Olivia’s jaw dropped. “This was the first orgasm you’ve had in…?
“A millennium and a half, aye.”
If this tale was remotely true…wow. And she had been the woman to satisfy him? The thought made her feel stupidly giddy. Little unwanted her had given the big warrior the ultimate pleasure. Maybe she wasn’t defective.
“Why could you…um, achieve it tonight?”
“’Twould be more accurate to ask why I could achieve it with you, methinks. The answer is, I know not. I suspect it’s about our connection.”
Yeah, that inexplicable connection. Everything he said was pretty fantastical, but she couldn’t deny feeling that bizarre closeness, either.
“So after you realized that Morganna had cursed you, what happened?”
“I paid her serving wench to steal the book for me. Morganna cursed me by writing in it, so I believed I could uncurse myself thus. But no matter how I tried, nothing made me mortal.”
The story just got weirder and weirder. “That’s…wow. But you seem pretty detached. If she cursed you, aren’t you furious?”
“Anger burned out long ago. Centuries of it is draining.” He grunted. “After Merlin tricked Morganna into exile, I thought that might release me. But nay. She amused herself by tormenting me with dreams of whatever she thought would crush me.
“At first, it was of the warrior who moved up in Arthur’s army and was given my lands. Then it was of all the ale he drank, the battles he won, the women he tupped—symbols of the power I no longer had. Eventually, she haunted my dreams by showing me the deaths of all those I’d cared for. Arthur’s slaying. My sister’s death in childbirth.” He choked out the last words, then swallowed past rage. “I saw them as they happened—and I could do naught but hear them scream.”
“Torture was Morganna’s idea of fun?”
“Indeed. Years passed, decades…centuries. A whole millennium. I hated every day, so like the last, knowing tomorrow would be the same. I forgot how to feel, to care. Then she visited me in dreams and began tormenting me with the possibility that I might find a way to die. It amused her that I tried every suggestion she planted in my head.”
“You seriously wanted to die?”
“What had I to live for? My castle, family, and friends had been gone so long, they were dust. I dared not form friendships. If I did, Morganna visited their dreams and filled their heads with my evil. People I had come to respect soon believed me to be all manner of villain—a grave robber, a child slayer…By the time she ceased such games, I was accustomed to solitude.”
Yes, hell hath no fury, as the saying went, but wow. What Morganna had done to Marrok went way beyond revenge and into psychotic bitch territory.
Olivia didn’t know him well, but her heart went out to him. He seemed like a proud man. His carvings and the gentleness in his touch proved he was capable of feeling. “Marrok…That’s awful. I’m sorry.”
How had he endured being so alone century after century? Olivia understood isolation, being an outcast, pressing your nose to the glass. Even with her dying breaths, her mother hadn’t told Olivia the truth about her father. Mom had never once let Olivia believe she was anything more than a duty. Now, she was thankful she’d only endured the torment for twenty-three years. Marrok had a lonely eternity with no end in sight.
Abduction hadn’t been the brightest plan of action, but Olivia understood it now. She wanted to help the man. He’d cared for her during her mystery illness and given her, if briefly, the sensation of being held and desirable, which she’d always yearned for.
“You said that the book you showed me is the key to ending your curse. Can I see it again?”
He shot her a narrow-eyed gaze. “Why?”
“I have a degree in art, and history is one of my secret passions. I have connections in the art and antiques business, literary scholars and historians. Maybe one of them will know something about this book and how to uncurse you.”
Marrok said nothing, clearly wondering if he could trust her. Olivia would have been hurt, but after everything he’d been through, she didn’t blame him.
“It’s up to you,” she assured him. “I’m not Morganna, so I can’t just sing a chant and solve your problem, but maybe I can do something.”
“You would help me, even after I abducted you?”
“I’m not thrilled about that part, but you’ve been pushed to the brink of sanity by a curse that would have warped the average guy long ago. The fact you’re still sane and fighting, yet put your quest on hold to care for me, is…nice. I want to help you. Maybe together, we can unlock the secret of the book.”
He cupped her cheek. “You have given me light, hope. Thank you.”
Oh, just that little touch made her tingle all over. The sensation was still with her when he dropped to one knee and lifted the floorboards. He stood a moment later with the familiar little book in hand and sat on the edge of the bed. After a brief hesitation, he handed it to her. As before, its energy hummed in her hands. Not bizarre, she supposed, since it was capable of cursing people for an eternity.
Given its age, it should look ancient. But the reddish leather was smooth, the gold leafing at the corners crisp. An odd symbol graced the front, along with a sturdy lock.
She picked at it with her fingernail. “Have you tried using anything to pry this open?”
Marrok sent her a mirthless laugh. “Brute strength, sledgehammer, paper clip, skeleton key, wire cutters, chain saw…every tool known to man. I once tied a pair of ropes to the lock, then secured each rope to horses bolting in opposite directions. It gave not an inch.”
Interesting. A very powerful object. “What do you know about this symbol on the front?”
“Naught.”
There was an odd, scripty symbol in the same delicate gold as the leafing. Like a giant M, but underlined with curlicues.
She didn’t remember seeing it in school, but suspected it was meaningful.
“Does it mean aught to you?” Marrok’s eyes were guarded but hopeful.
“No. Sorry.”
He heaved a disappointed sigh that tore at her heart.
“But old books aren’t my area of expertise. If I had a computer and a camera, I could ask people much more knowledgeable than I.”
“Nonmagical people?” He sounded suspicious.
“Yes, scholars, curators, professors…”
He hesitated. “Pictures of the symbol only, not the book.”
“You have a camera?”
“My mobile phone does.”
“You have a phone?”
“My cooking is tragic. How else would I order takeaway?”
So the big, bad warrior could poke fun at himself. Olivia pressed her lips together to hold in a smile.
He handed her his cell phone. The cameras in these things didn’t have the best resolution, but it would do.
Quickly, she took a picture, carefully avoiding the rest of the book, and e-mailed it to herself from his phone.
“Do you have a computer?”
With a sigh, he trudged to the back of the house and opened a small door. It housed a stacked washing machine and dryer. On a little table, wedged in the corner, sat a cardboard box with the lid flung open.
“This is it?”
Teeth gritted, he nodded.
From the look of the dusty box, it had been here for a few months. “It’s not hooked up.”
“Not for lack of trying,” he groused.
Suddenly, the picture became clear. Mr. Big Bad Dark Ages wasn’t down with technology. Lord knows her mother had always hated computers, and she’d just been a baby boomer. Imagine the learning curve when adding hundreds of years between birth and booting up. Astonishing that he’d managed the microwave.
Olivia tried to hide a giggle behind her hand. But he saw.
“I skewered people for a living. This whole modem, RAM, operating system vocabulary is worse than Greek. That I understand.”
For a man the size of a mammoth, he was kind of…cute when disgruntled. “What made you decide to buy a computer?”
His jaw couldn’t look any harder if it had been set in concrete. “Online shopping. I do not like people or cities. Having things delivered to my doorstep appealed.”
Hmm. Definitely not the life of the party.
“I can hook this up.”
“Thank you.”
After he carried it into the living room, she attacked the Styrofoam cradling the unit.
“Are you hungry? You have not eaten in days.”
“Famished, actually.”
“What can I get you?”
“You said your cooking was tragic.”
“I have managed a few dishes over the centuries. Toast and omelets, macaroni and cheese, or a tin of soup?”
If it had taken him over a thousand years to master three easy meals, she didn’t want to know how bad his cooking had been before. “Toast and omelet would be fine. Cheese, no onions. Mushrooms?”
Marrok nodded. “And tomatoes?”
She inserted the wireless Internet card into the laptop, booted up, and began to configure it. “Please. With coffee!”
Fifteen minutes later, she was surfing while devouring a breakfast that wasn’t half bad and coffee strong enough to kill an ox. Trying not to choke, she accessed her e-mail. The picture of the symbol had arrived, along with a dozen other messages of virtually no importance. Skipping them, she drafted a message to a half-dozen professors, historians, and museum curators. She hoped one of them turned up something.
“Now, we wait.”
Marrok didn’t look any happier at that prospect. “Indeed.”
“So what’s it like, being alive for so long?”
She could hardly wrap her mind around it. She might act calm, but inside, she was freaked out. He was immortal. One of her favorite TV shows was about a gorgeous immortal, but he was fanged.
“Wait! You’re not a vampire, are you?” She covered her throat with her hands.
“Indeed not! I spilled blood, not drank it.”
“Whew! Good to know. So if you’re immortal, that means you’ve seen every major change to come civilization’s way. All the inventions…”
“Imagine my surprise to find out that the earth is, indeed, round,” he drawled.
Olivia laughed. “What do you think of TV?”
“Except for news, somewhat pointless.”
Really? She loved it. “Cars?”
“Despise them.”
Guess that meant he didn’t drive. She hadn’t really mastered driving on the left side of the road, so that made them even. “Ever been on an airplane?”
“Bloody hell, God did not mean for us to fly!”
His answer gave her the giggles all over again. “Come on, you must admit some things are better. Medicine? Running water? Electricity?”
“As someone who lived through three centuries of the plague, I can heartily say I wish medicine had advanced faster. Running water and electricity, I confess, are vast improvements.”
“Strip clubs?” she challenged.
“Where women disrobe for strangers? Never bothered.”
That made sense, she guessed. If he couldn’t orgasm, why get all wound up?
Silence invaded the small room. Olivia fidgeted with the little computer, but Marrok’s hyperaware stare distracted her. She could actually feel his desire for her. Did the connection force him to want her…or did he do that all on his own? Did he even know the difference?
Sighing, she opened a browser and Googled Morgan le Fay and any symbols associated with her. She’d found drawings of a long-haired woman wielding magical instruments, stuff about a Grail quest, but nothing about the symbol on the book. Olivia scanned the entries about the legendary woman—her vast power, her cruelty, her varying roles in the stories of Camelot, depending on who wrote them. And descriptions of a great beauty with white-blond hair and violet eyes.
“Marrok, all my life, I’ve been told my eyes are unusual. How often do you see violet eyes? Why would I have the eyes and birthmark of a woman born forever ago?”
He didn’t say anything for long moments, just pinched the bridge of his nose. “It appears I did not give you enough credit for connecting the dots so quickly.” He eased onto the table in front of her. “According to Bram’s aunt, your eyes and that birthmark are throwback genes. You are Morganna’s descendant. Distantly, of course.”
“Seriously? I don’t see how I could be related to anyone with magic in their veins, even a millennium-plus removed. My mother was as American as apple pie and refused anything even the slightest bit ‘woo-woo’. I wasn’t allowed vampire books or a Ouija board at sleepovers. I couldn’t see movies based on myth or legend.”
“What of your father’s side of the family?”
That sent her thoughts spinning. “I don’t know…My father is British. Until my mother’s death, I never knew the man was alive. He lives in London, or he did twenty years ago. The detective I hired hit a dead end, but he sent an address for a man who claimed to be five hundred years old. I assumed it was a joke and had a laugh. But is it possible…?”