by Lori Dillon
She didn't want to think about the fact that the tapestry was also Baelin's only hope of breaking the curse. He'd had it for over two hundred years. He'd had his chance with it. Now it was her turn. She wasn't going to be stuck in this godforsaken place one more minute than she had to be, especially not with a half-crazed dragon-man.
But with each step she took, her conscience proved to be an irritating companion, whispering in her ear that what she was doing was wrong. That she should turn around and go back to Baelin.
No. She was not about to be swayed by her go-ahead-and-walk-all-over-me heart or his I'm-too-good-looking-to-be-a-bad-person face. She'd met her share of handsome guys, and more often than not, the gorgeous face concealed a snake beneath.
Or in Baelin's case, a dragon.
But she wasn't going to argue semantics. A reptile was a reptile. And although his sob story had sucked her in at first, he obviously had the cold-blooded heart of one.
He'd killed someone by setting them on fire, for Pete's sake!
She stumbled as her body convulsed in a head-to-toe shiver. What if he turned that violence on her? With the way she constantly insulted and irritated him, it was probably only a matter of time. She wasn't about to stick around and be turned into a human candlestick.
Jill straightened her shoulders and concentrated on navigating the winding path ahead of her. She had to stop worrying about Baelin's feelings. He wasn't her problem. Not anymore.
She needed to focus on getting herself back home and she figured the best way to do that was to find the person who created this jinxed tapestry in the first place. If lizard lips wouldn't confront the Dark Witch, then she would. Men always went about these things the hard way. All she had to do was reason with the sorceress woman to woman…she hoped. And if she could manage to break the curse for Baelin in the process, all the better. But she would do it without him because staying with him was definitely not good for her health.
She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see an enraged dragon hot on her trail. There was no doubt he would be coming after her. Her gaze rose to the clouds where a few hours ago, the sun had chased away a blood-red sunrise. Red skies at morning, sailors take warning.
Would he swoop down from those clouds as he'd done when he was a dragon?
She quickened her pace.
Or would he follow on foot, his long strides eating up the ground, closing in on her step by step? Was he even now almost upon her?
She whipped her head around and scanned the footpath in front of her.
Or would he sneak around and get ahead of her? Was he even now just over that ridge, waiting for her?
Paranoia ate away at Jill. Every step she took had her wondering if she'd made a terrible mistake. Her stomach clenched, imagining how angry he would be. She knew it was not a matter of if he found her, but when—and what he would do to her when he did.
As she topped a hill, she spied a small village in the valley below, smoke curling from fires and animals dotting the surrounding fields. Thatched huts never looked so good. Surely someone there would know how to find this Dark Witch. Tucking the tapestry into her satchel along with any remnants of guilt, Jill set off to make her own destiny.
But as she neared the village, that destiny took on an ugly face. Gone was the quaint hamlet she'd viewed from a distance. A weathered gallows stood by the side of the road, a body swinging back and forth in the breeze like some life-size marionette, the man's skin pecked to the bone by birds. Missing eyes stared at her from hollow sockets, his mouth hanging open in a final scream, voicelessly warning her to leave this horrible place.
She fought back the bile rising in her throat. What kind of people did something like this? They'd hanged this poor man and left his body outside to rot. Maybe seeking help from these people wasn't such a good idea.
Turning to go in search of a friendlier place, Jill froze when she spotted a dark figure standing on the crest of the hill she'd just descended.
Baelin.
From where she stood, his expression was unreadable, but the murderous rage emanating from his body reached across the long distance to wrap its deadly fingers around her throat. If it were possible, his presence terrified her more than the dead body swinging behind her. She had no doubt he would kill her if he got his hands on her.
Daring to take her chances, Jill fled into the town, hoping to lose herself among the thatched huts and wooden sheds. But where could she hide where he wouldn't find her?
She searched desperately, not daring to ask for help. They'd hanged one of their own. They'd have no qualms about throwing a stranger to the dragon lurking outside their gates.
She spied one lone building constructed of stone standing tall among the wattle and daub huts, a simple cross etched over the doorway. Would a church offer her a safe haven? Would a priest help her? Could a creature such as Baelin even enter holy ground? Wait, maybe that only applied to vampires and not dragons. Regardless, it was her best option.
Jill dashed up the cobbled steps and shoved one of the massive wooden doors open with her shoulder. Slipping inside, she eased it shut as the sound of her rapid breathing echoed throughout the vaulted stone interior. Once her eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering in through glassless windows, she discovered the single, cavernous room was empty. Nobody home.
It was also completely devoid of furniture. There wasn't a pew, bench or chair to be found. What did the people do, stand through the entire service? Unfortunately, the lack of furniture didn't bode well for her finding a good hiding place should Baelin look for her in here.
She peered through the crack in the door, scanning the muddy street outside to see if he'd followed her into the village. Would he dare? Or would he lurk outside the town, waiting for her to emerge rather than risk the people seeing him and discovering what he was?
Long moments stretched by as she watched the villagers go about their daily routines. Farmers sold produce out of carts while children chased a pig through the rutted street. Two women gossiped across a rickety wooden fence separating their cottages as a boy drove a small flock of sheep through the center of the town.
Transfixed by this tiny slice of medieval life, Jill jumped when first one, and then another dog began to howl, until a chorus of baying hounds filled the entire village. Moments later, Baelin's large, cloaked form stepped into her view, his purposeful strides sloshing through the muck and refuse in what passed for a street.
She held her breath. Don't look this way.
A lone mutt ran out, growling and snarling, nipping at his heels while chickens and geese scurried out of his way. She remembered what he told her about why he didn't have a horse, because animals could sense the dragon in him. Is that why the dogs howled at him now? Did they know what he was?
Baelin stopped in the middle of the street and glared down at the dog. The poor animal skidded to a halt, whined and scurried away. He watched the dog's hasty retreat and then suddenly his entire body tensed, instantly alert.
Jill's did, too. Please, please, don't look this way.
His gaze shot to the church, those glowing yellow eyes of his burning two holes out of the shadow created by the hood covering his head, searing her where she stood.
She sucked in a sharp breath. She hadn't made a sound, hadn't moved an inch, didn't think he could really see her through the tiny crack in the church door, and yet somehow, he knew exactly where she was.
She struggled to lift the thick wooden beam to bar the doors but it was too heavy. Cursing the wisdom of coming in here in the first place, she ran to the back of the church, praying there was another way out.
Jill darted through an archway and rounded a simple altar draped with a white cloth. A lone iron cross stood at its center while two unlit candles flanked either side. The smell of burned tallow hovered heavy in the alcove, indicating they'd only recently been blown out.
She spied a door off to the side. Grasping the iron handle, she pushed and pulled, but it wouldn't open. Loc
ked. There were be no escape that way.
Desperate for a place to hide, she glanced around the small chamber. Could she hide under the altar? She lifted the cloth. No such luck. The table was made of solid stone.
A door slammed, startling her and she ducked behind the altar. Oh God, it must be Baelin. He was coming after her. Was there any chance he wouldn't think to look for her up here? Jill didn't think she would be that fortunate.
She scurried to the side, trying to conceal herself in the shadows of the alcove, not that it would do her any good if he came to this end of the church. She bumped into something and caught a small statue just in time as it toppled from its pedestal. She held her breath, thankful it didn't go crashing to the ground and give her hiding spot away.
Footfalls echoed on the stone floor as he approached the altar. She clutched the statue to her chest like a child with a doll, praying by some miracle Baelin would not see her. If her prayers were ever going to be answered, this was the place it would happen.
Relief washed over her as a man dressed in cleric's robes stepped into the alcove. He grasped at the cross dangling around his waist, as startled to see her as she was to see him. But his surprise turned to suspicion as his gaze fixed on the statue she held in her hands.
"What do you here?"
"I…I…" What could she say? I'm hiding from a dragon. Somehow, she didn't think that would go over too well. Then a single word popped into her head. "Sanctuary?"
The priest either didn't hear her or it didn't mean what she hoped it would.
"What are you doing with the statue of Saint Kentigern?" His eyes narrowed. "What evil deeds are you about, girl?"
"Nothing. I bumped into it and it fell. I was getting ready to put it back."
"'Tis forbidden for a woman to enter the chancel," he sneered. "You have committed sacrilege by your very presence here."
It was quite obvious the good Father didn't have a very high opinion of women. Ignoring the insult, she figured playing the ignorant woman he thought her to be would be a good role to assume at the moment. "Oh. I didn't know that."
"Everyone knows 'tis forbidden. Now I ask you again, what are you doing here?"
"It's a church. Isn't it open to everybody?"
"Not to those who think to steal from the house of God."
Jill felt any hope of aid from the priest fade. How could a man of God turn her away in her hour of need? Wasn't that part of his job description?
"I wasn't trying to steal it. I bumped into the statue and it fell."
"Lies! What business have you here, if not to take something of value?"
The priest snatched the statue from her and grabbed her by the arm with his other hand, dragging her through the church toward the door.
"No! No! No!" Jill panicked and tried to break loose as her feet skidded across the smooth stone floor. "I can't go out there. You don't understand."
"I understand that which I plainly see—you where you do not belong, with Saint Kentgern's statue in your hands."
"But I wasn't trying to steal it. You have to believe me!"
"That is for the court to decide."
The priest hauled her outside into the glaring light of day. She glanced around, relieved when a certain flying T-Rex didn't dive from the sky and burn her to a crisp on the spot.
But Baelin was nowhere to be seen. She could've sworn he'd spotted her in the church doorway. Where was he now?
"Hark!" the priest shouted. "Let it be known that I, Father Gerald, have witnessed with my own eyes this woman attempting to steal from the house of God."
Jill cringed as he shouted at the top of his lungs to anyone within earshot. The villagers stopped what they were doing and looked their way as she stood on the church steps, the priest's pudgy hand a shackle around her wrist.
"What kind of priest are you? You're supposed to help people."
"I help those who are in need. Those who steal from the Lord are the lowest of thieves and deserve to go straight to hell."
It wasn't long before a mob of curious onlookers surrounded them, each one eyeing her with contempt. This was not looking good. The not-so-distant experience of the first village she landed in and the resulting circumstances taunted her memory. That time she ended up trussed up like a Thanksgiving Day turkey and sacrificed to a fire-breathing dragon. She didn't want to imagine the possibilities of what they would do to her this time.
"What's this all about?" someone in the growing crowd asked.
"I caught this woman trying to steal from the church. I found her only moments ago with the statue of Saint Kentigern in her hands." For added emphasis, the priest held the figurine above his head as if it might speak and condemn her, too.
A collective gasp arose from the people surrounding her.
"No. No." Jill glanced around at the faces in the crowd, willing them to believe her. "Like I told him, I bumped into the statue. I caught it when it fell and I was going to put it back. I swear!"
"She is not to be believed," the priest interjected. "Look at her. She entered the house of God with no covering on her head. Only a woman full of sin would dare to do such."
She thought back to the trunk in Baelin's cave filled with beautiful veils. Veils he urged her to take but she'd refused. Now she was regretting that fashion decision.
"And further," the priest continued, "she was in the chancel, where all here know women are forbidden to enter. Her actions show her clear contempt for God and the sanctity of the Church."
"I didn't know I wasn't allowed to be there."
Jill's hopes plummeted. She was so out of her element here. It was as if she was playing a game and everyone knew the rules but her. How could she keep from making mistakes if she didn't know what they were?
"Enough!" A man with a dark, bushy beard stepped forward and held up his hands, effectively quieting the crowd that had gathered. Then he turned his attention to her. "Are we to believe the word of a stranger against a man of God? I think not." Jill opened her mouth to defend herself, but he stopped her with a raised palm. "Say no more. Yer guilt or innocence will be put before Lord Hugh's court."
"Am I being arrested?"
"Aye, that ye are." Bush-beard pointed his finger at her. "'Tis off to gaol for ye until the gathering of the hallmote."
The sheriff of Nottingham or whoever he was grabbed her by the arm and tugged her down the steps. The priest stepped back, patting the statue on its marble head and looking smug in his righteousness.
Jill glanced around desperately, knowing there might be only one familiar face in the crowd, only one person who might to come to her aid. But he wasn't there.
Despair swelled in her throat, threatening to choke her. Why would he help her after she ran from him, taking his hope with her?
The people's accusing stares blurred before her tear-filled eyes. Strangers, every one. She would get no help from any of them. She was alone and at their mercy.
Somehow, as the man led her away, guilt at what she'd done to Baelin made her feel that this time, she just might deserve whatever she had coming.
CHAPTER 11
The slide of the bolt in the door jarred Jill and her heart skipped a beat.
Dire scenarios of what might happen to her at the hands of the village court had kept her overactive imagination in hyper-drive for two days straight. With no one but herself for company in the dark confines of her prison, those scenarios had taken on a life of their own, leaving her a nervous wreck.
It didn't help that Baelin was nowhere to be found. She hadn't seen him since he'd stood in the street, staring at the church doors she'd hidden behind, fury and betrayal radiating in every fiber of his being.
Had he managed to get the tapestry back and left her to rot in this dank, dark cell? She wouldn't blame him if he did.
The door creaked open and a man stepped into the room. "On yer feet." With a nod of his head, he beckoned her to follow him. Outside the door, bush-beard waited for her.
"Yer fortun
ate," he said as they escorted her outside. "Lord Hugh's steward arrived this morn and is holding the hallmote today. Did ye know there've been people what have rotted a year in gaol, waiting for the manor court to come 'round?"
Lucky me, she thought. Next, he'll be saying she should be grateful they were only going to hang her because beheading was too much of a mess.
A large ash tree grew in the center of the village commons and a table was set up beneath it, its scarred wooden surface speckled with light and shadow from the leaves above. Several men stood on one side of the table talking to an official-looking man dressed in fine clothing seated on the other side. She assumed he was the steward bush-beard told her about, the man who would be acting as her judge.
There was another man sitting next to him, busy writing on a long scroll of parchment, his quill flicking back and forth from ink pot to paper with jerky movements. She figured he must be the equivalent of a medieval court stenographer. Not a speedy writer with pen and paper herself, she wondered if he could scribble fast enough with that bird's feather of his to get all the details of the proceedings written down.
Bush-beard led her to a holding area of sorts. "Wait here 'til yer called for."
He left her to stand with others who had court business today. Glancing about at her fellow defendants, there appeared to be more people who'd broken the law than spectators milling about, watching the proceedings. Morning crept into mid-afternoon as she waited through disputes that sounded downright absurd. One woman argued someone's dog had killed her prize chicken. Another claimed his neighbor's goat had jumped the fence between their properties and eaten half his wife's vegetable garden. Several men stepped forward to complain that the alewife was watering down her brew.
And people thought America was a litigious society.
The steward listened patiently to the arguments brought before him, but Jill soon realized it was the group of twelve men sitting off to the side—the equivalent of a modern jury—who decided the judgments and fines of each case.