by K. A. M'Lady
As she rinsed the cloth in the bowl of clean water, the ripples swirled and Rosalynn stared, transfixed. Waiting. Wondering what the fates wished for her to see.
The images appeared as smoke, then fog rising from the cliffs. She saw a couple entwined with darkness all around. She saw the Black Forest filled with spectral forms, flowing in and out of its darkness. Just beyond the gray of danger, the ocean, a cerulean sea of calm with white frothing waves, and the sun, beautiful and golden at the edge of the horizon.
Rosalynn staggered. Clutching the table as the vision left her, she stared into the now calm bowl of water. It was a portent of a darkness to come, but also a small glimmer of hope in the not-so-distant future. Gathering her herbs, her thoughts consumed by the images she had witnessed, she left the girl to sleep in peace. For she knew in her heart, that soon, peace and sleep would be difficult to come by.
Chapter Sixteen
The clashing of swords rang eerily in the soft haze of light that swept in through the window. It echoed within the silence of the chamber and resounded off the walls. Gabriella slowly opened her heavy-lidded eyes. She was disoriented, tired, and her body felt like it was run over by a speeding New York taxi.
She was in a large, four-poster bed that was hung with deep green bed curtains that were pulled back to let light waft in through the small window near the right side of the bed. She was surrounded by thick furs and velvet soft coverlets the same shade of green as the bed curtains. From what she could see, lying prone on her back as she was, across the room was a huge fireplace with a blaze roaring in its mammoth hearth.
It was hard to keep her eyes open from within the cocoon of safety where she nestled. Safe and peaceful was not a place she remembered being for quite some time. Visions, like mayflies, darted in and out of her memory. Pictures that she could not yet grasp eluded her.
She scanned the room, trying to get her bearings. There were rich tapestries covering the walls on three sides of the huge room. Each tapestry depicted beautiful visions of gardens with unicorns and fairies weaving in and out of the foliage in the rich bright colors of springtime, and the soft, warm hues of autumn. There was a fairy queen amidst the sparkling white of a frozen winter wonderland, and a unicorn drinking from a stream in what appeared to be a summer glade. The warm nuances each tapestry depicted were both mesmerizing and beautiful.
What she could see of the floor showed rugs of bright gold, deep reds and rich earthy browns strewn about to keep the warmth within the stone room. There was also a wardrobe three times her size to the right of the door near the left side of the fireplace.
She noticed a small table just beyond the end of the bed that held a pitcher, two cups and a small vase of sunny yellow wildflowers. The sight of the pitcher instantly made her aware that her mouth was as dry as dust. She was unsure where exactly she was and what her current state was, but she knew she had to have some of whatever was in that pitcher. She tried to sit up slowly, bracing her arms in the plush bed, but the stiffness and pain that shot down her back stopped her in mid-motion.
Grimacing tightly, the memories whirled across her mind in a flood of realization. She became horrifically aware of where she was, how she had gotten here and why she was in so much pain. The visions of the forest, laden with a glaze of endless rain and the filthy man who’d grabbed her stole across her memory. She could see Damon, his virile, grouchy self pacing a line across the field, wanting her to hurry. Then she was running, as if all the hounds of hell were upon her. Running to reach Damon and his men. Fear like a lightning rod shot through her spine as she fled. Uncertainty and horror quickened her pace. And then nothing but Damon’s quiet words soothing her in the darkness.
She lay horrified as the moments and the memories churned in the recesses of her mind. Her car accident seemed a lifetime ago, but if she calculated correctly, it couldn’t have been more than a week’s passing, two at the most. Someone should have found her car and would be searching for her. But did it really matter? She had wondered for what seemed like eons. There were no easy answers forthcoming, for there was no one really there for her to return to.
With determination creasing her brow, she braced her arms and pushed herself to an upright position. She let her breath out in a whoosh as pain scorched its way down her back, like fire ants with red hot pokers. Jesus H Christ! But she was now sitting up. And up was definitely progress.
If she sat and dwelled on the what-ifs of her situation for too long, she may never find the answers. Doing seemed the best approach at this point. So, with a hearty sigh, she peered around at her settings.
Sitting up definitely gave her a better view of the room and its many splendors. She noted the chair that had been pulled up to the right side of her bed and wondered if perhaps Damon had sat by her side and waited for her to awaken. Whimsy, she told herself with a shrug, then instantly regretted the movement as more pain tore through her back.
Shaking her head to dispel the flights of fancy and pain, she pulled back the covers and swung her feet over the side of the bed. She was wearing a thin ivory gown with small red roses stitched along the bottom and around the neckline. The arms of the gown flowed over the tops of her hands to rest in a froth of lace. She paused to consider who had removed her clothes and put her in such delicate sleepwear.
Turning red with embarrassment at the thought of Damon perhaps seeing her naked, she stood on wobbly legs and hesitantly walked towards the table, her arms slightly extended for balance. I will not allow myself to be embarrassed, I’m not so green as to believe he’s never seen a naked woman before, and besides... She reached the table, poured a cup of crystal clear water and then emptied the cup in one long swallow. I was shot with an arrow and unconscious. It’s not like he would have been able to take advantage of me—if he even wanted to take advantage of me. Which he doesn’t. So there. But he might have, maybe… Oh, just shut up, Gabriella, you’re becoming a lunatic!
She still felt weak, but was relieved to be up, and alive for that matter. Skeptically eyeing the contents of the pitcher, she poured another cup and drank deeply. The water was cool and tasted like heaven to her parched throat.
Emptying the cup, she turned to refill it again, her gaze straying to the fire and its shimmering blue and orange flames. She stood there, mesmerized by the fire for some time, pondering her situation, pondering her fierce knight with his startling ice gray eyes and wondered for the first time in a very long while what her future held. It had never been an issue before. She had finished her degree and planned on working with her father at the museum. From there, she intended to lead a normal, boring life. Maybe meet an equally boring man, get married, have two point five kids. A dog and a house in the country. Now look at me. Oh, I’m in the country, all right. She was perplexed beyond belief at her entire situation.
Just look what you’ve gotten yourself into now, Gab. Time warps, marauding rebels, grouchy knights with beautiful eyes of liquid silver. Could she hope for a future, here, with him in the past? Did he even want her here? Did she want to be here? There were just too many possibilities to consider.
A slight sound behind her made her turn. Damon stood in the doorframe, his large figure leaning casually against the wood.
His lips turned upward. His eyes glinted as he gazed at her predatorily before he straightened and crossed the room.
Gabriella’s heart was slamming in her chest, again, the cup falling from her fingertips, clambering to the floor. Did he always have to look so incredible, so manly, and so fierce? She didn’t know if he was grimacing at her or not. The look in his eyes stopped her breath in her lungs and she instinctually took a step back as she watched him stalk across the room, his path made clear before him. With something akin to panic, she took another step back, bumping into the edge of the table. Its contents wobbled for balance. Something she longed to feel herself.
Suddenly he loomed before her. The smell of leather, sweat and the crispness of the outdoors clinging to him. Her nose came
to the middle of his chest, the top of her head just below the firmness of his strong chin. She swallowed audibly and looked up into the swirling miasma of his winter gray eyes.
“You should be abed, milady,” he said, his gravelly voice allowing no rebuke.
“I…I was thirsty,” she stammered. What the hell is wrong with me? she wondered bleakly as she continued to stare into the tempest of his eyes. I have never in my life stuttered and stammered because a man spoke to me. Feeling extremely weak in the knees, she released the death grip she had on the table and brought her hand up to her face as though she would check her temperature.
Noting the flushed look that crept over her face Damon scowled down at her. “You’re weak,” he said gruffly. “You should not be out of bed.” Instinctively, he scooped her up in his arms and strode across the room, depositing her back upon the bed. “Stay,” he ordered as he turned back across the room, picking the cup up from the floor and refilling it before bringing it back to her.
Gabriella took the cup from his extended hand and slowly brought it to her lips.
Mesmerized, he watched her. Abruptly, he turned and sat in the chair that had been his resting place for the past fortnight. “Tell me,” he said, his eyes quizzically scanning her face, “how did you come to be in the field alone?”
Her spine stiffened and she turned hesitantly to look at him. She knew that it would be only a matter of time before he questioned her, but he could have at least waited until she was more herself, less weary from her wounds and more capable of composing her answers. She stared into his smoke-gray eyes before moving on to study his other features, as if the appropriate answers would appear on the canvas of his face.
He had bathed and shaved today, but the start of dark stubble was beginning to show along his jaw. His eyes had dark circles under them as if he had not slept much. His hair was in disarray as though he had run his hands through it several times. She wondered if it was as soft as it looked. Her fingers tingled with the urge to run them through his long dark locks.
She glanced at the angle of his cheeks and his strong jaw before coming to rest on the curve of his lips. She could remember briefly what they felt like against her own. They were softer than they looked, yet firm and demanding. She was mesmerized by their shape, by the memory of the brief feel and taste of them. She watched as they curved into a smile.
“Well, Cherie,” he said his eyes bright with the knowledge of her thoughts. “I know that you can speak, for I’ve heard the soft nuances of your voice.” Leaning forward in his chair, he brought his face directly in front of hers. “You will tell me,” he whispered, desire flaring in the darkness of his eyes.
Her heart was racing again, as seemed to be its course whenever he was near her. No one had ever made her feel so on fire, so alive. She wanted him to kiss her. Wanted to feel his fingers tangle in the curls at the base of her neck as he held her firmly.
She wet her lips to staunch their dryness. His eyes followed the progression of her tongue.
Vaguely, she wondered if this was his ploy to get the truth from her. Wondered if he would use the desire between them to obtain the answers he sought. Heat coursed through her as he leaned closer, his lips but a breath from her own.
Gabriella swore that if he kissed her right then she would probably tell him everything, the size of the earth, the miles to the moon, and the definition of pi. She knew in the distance of her mind that she should not want him, should stop him from getting too close to her, both physically and emotionally. This faint echo of reason began to fade beneath the thunder of her blood as it echoed in her ears.
Damon was a solid ache with his want of her as he continued to gaze at her soft lips. Her soft breasts were but a touch away. The smoldering green of her eyes drew him further beneath her spell. He grasped the softness of her chin. Her skin was soft like velvet, perfection like fresh-born snow. He knew he should stop, knew that she was still weak from her wound and the fever, but was helpless to cease his yearnings for her. Helpless to keep his lips from touching hers.
He reached for her, his left hand gathering her to him amidst the silk of her hair, his other firmly brought her face closer towards his. His lips brushed hers in a soft sigh of need.
The room reverberated with the resounding thud of the oak door slamming.
He stopped in mid-motion, his neck snapping up, and his head turning towards the door. He was quickly trapped in the venomous gaze of his housekeeper and would-be mother, Rosalynn.
She crossed her arms beneath her ample bosom and glared at him from across the room. “Really, milord,” she scolded. “To take advantage of an ailing lady is beneath the scope of chivalry,” she said, shaking her head in disapproval.
Damon quickly released Gabriella and sat back rigidly into the chair. He glared vividly at his guardian. His gruff demeanor returning in bounds, he growled, “I was just…”
“Yes?” Her brow arched skeptically.
“I was just making sure she was well.” Sweet Jesu, can a man have no peace in his own keep? He stood abruptly, the chair rattling against the wall. His scowl danced from Gabriella to Rosalynn and then back again to Gabriella. His quiet coaxing vanished and in its place, the dark brooding dragon had returned. With a huff of annoyance, he said, “I’ll be back later to finish our conversation, Cherie.”
Gabriella watched his large, retreating back. The rigidness had returned to his shoulders and his stride was all but a stomp.
“You’ll not be back until the morrow, and you will allow your lady the proper rest that she needs,” Rosalynn stated. He crossed the room and stopped in front of her. She raised her chin, challenging him to defy her.
He stood gazing down into the cornflower blue of her wise old eyes. Nodding his acquiescence, he amended, “As you wish, on the morrow then.” He added in passing, “And she is not my lady.”
Rosalynn snorted, a most unladylike reply.
Damon slammed the door behind him.
Chapter Seventeen
Gabriella was five shades of embarrassment as Rosalynn crossed the room to her side. She sat mortified with the knowledge that this woman, a complete stranger to her, had caught her with Damon in an illicit position.
As if sensing her embarrassment, Rosalynn sat on the side of the bed and took Gabriella’s hands in her worn, age-wrinkled fingers. Patting them softly, she said “Now then, milady, no need for your worries. His lordship tends to have that effect on one’s senses at times.” Rosalynn smiled a small, affectionate smile of knowing. Her eyes glowed with good humor and her laugh lines emerged from the weathered skin of her face.
“He is a bit overwhelming,” Gabriella agreed. She couldn’t seem to get the sight of him out of her head. The feel of him consumed her thoughts. She had no idea what she was going to do about him. If, in fact, there was anything she could do. She was still too confused to try to sort through the events that had brought her to this place.
“Aye, that and more, milady,” Rosalynn chuckled. “Now then, let’s get through our introductions, past your uncertainties, and check that wound, shall we? I am Rosalynn LeFay, sometimes housekeeper, sometimes healer and the one-time guardian of an overzealous dragon. And you, milady, are?” Rosalynn’s brow arched in mock impatience as she waited for her response.
Gabriella couldn’t help but smile. She felt a kind of kindred spirit with this woman, an almost impish mischievousness, along with a dominating quality that she could completely relate to. “My name is Gabriella DeVoux,” she said. “I believe I have you to thank for my recovery?”
Rosalynn returned her smile. The girl was everything she had hoped for, everything her dragon needed, a princess to charm the grumpy beast. “Aye, milady,” she replied. “A simple task for one such as me. Now then, shall we set you to rights so that you can get some rest?” She quickly rose and gathered the clean bandages and the bowl she had brought with her. Lavender and other earthen scents perfumed the air as she mixed her herbs.
Gabriella sat
while Rosalynn went about her business of removing the wrapping that was wound up over her shoulder, around her back and beneath her left breast. She winced as Rosalynn pressed the skin around the wound, searching for infection.
Rosalynn cleaned the wound and added a paste of herbs, which to Gabriella looked like nothing more than grass and weeds, before carefully rewrapping her handiwork. She checked her brow and cheeks for any lingering warmth and declared her well enough to eat some broth. Rising and heading towards the door, she quietly opened it and issued some orders to whoever stood beyond.
A servant soon brought a tray of broth and a small loaf of bread still warm from the oven. The broth tasted like chicken, and had bits of herbs floating on its surface. Gabriella couldn’t remember when the last meal she had was, but the broth was quite filling, and soon her appetite was replete.
Rosalynn had stayed to watch over her patient, taking up a position in the chair nearest the bed for a better view. Taking the tray and returning it to the table, she returned to tuck her up beneath the bedding. “Sleep now, child,” she ordered. “I will stay and keep watch over you.”
Gabriella’s eyes soon grew heavy. It had taken the remainder of her strength to finish her meal. Her visit from Damon had left her much to think about, but the sandman was calling and she knew that, for now, she had time to sort it out later. Closing her eyes, she quickly fell asleep.
* * * * * *
Two weeks had passed in a restful blur before Rosalynn finally deemed Gabriella strong enough to leave her bed. She had not seen much of Damon in that time. Rosalynn had told her when she’d questioned his whereabouts that he came by often, but that he didn’t wish to disturb her from her rest. She wondered when she would see him again, and if he would continue to question her on how she had come to be in that field. She could only hope that he would eventually accept her replies of vagueness as a lack of memory and trauma.