Chris Karlsen - Knights in Time (30 page)

Esme touched her forehead to the top of his shoulder, her breathing heavy and ragged.

She licked then kissed his collarbone before moving down to suckle one of his nipples. She teased the hair of his belly with the back of her fingers while bending to the other nipple. Her fingertips cinders on his skin skimming a path from his chest to his ribs. Then, she dropped to her knees. She tongued his belly button and licked the distance to his cock.

“Esme...”

She rimmed the tip of him with her tongue, closed her lips over him. With all the will power

he had, he fought the desire to tunnel his fingers into her hair and draw her even closer, for her to take all of him into that sultry mouth. He laid his hands lightly on her bobbing head as she went down and up and down again. The lustiest of widows had but given baby kisses to the swollen tip.

When she cupped his balls in her hand, rolling them gently as she licked and sucked, the

last of his will power gave out. His breath came ragged and harsh with the pounding of his heart.

In quick succession, Stephen pushed her away, took her hands and pulled her up, backing her

against the tree. There she wrapped her legs around his waist, palmed the cheeks of her bum,

raised her high and buried himself deep within her.

“Stephen...” She gave a tiny cry when he withdrew to where just the tip of him remained

at her entry only to drive into her again. Her breath was heavy and moist in his ear as she held hard onto his back. “Don’t stop. Don’t. Stop.”

Slower then faster, he stroked her, leading her in the world’s oldest dance. Her release

came in waves. Her fingers clamped tighter to the tops of his shoulders. His lips on a vein in her throat, her rapid heartbeat pulsed like a small bird’s as she milked him. He waited for the last shudder to stop before finding his own release. They remained glued together for several precious seconds their chests rising and falling in rhythm with each other.

“I’m afraid I’ve torn the tender flesh of your back. Does it hurt?” he asked and eased her

down.

“Scratched a bit, mildly sore.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s a good hurt.”

“You’re wrong. No hurt is good, no matter the source.”

He straightened his clothing and zipped up. “Please hand me my shirt.” When she did, he

put it on, buttoned and tucked it into his jods. She put his iPod and headset in his hands without him asking. He sensed her moving around, gathering her clothes and dressing also he assumed.

“Stephen—about us.”

“Us? Really Esme, did you think spreading your legs is all that is needed to mend a broken

trust?” he asked in an almost cheery way, knowing it was more painful and one of the least

chivalrous things he’d done to a lady. Such a petty, shameful thing to do and it gave him no

satisfaction.

How he wished he hadn’t heard what she said, hadn’t forced her away. Loneliness like he

never known before pressed down on him after she left. But, he had heard...still felt the sting of her words. A great part of him was tempted to draw her to him, forgive her and start anew. A

greater part of him wasn’t ready to do that yet.

Stephen untied Vidar, put the headset on, and returned to the playlist. He had one foot in

the stirrup when she pulled one of the buds from his ear. “This isn’t over.”

“But it is,” he said and mounted, hoping it wasn’t.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“I saw Esme today,” Stephen said. “She seeks forgiveness.”

“That was to be expected,” Alex said.

“I regret I was deliberately cruel to her.”

“It happens. There was a time I treated Shakira cruelly.”

No surprise. Alex’s pain and disappointment when she disappeared was palpable. It filled

the air around him. There was nothing Stephen and Simon could do to ease the ache.

“Even as I spoke harshly to her, I felt bad. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to do anything else.

‘Tis a quandary for me.” Stephen sighed, then asked, “Do you know what happened?”

“Shakira told me.”

“What’s your opinion?”

“I don’t know Esme well. I can’t tell you the correct response. I can tell you a year ago

Shakira and I both needed forgiveness for the hurt we caused each other,” Alex said. “I regret the time I lost with her while I hung onto my anger.”

Stephen witnessed the love between Alex and Shakira. Did he love Esme that much? No,

but he thought it possible. Like the words of the Chris Isaak song, he wanted to fall in love. There was no point to loving a woman when he was a landless knight. Opportunity he never had before

might present itself in this time. He secretly prayed it would. If he used the money from the sale of his sword to learn a skill a blind man capable of, then he could provide for a wife and family.

He hadn’t figured what skill to learn yet, but he would.

“I’ve missed her presence.”

“Are you going to forgive her?” Alex asked.

“I don’t know. Like you said, it’s hard to let go. I wonder if I forgive the hurt will the

anger still fester within me. Or, if I let go of the anger, will the hurt be like a never healed bruise?”

“Let me add one thing and then I’ll leave off the subject. Does she make you happy?

Don’t answer me. Answer the question for yourself.”

The answer was an easy yes but that didn’t mean he was ready to tell her. He pushed

thoughts of Esme from his mind and enjoyed the evening air as they drove to the
dojo
. He liked judo class, liked the physicality involved and looked forward to it. Tonight’s lesson included a one-on-one session with
Sensei
Ota and more complicated moves.

“I’m sure the issue with Esme was a distraction but did you manage to memorize any of

the songs on the CD?” Alex asked.

“I did.”

“Good. Tomorrow, the three of us will head into London. For the next four days we’ll

work out of my music studio there. You’re going to record the same tracks from the CD you have

but the new CD will be a professional copy for release purposes.”

“Release?”

“You’re going to be a star, my friend. I’ve produced many successful bands and solo

artists. I’m a good judge of potential You’ve the gift of a great voice. It’s my job to get it heard.”

Alex slowed and came to a stop. “We’re here.”

Alex wanted to make a performer out of him. Intriguing idea. One he never considered. “I

have two questions before we go inside. First, are you saying people will come to listen to a blind man? Second, by ‘star’ do you mean there’s a living wage as a result?”

“Yes to both. Several blind men have enjoyed immense popularity, Andrea Bocelli, Stevie

Wonder, and Ray Charles to name a few. And if you take off the way I think you will, the money

is excellent.”

“Enough for me alone or enough to provide for a wife and children?”

“There’s more than you need for a family, if you’re sensible, which you are. You thinking

of Esme by any chance?”

Stephen grinned. “Perhaps.”

“We should go. Your lesson starts in a few minutes.”

“Stephen is that you?” John asked as Stephen and Alex entered the studio part of the

school.

“Yes.”

“I put a folded
gi
with an
obi
for you on the bench in front of the first row of lockers,”

John said.

“Thank you.” Stephen didn’t want to keep Ota waiting. He hurried to undress and put on

the loose-fitting practice uniform and belt.

“Ready,” he said, returning to the studio to stand next to John on the padded mats.

The sound of soft footfalls on the stairs alerted him to Ota’s arrival.

“
Kyu
Palmer.” Stephen sensed the teacher stop in front of him. “We’ve practiced ways

to fall without hurting yourself, how to pin a fallen opponent, and hip throws. Tonight, you’ll learn
randori
. It is where you attempt to throw your partner, me, to the mat, while I am attempting to do the same to you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sensei,” Stephen said.

“After, you will learn the one-armed shoulder throw, or
ippon seoi nage,
in Japanese.

Stephen repeated
randori
fine. The normally stern-voiced Ota giggled like a girl when he tried pronouncing
ippon seoi nage
. Had he attempted it with a mouth full of pebbles, he couldn’t do worse. Alex, John, and Stephen laughed along with Ota.

“It’s like my tongue was out of control, too big for the words.”

“Japanese is not an easy language,” Ota said. “Now, it is time for your lesson.”

In the beginning, Ota won every
randori
challenge. Stephen’s shoulder took a pounding.

The move didn’t hurt in a painful way but he’d be stiff and sore in the morning from the repeated dull strikes. After a while Stephen figured out where he made tactical mistakes. Balance and

coordination were key for him. He managed to throw Ota to the mat twice. Small wins, but

exhilarating ones.

Stephen stepped off the mats to catch his breath. Minutes later Ota said, “Time for
ippon

seoi nage
.”

Stephen moved back onto the
tatami
. “Stand here,” Ota told him and guided him with his

hands where he wanted. “Pay attention.”

Ota seized a handful of Stephen’s sleeve and yanked him forward. Before Stephen could

react, Ota twisted him around, shoved the top of his right arm into Stephen’s right armpit,

straightened, thrust with his hips, and sent Stephen flying over his head.

“Whoa,” popped out of Stephen and then he landed on the mat with a thud.

“You think me a horse?” Humor tinged Ota’s tone.

“Sensei, I’ve known the experience of traveling through the air a number of times, all

initiated by a mount I was riding. The feeling hasn’t changed much,” Stephen explained and

scrambled to his feet.

“I see. Let’s go again.”

Ota sent him airborne once more, and then Stephen bested him in the next challenge.

“Excellent, Kyu Palmer. You and Mudansha Swallow engage.”

Stephen won three times and lost five to the more experienced Swallow. They finished the

hour practicing falls and pins he learned during the first lesson. When they were done, he told John he preferred to shower at home, changed, and left with Alex.

“I’m impressed with how fast you’re catching onto the moves,” Alex said and started the

car. “You look like you’re enjoying it too.”

“I am.” The lessons gave him a fighting chance if someone ever challenged him. Judo may

not put him on equal footing with an opponent. But if the fight was hand to hand, no weapon

involved, the art brought them close to equal. In the past, once challenged, he never backed down from a fight. He wasn’t about to start now, sight or no sight.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Hi, we haven’t done lunch, just the two of us in ages,” Esme said as Electra sat and put

her purse and a brown shopping bag on the extra chair.

“I know and I’ve been dying to hear how your plan to seduce Stephen worked.” Electra

pinned her with a steady gaze. “So...how’d it turn out? Did you the two of you bump uglies or

not?”

“Yes.”

“Very, very important...was he a good kisser? If they can’t get the kiss right, then deal me

out.”

“Oh, he can definitely kiss. I kissed him one time before, which was pretty darn good. He

told me he had better ones in his repertoire. Boy, does he.”

Like a gleeful child, Electra clapped her hands in quiet applause. “Spill.”

“He did things with his teeth and tongue and hands, incredible things. I was like a treasure

map for him to explore.”

“On a scale from one to ten, how was he overall?”

“Eleven.”

“Lucky you.”

“Not really,” Esme said, shaking her head. “Afterward things didn’t go as I hoped.”

The waiter came over with two menus and asked if they wanted a drink.

“A glass of your house red is good for me,” Esme said.

“Make it two,” Electra told him. When he left she asked, “What happened?”

“He split. First he made a nasty crack about my spreading my legs not mending the broken

trust. Then he mounted up and rode off, like the Sheriff of Nottingham or something.”

Electra reached across the table and laid her hand on Esme’s. “I’m sorry. That had to

hurt.”

It hurt but not as bad as Electra thought. When Esme rode to find him, she’d accepted the

likelihood of a negative reaction. If the next time she tried to earn his forgiveness and he rejected her, that would be a crushing blow.

Esme withdrew her hand. “I won’t give up yet. He’s a very stubborn man and I’m going

to be equally stubborn in pursuing my goal,” she said in a lofty tone that carried no small measure of false bravado.

The server came with their wine. Electra waited for him to set the glasses down and leave

before she asked, “Where do you go from here?”

“When he talks about his life as a knight, he mentions the people around him by name and

laces the retelling with specific details. He told me the baron he served, Guy Guiscard, rode to the aid of his friend, Basil Manneville, the Earl of Ashenwyck. Since they were titled, I assumed a record of them being in the battle must exist somewhere and researched them. Both men died at

Poitiers. There’s a little information on Manneville and less on Guiscard.”

“You’re the history expert in the family. If you can’t find info on them, no one can.”

Esme took a sip of wine. “Stephen also talked about a knight friend called Simon Harrow.

Harrow definitely existed. I saw his grave. I figured it was hopeless, but I even tried researching him. I was right. There’s zilch.”

“What kind of info are you after? I mean, what if there were pages and pages on the lot?