TemptressofTime (9 page)

Shoving away unpleasant prospects, she met Adrian’s somewhat
befuddled eyes. “I would like to know what you think of…” Talk about digging
her own grave! Seizing the most common name of Henry’s six wives, she said,
“Queen Catherine.”

“You would have me tread on dangerous ground, milady.” His
somber demeanor convinced her he was no boy, but a man who had matured in times
where a careless word could lead to torture and painful, gory death. Hanging
until not quite dead, followed by quartering and being dragged for the people
to jeer at being a noble’s ignoble fate for high treason. She had a vague
recollection of some lord or other suffering such a fate. Maybe more than one
had been hanged, then drawn and quartered—all dependent on the mood of the
monarch.

“Not at all, my…Adrian. I only wonder how the people feel
about her.”

“She is well-loved.” Taking her hand, raising it to his
lips, he pressed a lingering kiss to her palm.

Shivery heat flowed to her breasts and pussy. Breathless,
she marveled at how different that caress felt. In her own time no man would
think to kiss her hand, never mind her palm. Regaining her breath and
composure, she figured Catherine of Aragon still played a role in Henry’s life.
Still favored or already set aside? Had Adrian prevaricated? Could Catherine
Howard grace the queen’s throne in this time? Had Adrian claimed her well-loved
because Diane might carry tales to the king? Tales that Henry might view as
treasonous? On a silent sigh, Diane let the questions go unvoiced.

“As will you be well-loved if—when—you take me to your bed.”
His smile reappeared like sunshine breaking through heavy clouds.

“I gave my promise to His Grace,” she reminded Adrian. An
odd pang of regret accompanied the words. Because she preferred the duke?
Regretted sending him away?

“Although I hope to persuade you in my favor…” His
expression less confident, Adrian said, “There are ways—many equally satisfying
ways—to pleasure each other.”

“Are there?”
Goody, goody, goody.
If he failed to
teach her a way she knew that he did not, she’d enjoy teaching him. After all,
the king himself had freed her to make choices. Why should she limit them to
what others deemed proper?

“Indeed there are.” Tucking her had into his crooked elbow,
he led her inside then up the wide oak stairs to his own chamber door.

“Is this wise, milord? What if the servants discover us?”

“My closed door should prevent discovery.” He gave her a
considering look then said, “But I know a better place. Have Marget help you
out of your clothes. Everything except your chemise.”

“It’s very early in the day for a nap, Adrian.”

“Not, however, for a bath. Wear a cloak over your chemise
then insist she lead you to the bathhouse.”

She laughed. “I think you have done this before. With Marget
perhaps?” Or would have done with her had she not escaped all those centuries
ago to her own time and life. Still…like Walker, Adrian seemed to remember
nothing of that other place, that other life. Either he suffered from the same
amnesia as Walker or both men were skillful actors.

Maybe she’d ask Adrian what he remembered of their past.
Oh
sure.
And have him think her crazy or possessed. If he believed her
possessed, what might he do? Put her on the rack to force the devil from her?
While the church might not believe in witches, it
did
burn heretics.

She’d worry about that later. Along with wondering why she
remembered their prior lives while they did not.

“I do not play with servants, milady.”

Good!
He hadn’t in that previous life either. Points
in his favor, she supposed. “Then you may play with me. Your guest.”

He ducked his head, but only enough to give a nod of
agreement. Without another word, he left her standing outside his closed door.

* * * * *

Marget left her at the foot of a narrow stone path enclosed
by thick walls of ivy clinging to hidden trellises. Diane thought about turning
back, the dark passage reminding her again of those gothic heroines with more
spunk than sense. She watched her maid round a corner and started to call her
back. The woman hadn’t seemed concerned about Diane going on her own, which
went along with her curiosity to see what the bathhouse was like.

Inhaling a deep breath for courage, she rapped on the door
then went through it without waiting for acknowledgement. In case someone other
than Adrian waited in the dimly lit cavern, she’d left the door ajar for a
quick getaway. The cavern felt empty, but she went deeper inside with caution.
Her hands were clammy and perspiration began to bead at her hairline and
between her breasts.

“Without candlelight the water glitters.”

She jumped away from the voice, rescued from tumbling into
the pond by Adrian’s firm grip on her upper arm. Her free hand flew to her
pounding heart. Her nervous giggle echoed off the stone walls.

“I did not mean to frighten you.”

“I know, but you did.” The hand over her heart fluttered
like a one-winged butterfly then obeyed her command to lower to her side.

His large hand replaced hers. Her heart rate soared as he
cupped her breast.

“I did not grant you leave—”

“I am but assuring myself that you shall not faint.”

“From your sudden appearance or the impropriety of your hand’s
placement?”

Step back. Shove away his hand.
She stayed put. Let
his hand remain where it was even though her nipple hardened in his palm.

“I fear I frightened you greatly.”

“You did?”

He swept her into his arms then carried her into the
steaming pond. Settling with her on his lap, he circled her stiff nipple.

All those sculpted muscles made her feel fragile and light
as…well, as if her weight didn’t strain him in any way. With no reason to
resist any longer, she ran her hands over his shoulders, squeezed his flexed
biceps, then pressed her lips to the pulse jumping in his thick neck. His cock
throbbed against her thigh.

Sighing with delight, she said, “Oh yes, you did frighten
me, milord. I am in need of much more comforting.” His cock felt as hard as his
muscular thigh.

His chuckle vibrated along her neck as he kissed his way to
her ear. He shifted her legs, making her even more aware of his enlarging cock.
Wanting to grasp him, open her legs and take him deep inside her juice-drenched
folds, she bit back a moan of regret. Her promise to Walker—
and a greater
fear of pregnancy and disease
—kept her where Adrian had placed her.

“You are naked, sir.”

“While you are not.” He moved his free hand to her hem,
drawing it up her calves to her clenched thighs.

“I’d rather not remove my chemise,” she told him, feeling
her face heat and hoping he couldn’t see her blush.

His eyes took on the pond’s sparkles. “I cannot see all that
well.”

“Well enough. I’d like to keep some semblance of modesty.”

He shrugged one very wide shoulder then pressed her head
against his chest. His heartbeat drummed against her ear. Were her nerves not
stretched so taut she might shatter, she would take comfort from its strong,
steady beat.

His dramatic sigh made her laugh. “Very well. I shall allow
your gown, so long as you permit me to touch you where I will.”

She studied his eyes. They had a dreamy glint, as if both he
and she had already crested and were on the edge of full recovery—just in time
to do every lovely thing all over again. Her teeth raked her lower lip, a
moment’s hesitation before she nodded. Stilling his hand on her thigh, she
murmured, “So long as you are gentle.”

His gaze sharpened. “Has a man mistreated— Never mind. I
shall be gentle until you want me rough,” he countered, as if knowing that at
some point she would beg for rough and hard.

Her nod granted him permission to begin seducing her.

Smiling as if he knew every secret she held dear, he relaxed
against the stone-lined pond wall. “Whenever you are ready, Diane.” His eyelids
drifted down, his lashes half-moons on the chiseled edges of his tanned
cheekbones.

“For what?” Indignation sent her voice an octave higher than
usual.

“To bathe me, of course. To wash then comb my hair.”

As if he’d tossed her into a snowbank, a low-pitched screech
escaped her lips. She stormed out of the pond. “If you wish a bath, my lord,
send for your washerwoman. I’m certain she’ll oblige you for only a few coins.
As for me, I am worth far more than a quick tumble in a pot of water.”

Idiot
, someone muttered in her mind. The rest of her
body agreed. Okay, she’d behaved like a coward. But if she hadn’t run, how
could she face herself later?

How could she face Walker? Or Adrian for that matter?

And why did she care what either man thought of her?

* * * * *

Slamming her bedroom door behind her, Diane grabbed her
eating knife and the small round mirror she’d found in the wooden chest at the
foot of her bed. Propping the mirror against her water pitcher, she gripped the
end of her nose, half meaning to cut it off just to spite her face. Disfigured,
neither man would want her. Perhaps they would think some disease had caused
her ugly visage. Leprosy was common now, wasn’t it? But did she really want to
go through life without a nose? Laughing at herself, she gave a resigned sigh.

She’d walked out on—hell’s bells, had raced away from—one of
the sexiest men she’d ever met. Now her hormones were raging. Her skin burned.
Her breasts wanted his hands, his mouth and tongue all over them. She didn’t
care if he treated them roughly or not. And her pussy… Sweet God, even if she
had her vibrator, it wouldn’t come close to satisfying her.

“Stu-pid,” she shouted just as Marget opened the garderobe
door and entered the solar.

“M’lady?”

Diane shoved the mirror into Marget’s hands. “Hold this—”
Positioning the glass in front of her face, she again took her nose and knife
in hand.

Laughing, Marget took away the knife. “His lordship demanded
you do something…unnatural?”

The idea that Adrian even knew about unnatural things startled
her so, she plopped down on her bed. “I d-don’t—no.” Not that she actually
would have sliced off her nose which, as noses went, was one of her best
features. Straight and narrow and not too long. All in all a most satisfactory
proboscis.

Marget took up Diane’s comb and began working out the
tangles her flight had put in her unbound hair. As she combed, she hummed a
soothing tune. “Not to pry, m’lady, but if you wish to talk about what is
troubling you…I am a good listener.”

A sob escaped Diane’s mouth. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Wide-eyed, she covered her lips with both hands then hid her face in her knees.
Tension. Sexual deprivation. Those things must account for her emotional
collapse.

Marget settled beside her, not saying a word. Just her presence
made Diane feel a little better. Straightening, she swiped away her tears.

“Men,” Marget said, “are very demanding creatures.” Diane
sniffed her agreement. “While they consider our sole purpose on earth is to
serve them, we know better.”

“We do?”

“We do.”

“How do we know?” Scooting deeper onto the bed, Diane
arranged her damp chemise so she could sit tailor-fashion. Marget plumped a
pillow then settled against the headboard. Her silence made Diane think. “Are
you suggesting compromise?”

In her mind, compromise equated to somebody losing. If she
compromised, she lost and Adrian—or Walker—won. So, not combing Adrian’s hair
was like telling him she wouldn’t have sex with him. And whom did that make a
loser? Her!

She felt like giving way to tears all over again. Instead,
she straightened her spine and said, “I haven’t a clue how to go about it. I
mean…I have as much pride as Adrian has. He won’t apologize for treating me
like a servant—” Her face heated. “I do beg your pardon, Marget. I meant no
insult.”

“Ah, but you cannot say outright that you are sorry. And
neither can a man.”

“How then do we deal with each other?”

“When the earl asked—all right,
demanded
—you do
something, what did you do?”

“I made a snide remark and left him.” She twitched her lips
from side to side. “Guess I should have stayed.”

“That depends on what he demanded of you. Were he to do it
to you, would you enjoy it?”

Ah-ha.
“I’m beginning to get the idea. I’ll scratch
his back if he scratches mine.”

“Something like that, yes.” The woman patted Diane’s knee as
she stood. “Feeling better, m’lady?”

“Much. Thank you, Marget.” As the maid reached the door,
Diane said, “Can you provide candles and a simple meal for two and deliver it
to the bathhouse?”

“Of course, m’lady. I can even provide a reason for the earl
to join you there…if that is what you want.”

“Yes.”
I’ll wash his hair and he’ll wash mine.
Whether she intended them to wash the hair on their heads or lower…that would
depend on how much
he
was willing to compromise.

Chapter Eight

Marget had even provided pillows for the wooden benches
along the bathhouse walls. Extra toweling as well, although Diane failed to see
the need. Perhaps to use when she and Adrian dressed for the last time before
leaving. Of course. It wouldn’t keep their tryst secret if they returned to the
castle in damp clothes. Not that she expected their liaison to remain
undetected for long. All it would take…a single sighting of the two of them
together going into the bathhouse, a single word from one servant to another and
everyone in the castle, the cottages and the village would know.

Besides, what difference would it make? She would either
live here as Adrian’s wife or live with Walker as his. Let the servants gossip
as they would, even if they speculated she was neither lord’s wife. She’d know
the truth.

Which was what?

That this Diane was an unconscionable flirt who relished
having two sexy hunks courting her? Or was she, like her modern self, so afraid
of making the wrong choice that she elected to let others decide for her? When
she suffered the consequences of indecision, she could blame others for her
discontent.

Just like her mother.

Time to grow up, Diane.
Take responsibility. Make the
choice for herself. And—right or wrong—live with the results.

Plopping down on a bench, she nibbled on a chunk of cheese.

It wasn’t as if anybody at home would know she’d behaved
like a slut here. Hell, even if she managed to get back to her own time and
place, who would care about how she behaved in this place?

Her mother?

No. Her mother always expected the worst from her. And for
some unknown reason—spite perhaps—Diane had decided early on to live up to her
mother’s expectations. Or was that
down
to those expectations?

Stretching out on the bench, she bunched a pillow under her
head. No reason not to take a nap while she waited for Adrian. If things went
according to plan, she’d need every ounce of energy tonight.

With images of a naked Adrian doing all sorts of delicious
things to her needy body, she dozed.

A crash so loud it sounded like thunder directly overhead
startled her awake. Her heart beat so hard it felt like the earthquake that had
spun her from her own life to the twelfth century had returned.
Ohmigod
,
was she about to go somewhere else? A different century where she knew even
less than she did about medieval and Tudor times? Bracing her hand on the wall,
realizing it stood firm, she released her pent-up breath and peered toward the
now-open door.

Mouth suddenly dry, she knew the dark figure outlined by
faint sunlight wasn’t Adrian. As it moved toward her, leashed fury in every
step, she shrank away. Hard, cold stone and the now-looming male body blocked
any hope of escape. A bundle of clothes landed in her lap.

Walker’s voice came at her like an unexpected slap. “Had you
told me you wanted me first, I would have taken you with me when I left this
morning.”

Swallowing fear, she surged to her feet. “Had you asked…”
She wouldn’t have known what to say any more than she knew now.

“Get dressed.” He turned toward the door. His short cape
swirling about him reminded her of Dracula turning into a bat in all those old
movies.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she muttered as she
donned linen slops as panties. A short skirt like peasants wore and a sleeved
jerkin covered the rest of her. No hose, no shoes.

Walker apparently thought she would try to escape. In truth
he’d rescued her. Once again, the decision was out of her hands—for at least as
long as it took to travel from Belleange to wherever Walker lived.

After that?

She’d think about that when she had to.

His shout hurried her along. A sense of relief accompanied
by a sigh of regret at losing Adrian followed her to Walker’s side. Without a
word, he pulled her onto his horse then sent it into a brisk trot, uncaring
that a fall could break her neck. Clamping her hands around one of his
forearms, she would either avoid falling or take him with her.

* * * * *

To her surprise, Diane found riding balanced on Walker’s
hard thighs almost pleasant. In truth, his legs were far more comfortable than
any saddle. Giving her a feeling of power, she could gauge his need as his
groin met her buttocks with every bounce. When his cock rose, he stood in his
stirrups until either his cock subsided or his legs could no longer support
him. Since the time between sitting and standing decreased, she figured his
cock suffered more than his legs.

Besides, England in early summer was beautiful, the
landscape dotted with wildflowers in myriad colors. Fields so green they hurt
her eyes to look at for long. Lambs bounced at their mothers’ sides.

Finding herself rubbing her belly as if she carried a child
inside, she jerked away her hand and met Walker’s amused black eyes. This
morning—the fourth day of their travels—he’d put her on a spare horse instead
of in front of him atop his stallion, a horse as black as its master’s eyes and
heart. His reason for riding separately?

“The pleasure of looking at you, milady,” he’d said, a
laconic expression on his craggy features.

Not knowing how to respond to that blatant lie, she held her
tongue and studied the scenery as they traveled along, their horses’ tack
jangling like wind chimes.

“We are now on Mornay lands,” he told her an hour or so
later.

Straightening to get a better look, she saw nothing
different. “How do you know?”

“‘Tis in my blood. In the smell of the soil. In the—”

“Bull— Balderdash.” She had no idea if anyone used
balderdash
in this particular time, but it had a certain authoritative ring to it. And for
some unfathomable reason, she didn’t want Walker to think her a foul-mouthed
shrew—no matter that she sometimes behaved like one.

“‘Tis true, Diane. At least in part. The air here smells
different—an aroma I recognize and cherish as I do the scent of your arousal.”

The almost-tender look in his dark eyes made her wish she
could trust it. Could trust him. But she suspected this change in attitude was
yet another attempt to control her.

He brought his horse to a full stop. Hers halted too, a
welcome interruption to her spinning thoughts. She glanced at Walker, her brows
quirked in an unspoken question. Their escort rode ahead, granting them privacy
in the golden sunshine.

Smiling, he dismounted then lifted her down with the ease of
long experience. His eyes sparkled dark delight and something indefinable—a
lightness of spirit she had never before seen in him.

She didn’t believe what he’d said about the air here, but it
was apparent he believed with everything in him. His smile—however
slight—revealed his joy at being here, where he seemed in his own milieu. His
heart’s home.

“Why did we stop here?” She almost whispered the question,
unwilling to disturb this special place and moment. Ancient oaks, their
greening branches intertwining far above her head, framed a sky devoid of
clouds. A sky so blue it took her breath.

“There is a stream nearby. I thought we could rest awhile.
Eat a little. Relax before we face a houseful of servants all anxious to meet
you.”

She grimaced and wished he’d kept that bit of information to
himself. “Is there a back door we could sneak in through?” He shook his head.
“A tree outside a window with sturdy branches we could climb?”

Laughing, he swept her into his arms. “If you permit me to
carry you up the ducal steps into the ducal family seat, the servants will know
to disband for now. You can delay meeting them for a day or two.”

“And have them whispering I’m a coward? No way. You may put
me down. I’m quite capable of walking.”

“The ground is stony and your shoes so thin the first rock
will cripple you. Besides,” he continued when she started to object, “I like
having you in my arms.”

Ignoring the flutter around her heart, she gazed straight
ahead. She heard the stream first, a merry bubbling sound that prepared her to
see water flowing over rocks. What she hadn’t anticipated was how still the
water looked where it widened into a pond. A pond so clear she could see
spotted fish swimming in its depths.

“A little later—late summer, when the water is somewhat
warmer—I shall teach you how to fish.” Depositing her on a blanket, he opened a
linen-covered basket, pulling out cheeses and meats and a clay bottle topped
with a cork stopper. She wondered how everything had gotten here in such a
timely fashion. But—
duh
—a duke’s servants would know of his pending
arrival. Know that he always stopped here on his way home. Jealousy raised its
green head in her soul, making her wonder how many other women he had brought
to this place.

“Fish?” she repeated, mesmerized by his fluid movements and
the contentment on his face. When he looked at her, she shivered, saying, “I
prefer my fish cooked and on a plate.”

“Squeamish, eh?”

“Hooks and worms. Ugh!”

“The way my father taught me to fish there are no hooks or
worms.”

Suspecting a joke, she tilted her head to one side and
waited for the punch line. He just grinned and continued unloading the basket.
Napkins, a sort of curved knife she recognized was used as a fork, as well as a
single pewter tankard. Would they share it or would he drink from the bottle?

“Are you going to tell me how you catch the fish or not?”
she said, taking a piece of cheese he’d sliced from a wedge and held out to
her.

“Have you never heard of tickled trout?”

Of course she had, but… “You truly tickle them?”

“In a manner, yes. One waggles one’s fingers as a worm might
wiggle. When the fish comes to investigate his tasty meal, one closes one’s
fingers around the fish and there is supper.”

“I think there’s more to it than that.”

“Well, it does require patience and quickness.”

“And touching the fish.” She wrinkled her nose at the idea
and shivered again.

“Where do you think food comes from?”

“The,”
grocery store
, she thought, “farms and
forests.”

“Not a total ninnyhammer,” he muttered loud enough for her
to hear. But his wide smile took the sting from his words.

“I wager you don’t know a thing about…keeping house or
mending clothes.” She wanted to challenge him with a word from her own
time—something like
baseball
or
computers
or—

Witchcraft!

“Mayhap not, but I’ve mucked out barns and cleaned out
wounds when necessary.”

His smile faded, reminding her this was a world where a
scratch could lead to infection and dying. A world in which combat was
hand-to-hand and death an enemy you met face-to-face.

Wanting to restore his lighter mood, she said, “What else
did your father teach you?”

“How to piss without spraying my clothes.”

“A remarkable accomplishment,” she drawled instead of
complaining about his language as a proper sixteenth-century lady might. Even a
twenty-first-century woman might object—if, like Diane, she didn’t get out much
or listen to how men talked to each other on TV shows.

His guffaw echoed around the clearing, sending nearby birds
into flight. Then, dropping to the blanket, he kissed the tip of her nose.

“I think I am glad we came here,” he said, still smiling at
her, for once without a seductive gleam in his eyes.

To her utter amazement, she missed that gleam.

* * * * *

“What changed your mind?”

The question came at her after several hours of silence.
Eating in silence. Mounting her horse again and continuing on…in silence.

“About what?” she said, meeting Walker’s gaze. His impatient
scowl and waved hand over the scenery provided a clue. “I didn’t change my
mind. Adrian and I had a…misunderstanding. By the time I decided to forgive—”
Walker’s snort made her correct herself. “To compromise with him, he’d hared
off. I guess to find you. Unbeknownst to me, I promise.”

“And yet you came with me.”

Her snort made him smile. “I didn’t think I had a choice.
Since he didn’t come back, Adrian clearly wanted nothing more to do with me.”

“Untrue…I promise. ‘Tis more that he knew not how to deal
with you.”

“It’s not as if I…” Oh, but she had. Stormed off in a fit of
pique like that nose-in-the-air noblewoman everyone thought she was. She’d left
Adrian to stew. Left him to decide she was too difficult to deal with—so
difficult he’d gone after Walker to save him from the shrew he wanted to fuck
if only she’d shut up and lie still.

The image of herself gagged and bound to Adrian’s bedpost
made her smother a laugh with her hand. Blinking, startled by the idea she
might not mind being bound, she slanted Walker a frown.

“So,” she said at last, “you rode to the rescue. Selflessly
sacrificed yourself so Adrian needn’t suffer the shrew’s vitriol.”

“I would not call you a shrew.”

His contemplative gaze made her squirm in her saddle. “What
would you call me?”
Oh good Lord!
Reduced to fishing for compliments
from a man she’d all but promised to have sex with.

He rubbed his chin as if seriously considering her question.
Suspecting he struggled for a word that wouldn’t insult her even more, she
studied the lay of the land between her mare’s ears.

“First, I do nothing that does not benefit or please me.
Selfish is what most men call me.”

“Not to your face, I’ll wager.” She hadn’t meant him to hear
but his grin said he had.

“Second, I think of you as a…yes, a vixen. That mass of hair
I want—” A look of something close to pain crossed his proud features. His
clenched jaw reflected the force of his will as he unfisted his hand on the
reins.

She felt his fingers stab through her hair, hold her face
immobile while he searched her eyes—asking questions she didn’t understand. Her
mare shifted, making Diane realize Walker hadn’t touched her at all.