Chapter Twenty

The fire burned with a deep red glow as deadly as the intentions of the man who beheld it. "You have brought what I asked for, Hugh?"

"Aye. 'Tis a fine weapon, my lord."

"But of course. It has only been passed down through my family for generations." Blackwood took the dagger, ran his fingers along the flat of the gleaming blade. "My ancestor used it while battling the Saxons. It saved my grandfather's life during the second Crusade. Unfortunately, the original emerald pommel stone was lost many years ago, and when the weapon was passed on to my father he had it replaced with this." Blackwood held up the dagger, the iridescent green pommel stone glinting in the firelight.

"What is it?" Hugh asked.

"One of those odd stones at the quarry," Blackwood answered. "More simple-minded souls believe them to be evil, formed through some kind of dark magic. But my father was always fascinated by them. He was convinced they had some kind of supernatural properties."

Hugh looked skeptical. "Think you they do?"

"This dagger did keep my father from getting killed in the Holy Land." Blackwood observed the phosphorescent gleam of the stone. "Did you know De Montclair is not completely undefeated? He did lose a tournament once, many years ago."

Hugh seemed confused by the sudden change of subject. "He did, my lord?"

"Aye… he had just arrived here and had taken on Edmund of Worcestershire, the Black Knight. But for all his skill, Worcestershire was a superstitious fop. He insisted upon wearing a cross hewn of a stone he'd found as a boy, playing in the quarry. I always thought it was unusual, but I've seen sillier superstitions."

"And he was wearing the cross when he bested De Montclair."

"Aye. Of course, Worcestershire got himself killed in the Holy Land, so a lot of good it did him then."

"So think you this stone will bring you luck in fighting De Montclair?" Hugh speculated.

"I have never believed in luck." Blackwood's steely gaze fixed on his companion, who could not help but take a step backward. "All I know is that De Montclair has abilities like none I have seen on a mortal man. Whether he is a warlock or not, I know not. But wherever his powers come from, methinks he must have an Achilles heel."

Hugh frowned. "What does this have to do with the rocks?"

"Let's just say, Hugh, there is more to them than meets the eye." Blackwood dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Go now. I would like to be alone."

Hugh, still scratching his head, vacated Blackwood's chamber. Blackwood couldn't keep the grin from his face as he beheld the dancing flames. Soon, he told himself. Everything I want shall be mine. I've only to wait two more days.

Dawn found a small party of travelers gathered in the inner bailey of Bedford castle.

Clark was trying his best to stay awake. His gaze kept drifting over to Lana, and he couldn't stop the surge of affection—not to mention attraction—at the sight of her. Lord, she was such an amazing woman. And to think he'd almost lost her. Now that she knew his secret, maybe there was a chance for them after all.

The only thing marring his blissful mood was the memory of her face last night… the look of disgust and hurt and betrayal when she recalled his ill-fated liaison with Alicia, calling him a freak like her. Granted, it had been in the heat of anger and she had later apologized, but still… that look had burned itself onto his brain, and it was going to take a while before he forgot. Maybe never.

He wasn't fool enough to think that she would get over the fact that he wasn't human so easily. It would always stand between them—although last night, she didn't seem the least bit bothered by the fact that she was sleeping with an alien. In fact, she hadn't even mentioned their discussion for the remainder of the night. But then, he had made sure that the things he'd done to her left her speechless. She still loves me, he told himself. She said so. And that's all that matters… right?

But at the moment, they unfortunately had more pressing matters to attend to. In two days he would face Blackwood. So many things rode on this battle… his pride… the fate of a kingdom… Lana.

"Good morning, everyone," a female voice spoke up cheerfully, interrupting the disturbing turn Clark's thoughts had taken. "I see I arrived just in time."

He glanced up to see a familiar, flaxen-haired figure making her way over on a palomino mare. "Gillian! What are you doing here?"

"Well, you didn't think I'd miss out on the fun, did you?" She flashed an arch smile and winked.

"Does Bedford know you're here?"

She shrugged. "He will soon."

"All right, time to shove off." Sir Pierce, a trusted friend of Bedford's whom the lord had commissioned to accompany them, rode up beside them.

The small party consisting of Pierce, two other guards, Clark, Ralph, Lana, and Gillian set out for the gate. Lana was blinking sleepily, while an ear-splitting yawn caught Clark off-guard.

"What's up with you two?" Gillian asked, dropping her voice so the men wouldn't hear her modern English. "You get any sleep last night?"

"I, um, had insomnia," Clark said.

"It's just too early in the morning," Lana chimed in. "I don't live on a farm, see, so I've no need to get up with the chickens."

"You are so going to pay for that," Clark warned her.

"Farm boy," she taunted.

"Saucy wench."

"Oh, jeez… forget I said anything." Gillian rolled her eyes as she pulled ahead of them.

The party rode all day through the woods, taking a slightly different path than the one Clark and Lana had followed. They'd veered a bit north, so they'd probably ended up taking a more circuitous route—which was just as well, since staying off the beaten path lowered the possibility of their being discovered. Now the small group followed the main road, stopping for dinner at an inn in a village. Actually, Pierce and his two cronies fetched the food and brought it out to them. "Nobleman and women rarely frequented such places," Gillian informed them. "To do so would be… how should I put it? Slumming."

"Still, it would be cool to see what it's like in there," Lana mused. "We'll never have a chance like this again."

"You aren't missing much. I imagine it'd be noisy, crowded, and dirty," Gillian said. "Mostly men and tavern wenches."

After dinner, they continued until they came upon a large stone building, not quite the magnitude of a castle, but sprawling and sizeable. It turned out to be the monastery of St. Ignatius, where they took a humble supper with the monks and spent the night. Here, they separated, the men staying on one side of the dormitories, the women on the other.

Lana and Gillian shared a tiny chamber, sparsely furnished save for a cot, table, and chamber pot. But Lana was grateful for the company. At night, the monastery was so dark and utterly silent it was creepy. There was nary a torch burning in the long corridor, no night guards wandering about outside. Lana had never been so glad to see the sun.

The following day consisted of more of the same. They spent the following night at the manor of a lesser baron and his wife. The lord and lady were most gracious in accommodating them. The guests were served a frugal but delicious supper and were promptly escorted to their quarters by servants. Their hosts even offered to have a bath prepared to "wash off the dust of travel."

"Oh, man, a bath sounds nice," Gillian remarked.

"I know," Lana agreed. "Funny, I heard medieval people never bathed, but as long as we've been here, it seems they do quite often."

"What you heard is a myth. Although peasants didn't bathe, nobles did. A bath was considered a luxury. In fact, bath houses existed in many towns, although they were often a front for more… unseemly activities."

"What do you—ohhh," Lana said, catching on.

Later that evening found Lana relaxing in the tub, grateful to be in a more comfortable and welcoming place than the monastery. A warm fire crackled in the hearth, counteracting the cold draftiness of the keep. The keep was considerably smaller than that of Langdon or Bedford, but it also felt more like a home, in the modern sense of the word. Unfortunately, there weren't very many rooms, so the women all shared a room while the men shared another. Lana couldn't help but feel disappointed. It was the last night before his duel, and she wished she could have spent it with Clark.

Worry over Clark's fate kept her from enjoying the bath. As the day drew closer, the cold knot of dread in her stomach grew tighter and tighter. Learning of his special abilities should have reassured her, but it did not. She knew what was going to happen, and the knowledge cast a pall over any hope she might have held. If the evidence—Kendrick's mythological reputation, Lianne's memories—could be trusted, Kendrick likely came from the same place Clark did. And he clearly wasn't invincible. Whatever weakness Kendrick had, Blackwood must've known about it.

And Clark probably had it, too.

Lana was so caught up in her thoughts that she barely noticed the creak of the door and subsequent footfalls on the floor. It was probably Mary, the maid sent to attend her. "I've not finished yet, Mary," Lana said.

"It isn't Mary."

The rich, velvety male voice triggered an acute physical awareness she was surprised she hadn't sensed before "Clark, you can't be here," Lana murmured. "What if someone catches you?"

"No one's around. The lord and lady are asleep, and I haven't seen hide nor hair of the few servants they have."

She looked at him in disbelief. "Are you crazy?"

"Lana, I have to spend the night with a bunch of men who probably haven't had a bath in months. Take pity on me."

"You really are crazy," she concluded, ducking her head with hopes he wouldn't see her flushed cheeks. "How can you think about… you know… at a time like this?"

"I think of it as my good-luck charm." He traced a finger along the line of her shoulder, leaving a rash of tingles in its wake.

"How can you be so glib?" she asked, trying to ignore the leisurely path his finger was taking along her collarbone. "What if the story comes true? Clark, it took going back 800 years and nearly getting killed on several occasions for us to find each other again. I can't lose you. Not now."

"You won't." He tipped her chin up, forced her to look in his eyes. "I'm going to settle this once and for all, Lana… we're going to give Lianne and Kendrick the happy ending they deserved. And then our work will be done, and we can go back to our own time."

"But how can you be so sure?" she whispered. "I know about your abilities but Kendrick had them, too. Blackwood still defeated him. Do you have some kind of weakness I don't know about?"

He hesitated, his silence assuring her that it was indeed the case. "You know those meteor rocks?"

"Yeah." A look of recognition dawned across her face. "That's it, isn't it? Your Achilles heel."

He nodded. "They make me sick. It gets worse the longer I'm exposed to them."

"Oh…." It explained so much. "My necklace… is that why you always acted like such a spaz around me?"

He looked mildly embarrassed. "Well, yeah."

"And here I was, thinking my charms made you weak in the knees."

"Well, that, too."

She had to smile, but the smile quickly collapsed under the weight of their predicament. "Clark, what if Blackwood knows? What if he plans to use one of those rocks against you?"

"How would he know about them?" Clark reasoned.

"He must've found out somehow. How else would he have defeated Kendrick?"

He was silent a moment, thinking. "You have a point."

"I can't let you face him," Lana said resolutely. "Not if he knows your weakness."

"But we have no choice," Clark told her. "We came all this way… one way or another, I have to finish this thing."

"Not at the expense of your life, you don't!" Her voice was growing shrill. "Don't you care?"

"Of course I care," he answered. "But what can I do? If he knows, he knows… we'll just have to work around it."

Lana couldn't believe what she was hearing. "That's it? That's your plan?"

"It's not like I'm going there alone," he reminded her. "If something goes wrong, you'll be there."

"But I don't know much about fighting," she protested. "I can't hold my own against Blackwood."

"Lana, you're stronger than you know. Smarter. You'll think of something. I trust you."

He leaned over the side of the tub, squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. Could it be that the one who had saved her so many times was now trusting her with his life? She wished she could believe in herself the way he seemed to believe in her. "I'm afraid," she confessed.

"That's OK. I'm afraid, too."

"You don't seem like it."

"Courage doesn't mean the absence of fear, it means the ability to act in spite of it… or something like that," Clark quoted. "I don't remember who said that."

"Neither do I," Lana admitted. "But I like it." She reached up, clasped her damp fingers around his. "It's so hard for me to just go on faith like that."

"I know… but sometimes you have no choice."

She was silent for a moment, running her fingers over the back of his hand. "I keep worrying that one day we'll try to cheat fate too many times… that it's going to catch up with us."

"Then here's hoping we've got one more chance."

She leaned up to look at him, and any reply she might have given was cut off as he captured her lips in lingering, stingingly sweet kiss. She reached up, cupped the back of his head with her hand, holding him to her as the kiss deepened. If only they could stay like this. If only they could skip over tomorrow and know they were safe and sound. "Come in here with me," she whispered when they pulled apart.

"I thought you'd never ask." He quickly shed his garments and joined her in the tub. She took the bar of soap from the small table next to the tub and began to wash him, her soap-slick hands sliding sensually over corded muscle and smooth, bronzed skin. She soaped his shoulders, inhaled his fresh, clean scent and felt the whisper of his breath against her cheek. She turned at the same time he did, their lips brushing in the briefest and lightest of kisses. A jolt of electricity raced through her from just that light touch, and it was all she could do resume her task of washing him. As it was, it was difficult to ignore the way his body seemed to tighten and tense under her touch.

There was no ignoring the heat in his eyes when she finished, though. She'd seen that look before, the raw hunger that never failed to send a thrill coursing through her. But something else flickered in his eyes, something dark and shadowy that frightened her as much as it attracted her. Yet she came to him, knowing she could never truly be afraid of him. Even at his darkest—which he still hadn't bothered to explain, but probably had something to do with his extraterrestrial status—he had a powerful pull over her. Despite all his lies, manipulation, and general jerkhood, she'd seen that beneath the façade was a tormented young man desperate to escape from something she could never truly understand. And as much as he tried to push her away, he needed her. He needed her acceptance and her love. She was his anchor to the only world he had ever known, a world he could never truly be a part of. Alien or not, he was more human than he realized.

And in that moment, it became crystal-clear what he needed from her. "I love you, Clark," she whispered. "Everything about you. Nothing could ever change that… you know that, right?"

She gazed into his eyes, hoping he could see what she was thinking but found so difficult to adequately express with words. "I know," he whispered back. He leaned toward her, tugged comb from her hair to release the heavy dark mass. Drops of water clung to the face-framing strands as he pushed them back, brushed his lips lightly across her smooth forehead, damp lashes and lightly flushed cheeks. She lifted her face for a kiss on the lips but he denied her, concentrating instead on trailing a line of kisses down her neck, across her shoulder, at the tender hollow at the indentation in her collarbone. A soft sigh issued from her lips as blissful sensation washed over her. Meanwhile, his hand skimmed the inside of her thigh, trailing higher until she unconsciously arched toward him. But he denied her the touch she burned for and continued to caress her body, purposely avoiding the hot spots.

Just when she was sure she couldn't take it anymore, his hand at last found the spot that throbbed for his touch. The sensation so intense that she nearly slid beneath the water, if not for the fact that he was holding her up. His fingers began to work the soft folds of flesh he was already so intimately acquainted with, knowing just how to touch her and where. She couldn't hold back her low moan as a long finger eased inside of her, then two, stroking deeply, the sensation building and building until he brought her to the brink of climax. Her muscles began to pulse and tighten around his fingers as her body strained toward him… and then he pulled away.

Lana bit back an audible protest—not that she could have made one, since Clark's mouth covered hers not a second later. Her back thumped against the wall of the tub, water sloshing over the edge. Soap, scented oils, and a towel went flying aside as he hoisted her onto the table. Cold air rushed over her damp skin, raising a rash of goose bumps, but she barely noticed them. Enveloped in a haze of heady sensation, she looped her slender arms about his waist and pulled her to him, feeling the considerable bulge of his erection as it pressed her sensitive flesh.

"I want you now," she said breathlessly. "Whether you like it or not."

He grinned, his eyes gleaming like dark emeralds in the firelight. "Saucy wench."

"You know you like it."

He didn't answer except to take her mouth in a fiery kiss, inhaling her gasp as he pushed inside of her. Good Lord, she was practically going to climax right then, her muscles already tightening about his hard, thick length. He pulled out of her, coming only partway in before he pulled out again and then filled her in a single deep thrust. He continued this pattern, alternating light strokes with deep thrusts and prolonging the inevitable as long as possible. Being perpetually kept on the brink was both frustrating and ungodly erotic, to the point that it almost overwhelmed her. Lana locked her legs around Clark's waist, trying to pull him in deeper. She wanted to feel all of him, to be as close to him as she could. For this moment he was hers alone, and nothing could take him from her.

She looked at his face to find his jaw clamped tightly in an effort to maintain control, denying his own pleasure in order to prolong hers. She wanted to break that control, to see him lose himself inside of her with the same helpless abandon that he seemed to inspire in her. She began to move with him, causing the table to shake and more water to splash onto the floor. A few more deep thrusts and her climax slammed into her with bone-melting force, white-hot sensation blazing through her veins and igniting a series of exquisite tremors all through her body. Her fingers raked into his back while the last aftershocks of pleasure wracked her body, fading just as his carefully held control finally snapped. With a jerk and a shudder, he spent himself inside of her, falling limply into her arms afterward.

Lana cradled Clark against her, their bodies still slick with sweat and bathwater. Droplets of water clung to his silky dark hair, which tickled her cheek. Dear God, she loved him so much. How was she ever supposed to live without him?

She remembered the tormented look in his eyes when he confessed to her that night in Bedford, the way he made love to her tonight, with an almost desperate abandon, as though he feared it might be the last time. He's saved me so many times, she reflected. But maybe he was the one who needed saving this time.