by Lori Dillon
She sat on a large, flat rock by the water's edge, wanting nothing more than to jump in and wash away the filth and grime covering her body. But she couldn't. She couldn't even scoop up water to quench her thirst. Her bandaged hands made that simple task impossible.
Frustration welled within her. She felt so helpless, at a loss as how to survive in this godforsaken place, her very survival dependent on a man who wasn't even completely human.
Wrapping her arms around her legs, Jill rested her chin on her knees, her vision mesmerized by the reflection of the impending storm clouds passing overhead. She leaned closer, afraid of what she would see in her own reflection.
The truth staring back at her was hard to face. Her hair was a matted mess, as if some small woodland creature was using it for a nest. Her eyes showed dark circles, her cheeks hollowed. She didn't need a modern scale to tell her she'd lost weight. Dropping a few pounds was usually a welcome bonus in any given situation, but she wouldn't recommend the medieval diet plan to anyone.
Jill glanced back to find Baelin standing a few feet away, watching her with guarded eyes. Did he think she would try to leave him again? Probably.
"Don't worry. Even if I wanted to, I don't have the strength to run away now."
"I know." He approached her slowly, as if unsure how to deal with her. "I pray you will not attempt to do so again. You have as much to lose as I do if we fail to break the curse."
The sheer hopelessness of the situation caused despair to form a tight knot in the back of her throat. As each day passed, the chances of that happening seemed further and further away.
"Maybe we're wrong. Maybe I'm not the one to break this stupid curse." She held up her bandaged hands. "For Pete's sake, how can I do that when I can't even get myself a drink of water?"
Baelin's gaze turned soft and gentle. He knelt beside her and scooped water up with his hands. He didn't say a word. He just sat there, waiting for her to drink as water trickled between his fingers.
Jill almost cried. He couldn't have been more chivalrous if he'd taken off his cloak so she could walk across the mud on it. She bent her head and drank the coolest, clearest water she'd ever tasted from the hands of a dragon.
"Thank you." She swiped at the water dripping off her chin with her sleeve.
"My lady, know that you are not alone in this. You have only but to ask and I will help you through it."
Baelin stood and walked away, leaving her alone to finish feeling sorry for herself.
She sat by the lake and watched him as he prepared the camp for the night. She noticed he laid out several blankets they hadn't brought with them from the cave. Had he purchased them while they were in the village? Did he do it because he remembered how cold she'd been that first night?
She tried to reconcile the man with her now—the one who put her needs before his own. The man who sat outside her prison cell window for over a week, in the rain and damp, giving her what comfort he could when he could've easily sought shelter for himself. The man who risked his life when he came before the village court to stand in her defense.
But he was also the same man who'd killed several people before her very eyes. A man who'd set another on fire with a gust of his breath.
As she watched him move about their little camp, she wondered where the gentle knight ended and the fierce dragon began.
Jill stood and walked over to sit beside him. He looked at her, a wealth of questions in his brown eyes. Thankfully, he chose a safe topic.
"Are you hungry? I replenished our supplies while you were…detained."
"Famished. They starved me for the first three days and then after the trial, I had no appetite for the poor excuse for food they brought me."
"I know."
Of course he did. He'd shared every moment of her imprisonment as if it were his own.
He handed her a hunk of bread topped with a wedge of cheese.
"Thank you." She cradled the food in her bandaged hands, not sure how to go about eating it. He'd already let her sip water from his hands, she wasn't about to ask him to feed her, too. The thought of him doing that was way too personal. Jill managed to bite off a piece of the hard cheese. She chewed and swallowed without really tasting it.
"Actually, I was thanking you for everything."
He arched a dark brow, surprised. "My lady?"
"For standing by me. For saving my life—not once, but probably twice. If you hadn't been there at the trial, I probably would have ended up burned at the stake or worse."
"Aye, 'twas a near certainty."
Jill cocked her head at him. "Why Sir Knight, did you just make a joke?"
Baelin shrugged, but she couldn't miss the smile tugging at the corners of his full lips. As he reached into the satchel for something else, his smile vanished.
"What is it?" she asked.
"The tapestry."
She could tell something was wrong. Her skin grew clammy, her pulse erratic. "Is it gone?"
"Nay. But 'twas rolled and tied the last time I checked it."
"So?" She didn't understand what the problem was.
"Now 'tis not." He pulled the tapestry out and placed it on his lap, dangling tie from his fingers.
"Maybe the knot worked itself loose while we walked."
"I do not think that is the case."
Jill looked closer. The knot was still tied tight, but the leather cord was broken. "Was it cut?"
"Nay. The ends are frayed, as if it was pulled apart."
"How could that happen?" Then she glanced at the rolled tapestry in his lap. It appeared more rounded, thicker. "Um, Baelin? Is it my imagination or is the tapestry bigger than it was before?"
He dropped the broken strap and unrolled the tapestry with unsteady hands.
"Oh my God!" she gasped.
Somehow, a new section had been woven into the tapestry.
A section depicting the maid going through a trial by iron.
"What…? That is just… How could the tapestry change like that?" Jill sputtered.
"I do not know."
"Someone must have altered it while we were in the village."
"Nay. 'Tis not possible. The tapestry has not been out of my possession since…"
Jill couldn't miss the censure halting his words. "Since I took it," she finished for him. "So how and when did this happen?"
"The only time the tapestry changed was after you came, when the face of the maid became your own. Now it shows the image of that same maiden with a rod in her hands."
Jill was afraid to ask. "What do you think it means?"
He turned hope-filled eyes to her. "You have passed the first challenge."
Instead of feeling elated, panic gripped her, tightening like a vise around her chest until she thought she might suffocate. "You've got to be kidding me."
He frowned. "I do not jest. I believe this with all my heart."
Jill bolted to her feet and strode toward the lake. She stopped and took several deep, calming breaths before turning back to face him. "Baelin, if that trial by iron is any indication of what the other challenges are going to be like, I can't do this. I can't go through something like that again."
"But you must."
"Nooo." She shook her head at him. "You've definitely got the wrong girl for this job."
He looked down at the tapestry in his lap and ran his finger over the woven face of the maid holding the iron rod. Then he turned his dragon gaze on her.
"But you are the one. You cannot deny your fate any longer."
"Stop looking at me like that. I can't do it, Baelin. I'm not cut out for this. There's no way I'll be able to survive two more challenges like that."
"Who is to say the others will be like the first?"
Jill sputtered. "Who's to say they won't be? Or maybe the tests get worse." She shook her head again. "No, I can't do it. I just can't."
"Then how will you get back to your time? If it is as you believe, breaking the curse is the only way you can r
eturn."
"Well, we'll just have to find another way to break the curse."
"There is no other way."
"Fine," Jill huffed. "Then it looks like we're both stuck here because I'm not going to go through something as grisly and painful as that trial by iron again."
"What do you intend to do, my lady?"
She glanced around at the rolling hills surrounding the lake. "It's not so bad here. I'll find a job. Maybe get a small place on the outskirts of a quaint little village somewhere. I can survive in this place. It's not so bad once you figure out how to blend in. I can do that. Before long, they won't even be able to tell I'm not from around here."
Baelin cocked a brow at her. "As they could not tell in the village we just left, or the one before that?"
The truth of his words burst her bravado-filled balloon. "Oh, God, you're right. We're both screwed."
She walked back and flopped down by his side. Neither of them spoke as he rolled the tapestry up and put it away, but tension governed his movements, his silence berating her with every unspoken word.
He was upset, frustrated at her refusal. But he did not argue, did not try to push her to do what she didn't want to do.
Thunder clapped in the dark clouds overhead and rain pelted down on them in big, fat plops.
"I don't believe this. Somebody up there must really hate me."
Miserable and still in pain—with more pain certain to follow if she agreed to go through with the remaining challenges—Jill was not a happy camper. As the cold rain fell, drenching her hair and clothes and with no shelter in sight, she crossed her arms over her raised knees, laid her forehead on them, and gave over to the overwhelming despair threatening to drown her.
Then, just as suddenly as it came, the rain stopped. Or at least it stopped falling on her. She could still hear the patter of rain around her, like a summer shower on a canvas tent.
She opened her eyes to find Baelin had tossed back his cloak and was shielding her with his wing. She watched as a raindrop trickled down his nose to drop off the end.
"I am sorry I cannot provide you better shelter, my lady. 'Tis the best I can offer."
Jill nodded and snuggled under his protective wing, guilt weighing heavy on her conscience. Here she was, telling him she couldn't help him in his quest to regain a normal life and yet he was still taking care of her, shielding her, protecting her.
She knew he was right, that she had to see the other challenges through, but that didn't make it any easier to face.
"What are we going to do, Baelin? Even if I try, I'll never be able to pass the rest of these tests. In two weeks, you'll turn back into a dragon and since I can't even last five minutes in a village without receiving a death sentence, I'll end up living in that dark cave with you for the rest of my life."
He reached out as if to comfort her. His fingers hovered over her arm a moment before he curled his hand into a fist and returned it to rest on his thigh, never allowing himself to touch her.
"Then, Lady Jill, for your future and mine, there is no choice. You must see the rest of the challenges through."
CHAPTER 14
"Do not dare find your pleasure before mine."
Isylte rose and lowered herself again, driving her body down on the man beneath her. Her long hair spilled over her shoulders, silky silver waves brushing full breasts she would not allow him to touch. Not unless she wanted him to. She observed the man's torment through hooded eyes—so close to his release, but knowing it could mean his death if he allowed it to come before her own.
"If you spend before I am done with you, I shall turn you to stone so you shall never go soft again."
She smiled as the horror of the possibility drove Lorcan to please her even more. It was a game she played with any man she allowed into her bed—how long could they last before their bodies betrayed them? After countless centuries, she had the stamina to outlast all but the strongest if she chose to do so.
But tonight she was restless. She ground herself on the man's shaft, riding him like a prize stallion over the fields. Impatient to find her release and be rid of him, she maneuvered her long fingers to where they joined, rubbing the aching nub hidden there. Her climax came, as always, not because of the man straining and pumping beneath her, but because of another whose handsome face took the place of whatever lover currently occupied her fancy.
Spent, Isylte removed herself from Lorcan and slipped from the bed, leaving him lying there painfully stiff and panting.
"My poor pet," she crooned as she drew on a white silk robe. "You may find your own release now. But do not do it in my bed. It tends to leave such a mess on the sheets."
She sat at her dressing table and drew a silver brush through her hair with gentle strokes as only moments ago she'd stroked Lorcan's body to painful erectness. She watched in the mirror's reflection as he left the bed and strode silently from her chamber, his handsome body covered in glistening sweat, making the starburst scar on his chest stand out against his tanned skin. She sighed. Such a fine specimen of a man.
Too bad he wasn't the one she wanted.
As the door closed softly behind him, her eyes strayed to the tapestry hanging on the wall near the bed. There, woven in the magical threads, was the face of the one she truly desired. The one she wanted above all others.
The one she'd not been able to hold.
Thousands of strands of gold and silver twined with threads of burgundy and emerald silk, capturing in perfect detail the handsome face of her brave young knight. He looked as she had first seen him, that day so long ago, standing alone on the battlefield prepared to fight her dragons to the death. She'd laughed at him then. He'd been full of righteous might, certain his sword and his God would stand against her power.
Too proud.
But rather than crush him, as she'd done to so many before, she'd decided to keep him.
At every turn, he fought her. Even chained in her dungeon, stripped naked, exposed, he'd still denied her, refusing to submit and serve her. Or to warm her bed. And the more he resisted, the more she wanted him.
But her patience had its limits and in a pique of anger, she'd cursed him. Cursed him to be the very thing he hated.
She shook her head at the woven image of him. Baelin of Gosforth, the only man who'd ever had the courage to refuse her.
A weaker man would've been driven mad by the dragon inside him. But not Baelin. He was still out there, biding his time in the futile hope he could break the curse without submitting to her. The fool. It was only a matter of time before he came back to her.
He had to. He must.
Damn his pride. In over two centuries, he'd never set foot in her realm again. If he had, she would've known. If he had, her power over him would've been stronger, the call too great to resist.
She never thought he would last this long.
She stood and walked to the tapestry, running her fingers over his handsome woven face. "You will come back to me, Baelin. You cannot resist forever."
It was then that something caught her eye. Something small, waving in the draft of the chamber, delicate as a spider's web.
"No. It cannot be."
There, hanging from the bottom of the tapestry, dangled several threads. She stood still, fearing any sudden movement would set the tapestry unraveling further. It did no good. Before her eyes, row after row worked itself loose, the threads coiling on the floor at her feet.
"Nay!" the Dark Witch raged.
Somehow, after all this time, Baelin of Gosforth had found a way to break the curse.
Jill sat on a driftwood log and plucked at the last bit of cloth on her right hand.
Unfortunately, when it came off, so did a good deal of the scab that'd been stuck to it.
She winced as fresh blood oozed from a half-healed blister. She could really use a fresh bandage for it, but she had precious few left and they needed to be rationed. Baelin had torn one of the extra smocks she'd packed into strips for dressings, o
ne of which now served as the makeshift maxi-pad she wore thanks to the untimely appearance of her period. And since underwear hadn't apparently been invented yet, she'd been forced to use more of the strips to hold it in place. She wasn't about to sacrifice the last few clean ones she had left for an oozing blister.
Jill shifted uncomfortably, feeling as if she was wearing a diaper instead of a feminine hygiene product. What did the women use before maxi-pads came along? She'd been too embarrassed to ask Baelin, but she figured he wouldn't know anyway. The very idea of menstruation gave even modern guys the heebie jeebies.
Reminded yet again of the inconveniences of the Middle Ages, she cursed whatever fate had landed her in this godforsaken place.
"My kingdom for a tampon!"
"Did you say something, my lady?"
She felt her cheeks flush. She hadn't realized she'd voiced her thoughts aloud. "Nothing. I'm just talking to myself again."
Baelin nodded but made no further comment. He went back to sharpening the blade of his sword. Evidently, he was getting used to her odd behavior.
She glanced out over the lake to the steep hillside jutting up on the far shore. After that first rainy night, they'd made their way down the shoreline to their present campsite, a pristine spot where a thick forest of oak and pine met the rocky beach, offering them both shelter and firewood, and a place for Jill to regain her strength and to heal.
She scratched at her neck. If she had a knife, she was sure she could scrape off several layers of dirt and dust covering every inch of her skin. She didn't even want to think about what might be crawling around in her hair.
Rummaging through her satchel, she pulled out her last clean gown and a small pot containing a soft soap concoction she'd snagged from the cave. Stuffing all her dirty clothes back in the satchel, she made a beeline for heaven in a lake, the twinkle of the sun on the water drawing her like a magpie to a shiny bauble.
As she passed by Baelin, his sharpening stone stopped in mid stroke. "Where go you?"