And?” Taylor prompted, when Brody paused.
“And what?” He grimaced. “It’s a story that extends for another nine hundred years. How long do you want me to go on?”
“I don’t need huge amounts of detail,” she told him.
“Thank heavens for that,” he muttered.
“Just the basics of what happened. You can’t leave me hanging!”
Brody stared at her. Then he smiled a slow, wicked smile. “I hooked you,” he said. “I hooked you like a fish.”
She laughed a little. “Hell, yeah.” She wriggled on her cushion, trying to find a more comfortable position. “And that’s not all.”
Brody’s eyes narrowed. “I see,” he said, his voice growing thicker, heavier.
“Do you think…” she began, then cleared her throat. “I think you should stop wearing underwear immediately. Just hose and your tunic. I love the idea. I bet Veris would, too. He did the first time.”
She heard his heavy exhalation. “Come here,” he said softly, his voice thick with arousal.
“You should save yourself for Veris.”
“Fuck that. Come here.”
“What language is it you two are speaking?” said another voice entirely, from outside the tent.
Taylor slapped her hand over her mouth as a shriek of shock tried to escape from it.
It was Veris standing at the formal entrance to the tent, just beyond the thin white gauze, staring at them as they sat talking to each other in English.
“It almost sounds like Saxon, but not quite,” Veris continued. “I feel like if I listened long enough, I might actually begin to understand it. Yet there are parts of it so strange I know they can’t possibly be Saxon roots at all.”
“You’re right, they aren’t,” Brody agreed, standing up. He was naked, but he made no move to put on any clothes. Instead, he opened the tent flap and let Veris in. After a moment, Veris stepped through.
Taylor shrugged off the rendered tunic she was wearing and handed it to Brody. He slipped his arms into it but there wasn’t any way to keep it closed permanently, so as he moved the tunic gaped open, giving glimpses of his nude body.
Veris kept his eyes averted most of the time, but Taylor caught him stealing glimpses every now and again as they spoke.
“I could not help but listen to your conversation. It was…” He hesitated, looking from one to the other of them. “Forgive me, but even though the language was strange, some of the words were familiar enough for me to pick up a sense of your subject. You were being…frank.” He glanced at Brody as he said it.
Had Veris heard his own name among the gibberish? Taylor wondered. Even if he had, he may not have picked it up with their English accents, or even realized they had been referring to him. He didn’t know they knew his real name.
“You were not speaking Saxon, were you?” Veris pressed.
Taylor switched over to Saxon. “We would have sounded like this if we were speaking Saxon.”
Veris’ eyes narrowed as he studied her. “You have an almost perfect accent. You are not Saxon, though, are you?”
“No, neither of us is Saxon. We would not mislead you that way,” Taylor assured him. “Although, clearly, your own roots are Saxon, no?”
Veris nodded. “My family heritage goes back to when the Vikings first arrived in Britain in the mid-fifth century.”
“Are you talking about King Arthur?” Brody asked, resting an arm along the back of the chair. “Camlann?” His pose had the effect of opening up the tunic again. Taylor hid her grin.
Veris whirled to face Brody again. “You know about that?”
“I have heard about it. There was a crazy old man in Gwynedd where I was born who knew all the stories and told them over and over.”
“Who?” Veris demanded.
“What was his name?” Brody pondered. “Domhnall? No, that wasn’t it…” He shook his head. “I don’t really remember, I’m sorry.”
Veris drew in his breath at the mention of Domhnall, for that had been Brody’s father’s name, the official court appointed poet and bard to King Arthur. The Vikings had been particularly certain about making sure all Domhnall’s works had been burned completely, leaving no trace of Arthur to be found.
Veris stared at Brody, with the tunic hanging open, displaying just about all of his body while Brody stared back with an utter lack of self-consciousness.
“Who taught you to speak Saxon?” Veris finally demanded. He was shifting to safer ground…and shifting to the attack.
“You did,” Taylor told him. Which switched the attack back again.
Veris glared at her. “I did,” he repeated angrily.
“About a thousand years from now,” Brody added.
Veris continued to stare at Taylor. After a few seconds he turned and stalked from the tent, throwing the gauze aside with an impatient toss of his hand. He strode into the night without a backward glance.
Brody watched him go, his expression thoughtful.
“We’re not going to be able to tell him about the future,” Taylor concluded. “He’s too much a part of this culture. His mind can’t adapt. You’re just going to have to seduce him the old fashioned way.”
“We seduce him,” Brody replied, moving toward her.
“Excuse me?”
“I have to succeed, we know this. But he spent just as much time staring at you just then as me. I think he feels the pull of you now, just as much as he does in the twenty-first century, even though he’s mired in eleventh century thinking here. It may be that we must get him to commit to both of us after all.” He let his fingers slide over her collarbone and down over the slope of her breast in the light chemise. “I mean, look at you. What man with a pulse, even an undead, uncertain pulse, could resist?”
* * * * *
VERIS RODE UNTIL BRENDAN’S CAMP was far enough behind that the sound of his horse’s hooves would not be heard, then he stopped, slid off the animal and rested his head against the side.
What had happened back there? He had never felt more unsure of himself, more out of his depth and foolish than he had with those two. It was clear their educations far surpassed his and their breadth and depth of knowledge was staggering.
And too, there was their conversation he had accidentally stumbled upon, then shamelessly eavesdropped upon. He had only been able to pick up on the odd word or two. Brendan had sat upon that chair, outrageously nude, and spun his wife a tale that had involved two men. Two lovers.
Veris had been amazed to realize that Brendan was actually telling his wife such a tale. She had sat there in that incendiary, indecent shift, clearly finding the entire story far too much to her taste.
Well…it was his own punishment for listening. He had compounded the problem by barging in and demanding to know what language they were speaking. Such foolishness! They hadn’t scrambled to cover themselves in shame or make him feel more comfortable when he had invaded their hearth.
Instead they had managed to make him feel a depth of ignorance he’d not felt for centuries.
Veris closed his eyes, feeling a rare rush of blood to his cheeks.
The future!
That was when sense had reasserted itself and he’d managed to pull himself out of there.
Veris snorted against the side of the horse. The future.
But once more an image of Brendan’s naked body as he strode over to let Veris in planted itself in Veris’ mind. The surprisingly broad shoulders and the lean length of him.
The willowy suppleness of his wife, displayed without a shred of self-consciousness in that almost see-through chemise. Veris had been able to trace her rounded breasts beneath the fabric. The darker shape of her nipples.
His body hardened at the memory of both of them, with so much flesh on display and so much knowledge in their heads. They were a siren song to his heart and mind and body.
“God help me,” he groaned and shut his eyes against the images. But the images played on against the insides of his eyelids, teasing and tempting. Taunting him.
* * * * *
TAYLOR DREW THE COVER OFF her bed and laid it on the ground, then slipped out of the chemise. She pulled Brody down onto the cover with her. “Make me call your name as I come,” she told him, spreading her legs and trying to guide him between them.
“You wanton voyeur,” Brody accused her as he settled between her thighs. He pushed his cock into her, deep inside. She could feel him stretching her.
She arched in satisfaction as his fingers stroked her clit in round, quick, masterful knowing strokes as he thrust inside her.
“I love your lives, every second of them,” she breathed as her orgasm began to bloom.
“You love hearing about how we fell in love without you, one thousand years ago? How we fucked ourselves stupid without you?” he said harshly, ramming his cock into her in massive driving strokes.
“Yes!” She rolled her head back as her climax hit and gasped.
Brody thrust hard two more times, his fists slamming into the ground by her head as his hips drove into her. He gave a gasping groan as he came.
She felt the shift, the tension in him. The predator had awoken. With a smile, she rolled her head to one side and bared her neck. His teeth pierced her neck with the sweet-sour sting she had grown used to. “Brody,” she whispered, her hand in his hair. “I love you.”
His teeth withdrew, his tongue laved the small wounds. His lips kissed it better. His hands soothed her and told her the predator had withdrawn. “You love even that part of us you can’t have? Our pasts?” He shifted his weight so that he was lying next to her. His hand lazily circled her breasts.
“All of you is all of you,” she said simply. “You wouldn’t be who you are without all that history behind you. Of course I love all of it. Of course I find it all fascinating and want to know about all of it.” She picked up his hand and kissed it. “If I find watching the two of you together exciting now that all three of us are together, why wouldn’t I find it exciting when it was just the two of you?” She put his hand back on her breast. “Just because I wasn’t formally part of the two of you doesn’t mean I get to put my feelings onto the back burner. I still get excited by the idea of the two of you doing wicked things to each other.”
She looked around the tent. “It must be getting late. It’s getting darker in here.”
“The campfires are burning down,” Brody said. “It should be about nine o’clock.” He turned her chin so that her face was toward him. “No envy? No resentment?” he murmured.
She smiled, knowing he could see more in the dark than she could. “God no, Brody. How could I resent what happened long before I was born? Of course I wish Veris had the same devotion for me that he has for you, but I’m beginning to understand why he developed that attachment and why I can’t share it, now you’re finally telling me this stuff. It’s taking the sting away.”
Brody sat up in one smooth movement. “Devotion?” he repeated, with a stunned tone in his voice.
Taylor laughed. She sat up and kissed him. “Devotion,” she repeated firmly. “I’m betting that after your night next to the olive tree, he was back…oh, the very next night. Probably sneaked into your tent in the dead of the night and sneaked out again before morning. Made love to you all night and left you like a limp noodle while he went off to kill Fatimids and build siege engines.”
Brody was silent for a second or two. “You’re scary,” he said at last. “Only I had to work the next day, too.” He turned his head. “Someone’s coming,” he said softly and reached for the tunic she had slashed. “Slip behind the panels and I’ll throw your chemise to you.”
“More firewood! More light! The Lord Toulouse comes!” The cry came from the north.
“Raymond is coming,” Brody said, as Taylor stepped behind the panels. Her chemise drifted over the top of the panels and she struggled to find the hem in the dark and slide into it. She had just arranged the garment properly when the slashed tunic folded over the top of the panel, too. There was more and more light as she dressed, as the fires and noise built as people woke and prepared for the arrival of Raymond of Toulouse.
She slid the tunic off the panels and slipped it on over the chemise and stepped out from behind the panels. She bent over the trunk where she had seen Mary drop the belt from the bliaut earlier that day and fished it out from among the unknown paraphernalia she found there. Hastily, she wound the belt around her waist twice and knotted it so it hung low on her abdomen as she had seen women in medieval illustrations do. It pulled the tunic in around her waist, which would have to serve as an emergency bliaut.
Brody was already dressed in a matching tunic and leggings. She ran her hand under the tunic until she reached the top of the leggings and found bare flesh.
Brody grinned. “It was faster that way,” he murmured.
“Liar.” She withdrew her hand as two knights stepped aside at the entrance to the tent and made way for a slender man with red-gold hair, a long narrow nose and one eye. He seemed weighed down with care and troubles.
He nodded at Brody, who bowed from the waist. “My lord.”
Taylor took her cue. She curtsied. “My lord,” she murmured.
“If you had sent word,” Brody added, “I would have been happy to have attended you. You did not need to stir yourself away from your wife and family at this time.”
“I wanted air, anyway,” Raymond said dismissively. “My wife blames me for this misfortune and I grow tired of listening to her accusations. She was the one who insisted on bringing the babe with us.” He shrugged. “Enough of the matter, I grow weary of it. Water is the need that brings me here, Brendan. The siege engines will be complete in three days, but we only have enough water to last for one, maybe two days. I want you to find some and bring it back to the camp.”
Brody inclined his head. “All the wells and soaks in the region were poisoned by the Fatimids in the city, when they heard we were coming. There are no local water sources.”
“Then you’ll have to range farther afield. We must have fresh water—and fresh meat, too. Add that to your list, while you’re out there.”
“Out in the desert,” Brody clarified, his voice flat.
“Yes. We’ll need you back by the third day.” Raymond inclined his head toward Taylor. “Lady Norwich.”
She dipped into a much shallower curtsey this time, her mind racing.
Raymond nodded at Brody. “Three days, Brendan!”
“Three days, my lord,” Brendan replied.
Raymond stalked out of the tent, his knights falling in behind him like a train. There was a call for more light, more torches, the calls gradually fading as Raymond headed north, back to his camp.
Brody gripped the post on the back of his chair, his head down, his eyes narrowed as he thought hard.
“When does Jerusalem fall?” Taylor asked softly, in English.
“The fourteenth, four days from now,” Brody said, just as softly. “As soon as they get the siege engines finished, the Fatimids surrender.”
“If you’re away from the city for three days, then you’ll have no time to hunt Veris at all. Once the city falls, he and Selkirk will be gone.”
Brody glanced at her. “I can’t defy Raymond. It’s the equivalent of a direct military order. Besides, the entire army here does need water.”
“This didn’t happen, the first time around, did it? You didn’t go out for water.”
“No.”
“We’re already changing the past,” she said. “How much is this going to ripple down through history?”
Brody gave a short laugh. “Can we save the philosophy for when Veris is around to chew over it? Right now, I have enough worries to make me want to throw up.” He pressed at his temples. “How the hell am I supposed to be in two places at once for the next three days? We don’t even know if this time jump will let us stay here for the next three days!”
Taylor stepped around him so that her back was to the light from the campfires, then tried to turn Brody so that his face was to the light. “Look at me,” she said. “Take your hands away.”
He lifted his hands away and blinked. “Fucking perfect,” he muttered. “Now I need to feed on top of everything else.”
“I think it’s that you need to feed because of everything else, but okay,” she said. She stepped away from him, knowing her pulse and heartbeat would make it worse for him now. “Go and feed,” she said softly. “Take care of that first. In the meantime, I’ll do some thinking.”
Brody’s chest was rising and falling. He was breathing too fast. His gaze skittered around the tent.
“Brody!” she called. She couldn’t touch him to gain his attention.
He blinked and looked at her. His eyes were widely dilated. The predator was loose. This creature, though, wasn’t interested in bonding. It was searching for food and she fit the profile.
“Go and feed,” she said firmly. “Now.”
He swallowed. Then he nodded and picked up his knife and pushed it through his belt. Wordlessly, he left.
Taylor shivered as he passed her.
When he had left the camp proper she stepped out of the tent and waved to the nearest page. “Find Mary and tell her I need her assistance at once.”
The page took off at a dead run.
* * * * *
MARY TURNED OUT TO BE a co-conspirator, once Taylor explained what she needed. Twenty minutes later, Taylor steadied herself on the horse that had been brought around for her, feeling that she was very high up from the ground indeed. All the riding lessons she had been taking just for these moments weren’t much use when the saddle, bridle, stirrups and other modern equipment she had been learning to use looked nothing like what she was faced with now. Nor had she been learning to ride while wearing the medieval version of formal evening wear.
But there were reins and she remembered one very basic lesson that the instructor drummed into her from the start. Your knees are one of the principal steering mechanisms!
Mary was waiting for her, seated upon a smaller gray mare. Taylor gave her a nervous smile. “I really don’t like horses,” she confessed.
Mary laughed. “You hide it well, my lady.”
Taylor gave the horse a gentle tap with her foot and it started forward. Mary kept up alongside her.
“You’d best show me the way, Mary,” Taylor told her. “I’ve been keeping to the camp so much, I’m not entirely sure where Selkirk’s encampment is.”
“Not to worry, my lady,” Mary said. “I know all the camps like the back of my hand.”
She edged her fat horse forward and Taylor’s trotted to keep up. Taylor could feel the warm night air lifting her veil. Soldiers and knights were watching them as they passed fires and tents, one encampment after another. They must have made quite a sight, for not every lord had brought his family with him. Only a very few women and their entourages of help and necessary support systems had made the arduous journey from more civilized climates.
Taylor in her formal wear and with her maid must be quite a sight for these lonely men. She was glad of the long knife tucked into the loop on her belt, even if it was on her right hand side.
Selkirk’s encampment was ablaze with light and activity, which made it an oddity among all the others, which were settling down for the night. Taylor was pleased it was so. She would not be an unwelcome disturbance, at least. But why would Selkirk be so busy when everyone else was lethargic?
Mary caught at Taylor’s horse’s bridle and brought her to a stop when they reached the sentries. Thankfully, Taylor slithered to the ground. Her legs were shaking from having to hold onto the horse so tightly. Adrenaline was coursing through her. She made a mental note to practice a lot more with horses when she got back. Bareback, this time.
Mary was already standing in front of the sentries, her hand on her hip, the other holding both horses’ reins. “Make way for the Lady Norwich, my good men,” she said importantly. “She has need to speak to Lord Selkirk.”
Taylor straightened her clothing and moved to stand just behind Mary’s shoulder as she had seen Raymond do with his knights.
The sentries just stared at them.
Mary cocked her head. “Cheeky buggers,” she muttered. “Move, or I’ll have your bollocks!” she said, much more loudly.
“It’s rather late to be seeking an audience with anyone, my lady, don’t you think?” The voice came from dark shadows, but Taylor knew it was Veris. She knew his voice so well she would recognize it anywhere. He stepped into the light thrown from nearby fires to stand behind his men. He crossed his arms. “Forgive the caution my men are showing, but at night we must watch for assassins. I know you will be familiar with that term.”
“Of course. Lord Selkirk has been threatened, then. It explains the light and the activity.” She tapped the knife on her belt. “This is the only weapon I carry. My maid carries none. You may escort me directly to Lord Selkirk and escort me back to my horse. Will that satisfy your need for caution?”
“What is this fuss, Will?” came a low, contralto feminine voice, that seemed to be both full of laughter and full of sexual promise at the same time. Just the sound of it made the fine hairs on the back of Taylor’s neck stand up and sent a ripple down her back. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation at all.
Like Veris, the woman was lingering in the shadows, but she was using them deliberately and didn’t reveal herself. The first glimpse Taylor caught of her was a long-fingered hand that slid over Veris’ shoulder possessively, before curling around and stroking his neck.
He didn’t move. He didn’t shrug off the hand. He didn’t respond to it either.
Then the rest of her emerged into the light.
She was tall. Tall enough that standing next to Veris, she only had to rise on her toes a little to slide her tongue along his neck and into his ear as her hand continued to stroke the other side of his neck.
It was a form of greeting, Taylor realized. An intimate greeting.
The woman turned to study Taylor, her greeting done. With a small start of surprise, Taylor realized the woman was wearing chainmail, hose and a tunic, just like a man. She even had a sword strapped to her hip. Everything was scaled down to her proportions. Everything was in Selkirk colors.
She had blue eyes. They weren’t like Veris’ though. Her eyes were almost completely colorless, like a washed-out summer sky, punctuated by the iris. It gave her eyes a hypnotic quality. Her hair was raven black and woven in one long braid down the center of her back.
Taylor fought down the sensation of dismay building in her.
Only a woman of high importance in the Selkirk household could arrange for themselves tailored clothes with the Selkirk colors. And male clothing?
If she and Veris were lovers…
Taylor realized she had let herself stare for too long. She pulled her gaze away from the woman, who was beginning to smile with a self-satisfied expression that made Taylor’s skin crawl.
“I seek a few minutes of Lord Selkirk’s time,” Taylor said. “I was explaining to William that I am happy to be escorted under arms if it makes everyone feel more secure and comfortable. I am no assassin.”
The woman turned to Will. “I will take her.”
Will shook his head. “The assassins have you on their list, too.” He was speaking softly, but not bothering to lower his voice too much because he thought no one would understand him but the woman. Taylor battled to keep her face expressionless as she found herself translating the words almost automatically in her mind. Except for the word “assassin” Will had used ancient Norse. He added, “There are too many spears out here tonight.”
Taylor leaned forward. “Who is she?” she breathed into Mary’s ear.
Mary turned her head. “Davina. Wife of Selkirk.”
Taylor kept her best neutral look on her face as the two turned back to look at her.
Davina scowled at her. “William will escort you to the lord,” she said and stalked away, her sword slapping her thigh.
The sentries stepped aside.
“Watch the horses, Mary. You really don’t want to come inside the camp.”
“I don’t think I do, neither,” Mary murmured.
* * * * *
VERIS HALTED HER ABOUT TEN paces beyond the sentries. “I have to ask you for your knife, my lady.”
“Do you get to search me, too?” she asked, pulling the knife out of her belt.
“I will trust you for now.” He pushed the knife into his belt. “I think we both know I could slit your throat faster than you could withdraw any other weapon.”
“Finally, we are making some progress.” Taylor smiled at him. “And where do we find your worthy lord?”
Veris held out his hand, indicating the way. Taylor picked up the hem of her dress and carefully skirted around the chests, gear, ropes and pegs that might snag her clothes, while trying to look graceful.
“You look much more elegant now,” Veris observed.
“I know you like elegance.” She stepped over a sleeping man and moved on without comment.
“You dressed for me?”
“I would like to say yes, but I actually dressed for Selkirk. One honors the lord one visits, when one is asking a favor.”
“You’ve come to ask a favor?”
“Yes.”
“For your husband?”
“For me.”
Veris laughed.
“Where is the humor in that?” she asked.
“You’re a woman.”
She realized it was simply eleventh century thinking, but still found herself coming to a halt. “Like Davina is a woman?”
Veris halted, too. “That’s different.”
“Why?” Taylor dropped into old Norse. “Because she’s a vampire? Or because she is your lover?”
She heard his breath catch. Now he will try to turn the argument to attack, Taylor thought.
Veris scowled. “Are you jealous, perhaps? I saw your face when she touched me.”
Even knowing why he was doing it, his petty slash still hurt, because it was the truth. Taylor had been horrified, watching Davina’s lovely hands and lips touching Veris. It had made her sick.
“You were,” Veris breathed.
Then he glanced around quickly and straightened up, as if he had suddenly remembered where they were. “You are human,” he said flatly. “It’s not your place to question who we chose to take as partners. You have no claim over us at all. Didn’t your husband teach you this when he deigned to marry you?”
Taylor could feel her eyes stinging and blinked furiously. The last thing she needed was tears, right now. “If that’s truly the vampire creed at this time, I refuse to believe for a second that you follow it. It suits Davina down to the ground, but you’d hate it. You’re too warm. Too human.”
Veris looked deeply offended. “You insult me, madam.”
“Do I? Really?” Taylor held out her hand. “Give me your hand for a moment.”
Veris crossed his arms, looking wise.
“For heaven’s sake. You know you could snap my neck in one second. Give me your hand.” She shook her hand for emphasis.
He laid his hand with the heavy mail gauntlet in hers.
Taylor pulled the gauntlet off and handed it back to him. Veris’ hand was familiar and dear. She lifted it and stroked the palm. Then, delicately, she slipped her fingers between his and caressed the flesh along the sides of his fingers.
She heard his tiny gasp and hid her smile as she continued to caress and stroke the sensitive flesh there. She looked up and saw that Veris was watching her fingers with profound concentration, as if he was hypnotized. She lifted her fingers and beckoned. He leaned down. She reached up on tiptoe and like Davina before her, she slid her tongue up along Veris’ neck. But she followed the line of his tendon and concentrated on the hollow underneath his ear. Then, delicately, she slipped the tip of her tongue into his ear as she let her breath blow over it.
Veris shuddered.
Taylor stepped back. “It’s only because of warm relationships with humans that a human could get to know you and do that to you. I bet Davina never has, Will.”
He growled. It was an animal sound that frightened her and she cringed.
Veris grabbed her arm and hurried her through the camp. She could barely keep her feet and only had one hand to spare to hold up her dress.
He only let go of her arm when they were standing before a large tent and two more sentries. These were fully armed knights.
“Lady Norwich to see Selkirk,” Veris growled. His voice was thick and hoarse. Rage or arousal. Possibly both.
One of the knights slipped into the tent.
“Someone else will see you back to your horse,” Veris told her. “Here.” He held out her knife to her, hilt first. When she took it, he turned and walked away with no attempt at a formal farewell.
The knight returned. “This way,” he said, holding the flap open for her.
Taylor stepped inside.
It was bright with candles and quite hot, plus there was a lot of furniture. That was her first impression.
Selkirk was a middle-aged man with dark hair going gray at the temples. He was unusually tall for the times and had blue eyes that might have been called startling if Taylor hadn’t seen his wife’s eyes or Veris’ first. These eyes just looked ordinary in comparison, and tired. There were the beginnings of bags beneath his eyes, from either stress, lack of sleep or age. But he was once a handsome man and he was still attractive, with an air of command that came with age.
“Lady Norwich, this is…unusual.”
She curtsied. “I appreciate your time and your tolerance, Lord Selkirk. I have an unusual request and I’ve heard that you are a wise man and open-minded. I have hopes that you will listen to my request and help me meet my needs.”
Selkirk waved toward his big chair but Taylor had already learned that the big chairs were for the men. She demurred with a smile and perched on the little chest nearby. “This is…delicate.”
Selkirk gave a small laugh. “If it is a female matter, I am sure it is delicate.”
“It is political, actually. But it is hard to explain.”
Selkirk lifted his shoulders a little. “Plain words are often the best.”
“Then if you are not offended by plain words, I will use them. That will be easiest for me.”
Selkirk lifted a single brow. “If you are able to use plain words, then please do.”
Taylor settled her hands in her lap. “I want to borrow your man, William, for three days to assist my husband while he goes in search of water and food for Raymond’s forces.”
Selkirk sat very still for a few seconds. “Well,” he said at last. “I would not have wagered on that outcome.” He stood and pushed his big sleeves up his arms. Taylor got the sense that he was falling to business. “William is one of my most reliable knights. Why would I deplete my forces by lending him to another for three whole days?”
He was looking for compensation. But Taylor had none to give. Only Brody as the Lord of Norwich had any real money in this time and she didn’t want to drag him into this.
She was going to have try a different sort of coinage. “I would have thought,” she said carefully, “that you might like to have William removed from your household, even for a while.”
Selkirk’s eyes widened. “Very plain spoken indeed,” he muttered. He stalked to a table next to his chair and poured a mug of wine and drank deeply. Then he studied her. “Let us agree that it would be to my advantage to have William gone for a while. It still depletes my fighting forces. That is no lie.”
“There will be no fighting for at least three days. The siege engines won’t be ready for at least that long,” Taylor countered. “In the meantime, the knights you have can take care of any skirmishes.”
“You are an astute woman,” Selkirk responded. “However, it still leaves the question of why you want William’s services for this search for water.” He sat back on the big chair.
“Why do my motives have to be a part of the bargain?” she demanded. “You would not ask this of a man.”
“True,” Selkirk replied easily. “But as I have the commodity you seek, you must fall in with my conditions. Yes?”
Taylor seethed. “Yes,” she replied, as sweetly as she could.
Selkirk’s smile was broad. “I heard that you kissed him.”
Taylor drew a calming breath. “You heard correctly.”
She enjoyed seeing Selkirk’s eyes widen. “You do not deny it?”
“It was a greeting. A gesture. The French—the Normans—do it all the time. But of course in this camp where boredom has driven everyone to invent games and fantasies, a simple kiss of greeting becomes something wicked, instead.” She smiled at Selkirk. “I have heard the same rumor myself, at least three times. Each time it becomes more exaggerated. Next, they will have it that my husband and myself are trying to seduce your captain or something silly like that.”
Selkirk actually blushed.
Taylor spread her hands. “My husband and I are familiar with William’s past and his expertise. He knows the lands around here and the ways of the desert dwellers. He will be an asset on our search for water and food. That is the sum total of my motives in asking for his assistance. The reason I approached you instead of my husband is that I wished to surprise him with this arrangement, for he is feeling the strain of this assignment. I thought William’s company would be a welcome addition.”
Selkirk sat back and thought about it. “In the end all mysteries are so simple, aren’t they?”
“There has been speculation, then?” Taylor asked, feeling a touch of alarm.
“One or two questions, Lady Norwich. That is all. Your reputation is far from besmirched, let me assure you.” He stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. “It is an intriguing offer, my lady, but in all honesty the threat of the Fatimids is greater than my domestic troubles. I can’t risk sending Will on a trek into the desert that would bring no bounty to my men, simply to satisfy a personal gain.”
Taylor knew she had no authority to offer a portion of the water or food they found, either.
She was stumped. Then she remembered something Selkirk had said earlier and sat up.
“I’ll bet you for Will,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“A wager,” she re-interpreted.
Selkirk’s eyes narrowed and an eager expression crept into his face. Clearly, the troops on the ground weren’t the only ones suffering from ennui.
“How do we decide the matter?” he asked.
“There’s a game called Rock, Paper—I mean, Parchment, Sheers.” Taylor got to her feet and pushed back her sleeves.