His Lover from Long Ago: A Time Travel Romance Page 9

  “Guinevere is the wife,” Kayna said through gritted teeth. “She cannot bed a knight.”

  Griffin laughed at that one, although he was not amused. “Wives can and do bed other men.”

  “Not Guinevere.”

  “Lancelot is well known for this. Maybe you didn’t know everything your sainted queen did every moment of the day.”

  Terrence interrupted in his quiet way. “Captain, I think if Kayna says it didn’t happen, she ought to know.”

  Griffin wasn’t in the mood for someone else’s younger brother to try to make him see reason. “Half the men on this ship left behind a wife who couldn’t be faithful. You’re better off never getting married, Terrence. Mark me.”

  “The book is bad,” Kayna hissed, standing squarely in front of him, preventing him from sending further caustic comments to Terrence. “Ten knights on the floor, and Lancelot in the bed? Is that so?”

  That part did sound far-fetched. Who would commit adultery with ten witnesses in the bedroom? Too late, Griffin realized Kayna had tears in her eyes as well as fury on her face.

  Damn him again. Griffin wasn’t in the mood for any of this. He stood and stamped his foot into one of his boots.

  Kayna seemed more determined than ever to make her point before he left. “Lancelot is a cabin boy.” She held her hand up near her waist, as one would to indicate how tall a child was. “Lancelot was the bad cabin boy. Arthur says go to Gaul. Be gone.”

  “Truly?” Terrence asked again, clearly eating up Kayna’s version of events. “Lancelot was just an angry page? He must have grown up to spread nasty tales about Arthur’s wife, then, as revenge.”

  Griffin made the mistake of meeting Kayna’s gaze as he stomped into the second boot. Her sad and mad expression churned him up inside. He could not soothe her. Could not touch her, for she was not his wife.

  If Guinevere had been tied to Arthur but hopelessly in love with Lancelot, then Griffin could spare some sympathy for her. He was tied to Vivien legally, and hopelessly infatuated with Kayna.

  Wonderful. This kind of situation always turns out well.

  He might never be burned at the stake, but he didn’t care to be tortured by staying where he could look but not touch. “You two stay here and discuss the wonderful wifely qualities of a thousand-year-old queen. I’m going to town.” He crammed his tricorne on his head, grabbed his coat, and walked into the rain.

  There were no messages at the inn.

  Naturally.

  Griffin stood in the public room in his wet coat and drank weak ale as the rain turned into a deluge outside. He was more of an idiot than Lancelot had ever been.

  The only time he should clash with Kayna was over a chessboard. Instead, in his misery over not having the wife of his choice, Griffin had scoffed at the idea of Guinevere as a virtuous wife. The insult had hurt Kayna’s feelings, and now Griffin was standing wet and cold in a crowded public inn when he should have been dry and comfortable in his cabin.

  Griffin deserved every second of misery.

  Although he’d griped to himself that women were always the cause of a man’s misery, he knew it was not true. Kayna had not caused him pain; being with her was only a pleasure. It was not her fault he was not free to marry her—nor Lady Vivien’s fault, for that matter. Griffin was the one who’d been selfish, so greedy that he’d bragged and boasted in his proposal just to guarantee that this time, he would get his way. Lady Vivien’s father would force her to accept his hand.

  The man next to him belched and scratched himself. Another man decided to piss into the fireplace rather than go outside to relieve himself in the rain. Everything and everyone in this inn stank.

  Nothing about this was making Kayna feel better. Griffin deserved this self-imposed banishment, but Kayna deserved his apology more. He flipped a coin to the innkeeper, and began the wet slog back to the Redemption.

  As lightning split the sky, Griffin tied the skiff to his ship and scaled the net to the deck above. Half his men were in town, bedding down anywhere dry they could find—with anyone female they could buy. The storm had cleared the decks of the rest. One lone cabin boy stayed at his post under the overhang outside Griffin’s cabin door, but he was curled up like a cat between a barrel and a coil of rope, so Griffin did not wake him. He poured the water out of the upturned brim of his tricorne and left it on the barrel. Then he shook off the worst of the rain, put his hand on the latch, and opened the door.

  Lowendah. She was sitting by the brazier in her red silk, the silver comb in her hand. She had not yet undone the intricate braided crown she wore during the day, but he knew she would, and then she would hum an ancient song while she plaited it into a single thick braid for sleeping. He knew this because he lived with her, and he loved her.

  He used the boot jack by the door to step out of wet leather, used the corner of the Oriental screen to hang his soaked coat. After a moment’s pause, he pulled off his equally soaked linen shirt and yanked the leather tie out of his hair. Somehow, being bare-chested seemed right for a man who needed to bare his soul, but as he faced Kayna, he lost the words.

  She stayed where she was, exactly as she was, without a flicker of emotion crossing her face as Griffin crossed the room to stand before her.

  “Kayna,” he said. Perhaps her name was enough; there was really no more to say. She was everything to him. He’d been an ass to the woman who was his world.

  “Kayna,” he whispered, and he dropped to his knees before her, bowing his head. “I am sorry. I am so very sorry.”

  The silver comb made a clatter as it hit the floor. She stood only to bend over him, to kiss the top of his head and hug him to her silky middle, and whisper his name back. He was surrounded by her femininity, drowning in her soft forgiveness, content to stay on his knees before her forever.

  But she urged him to his feet, her hands tugging strongly on his arms. He’d barely stood when she threw her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his naked chest. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his cheek on her hair, aware that she was as content to lose herself in his masculine body as he’d been to lose himself in her feminine one.

  They should come together. They should be as one, move as one, in a bed of soft furs. She raised her face and he lowered his, and he kissed her—of course, he kissed her—for he had to kiss her, this woman from the sea who belonged on his ship and in his life.

  I cannot do her harm.

  It was hell, to know that bringing her pleasure would destroy her future. It was enough to make him release her.

  “Why?” She did not let go of him, although he’d let go of her. “Why do you not kiss?”

  Because I was too ambitious, too greedy, too foolish. Because I deserve this punishment, but I did not intend to make you suffer, too.

  He brushed his fingertips over her cheek. “Because we are not married.”

  “Ah.” She tilted her head, considering his words. She held up one finger, then two. “One, married. Two, kiss?”

  He nodded, then grasped her waist and physically set her away from him by setting her on the bed. How would he survive this night? Chess was out of the question, but he could read to her while she fell asleep. First, he pulled out a dry linen shirt and dressed himself. Then, he picked up the book and sat heavily in the chair.

  She was off the bed and beside him in an instant, perching on the arm of the chair as she’d done for the past few days, because she wanted to see the words on the page. He knew she wanted him to use his finger to indicate which sentences he read. He had no doubt that the woman whose body he lusted after had a mind that was rapidly learning to read his printed language.

  He savored her softness against his shoulder as he turned the page. Her warmth reached him easily through the linen he wore. It was no protection from her at all.

  “Book nineteen, chapter seven. How Lancelot then defended the queen and was entrapped.”

  Kayna made a sound of disgust and reached to turn the book back t
o the first page, the pages Griffin had skipped over days ago. A lifetime ago. The smell of Kayna’s skin was intoxicating as she bent forward. Her hand brushed his fingers where he held the book.

  He cleared his throat. “Book one, chapter one.”

  It all began with passion, with a man who had to have a woman he had no right to touch.

  He let his eyes drift down the page. “King Uther liked and loved the duke’s wife well, and he desired to have lain by her.”

  “Duke’s wife? Igraine of Tintagel?” asked Kayna, the woman Griffin desired to have lain by. Her voice was husky.

  “And so Merlin disguised Uther, and he laid with her for three hours that night.”

  What Griffin wouldn’t give for three hours with Kayna, her body under his hands, her hands exploring his body in return. She would smile at him at first, until he made her eyes flutter shut with the sensation, the slide, the stroke—

  He snapped the book shut and stood as Kayna hopped from the chair’s arm to her feet, her beautiful bare feet.

  He tossed the book on the desk and grabbed a dry coat. “I’m going to check on the watch.”

  As she always did, Kayna insisted on holding the coat open like she was a gentleman’s valet, but he didn’t miss her frown as he shrugged into his coat. She picked up his leather hair tie and moved behind him. Her hands, gathering his hair into its customary queue, were too sensual to bear.

  He moved impatiently away. “No, not tonight. Leave it.” He’d be walking the deck in a thunderstorm. His men didn’t expect him to be dressed as a gentleman at all times. God knew he didn’t feel like a gentleman at the moment.

  The woman he had no right to touch stood before him, her eyes downcast, leather thong in one hand. The silk lapel of her robe gaped open on one side, exposing the upper curve of her breast. A sliver of pale pink nipple blinded him with each flash of lightning. Griffin could so easily slip his hand inside, over her flawless skin, to cup the weight of her breast in his palm.

  The thunder sounded close. The lightning overpowered the candlelight.

  Kayna snapped her chin up and the fierce look in her eye caught him off guard. “A good king was Uther. He loved Igraine well.”

  “I’ll bet he did.” I’d love you well in that situation, too.

  Her eyes narrowed, but she tilted her head as if she were trying to discern his mood. “The duke died. Igraine and Uther married. Years of married.”

  “Yes, well, they laid together for three hours before they were married.” He grabbed his hat and headed for the door, but her look of confusion was mixed with hurt.

  He stopped, one hand on the latch, letting the thunder cover his sigh. Which words would she understand? “Uther was not married to Igraine. He had no right to touch her. To lay in bed.”

  “In the bed,” she said, with a hint of a smile. Their shared joke. She didn’t want hard feelings between them any more than he did.

  She stepped closer to him and counted off on her fingers again. “With Merlin’s magic, it is one, love. Two, bed. Three, married.”

  Then she slipped her fingers inside the open lapel of his coat. He shut his eyes and fought to hold himself still.

  “No, stop that,” she whispered, with a feather light touch on his lashes.

  He opened his eyes.

  “Love. Bed. Married. Everything is all right.”

  But her fingers trembled as she traced his lips. She was very bold, but she was so beautifully, achingly vulnerable.

  Griffin took her fingers and kissed them.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Please.”

  He did not want her to beg. She need never beg. Love, bed, and then marriage was the order of things in her century, was it? His body could not agree with it more. He pulled her hard against him, the relief of having her in his arms fleeting as his body clamored for the next touch. And the next.

  He was breathing heavily, he realized, as if he were fighting with sword and cutlass. Anticipation was a sharp blade as he lifted her and carried her to the bed.

  She slid to the far edge so that he would have room to lie next to her, although being side by side was a naïve idea of how things worked between a man and a woman. She was a passionate woman, but one who did not know yet exactly what it was she craved.

  Love, bed, married. That might be how Merlin brought couples together where she was from, but he had to follow the rules of his world. He would not take her virginity without a marriage license, but he also would not leave her begging and unhappy and unsatisfied.

  She pulled him down for a deep kiss, her hands pushing aside his clothing, her anticipation building rapidly. Too rapidly. Griffin stood to undress, keeping tight control of himself. But first, he pulled the bow at her waist, and let her robe fall open.

  He let the air cool her and caress her at the same time. She was both a temptress and an innocent lying thus, watching him as he removed his clothing. He did so in an unhurried manner, letting her look her fill in the gold candlelight and white lightning.

  It was not easy. He was hard with lust for her, but he waited until she reached for him before joining her on the bed. He lay on his side close to her, propped above her on his elbow, and loved everything he saw.

  He whispered her name, and she whispered his, as tongues tasted tongues and hands swept over skin. He nipped her under her jaw, he kissed his way down her neck, then he suckled at her breast, first one perfect pink nipple, than the other.

  Her hands were rough in his hair, her first maidenly instinct to push his head away, her second to clutch him close as she arched her back and offered him her breasts. Her gasps of surprise were incredibly arousing to him. Her moans of delight drew many a whispered yes from him, but it was a small cry she made, that anticipation of something more, that made him nearly spill his seed as he slid lower along her perfect body on the soft furs.

  Oh, yes. There’s more, my love. He pushed her knee to the side and commanded himself to be patient, staying with his mouth poised above her mound. He let his breath touch her as his fingers touched where his body so desperately ached to be. He paid attention to every arch of her back, every flex of her thigh, and when she was on the edge, he slipped in a second finger, lowered his lips, and spoke her name against her untried body. When she bucked into his mouth, he suckled hard, until at last she lay still and gasping in his bunk, in his cabin, on his ship.

  She was his.

  That truth made him release his seed, hot relief to unbearable arousal. They’d all been taught as schoolboys that to do so was a sin, but as he lay with his cheek against her inner thigh and the taste of her on his tongue, he felt like he’d been a saint.

  He kissed his way gently back up her body, so that she could rest her head on his shoulder and know she was safe as she slipped into the sleep that came after release.

  Lightning continued to break the darkness of their cocoon. Griffin held her close, and made a new vow. He would marry her, and soon.

  It no longer mattered which messenger was the fastest. If his proposal had reached Vivien, then he would pay to break the betrothal. It would cost him every jewel he owned. Vivien and her father could call him to court to bankrupt him and take this ship, for everything he owned would have been hers as his wife.

  So be it.

  As he settled in to sleep with his arm stretched under Kayna’s head, his fingers grazed the silver stag with its ruby, still hidden under the pillow. He’d boasted about the ruby in his marriage proposal. Now he’d have to surrender Merlin’s ruby to Vivien in order to marry Kayna.

  A worthy wife, if one could be found, was more valuable than rubies. How the priests at school had loved to make the boys memorize that Bible verse. They’d explained with open scorn that the verse was meant as a lesson to all men: no woman existed who was worth such a price.

  Griffin held Kayna, and knew they’d been wrong.

  The next bolt of lightning brought a thunder of a different sort, a man pounding the door. “Cap’n! Cap’n Dennehay
!”

  Cursing silently, he tried to withdraw his arm without disturbing Kayna, but the pounding woke her, too. She murmured something in the language of Arthur. Griffin kissed her forehead and told her to sleep.

  His breeches were still damp from the rain, but he drew them on and opened the door in a fine temper. “What is it, man?”

  Tobias stood there, twisting his knit cap in his hands. “I’m come from the inn, sir. A messenger arrived with documents for you. Looks like the admiralty didn’t know we were a-comin’ to London, so they approved a marriage by proxy. Congratulations, sir. You’re a married man.”

  “The tavern is quiet enough. Give me the message.”

  With perhaps an hour or two left before dawn, the drunken shouts of sailors on shore leave had quieted into drunken snores that filled the public room. Still, the courier hesitated.

  “Are you certain, Cap’n, that you wouldn’t like to remove to somewhere more private, maybe somewhere with a lantern so you could read the documents I brought ye? I could, ah, use a light repast after me day’s journey in this storm. A pint o’ ale would not be remiss.”

  Professional couriers were paid by the men who dispatched them, but that never prevented them from angling for a bit of extra money at the delivery end. However, professional couriers also tended to be light and lean. They spent hours in the saddle without stopping to eat, riding hard to deliver their messages in half the time of a mail coach. This alleged messenger patted his protruding belly as he begged for a brew.

  Griffin trusted his own gut. With a lunge for the man’s throat and a quick twist of his neck cloth, Griffin held him against the wall. The thunder rolled outside. “My message, man. I’m beginning to doubt you have one. Deliver it quick, for it will only take a minute to squeeze the last bit of air from your throat.”

  He made good on the threat, pressing harder, so the man gagged as he scrambled to withdraw an envelope from his pocket.

  Griffin let him go.

  Tobias should have picked up where Griffin left off, bodily tossing out the man who’d dared to withhold his captain’s personal message, but he remained motionless as Griffin glanced at the seal and saw it was a fake, and a poor one at that. He looked up and caught Tobias nodding at the messenger and jerking his chin toward the door.