Ancient Ties (16 page)

He looked so worried. “But I’m fine,” she whispered. She forgot the women and children filling the doorway the second his lips landed on hers. His strong arms trembled, and he groaned low in his throat before they tightened more securely.

In his passion, he pressed her back onto the bed, sheltering her head in his palm. His tongue speared into her mouth, dominating and controlling her senses. All she could do was hang on. When he kissed, it was sudden and complete. Formidable.

Janney clung to his neck, dizzier now with craving him. He pressed her down flat to the bed. His hands came up to frame her face as he plundered her mouth.

“Mama!”

They both jumped at the sound of the young voice. Janney’s gaze flew to the cottage’s doorway. Several children bounded into the one room hut.

“Hades.” He started to pull back.

“Hush,” she whispered. “Don’t scare the kids.”

Marek lowered his forehead to rest on hers.

“I need to breathe.” She pushed gently at his chest. It was like moving a tank.

Then suddenly, he was gone.

Marek rested his elbows against the fireplace mantle where he stared into the flames.

By the Gods, what’s happening to me? Janney just fell off her
horse. She’s fine now.

He gripped the rough wood to hide his shaking hands. She wasn’t an experienced horsewoman. He’d forced her to ride before she was ready. It was his fault that she was hurt. It would have been his fault if she had died. Marek squeezed his eyes shut and took in a shaky breath. To be the cause of another woman’s death…but it wouldn’t be the same. He’d loved Mellona. She’d died giving birth to his child. He didn’t love this woman. This Janney Forrester.

Oriana, Meta’s mother, entered the little hut again, bobbing her head, smiling apologetically. “Please, my Lord, our village would be honored if you and your lady would grace us with your presence at a feast this evening.”

Marek knew that the people were so horrified that his woman had been hurt in their village that they wanted to do something to appease him.
His woman
. She wasn’t his. He glanced quickly at Janney. She still looked pale and confused. A longer rest wouldn’t hurt her. Yes, that would be best. She can rest until the evening. He nodded his agreement to Oriana and stalked out without a word to Janney. He needed to think.

Long trestle tables covered with colorful cloths, were set up in a grassy shaded area. Janney was amused that she and Marek were enthroned at the center table on well-cushioned chairs.

How medieval
. Even though it was still mid-afternoon, torches were lit to keep the tiny, irritating midges at bay. The smell of roasted pig soon began to fill the air. Women carried in loaves of bread, platters of cheeses, bowls of fruits and vegetables. The men brought out musical instruments—lyres, cymbals, wooden flutes, and drums. It was obvious the villagers were dressed in their finest clothes.

Oriana still looked worried, and with Meta’s help, they placed beautiful, ribbed amber glass goblets, probably the best in the village, in front of Marek and Janney. “From our own vineyards, my Lord, my Lady,” she said nervously.

Janney touched the woman’s arm, urging her closer.

“Oriana, please don’t worry any longer about me. I’m fine. I’m just happy that Meta wasn’t hurt.” Janney reached out with her other hand beckoning to Meta. The little girl eagerly scrambled up into Janney’s lap.

She stifled a sob. She’d hoped one day to have children of her own and cuddle them just like this. Looking over Meta’s head, Janney peered around the village. Her plans certainly hadn’t included this whole scenario. She shivered, suddenly scared to death. What if she had died here? Died in another century!

Where is that wine?

Forced to watch Janney hug the little girl, Marek agonized over his memories and gripped the arms of the chair to again hide his shaking hands.

By the Gods, I must gain control.

The sight of Janney and the child made him brood over his wife, the woman who never had a chance to hold her own child.

He’d kept his pain at bay for fifteen years. Suffocated by the

return of grief when he looked at Janney and the child, he drained his

goblet of wine. Drink would not blot out anything, but a man could hope.

Music suddenly filled the air, snapping him back to the present. Children ran wildly, thrilled to have escaped their ordinary chores to race freely and joyously around the village.

They certainly didn’t care what the reason was for the feast, just as long as there were food, games, and freedom to be had. Meta jumped up anxious to join her friends, and Janney laughed when the little girl turned back and waved.

When he caught Janney’s gaze, his breath stopped. Blue eyes, vulnerable and lost, dazed. She probably missed her kids and her life. He didn’t want to think or talk about children. He wanted the wanton woman from the night by the fire. Wanted her naked and willing beneath him. Wanted to lose himself in the tight sheath that had flexed and throbbed, yielding to the invasion of his fingers. Then had softened, and gripped him in arousal as her orgasm took her.

His sex stirred. His nostrils flared with his arousal.

Someone had refilled their wine goblets, and Janney took a large gulp, not her first.

“It’s interesting…um…to watch the people prepare for this.” Janney averted her head and spoke carefully, formally, her voice rusty. She had to clear it a couple of times before she got the sentence out.

“Yes,” Marek said after a pause. He needed to wet his own throat with wine in order to reply. “They’re grateful you didn’t die in their village.”

She gasped, and he realized how cynical and cold he sounded. Cynical, yes, but he was anything but cold. The wine was a bit sweeter than he liked but very tasty, and it went down too well. Heat twisted inside his belly, and lower. When he’d seen her lying on the ground, deadly still and pale white, he’d felt as if his heart stopped. Carrying her inside the hut and brushing the dust from her soft cheeks, he prayed that she would

be all right. The fact that she’d been nearly unconscious and a crowd of women clustered in the doorway of the small hut, hadn’t kept him from kissing her. Now they were surrounded by villagers who prevented him from taking that kiss further.

Hades!

As more villagers joined the party, the noise level increased with the sounds of the pipes, harps, and drums. Marek continued throwing back his wine, fully aware of the woman next to him.

Huge torches illuminated the feast, the scene taking on a dream-like quality, hazy and smoky around the edges. Slumped in his chair, eyes narrowed to slits, he reflected about the transformation of his life. Janney Forrester had survived her fall.

She was still here. Hadn’t disappeared back to her time.

Plates filled with shredded pork and roasted vegetables were placed before them, their goblets refilled many times.

Marek leaned toward Janney. She looked like she was in a trance, her eyes wide and unfocused, and her smile just a little too wobbly. He touched her forehead with the back of his hand.

She was drinking wine almost as fast as he was.

Tears slipped down her cheeks. “Damn,” she said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It must be the smoke.”

“We’ll go home whenever you’re ready, Janney.” Leaning closer, he kissed her, brushing his lips lightly over her forehead, then lingeringly on her mouth. “I thank the Gods that you’re not hurt. You aren’t hurt, are you?” he whispered the question against her cheek. Against her soft, warm skin.

“I’m fine, Marek,” she assured him. “In fact, I feel great.

This wine is wonderful. I think I’m tipsy,” she giggled, nudging his shoulder.

“Tipsy?” he murmured.

“Mmm.” Janney nuzzled her cheek against his chest, and gazed blearily up into his eyes.

“Come here.” Smiling, Marek quickly took advantage and put his arm around her shoulder. When she slid one arm around his waist and plopped the other on his chest, rubbing over him

with the heel of her hand, he was fairly sure he understood what tipsy meant.

He was positive when, a second later, her hand slid from his chest down to his thigh. Under cover of the cloth on the table and his tunic, her fingers crept upwards, kneading restlessly.

What in Hades is the woman thinking?
Sweat broke out on his forehead. He held his breath, lips flattening into a thin line.

Higher, my sweet.
Marek silently urged her hand up his leg. This was what he’d been waiting for.

Marek felt the beat of the drums as it thumped through his middle. His vision narrowed as he watched the bump of her hand under his tunic crawling up his thigh. His chest jumped with his sudden intake of breath when Janney stretched her neck up and nuzzled his chin with her lips. Her warm breath smoothed over his shivering skin. He didn’t know whether to be horrified or delighted. The warrior was completely unnerved by a woman.

“You smell good. Mmmm.” Janney laid wet kisses along his jaw, her tongue poking in punctuation and dragging along his skin. “You taste better,” she sighed.

Marek tightened both arms around her. If she was going to continue in this way, she would need to be closer. She certainly seemed to have recovered from her fall but was now behaving strangely, one minute giggling like a little girl, the next touching him like an experienced courtesan.

Marek squelched a groan when her hand suddenly came to rest on his phallus.
Oh, yes!
He had to rely on his years of military training to maintain composure, closing his eyes and breathing in sharply.

Janney did not stop caressing him. “Oh,” a soft, surprised sigh. She stiffened, her lips pursed, wide eyes staring up at him.

“Oh, my,” she said admiringly.

His pleasure surged, raw and fierce, as her fingers tightened, squeezing around his suffering, hard flesh.

She whimpered, a soft, high throbbing sound of arousal.

“Woman,” the word ground out of him. His heart constricted painfully as he grasped her chin in his fingers and

drew her face up to his. She peered at him through narrowed eyes. Her lips parted, her little pink tongue peeked out. Their breath mingled. Marek slammed his mouth down on hers suckling her tongue greedily, as if trying to devour her whole.

She squeezed him excitedly, her deep growl rattling his teeth.

All coherent thought gone, except for the need to possess her completely.

Marek filled his palm with her breast, cradled it, tightened around the softness, couldn’t ignore its rigid tip. His thumb scraped across, feathered the tight bud. Janney pressed closer, gasping, her body curling into his chest.

“Oh, God,” she breathed.

There was still enough light to see the flush of desire on her cheeks, her blue eyes glazed with desire. Her tongue flashed over her lower lip.

“Ohmigod, Marek. People.”

“We’ll leave.”

“Okay,” she sighed, still leaning against him.

“You’re still holding me,” he grunted. He closed his eyes with pleasure, as she slid her hand off his phallus. He had to get her out of here. Quickly. Before he exploded.

The minute they parted, three young women swooped in, collected Janney, and urged her to come away with them.

“Dance, my Lady. Dance with us,” they cried cheerfully, beaming at him.

Marek scowled as Janney tripped off. He wondered if the women knew they were thwarting him. They probably did. He wanted her back. It had been so long since he’d been with a woman. He wanted this woman. Her slim, luscious body draped over him, begging for more. Her silky hair ruffling his face, tickling his chin. Her soft, clever hand clamped on his shaft. He growled deeply. That surprised him most of all. She’d always responded to him but had never acted first. After a few glasses of wine, she’d taken matters into her own hands—literally.

Ha! I should have thought of it sooner.

Janney held hands with the girls and circled around the fires and through the grassy clearing. She glanced teasingly toward him, then away.

Marek wanted her back again in his lap. He glowered, breathless, as she broke away from the others, catching the beat of the drum, spinning slowly, and swaying seductively.

What in Hades is she doing now? Is she trying to kill me? And kill
any other man watching?

Shoving the chair back, he rose. Blood in his veins spiked hot, thudding thickly through his belly, until he was so hard, he thought he would burst. He’d seen countless women dance in firelight as entertainment for his men. Those women were quite aware of their sexual allure and of the effect of their well-practiced moves. Was Janney aware? Did she know what her undulations were doing to him? With his jaw clenched, his feet braced wide and firm, and his hands planted on his hips, the familiar feelings of hungry lust rolled through him.

“By the Gods!” he growled aloud. Her shoulders tilted one way, her hips swayed the other. She provocatively lifted her arms, swept her fingers through her curls. The arch of her back thrust her breasts into prominence. He could see her nipples even through the material of her tunic. Any man there could.

Damn. I’ll cut their eyes out. She’s mine.

Swaying gracefully, Janney’s eyes closed in what seemed like ecstasy. Just when Marek didn’t think he could stand much more, she tipped her head back. Her neck—white, slender, and tempting—was displayed like an offering to the Gods. His control finally ripped to shreds, he stalked across the clearing toward her. Even if he wanted to, it was too late to stop.

Neither of them was aware that the only sounds left in the clearing were the snapping and crackling of the fires and the thumping of the drums. Countless pairs of eyes watched avidly as the lord and his lady performed their sensual rites. It had been obvious from the beginning that neither had eyes for anyone else since they’d ridden into the village. Obsessed with each other,