Maybe This Time, page 4
The ground seemed to come to life. A dozen men—bald savages, dripping mud—rushed at her in an ever-narrowing circle, their scowls as fierce as and threatening as the alien bird’s daggered teeth. Their eyes blazed, their muddy chests swelled and heaved. Held in their fists were rough, wooden clubs, raised and ready to assault her.
She gauged their distance from her with a sinking heart. Running was futile. One savage grunted at her and pointed up the slope. Suspecting she was to follow him, she did. Her muscles protested the steep climb, cramping, and her mind raced. What would happen to her? Did these barbarians rape? Murder? Enslave?
Fear, unlike any she’d known, assaulted her. Her misguided prophet had sent her straight into Hell.
She tripped over a loose rock and fought to regain her balance. Her captor shoved her toward a black hole in the mountain. At the mouth of the cave, she hesitated, but a sharp smack to her back sent her lurching inside.
Inside the dark tunnels, the air smelled dank. She moved blind until her eyes adjusted and the darkness gave way to a dim, shadowy light. The narrow tunnel opened into a wide cavern that glowed with the eerie glimmers of twilight. Its high walls of rough rock were streaked with thick veins of silver that reflected light from some unseen source high above her head.
A barbarian jabbed her in the ribs and grunted. Her breath swooshed out. She bit back a curse burning her tongue, and glared at him. He pointed a thick beefy finger toward the far cavern wall. Her side throbbing, Alyssa walked toward it.
Two raised steps led up to a platform of smooth, polished stone where a throne had been fashioned from the rock. On it, sat a giant of a man. His feet were bare, his face hidden in the shadows. Shaking inside, Alyssa pulled herself up and looked at the sheen of light grazing the tip of his chin. “Who are you?”
He didn’t answer.
Her heart hammered and her pulse throbbed in her head. For the first time in her life, she freely admitted to being more than apprehensive. She was terrified. Faking a boldness she didn’t feel, she stepped toward the platform.
The barbarian at her side snaked out a hand and pressed his fingers against the hollow of her throat. She clutched at his fingers, tried to pry them loose from her neck. God, but he was strong. He was blocking her intake of air—she couldn’t breathe!
Spots flickered before her eyes. Her knees went weak. The lights dimmed, and she felt herself sliding down to the earthen floor.
When she again opened her eyes, the giant held her in his arms. His face swam before her, a jumble that wouldn’t right itself. She blinked to focus. Oh, his eyes. Gray flecks. Wisdom.
“Prophet!” She flung her arms around him and buried her face in the curve of his neck. “Oh God, Prophet.”
His chest swelled against her side, and he pressed his warm lips to her forehead. “Hello, Angel.”
A long moment later, Prophet set Alyssa to her feet on the cavern floor. “You’re safe now.”
“Safe? With these barbarians?” She glared up at Prophet. “What am I doing here, anyway?”
He steeled himself for her outrage. “You’re discovering fear.”
“I know fear.” She shot him a glare that would weaken the knees of many a brave man.
“Now, yes, you do.”
“God, you’re a lousy prophet! I was supposed to discover you, not be mauled by a bunch of bald barbarians wearing tutus!”
“They are not tutus, Angel.”
“Whatever!” She deepened her frown. “Where in bloody Hell were you?”
He’d expected her anger. He hadn’t expected her to cling to him while she expressed it—not yet. That she did cling, pleased him. She had fulfilled the first of Kevan’s images. Pleased at her progress, he smiled down at her. “I’ve been waiting for you to discover me. And finally you have.”
She pinched her lips together. “I swear, Prophet, you’d try the patience of a saint. If I needed to learn fear—which I most certainly didn’t—why didn’t you just tell me?”
“I can’t just tell you.” He stepped away from her and sat down on his carved throne. “You have to learn for yourself.”
“Something doesn’t jive here. You’re my guide, but you tell me nothing.”
“That’s not true, Angel. I’ve told you many things.”
She blew out a long breath. “If you’d just explain the rudiments—”
“You’ll figure them out.”
“I’m adding difficult to your growing list of vices,” she warned, dropping to sit near his feet on the steps.
He curbed the urge to lift her onto his lap, to cuddle and whisper all eternity’s secrets into her ear. But he couldn’t. She must learn them herself, or she and her love would be lost to him forever.
She gazed up at him over the slope of her delicate shoulder. “Okay, you can’t tell me, so I’ll tell you my rendition of what’s going on.” She shifted her backside on the stone, then settled in. “We travel to these former learning levels—you say—of mine. Once there, I must learn something. When I have learned whatever it is, then I discover you. Is that right?”
“More or less.” He smiled. “Coming here was sort of a trial run. You’ve never before been in this time. The other levels will be different.”
“Different?”
He couldn’t meet her gaze. “We’ll meet before you recognize me. It’s only after your learning that you’ll realize my identity.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” She wrapped her knees with her arms. “You aren’t so bad, Prophet. It’s just that your mind has a strange way of working.” She rubbed the mud caking her hands onto the stone step. “I guess it’s one of those different drummer things.”
He grimaced. “You try to see too much with your eyes, Angel. And not enough with your heart.”
“The heart’s blind.” She laughed. “For God’s sake. You’re a prophet, you should know that.”
Without explaining, how could the Council expect him to succeed? How could the Elder? They knew Kevan’s deepest secrets and desires—and Alyssa’s, too. They had to know that this would never work. He couldn’t lead her to love’s light. No one could. She insisted more could be seen with the eyes than with the heart. She required logical reason on insignificant matters, yet accepted matters of consequence with wild abandon. She had no faith in him, or in his abilities. This mission was impossible!
“Prophet, is there a way to bypass these travels and just go straight to wherever it is I’m going?”
“No, there isn’t.” Refusing to give in to despair despite the odds, he stood up. “Come, Angel.”
“Come?” She looked stunned. “Where are we going now?” She curled her fingers around the edge of the stone step. “I just got here.”
He frowned down at her. Would she challenge his every word? Resignation had him fighting off a slump. She would. She always had. “We’re going to your next level of learning.”
“No, we’re not. Not yet, anyway. I just got here and I ache like the dead.”
“The dead do not ache, Angel.”
She opened her mouth to dispute him then, obviously recalling her own death and the lack of aches and pain in the tunnel, muttered instead. “You know what I mean. You can’t just jerk me from century to century.”
He added a glare to the frown, showing her his displeasure. “I haven’t jerked you anywhere, and you will not direct me in my thoughts or actions.”
She stood and backed away from him, tripping on the steep steps. He grabbed her shoulders to halt her stumbling. “You’re clumsy.”
“I am not.” She stepped away from him and swept back her mud-clumped hair. “I’m tired.”
He grunted his thoughts on that.
Her temper flared. “I am tired! And I’m wet and hungry, and cold, and I smell rank as a sewer. I want a bath. A nice, hot bath.” She cast him a hopeful look. “Can you at least guide me to that?”
Far from immune—she rarely had asked him for anything—he supposed that she was exhausted. It’d been centuries since she’d exercised with such vigor. “These are old times, Angel. There is no heat.”
“Please, don’t tell me that. I need a hot bath, Prophet. I really do. And I want a chocolate bar. The candy can wait. But the bath can’t.” She brushed at a dry clump of mud clinging to her arm, and swallowed hard. “Look, you guided me into this Hell. The least you can do is guide me to a bath.”
Her challenge to prove his worth was open and direct. When the woman set her mind to it, she could rile the temper of a lamb. With a little effort, she could probably get even the Elder wound up. “I can’t guide you to something that doesn’t yet exist.”
“Well, flip.”
“Flip?” He narrowed his eyes. “I’m too big to flip, and you’re too old to ask me to.”
“For pity’s sake, I didn’t mean to flip in a literal sense.” She slapped her thigh. “Yet another affliction? Lord, you’re riddled with them!”
“My afflictions are of no consequence. But it’s good to know you weren’t being literal. Clumsy and whimsical isn’t a combination that bodes well for our mission.”
She opened her mouth to say something, then without uttering a sound clamped it shut. From the slight movement of her lips, she was either praying for patience, or his damnation. He didn’t care to ponder which.
“Can you communicate with those men?” she asked. “The barbarians?”
“Yes.” What was the woman thinking of now?
“Great.” She smiled. “Have them gather wood for a fire.”
“History would be altered,” he told her in a tone that would blunt a knife.
“Oh.” She blew out a breath that puffed her cheeks. “We’re not permitted to alter history, then?”
“Not in that respect, no.”
“I mean to have a bath, Prophet. A hot one.”
She no doubt would. But she’d have to figure out how for herself.
She spun to face him. “A hot spring! Is there one?”
The hopeful lilt in her tone made him grin. “There is. Follow me.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me about the hot spring?” She stepped to his side. “You’re supposed to guide me.”
“Thank you for reminding me of my duty,” he said, ignoring her question, and certain he’d be sick of her reminders before they were done.
She must have gotten his point, because she didn’t ask again. In silence, they walked into the recesses of the winding tunnel.
“When you aren’t guiding a corpse around, what do you do?”
A stab of pain pierced his chest. He reminded himself that she didn’t remember him, but the pain didn’t ease. Her memory of Kevan Buchannan was buried in the recesses of her mind. And it would stay buried—unless she mastered her discoveries. Without a word, he increased his pace.
She had to fairly sprint to keep up with him. He stepped around a huge boulder and she, unaware that he’d stopped short, plowed into his back. Frowning, he gripped her shoulders.
Alyssa frowned back at him, and added a sigh. Prophet might not have said the words, but his thoughts were clear enough. She resisted the urge to rub the word clumsy from her forehead. “Sorry.”
He didn’t move. She waited until it became obvious that he wasn’t going to move before saying anything. “We can go now.”
His frown grew deeper. “I thought you wanted to bathe.”
She muttered a curse under her breath. “I do.”
He just stood there, looking down at her like she was an idiot and not moving an inch. What was the problem now? “Well?”
“Well, bathe.”
Disgruntled, she glared at him. “Where? I don’t see—”
A small pool of steamy water appeared. Under a fevered rush of pleasure, her annoyance with Prophet melted. “Is it deep?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Cautious now, too, I see.”
She’d thought the mountain deserted. She’d not assume again. “A bit.”
“This pleases me.”
Why his pleasure should warm her heart, she didn’t know. What he thought of her shouldn’t matter. But it did. He traced the shape of her lips with his blunt-tipped finger. His eyes took on a faraway look that filled her stomach with flutters. “Prophet?”
His expression grew dark. He jerked his hand back and stepped away from her. It seemed that the sound of her voice brought his attention to the fact that he was touching her. But why would touching her upset him?
“The water is shoulder deep. Bathe now, Angel.”
His voice had grown gruff. What had she done to upset him? Unable to decipher his mood change, she ignored it and held her smile. “Your shoulder or mine? There’s a good foot of difference between the two.”
The wariness in his gaze eased. “So there is. And my shoulder would put you underwater.” A worried frown creased his forehead. “You do swim, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t.” There had never been anyone to teach her.
Worry flickered in his eyes and his frown deepened, drawing his dark brows together. “The depth is to your shoulder.”
His attitude was as much a mystery to her as the attraction that drew her to him. He was a gorgeous man. She couldn’t peg it, but the bond between them ran deeper than his appearance. Unfortunately, only he knew what that bond was, and he’d made it clear that he’d no intention of explaining it to her. “You can go now. I’ll find my way back.”
He crossed his chest with his arms. “I’ll wait.”
It figured. Not only did her guide not know to bury a corpse, he didn’t know squat about women. “Women prefer to bathe in private, Prophet. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get on with it.”
He stayed put as if planted. “I can’t protect you if I’m not here.”
That remark changed her thinking. But it would be a grave tactical error to let him know it. “Mmm, if you insist.” She twirled a finger at him.
“You want me to turn my back?”
She stifled a groan. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
The Prophet turned his broad back to her. His shoulders shook. She tugged at the fur knotted on her shoulder. The man was a pig—laughing at her for no good reason.
Her clothing fell to the ground. She stepped over it and eased into the heated pool. A pleasured sigh escaped her. “Ah, this is Heaven.”
“No, it isn’t.” The Prophet turned and corrected her. “It’s a hot spring.”
He was looking at her like she’d lost her mind again. That didn’t sit well, but his literal deductions were one of his flaws. She ground her teeth and seethed in silence. He had so many afflictions, she was sure she’d be spending a great deal of her time overlooking them all. Still, the bother of turning a blind eye to them would be easier to stomach if she could find something good about the man.
Aiming her thoughts in that direction, she remembered his kiss. At kissing, he was better than good. And searching further, she was surprised. She trusted him. Regardless of his faults, she knew by their bond that he would keep her safe.
Safe? She’d never in her life depended upon a man to keep her safe. But he would. He had a terrific smile, too. A really terrific smile . . .
She bristled. These good thoughts were coming too easily. “Is there any soap, Prophet?”
He sat down on the ground and leaned back against the big boulder. “You are weak in history, Angel. Soap has not—”
“Never mind.” The swirling water stung the cuts on her feet, and she braced her legs. Being warm again felt so good!
Dipping her head back, she scrubbed her scalp, then rubbed the layers of dirt and caked mud from her face and arms. All the while, she watched him from under her lashes.
His gaze never left her, and the look in his eyes was openly carnal. Her heart rate accelerated, and she wished she had a bucket full of cold rain water to splash the heat from her cheeks—and from his eyes. “Could—could you stop staring at me? It’s—it’s annoying.”
His brows shot up. “I annoy you?”
What he did was enrage her senses. Until she’d discovered him, she’d been terrified. But as soon as she’d found him, other, more pleasurable but no less disturbing, emotions had surfaced. He cared for her. How she knew that, she’d no idea. But she was positive that he did. “I don’t understand you, or the feelings I have for you. They confuse me.”
“It will all—”
“I know,” she cut in, giving her shoulders a brisk rub. “Everything will be clear.” Sniffing, she caught a whiff of something pungent. “What is that smell? It’s bitter.”
“Herbs to heal your injuries.”
She crossed herself with her arms and looked around. Black mold clung to the cave walls, yet the water she bathed in sparkled through the steam rising from it. “This is an odd, awful place.”
The Prophet shrugged a massive shoulder. “If you know another, perhaps.”
She balanced on one leg and cleaned her other foot. Rubbing a tender spot, she winced. “I’m glad I discovered you so quickly.” The warm water lapped at her shoulder, and she shifted her balance to switch feet. God, the scrape on her leg was awful. It covered her entire shin. Skirting around it, she rubbed her calf. Prophet didn’t answer, so she repeated herself. “I said, I’m glad I discovered you so quickly.”
His voice held a sharp edge. “I heard you, Angel.”
“Well, aren’t you pleased that I’m such a fast learner?” Lord, her leg muscles were sore. She glanced up and shot him a smile. “We’ll have these travels knocked out in no time.”
He raised his knee and rested his arm on it. “No, I’m not pleased.”
She stopped rubbing and looked at him. “No?”
“No,” he insisted.
“Well, why not, for pity’s sake?”
The Prophet stood up. “I don’t get to this era often. I had hoped to enjoy its beauty for a while before we moved on.”
“Beauty?” She guffawed. “It’s hard and barren and ugly.”
His gaze bore through her. “Not to me.”
