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.