crooked spurs to get to the fiord.” She handed the book back to him. “It could add two full days to our trek.”

“Are you in a hurry to get home?”

She studied him as she licked her sticky fingers, then smiled. “No, I don’t suppose I am.”

He stuffed the gazetteer back in the dry bag, plucked the figs out of her pocket, then grabbed a handful before stuffing them in the bag. He popped one of the figs in her mouth when she started to protest, slung the bag over his shoulder, and headed uphill. “Since you rounded the southernmost island ahead of me yesterday,” he said past his own mouthful of fig, “I suppose we can declare you the victor of our wager.”

He heard her stop humming and chewing behind him. “Every time we passed each other, I saw you
eating
the prize. Is there even half a bushel left?”

“Probably not. But,” he continued when he heard her snort, “I believe there were two parts to our wager, which means the second prize is still yours to claim.”

He didn’t have to look back to know she’d stopped walking. “That’s right,” she said just as he heard twigs snapping as she ran to catch up. “You must grant me one favor.”

“So, what is your wish? Take your time,” he said when she didn’t immediately respond. “And choose carefully. Remember that your any wish will be my command.”

“Anything?” she clarified from right behind him.

“Anything.”

He grinned when she fell silent for several minutes but for her slight puffing as the terrain grew steeper. “Even something magical?” she finally asked.

“If the magic is needed to grant your wish, then yes.”

She pulled him to a stop and looked him in the eyes. “
Absolutely anything
?”

Since he’d just popped another fig in his mouth, he merely nodded. He held a fig up to her mouth, stared as she slowly and provocatively wrapped her lips around it, then quickly started off again before she could see his scowl.

Fairly certain she already knew what favor she wanted from him, Titus suspected it would take her some time to work up the nerve to
ask
for it. “You needn’t decide this instant,” he assured her after he’d swallowed, “unless your wish is for a horse to ride instead of spending the next few days walking.”

“No. No,” she said absently, obviously still thinking. “I enjoy walking. It reminds me of some of the trips we used to take before . . . um, before we moved to Atlantis.”

Not all of them pleasant, if he remembered correctly, as they’d often been fleeing his enemies. But with time apparently softening her sense of desperation, he could see how she might recall the forced marches fondly as he also remembered she hadn’t ever seemed scared. The one time he’d asked her why not, she’d merely melted into him holding their infant son and stated that worrying was wasted energy, since she was married to a big and powerful and
very devious
warrior.

He’d made a vow to himself that day never to let her regret that boast.

It took them a little over an hour to reach the old tote road due to a couple of potty breaks, which had him worried Rana truly might be with child as he recalled her embarrassment at repeatedly bringing their small entourage to a halt on their final run to Atlantis, when she’d been pregnant with Carolina.

The tote road was indeed bare of snow, and they walked hand in hand for several miles, the conversation limited to an occasional comment on the view as their elevation rose, for it seemed his wife was still working up the courage to ask for her wish.

“Will you look at that,” she suddenly whispered, pulling him to a stop. “Oh, she’s so homely she’s beautiful.”

“
He
’s magnificent,” Titus said softly as the moose standing in an old clear-cutting stopped ripping the tips off a young fir tree and looked at them.

“
She
doesn’t have antlers.”

“
He
sheds them every winter. See those two swollen buds over each eye?”

The beast under discussion stopped chewing to listen, then turned its elongated head to the road behind them and lifted its cavernous nose in the air, its huge nostrils billowing as it tried to discern the new scent on the breeze. The bull suddenly gave a deep guttural snort and clomped into the forest, mowing down young trees in its way and throwing up clods of earth in its wake.

“Surely we didn’t scare him,” Rana said. “We’re not even— Kitty, no!” she shouted when the wolf bounded into the cutting, two of his pod-mates giving chase behind him. “Titus, make them stop.”

“Kitalanta,” he called out, which brought the wolves stumbling to a halt. “Come,” he commanded when Kit gave a longing glance toward the path the moose had taken.

“Would it hurt you to
ask
instead of snapping the order at him?”

“You do not insult a warrior by asking him to do something, you
tell
him.” He took her hand and started walking again as the three wolves fell into step around them. “If you’re looking for a good chase, Kitalanta, go hunt us up a couple of rabbits for dinner,” he instructed, only to stop when he realized the wolves had stopped.

“I don’t think Kit knows what a rabbit is,” Rana said with a laugh. “You better draw him a picture or we’re liable to be eating skunk for dinner—assuming the stench coming from your
warrior
doesn’t kill our appetites.”

The three remaining wolves came tearing down the road from scouting ahead and moved to stand at attention behind Kitalanta. Having no idea how to explain to a killer whale what a rabbit was, Titus sighed in defeat and began walking again.

But after covering two more miles in silence, he finally reached the end of his patience. “For the love of Zeus, just
ask
.”

Rana shrugged free and shoved her hands in her pockets as she moved ahead of him. “Very well,” she said, her tone as brusque as her pace, “my wish is to continue living in Spellbound Falls and give birth to our child in this century.”

“Then consider it done.”

“I can’t very well drag Maude back to Atlantis,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “after just moving her and Mathew here.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Olivia and Julia and Peg need her. And the town needs a birthing clinic.”

“I agree.”

“And I need Maude, so the only sensible solution is for
me
to stay here, too.”

Titus stopped walking and sat down on a knoll at the edge of the road, five of the wolves stopping when he did and Kit continuing to pad alongside Rana.

“You said yourself,” she continued, “that they know more about growing babies in this century, which very well could make the difference for me this—” Finally realizing he was no longer right behind her, she spun around and briskly strode back to him, her hands now balled into fists at her sides. “Though I realize you might be uncomfortable having a male attend me, you can’t deny that to have a highly trained physician like Dr. Bentley standing in the wing won’t be reassuring.”

“I agree.”

“He graduated with
honors
,” she went on. “And if you had heard how he grilled Maude to ascertain her skill level and how particular he’s being about the equipment, not only would you
insist
we stay in this century, you would also insist that Roger be right outside the birthing room if anything should go wrong.”

She began pacing back and forth in front of him, apparently too busy presenting her argument to realize she’d won, and Titus reclined against a mound of dried grass, cupped his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes on a smile. Rana could be quite persuasive when she felt strongly about something, which he’d learned in their first year of marriage when she had burst into his throne room during one of his weekly court sessions gripping the wrist of a horrified fourteen-year-old girl covered in bruises.

But instead of demanding that he imperially confiscate the young slave as their own, his wife—at the time barely two years older than the girl—had quietly remarked to everyone present how courageous a man must be to brutalize a defenseless young girl, and how impressed she’d been to see people scurrying past the one-sided altercation that was clearly none of their business. And then she’d turned to him and suggested he never allow the girl’s
former
master to own female slaves ever again.

The entire assembly had remained silent throughout her little lecture, and he’d known everyone had been waiting to see how much sway their king’s new bride carried. Despite the risk of openly wearing his heart on his sleeve, Titus had shown exactly how much power his wife wielded by not only imperially claiming the girl as
Rana’s
property—along with any other slaves the man owned—but also banishing the bastard from the kingdom.

And that was the day the lowly blacksmith’s daughter had truly become his queen. And not only did no one ever question her authority from that point forward,
they
also began wearing their hearts on their sleeves for her.

It had been that very night he had found himself explaining to his still-outraged wife that as a self-proclaimed theurgist, his role was to protect free will rather than force mankind to blindly follow
his
will. He could, however, he’d assured her, nudge folks in the right direction, especially now that he had a queen who not only shared his vision, but who obviously had the courage to let him begin implementing his plan.

Titus snapped open his eyes when he realized Rana had suddenly stopped in mid-sentence, then bolted upright barely in time to catch her when she pounced.

“You blackguard!” she cried as she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged his face to her bosom. “You let me go right on talking, even though you had already decided we’re staying before I even asked.”

“There was nothing to decide, as I had given my word.” He lay back and settled her against his side, then held her head to his chest. “And now, wife,” he said quietly, “in return for granting your wish, I would have you explain exactly why you left me, when you should have been running
to me
at such a precious time.”

She became busy toying with the pocket flap on his jacket, and he could almost hear her brain working as she searched for an answer. He gave her a gentle squeeze to let her know he would settle for nothing less than the truth.

“Even after all these years,” she finally said, “I still can’t always predict how you’ll react to . . . unfavorable news.”

“And you felt our having a child was unfavorable news?”

“Well, no.” She tilted her head back to look at him. “But I remember what you were like after Carolina was born,” she whispered as she looked away and toyed with the pocket again. “Everyone on the island remembers, as many of them bore the brunt of your anger. But what I remember most is that it took you three months to finally hold your daughter in your arms.”