Queen of Dragons: Steamy Fantasy Erotic Romance (Dragon nights Book 1)

by Tasha Bell

  She clung to him “I knew you would come back, I knew they wouldn’t kill you,” she said. “You must come home with me, we still have your father’s old cottage in the grounds,” she paused remembering that he would not have heard the awful news. “Oh god! You don’t know do you? Oh I’m so sorry Christian your father, he…”

  “He died?” said Christian, his voice expressionless.

  “I’m so sorry,” said Viviana. “It was two years ago, a very short illness.”

  Christian gave a shrug and said “If there’s one thing I am used to now its death. I’m going home.” And with that he walked off, neither waiting for Viviana nor turning back to look at her. His sword and bag clutched tight.

  Chapter Three

  The Bull Tavern was noisy and full. In the week since the men had returned business had been good. They had come back with the spoils of The North, having sacked the famous vaults at Castle Ranchester, and were keen to drink away the memories of what they had seen. Alexandra looked out across the crowded tavern to where the home-comers sat, surrounded by the young women of the village, who listened enthralled to their tales of heroism, giggling as the old soldiers light-heartedly put each other down and showed off their battle scars.

  “This one’s from a claymore strike on Basford Ridge” said Kit, shrugging his tunic off one shoulder to show a jagged red line to the pretty redheaded girl who sat on his lap, she gave him a mischievous smile and bent her head to slowly kiss the now-healed wound.

  “Come off it Kit,” Someone shouted. “That’s from when you fell down the steps outside that cheap brothel in Dundsley Marsh.”

  Kit blushed crimson and looked at his sister. “Alexandra, that’s not true, I never visited any brothels, not once” he said.

  The whole table burst into laughter, drowning out Kit’s further protests. Alexandra did not care about her brother’s indiscretions in The North. She knew what soldiers got up to, she knew about the need to bury battlefield memories in warm flesh, and how the horrors of a brutal life could be briefly forgotten in a comforting embrace. Ever since the men had returned she had felt the sexual tension in the village. The men were in fine high spirits while they were drinking and joking in the tavern, but when the doors shut and they went back to their beds none of them wanted to be alone. Some needed someone to hold them, to stroke their hair and tell them it was all over now, that they were going to be alright, but most just needed a body to plunge into, to fuck away the rage that had built in them after years of being forced to kill or be killed. She let her eyes wander over the table, imagining with a shiver what each of the men sitting around it would like to do to her shapely body.

  She caught the eyes of the broad stranger from the square. He had tried to talk to her a couple of times since he had first seen her, explaining in a warm west country accent that he wasn’t leaving the village, and that he’d taken lodgings in the boarding house. Over the past week she had come to realise that she was far luckier than some in the village, those women who had stood in the square until well after it was dark, silently waiting for men who in their hearts they already knew weren’t coming home. She had lost her father, but her brother had made it home, and she supposed that the stranger couldn’t really be blamed for her father’s death, as Kit had told her many times since he had come home; “That’s the fault of the Bastard King John and the fucking Pretender and their stupid highborn arsehole wars.”

  But she still felt a deep sense of annoyance that the man felt a need to protect her. She had survived those ten long years just fine on her own, she didn’t need a new man in her life trying to take care of her.

  On the other side of the bar, in a bad-tempered silence, sat the men who had stayed in the village. No one accused them of cowardice, and some of the returning soldiers had even thanked them, after all the crops still had to be brought in and the roofs repaired. But these men, who had ruled the village for a decade, had now felt the balance shift away from them. They knew that with the return of the fighters they were emasculated, seen by the soldiers the same way they viewed the elderly and infirm. Alexandra tried to avoid meeting the eyes of that particular table, she knew that a man whose masculinity is threatened is a dangerous thing indeed.

  “Alexandra!” Shouted Matt Tindall.

  Alexandra turned towards Matt and a raised her hand to signal that she would be with him in a second, she was busy serving James Flaxford, one of the four men who had been blinded at Othem Moat.

  “Alexandra, another ale!” Matt slurred drunkenly.

  “Just a second” She said, annoyed at the way he was addressing her, with his jutting chin and heavy brow Alexandra would not have been the slightest bit surprised to find that there was orc blood in Matt Tindall and his oafish sons.

  “No. Now you little bitch, now!” He roared, slamming his empty tankard down onto the wooden table. “Do you think you can just ignore me and the men who kept this village running just because few whore-poxed soldiers have come home from the brothels?”

  The hubbub of drinking and conversation died away and Alexandra heard the sound of fifteen chairs being pushed back at once. The men rose as one, transforming suddenly from a group of agricultural workers, tired from a day in the fields, into a regiment of fighting men.

  “All right lads,” spluttered Matt, who even in his agitated drunken state was able to see the danger he had put himself into. “I was just joking with her, wasn’t I Alexandra? We’re mates, you don’t get our humour, been away too long, I was joking, tell them Alexandra.”

  “Oh, piss off Matt!” said Alexandra, turning back to James Flaxford as the soldiers roared with laughter.

  ***

  Later that night after the drinkers had gone home Alexandra stood sweeping the dirty sawdust from the tavern floor. The candles were guttering in their holders and from across the field she could hear the hoot of a barn owl. From one of the rooms above the tavern came the exited squeals of Miranda Carter, the pretty redhead Kit had been showing off to earlier. From the sound of her delighted cries Alexandra could tell that her brother probably had learned something from those northern brothels he claimed never to have visited. She tried to block out the sounds, they were making her uncomfortably turned on, and she felt strange getting off on the sounds of her brothers lay. Still as the cries grew in volume she could not stop fantasising about being pinned down by one of the soldiers from earlier, maybe the big handsome stranger who she should hate for letting her father die, he looked like he knew how to satisfy a woman like her.

  There was a faint knock on the door and Alexandra walked to open it, thinking that Viviana had probably slipped out of Loxley Hall to update her on how she was getting on with Christian. She had not seen either of them since the day the men had gotten home, and she felt worried for her friend who had placed so much importance on a happy reunion. To her Christian had looked like a completely different man than she remembered, the gentle humour seemed to have left his eyes to be replaced by a dark and powerful fire. She opened the door and found herself face to face with Matt Tindall and his three burly sons.

  “Hello Alexandra” Matt said, shoving her roughly backwards as he entered the tavern.

  Alexandra shouted for her brother, but the noise of him cavorting with the red-head was now reaching a crescendo, and there is no way Kit could have heard her cries for help over Miranda’s wild orgasmic squeals. Matt advanced on Alexandra slowly, shadowed all the while by his smirking sons. When they reached where she stood, backed up against the hard wood of the bar. One of the younger men clamped his hand over Alexandra’s mouth and Matt moved in front of her, leering horribly as he began undoing his dirty work-stained trousers.

  “Oh you silly girl,” he said. “You really shouldn’t have made me look stupid earlier. You know I don’t like people laughing at me.” He slipped his trousers past his hips. “I might not have gone away to war, or learned to fight with a sword, but I’m by far the most dangerous man in this village, and you’d do well to re
member that.” Alexandra could smell the reek of alcohol on the four men over even the unwashed stink of the hand that pressed down on her mouth.

  She tried to scream, but through the rough calloused palm clamped over her lips the sound came out as a muffled grunt, which mingled with the sounds ecstatic cries from the room above. Another of Matt’s sons stepped forward and grabbed the neckline of Alexandra’s plain dress in his dirty fists, ripping it open to her navel with one sudden movement. Her soft white breasts shook as she tried to struggle free, the centre of her chest flushed red with the anger and humiliation she was feeling. Matt advanced on her and reached out to put his hands on the outside of her knees. He slowly slid the skirt of her ruined dress up over her smooth white thighs and past her hips, exposing her fully to his sons’ hungry stares. Alexandra tried to plead with her eyes for him to stop, this man she had known all her life, but looking at him she could see only rage and lust in his face.

  “Silly, silly girl!” He spat. “You know I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. Ever since you were fifteen, I should have broken you years ago.” He took the final step towards her and leant in to bite her neck, Alexandra felt the rough bristles of his unshaven chin digging into the her soft skin as she struggled to get free.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Came a thundering shout from the doorway. Matt turned around in time to find himself felled by a heavy punch. Alexandra was thrown roughly onto a table as the man who had been holding her pulled a knife from his belt and moved towards the incomer, she could now see it was the broad grey haired man from the square. The man she had told she didn’t need looking after, his eyes were dark with anger and there seemed nothing of the amiable West Country man about him now. Another of Matt’s sons pulled out a knife, and Alexandra saw that the third held a short leaded club, with horror she realised the danger her self-appointed guardian was in. The three young men stood in a semicircle facing the stranger, Matt himself lay unconscious on the floor between them, trousers around his ankles and his at best unimpressive manhood fading into flaccidity.

  The stranger looked at each of Matt’s sons in turn while slowly unbuttoning his white shirt, his thick fingers moving assuredly over the buttons, Alexandra could see that his huge wide chest with its salt and pepper grey hair was latticed with scars, and a fading blue tattoo over his right pectoral showed that at one point he had probably been to sea. He dropped his shirt to the floor, raised his fists, and spread his legs into a fighting stance.

  “Now lads, much better men than you have tried, are you sure you want to do this?” He said in a deep clear voice. Matt’s sons looked at each other and then down at their unconscious father. The stranger took two steps to the side, leaving the doorway open, and nodded at the man who lay on the floor. “Come on boys,” he said. “Pick him up and fuck-off home”

  The three young men hesitated for a moment, looking at each other, uncertain what to do. One made a half-hearted feint towards the stranger with his knife and found his wrist clenched in a vice like grip, the stranger moved so fast that Alexandra barely saw his hand shoot out. Finally the grey haired older man bellowed, “Go! Get out!” and as one the Tindall boys scrambled to pick up their father and sprinted into the night.

  Alexandra ran to her rescuer and threw herself into his embrace, after a moment he gently pushed her away to arm’s length and lifted the two ruined sides of her dress back over her shoulders, covering the curves of her breasts.

  “So you don’t need looking after?” He said with a grin, he didn’t seem in the least bit phased by what had just happened.

  “You saved me” said Alexandra, gasping for air and struggling to regain her composure. “And I don’t even know your name.”

  “Harper” he said looking down on her. “My name is Harper. Now where is that useless lanky sod you call a brother? He needs to learn to take better care of his house when it’s got a beautiful girl like you in it.”

  He smiled and Alexandra noticed the corners of his eyes break into a concertina of wrinkles. It was almost impossible to believe that a man who had looked so intimidating, so ready to kill, only seconds earlier, who had frightened off three armed men with only his voice, could now look so friendly.

  “Thank you.” Alexandra said, looking up at him.

  The door from the stairs burst open and Kit ran in. “What’s going on” he said, I heard shouting. “Alexandra are you alright?” Alexandra and Harper looked at him, and both burst out laughing. Kit was completely naked, from the state of his manhood it was obvious he’d just jumped off the red headed girl and ran downstairs, and there was no shame in that Alexandra thought, but he was wearing a pair of woman’s garters, and his face was painted with a garish rouge.

  “Everything’s fine” said Harper with a smile. “I like your outfit Kit, you should have worn that when we attacked Basford Ridge, it might have scared them a bit more than your swordsmanship.” Kit blushed crimson. “Anyway I’ll be on my way now” Harper continued.

  “Wait” said Alexandra. “Why don’t you bring your stuff over from the lodging house tomorrow morning? You can’t stay there forever and I’d feel safer with you living here. If Matt doesn’t like being told to piss off he’s certainly not going to like being punched unconscious with his cock out.”

  Harper roared with laughter and Kit looked from one to the other in confusion, before a shout came from the stairs: “if you don’t get up here right now I’m finishing myself off!” And Kit ran back up towards the waiting Miranda Carter and the bedroom.

  ***

  Viviana walked towards Christian’s cottage in the grounds of Loxley Hall. She had been planning the day Christian came back for years. In her imagination they’d gone running through the woods to the swimming hole in the river, then they’d climbed Buck Hill and Viviana had pointed out all the changes that had been made in the time since Christian had gone away. She had wanted to demonstrate the improvements she had made to the grounds, the new trout ponds she’d had dug above the western lawn, the new beehives she’d had constructed and placed in the orchard. It was Christian who had first got her interested in the productive potential of the land outside her window, when they’d gone off hunting mushrooms in her father’s woods, or foraging for blackberries in the hedgerows. But since Christian had got back he had not seemed interested in any of the things Viviana tried to show him, and he hadn’t seemed interested in Viviana at all.

  She knocked on the cottage door and heard no answer, after knocking again with no response she took the side passage that ran around the edge of the small house, hoping to find the back door open. She stopped when she reached the tiny garden. Christian was standing with his back to her amongst the roses and the late-summer honey-suckle. Although it was still early, and the morning was cold, he was shirtless and his back seemed to shimmer with sweat. He had picked up the old millstone from the porch and was slowly raising and lowering it over his head. Viviana watched him repeat the movement four or five times. As the stone rose his shoulder blades pressed together and the individual muscles stood out on his back. Viviana had never seen a body like his, the way his back flared out from his narrow waist to his broad shoulders like an inverted arrowhead. His flesh reminded her of the racing stallions her father used to keep, taught skin stretched over ridged contours of endless muscle. She felt her body reacting to the sight of his in a way she’d never experienced before, her breath seemed to have left her.

  It was not just the sight of the muscles that moved her. Christians back was absolutely covered twisted scars. Some ran straight and parallel to each other, obviously the lines left by a whip. She realised that at some point Christian had suffered a flogging that would probably have killed most men. Other scars were rounder with more blurred edges, Viviana could tell just from looking at them that they were old burns, no doubt evidence of torture.

  Despite being safely back in the Vale Viviana noticed that he still leant his sword where he could grasp it in an instant. Since he had been back the lo
ng weapon and the leather sack seemed barely to have left his side.

  She bit her lip before speaking: “Morning Christian.” She said, trying to sound as cheerful and nonchalant as possible, as if she was unaffected by the sight of his beautiful yet mutilated body.

  Christian threw the stone to the ground and picked up his shirt, flinging it over his shoulders where it clung to the sweat. “Good Morning,” he said coldly and without meeting Viviana’s eyes. “Have you come to set me to work?”

  “What?” said Viviana confused.

  “Have you come to set me to work?” He repeated. “Out in the fields, or in the gardens like my old man. Is that why you’re here?”

  “What are you talking about? You’re my friend Christian, I’ve not come to set you to work. I’ve come to talk with you. I thought we could go out together, out into the wood or down to the river. It’s been a wet summer here in the vale, we could go and hunt mushrooms.” She spoke excitedly the words running together in a garbled stream.

  Christian looked away from her and took a long pause before speaking. “I’ve decided not to stay in the cottage.” He said “I have my own money from the war now. I don’t want to live as a serf tied to an estate.” He made no mention of her plan to go hunting for mushrooms.

  “You’re not a serf,” said Viviana. “So how could you live like one? And you’re not tied to anything. I just want us to have fun like we used to. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the adventures we used to have? When you taught me how to climb trees to find the wild honey? You can live here as long as you like Christian, and you won’t have to work for me. We’ll go back to being the friends we always were.” She walked up to Christian and put a hand on his arm as she said this, and was hurt to find that he jerked away at her touch.