Tears of the Dragon

by Cyndi Friberg

  “The kitchens,” Thora replied. “My lady is not well. Something she ate earlier has twisted her entrails. She’s retched continually for the past few hours.”

  Suspicion surged through Dominic. She was lying. Her expression was sincere, her voice convincing, but Dominic knew she lied. “If she is vomiting, then what would you need from the kitchens?”

  “Cook also brews potions. She knows herbs and medicines. My lady is really not well.”

  “I would see her.”

  “That is cruel,” Thora chided. “She is lying in bed, too weak even to hold her own head while she vomits, and you want to interrogate her? Do you think she ate something apurpose to make herself ill?”

  “I would see her, not interrogate her.”

  “It’s impossible. She is not presentable, and she would have my head if I were to allow you to invade her privacy thus. Would you care to be viewed while you bend over a slop bucket?”

  “I don’t trust the lady. I’ll only stay long enough to determine whether your claim is true.”

  “You doubt my word?” she objected. “You call me a liar? What could she possibly gain by postponing the journey? She has already agreed to go.”

  Each of her points was valid, but Dominic had relied on his instincts for far too long. “Have done, damsel. Take me to her.” His hand moved from her sleeve to encircle her upper arm. He pulled her toward the stone steps that led above to the lady’s bedchamber.

  “I will not do this!” She snatched her arm from his restraining hand. “If you’re such a boor as to invade a lady’s sickroom, then you’ll be doing so alone. I’ll have no part of it!”

  Each of her objections only fueled his determination. He grasped her arm again and continued toward the stairs. She screeched and dug in her heels, but he ignored her protests.

  As they reached the stairwell, the irrational woman darted past him and planted herself squarely in the middle of the first stair. Dominic nearly collided with her.

  She leaned toward him, a come-hither smile parting her lips. Her blue eyes lit with a familiar intensity. “It’d be much more interesting to visit my bedchamber.”

  Under different circumstances, Dominic might have been amused, but he saw through her ploy. He grasped her by the waist and lifted her out of his way. She tugged on his tunic all the way up the stairs.

  “Please, my lord, you must listen to me.”

  “When you’re ready to speak truthfully, I’ll listen.”

  He marched across the solar, but Thora arrived a step ahead of him. She leaned against the door to the bedchamber and looked up at him through her lashes. “She’s ill, milord. Let her rest. I’m sure we can find something entertaining to pass the time until she mends.”

  “Doubtless we could. But I believe your lady has recovered enough to leave her bed.” As he spoke, he shifted the latch and opened the door behind her. She stumbled backward. He stepped past her and into the bedchamber. The curtains were open, the great bed obviously empty.

  Glaring at the lady’s empty bed, he demanded, “Where has she gone?”

  “You don’t understand.” She spoke calmly, but her sky blue eyes were bright with cunning.

  “Then enlighten me. Where is your lady, and why is she pretending to be ill?”

  “No harm will come of her errand.” She took a step nearer, her eyes wide and inviting. “Just wait until she returns.” She laid a warm hand on his upper arm. “There is no reason to fret.”

  Shaking off her hand, he grasped her shoulders and dragged her up against his chest. Their faces were mere inches apart. “Are you quite certain of that? Would you wager your life on her safety?” He shoved her away and pressed on. “Has she left the castle compound? Tell me now!”

  She remained resolute. “She’ll return before night falls.”

  He moved closer again. “I hold you personally responsible for anything that befalls Lady Rowena. Are you sure she is safe? Where has she gone?”

  Dominic admired Thora’s loyalty, but uncertainty crept into her expression. Finally, he would have answers.

  “I cannot tell you.”

  She turned away from him. Before she could regain her composure, he advanced, driving her back until she pressed against the wall. “Has she left the castle? If she’s beyond the curtain wall, she’s in danger.”

  “She’ll return before nightfall.”

  “So you say.” He pressed his palms against the stones on either side of her, caging her with his body. “You are too stubborn for your own good.” She averted her face. He gripped her chin and captured her gaze with his. “Tell me where she’s gone, Thora. I’ll not harm her.”

  He saw surrender in her eyes.

  “You promise?” she asked. “No harm will come to her?”

  “That is why I’m here.”

  A silent moment passed. Tension built and Dominic’s hands clenched into fists against the cold stone wall. Would she yet withhold her secret? Stubborn wench.

  “She’s gone to the village of Llangly, to the orchard on the outskirts of town.”

  “Why?”

  Thora squirmed, refusing to meet his gaze. “She’s going to meet a man.”

  “What man? For what purpose?”

  “I don’t know his name, but he’s said to have information about Sir Edwin.”

  “Sir Edwin?”

  “Aye,” Thora affirmed.

  “What information did Lady Rowena require before she could face Sir William?”

  “She didn’t explain. You’ll have to ask her when she returns.”

  “How long has she been gone? Who escorted her?”

  Thora’s calm expression slipped a bit more. “She departed shortly after she left you on the wall walk.”

  “And who accompanied her?”

  Thora closed her eyes and whispered, “No one.”

  Chapter Three

  Rowena curved her fingers around the molded handle of the dirk tucked into the belt at her waist while she warily scanned the orchard. The weapon was simple, easily concealed, and the cool weight against her palm gave her comfort, made her brave.

  Never again would she be a victim. Never would people she cared about suffer. Not when it was within her power to intervene. Only as their Lady could she protect Pendragon’s people, so she would do what must be done—and not look back.

  Hearing hoofbeats in the distance, Rowena crouched behind a tree. She watched the rider approach and dismount. Thom. Thora had said his name was Thom. Neither handsome nor homely, ordinary features ruled his lean face. Late afternoon light dappled his shaggy brown hair.

  “Missy?” he called. “Are you here, girl?”

  She pressed against the tree. Her hand tightened on the dirk. A bird trilled merrily, mocking what Rowena must endure. Could she really do this? Could she…she had to! There was no other way.

  Cleansing her mind with the crisp autumn air, she stepped into view.

  “There you are.” Thom laughed, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. “I was beginning to wonder if Milton was amusing himself at my expense.”

  She wrapped herself protectively in her guise, flashed a quick smile and lowered her lashes. “Milton’s tale is true, kind sir. My parents gave me an ultimatum, and I don’t respond well to ultimatums.”

  He ambled toward her, his dark gaze frankly assessing. “Did you wish to stay here, or is there somewhere else you’d rather go?”

  “My father is still at the inn, and I’m not familiar with the area. Here will have to do.” She pushed back the hood. “I can’t be gone long or he’ll come looking for me.”

  She unclasped the cloak and swung it off her shoulders, gripping the material to disguise how her hands trembled. His dark eyes narrowed. Rowena nervously licked her lips.

  Was he pleased by her appearance? His gaze lingered on the swell of her breasts and the indentation of her waist. Still, five years of insecurity battled with the appreciation she read in his expression.

  You’re emotionless, Ro
wena. Cold. No man will ever find pleasure between your thighs. Why couldn’t she banish Gaston’s hateful voice? He was moldering in his grave, yet his voice haunted her.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Thom asked.

  “I’m certain.” The words tasted like ash in her mouth. Folding her cloak over her arm, she smiled and focused on the warmth in his dark eyes.

  Please, just let him do this quickly.

  His calloused fingers stroked her cheek. She controlled the need to pull away. He would touch far more than her cheek before this day was through.

  With growing dread, she watched his face descend. A veritable stranger was about to bestow her first real kiss. Tears gathered in her eyes as another romantic dream evaporated like gossamer mist.

  The distant thunder of horse’s hooves snapped his head up. Rowena followed the direction of his stare and released her pent-up breath. Not recognizing the horse, she twisted away and turned to flee.

  He caught her arm. “Be calm. It’s only my brother Jack. Give me a moment and we’ll be rid of him.”

  “Nay,” she said urgently. “No one can know I’m here.”

  “Then—remain out of sight.”

  She melted into the trees, moving stealthily toward her horse yet remaining close enough to hear their conversation. This was likely her last chance. She dared not squander it if there was any possibility of salvage.

  Jack was a younger, darker version of Thom. Though Thom stood taller and appeared more heavily muscled, the calculating gleam in Jack’s eyes made Rowena shiver.

  “You’re daft, man,” the younger brother snapped. “There’s no one here. Milton…”

  She lost the rest of his sentence.

  “Then whose… I told you she…”

  Only snippets of Thom’s response made it to her ears. Jack’s voice dropped even lower, and Rowena couldn’t hear him at all. If Jack wasn’t leaving, she was!

  “Go home!” Thom ordered. “I know how you… She’s not…”

  Thom’s words were sporadic but they were enough to solidify her decision. Careful not to draw their attention, she crept through the trees.

  In the meadow, at the far edge of the orchard, her horse grazed patiently. She bent, fumbling with the knotted reins. A hand grabbed the back of her skirts and yanked her off balance. Her hip hit the dirt and she yelped, more from surprise than pain. “Leave me be!”

  Jack swatted the horse’s rump, sending the animal bolting across the meadow.

  “Why are you doing this?” She scrambled to her feet, edging back toward the heart of the orchard.

  “Maybe my brother’s not such a dolt, after all.” Jack smirked. He stalked her, eyes bright with cunning. “You’re about the prettiest piece I’ve seen in a good long while. Let’s spread your cloak right here, so God can watch me mount His virgin bride.”

  Wadding the cloak into a thick ball, she threw it at his smug face and ran. She darted between the trees, changing direction without warning. Crunching leaves and snapping twigs warned that he followed. She didn’t pause to look.

  A sparkle of gold flitted in her peripheral vision.

  Yes! Fair Fiona, help me! Help me now!

  Where was Thom? Would he restrain his brother—or assist him?

  Something tangled in her hair, bringing her up short. Rowena screamed.

  “Why so shy, sweeting?” Jack sneered. “You were willing enough to spread your thighs for my brother.”

  She jammed her elbow backward, desperate to strike something vital. He jerked on her hair. She cried out. “Get your hands off me!” Fury and panic deluged her senses. Bile burned her throat. Her stomach cramped.

  His arm banded her waist, trapping her arms against her sides. She kicked wildly, unable to see her target.

  “Jack! Let her go. There are willing women aplenty. There’s no call for this.”

  Thom’s angry voice came from somewhere behind them, and Rowena sobbed. Please, God, please, let him be rational. Let the kindness she’d glimpsed in his eyes save her now.

  “She made you an offer,” Jack argued. “I’m just seeing she delivers.”

  “She made the offer to me, and I say let her go.”

  “If you’re no longer interested, be off. If you’re staying, let’s begin.”

  Rowena threw her weight forward then slammed her head back, connecting forcefully with Jack’s chin.

  Grunting, he cuffed the side of her head. “You stupid bitch!”

  He pushed her violently, tumbling her to the leaf-strewn ground. She landed on her hands and knees, but he flipped her over. Breath whooshed from her lungs, and she stared at him in silent horror.

  Thom grabbed his brother’s arm, glaring into his eyes. “She’s a virgin! Leave her be.”

  “You’re a fool!” Jack shook off his brother’s hold. “What virgin would seek out the likes of you or me? This is a game. She’s a whore.”

  Thom’s dark gaze searched her face, and Rowena watched her last hope die. He believed his brother.

  “Please,” she cried, reaching for him. “I’m not a whore.” Jack shoved her down. “Just leave me here. I don’t want—”

  Jack silenced her with the back of his hand.

  Thom moved a few paces away and turned around. She sobbed. This couldn’t be happening! Where was Fair Fiona?

  Her head pounded, the pain nearly blinding, but she forced herself to focus through the haze. If she wanted to survive this day, it was up to her. Easing her hand along her side, she searched for the handle of her dirk. There! The familiar shape pressed into her palm, and she slipped the blade from her belt.

  Come on, you bastard. Just a bit closer.

  He knelt between her legs, grabbing her skirts with both hands. Rowena reared, driving the knife toward his chest. His forearm deflected it at the last moment. The blade sank hilt deep, but too far to the side to pierce his heart. He howled and toppled backward. Following him over, she jerked the knife from his flesh.

  She raised her arm for a second strike, but Thom caught her wrist. He viciously twisted, and her fingers went numb, the dirk slipping from her useless grasp.

  Jack wheezed and coughed. His arms grabbed Rowena, dragging her down against his blood-soaked chest. She screamed, writhing and shoving frantically.

  “If he dies, you die!” Thom snarled, flinging her from his brother’s gasping body.

  She hit a tree with a sickening thud and reality faded for a moment. Pain sliced through the stupor and she grasped her head.

  Thom knelt beside her. She blinked repeatedly, trying to bring him into focus. He raised a dagger, and she shrieked, instinctively covering her face with her arms.

  Without speaking, he sliced her bliaud nearly to the waist and hacked away a large section of her shift then returned to his brother. Bandages. He’d only needed bandages.

  Terrified of drawing attention to herself, she stayed quiet and still. Would he kill her once Jack was tended? He obviously didn’t care that she’d been protecting herself.

  He returned a few minutes later, his dagger covered with blood. “Know this.” He leaned down and meticulously wiped the blade against the pale skin of her chest. Rowena closed her eyes, waiting for the searing pain, the icy sting of death. He pressed the point of his dagger against her breast, waiting until she opened her eyes. “If my brother dies, I will find you.”

  Huddled against the tree, she watched him gather Jack in his arms and bear him toward their horses. Tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks, but she was unable to make a sound.

  She was alive!

  What had happened to Fair Fiona?

  Why had no one helped her?

  She had fought this battle alone.

  With no one but herself to depend upon—she had managed to survive.

  * * * * *

  High in the trees, Fair Fiona trembled. “I hate this,” she lamented, her voice undetectable to the woman below. “How can Father be so cruel? She needed me desperately.”

  “Nay,
this is encouraging.” Fearsome Dragon spread his wings, sheltering the Fairy with his power. “She is beginning to understand.”

  Fiona blinked back tears, her heart still aching for her friend. “Aye. She has glimpsed her own strength, but how do we make her see her true beauty?”

  “We cannot make her see anything. She must discover these things on her own.”

  Fiona twirled in a lazy spiral, leaving the comforting shadow of his wings. “I can guide her toward discovery. I can make sure she’s looking in the right direction when—” She laughed. “Here comes our handsome knight. How disappointed he’ll be to find the damsel has managed her own rescue.”

  Dominic vaulted from his destrier’s back before the beast even stopped completely. Fiona drifted closer. Oh, this mortal was tempting. All brawn and passionate energy. Made her tingle all over.

  “Lady Rowena?” He rushed toward the young woman.

  Rowena raised her face, her features twisted with horror and shock. She held her hands before her, staring at their crimson stain. Had she just noticed the blood?

  “My God, woman. Are you injured?” He knelt beside her, carefully checking her limbs and her exposed skin for the source of the blood. “What happened? Is this your blood?”

  A harsh sob tore from the lady, and Fiona glanced at her guardian. She longed to soothe Rowena, to calm her, but even taking her Fairy form was pushing the boundaries of her exile. She was forbidden to interfere.

  “Leave it be,” the dragon warned. “Let the knight comfort her.”

  Fiona whirled, laughing uproariously. “Knights kill and maim and conquer. Knights do not comfort.”

  But even as she spoke, this knight sat in the autumn leaves and cradled Rowena in his arms. He smoothed her hair back from her brow and spoke in a calm, clear voice.

  “Talk to me, my lady. What has befallen you?”

  “I had to stab him,” she cried.

  He continued to stroke Rowena’s hair, to whisper soothingly into her ear. Fiona was fascinated by his gentleness, amazed by the change in his harsh features. Could he be the one? Could he be more than just a vehicle by which to thwart Edwin?