Marek (The Knights of Stonebridge Book 1) (10 page)

The remainder of their journey took almost no time. Kitty figured the distance to be about two to three miles. The perfect distance for a good run. Soon Thane’s steed stood before the tavern. Soft light spilled out into the dirt road. Kitty, not waiting for Thane to help her, slid from the horse, then stood waiting for him to secure the animal. Tomorrow, she decided, she’d go back and see that man in the stable, find out more about her own horse.

As they walked into the tavern, Kitty followed Thane so closely she kept bumping into his back. The room was dimly lit with fat, smelly candles, some rudimentary lanterns and a few sconces on the walls. Still, she spotted Marek almost immediately. He sat on a bench in the corner, his lap conveniently draped by a fat woman with stringy blonde hair. Her stomach hardened, surprising Kitty. She had never been jealous. Yet at the moment, she wanted to grab the woman by her greasy hair and drag her out into the street where she would have plenty of room to properly pulverize her.

Forgetting her escort, Kitty plowed her way through the crowd of men excited by this new specimen of female in their midst. Marek looked up at the commotion she caused. His sudden smile seemed to brighten the semi-dark pub. He shoved the woman from his lap and stood to greet her.

Kitty felt some sense of vindication as she looked down at the woman now sitting on the floor rubbing her backside and glaring up at her.

Marek barked at her. “Fetch some sweet wine for my
wife
.” He never took his eyes from Kitty’s face. He swayed slightly, squinting down at her, obviously trying to focus better.

Kitty repressed a smile. He wasn’t sloppy drunk, thank God. But “lost in his cups” seemed the perfect description for his condition.

Marek continued to hold on to the table with one hand as he reached out the other, grabbed her wrist and pulled her onto his lap as he fell back down on the bench. Kitty savored a bizarre satisfaction at so easily displacing the bar whore who had been trying to move in on
her
husband. When the serving girl returned to slam a clay mug on the table before her, Kitty was tempted to stick her tongue out at her.

The look of pure hatred on the other woman’s face made her think better. This wasn’t high school, after all. It was a room full of potentially dangerous men, in a time completely foreign to her, and Kitty had more important things to do.

Ignoring her, Kitty picked up the mug, sniffed the contents and took a big gulp of the wine. It tasted very similar to the mead she’d often had at the Renaissance Festival. Just as sweet, just as delicious, ten times more potent. She recognized the high alcohol content immediately and set the mug back down. Licking her lips, she turned her attention to Marek.

He stared intently at her lips, moist now as her tongue slipped back into her mouth. “Pleased I am to see you, wife.” His foggy gaze slid up to meet her eyes. “Did you seek me out or have you other, younger pursuits in mind.”

Kitty looked at his handsome face and wondered again how a woman would want any other man if she had this one. “I was looking for you. I…missed you.” She needed something to do with her hands before she ran them all over his massive chest. She picked up the mug and drank deeply from it. The mead failed to cool her growing lust, but at least her hands were occupied.

Marek narrowed his eyes. “Surely you jest.”

It was uncanny that she should feel so light-headed already. She could down more shots of tequila at one sitting than anyone she knew. This was
wine
, for crying out loud.

“Everyone hates me.” She knew she pouted, but right now she needed some reassurance, some comforting from this man who, after only a few days, set her heart to racing – and breaking.

“This bothers you?”

“Well, of course it does.”

Marek shook his head. “I am of a mind you actually did die. You descended into hell, had a row with the devil and decided you did not want to be his whore after all. He became enraged, kicked you out and now your greatest fear has come true – you care about something besides your next victim.”

His speech was slurred, and although he sounded amused by the theory he had concocted, his voice held a hint of question not lost in his rich accent. He knew all was not as it should be.

“Stranger things have happened.”

“Have they?” He moved his head closer to hers, their foreheads almost touching, and lowered his voice. “I saw the gray pallor of your skin, felt the coldness of your body. No life remained inside.”

Kitty had difficulty thinking with him so close. Yet she wanted him even closer. Lord but he smelled good.

Thane finally joined them, gnawing the bone of some poor beast and hefting a huge mug of ale. He set the mug on the table, grabbed a rickety chair, flipped it around, then straddled it as he sat, looking from his brother to his sister-in-law with an expectant expression. “Do not allow me to interrupt what is obviously an intense conversation.”

Here was her opening. She had prepared a speech of sorts to try to explain what had happened to her. It was now or never.

“I’m not your wife,” she blurted.

Marek leaned back, stared down at her. Thane’s jaw went slack. He peered down into her mug but said nothing. When Marek made no response, Kitty continued in a quiet voice. “I came here somehow from the future, a time that hasn’t come to pass.” She glanced around at those sitting nearby, searching out eavesdroppers as she waited for him to say something. Both men leaned closer, but neither of them spoke.

Kitty continued in a loud whisper. “Several centuries in the future…like eight hundred years from now.” Marek and Thane glanced at each other, but this time she did not give them a chance to speak. “I was sleeping and woke up to find my bed on fire – my whole bed. My daughter,” she gave Marek an intense look, “
my
daughter, Vanesa, was in her room down the hall. I was so afraid for her, but I couldn’t get out of that bed without burning myself alive.”

Her words started to come faster. “Then all of a sudden you came out of nowhere and pinned me to the ground. I was
here
. Everyone thinks I’m your wife, skeptical that I seem to be acting really strange, but no one doubts it. And maybe I do look like her, but I’m not Katherine Stone.”

Thane leaned away from them, eyebrows raised. Marek continued to stare at her as if she grown a second head. He raised one hand in the air and called for the girl who had brought her mead.

“Wench! I need something stronger. Bring a bottle of that pot sill from the island. And make haste!” He turned his attention back to Kitty, eyes narrowed. “So where is my wife?”

Kitty shrugged. “I think she must have really died, just as you said.” She looked from one brother to the other. She should say some words of condolence, but neither of them looked particularly saddened by the news. “I don’t know how this happened. We certainly have stories and movies and television shows about time-travel, but it’s never really happened to anyone. At least I didn’t believe it had. Now I’m not so sure.”

The woman arrived with the bottle – and one glass. Marek poured himself a shot, downed it, then another. As he finished pouring a third, Kitty seized it, swallowed the contents herself.

Thane drank straight from the bottle.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Thane needed no help getting his brother up the stairs to the solar. As she trailed along behind them, Kitty imagined it was not the first time the younger brother had assisted the older one to his quarters.

Nor was it the first time a man had been driven to drink by his cheating wife. Could she convince him that she was not that cheating wife? Did Marek believe her story? Did either of them? Even she wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it.

Neither of them had laughed.

Thane used one foot to push open the door to the solar, then guided his brother across to the big bed and deposited him on top. Marek grabbed him by his tunic and pulled him closer.

“Did you notice it? The unrest in there this night?”

“Aye. You were in a den of snakes when I arrived. Yet you seemed oblivious to it.” Thane removed Marek’s boots as the prone man continued.

“There was much grumbling among the lot, no doubt even before I arrived. They actually believe ‘tis my fault the crops have yielded little these past seasons.”

“We shall pray for a bountiful harvest in the autumn.”

“I am also to blame for how poor everyone is. Do they suppose I have hoards of food, clothing,
gold
? Can they not see that I have put everything into this keep – for
their
safeguarding?”

“They do not understand why their children go hungry while your family grows fat.”

“Fat? Who is fat?”

Thane chuckled and tossed the boots into the far corner. “We can discuss the unrest growing amongst your serfs on the morrow, brother. Tonight we sleep.” He turned toward the door and looked at Kitty. “If you cannot get him undressed, leave him thus. I doubt he shall be aware of the difference.” He strode past her, closing the door as he left.

Moonlight spilled in through the beveled glass in the window embrasure. Kitty looked at the man sprawled across the bed. Lord, but he was handsome. Already she detected his soft snore. He would indeed be unaware if he were left to sleep in his clothes.

She recalled the few times she’d been too inebriated to take off her own clothes. How nice it had been to wake the next day to find that Jake had taken care of her. When someone cared enough about you to take care of you when you were drunk –

Kitty fought back tears for what she’d lost. Since she found out what Jake had done to their daughter, Kitty had never felt the slightest regret over his death, nor the loss of what they had once had. But he
had
loved her once.

She clenched her teeth. She would
not
cry for Jake Petty. Not now. Not ever.

She tiptoed over to the bed, the rushes crunching softly beneath her slippered feet. The smell of cut straw tickled her nose. She stood next to the bed and stared down at Marek with a longing she had never known. For all his toughness, his heart was so tender he could ignore the world while listening to his daughter with rapt attention, worry over the needs of the people he cared for, perhaps above his own family. She’d even seen him take time from his busy day to care for a wounded hound.

Would she cry for this man? She didn’t want to, vowed she would not, but knew without a doubt she would long for Marek Stone and mourn his loss for the rest of her life.

With a sigh, she started undoing the laces at the neck of his tunic. She fingered his crucifix, hefting it in her palm and sliding her thumb over the sharp edges. It was heavier than it looked. She set it aside and let her hand rest against his chest, cupped around the beat of his heart. Warmth spread up her arm. She closed her eyes, enjoying the moment of intimacy even though he did not share it.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when he grabbed her wrists and pulled her down on top of him.

“There is my wife. Where have you been?” He released her only to slide his beefy hands down to squeeze her buttocks. “Not traveling across time again?”

He didn’t believe her. How could she blame him? Kitty pushed off of him, rolling onto her back and settling beside him.

“In good weather, it takes a fortnight to travel from here to London.” He fell silent. Had he passed out again? “How long did it take you to arrive here across – what? Eight hundred years?”

With focused conviction, Marek shifted onto his side then rested one heavy arm across her stomach and buried his face against her neck. His warm breath, laced with alcohol, caressed her skin in soft puffs as his lips pressed against the tender spot behind her ear. “More than a fortnight?” His lips wandered slowly down her throat.

Kitty shivered, chilled all the way to her toes, and closed her eyes. “A fortnight?”
What is he talking about?

“To travel the distance.” His flicked his tongue out, tasting her.

She jerked. Her breath came in short gasps. “Mere seconds, I think.”

Marek ceased the ravishment of her neck, propped up on his elbow and frowned down at her. He swayed slightly. “Seconds?”

Her lips parted, releasing a sigh of disappointment at the sudden disappearance of his lips. “I guess. My bed was already on fire when I woke up. I don’t know when it changed from being my bed to your wife’s funeral pyre.” When he said nothing, she cracked her eyes and looked up at him. His expression, shadowed in the flicker of the candle burning on the bedside, showed only confusion, his eyes slightly glazed. She supposed it was hard enough trying to decipher the mysteries of time travel when you were sober.

“Seconds?” he asked again.

“Yeah, seconds. You know, sixty seconds in a minute.” He showed no reaction.

Kitty lifted his arm from her midsection, holding it aloft. “One thousand one.” She lowered his arm. “That’s a second.”

Marek repeated her movement with his arm several times, studying the brief measurement of time. Finally he let his palm linger against her breast, his thumb massaging her aching nipple through her kirtle. His gaze focused on the circular movements of his thumb.

Kitty trembled when he licked his lips.

“You traveled so far in only one of these ‘seconds’?” He untied the drawstring at her throat and slipped the straps off her shoulders. Leaning forward, he laved his tongue across the rounded tops of her breasts. He tugged at the neckline of her gown, exposing her in one quick movement.

Kitty sucked in a breath, a sharp hiss, and arched her back. She ignored Marek’s question as his lips closed around the hard nipple he’d just been caressing. She thought she saw stars.

Suddenly, he lifted his head and stared at the wall over her head. “It takes longer than that to ride to the village, even on a fast horse.” When he spoke, his voice sounded hoarse. After a moment’s consideration, he switched his attention to her other nipple.

Kitty struggled to drag breath into her lungs as he suckled her. Every nerve ending sparked and tingled. Her whole body burned. Moisture pooled between her legs, a strange sensation she’d never noticed until
after
sex.

Marek lifted his head again as he reached to pull at the hem of her skirt. “Those villagers hate me.”

The coarse linen tickled as he dragged it up her legs. Was he really talking about the village? With no regard for her own shamelessness, Kitty lifted her hips off the bed as he pulled her skirt up around her waist.

“They blame me for their hardships. How quickly they forget from whence they acquire food in times of shortage. If the crops produce little enough to feed the children, ‘tis I who supplement them, from precious stores that may be needed in times of real scarcity.” As he spoke, Marek idly stroked the inside of Kitty’s thigh, his slurred speech the only evidence of his inebriation.

“Before my father inherited Stowbridge,” he looked down at her, causing her heart to pound against the wall of her chest, “that is what the village was called then. Before the plague, there was plenty to eat. Each year the crops produced a bounty like no other in the area. People came from leagues to trade for goods and produce at its markets. The harbor saw vessels from as far away as the Orient.”

His voice had taken on a hint of sadness. For a moment, Marek ceased his ministrations. Kitty found herself straining her sex towards his idle fingers. He stared off into space. “I am not the liege lord my father was.” He resumed stroking her sensitive skin, occasionally allowing his fingers to brush against the slick opening where her thighs met. “The castle was nearly in ruins. It would have safeguarded no one had there been a siege. The handful of folks inhabiting the village lived in squalor. I supplied the grain to replant the fields. I built a fine stone keep for them to seek refuge.”

Kitty tried to ignore the passion racing through every sensitive nook and cranny of her body. His touch flooded her with warmth. Her fingers ached to touch him, but she resisted by curling them into fists at her sides.

Marek stretched one leg over hers, resting his knee between her thighs. He laid his head against her bare breasts and heaved a great sigh. “’Tis tiring, worrying about so many.”

Kitty ached to soothe his worries, searched her addled brain for a way to alleviate his pain. She combed her fingers through his thick hair. She pulled them through slowly, watching the long dark strands slide through her fingers. His hair felt soft, luxurious, even without expensive shampoo and conditioner. No hot oil treatments here. She could have played with it for hours.

She soon realized he slept, but she did not disturb him right away. She took several minutes to enjoy the feel of him, the weight of his thigh over hers, his head on her chest. He smelled of horses and leather. Even the aroma of the alcohol he’d consumed was enticing.

Her heart swelled with emotion. How had she come to care this deeply for him so soon? Was it merely lust? Lust was not an emotion she understood very well, but she recognized that no man had made her want sex in such a physical way. Usually it was just the intimacy, the feelings that sex invoked within her.

There was more to her feelings than mere lust. She had to take control of those feelings right away. Kitty could ill afford to lose herself to Marek Stone. Her focus was and always would be Vanesa.

After a time, Kitty found it difficult to breathe. She gently nudged Marek over. Without waking, he snuggled next to her. Allowing herself this one night, Kitty snuggled right back.

***

The next morning, the entire family made its way to the village chapel for mass. Marek held Bria on his lap. He struggled to keep his eyes open as Father Jacob droned on in the classic language of the church. Staying alert during mass had always been difficult. But the ill effects of too much drink made the task nigh impossible. And
aqua vitae
. Had he really consumed the entire bottle?

He glanced over at Katherine, considered her profile. She stared at the priest with a most bizarre expression. A mixture of loathing and fear and – incredulity? Disbelief? He looked from her face to Father Jacob’s and back. She might have been the only person present, so intent was her gaze.

Hatred he understood. The priest had proved himself a most despicable man. Forsooth, why would she fear him? Katherine Stone had given herself to a man of God as well as half the other men in Stonebridge. She had not been afraid of him then. Marek resisted the urge to turn and pick out those in attendance who had shared his wife’s bed. He had never felt the slightest jealously over Katherine. He had ever been content for her to be as far removed from their lives as possible.

Everything was different now. The thought of another man’s hands on her ate at him from the inside. He sought her out at every opportunity, actually enjoyed her company and longed for her presence.

And her attitude towards Bria…his heart swelled at the happiness he had seen in his daughter of late.

Marek mumbled the Lord’s Prayer with the rest of the congregation, but his thoughts wandered. He certainly had misgivings about her bizarre story. Where had she come up with such a far-fetched idea? And why? Such magic did not exist. Only Lucifer himself could cause such discord in the world.

Why would she make up such a thing? How else to explain the bizarre happenings of late? It seemed a perfect explanation for her rise from the dead and subsequent personality change. Had his wife switched places with this woman from the future? Did Katherine languish in some unknown world? He gave a little grunt. It was all too unbelievable.

When Marek made the sign of the cross at the end of the prayer, he did so with conviction. If what she said was true, the woman sitting next to him was not the woman he married but another, cast across time to inhabit the body of his wife.

He rubbed at the ache behind his eyes. Even with a wife who ever caused him no end of grief, it had been a long time since he had been so inebriated. He shifted Bria to his other thigh.

The movement seemed to draw Katherine from her trance. With an understanding smile, she reached for the child, who readily went to her. He watched in disbelief as Bria leaned back against her, content to sit through the boring mass held protectively in her mother’s arms.

By appearance alone did the woman sitting next to him hold any resemblance to his wife. In the days since the calamitous, not to mention disappointing, funeral, she had proved herself changed. Her attitude toward Bria caused notice among other members of his household. He glanced up to see Thane looking confoundedly between his brother and the two females. Their gazes held briefly, the unspoken question understood.