Marek (The Knights of Stonebridge Book 1) (15 page)

“What is
she
doing here?” Kitty asked him through clenched teeth.

The woman leaned across Marek, her breasts threatening to spill over the top of her bodice. “My lord Marek has retained my services,” the woman answered for him. “Seems he has
needs
no one else can satisfy.”

Kitty struggled not to let the whore see that her words affected her. She glared at Marek. She kept her eyes locked on his face, knowing that if she looked at the woman, she might just kill her. The rest of Marek’s family leaned forward on the dais, excited by this developing entertainment.

Marek had the decency to squirm a little in his seat. He cleared his throat, leaned a little closer, before answering her. “We have need of a cook, in especial since ours was lost in the attack. Garnetta was happy enough to help.”

Memories of the raid on the church brought words and phrases rushing back to her. She recalled the conversation she had had with Father Jacob afterwards. Kitty sucked in her breath. Hadn’t the priest called the woman who aided him a ‘bar whore’?

No,
she’d
called her that.

But Father Jacob
had
said his accomplice, Garnetta he’d called her, lived above the tavern. Kitty looked at her with renewed interest. Had this Medieval bar whore wanted Marek’s wife dead, had sent thugs to murder
her
in cold blood?

Even now the wench could be waiting for an opportunity. Kitty looked at her own goblet. She reached out, turned it upside down on the table. She would neither eat nor drink anything served or prepared by that woman’s hand.

Marek busied himself filling his trencher fit to overflowing. He pushed it closer to Kitty and turned his back slightly on the woman trying to crawl into his lap. With a huff, the new cook moved down the line of nobles, filling goblets from a pitcher and glaring at Kitty.

Leaning in to her, Marek spoke so only she could hear. “Eat, Kitty. You must be ravenous since the afternoon’s love play.” He lowered his eyes to her breasts, a smile curling the corners of his lips.

Her cheeks flushed, both from his rich accent when he spoke her name and his lazy perusal of her flesh. Ravenous, indeed.

Fanning herself with one hand, Kitty ignored the food, focusing instead on the conversation around her. She still found it difficult to follow the strange speech without deep concentration, but each day she became more and more accustomed to the language. She thought of how much her daughter would love this place. The castle, the clothes, the way the food was served. Vanesa looked forward to the Renaissance Festival every year with the excitement only a child could show, or at least she
had
. That all seemed so long ago.

Why
had she been so adamant that Vanesa sleep in her own room? Had they been sleeping together, Vanesa would probably be here now. She was falling in love with the Lord of Stonebridge. It was incredible and frightening at the same time. Were Vanesa with her, she would have already made up her mind to stay. Kitty was not afraid of Father Jacob or this whore who was after
her
husband. But the state of Maryland was after her daughter.
That
she was afraid of.

Kitty had been gone almost a week and a half now. Had Katherine’s soul been transported to the future? Had she taken over Kitty’s life, as Kitty had hers? Where was Vanesa? Surely the authorities had taken her to a foster home at the very least. They, along with her poor baby, probably thought the mother had abandoned her child.

Her heart shattered at the thought. If she could only get a message to Vanesa somehow. She looked over at Marek, lost in conversation with his boisterous brothers, yet still maintaining his grip on her thigh.

Beneath the table, Kitty grasped his hand with both of hers. Marek turned to her, looked deep into her eyes. She thought he was going to kiss her. Even through her concern for Vanesa, she longed to feel his lips on hers. “My daughter is in danger,” she whispered loud enough for only him to hear.

He held a finger to her lips. “There is ought to be done this night. Let us enjoy this time. We can decided what needs must be done on the morrow.”

Kitty doubted that he could do anything, wondered in fact if he truly believed her. But she was willing to concede defeat, to spend this night as part of a large, devoted family.

In the arms of the man she loved.

The dreadful woman continued to hover around Marek, but he mostly ignored her, acknowledging her presence only when he needed his goblet filled. As minstrels began to play in a far corner of the hall, Bria climbed up into Kitty’s lap and began picking at the remnants of her father’s trencher.

The band was made up of four different flutes carved from wood, two instruments that looked like small round-backed guitars, and something that appeared to be a predecessor to the violin. Before she knew it, she was bobbing her head with the rhythm.

“The music pleases thee?” Bria asked her.

“Actually, it does,” Kitty said, sounding surprised even to her own ears.

“It makes me want to dance all around the floor.”

Marek wrapped one arm around them. “The hour is late, Bria. ‘Tis well you must be dancing up to your bed.”

The little girl pouted. “But we have not had cake yet.”

Marek stared at his daughter, contemplating. He sighed, too easily relenting. “Very well.”

What a softie
. Kitty smiled and hugged Bria closer to her.

Almost at the same time, a woman brought out what appeared to be a large sheet cake. Kitty was surprised to see the woman she’d brought from the village that very day, the time-traveler’s wife.

She set the cake on the table before the birthday boys. The bar whore, Garnetta, shoved her out of the way, but the other woman said nothing. She quietly stepped off the dais and disappeared through the door.

“To celebrate your birthday, my lords.” Garnettta seemed forever wont to show off her goods. She bowed so low this time, her breasts did fall out of her shirt. The brown circle of her nipples peeked over the edge of her bodice. The brazen woman made no move to tuck them back in, instead playing ignorant as she proceeded to serve the men cake.

She saved Marek for last.

She carried a large piece of cake to him in her dirty, bare hand, held it before his face. Leaning over, she fairly purred. “Something sweet for you, my lord?”

Without a glance at the woman, Marek took the cake and set it on the table before Bria and Kitty. The little girl dug in with gusto. Marek smiled at Kitty over Bria’s head.

“I have other sweets in mind.” He made no effort to lower his voice.

His rich accent washed over her. Kitty smiled back, fully aware when the other woman huffed away. She picked at the cake before her, dreaming of German chocolate with nuts and thick, creamy icing slathered on top. This had more the texture of sweet cornbread, no icing.

Bria, however, was not so picky. She devoured the cake, stuffing her little mouth full. Marek leaned over his daughter. “Finish now, bobbin. ‘Tis time you were off to bed.”

The smile on Bria’s face instantly vanished. “But, Papa. Can I not stay up a while?”

“Yes,” Kitty intervened on her behalf. “It’s not so late yet.”

Marek narrowed his eyes at her over Bria’s head but did not argue. Bria, taking this as a sign of agreement, beamed up at him before giving Kitty a swift hug.

Since he appeared to have no adverse effects from the wine, Kitty sipped from Marek’s goblet. She kept an eye on Garnetta, in case the woman indeed tried to poison her. But soon Kitty completely forgot about her. The minstrels continued to play in the corner where the old man usually held ‘school’. Many of the tables had been cleared away to make room for dancing.

Marek danced with Bria, but mostly left her to dance with her uncles, choosing instead to spend the evening at his wife’s side. Kitty, having no desire to demonstrate her lack of dancing skills, sat at the table enjoying the company of her husband. The mead grew sweeter and more delicious with each sip.

Kitty could not remember when she’d had such a wonderful time. She and Jake had not gone to many parties. She had no family left. He only had his parents, and they lived in California, so even holidays lacked the festivity she experienced this night.

She watched Remi twirl Bria around the floor. Adin and Vale switched partners so often, Kitty found it difficult to keep up with them. Bryn had long ago chased some skirt into the shadows. Thane sat at one of the lower tables, deep in conversation with one of the villagers.

And Marek. Marek kept one hand on her at all times. On her thigh beneath the table, his finger entwined with hers. On the chair at her back. God, how she loved him. She loved them all, she realized as her gaze perused the great hall, watching the celebration going on around her. How she would ache to leave them.

She hoped, when the time came, it would not kill her.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Marek’s wife was drunk. Though he did not worry that she would fall out of her chair or drop into sleep on the table, over the course of the night, her voice had grown considerably louder. She clung to him, squeezed his thigh beneath the table, stroked his cheek with the backs of her fingers.

He loved the attention. But the woman he knew as wife could drink more wine or ale than any man present and never show signs of inebriation. And she had most assuredly never shown him such affection, neither in private nor public.

His thoughts had scrambled to make sense of her wild story ever since she had told him of it. He struggled with disbelief, skepticism and a burning desire for it to be so.

By the one hand, Katherine could have any number of reasons for devising such a tale. Her conniving ways were held by no bounds. She would cheat Christ if needs be. Over the years, he had learned many disappointing, and near disastrous, lessons about trusting that woman.

By the other, how could anyone make up such an outlandish story? The woman sitting next to him, Kitty she called herself, stirred him like no other woman he had ever known. Not merely his cock, but his entire body responded to her in a way that left him breathless and eager for her company. How to explain that? She was warm, compassionate, selfless. Katherine could never play-act so well. He wondered about the medallion. He had first noticed it around Katherine’s neck about six months ago, had thought it a trinket from a lover. Where had she gotten it? Was it Satan’s vessel?

Ignoring the surprised, nay curious, stares of those around him, Marek did not discourage her caresses. Indeed, he found himself craving her touch. Each stroke of her fingers made his skin tingle like the air before a spring storm. He yearned to feel her naked skin against his. When she reached for her goblet, he slid it out of her reach, took her hand in his own, and pressed her fingers to his lips.

“You are most beautiful,” he said.

Beneath the table, she cupped him with her other hand, squeezing gently. The warm look in her eyes was anything but discouraging. Was there another woman alive so bold?

She acted the whore he knew her to be. But, ‘twould seem she acted thus for him alone. The thought made his cock stiffen. If possible, it grew even harder than when she first laid her hand upon him. Katherine never stirred him, even the few times she had tried.

He dared to hope Kitty’s story was true, that his hateful wife had been replaced by this fascinating, exciting woman, a woman he could love.

“Shall we retire to our chamber, my lord?” she slurred.

Marek wondered if she could manage to climb the stairs. “Aye.” He chuckled. “Else I may claim you here for all to see.”

“That’d really give these guys something to talk about.”

As ever, he did not understand all of her strange speech, but enough. “Come, let us away, my love.”

Marek said nothing as he stepped down from the dais, lifted his wife after him and carried her from the hall. He smiled at the catcalls and hollers that followed them, but acknowledged none.

She weighed little more than a child. He had never held the woman in his arms, so he was surprised by how easily she fit there and how effortless he found it to carry her. She draped her arms around his shoulders, nuzzled his neck.

“You smell so good.” She squeezed his shoulders. “And everything about you is so hard.” She giggled at her own joke.

Her warm breath tickled his skin. Marek shook his head, pushed open the door to the solar. He could not make love to her in this state. She would not even remember it on the morrow. He walked across fresh rushes to lay her on his bed.

She reached up to him. “My arms feel empty without you.”

Marek leaned over her, pressed his lips to hers. She made him feel wanted, truly wanted. No other woman had ever done so. He lifted away just enough to look into her eyes.

“I have longed to see you thus. Buried in the folds of my bed clothes. Your hair spread out on my pillow. If not for hastening the morrow, I would yearn to see you awaken with the sunrise streaming through yon window, your skin glowing against its rays after a night of loving.”

He kissed her again. This time she clung to him, kissed him back with desperation.

“I don’t want to leave you,” she whispered against him.

Marek pulled her arms from around his neck and pressed them into the bedding over her head. Something raw and possessive flared inside him. He trailed his lips down her throat. He would make her stay.

Her skin was like silk against his lips. He reached the softness where her breasts spilled over the top of her bodice and flicked his tongue out to taste her. Even as he heard the sound escape her open lips, a rich moan rumbled beneath her breast.

Releasing her arms, he straddled her hips and began unlacing her kirtle. She allowed him to move her first to one side, then the other, pulling the garment from beneath her before tossing it to the floor. Her hard nipples pressed against the smock she wore beneath it.

He tweaked her taut peaks through the rough material. She rose up beneath him, inviting. Growling low in his throat, Marek pulled the top of the smock down, revealing the creamy whiteness of her. A strange patch of discolored skin encircled her breast, across the top, around the inside, and all the way beneath.

He continued pulling until she wiggled her arms out of the sleeves and he could slide the smock all the way down around her waist.

“What is this?” He cupped her full breasts in both hands, pressing them together, kneading them gently.

She looked down for the source of his question. “What? They’re real,” she said.

“I have no doubt they are real.” Leaning forward, Marek suckled one nipple, then the other.

His cock stirred when he released her. He nearly lost his seed then and there watching her succulent breasts bounce back into place, swaying before him. His hard cock throbbed with unsated fervor.

“What’s wrong with them, then?”

“I did not say aught was wrong. Indeed, they are the most beautiful, perfect breasts I have ever seen.”

She laughed, combed her fingers through his hair. “Honeyed words,” she said. She tugged at him, pulling him closer until she could get her lips on his.

She kissed him with languid gusto, swirling her tongue across his lips, sucking the lower between her own. He wanted her with an unholy need. He should not be having such ribald thoughts.

He rolled over and stretched out next to her on the bed. “Your skin is two different colors,” he declared. He continued to push at her clothing, encouraging her to lift her hips so he could slide her smock down over her hips and backside.

“Those are tan lines,” she said.

“What on God’s earth is a ‘tan line’?” Even as he asked the question, he pushed her clothes down to her thighs, revealing the same skin discoloration spreading from the sharp edge of her hips to the spot where her thighs met.

“
Those
are tan lines,” she said. “During the summer, women wear a suit, called a bikini, to go swimming and lay out in the sun. The white skin is the skin that’s covered up.”

Marek’s mouth went dry. “You wear clothing that covers only that small white area? In public?”

“Yes.” She worked her legs back and forth until she was able to kick her clothes onto the floor at the foot of his bed. Then she stretched before him, arms over her head, like a cat awaking from a nap. “’Course my tan’s all faded now. I was much darker during the summer.”

“And you wear this…
bikini
…to go swimming? Swimming for what?”

“For fun. We go to pools, lakes, the beach. There are even water parks with slides, lazy rivers to float in. It’s fun. Don’t you swim?”

“Aye. To get out of the water, most often after falling in. And you say you lay in the sun?”

She nodded. “To get a tan.”

“You discolor your skin apurpose?” She smiled, a smile that nearly ignited him with its warm,  and stretched again as if to give him a better look. He could not get enough of her. The
tan lines
were not at all unappealing. “Every female I have ever known covered their skin from head to foot to prevent such discoloration.”

He stroked her breast, tracing the line of darker skin, trailing his fingers down her taught stomach. “You have furrows in your stomach almost like a man.” He flexed his own stomach to show her. But then it was immediately apparent that her stomach was nothing like a man’s. He leaned over, swirled his tongue around and into her navel. She tasted salty, delicious.

He leaned back, again stroking the muscles surrounding her navel. “Soft, yet firm. Amazing.”

“I’ve never been called amazing before,” she said. Her voice was quiet.

As he reached down to open her thighs, he looked at her face. “I declare thee amazing, this night and for eternity.” He pressed one finger into her damp folds, his thumb working the heart of her pleasure with feathery strokes.

He kissed her again, failing to silence her moans. She squeezed against him, holding him inside her. Marek slipped yet another of his fingers inside, slid them in and out, reveling in her softness.

She was so wet, so ready. He could take her now.

Dragging his lips from hers, he looked down the length of her body, admiring the swells and valleys, the tan lines that he wanted to spend his life exploring.

He pulled his fingers from her warmth, rolled her gently away from him. “Do you have these same lines on your back?” A fleeting image crossed his thoughts. As a boy he’d seen a man flogged and had a horrifying vision of her back crossed with the same such lines.

The sight that met his eyes when she settled on her stomach nearly drove him to pull her up onto her knees and bury his rock hard cock between orbs the color of fresh milk accentuated by the golden contrast of her back and thighs. Instead, he rolled over between those thighs, slid his hands beneath her hips and lifted her enough to fit his mouth against her. Her sharp intake of breath from somewhere near the pillows encouraged him to encircle her puckered opening with his tongue.

The sweet taste of her made his chest clench. His scent still lingered, marking her. This woman belonged to him, whether she chose it or not. Never would he share her. Nor would he allow her to leave him.

Marek urged her over again to her back, lifting one leg and draping her thigh across his shoulder. He kept his mouth fixed to her, his tongue lapping at her as would a starving kitten lap at a saucer of cream.

She tangled her fingers in his hair. Stray locks caught beneath her thigh and buttocks, but he ignored them, lost instead in the musky woman smell that made him yearn to be lost within her forever. He could taste himself in her, the remnants from their afternoon in the bailey.

He took the nub that was the center of her pleasure between his lips, suckled gently, occasionally cleaving his tongue through the velvety folds of her opening.

When she came, he imagined he could come with her, even without any attention paid to his own pleasure. Such was his excitement at her release.

She continued to twitch and moan even after she was spent. He crawled up to lie next to her. Tears streaked her face. He brushed her hair aside, wiped the moisture from her cheeks.

“I don’t want to leave you,” she said again.

Marek smiled. He had no intention of letting her leave.

“I love you,” she blurted. “I love Bria, your family. I love this – house. I love this place. I love these people.”

Marek heard nothing after ‘I love
you’
. His heart hammered against his ribs. She loved him? Could it be possible? Her tears flowed more freely now. Mayhap the honey-wine had been too much for her. She had indeed consumed a plentiful amount of it. Marek slid one arm under her shoulders, pulled her against him.

She snuggled against his chest. “Why does it have to be so difficult? I find the man of my dreams, and he’s eight hundred years old!”

Marek laughed softly. “I am old indeed, but eight hundred years?”

She sniffed now, but her tears seemed to have abated. “It sounds impossible, doesn’t it? Do you think I’ll wake up and find it’s all been a dream?”

“We could not be part of the same dream. And if so, would that you sleep forever, my lady. You need not leave.”

“I
have
to go back. My daughter is there. I could never desert her, no matter what. Would you leave Bria behind?”

For certes, he would not. He would rearrange the stars to get back to her. He thought of his little girl, left behind, wondering why her father had deserted her. His chest actually ached at the very thought.

“Who will she be with now?” A sudden unpleasant thought hit him. One he had not considered until now. “Her father?”

Kitty shook her head against his chest. “Her father is dead.” Her voice held more than a small trace of venom. “It would be bad enough to abandon Vanesa, but if I’m not there, she’ll be locked away. Besides, I miss her. I want to hold daughter She’s ten years old, but she’s still my baby.” She started to cry again.