by Lori Dillon
"I go to take a bath."
He stood and placed his broad mail-clad body between her and a much needed head to toe scrubbing.
"Is there a problem?"
His gaze shifted to her satchel and then back at her. "You bathed not long ago. 'Tis unhealthy to wash so often."
She snorted. "Are you kidding? It's unhealthy to be in my skin right now. I'm filthy, I smell, and I have an inch of God knows what under my nails. The last time I had more than a sponge bath was back in the bat cave when I fell in the pool."
Baelin glanced up at a sky blazing red and orange with the setting sun. "'Tis almost nightfall. 'Twould not be safe for you to venture far in the fading light. You may lose your way."
She pointed over his shoulder to a spot not more than fifty yards away. "I'm not going far. I'll just be right over there, around that bend."
"'Tis too far for my liking. There are dangers for a woman alone."
Jill's eyes darted to the dark shadows looming in the trees. "You don't think there are more medieval mountain men around here, do you?"
"Nay, but there is always the risk."
"Well, since you don't think there are any bad guys hiding in the bushes," she made to go around him, "I'm willing to take my chanc—"
Baelin grabbed her by the arm, stopping her. She glanced from where his large hand encircled her arm to his face and cocked a brow at him.
"I cannot allow it."
"You cannot allow it?" She couldn't believe was she was hearing. "Excuse me, but who died and made you king of the bathtub?"
His brow creased and he looked confused. "To my knowledge, King John still lives. Then again, a great deal could have happened during my past year as a dragon I am not aware of…" Baelin shook his head. "Who currently sits on the throne of England matters not. What matters is that I must protect you."
"So, you're protecting me from being clean?"
"I cannot keep you safe if I cannot see you."
"Oh." That made sense, sort of. "Well, it makes you feel better, I'll be sure to splash around and make plenty of noise so you'll know I'm all right."
He groaned, as if the idea caused him physical pain. Whatever his problem was right now, she wasn't in the mood to deal with it. She tried to pull her arm away, but he held her tight, just short of hurting her. This was unreal. He was acting more like a Neanderthal than a knight in shining armor.
"Do you mind?"
The muscles in his jaw bunched. "God's teeth, woman. Must you gainsay everything I say?"
"I will gainsay you or anybody else who thinks they can bully me around. I'm not your prisoner and I don't need your permission to do anything, including take a bath."
"A prisoner you are not, but as long as you are with me, you are under my protection. Have you so easily forgotten the trouble you encountered when you ventured off on your own the last time?"
Jill huffed. "Oh, fine. Throw that up in my face. I said I was sorry."
"I still cannot allow you to go." He continued to stand there, a human chain-link fence blocking her way.
"Why?"
"Because I cannot protect you if I cannot see you."
"Because you can't see—" Then the truth hit her. "Oh, my God. This isn't about protection. It's about trust, isn't it? You don't trust me out of your sight. You think I'm going to try to run away again, don't you?"
Baelin didn't answer. He didn't have to. His rigid stance, the constant glances to the satchel she carried, told her she was right.
"How many times do I have to apologize? I made a mistake. I learned my lesson, the hard way. I promise I won't do it again."
"A knight's word is his honor. Trust, once broken, is hard to regain."
Jill's stomach tightened into a knot. She understood what honor meant to him and the high value he placed upon it, and now he was questioning hers.
"You said you forgave me." Her words came out in a soft, timid voice, like a contrite child's.
"Forgiveness and trust are two different things. While I bear you no malice for what is in the past, I would be a fool to trust you again so soon."
His words sliced through her, reopening an all too familiar wound. Here she was, in another place and another time, and she was still screwing up. Always falling short. Always disappointing. She should be used to it by now. But somehow, seeing her failure reflected in Baelin's eyes—a man whose honor meant more to him than his life—cut deeper than it ever had before.
"Gee, Baelin. I'm sorry I'm not brave and honorable like you. I'm sorry I've disappointed you. You'll have to excuse me for being a little grumpy, but in the past two weeks I've been catapulted eight hundred years into the past, hog-tied to a stake by crazed villagers, chased down by a fire-breathing dragon, attacked by Robin Hood and his Not-So-Merry-Men, witnessed one of those men get Kentucky fried before my eyes, locked in a dungeon, and nearly executed by molten metal. And all the while, you're hovering around me, expecting me to be this paragon of maidenly virtue and Xena the Warrior Princess all rolled into one. But I'm not. I never said I was and I probably never will be."
He stood silent, listening to her rant and rave without so much as a single retort in return. His dark eyes bored into her and she couldn't help but feel she was being tried and judged all over again. Only this time, the pain hurt more than any hot iron could, because she brought it on herself.
She fought back the tears that threatened to choke her. She would not cry. Not this time.
"Fine. If you don't trust me out of your sight then you'll have to come with me, because like it or not, I'm taking a bath."
Baelin reared back, shocked at the suggestion. "I would never dishonor you so."
"Oh really? That precious honor you cling to so tightly didn't stop you from playing the peeping tom—or should I say peeping dragon—when I walked around the cave naked, did it?"
The shared memory flashed between them and the flare in his eyes told her he recalled it too—in every intimate, bare-skinned, glistening-wet detail.
"You didn't think I'd remember that, did you? Seems like we both have a little work to do on the trust issues."
Baelin flinched as if she'd slapped him. He let go of her arm, a mixture of anger, shame and frustration in his eyes.
Her conscience smacked Jill in the back of the head. What was she doing? In her foul mood, she'd struck out and hit him where it hurt most, his honor. She glanced at the ground between them, unable to face him. How could she be so self-centered? This man needed her. He was counting on her to help break this damn curse of his. He was not the type of person to rely on anyone but himself and yet here he was, forced to depend on her of all people. Boy, did he get the short straw on that one.
Okay, so maybe she was being a little unreasonable.
All right, a lot unreasonable.
But could anyone blame her? After everything she'd been through, it would make even Mother Teresa a bit snarky. Throw in PMSing big time and being unable to stand the smell of herself, and she was behaving like a major bitch with a capital B.
But no matter how crappy she felt, it didn't give her the right to be nasty to the man who'd saved her life. Finally, she gathered the courage to look him in the eye again.
"I'm sorry, Baelin. That was completely uncalled for. You've been nothing but patient and kind to me since I've been here. You've taken care of me and put up with more than anyone should have to. I didn't mean what I said. I'm just tired and dirty and that makes me a not-so-nice person to be around."
He stared at her for the longest time, the threads of their fragile relationship stretched taut between them. She wondered what was going through his mind. Would he accept her apology, as lame as it was?
"And taking a bath will make you a nice person to be around once again?"
For a second there she thought he might actually be trying to joke with her. But he wasn't smiling. Come to think of it, he hardly ever smiled. Could she blame him? There'd been little to be happy about lately, and she wasn't making ma
tters any better with her smart mouth.
"Yes, as a matter of fact it will."
He glanced out over the lake, then he turned his attention back to her, gracing her with a half bow. "Then by all means, partake of your bath, my lady."
Surprised, she gaped at him. "You're going to let me go? Alone?"
"You are right. If we are to succeed, then we must learn to trust one another. If I have your word you will return quickly, I trust you to do so."
She felt a rush of elation, as if she'd just been given the keys to the car for the first time. She rose on her toes to place a soft kiss on his cheek. "Thank you. I won't disappoint you this time. I promise."
At his stunned expression, she turned and walked toward the lake, wondering if she'd just taken the first tiny step in taming a dragon.
CHAPTER 15
She had kissed him.
Baelin touched his cheek, still tingling from the caress of Lady Jill's lips. The woman never ceased to confound him. When he'd been loath to touch her, even to wipe her tears away, she'd kissed him without hesitation, without fear, and—most significantly—without disgust.
Could it be possible he did not repulse her? That, dare he hope, she might even grow to care for him?
Just who was this woman from another time? How was it she could see him so differently from all the other maids that had come before her?
She was bold and strong-willed, stubborn and brazen. Aye, infuriating though she may be, it was those very traits that gave him hope. Hope that maybe she was the one after all, the one to break the curse. So far, she'd made it farther than any of the others.
He stood in the shadows of the forest, listening to the sounds coming from the lake as Lady Jill sang an off-key tune while she bathed. Something about washing a man out of her hair. How was that even possible?
What an odd tune. Then she sang a line about sending that man on his way. Was she singing about him? Probably. She was no doubt angry with him. He couldn't blame her. He may have been living in a cave for over two hundred years, but he still recalled how women liked to remain tidy and presentable. He'd behaved like an ass in trying to deny her the small, simple pleasure of a bath.
By the saints, he was at a loss as to how to handle the woman. The other maids had done as he asked, ever fearful of angering the dragon. But not this one. Nay, she seemed to thrive on constantly arguing with him, opposing him at every turn.
She paused in her singing to shout out, "I'm still here."
Her words stabbed through him. He wanted to trust her. He needed to. But he did not dare. His word of honor was everything, and his faith in her word had been shattered.
She began yet another song. This one was about bathing with a rubber duck, whatever this thing rubber was. He didn't even attempt to try to comprehend its meaning.
The woman's very presence tormented his peace of mind, baffling him at every turn. One moment she was a shrieking harpy, ranting about things he often didn't understand, and the next she would gaze at him with a warmth and tenderness he'd not known in centuries.
It was moments like that, when she made her way past the dragon to the man, that he was most vulnerable. The ancient heart within his chest was a desiccated ground, soaking up the smallest drop of her kindness, even at the risk of drowning in the overwhelming flood of those long dormant emotions.
He groaned, the sound of her bathing recalling images he best not think of. But they refused to stay at bay.
He could easily imagine the cool lake water flowing over her soft flesh, caressing her body with liquid fingers—fingers he longed to replace with his own. Another splash brought the vision of her standing by the shallow pool of the cave, drops of water glistening on her pale skin like thousands of tiny diamonds, while streams trickled in a curving trail between her breasts, down her belly, to the enticing thatch of brown curls between her thighs. His mouth grew parched, his throat dry. He was a thirsting man dying for but one sip to drink.
He paced under the trees, wrestling with the need to get away from the temptation of Lady Jill and his wicked thoughts, but needing to stay close in case of danger. The torture of his own imaginings was almost too much to endure, the sound of his own breathing too loud to his ears.
He stopped before a large oak and beat his forehead against it until he thought he might see stars. He had to stop the wicked visions poisoning his thoughts or he would be no better than the leering dragon she'd accused him of being in the cave. He stilled himself and squeezed his eyes shut to calm the beast inside.
When he opened his eyes again, his gaze landed on a small willow tree, its branches supple, always bending to the wind, but never breaking. The willow looked deceptively fragile and delicate, but grew in the rockiest of ground, strong and constant.
That was his Lady Jill. She thought she was weak, unworthy to the task at hand. She said he demanded too much of her. But like the willow, he could see the strength hidden within her. A strength she did not realize she possessed.
But he had to remember she was also alone and afraid, a woman far from her home and family. She'd already been through more for his sake than he had any right to ask. Never, in all the years he'd been taking the maidens, had he imagined the tests would be so physically challenging. He only prayed the tests that yet remained would not cause her more pain and suffering.
Baelin breathed a sigh of relief. At least they seemed to have reached a truce of sorts, after the argument over the bath. If he could remember to allow her small pleasures such as that every now and then, perhaps they would get along better.
He smiled, recalling her chaste kiss on his cheek. Aye, if they could get on like that, they just might survive this quest without killing each other in the process.
It was then he noticed the silence and his smile vanished.
Lady Jill had stopped singing.
Jill stumbled from the icy water before she lost all feeling in her extremities.
The idea of a bath in the lake had sounded good in theory. The reality was bone-chilling, teeth-chattering frigid. Where did the water come from, a glacier?
She'd just pulled the last clean smock over her shivering body when she heard a horse's whinny close by. Her first instinct was to shout for Baelin, but she bit back the sound. What if it brought unwanted attention to where she was, when whoever it was might pass her by if she stayed quiet?
She contemplated diving back into the cold water to swim across the lake to safety, but could she make it? Probably not. With her luck, she'd drown.
Before she could make a move, a lone man rode out of the trees. He wore a white surcoat with a blue gryphon rampant over a suit of mail, complete with a long sword and shiny shield. This was no dirty woodland outlaw. This man was a knight like Baelin.
But that didn't make him any less of a threat.
He pulled his large horse to a halt, surprise at finding her standing before him evident on his handsome face. He surveyed the area, evaluating every tree and boulder in sight. Was he looking for signs of danger? She almost laughed. Like she was a big threat, standing barefoot and shivering in her medieval slip.
Evidently determining it was safe, he left the cover of the forest and urged his horse closer.
Jill glanced around for a weapon and grabbed a branch that had washed up on the rocky shore. She hefted it like a baseball bat and the rough bark bit into her tender palms. She might not be able to do much damage with it, but she hoped it might keep him from coming too close.
"Greetings, my lady."
"Hi there, yourself. That's close enough, if you don't mind."
The knight stopped his horse. "As you wish." He glanced around the shoreline once again. "My lady, how is it you are alone and unprotected?"
Jill looked into the woods behind him, relieved to see no more men materializing out of the shadows. "I was beginning to wonder the same about you."
The knight looked perplexed for a moment and then he laughed. "Ah, you jest with me. Myself, unprotected. 'Tis humoro
us. But if the truth be known, I am not alone." He called over his shoulder without taking his eyes off her. "Master Owen, come forth and present yourself."
Jill tensed, wondering if a whole army of knights was about to surround her. She breathed a sigh of relief when a lone boy, no older than eleven or twelve, rode out of the forest on a small pony. Guess one knight and a tweener didn't count as an army.
The knight dismounted with ease and tossed the reins to the boy, then walked slowly toward her. Still not sure if he was friend or foe, Jill raised her impromptu bat, prepared to bash him in that handsome head of his if he made one wrong move.
"That's far enough. I think it would be better if you got back on your horse and rode off into the sunset like a good little knight."
He stopped just out of striking distance from her. "Fear not, my lady. I mean you no harm. My only desire is to ensure your safety."
"I'm safe enough, thank you. My friend is waiting just around that bend. He's a knight. A very protective one," she felt compelled to add. "One shout from me and he'll be here before you can get back on that big Clydesdale of yours. And trust me, I don't think you want to be here when he does. He's got a fiery temper." Sometimes quite literally, she thought.
"A fellow knight? Truly?" He glanced around the area once more, as if he didn't believe her. "Then I look forward to making his acquaintance. 'Tis been a long time since I shared the company of a fellow man of the sword."
He took another step toward her but stopped short when she raised the stick higher. Ignoring the possibility she might actually clobber him with it, he bowed to her.
"I am Sir Roderick of Kendale and this young lad behind me is my squire-in-training, Owen." The knight straightened and placed his hand over his heart. "On my honor, my lady, we intend you no harm."
Jill stared at him, trying to gauge whether he was telling the truth or not. If he was anything like Baelin, he would rather eat his mail before tarnishing his honor. Then again, she ventured to guess there was no one else quite like Baelin within a hundred miles. Or a hundred centuries, for that matter.