And her sister, Gillian. Gilly, her mother had called her.
Lily fought back tears. How she wished her mother had lived long enough to see her husband and daughter again!
Her grief must have run deep, at being told they’d died.
Certainly she’d never recovered from the loss.
Llywelyn had deprived not only Gillian of a mother, but Lily, as well.
Her rage at Llywelyn grew every time she thought of what he’d done to her, to her family. Was the power he would gain worth such cruelty to his own kin?
And now Ian’s man, Dai, lay dead. Another sin to place at Llywelyn’s door, one she feared Ian would find difficult to forgive.
Despite the sun, she shuddered when she considered the things Llywelyn had done to her already. Being locked away in the vaults had been bad enough. She could only imagine what lay in store for her if he found her again.
She refused to consider that possibility. She’d rather die than live that way.
But if her family denied her sanctuary, she might not have a choice.
Perhaps Gillian was a haughty Norman lady. She might not wish to acknowledge an unknown sister, a potential usurper. Lily could not blame her if that was so.
But how she hoped she was wrong!
Still lost in thought—in worry—she didn’t notice that Ian had rejoined her until he handed her a piece of bread.
She accepted it with a murmured thanks and began to absently nibble on the crust. When he placed a water-beaded cup in her hand, she started, spilling the icy liquid in her lap.
She shrieked as the water soaked through her skirts, then began to laugh.
“Did you do that on purpose?”
Yielding to temptation, she tossed the dregs in his direction, catching him on the throat. The water ran down the neckline of his tunic.
“How could I?” he asked, brushing at the dampness.
“You did it to yourself.” But he grinned and, snatching up his own mug, flung the contents in her face.
She gave a muffled shriek again and, ignoring the water trickling over her cheeks, lunged for him. She caught him square in the chest, toppling him onto his back.
Before she could do more than gasp, he rolled her beneath him and licked delicately at her wet mouth.
The contrast between the cold air on her damp skin and the fiery heat of Ian’s body covering hers made all her senses come alive. He Ixaced her mouth with his tongue, over and over, until she knew no water remained on her lips, until she thought she’d weep if he didn’t kiss her.
She buffed her fingers in his hair and clung to him.
Feeling quite daring, she darted out her tongue to duel with his. He entered into the play with enthusiasm, but he still wouldn’t kiss her. Finally, when she thought she’d go mad with longing, she tightened her grip on his hair and tugged until he lifted his head.
He stared into her face for a long moment, his eyes the color of emeralds.
“What is it, milady?” he whispered against her lips.
“Have I displeased you?”
“Kiss me … please.”
“I was kissing you,” he murmured. He smiled.
“There are many kinds of kisses, sweeting. Would that I had time to show you all of them.”
She reached up to trace his mouth with her finger. He grabbed it with his strong white teeth and nibbled, sending waves of heat throughout her aching body.
He soothed the tiny hurt with his tongue, then levered himself off her.
“We both must be mad,” he told her. He helped her up and brushed at the leaves clinging to her gown.
“Every time we sit together, we end up writhing about on the ground like a pair of overheated snakes.”
He picked up the cups and shook out her cloak.
“It’s fortunate for us we’ll soon be surrounded by our loving—and extremely inquisitive—family. I can guarantee they won’t leave us alone together for a moment.”
He sounded as though he didn’t want her to draw any meaning from the attraction between them. It had been naught but a foolish dream. Embarrassed, Lily couldn’t meet his eyes.
Ian cupped her chin in his hand and lifted her face.
“I
am honored by your attention, Lily, truly. You are beautiful and brave, and you could do far better than me. Don’t waste yourself, your future, on a man with no heart to give.”
Forcing steel into her spine, Lily stared back into his eyes and told herself his words did not matter. But they did.
“I don’t agree, milord. But I’ll not embarrass you further.” She shook out her skirts and walked over to her horse.
“Shall we be on our way?”
How could she believe he didn’t want her? Ian wondered, going over their words yet again as they plodded along. What she’d heard had not been what he’d said at all. Christ, how did any man understand a woman?
Mayhap the problem was, indeed, that they seemed to wind up on their backs every chance they got. It was difficult to think clearly when all he wanted was to bare her delectable body to his greedy gaze and make a meal of her. She only grew more beautiful the longer he was around her, until it seemed he had become the randiest fool in creation.
If he was to place her hand on his aching flesh now, he’d have her on her back with her skirts over her head before she realized what he was about. Hell, before he knew what he’d done.
They couldn’t get to Ashby too soon for him. Tonight, he’d find a willing woman and exorcise this madness.
Then, perhaps, he could look her in the eye and treat her like the lady she was, and not some wanton camp follower.
Thinking about her helped keep his grief over Dai’s death at bay. He remembered what Dai had whispered to him as he lay dying. He’d claimed Lily was a fitting mate for him, even more so now, considering who she was.
And with the Dragon as her husband, perhaps Llywelyn would leave her alone.
But he refused to think of it now, not when her immediate safety was all that mattered. He said a prayer for the loyal old man who’d been a second father to him, and pushed the other disturbing thoughts away.
They were almost there. When they broke through the trees and rode to the track leading up to Ashby, he heard Lily gasp. She halted Mouse in the middle of the road and sat staring up at the castle.
It was an impressive place, certainly, utilizing every Norman defense to intimidate. But compared to rugged Dolwyddelan, Ashby Keep appeared a pretty bauble.
“Are you afraid?” he asked her challengingly, much as he had when She clung to the curtain wall. The words had a similar effect. Lily cast a haughty glare in his direction and nudged Mouse into motion.
As he followed behind her, he admired the way the setting sun glinted off her unbound hair. It hung past her waist, invoking all sorts of fantasies in his mind.
It suddenly occurred to him that decent Norman women covered their hair. He didn’t wish to fight some lust-crazed man-at-arms because Lily’s haft had tempted the man beyond all reason. Ian rode up beside her and, ignoring her questioning look, reached over to tug up the hood of her cloak. Giving a nod of satisfaction—‘twas the best he could do for now—he led the way into Ashby.
Lily stared about her as they passed over the drawbridge and into a bailey teeming with activity. Ashby seemed a prosperous holding, the people well fed and smiling, the land clearly in good heart. She focused her attention on little details of the sights surrounding her to distract her thoughts. Otherwise, she would turn into a nervous, blithering idiot.
Whether she’d succeed in that quest, she couldn’t imagine.
A brawny man came forward and greeted Ian, his manner cautious but respectful. Clearly, the Dragon’s legend was well-known—and believed—within his sister’s keep.
Ian nodded to the man, then came to help her down, handing the reins to a waiting stable boy before he lifted her from the saddle. He’d no sooner set her on her feet than a woman’s voice cut through the bab
ble.
“So, brother. Finally you deign to answer my summons and grace us with your presence.”
They turned together, then Ian stepped way. A smaller, feminine version of Ian stood before them. But that biting voice couldn’t belong to this dainty woman, could it?
It did. Lily couldn’t believe it when Ian’s sister, after coming forward and embracing him tightly, stepped back and launched into a scathing harangue.
And she found it truly amazing that he did nothing more than laugh when Lady Catrin paused to draw breath.
Which was the dragon in this family?
Or were they both, she wondered.
“Have done, wife.” A tall, handsome blond man came up behind Lady Catrin and covered her mouth with his hand. She bit his fingers, but he appeared un cowed
“Where are your manners? Can’t you see that Ian has brought a guest?”
Ian took Lily’s arm and led her toward them, squeezing her arm lightly—no doubt because he could feel how she shook. She tried to smile at him, though her lips felt frozen in place. But she wanted him to know that she appreciated his support.
“May we go inside, Talbot?” he asked.
“The news we bring you would be better said away from prying eyes and ears.” They followed their hosts up a spiraling flight of stairs to a solar atop the tower keep, Ian and his sister bantering lightly all the while. Though Lady Catrin never stopped talking, her curious gaze remained fixed upon Lily. But their conversation stopped when they entered the chamber.
Ian waited until a maidservant had brought mead and closed the door behind her before he spoke again.
Lily wondered if Ian knew how close to collapse she felt. But as he drew her to stand beside him, he gave her a smile of support, lending her the extra strength she needed.
“Catrin and Nicholas, may I present a newfound cousin? Lily and I met at Dolwyddelan.” He’d told them nothing startling, but still she watched them closely as he pushed her hood back from her face and hair.
She curtsied.
“I am honored to meet you,” she murmured, appalled at how weak her voice sounded. She hoped her manners weren’t lacking.
Lady Catrin responded in kind.
“As I am to meet you.”
She stared at Lily, obviously curious.
“How may I address you? As cousin?” she asked, with a glare for her brother.
“My name is Lily, milady.” She noticed Lord Nicholas eyeing her strangely, as if she were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.
“Have we met?” he asked.
Ian laughed.
“Ian, stop your foolishness, if you please,” Lady Catrin said tartly.
“If you’ve some point to make, please do so.
Otherwise, sit down and be quiet.” She turned to Lily.
“Forgive me. My brother frequently makes my manners—and my wits—go a-begging. Please sit and take your ease.” Lily took the seat—a real chair, she noted with amazement-that Lady Catrin indicated, and waited. Ian obviously had something in mind, something he hadn’t seen fit to share with her.
Did he think to surprise them? Or did he simply intend to taunt Lady Catrin?
He took the goblet of mead his sister offered him and went to stand beside his brother-by-marriage.
“Does she look familiar, Nicholas?”
“Nay, but there’s something about her …. ” “My reaction, exactly. Similar enough to pique your memory, but different enough to mystify.”
“Jesu, Ian! We’re both properly confused,” his sister snapped.
“Are you satisfied? Or must I beat the answer out of you?”
“My apologies, to both of you. I wanted to know if I was blind to the truth, or whether there truly was too little resemblance to notice. Of course, I’d no more reason to look for it than you have.”
He moved to stand beside Lily’s chair and, taking her hand, brought her to her feet.
“She is our cousin. Lily de l’Eau Clair.”
Swen heard the approaching horses long before they caught up to him. If he’d wanted to avoid them, he could have. But what would have been the sense? He’d bought the Dragon some time, although by now Llywelyn might know that his plan to move Lily had failed. But if these were the prince’s men, perhaps he could glean some information.
And if he was particularly fortunate, they wouldn’t realize he’d failed to carry out Llywelyn’s wishes.
It wouldn’t be wise to make them suspicious.
If Llywelyn learned what he’d done, he would be fortunate indeed if he wasn’t sent back to his father in pieces.
But Swen didn’t care. He didn’t know who Lily was, or why Llywelyn wished to lock her away. He simply knew that it was right for the Dragon to take Lily with him, wherever they were headed, and right for him to help them gain as much time and distance as they could.
As the horsemen came into view, he checked his weapons.
The Dragon had left them all for him to find, with a bit of work. He couldn’t blame him for that, nor for the scratches that covered his forearms. They didn’t bother him one whit.
He looked on them as mementos of his brush with the Dragon; he wore them proudly, small though they were.
Swen smiled as the small troop caught up to him. It was a good day, He lived to fight.
But it soon became apparent that Llywelyn’s men hadn’t come to fight him. Indeed, they hadn’t come for him at all. They’d simply recognized him and thought to ask him to join them.
“Got rid of your burden already, eh, Swen?” the leader, Sion, asked.
A decent fighter, Sion had a filthy mind, which bothered Swen not at all, and a filthier temper, which did.
“Aye, Sion. I’ve been taking my time going back to Dolwyddelan.
Many a lovely Welsh lass to be found in the hills to keep a man busy,” he added with a wink.
“If ye’re not in a hurry to get back, dye care to join us? The prince sent us to look for the Dragon. He’s got important work for him, I guess.”
Llywelyn wanted to know what the Dragon was about, more likely.
“I can’t. I’d love to come with you, but I’ve got other plans.” Swen grinned.
“Can’t disappoint a lady, now, can I ?”
Amid jests regarding his prowess, Llywelyn’s men rode away. Let them believe he had nothing more important on his mind than laying every wench in sight, he thought scornfully.
Join those fools? Not likely. The only man he planned to join was the Dragon, if he’d permit it. Swen turned his thoughts to finding the Dragon. It sounded as though he might need help.
Chapter Ten
Lady Catrin sat down on the bench behind her, reaching up to clasp Lord Nicholas’s hand. ““Tis no joke, Ian?”
she asked, her voice at odds with its former stridency.
He shook his head.
“We’ve a tale to tell you, so unbelievable you’ll think ‘tis naught but fantasy—the dark, evil kind.”
Lily watched her cousins. Lady Catrin appeared stunned, but not outraged. Perhaps that would come later, she worried. Lord Nicholas simply looked at her with his lips quirked upward in a haft smile.
“You’re Gillian’s sister?” he asked.
“So the Dragon tells me.”
Nicholas looked from her to Ian at that, his gaze weighing, measuring. She didn’t understand what had prompted his scrutiny, but it seemed she’d passed some test, for he smiled again—it was more of a grin, really—then choked back a laugh.
“Are you taking her to l’Eau Clair?”
Ian tipped back his goblet and drained it before he answered.
“Eventually. I’m not certain when. I believe we have Llywelyn on our heels—or will have soon.” He settled on a stool next to Lily.
“It’s not a pretty story. Let me tell you what we know thus far.”
Lily derived great comfort from listening to Ian relate the tale, partly because she loved to listen to the deep, even tones of his voice. But most
of the feeling came from the words he chose, and how he said them. She and the others couldn’t possibly fail to see that he considered this his fight—their fight.
His words, his voice,” his reassuring looks, told Lily that for the first time in her life, she wasn’t alone.
She had gained not only a family, but a champion, as well.
The mead, combined with the warmth of the room and the comfortable chaff, set Lily yawning. Lady Catrin rose and came to her side.
“You look tried unto death. Will you permit Ian to finish without you?”
“Aye, milady,” Lily replied, embarrassed to discover that she’d slipped lower in the chaff, until she slumped into the cushions. She sat up, wincing as her back protested the movement.
Lady Catrin took her arm and helped her stand.
“Then come with me now. I’ve no doubt my brother has dragged you across the hills with little rest and less food.” She smiled, that quirk of the lips lending a teasing look to her beautiful face.
“I can offer you a warm bath to ease your aches, food, and a soft bed.”
“Go with her,” Ian said.
“I’ll wait to discuss this further, if you like.”
Lily shook her head.
“No, please continue. I trust you, milord,” she murmured.
He rose and took her hand.
“Thank you. Nicholas and I have business to discuss, as well. There’s no reason that should keep you from your rest.” He brought her hand to his lips, his mouth warm upon her skin.
“Sleep well, milady.”
Lily hated to leave him, but she felt safe here. And she knew he would not go without her. Moving slowly, she allowed Lady Catrin to lead her from the room.
Ian waited until he heard the women’s footsteps disappear down the stairs before slumping back onto the stool.
“Take the chair, you idiot,” Nicholas said, pouting more mead into their goblets.
“You look so weary, ‘tis a miracle you haven’t slithered to the floor.”
Ian flopped into the cushioned chair and sighed.
“I am tired. I cannot think clearly anymore. These past few days have been strange, hectic. And the days ahead threaten to be far worse. Only God knows how this will end.” He drank, then held the cool silver cup to his aching head.
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