Jacq's Warlord (40 page)

Just when he thought he might convince her to remain a little longer abed, he heard scratching at the door. “What is it?” he growled.

The door burst open.

Jacq yelped and dove beneath the covers.

Monty bound into the room. “Milord, a messenger from Duke Henry awaits you in the hall.”

Rufus opened his mouth to answer, but a soft fist firmly grasped his morning erection, stealing the breath from his lungs. Liquid warmth swirled through his groin, filling his cock to strained proportions.

With a firm hand, he pushed Jacq away from his cock. After a deep breath, he managed a tight response. “Make sure he is given food and drink. I will join him shortly.”

“Yes, milord.” Monty executed a quick bow and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Rufus lifted the sheet to stare down at Jacq. She wore a mischievous grin on her face as she scooted farther beneath the covers until her warm breath caressed his hip. “Shall I help you rise, milord?”

“It looks as though you have the matter firmly in hand, milady.”

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She chuckled. “Ummm, I’m very hungry.” She opened her mouth as if she were about to take a bite out of his manhood, then settled into a game of gobbling him up with noisy, smacking licks and kisses.

With a laugh, he hauled her up beside him, then climbed on top. “You lack finesse.”

She stuck her tongue in his ear, and lapped noisily, until he shouted, “Enough!”

and rammed into her, burying himself to the hilt, effectively ending her play.

* * * * *

A few minutes later, Rufus sighed and lifted his head from Jacq’s shoulder. “I must go below to see what is amiss.”

Jacq groaned and tightened her arms around him when he would have moved off her. “What do you suppose would happen if we ignored the world outside this chamber for a day?”

An eyebrow arched, and his arms tensed as he leaned farther away. “We would starve.”

Her legs circled his waist, and she pressed her pussy against his near-flaccid length.

“We could feast on love,” she said, grinned as she felt his cock pulse against her.

“You would wear this—” he slid into her moist entrance, “—down to an unimpressive nub.”

Her lips formed a moue. “For once I must agree with milord. It already lacks ambition. I think I’ve already worn it out.”

“Witch!” He made a single sensuous glide, and then pulled out of her completely, ignoring her moan of disappointment.

Jacq lay naked among the furs and stretched in a long, luxurious movement, hoping to entice her man back to the bed.

But Rufus was intent on searching the floor for his clothing.
So much for my sex
appeal
.

She sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed. “If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll come with you.”

“No need.” He pulled his stockings up over his calves, added a shirt and tunic and slid his feet into his boots. “Rest for now. I’ll return as soon as I have spoken with Henry’s man.”

Not at all disappointed he didn’t need her at his side, Jack yawned and lay back down. “I might just do that for a few more minutes.” Her eyes were already closed when she felt him pull a fur over her.

Jacq didn’t realize she’d fallen back to sleep until the mattress dipped. She opened her eyes to find Rufus seated, his back against the headboard, feet stretched out in front of him.

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His cheeks were flushed and the smile teased the corner of his mouth, indicating the news must have been good.

She smacked his arm. “Out with it! What has you so excited?”

“This.” He trailed a scroll across her breasts and down to the curly mound covering her mons. “Ummm…most assuredly, this.” He was no longer looking at the scroll.

“Just like a man, always thinking with your cock.” Jacq grabbed the scroll, unrolled the parchment and quickly scanned its contents. Her mouth fell open as she read the few terse lines. “I can’t believe it.”

“At Henry’s request, King Stephen has given us the estates and titles that belonged to Lord Albermarle and Percival of Sedgwick.”

Jacq jumped to her knees and flung her arms around his shoulders. “This is wonderful news.”

“How will you like being married to a land-rich lord?” Rufus laughed and kissed her full on the lips.

With a light shove against his chest, Jacq sat back on her haunches. “I’d be happy even if you owned only the clothes on your back.”

Rufus hugged her close. “You are a strange one. What kind of husband would I make with nothing to offer my wife?”

“The best.” Jacq felt her heart swell. The war was over, her future was secure, but most of all a wonderful, sexy man loved her. With her cheek resting against his chest, she could feel rumbling vibrations. “Why are you laughing?”

“I just had a thought. Percy wanted so badly to have Rathburn he gambled his soul with the devil and lost. Instead, his sworn enemy holds his lands.”

Jacq gave a gentle snort. “Yes, I see your point. It’s just desserts, if you ask me.

Congratulations, Rufus.” Faking concern, she asked, “But what do I call you now? Lord Albermarle?”

“Before others, you may still use ‘my lord’.” His mouth curved into a grin. “But, I remain ‘your majesty’ in the bedchamber.”

She smacked his chest, even as she leaned forward to kiss him. After several breath-stealing kisses, she snuggled against him. “I feel rather decadent. You’re fully dressed and I’m…not.”

“And we cannot spend the day in here—we have a wedding to prepare. Enid has the servants in an uproar already. But first…” He reached over the side of the bed once more.

Jacq leaned over to see what treasure he was hiding. “More gifts from Henry?”

“No, a gift for the Lady of Rathburn.” He laid a familiar leather-bound prayer book in her lap, and then stared into her eyes. “For you, milady.”

A sudden chill raised gooseflesh on Jacq’s skin and her heart skittered erratically against her rib cage. “You know that this book brought me to you?” Her hands shook 224

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even as they caressed the supple leather binding. Did he trust her enough to give her the means to leave him?

“Yes, I spoke to the priest after the messenger departed. I never knew of this legacy.

And it is probably a good idea for my mother and the other ladies to have withheld the knowledge from the lords of Rathburn. If they could have used its power, ‘tis likely it would have been abused.”

“Then you also know that this is what I’d planned to use to return home?” she asked, without looking up.

“Yes. By writing your prayer in the book, and then saying it aloud,” he answered softly.

“But I’m choosing to stay and become your wife.” Jacq’s gaze met his. Her heart slowed to a normal pace, her resolve strengthening.

Now she had the means to return, she knew she couldn’t. So much had changed in the short time she’d been there and she knew, beyond doubt, she no longer belonged in the future. She belonged beside Rufus, in the past. “I don’t need this book.”

Rufus tipped his head back and closed his eye, releasing a long steady breath. “For a moment, I thought I should burn it,” he admitted. “But Father Haskell warned that might disrupt the chain of events that ultimately brought you to me.”

“He was right.”

“This book has to be well cared-for in order for it to survive until the twenty-first century so you will find it in the future.” He placed his hand over hers on top of the book. “I shall commission a craftsman to make a special box to protect the book.”

“Excellent idea.” Jacq smiled, remembering the wooden box with the carving depicting a family portrait—her family portrait, she now realized—on its cover.

Another chill shivered across her skin lifting goose bumps. How many children had been in that picture?

Rufus looked away and cleared his throat. “I asked the priest whether you could write a prayer and have it come true. He wasn’t sure. Since you spoke his prayer aloud, it might not work for you again.”

The hesitancy Rufus displayed touched Jacq’s heart. He obviously still had doubts about her commitment. “Perhaps, someday I will find a need for a special prayer, and we will see whether it will work for me.”

He shook his head and held her gaze as he said, “Father Haskell wants you to be certain the prayer you write is for something meaningful to you, for if the Lord grants your wish, it will be your only opportunity. I told him you need only one, for I shall make the rest come true.”

Jacq liked the sound of that—liked even better the warmth that filled her chest at his solemn words. “Rufus? What wish should I ask?”

He lifted her hands in his and squeezed. “You could write a prayer for your father, Jacq.”

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* * * * *

Well into the wee hours of the morning, Jacq lay awake as Rufus slept peacefully beside her.

Today was her wedding day.

Unable to sleep, she rose from the bed and quietly lit a candle, carrying it to Rufus’

table where the prayer book lay.

With her fingers lightly skimming the smooth leather surface, she thought back over all that had happened to her since the day she’d received the package in the mail.

She recalled her and her father’s excitement over the history the book represented. If only they’d known what she knew now.

But would she have changed anything?

Jacq glanced across the room to the man snoring softly in his sleep. Rufus was her future. Of that, she was certain. Everything in this universe happens for a reason.

Funny, how the entire chain of events had begun with a priest’s heartfelt prayer.

She opened the first page and reread the instructions for the use of the book. Had reciting the priest’s prayer counted toward the one prayer she was allowed? Was there really a limit to the number of prayers a person could request?

A little flame of hope burned in her heart, as she pulled a quill and inkpot toward her. Tapping the feather to the side of her temple, she remembered the other, beautifully written prayers in the book, and she thought and thought. Nothing wonderful and prosy came to mind. Finally, she sighed in defeat.
I hope God isn’t a
literary critic!

Dipping the quill into the ink, she began.

Dear Father in heaven I pray to thee,

let my father know I am well and happy.

Please, help him to know I did not die at the Faire,

but traveled back in time over eight hundred years.

Jacq grimaced. Man, was she lousy at poetry, and she wasn’t done yet. She dipped the quill into the ink and bent to her task, leaving a trail of ink drips across the page.

I have fallen in love and plan to remain

in twelfth-century England where it does nothing but rain.

If my father chooses to join me on my wedding day,

I pray that you help him to find his way.

If he does come I wish him to bring

as much as he can of the following things:

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razors, tweezers, Godiva chocolate, toothpaste, tooth

brushes, cocoa mix, feminine pads—

A blob of ink formed under the comma while Jacq thought about that item…

Ohmigod! How long has it been?

Joy bubbled up inside her.
Thank you!

She hastily scraped away the blob and continued to write.

—prenatal care book, coffee, Band-Aids, aspirin, penicillin…
And the list went on and on. When she finished, she wrote one last line.
Dear Lord, I hope you will forgive me my
terrible attempt at poetry and grant me this one request—laundry list aside. Let my father know
I love him and whether or not he decides to join me, I will love him forever. Amen.

With the prayer complete, she dusted the page with sand. She felt Rufus’ hand rest gently on her shoulder and reached for it with her own. With her fingers intertwined with his, she began to read.

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Tom Frazier moved restlessly through the rooms of the two-story house he’d shared with his daughter. The past week had been the longest of his life—even more terrible than the time he’d returned to the States to bury his wife. Jacq’s dramatic abduction and ultimate disappearance had made national news. Despite all the hype, not a single viable clue surfaced leading to her whereabouts. Worse, it was anyone’s guess whether she was still alive.

In his heart, Tom believed Jacq’s spirit was invincible. While investigators began to lose hope of finding her, Tom’s conviction grew stronger. Patience and consideration of even the tiniest lead would bring her back.

If only he hadn’t arrived late at the Faire. If only he’d been there for Jacq. The sea of emergency vehicles and news vans had been his first clue something was terribly wrong. All entrances and exits to the fairgrounds had been sealed off by the police who were interviewing as many witnesses as they could before they scattered.

Tom had been turned away, but the need to assure himself Jacq was unharmed led him around the perimeter to the workers’ entrance, an area not as closely observed.

He’d slipped through the fence and run to the storyteller’s stage. Yellow crime scene tape confirmed the sick feeling growing inside him even before he heard the details from the young officer standing guard over the area.

Tom’s nightmare grew grimmer as witnesses were released to go home and the last of the forensics team packed their tools and left the grounds. Tom himself had spoken to many of Jacq’s friends, but they couldn’t shed any more light on the mystery.

Everyone shared the same disbelieving horror. How could something like this happen to one of them?

How could a rider dressed in full armor, carrying a struggling woman, disappear so completely? But beyond the spectators who had watched the performance and, at first, had believed the abduction was just a part of the act, no one had seen them anywhere else within or outside the fairgrounds. Witnesses’ reports had become more exaggerated with each telling. Many claimed they had simply vanished into the fog that had suddenly enveloped the stage.