Chapter Eighteen

Lana had never had such wonderful sleep in her life. There was no describing how luxurious a feather bed felt after sleeping on the hard ground for two nights. But she did miss waking up next to Clark, his body warm and solid against hers.

But that would have to wait till they got home.

It felt strange to be waking up in another castle, attending morning mass in another chapel, and breaking her fast in someone else's Great Hall. But at least Bedford had the same standards of cleanliness that Lianne apparently did. The hall was neat and uncluttered, the floor covered in fresh rushes. Pages served them at breakfast and were quick and efficient in clearing the room of dirty dishes, silverware, and table scraps.

After breakfast, Bedford summoned Lana to come with him. "Can Lady Anne accompany me?"

"Certainly."

"If anyone needs me, I'll be in the lists," Clark announced, and took off.

Meanwhile, Gillian and Lana followed Bedford to his treasury, where he removed a cloth-covered bundle from a shelf. "I was unsure if I should give this to you, but I think your father would have wanted you to have it," he said.

Intrigued, Lana accepted the bundle. Carefully untying the twine that bound the cloth, she pulled back the fabric to reveal a rolled-up piece of parchment. The wax seal remained intact, and bore the unmistakable mark of the house of Langdon.

"That letter was for you, Lianne," Bedford said. "Why he sent it here, I don't know. But I haven't opened it."

Lana nodded, accepting the parchment with trembling hands. "Thank you, my lord. If I may have a bit of privacy…"

"Certainly. I shall be waiting outside." Bedford left the room.

Lana broke the seal and unrolled the letter. "Shall I read?" Gillian asked. Lana nodded.

Gillian cleared her throat, then read Henry's final letter to his daughter.

My Dear Lianne,

I'm sure you've heard from Bedford that matters in France have gone awry. Robin lies in a French hospital recovering from his wounds, so his return will be delayed. Do not fret; the doctor said he should recover nicely. I return on the morrow at his insistence. He fears for your safety staying in Langdon alone, and I must say I agree. You are all I have left in this world. If aught should happen to me, I need to know that someone will be there to watch over you.

Why am I writing of such matters, you ask? Well, there is something I've known for a long time but never saw fit to mention until now. You are the truest and most loyal daughter a father could ask for, and surely you understand your duty in marrying Robin. But 'tis not he with whom your heart lies, is it? Nay, my Lianne… 'tis the knight you love, Sir Kendrick de Montclair. If nobility were defined solely by one's actions, a better man you could not have chosen. But can he truly give you what you need? His questionable origins and mysterious past will always stand between you. He has lived his life by the sword and will doubtless die by it also. 'Tis in his blood, Lianne… he is bound to his calling and I'm not sure if even the love of a woman can break that bond.

I write this not to be cruel. I'm sure your love is true, however impossible. Perhaps someday it will be a pleasant memory rather than something that causes you pain. Robin is a good man, and he will give you the best life he can. Perhaps you may even come to love him. Granted, it may not be the same kind of love you shared with Kendrick, but your days and nights with him will be happy ones. I know life isn't always fair. Certainly it is not easy. But no matter what path you choose, always remember that I love you, and I could never be disappointed in you.

Your loving father,

Henry

Gillian's voice gradually faded away, letting Henry's final words to his daughter hang in the air like vapor.

"Poor Lianne," Lana murmured. "That letter was so final… like he knew he was going to die."

"Maybe he did," Gillian said quietly.

"You think he was clairvoyant?"

"Or it could just be a good old fashioned gut feeling," Gillian suggested. "Interesting, what he wrote about Kendrick. With every new thing we learn about him, he really seems larger than life. And to think… your boyfriend was chosen to play him in this little drama."

Lana gave a shy smile. "There are times I think Clark is a bit larger-than-life, himself."

"Do you mean that figuratively, or literally?" Gillian couldn't keep the wicked gleam out of her eyes. "Both, perhaps?"

"Gillian!" Lana scowled, face flaming.

"I get it, I get it. Classified info. But I would say definitely literally, judging by that blush."

"All right, getting our minds out of the gutter here," Lana said pointedly. "I'm worried about him, Gillian. Blackwood has the breviary. I'm sure he's figured out that we've fled by now, and that we're here. If the story continues as it's supposed to, Blackwood's going to challenge Kendrick to a duel." Worry crept over her features. "Gillian, we can't let Clark fight him. He's supposed to die!"

"Hopefully it won't come to that," Gillian reassured her, but her grim tone belied her optimistic words. "We'll figure something out. I refuse to believe we were brought here simply as puppets to live out some prophecy."

"We better not be." But Lana could not stop the chilling fear at the thought of Clark dueling Blackwood. He'd been incredibly brave and tough so far, but Blackwood was a seasoned warrior. But what worried her most of all was that prophecy hanging over their heads like dark cloud.

Time was running out. If they planned to change history, they'd better do it soon.

At dinner, Gillian and Lana shared their findings with Clark. They spent the rest of their afternoon practicing fencing, which helped somewhat as an outlet for the tension. Evening found Lana and Gillian in the solar with Lady Elisabeth, with whom they shared a pleasant conversation while helping with the mending. At least the lady's company temporarily distracted them from the dilemma weighing heavily on their minds.

That night, Lana couldn't sleep. Gillian, damn her, drifted into dreamland practically as soon as her head hit the pillow. But Lana could not stop thinking about Henry's letter. His words regarding Kendrick haunted her, their uncanny resemblance to a far more familiar story striking an eerie chord.

His questionable origins and mysterious past will always stand between you… 'Tis in his blood, Lianne… he is bound to his calling and I'm not sure if even the love of a woman can break that bond.

You're being crazy, Lana told herself. She and Clark might be playing Lianne and Kendrick in this little drama, but they weren't the same people. Clark was a twenty-first century high school guy, not a medieval knight who pledged his life to the sword. What on earth kind of calling could a high school boy have? Still… I refuse to believe we were brought here simply as puppets to live out some prophecy. Then why were they brought here? Somehow, their lives must be inextricably tied to these people, their fates linked in time.

And from what little Lana knew of these people's fates, the outcome didn't bode well.

After what seemed like an interminable amount of tossing and turning, she finally gave up on sleep altogether. With a sideways glance at Gillian, she silently rose from the bed and crept toward the door, the moonbeams slanting through the window lighting her way. She slipped out of the room and into the darkened corridor, the cool draft instantly chilling her skin through the thin chemise. Goose bumps cropped up all along the back of her neck and her arms. God, what am I doing?

Despite her better judgment, her feet continued as if on their own accord. It was crazy, impulsive, and probably an all-around bad idea, but the compulsion to be next to Clark, to feel his strong reassuring arms encircling her and the soft caress of his breath, was too strong to resist. Drawing a deep breath, she tried the door to his room. It was unlocked. Slowly she nudged the door open, stopping dead when a loud creak cut the silence. She froze, barely able to hear over the blood roaring in her ears. But there was no answering sound of a door unlatching down the hall, nothing but the wind whispering its lonely song through the battlements. Letting out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, Lana slipped through the door and latched it behind her.

She hadn't woken Clark, had she? Her gaze swung toward the bed, where a shaft of moonlight illuminated his sleeping form. For a moment she simply watched him sleep, the crisp white sheet rising and falling in rhythm with his breathing. She drifted toward him, silent and wraithlike. But despite the fact that she hadn't made a sound, he must've sensed her presence, for she was but a few steps from the bed when his eyelids fluttered open. He regarded her sleepily. "Lana?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"

That's what I'd like to know.

He had to be dreaming. Why else would he awaken for no apparent reason to find a chemise-clad Lana standing next to his bed? And Lord, was she was beautiful in the moonlight. The cool night breeze stirred her almost-translucent chemise, caused the face-framing strands of her hair to dance around her face like dark silver. The only thing marring the perfection of the vision was the turbulent expression in her soft green eyes.

Yes, this had to be a dream. But if it was, he had no plans on waking up anytime soon.

"Lana… what are you doing here?"

Her creamy throat bobbed. "I… I couldn't sleep."

"Oh.…" He wasn't sure what else to say to that.

"I can't stop thinking about Henry's letter… the things he said about you—about Kendrick."

"Lana, you know Kendrick and I aren't the same person."

"You are now."

He couldn't deny that. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She started to nod, then changed her mind. "I don't know. I just… I wanted to be with you. Just for a little while."

He scooted aside, pulling back the covers. "All right… come here."

She hesitated briefly before sinking down on the bed, her eyes darting over his chest, stomach, and then down below. "You, um, sleep naked?"

"Well, normally I wear boxers, but seeing how elastic hasn't been invented yet, it's pretty hard to get comfortable in a leather belt and braies."

She gave a shy smile and nodded, quickly averting her eyes from strategic places as she lay down next to him. He settled behind her, his arm wrapping her slender waist as he cradled her against him spoon-fashion. Her hair tickled his bare chest, her light clean scent stirring something inside of him. He felt the warmth of her body through the fine linen, a sensation both wonderful and torturous at the same time.

"It's going to be all right, Lana," he assured her in a low, caressing tone. "I'm right here."

"I know," she whispered. "I just… I worry about you. Look what happened to Kendrick. He's supposed to die, Clark. You're supposed to die."

"You don't know that."

"But everything's going just like the story… Blackwood's going to challenge you to a duel. You can't accept. I won't let you."

"Hopefully it won't come to that."

"But what if it does?"

"Then we deal." He reached up, gently caressed a smooth cheek. "I swore to protect you, Lana… and I'll do whatever I have to."

"Including lay down your life?" She rolled over to face him. "Clark, every time I've lost you… every time you pushed me away… it was on the pretense of protecting me. I can't do this anymore. One of these days you're going to have to reconcile yourself to the fact that I won't leave your side. If it puts me in danger, so be it. I'll gladly face it with you."

The earnestness in her tone, the plaintive look in her eyes, pierced him right to the core. "If anything happened to you on account of me, I couldn't live with myself," he said.

"I think that goes both ways," she replied, quietly.

He was silent, hypnotized by those luminous eyes and silken voice. His gaze slid down to her trembling lips, parted slightly, and he found himself longing to kiss away all the uncertainty and fear, to escape inside of each other as they had that night in the woods.

"When I went to confession," she continued, "the priest asked me if I was willing to give up everything I believed in for love. I don't know about Lianne, but I've made my decision. I'm willing to give it all up for you. I love you, Clark… like I never imagined I could love anyone."

Her breath hitched her throat as she gazed up at him, her heart laid out for him to accept or reject. He knew what he should do. But he also knew what he wanted to do, more than anything on this earth. And heaven help him, was it so evil to do just one for him… for her… and not this damned secret? "I love you, too, Lana," was his husky reply. "I always gave. I think I may have loved you even before I met you."

She simply gazed up at him, hope and joy radiating from those beautiful eyes. He leaned forward, her eyes sliding closed as he brushed a soft kiss on each of her eyelids. He kissed her nose, the corners of her mouth, the soft spot on her neck where her pulse fluttered against his lips. Her hands reached up to caress his shoulders, her touch feather-light and innocently seductive. Her lips found in the lightest of kisses, as gentle as the caress of a butterfly's wing but more incendiary than a lick of flame.

She shifted her position, pulling herself closer as the kiss deepened. His arm looped about her back and he pressed her against him, his thigh easing between her legs and lightly pressing her sex. She gave a soft gasp, the sensation subtle but incredibly effective. Meanwhile his other hand eased between them to cup her breast, his thumb delicately stroking her nipple through the linen. He felt it tighten and peak beneath his hand. A moment later his mouth replaced his hand, wetting the fabric, his tongue swirling in a hot path around the peak while a soft whimper escaped her trembling lips.

Her hands buried themselves in his hair as he continued to pleasure her. Her body arched toward him in a plea for more, which he was all too happy to give her. He raised his head to capture her lips in a deep, heated kiss, then rolled onto his back while pulling her on top of him. His tongue invaded her mouth and stroked hers in a heated, sensual dance that only served to further stoke the flames. Her hands flattened against his chest as his roamed the curves of her body, snagging the hem of her chemise and tugging. She raised her arms and in one smooth movement, he pulled the garment over her head and tossed it aside.

His breath caught as he glimpsed her atop him, naked and beautiful in the silvery moonlight. Her hair was loose and alluringly tousled, tumbling over her shoulders to brush the rosy tips of her breasts. The hunger he felt was mirrored in her eyes as he bent toward him. He reached between them, slid his hand between her thighs to find her already wet and ready for him. He eased a long finger into her hot, slick passage, stroking deeply, until her soft gasp of delight assured him he had found a sweet spot. Meanwhile, his thumb gently parted the soft folds of flesh to find her exquisitely sensitive nub. Her hips bucked against his hand, straining toward him, straining for that elusive taste of heaven that was almost within her grasp. Moments later she exploded into her climax, shuddering and trembling above him while she sobbed his name like a prayer.

But they weren't finished yet—no, far from it. She was still caught up in the haze of her climax when he gripped her hips and positioned her above him. His sex burned and throbbed, aching to be buried to the hilt within her slick softness. But she denied him, hovering above him while allowing her flesh to temptingly brush against his. Finally she lowered herself slowly, taking him partially in, then pulling back, continuing the cycle until he was sure he was going to explode from the tension. It was only when she saw the effect she was having on him, his jaw clenched in resolute restraint while his hands fisted on the sheets, that she allowed him what he wanted. She lowered herself until she was fully impaled, her eyes never leaving his, and gently guided his hands to her hips.

She began to move above him, his hands guiding her hips until they found a rhythm. Only moments passed, but it felt like years as they came together in a coupling so sensual, so intense, it was almost overwhelming. White-hot sensation seared through him, eclipsing every other part of his consciousness but the beautiful woman above him and the love and desire reflected in her eyes. If only everything could always make such perfect sense as it did now. The thought was but a flickering spark across his consciousness as his climax crashed into him, blotting out all semblance of rational thought as they both brought each other soaring to the heights of heaven and then back.

Lana awoke in the dark, unsure how long she'd been asleep given the absence of any sort of timepiece. But she figured should probably leave soon if she expected to sneak back into the room she shared with Gillian before anyone knew she'd been gone.

Still, she was reluctant to leave, reluctant to return to her room alone and break the spell. She hadn't sneaked into Clark's room with the intention of seducing him. She just wanted to feel close to him. But one thing led to another, as it usually did with them, and she was no more able to resist the temptation than a moth was able to resist the lure of a flame.

He lay asleep beside her, lying on his back, looking almost angelic in the faint light seeping in through the window. She observed the way his impossibly long, thick lashes brushed his cheek, the slightly prominent nose and lush, full lips. The sheet had fallen back to reveal his beautifully sculpted chest, rippling with corded muscle from years of farm work. She traced her finger along the hollow at the center of his chest, up to his tanned throat and back again. Unable to resist, she leaned over him and let her lips follow the path her finger had taken.

His heavy lids fluttered open, but she continued her ministrations, pretending not to notice that he was awake. He lay so perfectly still, it wasn't difficult. Her land slid over those magnificently toned abs, taking no shame in her blatant enjoyment of his body. Her hand started to ease lower before he caught her wrist, stopping her short.

"You'd best be getting back to your room soon," he said, a sly hint of a smile curving that sensuous mouth. "Don't be starting anything we can't finish."

"We've got time," Lana whispered back, favoring him with her most beguiling smile.

Clark turned his head away. "No. Not working."

"Then I'll have to try something else." She kissed his neck, flicking her tongue along the spot where his pulse beat an irregular tattoo.

"You're a saucy little wench, aren't you?"

"What can I say? You bring it out in me." A slow, sly smile spread across her face. "You've got me under your thrall, warlock."

He smiled, but the smile began to look a little strained around the edges. "You can stop calling me that… I'm just a normal guy."

"Not to me, you aren't." She did not shy from his gaze, nor did she miss the distinctly uncomfortable edge it had acquired. "There's no way in the world you'll ever convince me you're a normal guy. I've kept quiet about it till now, hoping you'd come to me eventually, but… I know, Clark."

His face remained carefully expressionless. "Know what?"

"That you're different. You have to be. Nothing can explain the bizarreness of everything that's happened here… or back home, for that matter."

She sensed him pulling back from her. "Lana… can we not do this now?"

"No, we need to talk about it." She searched his gaze, refusing to let him squirm away from her. "Whatever this secret of yours is, Clark, it's come between us one too many times. I won't let it happen again."

"Can't you just drop it?" he implored. "Please?"

"Why?" she countered. "Why does it bother you so much? You keep saying I couldn't handle it. That it might somehow change my opinion of you. You seem to forget that I'm here for the long haul… no matter what."

"That's easy for you to say right now," he muttered.

"Try me."

He appeared to be struggling with something, and she was torn between frustration and compassion. "I want to tell you… I really do, but…."

"But what?" She caught his chin in her hand, caressed it gently. "You can trust me, Clark… you know that, right?"

"Yes, I do."

"Then tell me," she urged. "What are you so afraid of? You know I love you… and nothing you tell me could ever change that." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You've been my strength so many times. This time, let me be yours."

She continued to touch his cheek, wishing he would look at her, wishing for something to show that she was getting through to him. His eyes did find hers briefly, and the look in them was so tortured, so vulnerable, it caused her breath to catch. But as quickly as it came the look disappeared, replaced by an impassive stare as she felt him gradually withdraw from her. "I can't, Lana. Please try to understand. I love you so much… isn't that enough for you?"

"How can I believe that?" she whispered. "How can I believe you when you won't let me in? Love means the acceptance of every part of that person… the darkness, the ugliness, the things they won't let anyone else see. You can't keep up this act forever. It's going to destroy you just as it's eventually going to destroy us."

"Are you giving me an ultimatum?" he asked.

She swallowed, suddenly aware that a massive lump had formed in her throat. "I don't want to," she whispered.

He turned away from her, and the dull knot in the pit of her stomach pulled tighter. "I think you'd best go now, Lana… the sun's rising."

Sure enough, the first faint rays of sunlight were seeping through the window. I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry, Lana told herself, rising from the bed and retrieving her chemise. But just before she opened the door, she turned back to him with shining eyes. "I still love you, Clark," she said softly. "And I'm not going to stop anytime soon."

Without waiting for a response, she opened the door and slipped out.