The Art of Stealing Time

EIGHT

“Have you ever wanted to take a vacation from your own life?” I asked Gregory as we walked up the hill to the upper bailey.

“I can’t say that I have.”

“Count yourself lucky.” I couldn’t help but sigh as another orange-coated tour guide herded a group of what looked like Catholic schoolgirls, complete with matching uniforms and attendant nuns in full traditional garb, past us. Faint echoes of “The brewery is renowned for its popular From Hell Ale, made with honey gleaned from Anwyn’s happy little bees. We’ll have a sampling right after we visit the armory, where the blood-encrusted weapons of Anwyn’s brutal past are on display” followed us.

The schoolgirls cheered. The nuns murmured happily about the ale.

I wanted to alternately sit down and weep and run screaming away from the castle.

“Are you allowing that talk of execution to distress you, dulcea mea?”

“Dulcea mea?” I asked, distracted from my general sense of worry, concern, and befuddlement. “What does that mean?”

“It’s Romanian for ‘my sweet.’ And before you say it—and yes, I know you were about to—I used the endearment because your kisses were very, very sweet.”

“Kiss,” I said, jerking my hand away from his. I didn’t even remember holding his hand! What on earth was going on that I could hold a man’s hand without consciously thinking about it? “We had one kiss. Just one.”

“And it was a superb one.”

It most certainly was. Just the memory of his mouth made me feel restless, like I wanted to run a marathon, or rip his clothing off. With an emphasis on the latter. “That was an error of judgment on my part. I should never have kissed you. I can only guess that I was feeling guilty about you having been beaten up and wanted to make sure that your mouth still worked.”

He laughed. “Do you really believe that explanation?”

“No,” I said miserably, and was startled to find that I was holding his hand again. His thumb rubbed against mine in a manner that was both reassuring, and arousing. Damn my libido! I firmly turned my thoughts from those concerning a naked, warm Gregory rubbing other parts of himself on me and focused on the fix we were in. “How are you going to steal a dog, a deer, and a bird from Ethan?”

“I have no idea.” He looked amused at the change of subject, but didn’t challenge me. “I’ve never had to steal anything before.”

“Except time.”

His fingers tightened on mine. “I believe I’ve mentioned already that we don’t steal time—we purchase it.”

“Without the people’s knowledge that you’re doing so. How on earth does the Watch let you get away with that?”

“They don’t. So far as mortals are concerned, that is. We may barter or outright purchase time from immortal beings, of course, but many people are touchy where the sale of their time is concerned, and few are willing to do so.”

“So what do you do in such cases?”

He shrugged. “I’m in the process of trying to find a person who is willing to sell time to me. My cousin has someone to provide time for himself and his wife, so I hope to arrange for the same accommodation.”

“Maybe your wife won’t want you to buy time for her,” I said loftily.

“That is a possibility, although marriage outside of the Traveller society is frowned upon.”

“No, I meant that perhaps she wouldn’t want you doing the he-man for her. Wait . . .” I stopped and squinted up at him. He had an inscrutable air that I didn’t buy for one moment. “Are you saying that you can only hook up with another Traveller?”

“‘Hook up with’ as in engage in a sexual relationship?” His thumb swept the back of my knuckles. “No, that is allowed. Marriage, however, is a different matter. To marry one who is mahrime—an outsider—is a grave sin to Traveller families.”

I stared at him. “Talk about insulting! You are joking, right? No one could be so ass backward in this day and age. Especially considering the double standard of it’s all right to milk the cow, but not to buy it. That alone makes me incensed, but the whole idea that a group of people won’t allow family members to marry outside of said family—for one, it’s unhealthy. You need diversity in a gene pool. For another, it’s . . . well, unhealthy mentally and emotionally as well.”

“Alas, I’m not joking.” He smiled at me, the warmth from it not only reaching his eyes but kindling something that made me feel as if I had butterflies in my stomach. “That is one reason why I am here.”

I wasn’t sure at first what he was alluding to, but then it struck me like a bolt of lightning that occasionally flashed in the distance. Dear goddess in all the good, green things! He meant me! He was defying his own people just to be with me. It boggled my mind, but it made sense. The kiss, the way he was flirting with me, the constant hand-holding . . . it was all explained if the reason for him being in Anwyn was that he had followed me here based on an instantaneous attraction.

“Gregory, I . . . I don’t know what to say. I’m flattered, naturally. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who’s risked getting in trouble just to be with me, but I have to tell you that even though you have a really nice way of kissing, I’m not looking for a man in my life, especially a husband.”

It was his turn to look startled. “I suspect that you are under the impression that I just proposed to you. Is that so?”

I felt a blush crawl up from my neck to my face. “Well . . . yes. Didn’t you?”

“No.”

The blush deepened before I realized what that meant. I released his hand only to wallop him on the arm. “Oh, I get it! It’s just fine for you to kiss me silly, and make me spend far too long imagining just what you look like without your clothes on, and to have what amounts to an unhealthy obsession with your chin and mouth and that little spot behind your ears where your hair curls. That’s fine, but to make an honest woman out of me isn’t? You, sir, are a bastard! A great, big, hairy pustule of a bastard!”

“All that because I didn’t propose to you?” He shook his head as if in wonder.

“No, all that because evidently you believe I’m the sort of woman who goes around kissing men in dungeons, and holding their hands, and indulging in extremely smutty fantasies about them, but am not worthy so far as your family is concerned. Of all the self-righteous, bigoted—”

“Gwen,” he said, stopping me with a little laugh that had my hackles bristling. “Stop. I didn’t realize that you wanted to marry me.”

“I don’t!” I was quick to say.

“And yet you are upset that I didn’t ask you?” He put a finger under my chin and tipped my face (filled with embarrassment) up so he could better torment me by looking at me with eyes that were the color of expensive blue topazes. “I meant no insult, dulcea mea.”

“Stop calling me that,” I said irritably. “I’m not your sweet.”

“Ah, but you are,” he said in that complacent manner that was starting to annoy me. I’ve always hated it when people remain calm while I’m all riled up. How dare he not be emotional, too! “Or at least, I’d like you to think you are.”

I reeled back, sure that he had just insulted me again, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the way of another passing herd of tourists. “Do not say whatever biting thing you are about to say. I did not mean to give insult to you. I simply meant that I would like you to be my sweetheart.”

“But not enough to marry me,” I snapped and jerked my arm from his grasp, still incensed.

He sighed. “Do you want to marry me?”

“No! Of course not! I don’t even know you, and I’m sure that when I do know you, I won’t want to because I will have found out that you’re the most irritating, frustrating, heinous man alive.”

“Heinous?” He looked thoughtful. “I suppose there are worse things to be called. No, do not flare up at me again. As it happens, I agree with you.”

I stopped thinking about punching him on his formerly abused nose. “You do?”

“Yes. I prefer having some sort of a relationship established with a woman before I engage in sexual acts. I’ve lived long enough to know the difference between a casual relationship and one that holds the promise of an eternity spent in bliss. So you see, about that we are of one mind.”

“Oh?” I eyed him. “Just how old are you that you have achieved this state of wisdom?”

“Sixty-four.”

My eyes widened. “You’re what?”

“I was born in 1949. I am the youngest of all my cousins, although not the youngest of the entire family. Several of my cousins have reproduced.”

“Great. I’m older than you.”

“Really? You look the same age as me, but admittedly that is common amongst members of the Otherworld. Would you smite me if I were to ask how old you are?”

“I was born in 1888. Lovely. Now I can’t date you even if I could get past your family’s massive prejudice against non-Travellers.”

“I see nothing that would prohibit us from having a relationship just because you were born almost fifty years before me. It matters little to our kind, after all.” He paused, looked surprised, then continued. “You are serious, are you not?”

“Yes. People would say I was a cradle robber. I’m fifty years older than you, Gregory!”

“You look like you’re age thirty at most.”

“Thank you, but the fact remains that I’m a hundred and twenty-five, and you’re just a baby!”

A roguish twinkle filled his pretty eyes. “If I told you that I liked older women—”

“I’d punch you on your nose and break it again,” I said, waving a fist at him.

He laughed and grabbed my hand, then to my utter surprise, pulled me up tight against his chest and said, “You are delightful, do you know that? You always seem to say exactly the opposite of what I’m expecting.”

I opened my mouth to tell him to unhand me in front of all the tourists and workpeople who trotted about doing their daily chores when his mouth settled on mine with a possessiveness that simultaneously annoyed me (I wasn’t an object to be possessive about!) and thrilled me to my toes (dear god and goddess, the man had to be the world’s best kisser).

His mouth teased mine, coerced mine, pleaded with mine to yield to his. And of course, it did, allowing his tongue entrance, where it swanned around the place like it owned it. I wanted to be irritated about that, but I was too busy clutching his shoulders to keep from swooning. And then when he made a little noise in the back of his throat, the softest little exhalation of pure pleasure, I melted, my fingers sliding through his golden hair as I pressed myself against him in a shameless manner that my breasts and thighs and female parts wholly embraced. I touched my tongue to his, and melted even more, uncaring that we were snogging in full view of anyone who glanced our way. The sounds of tittering and electronic beeps and clicks indicated that the tourists had returned, but not even the thought of them brought sanity to me.

“OK,” I admitted when I managed to peel my mouth from his. “You win the award for kissing.”

“Oddly, I was just thinking the same thing about you.” His eyes were soft and somewhat smoky with what I recognized was purest desire.

A rush of feminine knowledge swept over me, making me very aware of all the differences between us. “You’re so hard,” I couldn’t help but say when I swept my hands down his shoulders to his biceps.

“Extremely so, to the point that it’s going to be painful to walk.”

I couldn’t help a little wiggle that had him groaning and clutching at my hips. “And if you do that again, I may very well throw all my much-lauded manners to the wind and haul you onto the nearest bale of hay, where I will ravish you as you deserve.”

I would be lying if I said I didn’t, for at least two minutes, consider letting him do just that, but at long last, better judgment won out and I managed to get my raging hormones under control.

Gregory had used the time I was doing so to speak to a young boy who was scooping up grain and pouring it into a metal bucket. The lad disappeared into the stable and returned with a blond woman with jagged cropped hair.

“I’m Clarence, the chief groom.”

“Clarice?” Gregory asked.

She studied him. “Do I look like a Clarice?”

“Well—”

“My name is Clarence. Just Clarence. You are the spy Lord Aaron told me about?”

“Thief. I’m a thief, not a spy.”

She made a “same difference” sort of gesture and snapped an order at the bucket boy. “I’m to give you and your woman horses. How well do you ride?”

Gregory hesitated. “I’ve been on a horse,” he said slowly.

“Tch. I’ll give you Old Mabel. You’d have to be an imbecile to disturb her. And you?”

“When I was growing up, I attended all the local hunt meets,” I said with quiet pride.

“You hunted?” Gregory asked, puzzled. “You don’t strike me as the type who goes in for blood sports.”

I smiled demurely. “I rode on behalf of the foxes, actually. As an alchemist, one of the first things I learned to make was a fox scent that fooled all the hounds. After a few decades of without so much as a single fox appearing, the meet broke up.”

“A job well done,” Gregory said, approval shining in his eyes.

Clarence entered into the stable, saying over her shoulder, “As you’ve riding experience, we’ll let you have Bottom.”

Gregory and I followed her into the dark confines of the stable. The delicious odors of alfalfa, horse, and saddle soap mingled and made me think of days long gone when I’d ridden to and fro over the countryside, sending the mortals and their dogs on all sorts of wild-goose hunts. “Why on earth do you call the horse Bottom?”

A horse’s head snapped up at the nearest stall, his eyes wide, and his nostrils flared as he took in our scent. He bared his teeth and let loose with a whinny that just about deafened me.

“I have a nasty suspicion as to the identity of that horse,” I told Gregory.

He shuddered. “I can say with all honesty that I am sincerely grateful for Old Mabel.”

Clarence strode past us, unlatching the stall. Gregory and I backed up as the horse, black as midnight, charged out, hooves flashing, ears flicking forward and back, and eyes rolling in his head as Clarence caught him by the halter and cuffed him affectionately on the shoulder. “Aye, you old murderer. You’re going to have a nice long run, aren’t you?”

“Oh, goddess,” I said softly.

“To answer your question, he’s called Bottom because you’ll need a hell of a seat to ride him.”

The stableboy led another horse, a solid-looking cob who didn’t so much as flick an ear to where the black devil was now tap-dancing in his attempt to get away from Clarence. She threatened to use a twitch on him if he didn’t behave himself and thumped him again on the shoulder as she half led him and was half dragged herself out into the sunshine.

I sighed.

“Thinking of that vacation again?” Gregory’s voice was as warm on my ear as the breath that touched it. I shivered at the sensation.

The stable seemed to be a small bubble of privacy. Rays of sunlight streamed in through gaps in the boards that made up the walls, motes of dust and hay drifting in lazy patterns like little golden fireflies. The stable itself was quiet, the noises from the yard muffled and distant, as if coming from a very long way. For a moment in time, the world was made up of only Gregory and me.

I turned my head slowly. Our noses brushed first, then our lips.

“We’ve got to stop doing this,” I said against his mouth, suddenly too weary to fight the attraction that seemed to swamp me whenever he was near.

“Why?”

I searched his eyes, but I saw nothing there but honest curiosity. “Because you are who you are, and I’m who I am, and my moms are who they are.”

“And never the twain shall meet?”

“Something like that.” I licked the corner of his mouth. He moaned softly and would probably have kissed me as I not so secretly wanted him to do, but the world intruded upon us once again, heralded by the cry that we should get our arses in gear because some people had work to do and couldn’t stand around lollygagging all day.

The feeling of being suspended in time dissolved.

“Don’t be so sure that you have all the answers, dulcea mea,” Gregory said in what I can only describe as a maddeningly cryptic manner. He left me standing in the stable, swearing to myself over the tangled sensations of loss, arousal, and general irritability.

“Did you just call me a know-it-all?” I asked him as Clarence gave us instructions on how to treat Aaron’s horses while they were on loan to us.

“I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing.”

“Then why did you say—”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble for you to actually pay attention—” Clarence’s voice cracked like a whip around me. Guiltily, I turned toward her and put on my best listening face.

“Sorry. Go on.”

The look she gave me wasn’t any too friendly, but duty won out over personal satisfaction, and she didn’t tell me to go to hell, though she obviously wanted to. “You are to walk next to the horses for one hour out of every four that you ride. This saddlebag”—she patted a canvas bag that had been strapped to Mable’s ample back—“contains grain. They are to get that no more than once a day. Hobbles are in the other bag. Use them when you stop to rest, and in the evening. The horses are trained to return here if they are left unattended and unhobbled, so fair warning.”

“This is going to sound like an odd question, I’m sure,” I said, unable to keep from voicing the question that had been uppermost in my mind ever since I saw Bottom up close. Even now, his ears were flattened, and his back hooves had a tendency to fly out whenever someone drifted into the large circle of what he considered his personal space. “But why aren’t there cars here? Or planes, or helicopters, or for that matter, personal jet packs? Why do you still use horsepower when Aaron mentioned having a computer, and he’s building some monstrous machine to chew up Ethan’s warriors?”

“Lord Aaron distrusts modern machinery on the whole, unless it has something to do with his project. He’s always saying that a horse is reliable, whereas a man-made vehicle isn’t. Right. Up you go.” She gestured to Gregory, who approached his horse with reluctance. She got him into the saddle, showed him how to hold the reins, and gave him a basic ten-minute lesson on riding while she led him around the stableyard.

I preferred to watch Gregory learn how to how to use his legs and hands as cues rather than watch the stableboy dash forward and attempt to strap assorted bundles and a small picnic basket to the treacherous Bottom’s saddle.

At least they had remembered to feed us as well as the horses.

It wasn’t until another lad staggered up with a bunch of metal in his arms that I had an inkling that things were about to go from bad to worse.

“Your armor, my lady,” the young man said as he came to a halt before me, panting with the exertion.

“Oh. I suppose Aaron figures I’ll need that. Um. OK. I guess I can take it with me. Go ahead and put it on.”

He looked at me like I was a Velociphant. “You want me to put it on?”

“Yes.” I waved at the black equine devil, who was standing still by virtue of Clarence’s brilliant contrivance of shoving a pail of grain in front of the brute. The horse happily chomped away while the last of the bundles was strapped to his saddle. “I don’t know where you’re going to find a spot to hook it to, but maybe we could readjust some of those packages.”

“The armor ain’t for him,” the boy squeaked, shoving it at me. “It’s for you.”

“I understand that, but I won’t need it until we reach the camp. I can’t carry it, and I certainly am not going to wear it while riding, so it’ll have to be attached.”

The boy opened his mouth to say something, but an older boy arrived with a familiar sword. “The Nightingale, Lady Gwen.”

“Where did you find that?” I asked, taking the sword. I had to admit it felt good in my hand, almost as if it was made for me.

“’Twas sent from the front.”

“She wants me to put her armor on the horse,” the armor-bearing kid said. His eyes rolled in a dramatic fashion. “On her horse.”

“Armor’s for you, not the horse,” the older boy told me with gravity that made me want to giggle.

“Yes, that was a little misunderstanding. Perhaps you could help this young man to hook the armor that I shall indeed wear later on onto the saddle for now.”

“We can’t do that.”

“Sure you can.” I pointed at the saddle, the rear of which was admittedly awfully full what with all the bundles that had been tied onto it, including the small picnic basket. “Just shove some of that stuff around and make room for it.”

“We can’t do that,” the older boy repeated.

“No, they can’t,” Clarence said as she left Gregory and marched over to us. “You must wear the armor. It would disturb Bottom to have it clanking around his sides. Strap it on and get going. I don’t have all day to spend outfitting you.”

“I can’t ride in all that armor,” I protested.

“Why not?”

My hands flailed around a little as I tried to think of an explanation that didn’t make me sound like a grade A wuss. “It’s . . . cumbersome. I might poke Bottom with my sword.”

Gregory, who had been practicing his riding skills by walking the placid Mabel back and forth behind us, said as he passed, “If I had a nickel for every time I heard someone say that . . .”

“You are not helping,” I shouted after him. He raised his hand to show he heard me.

“Look,” I told the three people in front of me, quite prepared to stand there all day and argue if that’s what it took. “I’m not going to be able to ride in all that mail and plate. What if I have to pee? How on earth am I supposed to get off the horse, pee, and then get back on? I can hardly walk in the stuff, let alone move around.”

“You should have trained better before you volunteered to be one of Lord Aaron’s warriors,” Clarence said, dumping another cup of grain into the bucket when Bottom started to fret.

“I didn’t train at all!”

“There’s your problem,” said the grave young man. “You ought never to have said you were a warrior if you weren’t trained.”

The younger boy, perspiring freely now, nodded, and staggered back slightly.

“They have a point, you know,” Gregory said as his well-behaved horse strolled past with a snort of equine disgust.

I snatched up the helmet and shook it at him. “You know full well I’ve been telling everyone who will listen that I’m not a warrior!”

“And yet you are the one with the armor and the sword.” He shook his head as he carefully negotiated a turn with Mabel.

I took a step toward him, murder in my eye. “And would you like to meet that sword up close and personal?”

He laughed when he drew abreast, swinging one leg over Mabel and sliding to the ground. “You are exceptionally easy to tease, my dear.”

“And you are extremely irritating. You could be helping me, you know! These people don’t seem to understand that I can’t do anything while wearing that stuff.”

“I’m told that well-fitting armor is not cumbersome at all.”

“That may be, but I can guarantee you that this stuff isn’t well-fitting in the least.”

He looked at the armor, lifting first the chest piece, then the shin protectors, glancing at Clarence. “There hasn’t been time for armor to be made for Gwen. This won’t fit her well, and will, in fact, most likely hinder her as she conducts her appointed duties.”

Clarence grabbed Bottom’s saddle cinch, and gave it a mighty jerk. The horse’s eyes narrowed. A back hoof lifted in warning. “That is not my problem.”

“It will be if we have to report back to Aaron that you willingly sent her off unable to do the job he specifically asked her to do.”

Gregory’s tone was mild, but there was something about him, either a look in his eye or a set to his jaw that carried a lot of weight with it. I couldn’t help but be impressed that he could command so much attention without lifting a finger.

Clarence hesitated, then snapped an order to the two boys. “Take away the plate. She can wear the mail. It, at least, doesn’t have to be so fitted. But it’s on your head if Lord Aaron finds her running around without being properly equipped.”

He murmured something noncommittal, and despite my protestations, assisted the older boy in sliding what amounted to a thick cotton tunic over my clothes, followed by at least twenty pounds of finely made mail. The mail was also in tunic form, and hung down to mid-thigh.

We headed out about ten minutes later, Gregory having been given directions of how to find the encampment and me swearing to myself as sweat formed between my breasts.

“If I’m already this hot and uncomfortable,” I bitched as we rode out of the lower bailey and into a panorama made up of rolling green hills, “I’m going to be outright miserable by the time we get to the camp. What time do you think we’ll roll in there?”

“To the camp?” Gregory squinted up at the sky. “Probably about lunchtime tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow!” Bottom, who appeared to be temporarily sated by his consumption of treats, tossed his head and did a few warning dance steps to the side. I got him under control again, although he saw fit to bare his teeth, attempt to bite my foot, and as a pointed comment on my equestrian abilities, poop in a particularly loud, obnoxious fashion. “What do you mean, tomorrow? Like tomorrow tomorrow? The day after today tomorrow?”

“That’s generally how the word ‘tomorrow’ is defined, yes.” He slid me a curious glance. “Apparently the battleground location is at the opposite end of Anwyn.”

“Great! Just great! Bottom, so help me, if you try to bite my foot again, I won’t let you have any of that special traveling food that Clarence packed for you.”

“Why are you so upset?” Gregory asked as the horses adopted a comfortable distance-eating walk.

“Because he’s got big teeth, and I have no doubt he’d shred my shoe if he actually got hold of it.”

“Not why are you upset that the horse is trying to bite your foot; why are you so upset that it will take us a day to reach the camp? Is it your mothers that you are worried about, or something else?”

I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. The man had the most uncanny knack of seeming to know what I was thinking. “Of course I’m worried about my mothers. They’re prisoners, held by a man who evidently doesn’t have a problem stealing someone’s deer, dog, and bird. I wonder if that’s why there are so many dogs at Ethan’s camp? I bet no one spays and neuters their pets here.”

“That was an excellent change of subject. It almost sucked me in,” Gregory commented.

Damn him.

“All right, let’s just get this out into the open, then, shall we?” I took a deep breath, corrected Bottom’s course when he decided that a butterfly flitting past us was a deadly threat and attempted to shoot off at a forty-five-degree angle, and said with as much composure as I could muster, “You wish for me to sleep with you.”

“Not necessarily.”

I looked at him in surprise, embarrassment making my cheeks go bright red.

“I’m willing to sleep with you, instead, if that makes it any better.”

“You . . . no, I said . . . Wait a minute. That’s the same thing!”

He smiled. “If I told you that I love that you are just a little bit gullible, would you consider that an insult?”

“Yes! It’s very insulting.” We rode in silence for two minutes. “I am not gullible. I just believe that people are telling the truth.”

Gregory pursed his lips, but said nothing.

“Fine, I’m gullible! But that’s better than being jaded and weary of life.”

“It is indeed. Now, let us discuss the sleeping arrangements. I prefer to sleep on the left side, but if we are unable to find accommodations that give a certain amount of shelter, I am more than happy to take the outside. For protection, you understand. Not, I hasten to add, that you need protection, especially as you are armed, and all I was given was a cloak, but just as a general courtesy. Do you have a preference as to sexual position?”

“We are not having sex.”

“I beg to differ.”

I gawked. “There is a word for what you’re thinking!”

“Yes: seduction.”

“Ha! Seduction implies consent on both sides. I do not wish to have sex with you.” That lie lasted for about four seconds before it irritated me so much I had to take it back. “Gah! Fine, I may wish to have sex with you, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to.”

“I enjoy many sexual positions, but in this I’m happy to defer to your tastes.” He didn’t even look at me as we rode, a somewhat dreamy expression on his face. “You straddling on top of me would be an excellent starting choice, because you would be able to set the pace. Also, your breasts would be free for me to enjoy.”

“You are insane. No sex, Gregory. None. Talking about it won’t make me change my mind.”

“Now, the reversed version of that—with you still on top of me, but facing in the opposite direction, is also enticing. Again, you would have free rein of the tempo, while presenting me with the view of your derriere. I enjoy looking at your derriere clothed, so I can only imagine that the sight of it unclothed will be even more spectacular.”

“I do not have a spectacular butt. It’s just a butt, a normal butt, a butt that you can find on any woman.” A mental vision of me riding Gregory was hard to dislodge from my mind, so I let myself enjoy it for a few minutes. What was the harm in indulging in a little fantasy?

“The traditional position of you beneath me also has its charms,” he continued, still not looking at me. I was grateful for that, since my blush seemed to be a permanent part of me now. “You are not a tiny woman, so I won’t feel like I am squashing you. That’s always off-putting. No, you are built so that we might indulge ourselves in a manner that would allow our movements to achieve maximum extension, if you will.”

I imagined just how flexible he could be, and what maximum extension he could achieve once he really got going. My tongue suddenly seemed too big for my mouth.

“Now, for middle-of-the-night action, side by side, with you draping one of those long, long legs over my hip, would be appropriate. By then we will have sated the most immediate of desires and can settle in for long, lazy lovemaking. I find that I have quite a bit of stamina in the side-by-side position.”

I shifted in the saddle. It was suddenly very chafing, rubbing me uncomfortably in locations that desperately wanted Gregory’s touch. While lying on my side next to him.

“I wonder . . .” He thought for a moment. “I wonder if it would be possible to rig up some sort of a swing. All that would be needed would be a couple of young trees, some rope, and padding for the seat. That would allow me to stand, and you to wrap your legs—long, as I believe I’ve mentioned—around my hips, bringing a new depth of motion to the experience. Hmm.”

My mouth went dry at the thought.

“Right,” I said, pressing Bottom’s side with my heels. “That’s it. You can sit there and think all the smutty thoughts you want about being flexible, and having extension, and touching my breasts, and the long, sensual sweep of your back right where it meets your hips, and how the muscles in your thighs and chest and arms move when you walk, which you do on purpose, I have no doubt, and all the other enticing bits of you, but I’ll have no part in it! I’m going to get to Ethan’s camp so I can check on my mothers and not have sex with you, no matter how good it will be, because you’re the Watch, and sooner or later, my moms will do something that will make you want to arrest them, and then I’ll have to do something horrible to you, and I don’t want that because other than the whole Watch thing, you’re really nice, and I believe that you’d have excellent extension and flexibility.”

Bottom leaped forward before I finished the last sentence, so it came out as a bit of a shriek, but I felt better for saying it. For about eight minutes. Then Bottom, in full canter, shied at a family of adorably fluffy bunnies, and I went sailing off the side of him to land in a patch of mossy wildflowers.

I lay there staring up at the blue sky, green willow branches dappling me with shade. Bottom, relieved of my presence, stopped and began cropping the grass. I wondered how long it would take Gregory’s slower horse to reach us. I wondered if Mabel could even canter, so broad in the beam was she.

Overhead, a few bits of gauzy clouds gathered and formed into a shape that was vaguely horselike.

“Three minutes and change,” I said aloud when Gregory’s face blocked out my view of the sky. “I had only reached one hundred and ninety-two Mississippi.”

He tickled my nose with a pink flower, and lay down beside me. “You think I’m nice?”

Trust him to focus on that first. “Any other man, a man of honor and consideration, a man who claims to have superb manners, would have asked me if I was hurt before pandering to his ego.”

“But you do think I’m nice?” A high breeze made the clouds shift their shape into that of a petaled flower.

“Yes,” I said, wanting to laugh and run away at the same time.

“Excellent. I like you a great deal, too. Enough that I looked you over to make sure you weren’t hurt before I spoke.”

The wispy white clouds overhead drifted lazily into the shape of a heart. “I’m not hurt. Moss is very forgiving. Bottom shied at bunnies.”

“He appears to be an extremely high-strung horse. Do you really wish for me to be gone out of your life despite all my niceness?”

The clouds melted into the blue sky. I rolled over onto my side to study Gregory. “That depends. Can you promise me that you won’t arrest my mothers?”

His eye crinkles smoothed out. “No, I can’t.”

I rolled onto my back again. There was nary a wisp of cloud in the sky, and yet I felt as if I was standing in the middle of the biggest, blackest thunderstorm ever. “Thank you for being honest.”

“I will always be honest with you, Gwen, even when it is something that I know you do not want to hear.”

Despite the words, the sincerity in his voice touched something inside me. I wanted so badly to throw caution to the wind and just give in to the urges my body was making. I wanted to forget there was a world outside of Anwyn. I wanted to remove the fear for my mothers that had been my constant companion for the last half of my life.

I wanted desperately to be in love with Gregory, and to let him cherish me as instinct told me he would.

Tears stung behind my eyes. “It isn’t fair,” escaped my lips, and the second it did, I was ashamed of how juvenile it sounded.

“No, it isn’t,” Gregory said, and brushed my cheek with the flower. “I’ve found that life seldom is. Gwen, if I—”

“No.” I rolled over to put my fingers across his mouth. He kissed them. “This isn’t your problem, Gregory. You are what you are. You have a job to do, and I am not going to ask you to shirk your duty just so we can be together.”

“You make it all so black and white,” he said against my fingertips, opening his lips to suck one inside. The swirl of his tongue against the pad of my finger made my entire body tingle. “As if it came down to having you or having my job.”

“Doesn’t it?” It took a great deal of mental strength to speak, but I managed to get the two words out, and I was proud of that fact.

“No. There are shades in between that you don’t seem to see.”

I pulled my fingers away, suddenly chilled and tingle-less. “Because I’m not one of your people, you mean?”

“That is a very minor shade of gray, and not one that concerns me.”

“But it is still there.” I took the flower he held and tucked it behind his ear. “Tell me, what if I changed my mind and wanted to have a relationship with you? What if I wanted the whole nine yards, marriage, kids, eternity spent together. What would your family say to that?”

He smiled, making the eye crinkles return. “A few months ago my grandmother would have had the biggest fit you had ever in your life seen. She would have banned me from the family, named us both mahrime, and forbidden anyone to ever mention either us or our children again. She would have notified all the other Traveller families of this exile and demanded that they honor it. We would have, in effect, ceased to exist for every living Traveller.”

“What’s changed in the last few months that would alter that?”

“Many things, but mostly me.”

I thought about what he said. “And you consider the annihilation of your heritage not of concern?”

“It wouldn’t happen. Not only am I my grandmother’s favorite out of all my cousins, but Peter has done much to soften her previous view on marriage to outsiders. She might raise a fuss, but she’d soon come about. She did so with Peter, and although things are not overly affectionate between them, she has named him as family before the annual gathering of Travellers.”

I bit back the urge to say “Bully for her,” and instead contented myself with a simple “It proves my point, however. We aren’t meant to be together, Gregory.”

He reached out and put a hand on my breast. I stared down at it in shock for a second or two. I couldn’t believe he just stuck out his hand and copped a grope! Then the tingling started again, and I watched in amazement as he lifted his hand about half an inch from my breast. Little snakes of blue-white light snapped and twisted like miniature lightning.

“That . . . that’s not just static electricity, is it?” I asked, wondering why a shock to my boob wasn’t hurting me. On the contrary, the sensation of his hand above my breast just made it feel warm and tingly, and very, very sensitized.

“In a way, yes.” His hand slid down my breastbone to my stomach, still not actually touching me but leaving a trail of electricity that sent out tendrils of pleasure all over my body. “Travellers can harness lightning, which is basically just a very large static charge that explodes with a tremendous amount of energy. This is a very personalized version of that.”

“So this is something you do often?” I asked, watching with concern as his hand moved lower and hovered over my pubic bone. I was half braced to move away if the mini-lightning touched sensitive parts, but just as it did elsewhere, the electricity that came from his hand triggered only an arousing sensation that buzzed up and down my skin. “Oooh,” I said in a long breath as his hand circled my crotch before moving on down one leg.

“No. I’ve never been able to manufacture porraimos with another woman. My cousin and I were speaking of this just the other day. He said he can with his wife, but I’ve always heard that it’s a rare phenomenon.” He waggled his fingers over the tip of my shoe, and inside it my toes wiggled in happiness. Then he moved to the other leg and started up it. My crotch was extremely happy at the thought of a return visit.

“Porraimos? That’s the word for . . . er . . . personal lightning?”

“The word itself means many things. One definition is ‘devouring.’ Another is ‘opening,’ and that is what it means to Travellers—it means to open oneself up to another person, and to the elements, and to all that is or will ever be. That it happens at all proves just how wrong you are.”

I clutched handfuls of grass as he swirled lightning over my groin, belly, and breasts. The sensation of tingling moved into heat, making me feel as if I was burning from the inside out. “In what way?” I managed to gasp out, my back arching as he held both hands about an inch above my breasts.

“Porraimos only happens when the two people share an inalienable bond.” He leaned down, his mouth claiming mine at the same time his hands closed on my needy breasts. Even through my shirt and the mail, his touch made the fire inside me roar to an inferno of desire. I pulled his body down onto mine, kissing him for all I was worth, sliding my hands under his shirt in order to stroke the smooth swoops and valleys of muscles that made up his back. Carefully, I twined my tongue around his, careful to avoid the spot where his tooth was missing even though I knew the wound had long since healed.

His words echoed in my head, going around and around until they became a chant. We were meant for each other. We had a rare bond, one that few people experienced. It would be the sheerest folly to discard such a gift, wouldn’t it?

It would. I gave myself up to the feelings that his touch had triggered, feelings that whipped through me until I felt like I was caught in an whirlwind of passion, desire, and heat so great I thought it would surely consume me.

“Gwen, tell me now if you really do not want me,” he said against my lips, his hand pulling the mail up my body. “Because I won’t be able to stop if I kiss you just one more time.”

I said nothing, but wrapped one leg around him and kissed him with the power of all my tangled emotions. I knew what I was doing wasn’t smart, wasn’t the least bit wise, and certainly was going to mean a world of trouble not only for myself and my mothers but for my heart, but at that moment nothing really mattered but Gregory.

And then suddenly he was gone, having leaped up off me with a strangled oath. I sat up, bereft, my body still humming its happy little song of anticipation. Gregory stood twisted to the side, trying to see behind him.

“Your damned horse bit my ass!” His face was filled with outrage as he turned to show me the tear in his pants.

I collapsed laughing when he charged over to where Bottom was standing, an innocent expression on his horsey face while Gregory threatened him with all sorts of dire punishments. I was well aware that I’d just had a very, very narrow escape.

The question was whether I would be so lucky the next time.