Chapter Three

Frankia

999

The scent of woman and wine—his two favorite things—hit Ulrik hard, and he drank it in. At his feet, the binding stone glowed, signaling its activation. Before him, a woman. A woman like he had never seen before. She stood, staring at him, her bare arms adorned with intricate markings like the Picts of old and her ears and nose decorated with silver pierced through her skin. In her hand, she clutched an amulet.

Gaharet had sent him aid. He licked his lips. And in the most delightful form . The woman had the curves of the most buxom maid, soft and full. Curves a man could hold on to, could sink into. If his nose did not lie, an aroused woman, and one who shared his affinity for wine.

Where Gaharet had found her, Ulrik did not know. Nor did he care. He would escape Lothair’s underground chamber with her help and erase the memory of his days in this hellhole by bedding this beauty. Her reward for helping him. Perhaps the very reason she had volunteered. His cock twitched and his gaze dipped to her generous bosom. He would see her well compensated.

A light in her hand flashed white and bright, like lightning contained, as it bounced around the chamber. Witchcraft? The last he had seen of Gaharet was his retreating back as he had headed east, seeking the witch in the forest, his wounded mate in his arms. It stood to reason he had sent someone with knowledge of magic. Ulrik would need every advantage to escape Langeais Keep.

His gaze skimmed over her body. Tight breeches hugged womanly hips and her short, fitted tunic clung to her luscious bosom. His mouth watered at the thought of his lips and tongue on her skin, on her nipples—licking, sucking and nipping. He would feast on her body and wring every last cry, whimper and moan from her delectable lips. For helping him escape, he would pleasure her with the dedication of a man starved of female succor.

He grinned. It would be no hardship.

Her light flared in his face, blinding him and he flinched, averting his gaze. She lowered the light a little.

“ Merci .”

“You’re…French?” She did not conceal the surprise in her voice. “How the hell did you end up here? Do you speak English?”

Awareness tingled up his spine. The language of Bretaigne. Not the familiar form he remembered from his youth spent there. But he had heard it before. Once. And with a similar cadence. From Erin, Gaharet’s mate. Erin who had come from a world so different from theirs. From the future.

This woman came not from Langeais. Gaharet had not sent her.

“Look.” Her gaze darted about the chamber, lighting on the steps. “I don’t know if you understand me or not, but I’m going to try to get out of here. When I do, I’ll send someone back to help you.” Concern flickered in warm brown eyes lined with kohl. “If you’re lucky, it won’t be one of Mrs. Wu’s goons.” She moved toward the steps.

“Wait.”

She turned back to him. “So you do speak English. Good.” She nodded, her dark hair, strangely streaked with green, dancing about her face. Short hair, shorter than he had ever seen on a woman before, but more than enough to fist his hand in. “That’ll make things easier when I send someone to help you.”

He shook his head and his chains rattled. “Alerting the guards to your presence is not wise.”

“If they’re still standing. It’s bound to be absolute chaos up there. The fire brigade, ambulance, the boys in blue—all the emergency services are going to be up there. And I dare say, The Spicy Dragon is going to look like a disaster zone. Chances are, anyone who survived the sinkhole is going to be more worried about saving their own skin and not getting linked to”—she swung her hand around indicating her surroundings—“this. Or you.”

“The…Spicy Dragon? A sinkhole ? Emergency… services?” With each word she spoke, he became more convinced she came from a similar place as Erin. Not the same, though. Her accent was different, more clipped.

“Yeah. You know. Mrs. Wu’s restaurant. The people who dragged you down here and chained you to the wall.”

Amusement danced on his tongue. “Where is it you think you are, sweetness?”

She rounded on him. “ Sweetness ? Really ? I’m trying to help you here. Could you possibly be more condescending?”

She crossed her arms over her bosom, pushing up her already ample cleavage. His gaze fixed on the inviting creamy skin revealed by the low neckline of her tunic and his cock thickened. Merde, he could not wait to get his hands on those. His mouth watered.

“Hey.” She pointed to her face. “Eyes up here.” She threw her hands in the air. “What did I expect? You’re chained to a wall. That doesn’t happen to nice, respectful, help-grandma-cross-the-street kind of guys.”

Ulrik swallowed his indignation at her slight to his character. He wanted out of this place and he would need her help. Having her in the clutches of the guards would serve neither of them. If there was one thing Ulrik knew a lot about, it was women. And getting them to do what he wanted was something he excelled at.

He stepped as close to her as his chains would allow. Though she stood her ground, the catch in her breath gave her away. She was not as unaffected by him as she would like him to believe. She broke eye contact, and her gaze strayed to his biceps. Ulrik repressed a smile and shifted his body so the torn remnants of his tunic hung loose at his sides, leaving his chest bare. She rewarded him with the heat of her gaze burning across his abdomen. Lower still, it slipped to his groin. His cock hardened. He angled his hips forward, showing her what he had to offer her.

Her mouth parted and her breathing quickened. Then she scrunched her face up in a frown and shook her head. “Get a hold of yourself,” she muttered, then turned from him and moved toward the steps.

Ulrik gaped at her. Had his intentions not been clear? Was seduction so different in the future she had not recognized his signals? It must be so, for no woman had ever turned him away. Not in his inexperienced youth. Not in his time in Bretaigne. Not when he had returned to Frankia. Not ever .

She climbed the first step.

L’enfer. He had to stop her. Whatever it takes. “My name is Ulrik Voclain.” He searched around for the right words in Anglo-Saxonne. “ Sir Ulrik Voclain.”

She halted, turning to take him in. Good. He bit back his grin. He had recaptured her attention. Then she arched her eyebrows, threw back her head and laughed. At him.

“Knighted by the Queen.” She snorted. “Right. And I’m a princess, heir to the throne of England. Huh!”

She climbed another two steps.

Stubborn, obtuse woman.

Oh, how he had laughed when Erin had challenged Gaharet, refusing to do his bidding. He was not laughing now.

He bit down on his frustration. “Listen to me, sweetness . We are not below this… Spicy Dragon. You are in an underground chamber beneath Langeais Keep. In Frankia. It is the year of our lord, nine hundred and ninety-nine. Lothair de Anjou is the Comte—Count—of Anjou. And if you reveal yourself to the guards above, you will be in more danger from them than you are with me.”

Pity glimmered in her dark eyes. “Oh, my God. How long have you been down here?”

He threw his head back and let out an explosive breath. “Long enough,” he said through gritted teeth. “But I have not lost my wits, as you are suggesting.”

A stream of rapid Franceis split the air from above. She gaped up the stairs. The jingle of keys proceeded the screech of the grate hinges. Her eyes darted to him. The guards had heard them and were coming to investigate.

“ L’enfer.”

Any moment now, a guard would appear. Shackled to the wall, he could do nothing but watch. Dressed like she was, he had no doubt what the guards would do with her.

“Come stand behind me and I will keep you safe. Trust me, woman.”

More Franceis—a heated debate over who would descend the stairs first—cautious steps and a flicker of candlelight. Indecision warred across her features.

“I give you my oath. I will not hurt you. They will.”

A muttered curse from above, and she made her choice, retreating from the steps. And from him.

Merde.

Her light winked out, and she pressed herself into the corner as a guard stepped into the chamber, a candle thrust out and his sword brandished in front of him. Ulrik snarled and rattled his chains. If he could keep the focus on him, she might escape detection.

A second guard stepped into the chamber, also armed, and holding a bunch of keys. The glint of silver caught Ulrik’s attention. The key to his shackles.

“There is no way anyone could have gotten in here, Clement,” said one guard to the other. “Not without us opening the grate. I think I would have noticed a woman.”

“I know what I heard, Gael,” said Clement, his gaze darting about.

Gael snorted. “You have taken leave of your senses.” He waved his sword at Ulrik, his grip loose and his stance relaxed. “There is only him and he is going nowhere.” He leered at Ulrik. “Not so intimidating now, are you, Voclain?”

Ulrik’s lip curled in a snarl. If the guard stepped closer, he could disarm him in a heartbeat. Take his sword and those keys. Even shackled to the wall, he was more than a match for this fool.

“But—”

“Look around you, Clement. Can you see anyone else in here? Maybe his reputation with the ladies has preceded him and a succubus has come to visit.” Gael chortled. “Your imagination has run away with you, boy. First a man turning into a beast and howling like a wolf, and now you are hearing voices.”

“Bastien heard the beast, too,” Clement mumbled.

Gael snorted. “Give me that.” He snatched the candle from Clement’s hand. “I’ll show you there is nothing here but him.”

If Gael turned but a little, he would see her. Ulrik roared and lunged for Gael.

Both guards stumbled back and raised their weapons. The candle faltered but did not go out.

Ulrik fought hard, but the iron chains held him fast.

Gael chuckled and lowered his sword. “Is that what you heard, boy? No more than a berserker on the battlefield. Just stay out of his reach.” Gael held the candle aloft. “And there is no woman here, despite what you think you heard.”

He shoved light into every corner. Into her corner.

Gael stumbled back a step. “Well, well, well. What have we here?”

She stood, her kohl-lined eyes wide and her magic light clutched in her white-knuckled hand. Ulrik swallowed. He could do nothing but watch.

Gael shoved the candle at Clement. “It is our lucky day, Clement. Seems you did hear something, after all.”