Kiss Across Swords (Kiss Across Time Series) (13 page)

Veris realized he had let his borrowed mount lapse into a lazy-hipped walk while he had been busy with his thoughts. He kicked it back into a canter again.

There were mysteries to be unraveled, he decided. That made it worth a second conversation. That was all he was doing. Just speaking to them again. Nothing more.

Having settled it in his mind, he rode on feeling somewhat happier. But images of Brendan at the wall that morning, the look in his eyes, kept flashing into Veris’ mind as he rode, disturbing his simple mission. Worse, he kept remembering the sensation of the woman’s lips on his.

He was nearly at Brendan’s camp when it occurred to him with a shock that nearly unhorsed him: She had kissed him with the expertise of a human who knew how to avoid being hurt by vampire canines.

Brendan’s wife knew what Brendan was.

Ergo
, she knew Veris was vampire, too.

The last quarter mile to Brendan’s camp was very long and full of racing, difficult thoughts indeed.

* * * * *

“Now, was telling me the rest of the story about Veris and the spear so very hard?” Taylor asked, as Brody poured her a mug of water from their combined rations, which had been boiled the requisite twenty minutes now.

“It’s easier trying to tell it as a story,” Brody admitted. “But that was the simple part anyway. This next part…” He took a deep breath. “You really want all of it?”

“All of it,” she confirmed, placing a cushion underneath her on the chest. “I need to know what he was thinking and telling me what happened will give me the biggest hints. All of it, Brody. The whispers, the murmurs. I’ve seen you two together doing just about everything the human body can do, so it’s not like you can shock me.”

Brody grinned. “I think you can drop the ‘just about’.”

“I was being cautious. Every time I think I’ve seen it all, you two come up with something new.”

He chuckled. “You sound like a lawyer.”

“You should know.”

He grimaced. “Never again. Thirty years as a barrister was too long for me.” He settled on the chair, rested his elbows on the arms and pressed his fingers together. “You know the start of it. Veris—Will—found me outside the tent early in the afternoon. He’d obviously done some research and found out who I was. That must have given him pause for thought, because he’s a knight and I’m a landed lord at this point in time. Neither of us gives a damn about such things, but in this time and place other people care very much about such matters.”

“Don’t they also give a damn about men being together?”

“Surprisingly, not so much. It’s condoned in a blind-eye sort of way, depending on your partner. War time couplings are very common. Men get lonely.” He shrugged. “Young boys with their soft skin are quite sought after, but long-term liaisons are something else.”

“I imagine they can find those disturbing. Threatening, even.”

“If they learn of them. If they’re flaunted, yes.” Brody shrugged. “We didn’t wave it around. Later on, when the Christian church really got going on the evils of sodomy…well, we took it completely behind doors.” He grinned. “So did a great many other people. The years Queen Victoria was so set on everyone being perfect were very interesting.”

Taylor smiled. “So I’ve heard. But you were saying?”

Brody grinned again. “You’ll have it out of me an inch at a time, won’t you?”

“If I must. I’d rather you just tell me and stop struggling.”

“Surrender to you, huh?”

She could feel her own smile broaden all on its own. “If that appeals to you, sure.”

Something in his gaze darkened. “I suppose you think that’s what happened with Veris and me, hmm?”

Taylor could feel her body tighten. “It didn’t?”

Brody’s smile grew slow and warm. “Don’t hurry the troubadour’s tale.”

* * * * *

Brody was seeing to the dispersal of his men for the afternoon and evening when William arrived. It had been far sooner than Brody had expected and caught him off guard. He looked up at William on his big black war horse as the knight dismounted, doffed his visor and snagged the mount’s reins about the bleached lump of blasted rock that weighed down the rope of the tent.

William stopped a dozen paces away. He wore a clean tunic now, the same red and black Selkirk colors, with a red crest on the breast, over a black mail hauberk. His long sword was strapped to his hip. His visor was under his arm and he held the horse by the other gauntleted hand, unconsciously controlling the fretful animal. His eyes blazed in the bright sun as he studied Brody.

“You are Brendan, Raymond’s man, are you not?”

Brody nodded. “I am.”

“You are William, with Selkirk, who is camped with Godfrey of Bouillon on the north side of Jerusalem,” Brody prompted.

“I am. Most who call me friend call me Will, though.” He pulled off his gauntlets, strode over to Brody and held out his right hand. “Thank you for what you did this morning, friend.”

Brody took the offered hand. At the touch of Will’s hand a light shock seemed to travel up his arm and down into the pit of his stomach, to curl and roil like a restless snake. Brody fought to keep his face expressionless. “I would call it nothing, but perhaps you might return the favor one day. I know it would be no small matter, then.”

Will’s blue eyes, which seemed to match the sky behind him, locked with Brody’s.

The shiver became almost a shudder. Brody dropped Will’s hand. “It would be natural for me to invite you into the tent for a cup of wine,” he said, dropping his voice so it wouldn’t travel.

“Then you had better invite me in and call for wine. We can find a crack in this blasted dry earth to pour it into, I’m sure.”

“I made sure the crack was there when I had the tent pitched.”

Will grinned. “Then let’s drink,” he said loudly.

Brody led the way to the tent. “Bring wine!” he called, as Will handed his visor and gauntlets to the small, new page Brody’s men were training.

It was warm in the tent but private. The light was nice and dim after the radiant scorching brightness of the daylight outside.

Brody settled himself on the big chair. It didn’t surprise him when Will pushed the clothes heaped untidily on the chest by Brody’s lazy page onto the ground and settled on the broad flat surface, facing him. The man seemed to be able to make himself comfortable no matter where he was.

He studied Brody frankly. “You’ve done well for yourself, clearly.”

“Because I have land? Dirt is easy to come by.”

“If you say so. Try having blue eyes and blond hair and acquiring a title. Up until about fifty years ago, being Saxon was a curse. Now the pope has waved his hand and all is forgiven, although the Norman French still look sideways at me.” Will grinned. “Perhaps I will catch up with you yet.”

“You seem to do well enough. Surely, that’s all that one needs?”

“Not quite,” Will said flatly, his gaze steady.

Brody was caught by that unwavering gaze and almost jumped when the tent flap rustled as the page hurried in with a tray carrying a pitcher of wine and two mugs. He placed it on the table next to Brody.

“See we’re not disturbed,” Brody ordered.

“Yes, milord,” the page told him and hurried out, after a fear-filled glance at Will.

Brody poured the wine and handed Will a mug. “Your good health, sir.”

“I’m sure you could come up with something better than that,” Will said, not lifting his mug.

The direct challenge.

Brody smiled. “You don’t believe in a subtle hunt, do you?”

Will put his mug on the table once more. “Britain, four sixty-one. That was the year you gave me, wasn’t it?”

Brody nodded. He could feel his heart picking up speed just sitting there.

“Camlann was only thirteen years later,” Will said, his tone conversational. His gaze wouldn’t release Brody’s eyes, though. “I know that year exactly because I was there.”

Brody realized he was squeezing the mug. He didn’t let it go, though. He couldn’t. “I wasn’t there.”

“Not for all of it,” Will replied.

He knew
. He had read it on Brody’s face this morning. Brody tore his gaze away from Will’s eyes, that saw so much.

“How long were you a slave?” Will pressed.

Brody closed his eyes. He drew in breath that burned and made his chest shudder. Screams. The stench of burning flesh. The crackle of fire. Men shouting. Above all, pain.

“You fight the memories still,” Will said. His voice was closer.

Brody opened his eyes to find Will standing over him. He gasped in quick breaths to calm himself. “I fight the memories only when someone deliberately provokes them, knight.” He curled his fingers around the arm of the chair and wished mightily that he could quaff the mug of wine in his other hand. Drunken oblivion would be useful right now.

Will cupped Brody’s face in his hand. “I won’t hunt a man who has been a slave. I’m not that cruel.”

Simultaneous disappointment and arousal circulated through him at Will’s words and his touch. Brody froze, trying to deal with both.

Will’s thumb stroked over Brody’s cheekbone. The caress sizzled along his nerves and arrowed into his groin. He bit back the groan that tried to emerge.

Will’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, the depths in you…” He leaned down and kissed him.

The kiss brought Brody’s body alive in a way he’d never experienced. But not just his body answered the kiss. As Will’s lips moved against his and his tongue pushed inside Brody’s mouth, he knew this was no ordinary dalliance, of which he’d had plenty.

His body was rock hard and his cock throbbed painfully when Will let him go and stepped back.

Brody wanted to reach for Will, to bring him back closer again, but there was something in Will’s eyes that stopped him.

Will drew a breath that was not quite steady. “There is a small, quite private and hidden corner of the desert two miles due south of Mount Zion. There’s nothing there but an ancient olive tree and what was once a building and a very deep well. I’ve pitched a tent and most nights I go there to not sleep in peace.” He lifted the mug of wine. “Around two a.m., when the human cycle is on the ebb. Come alone. It’s risky, because the Fatimids have circled us, so watch yourself.”

Brody sat forward. “You want me to come to you.”

“I want you to come to me freely. No coercion. No hunt.” Will lifted the mug. “To possibly the most interesting man I’ve ever met.”

Brody almost laughed until he saw the flat, genuine light in Will’s face. He meant every word.

* * * * *

One o’clock in the morning couldn’t get there fast enough. Brody seethed, bawling orders, his temper at the close edge of irrational as he trampled through the rest of the very long afternoon, evening and immortally slow night. The time crier ceased delivering the news of the hour at midnight, so Brody had to guess when it was approximately one a.m. He rolled off his tousled bed, still partially dressed, and slipped under the fine linen sides of the tent. The horse he had arranged for the evening’s excursion was waiting for him thirty paces away, which was far enough from his camp and his men to avoid drawing attention to his activities.

He took no chainmail, because of the noise it made. But he took all his weapons, including his sword, bow and arrows and knives. He wore a leather half-hauberk instead of mail. It was a compromise, but it would have to do.

He walked the horse carefully around the camp, past the sentries after giving them the passwords and then a good dozen more paces farther on before mounting. Finally, he let the horse break into a trot, heading it for the upswell of Mount Zion that shone black in moonlit night. As soon as he felt comfortably far enough away from the siege camp, he began to gallop. The horse was fresh and ready to race and the night was cool. She eagerly stretched out her legs.

They rounded Mount Zion and Brody looked up into the night sky for the cross formation of stars that pointed always toward true south. There it was, utterly reliable, no matter where one was in the world. He lined the horse’s head up with the stars and noticed track marks of other horses following the same route. He was on the right trail, then.