She groaned inwardly. It was too much to hope that that particular memory of his would rapidly fade, simply because nine hundred plus years had come and gone since the actual occurrence. She couldn’t get that lucky, and Thorn was about to prove it.
He didn’t let her ignore him for long. His hands came to rest on her shoulders, weighing against her guilt. And his tone was fraught with anger.
“You were warned—”
“Don’t,” she cut in. “I know I handled him—you—wrong, so you don’t have to elaborate on it.”
But he was determined to do just that. “He only had one thing on his mind, getting you into his bed, and you encouraged him.”
She swung around to face him, drawing on what little defense she had available. “What else was I supposed to do, discuss cursed swords and unnatural summonings with him? That would have freaked him out. He probably would have thought I was a witch, and left me on the spot—to run right into you. I saved you from your dreaded global catastrophe, or whatever would have happened if you two had gotten close enough to say howdy, so why are you complaining?”
“You are a woman of intelligence, or so you keep reminding me,” he said in a low grumble. “You could have easily distracted him with your incessant chattering. You do that well enough with me.”
A double blush, scoring on both counts. Was Thorn right? Had she let her curiosity about his other self convince her that she had no other recourse than to provoke his sexual interest in her?
It was easy to come up with other ideas when she wasn’t directly facing the crisis. She could have simply claimed an injury, a twisted ankle perhaps. She could have told him someone had already gone for help, and merely asked him to stay with her until that help arrived. He wouldn’t have been so uncharitable as to refuse a lady in distress. Then again, maybe he would have, considering he had only two main interests, and she would have been keeping him from one of them.
“Is there a little wounded pride getting in the way here, because I managed to dupe you and get away from you—I mean him? Is that why you’re so angry?”
“Nay, I am angry because you let him touch you!” he growled.
She blinked. And then she started to laugh. She simply couldn’t help it.
“You’re jealous of yourself? Oh, come on, Thorn, isn’t that a little bit ridiculous? I mean, think about it. He was still you—at least to me he was. Even the fact that so many centuries separate your ages didn’t matter, because he looked exactly as you—”
“Only a few years separate our ages, yet is there a very great difference between us that you cannot deny. I have full knowledge of you, Roseleen. He had none. Though he was eager to do so, he had never tasted the pleasures of your body. Wherein, then, were we the same?”
He had her blushing again. “All right, I’m sorry I didn’t slap him for kissing me. I thought about it, but I was afraid he’d leave me if I did and go right off to run into you. And anyway, it’s your damn fault that I let him kiss me,” she said, and pushed him back for good measure.
That a couch happened to be behind him and he went tumbling back over the armrest on it was all to the good in her opinion, since it gave her the opportunity to climb on top of him, which she quickly took. “Next time you kiss me like you did, Viking,” she continued, “make sure you stick around long enough to put out the fire.”
To demonstrate what she was talking about, she started kissing him in a very passionate manner, with more aggression than she’d ever attempted before, and apparently his anger wasn’t strong enough anymore for him even to try to play not interested. Before long, his large hands were gripping her backside to press her firmly against the seat she had chosen, and she was trailing small bites and kisses along his neck and as far down the opening of his tunic as she could get.
It was the most inappropriate time to be interrupted, but that didn’t stop David from entering the room and clearing his throat rather loudly to make his presence known. Roseleen’s head came up, swung in his direction, and after a few seconds of bemusement—how long it took to gather her scattered thoughts back together—she was filled with delight.
“David!” she exclaimed, and immediately swung back to Thorn to exclaim again, “We’re back to normal!”
“I beg to differ,” David said rather dryly. “You, sister dear, aren’t doing anything you normally do.”
She blushed mildly over that remark, because she was too thrilled that their attempt to correct history had worked. And she’d been so distracted by Thorn’s remark when they’d arrived that she hadn’t even noticed they were back in the very familiar surroundings of Cavenaugh Cottage.
But David was still staring at her with a somewhat disapproving expression, which surprised her a bit. Hadn’t he always pestered her in a brotherly fashion about making an effort to find the right man and settle down?
Just now, her blush got a little brighter as she climbed off Thorn to allow him to sit up, and gathered her nerve for the introductions. Explaining who Thorn was was not going to be easy by any means, and at the moment, her brother didn’t look as if he’d be receptive to the incredible tale she had to relate.
So she began by simply saying, “Thorn, this is my brother David, if you haven’t guessed that by now. And, David, meet Thorn Blooddrinker.”
She waited for some wise-ass remark like, “Bringing ghosts home for dinner now, are we?”, but none was forthcoming. In fact, all David did was give Thorn a brief nod, as if he’d never heard that name before.
She was surprised, again. He obviously wasn’t making the connection, or recalling what she’d told him about her dreams—or rather, what she’d thought had been dreams.
She decided to give his memory a chance to jog itself, and asked instead, “When did you return from France?”
“France?”
“Yes, and did you bring Lydia with you this time for a visit?”
He was frowning at her now. “What’s wrong with you, Rose? I haven’t been to France since we went together last summer. And who, might I ask, is Lydia?”
All she could do was stare at him as her body turned cold with dread. He never called her Rose. And they hadn’t gone to France together last summer. The last time she had been to France, not counting her recent visit with Thorn, had been for David’s wedding, which had taken place in one of Lydia’s mansions on the southern coast. But he didn’t even know who Lydia was, had obviously not met her as he should have, let alone married her, and…
She threw her arms around Thorn’s neck, nearly choking him as she said in a frantic whisper by his ear, “That’s not my brother. I mean, it is, but, like the Barry you met, he’s not acting right. I’m afraid it didn’t work, Thorn. We may have gotten the cottage back, but something still needs to be corrected in the past, because this still isn’t the way my present should be.”
He peeled her arms away so he could look at her. “You are certain?”
She nodded, but it was the fact that she was close to tears that had him wrapping his arms around her now. Behind them, David made a sound of disgust.
“Do you mind saving that for when you are alone?” David asked in a disapproving tone.
Roseleen stiffened and turned to frown at him. “Oh, stuff it, David. We were alone until you showed up. But don’t bother leaving. We will.”
She grabbed Thorn’s hand and pulled him off the couch and out of the room. This David was obviously a prude and one she had to wonder if she even liked. She certainly wasn’t going to waste her breath explaining to him what had happened to her. But she was hopeful that the next time she saw her brother, he’d be the brother she knew, not that puritanical imitation they’d just left shaking his head at them.
Only how was she going to accomplish getting her David back? She’d run out of ideas, couldn’t possibly imagine what else had gone wrong in the past to account for these new changes in the present. And she was exhausted. Last night, she’d barely slept at all in the tent. The last good sleep she’d had
had found her waking for the first time in Thorn’s tent in Normandy. But it felt as if weeks had passed since then, with everything that had happened to her in the last two days.
Having reached her room, she closed the door and leaned back against it, giving Thorn a lackluster smile. “I don’t even want to discuss it. In the morning, I’ll figure out what we did wrong, or what someone else did wrong, but right now I just want to get some sleep, so let’s go to bed.”
He made a flourish with his arm toward the bed, but he didn’t look all that happy. “I will join you there,” he said. “I will even make an effort to forget what you were doing ere your brother made his appearance.”
She had to grin at his subtle reminder that she’d deliberately provoked his passions. And come to think of it, she wasn’t that exhausted.
“That’s very sweet of you, Thorn, but you don’t need to forget about it,” she said as she came away from the door. “I don’t believe I need to go…right to sleep.”
She heard his chuckle just before he swept her up into his arms. And a few moments later when he laid her carefully on the bed, she was chuckling as well.
“It doesn’t take much to encourage you—or that other you, does it?”
“When you are the prize, Roseleen? Nay, it takes no encouragement at all.”
She wondered how glib that remark was, or if he really meant it. In either case, the words still thrilled her, and she reached an arm around his neck to draw him down for a thank-you kiss. But he wasn’t interested in any tepid pecks. His tongue slipped between her teeth and started the magic that was uniquely his. Within moments, she had no thoughts to spare except those of pleasure.
He kissed her for a long, long time while his hands made forays to her most sensitive areas. And she had so many that she had never known about until she knew him. Actually, anywhere he touched her produced splendid results. It was as if her body were fine-tuned to his, and he knew every way possible to make it sing.
She was ready for him long before he was willing to end his sensual explorations, so that when he did finally cover her and enter her, sinking deep into her depths and holding there for long, exquisite moments, it was the most glorious feeling, nigh equal to the climax she knew would soon come. She gasped. He did it again, thrusting slow and so deep, and she felt vibrations of pleasure, as if her blood were humming.
And still he didn’t hurry, savoring his own pleasure even as he increased hers. Only when he drove her over the edge and she was clinging to him for dear life as she rode the crest of her climax, did he increase his tempo to join her in that splendid pinnacle of completion.
And even then, as that blissful languor urged her toward slumber, he was kissing her, caressing her, showing her in the tenderest way that she was special to him. That, more than anything else, pulled at her heartstrings.
31
Roseleen was still in the cottage upon waking, and Thorn was still lying beside her, one arm draped over his eyes to block the morning light. She smiled at him and leaned over to place a gentle kiss on his chest. He didn’t stir. He had to have been as exhausted as she was last night, and yet he didn’t skimp when it came to giving pleasure.
She sighed, wishing she could just curl up next to him and go back to sleep, instead of confronting the same dilemma she had faced yesterday. But it wasn’t something that she could postpone, now that she was wide-awake. She might have her cottage back, but something was still changed in the past, because David was definitely not the David she knew.
And if his life had changed drastically, she had to wonder about her own again and if her career was still the same. If it wasn’t, then she wouldn’t have the research books here that she needed, would instead have to go out and hunt down the answers to what else had gone wrong. The trouble was, she didn’t have the slightest clue this time to lead her to what she needed to look for.
She sat up in bed, then had to smile as she noticed the spread of clothes that littered the floor in front of her. As difficult as that yellow gown had been to get into, Thorn had had no trouble getting her out of it. She didn’t even recall his doing it…
“’Tis hoped that smile is for me,” Thorn said from behind her.
Before she could answer or even glance back at him, his arm slipped around her waist to prevent her going anywhere, and his lips began pressing against her bare back, producing a stream of shivers that broadened her smile.
“Well, if it wasn’t,” she said with a chuckle as she turned and leaned across his chest for a good-morning kiss, “it is now.”
He hugged her close. “You are pleased this morn?”
She arched a brow, teasing, “Are you fishing to hear what a great lover you are?”
“Nay, a wench named Delilah once told me how widespread was my reputation—umph!” he ended on a grunt when she poked him in the ribs, but he was quick to retaliate.
Suddenly, she was on her back and shrieking as he began tickling her. A while later, out of breath, holding his head to her chest, she shook her head at his playfulness. The man was definitely wooing her bit by bit out of the disciplined shell she had encased herself in so long ago. And she decided that wasn’t such a bad thing.
It was with regret that she broached the subject that had to be faced. “We have to talk, Thorn.”
“Aye.”
He sighed and rolled until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He searched through the clothes on the floor to find his braes, then stood to work his way into them. With him standing there in that tight underwear, his chest bare—she blushed when she finally noticed a hickey above his left nipple—his hair tousled about his shoulders, it was damn hard to concentrate on what needed to be discussed. At the moment, she would prefer he come back to bed.
But she forced herself to sit up, wrapping her arms around her knees, and began, asking him, “Your other self didn’t do anything different, did he, after meeting me? Please tell me that meeting didn’t change anything, because I really don’t want to have to go through meeting him again.”
“Nay, he searched for you, he asked William about you, but otherwise, he did naught else different. There was no time, Roseleen, for him to cause further mischief. He still returned to Valhalla the next day.”
“But he must have done something different that night, because previously, he got Sir John drunk and then entertained that tavern girl that Sir John was supposed to have for the night. But if you got Sir John out of there, did you—he—still get the girl, or did he choose another?”
“When I could not find you, I returned to camp instead. I was in no mood by then to entertain another female.”
She blinked. “Really?”
That got her a scowl that had her grinning for a moment. “All right, so the only thing different is that you didn’t spend the night with that girl—” Now she was scowling as she realized, “If that’s what has to be corrected, I’ll keep this altered present, thank you, even if I have to put up with a stick-in-the-mud brother.”
He chuckled. “You forget that originally, Sir John was to have the girl, not I. That has been corrected now, so wouldst not need changing again.”
“Good, because I don’t really want to be stuck with that new David. But if we didn’t change anything else…I guess it’s time to dig into the books. Why don’t you go down to the kitchen and find us something to eat while I head for the library, where I hope to find my research books.”
He nodded and left the room. She rummaged through her closet and quickly discovered that her taste in clothes had not improved in this new present, had gone from plain to gaudy, in ridiculously bright colors. With nothing there that she cared to put on, even temporarily, she grabbed a robe that was at least a simple white, and headed for the door.
David was standing there as she opened it, about to knock, and before she managed even to get out a gasp of surprise, he was saying in a tone that reeked with censure, “That man you wallowed in sin with all night long is now destroying your kitchen. You’ll
be lucky if you don’t lose your housekeeper when she sees the mess.”
“Mrs. Humes wouldn’t—”
“Who?”
Damn, she groaned inwardly as she rushed down the hall. No Mrs. Humes here? And why had she sent Thorn to the kitchen, of all places?
She arrived to find an electric blender shattered on the countertop; three cans of vegetables hacked right down their centers, their contents splattered everywhere, a battery-operated carving knife spinning in circles on the floor; the top chopped off of a juice carton now sitting in a puddle of spilled juice. There was also a large dent the size of Thorn’s foot in the refrigerator, which unfortunately had latch handles he probably hadn’t been able to open. And Thorn was standing there now, his sword in hand, glaring at more cans in a cupboard because he couldn’t figure out how to open them without destroying their contents.
She shook her head at the mess. All the modern wonders were there, and some she didn’t even recognize. And apparently Thorn had pressed some buttons, turned some things on, then hacked them to pieces with his sword when they started doing things he figured they shouldn’t.
“I don’t think you’ll ever make it as a cook,” she said, tongue in cheek.
He swung around to complain, “There is no food to be had here, Roseleen.”
“Yes, there is.” She grinned as she walked to the refrigerator. “You just have to know how to get at it, like so.” She twisted the handles on the doors and swung them open. “Voila, lots of goodies. So why don’t I cook you some breakfast, an omelet maybe, some bacon and sausage, toast and jam—how does that sound? You have to be as hungry as I am. The books can wait a bit more.”
Cooking breakfast for Thorn was one of the more satisfying things she’d ever done. It was also amusing to watch him examining everything she set before him. Toast didn’t come so thin and smoothly cut the last time he’d been summoned, bacon hadn’t come precut in a package, jellies had never been so clear before, and butter certainly hadn’t come out of a box two hundred years ago. But he was willing to try anything and everything, and he put away a mountain of food before he was done.