Kiss Across Swords (Kiss Across Time Series) Read online

  She nodded. But her goddamn beautiful eyes were luminous with more unshed tears. Brody kissed her. Despite the chill of the champagne and the salt of her tears he could taste the sweetness of her lips still. Despite four years he still hadn’t decided what the taste was. It had been too long since he’d eaten real food and memory was a poor substitute.

  He could feel his uppers trying to descend at the smell of her and the beat of her pulse so close by. She had been right. He needed to feed and soon.

  “I must go,” he said, pulling himself away. As he hurried out the door, he dared to glimpse back.

  Taylor had dropped into the Craftsman chair, her knees together and her lower legs askew like a junior high school girl’s. Her head was in her hands. If she wasn’t crying, she was about to, or struggling not to.

  Brody dug his nails into his palms and forced himself to keep walking away. He would be no use to her if he went near her. Not in this state. He would terrify her and be a danger to her.

  Taylor would have a hard time understanding that tonight she was better off alone, even on her birthday, but it was cold hard fact.

  The truth gave Brody no comfort either.

  Chapter Two

  Taylor stared at the doctor. It suddenly felt like the old wooden floor of the big office was actually heaving like the deck of a ship. She clutched the arms of her chair. “Excuse me?” she said. Her lips felt thick and uncooperative. “I don’t think I caught that last part.”

  “Which part?” the doctor asked, with a small frown, flipping back a page in Taylor’s folder.

  “The part about the p-p-regnancy.” She rubbed her forehead. “That was what you meant about gestation, right?”

  Dr. Edward Cruz frowned again, more heavily this time, making his handsome face look suddenly older. “That is what most physicians mean by the term, I believe.” He looked at the page again. “The blood work confirms your pregnancy.” He smiled at her, flashing very white teeth. “They’re very accurate tests these days.”

  Her hand began to shake. “That’s…not possible.”

  “You’re not using birth control,” he pointed out, actually tapping the file with his pen. It made the heavy gold Rolex on his wrist flash in the sun streaming through the windows. “Unless you’re consulting with another family physician?” Offense thickened his tone. “I cannot treat you properly if I don’t have the full facts of your medical history, you know.”

  Taylor plastered a small smile on her face. “I had no need for contraception. My partner—” She just managed to make herself stop at the singular term. “My partner is unable to father children. We had accepted it would not happen for us.”

  Dr. Cruz smiled himself. It was also a small smile. “Then I guess this is a day for celebration for you, isn’t it?”

  She let herself fall back against the backrest of the vinyl patient’s chair, staring at him. No words would come to her. Nothing encompassed this.

  “How pregnant am I?” she asked at last.

  Cruz looked mildly vexed. “When was your last menstruation?” he asked.

  Taylor blinked. She barely kept track of such matters anymore. After some deep thought, she came up with a date. Cruz glanced at a calendar and tapped his way through the weeks. “If you are right about the date, at a very rough guess I would say about five and a half weeks. But until we do an ultra-sound scan, it’s an approximation.” He turned the page on her annual physical, clearly ready to move on.

  “Why haven’t I had any symptoms?” she asked. “Morning sickness? All that stuff? Women I’ve known who have been pregnant told me they knew the moment they got pregnant.”

  This time his frustration was more than evident. He dropped his pen to the desk. “Probably because they were trying to become pregnant and they were looking for symptoms. You’ve possibly overlooked the symptoms or completely disregarded them, or mistaken them for something else. Or else you’re one of those lucky women who will sail through their pregnancy with very few symptoms at all. Shall we move on?”

  She leaned forward. “Are you kidding? You drop a bomb like pregnancy on me and expect me to change subjects and move on? I want to know what happens now. Where I go next. Options. Details.”

  Cruz blew out his breath. “We can schedule another appointment at another time to discuss your condition. Right now, we’re here to discuss the results of your annual physical checkup.” He tapped the file.

  “Where you discovered I was pregnant, a condition of my physical health. So let’s discuss it,” Taylor insisted.

  Cruz glanced at his watch. “Prenatal consultations are not included in the fee for an annual physical consultation. You’ll have to reschedule for that.”

  Taylor felt her jaw sag and snapped her teeth together. “You have somewhere else to be that is so important, Doctor?”

  He sat back and threw his pen down. He smoothed his hair back with a vexed, controlled movement. “As a matter of fact, I do, Ms. Yates.” He seemed to be barely holding in his ire. “My wife is in the hospital right at this moment undergoing radiation treatment for a malignant astrocytoma. I would like to be there at least before the end of her treatment session, as I’m already too late for the beginning of the session.”

  Taylor wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. “A malignant…” she began. She had no idea what the term meant, but “malignant” sounded very bad. Her cheeks were heating.

  “A brain tumor,” he interpreted dryly, completing her humiliation.

  “I’m sorry,” Taylor said. She had no idea what else to say. Anything else she might add would be inadequate.

  “Accepted,” he said flatly. He closed her file and gave her a dry smile. “Perhaps we should finish this up another day?”

  “I think that would be acceptable,” Taylor agreed with a sigh of relief. She picked up her bag from the floor beside her. Suddenly, the idea of finding somewhere far from here, a spot out of the way where she could sit and think about this enormous news, alone and uninterrupted, seemed like a great idea. She couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything else.

  “Do book that prenatal consult, too,” he finished, standing up.

  “I will.” She hurried out the door, feeling about three feet shorter than when she walked in. Shorter and fatter.

  Pregnant. How had that happened?

  Twenty minutes later, Taylor had her answer.

  She had only been able to walk as far as the nearest Starbucks. Dazed, still unable to cope with the reality of a baby, she had sought the shelter of the dark green umbrellas on the patio in front of the store. They provided relief from the heat of the day, along with a tall cold green tea lemonade. There she found her answers from within her diary.

  Five and a half weeks ago, Veris and she had travelled back to fifth century Norway again. She had been there once before with Veris, four years ago.

  The day Taylor had met Brody and Veris, she had slipped back very briefly to the time when Veris had left Norway to sail to Britain. That was the last time he had ever seen his homeland before it had become Norway.

  This occasion, five and a half weeks ago, they had travelled back to when he had been a few years younger. Taylor stared at the simple paragraph she had written that covered the day and glorious night she had spent with Veris in the kingdom where he had grown up and become a man and warrior.

  Mid fifth-century. Veris says 462 as he remembers it. What would become Norway, but was a land of petty kings. I met his sister Marit, who is a fellow conspirator, just like Veris. And I met the king, thanks to Marit. We danced and drank in the king’s hall.

  There was so much she had left out of that paragraph! Taylor sipped her iced tea, tasting lemonade and the slightly dusty taste of green tea, remembering how the time trip had begun.

  Veris had simply kissed her as she had been passing on her way to the stairs to the upper floor of the big main room, to get at the rare books kept up there. Veris rarely missed an opportunity to kiss her if she moved within a f
ew feet of him. Sometimes the kisses were absent-minded. Sometimes they were full-hearted, let’s-fuck-now type kisses. This had been another type. A hello-you-look-edible kiss that had some intent behind it, but as she had an armful of books, he wasn’t going to push it that hard, especially as he and Brody had both brought her to a screaming, mindless orgasm barely three hours before, pinned between them, their tongues dancing across her breasts and genitals.

  His big hands slid under her jaw, holding her face steady so that his lips could meet hers squarely and his fangs wouldn’t tear her mouth. They had learned quickly that her flesh was far more delicate than theirs, even with their own mouths shielding their teeth. The vampire teeth, designed precisely for puncturing human flesh, could tear into Taylor’s with uncanny ease.

  Taylor kept still, letting Veris kiss her. It wasn’t such a hardship, after all. That was the last time she remembered about holding books in her arms that day.

  The smell of pine became almost overpowering. Up near the ceiling, a ticking noise began. Something ruffled her hair.

  Taylor opened her eyes, knowing it had happened again. She looked around first with just her eyes. A deeply-shaded forest. Massively tall pine trees.

  Then it had to be the wind ruffling her hair. From the feel of it, her hair was down to somewhere near her waist and loose. It must be held back in some way she couldn’t tell just yet.

  She studied Veris cautiously as he stood with his hands loosely against her jaw. He was watching her, his gaze roaming over her face. Assessing. He held up his hand, the four fingers split two aside in the famous Vulcan greeting. “I’m not wearing a red shirt.”

  Taylor blew out her breath. It was the pre-arranged signal all three of them had set up for these unexpected time-jumps, to let each other know the modern counterpart of themselves inhabited the body of the younger version. If the signal didn’t come, it was sometimes possible to force the modern consciousness there by kissing them, or other emotion-rousing actions.

  “Then you’ll live long and prosper,” she murmured, which was the response to let him know she was aware. But for her it was an academic matter, for Taylor could only be herself in the past as she had never been here before, while Veris and Brody had lived through these times once already.

  They had learned, though, never to take things for granted on these flips back in time. They went through the motions of cue and response, just in case.

  Veris stepped back and looked around. “This place feels familiar.”

  “You look…different,” Taylor said. “Wow.” She ran her gaze up and down his long length. He really did look longer, she realized. This version of Veris was younger. Younger. She let that novel idea sink in for a moment. She had never seen Veris look anything other than the timeless age he had always looked. Somewhere between late thirties and early forties, depending on his mood, his clothes and his situation. And sometimes, he looked older than God, when the weight of the centuries he had experienced seemed to weigh him down.

  Right now, he looked somewhere in his late twenties. Perhaps. He wasn’t carrying as much muscle, which was why he looked taller.

  He wore simple trousers and a white shirt—with sleeves, for once. And boots, with laces that crossed over the calves and up to the knee.

  Saxon, Taylor’s trained mind automatically catalogued.

  “You look like how the girls dressed in the village where I grew up,” Veris said. “I wonder…” He looked around. “Someone’s coming.” His hand fell to his hip. There was a dagger there, well hidden in the belt.

  Now Taylor could hear the soft footfalls, far off. Running.

  Veris pulled her around the tree and put her back to it. He pressed against her and glanced around the trunk. He drew out the knife and shook his head a little, as if he were vexed about something. Frowning heavily, he watched for the newcomer.

  The footsteps pattered closer. Then the swish of garments became clearer.

  “Väinä?” It was a woman’s voice. Young and soft.

  Veris drew in a sharp, hissing breath. Shock. He stepped around the tree. “Marit.”

  Taylor straightened up from the bite of the tree bark. Even through the thick swathe of hair at her back, it stuck into her spine. She watched Veris step back out onto the wide, sandy path and turn to face the newcomer, whom she could not yet see. Veris’ face was painted with shock.

  “I couldn’t believe the boy when he said it was you,” Marit said. “He swore, though, that you were back and waiting. I had to come to find out if it was true.” Her voice shook. “Fifteen years, Väinämöinen. I don’t think he’s forgiven you even now.”

  Veris took a deep breath and held his hand out to Taylor. She stepped out from the tree and turned to face the speaker.

  The woman’s mouth opened. Her eyes widened.

  Taylor stared at her. Marit was just like Veris. Tall, blonde but slender like a willow. She had a determined jaw and blue, blue eyes. Fair skin and straight shoulders that looked like they could take on the world. She glanced from Taylor to Veris. “I might have known you would find the most beautiful woman in the world. This is your wife, yes?”

  “This is Tyra. My wife,” Veris confirmed. “She speaks our language, too. Tyra, this is my sister, Marit.”

  Marit stepped forward and lifted her hand up toward Taylor’s face. “Your face. It glows. I have never seen skin so soft.” She stopped her hand short of Taylor’s face and stepped back with an embarrassed laugh. “Forgive me. You must experience that all the time.”

  Taylor smiled. “No, but you’re forgiven for saying such kindly things.”

  Marit gripped Veris’ arm as an idea struck her. “Let me introduce her to the king, brother! Please! He would be delighted by her.”

  “The king?” Veris repeated.

  Marit laughed. “There have been changes since you ran away, Väinä. I am head lady in waiting to the queen now. The king likes me, which means all goes well in our family. We are favored in the village because of the politics I play at court.”

  “You’re not married yourself?” Veris asked politely.

  “Not when competition for my hand gives me such leverage over others,” Marit replied bluntly.

  “You don’t find that…lonely?” Taylor asked.

  Marit’s smile was slow and wicked. “I only said I remained unmarried, that is all.”

  “I see,” Taylor replied diplomatically.

  “That is another kind of leverage altogether,” Marit added.

  Taylor leaned toward Veris. “She’s just like you.”

  Veris laughed loudly.

  “May I bring Tyra before the king, brother?” Marit asked. “Please? There is a dinner tonight. It would be perfect.”

  Veris sobered. “We may not be able to stay that long. I mean, I will be here for another three days, I think, but Tyra may have to go rather suddenly.”

  Marit’s sunny expression fled. “You don’t have to fear Father, Väinä. He’s too ill now to do more than step outside the cot to relieve himself. He would not touch a hair on Tyra’s head.”

  Veris glanced at Taylor. “You misunderstand me—”

  “Do I?” Her tone was dry. “I live in my own cot now. The queen gave it to me when I entered service with her.”

  Veris’ breath was quickening with genuine, human emotion. What was going on here? Taylor could see he wasn’t going to ask the obvious question, so she did. “When did you enter service with the queen, Marit?”

  “The night Väinä left the village,” Marit said softly. “The night he was forced to leave because he’d broken the law by laying hands on his own father. He beat him nearly to death because my father was interfering with me. You know, that way.” Marit’s gaze slid to meet Taylor’s eyes.

  Taylor swallowed as her mouth seemed to suddenly lose all its spit and her heart flip-flopped. “Yes,” she breathed.

  Veris cleared his throat. “It’s in the past,” he said sharply. “But it also means we can’t roam the vil
lage freely. If I am recognized—”

  “They won’t recognize you,” Marit said instantly. “You’re three hand spans taller and twice as wide in the shoulders. You have strength now you never had then. You’ve let your hair grow. And you’re wearing mainland clothes. With Tyra by your side stealing all the attention, no one will pay the slightest bit of notice to you, Väinä. Give yourself a different name and you’ll be virtually invisible.”

  “Call him Veris, then,” Taylor suggested.

  “Very foreign sounding,” Marit said. “Almost Roman. But it does seem to suit him.”

  Veris grinned.

  Taylor held up her hand. “I have an objection, though. I don’t have anything to wear nearly suitable enough for a king’s court.”

  Marit ran her gaze over Taylor’s breasts and hips. “I do, though. Come with me. Come along.” She turned and strode back along the trail, her dress and cloak fluttering in the moist breeze moving through the thick shade.

  Taylor glanced at Veris. “Now what?” she said softly, forcing herself to use English and whispering behind Marit’s back as they followed.

  “This is my sister,” Veris replied just as quietly. “This hasn’t happened in over four years of jumping. Let’s play it out.”

  “And what if we jump back in the middle of the party tonight? Your younger version will go on with his memories intact and wonder why he’s in the king’s hall. He’ll be okay. But I’ll suddenly poof out of existence right there in front of the king. Or so we’ve theorized and so you guys have remembered it. I don’t exist in these times. You do.”

  Veris shrugged. “For right now, I don’t care,” he said. “I’ll let my younger self deal with the crap and the fallout.”

  “That’s not nice,” Taylor chided.

  “Why? A night in the king’s court, good food, wine and music. He’ll wonder how he got there and he’ll have a headache in the morning. He’ll be fine.”

  “Why will he have a headache?” Taylor asked suspiciously.

  “Ah, as to that…” Veris reached to his hip and pulled out the dagger once more. He flipped it in midair and caught it with a quick midair snatch and nodded. “That confirms it,” he muttered.