Time to Love Again Page 3

  “What if we are going in the wrong direction for him?” asked Hugo, who seemed to be having great difficulty in sorting out all that had been said. Raising both hands, Hugo removed his helmet to scratch his head in puzzlement.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Marcion retorted, laughing. “No one would go deeper into Saxony without an army. You weren’t going to Saxony, were you, boy?”

  “I had no intention of being m Saxony at all,” India responded with fervor.

  “Nor should we be here, now that we’ve put down this minor revolt,” remarked the leader. “Hugo, bring the horses. Marcion, find the others, report to me on who’s wounded, and discover if we’ve lost anyone. And you, boy, come with me.”

  “Come where?” India stayed where she was, afraid to move, fearing that if she left the spot where she had first landed, Hank might never find her again.

  “Were you so disrespectful to your late master?” snapped the leader. “Do as I say and don’t question me.”

  “Obey him,” Marcion advised, giving her a friendly push on one shoulder. “The Firebrand has a hot temper. Don’t rouse it.”

  “Firebrand?” India repeated, knowing she’d heard that nickname recently, but uncertain where.

  “We call him that for the ferocious way he fights, too. In the heat of battle, there is no one like him.” Marcion spoke with deep and open respect.

  “Does this paragon have a name?” asked India, eyeing the man who stood waiting impatiently for her to jump to his command.

  “Don’t you know him? He’s Theuderic of Metz, fiercest warrior in all the Frankish armies, more than equal in valor to Count Hrulund himself. All right, don’t flare up at me for praising your prowess, Theu. I’m going now. I will obey.” With a wave of one hand and a laugh, Marcion suited action to his words, heading toward the field where a group of men was working. “I will collect everyone. It looks to me as if we haven’t many wounded to worry about,” he called back.

  Theu? Firebrand? Count Hrulund? India knew this could not be happening. It could not! But it was happening, and Theuderic of Metz had plans for her.

  “Since you have no horse and since I do not trust you in spite of the royal sign you wear,” Theuderic told her, “you will ride with me, on my horse.”

  “I am not accustomed to being called a liar.” India faced him with her eyes blazing, determined not to move. “Furthermore, I do not wish to ride.”

  “I could tie you to my horse and let you walk behind us,” Theuderic offered politely, a faint smile lurking at the corner of his mouth, “but just on the chance that a word or two of what you have said here is the truth, I am prepared to be generous and let you ride. I must admit, you sounded as if you did care about this Baudouin whom you claim was once your master. And I feel certain the story of how you got that medallion will prove to be an interesting one. You can tell it to me later. We are best gone from here quickly.”

  “What, are you afraid of a few Saxon savages?” She did not know why those insulting words passed her lips. She had never spoken so to any man before, but something about this bold warrior with his cold and arrogant stare infuriated her. He had called her a coward and a puking child. Considering what she had been through in the last couple of hours, she thought she deserved better treatment than that. She had not been sick at the sight of blood, she had not fainted or screamed while the battle raged around her. And she had managed not to lie. Twisting the facts a little to save her own skin was not a lie, it was a necessity. This crude man could never understand what had happened to her. In fact, if she tried to explain the truth, he would probably think she was mad or bewitched. Either way, she could be locked up – and possibly be put to death.

  “Boy.” Theuderic’s voice was soft again, and something in it made her shiver. “Here is Hugo with the horses. Will you ride with me for the next four days, or will you walk? The choice is yours.”

  “Four days?” She dared not go so far away from the spot where she had landed. How would Hank ever locate her? “I ought to stay here.”

  “I cannot allow that. Because of the medallion you wear, I am obligated to see you to safety. By what form of motion you get there is of small concern to me. I have never seen boots like yours before, but I do not think they will last for days of walking through forests and across rivers and streams, until I can provide a horse for you. I advise you to ride. Decide now, boy. This moment.”

  “I – I’ll ride.” Her decision was as much the result of the men now arriving as it was the effect of those cold and strangely knowing eyes that would not allow her to drop her own until he had broken the contact.

  Theuderic’s band of about a dozen warriors was dirty and bloodstained, but apparently only a few minor injuries had been sustained in the brief battle they had fought, a remarkable feat considering their gear. Theuderic was the only man with chain mail. Marcion wore boiled-leather armor with metal scales sewn across chest and back. Hugo had plain boiled leather with no metal reinforcement, and the others made do with padded wool or plain woolen tunics. About half of them had rounded metal helmets. But every man was armed with sword, shield, knife, and battle-axe, and a few carried spears in addition to their other weapons.

  At first, India was frightened by their appearance, but it was not long before she became fascinated by the warm way they greeted Theuderic, and then by the manner in which he spoke to each man, thanking them individually for their efforts, making certain that all were able to travel. Nor were the men particularly interested in India. After a comment or two on the mysterious appearance of a slender and attractive boy in their midst, they quickly went about the business of fastening onto the backs of their horses their weapons and what little plunder they had gathered from the dead. Before long most of them were mounted and ready to ride, and at that point the animals drew India’s attention.

  These were not the kind of horses she was used to seeing. With their thick coats and heavy legs, they looked more like sturdy farm horses than elegant riding steeds. She had ridden only twice in her life, and she did not look forward to this enforced journey. As she regarded Theuderic’s grey and white mount with trepidation, the man himself stepped toward her, and without a word placed his hands on her waist. An instant later she was astride the horse’s back. A moment more and Theuderic sat behind her. His brawny left arm came around her body to pull her back against him. The man was pure muscle, from his deep chest to unbelievably strong arms to thighs that were like tree trunks. She could feel those thighs move against her buttocks when he guided his horse forward. Disturbed by the motion, India sat rigid, her shoulders squared.

  “There is nothing to fear.” His warm breath stirred the lock of hair that fell against her cheek. “Not from my men, nor from me. I will keep you safe, and when we have reached Aachen, and you have had time to rest, you will tell me your story again. And this time, you will tell me the entire truth, boy.” She turned her head sharply at that last, almost purred, syllable. The glint she saw in his eye generated a new concern in her heart. Either this man had penetrated her disguise or he had a yearning for young boys. She very much doubted it was the latter.

  As for Hank, could he find her if she moved elsewhere? Would his peculiar theory about manipulating time allow for a change in position on her part? Would she ever see him, or Willi, again? For that matter, could she manage to stay alive until Hank might be able to arrange something, compute a new formula, or get advice from one of his friends who also experimented with computers? And – what at that moment seemed to her to be the most urgent question of all – could she protect herself against the warrior who held her in such a firm grasp, who would surely soon understand that she was no boy, if he had not already discovered it?

  Chapter 4

  As Theuderic had warned, their way wound through forests and across rivers and streams. Winter had barely begun to loosen its grip on that thickly wooded, sparsely settled northern land. There was a thin layer of snow on the ground, and in the few bare spots mud o
ozed, while from frozen puddles shards of ice reared upward under the horses’ hooves. The trees were bare, with spring’s blossoming still several months away. The chill day was dampened by an occasional cold drizzle.

  India’s hands and feet grew numb and her nose began to run. Soon she was shivering in earnest. Then Theuderic took his blue wool cloak and wrapped it around them both, pulling her still closer to him in the process. She was too grateful for the warmth of his tough body to make any protest.

  They rode until it began to grow dark, when they stopped at a spot where the stream they had been following widened into a little pool. There a pile of charred wood showed that men had camped in that place not long before, and by the comments of Marcion and Hugo, India learned it had been this very band, on its way into Saxony. She marveled how they could find their path through what looked to her like a trackless wilderness and then return to the same place.

  Nor did the men seem over-tired after fighting and riding all day, though she nearly fell from weariness when Theuderic lifted her down from his horse. He stood for a moment with his hands resting lightly on her hips as if to steady her until she found her feet again. So it must have appeared to any who looked in their direction, but India was intensely aware of the forward pressure of those hands. Her own hands were still on his shoulders. She caught her breath, knowing without looking that his eyes were on her face, searching, searching…

  Unable to lift her own gaze from his mouth, she watched his firm lips tighten into a hard line. He had a nice mouth, and when he wasn’t acting like the hardened leader of a warband, it often quirked into a half smile at one corner. It would be so easy to slide her arms around his neck, to pull his face down to hers….

  Appalled at her reaction to this rude, unlettered warrior, so different from any other man she had known, she jerked away from him. At once he removed his hands from her hips, releasing her.

  “A pretty painted boy,” he muttered under his breath.

  “I wish you would call me by my name,” she said.

  “Boy.”

  She did look upward then. What she saw unnerved her. In his grey glance, unanswered questions smoldered, along with a light that told her that he, too, had been affected by their momentary half-embrace. He turned from her with an oath, leading his horse aside without a backward look. She imagined with grim humor that he was disgusted with himself for feeling a stirring of interest toward what he thought was another male.

  She moved around the clearing, trying to work out the stiffness in her legs. After a while she knelt by the pool to drink, wondering wryly if she would contract from the water some awful disease that could have been easily cured, or even prevented, in her own century. Which thought brought her to the vital question of exactly where she was – and when.

  “If you want to relieve yourself,” said Theuderic, kneeling beside her to scoop up a handful of the cold water, “as you must, after so long a ride, go behind those bushes. You will have privacy there. I’ll see to it.”

  “Thank you.” It was a need that she suddenly realized was imperative. She rose and started toward the bushes he had indicated. Halfway across the clearing she understood what his offer must mean. He knew! Theuderic was fully aware that she was no boy. She could think of no other explanation for what he had said. She spun around, wanting to catch his eye when he did not expect it, but he was not looking at her. He was helping Marcion to stack branches and twigs into a mound for their campfire, while Hugo used flint and a few dry leaves to start a flame.

  The spot behind the bushes was damp, with a moldy smell from last autumn’s rotted leaves. It was cold, it was uncomfortable, and it was decidedly unsanitary, but she had no choice. When she had finished, she went to the stream to wash her hands.

  “A very particular boy,” said Theuderic behind her.

  “What do you want of me?” She spoke sharply, hoping to elicit from him some admission of his knowledge about her, but his expression revealed nothing.

  “The truth would be helpful,” he said.

  “I have told you no lies.”

  “If not, then you have surely left out a goodly portion of your story. I suspect that what you have not said is more important than what you have admitted.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I have met a Byzantine Greek or two, and none of them spoke our tongue with your accent. In fact, the Greeks I have known have considered themselves so superior to Franks that they disliked having to learn our language.”

  “Then you may assume that I am not a Byzantine Greek.”

  “I have already done so,” he told her. “The question remains – who and what are you? I will know the answers, boy. It would be better for you if you tell me now.”

  “Are you threatening one who wears the royal medallion?” She was surprised at her own nerve, but the man terrified her. The feeling had nothing to do with fear of physical violence from him, for she did not believe he would harm her – at least not until he had the answers he wanted. It was rather the sheer physicality of his hard body and the straightforward, practical thinking he had shown in the way he led his men that awed her. Having spent most of her life among scholars, she did not know how to deal with this kind of man, or how to stop her unwanted response to everything he did or said. At least she would not be in the same close proximity to him during the night as she had been forced to endure all day.

  Unfortunately for her self-possession, she was soon disabused of this belief. The evening meal of dried meat and somewhat stale bread was scarcely washed down with bad ale before the men began to roll themselves into their cloaks for the night. Hugo added more logs to the fire, then went to stand guard with Marcion. It was then that Theuderic approached India with a length of hide rope in one hand.

  “You will stay beside me tonight,” he said, catching her right hand. “This will make certain you follow my orders.”

  “What are you doing?” she cried, trying to pull her hand out of his grasp. He was too strong for her to offer more than a puny resistance. Her wrist was ensnared by the rope and securely tied in a way that left two long ends of rope dangling. These Theuderic wrapped around his waist, pulling his armor and his shirt up high to fasten the knot next to his skin on his right side.

  “Now,” he said, “you cannot free yourself without waking me. Stop struggling unless you want the others to laugh at you and make unseemly remarks about your hairless cheeks. There are one or two in this band who would not hesitate to make nasty sport of a pretty boy. I doubt if you would welcome their embraces or the uses they would invent for your soft and delicate flesh.”

  She stood perfectly still, too shocked to speak or move. Theuderic nodded, apparently satisfied that she was properly cowed.

  “Lie down here, where I have spread my cloak,” he ordered, “and I will lie next to you. We’ll keep each other warm, lad, and if you have any idea of trying to escape in spite of the precautions I’ve taken, I tell you now that my men have been ordered to kill you it you leave this spot without my express permission.”

  “Why would any guest ever want to leave your gracious hospitality?” she retorted, furious at the way she was being treated.

  “Lie down.” He did not shout. He did not have to.

  The rope he had left between them was long enough for her to kneel on the cloak without forcing him to join her. She did as he had commanded, sitting on the blue wool. He stood over her, his muscular legs spread wide, fists planted on his hips, watching her. He was only an inch or so taller than India, but from her present subservient position he looked huge. He had removed his helmet, revealing straight dark brown hair cut just below his ears. It was matted and sweaty from the helmet, and there was a faint red line across his forehead where the metal edge had rested. He looked as though he had not shaved for four or five days. Beneath the square neck and elbow-length sleeves of his chain mail brunia, she saw his heavy linen shirt, its sleeves extending to his wrists. His grey trousers were strapped with leath
er thongs to hold them close to his legs, and his leather shoes were laced to the ankle. He took off his wide belt and sword, laying the weapon to one side of the cloak. She looked at the sword, then back at him. The spark in his eyes dared her to snatch up the blade and try to use it on him.

  “Why do you distrust me so?” she asked.

  “Because you appeared suddenly in a place where you ought not to be, and because I have not survived for twenty-seven years without knowing when a person speaks the truth and when that person is evading or lying,” he said.

  She flushed at that, then stiffened under a look that examined her from the crown of her head to her folded knees to her mud-stained boots, a look that seemed to remove every garment she wore and search out each curve of her body. Looking back at him, she felt heat flowing through all her veins and arteries, weakening her muscles, turning her bones to molten jelly. So burning was his glance that when he dropped to one knee beside her, she half expected him to throw her to the ground and fling himself on top of her. And she, who had once responded with tender warmth to her husband’s gentle caresses, was deeply shaken to find herself longing now for the fever of this barbarian’s embrace.

  “I said lie down, lad.” Commanded by that hoarse whisper, she stretched out her legs and sank back, never taking her eyes from his. He bent over her, pulling one edge of the cloak across her body.

  “Do you sleep in your chain mail?” she murmured.

  “It is safer thus.”

  She knew he meant not only safer from possible attack by Saxons lurking in the woods around them, but safer from her as well. A tiny glimmer of triumph pierced the gloom of her growing concern over her situation. This tough, totally masculine creature was afraid of her effect on him.