by K. A. M'Lady
“Tell me, lady—where is it you come from?” he questioned softly, his slow, soft kisses an assault on her already overloaded body.
His question took her off guard as he continued to kiss her. Deeply, slowly. Stirring her until she was yet again breathless. When he pulled away from her to allow her to speak, she became lost in depth of his eyes for a moment before realization struck. Damn him! He wants to know so damn badly, she railed in her mind, her anger to the edge of exploding, well, then, let’s see what he does with the truth.
Annoyed beyond mere aggravation, she pushed at his chest to push him away from her. Being settled so deeply within her, it was difficult to budge him. And, with his great bulk of muscle it did no good to attempt to push him. “Did you seduce me just to get me to talk?” she accused, her anger made her skin glow pink as she clenched her teeth.
“Aye,” he answered smugly. “‘Twas a good plan. Now all you have to do is tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“Where it is you come from. That is as good a place as any to start.”
Smug, bastard. Let’s see how much of the truth he can handle. She was tired of his game. “All right, you imbecile. You really want to know, then I’ll tell you. I’m from New York City.”
“What is this imbecile you say? It does not sound appealing.”
“It’s not appealing. And at the moment, neither are you. Now get off me,” she raged against him, pushing on his chest as hard as she could. Still he wouldn’t budge.
“York?” he questioned wonderingly, his brow creasing in thought. “You’re a long way off from York, milady. And how did you get from York to a field in the middle of nowhere, leagues from any civilization without a horse, cart or any man for protection?”
“Not York, you dolt. New York. As in not on this continent. As in not even in this time zone.”
“Calling me names, milady, is not going to help your plight. And what do you mean by time zone?”
He flipped her over again so that she once again was on top. Her breath left her as his hardness continued to fill her. Does the man ever get satisfied? Her brain was trying to shy away from answering his questions.
Damon began to move slowly inside her. He had her body, now he wanted her soul.
Gabriella swore that she’d never be able to walk again if he continued this onslaught. The thought of him seducing her to get the information he wanted completely pissed her off. But he’d done it, and she had been his willing victim. She still was, as she met each slow, sensual thrust. She should have known that he would stoop to such a thing.
She watched his hips move beneath her, followed the line of hair from their joined bodies up the plain of his etched stomach to the tightness of his chest. Casually her gaze wandered up the hard line of his chin and over his soft, amazing lips until she finally met his eyes.
They stared at each other for quite some time, neither saying a word. Just moving to the slow steady beat of their desire.
“Where, milady?” he asked her softly.
Gabriella knew what he was asking. A small part of her was afraid of his response. Will he throw me back in his dungeon? Will he burn me at a stake? Will he send me out of his home into this horrific land and expect me to fend for myself? Damn, damn, damn. You should really think things through before you act, Gabriella, she chided.
She looked at him then, wondering if he could believe her. If there was some small part of him that would protect her from this chaos. Taking her courage in hand, she looked him straight in the eyes and replied, “I was born and raised in New York City, New York on April thirtieth, nineteen hundred and eighty—exactly nine hundred thirty-seven years in your future. I have no siblings, no relatives and my parents are dead. I came to England—which is what your country is called in my lifetime—I was brought there because of an ancient sword that was given to my father to investigate. A mysterious sword with dragon etchings and a ruby eye set into its handle. A sword with no historical owner. A sword that was the only thing found at the accident site where my parents disappeared. Your sword.” She paused to catch her breath before continuing.
“I was on a road in Kent, leaving an inn when a deer or something darted in front of my car—which I can explain later to you what a car is,” she rushed on, “when I swerved in the rain to avoid hitting it and my car crashed through the thicket, throwing me out the door. When I became conscious again, your soldier, Richard, I believe was his name, was on top of me, trying to attack me.”
Damon stilled all movement and stared at her, dumbfounded. “‘Tis an amazing tale, milady,” he finally replied, brow lifting as his mouth tried but failed to keep the smirk from crossing it. “I’d no idea you were so gifted as a troubadour. We’ll have to listen to more of your tales at a later time. Mayhap in the great hall as we take our evening meal.”
“Don’t mock me,” she chided, trying to move to get away from him, the thought of sex with him just annoying her more now that she’d told him everything.
Damon stilled her movement with his hands at her waist. Looking at her incredulously, he asked, “I am to take it you mean this tale?”
“Of course I mean it. You asked and I’ve told you. I don’t know anything else about your stupid rebels, or how I got to that damn field. Are you happy now? If that’s all, you can let me go.”
Damon stared at her, pondering the possibilities.
He started to move within her again, not once growing soft inside her. But the longer he stared at her, the longer the rhythm became until he flipped her on to her back and drove into her with hard, deep thrusts.
Gabriella gasped his name as her orgasm overcame her. Damon followed her lead, head tilted back, the muscles in his arms corded with tension until, with his last spasm, he collapsed on top of her.
Time seemed to stand still as she waited for him to say something. Anything. Several moments passed before he moved from within her. Getting out of bed, he strode across the room, completely comfortable with his nudity. Taking water from a bucket that was left by the fire, he saw to his morning abolitions and took clothes from a chest at the end of his bed.
Not once uttering a single word to Gabriella until she could stand it no more. “So,” she questioned, sitting up in the bed, pulling the coverlet over her breasts, “are you going to say nothing?”
“What is it you would like me to say, Gabriella? That you have a fanciful story? That you are addled? That you are some kind of witch, and I should burn you at a stake in the center of my bailey?”
“Well I would hope it wouldn’t come to burning me alive,” she retorted. “But I am telling you the truth. Ask me anything about the future and I’ll tell you. Go ahead, ask me. Would you like to know how long the Normans rule England? What about when there’ll be a plague and how many thousands will die? Oh, oh, I know,” she said, getting excited as she moved towards the end of the bed, pulling the coverlet around her.
“What about cars, horseless machines that take people wherever they want to go in a short amount of time. Or how about planes—big, giant metal machines that fly people like birds across land in hours or over the oceans in less than a day. Would you like to hear about that?” Gabriella was frantic. Somehow she had to make him believe her. She had to make him understand that she was not some enemy, or a witch that needed to be burned alive.
Damon stared at her. Pulling on his tunic, he reached for his boots and made haste putting them on. Grabbing his sword, he strode to the door. “You will stay in this room until you are sent for,” he said, door handle in hand as he turned and looked at her. “Do you understand?”
Gabriella glared at him. I am an idiot! Like he believes one word I’ve said.
“Gabriella!” he shouted. “Do you understand me?”
“Yes, I hear you. The whole damn place can’t help but hear you.”
“If you attempt to leave this room, you will be sorely punished,” he told her, his voice gruff with command.
“Yeah, yeah…sorel
y punished, sent to the dungeon, burned at the stake,” she replied softly. She pulled the blankets tighter and sat back on her knees.
Damon gave her one last stern look before he turned and left the room.
She waited to hear the lock turn. And waited. But it never came. What does that mean? Why hasn’t he locked me in?
Light came through the window, and the castle began to stir.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Gabriella sat in the quiet of the room, staring off into space for what seemed an eternity. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was supposed to do now that Damon had left her. Do not leave this room, she mimicked, her face scrunching in a stern frown, shaking her finger at the empty room around her. Did he really expect her to stay here all day and do nothing? Not damn likely, she thought.
Grabbing a fistful of the blanket, she wrapped it around her like a toga and headed for the chest at the end of Damon’s bed. She had watched Damon gather clothes from it, and she didn’t think he’d have a dress lying about for her to put on. And, considering the last one she’d had on that he ruined, she decided she’d borrow a few of his clothes with the assumption that he’d be a bit more conscientious of his own. Throwing the lid back, she stared down into a heap of blackness. Does the man own nothing but black? No wonder his people think he’s a monster, all grouchy, yelling and in a foul mood all the time. No wonder they call him a dragon. Spitting fire, all right.
Pondering Damon and her situation, she listened to Damon’s retreating steps down the hall. Damn him anyway, she thought as she reached in and pulled out a shirt. Glancing at the door and hearing no echo of his footfall, she dropped the blanket and pulled the shirt over her head.
* * * * * *
Damon closed the door tightly behind him, pausing to collect his thoughts. There was no noise coming from the room, and he hoped that Gabriella would heed his command and stay put. He shook his head, trying to clear the crazy tales she’d told him. The damn woman’s gone mad! Boxes you ride in without the use of horses. Hah! That will be the day.
He trotted down the stairs. Reaching the hall, he all but ran into Rosalynn. “Damn, woman. Why are you forever underfoot?” he questioned.
“I come when milord has need of me,” she replied. “And milord does have need of me, does he not?”
Damon hadn’t really given much thought as to what to do with Gabriella now that he had her in his bed. Even if her story was completely ludicrous, he needed to keep her there a bit longer to see if anything she said would prove true. Which it won’t, he told himself. But that doesn’t mean that there isn’t some sort of trouble afoot. And, if she is found to be involved, then I will deal with her at that time. So in the meantime, what do I do with her?
He stood thinking, eyes cast outward as he considered his options. She would need someone to watch her. But they shouldn’t be too obvious. A knight or guard would just spook her. The last thing he wanted was for her to think that he didn’t trust her. No, his plan had worked well and he wanted to continue having her think she could tell him anything. With these musings, a plan sprang to life. And she was standing right in front of him. Smiling down at his gray-haired keeper, he replied, “Aye, Rosalynn. I do have a need of you after all.”
Rosalynn harrumphed her reply. “And what is it you wish of me, milord?” she asked, her brow raised in contemplation.
“I want you to take Gabriella with you as you go about your daily chores. Show her the castle proper and do whatever it is that you do during the day. But, she is not to leave your sight. For anything. Is that understood?”
“Aye, milord. And where is it that I shall find her?”
“She is in my room. Which, I might add, she is to be returned to at the end of every day.”
“And how long do you intend to keep her, milord?” Rosalynn questioned, her gaze penetrating and protective of the girl.
Damon stared at the harsh eyes of his onetime protector. He could read the disapproval in her eyes. But she said nothing. For that he was relieved. It is I who rule this keep, and I will say what will or will not be done. “Until I decide otherwise,” he replied darkly as he turned and strode from the great hall.
* * * * * *
Rosalynn watched his rigid back, an inkling of uncontrollable things to come stole across her skin like the wisp of a web. What great storm is coming? The waters she so depended on for her visions had grown murky. Not giving away any hints about what may or may not be. ‘Tis never a good sign when the gods don’t speak. Never a good sign.
With that ominous thought rolling around in her head, she took the stairs to her master’s quarters. The poor girl had no idea what she’d gotten herself into. She’s stirred the sleeping dragon. Let us hope that she can control him.
* * * * * *
Gabriella had taken hose and a shirt from Damon’s chest and dressed herself as best she could in the oversized clothes. She knew she looked ridiculous, but there was no help for it, she had nothing else to wear. Crawling around on the floor, she found the slippers she had originally been given and slipped them on her feet. Not the most comfortable thing to wander around in, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
Grabbing a tie of string she found in the chest, she pulled her hair up in a ponytail as best she could and headed for the door. Absently pulling her hair tight, she ran into Rosalynn as she stepped from the room.
“Are you going somewhere, milady?” Rosalynn asked.
Gabriella looked up sheepishly into the wizened eyes of the old woman. “I am,” she replied, determined not to be distracted from her goal. She had decided while she was digging for clothes that it was still best for her to leave this place. She was now recovered from her wound and Damon obviously did not believe her about where she’d come from, based on how quickly he’d left the room.
“Good,” Rosalynn told her, a smile stretching across her lips. “‘Tis time you got out of this room and got busy. There’s much to be done. Starting with clothes suitable for a lady.”
Grabbing her by the elbow, she herded Gabriella across the hall and back into the lady’s room. Depositing her at the end of the bed on a large chest, Rosalynn went to the armoire and started digging around through the dresses. Deciding on a pale purple gown the color of newly budded lilacs that was simply cut, with matching slippers, she turned and handed them to Gabriella.
“There,” she said, “that ought to get things started.”
“Started for what?” Gabriella asked, her hands loaded down with dress and shoes.
“The taming of a dragon. What else?”
“Oh no,” Gabriella replied, taking a step back towards the door. “There will be no taming going on between me and your lord. The man is an arrogant ass who thinks he can dictate and that I will listen. He bribed me with his charm to get all of his questions answered and when he got what he wanted, he left. There is absolutely no way I will willingly involve myself with him.”
“Not even if it means a return to the dungeon?”
“Let me think,” she asked sarcastically. “The dungeon, or his whore? Neither sounds too appealing to me.”
“Not his whore, milady,” Rosalynn replied, a small smile reaching her eyes. “But his lady.”
“I never said anything about being his lady,” she said, almost frantically. “I don’t even belong here. I’m not anywhere from this godforsaken place. I need to go home.”
“Not from here and yet, here you are,” Rosalynn said, arms stretched out, displaying the room. “You might ask yourself, if you were brought here, what is the reason? And what do you intend to do about it? What else have you got to go home to?”
Gabriella stood transfixed. What does she know? How could she know anything? Damon is the only one I said anything to. Dumbfounded, she stared at Rosalynn, unable to sort out the questions racing around in her head.
“Now,” Rosalynn said as she arched her brow quizzically. “‘Tis time you dressed accordingly. It looks as if you’ve taken your husband’s clothes
and are planning an escape.”
Gabriella blinked several times before coming back into focus on what the woman was saying to her. “Right. Planning an escape.”
“‘Tis a bad idea, my dear.”
“What?”
“Planning an escape. You’re his now, you know. He’d only track you down and bring you back. He’s never been one to let go of the things he’s claimed as his own.”
“But…” she stuttered.
“No buts, milady, it does not matter if you agree with him or not. He is master here. He will have his way. Now, let’s get you changed.”
“I absolutely refuse,” Gabriella stated, crossing her arms to prove her stubbornness.
“‘Tis of little concern, milady. You can do it on your own, or I can call his lordship. Although I don’t think he will take too kindly to having his battle practice interrupted,” Rosalynn stated.
With a growl, Gabriella threw her hands in the air. She’d already come to know that Damon’s stubbornness was greater than her own. “Fine,” she grumbled. “But I’m not doing this because you threatened me.”
“Of course not, milady. I would never presume so,” Rosalynn replied. Her knowing smile and all-too-seeing eyes making Gabriella gnash her teeth.
She changed in an almost mechanical motion. I do not belong to him. He does not own me. But a small portion of her wished he did as thoughts of their lovemaking stole across her mind.
Taking Gabriella by the hand, Rosalynn led her through the door. “Come now, dear, we’ve work to be done,” she said as she headed for the kitchen.
The next hours passed in a blur of motion. She helped the kitchen girls and Rosalynn prepare for the evening meal. A small repast of dried venison, cheese and other fare was left out for the knights, who would come in at times when their day allowed for a break to grab a quick bite and a cool drink with which to wash it down.
She had not seen Damon all day and her mind kept wandering to what he might be doing. Or what he had done to her the entire night before. Looking up from the beans she was snapping, a slight flush colored her cheeks and she wondered if anyone noticed.