Tears of the Dragon

by Cyndi Friberg

  Dominic cried out. “Hold on, Rowena.” He cupped her face with one palm and kissed her forehead. Her eyes gradually glazed over. Dominic shook with the force of his fear. “Do not leave me.” Her head lulled back against his arm and she collapsed with a ragged whimper.

  An anguished cry tore from his throat as he scooped her up and awkwardly mounted his horse. He urged the beast forward with the firm pressure of his heels. Clutching her against his chest, he raced through the trees. He felt wild with fear and fury. He needed to lash out, to hurt, to destroy.

  “Damn you to hell!” he screamed to the forest.

  They’d all believed Edwin wouldn’t strike directly. He should’ve known better! Any animal turned vicious when it was backed into a corner.

  I failed her.

  The realization swept every other thought from his mind. He couldn’t breathe. Guilt and remorse suffocated even his anger.

  I can’t let her die.

  I will not let her die!

  Focusing all of his energy and every fiber of his emotional being on that goal, Dominic urged his horse onward.

  Blood saturated the front of her clothing by the time Dominic entered the main hall, carrying Rowena in his arms. Ignoring the startled gasps and hushed conversation that followed in his wake, Dominic went directly to the solar wing and Lady Rowena’s bedchamber. He’d just laid her down across the bed when Farrell and Thora burst in upon him.

  “What have you done to her?” Farrell demanded.

  Shoving the angry man out of the way, Thora rushed to the bedside. “How was she injured? What needs to be done?”

  Dominic spared the steward only a furious glower before he addressed Thora’s questions, all the while working to unfasten Rowena’s clothing. “An arrowhead is imbedded in her shoulder. How long will it take to fetch a leech?”

  “Too long, she would bleed to death,” Thora predicted with grim honesty.

  Dominic didn’t argue. “Then heat water and bring me something with which her flesh can be sewn and bound.”

  Thora departed without further comment, but Farrell stepped closer to the bed.

  “Who did this?” the steward asked. “Where were the two of you?”

  “I don’t see how that is any of your concern,” Dominic snapped. “The arrow came out of the woods as we rode back toward the castle. She said it might have been poisoned before she lost consciousness. Is there not an herbalist in the castle? A midwife? Anyone who knows the healing arts?” His voice became harsher, more demanding with each question.

  “I’ll fetch someone.” Thora passed the water and clean linens to Farrell and left again.

  Dominic stripped Rowena of her blood-soaked clothing and pulled the bedding up to cover her breasts. The wound had slowed its flow of blood to a gradual seepage, but Dominic knew that removing the arrowhead would reopen the wound. Could she afford to lose any more blood? She looked so pale, so still, so vulnerable.

  Fear and helplessness twisted painfully inside his chest. Silently he began to pray.

  He turned to Farrell. The steward stood back a step, staring silently at his mistress. His expression was as torn with emotion as Dominic felt. “You must hold her while I dig out the arrowhead.”

  “Should we not wait for Thora to return?” His voice squeaked just a little.

  “It must come out. This much I know. The rest can wait for the healer, but why not have the worst of it finished by the time Thora returns?”

  Farrell nodded, stiffly moving closer to the bed.

  “Can you do it, or should I summon someone else?”

  “I will do what must be done.”

  Dominic sat on the edge of the bed and brushed the back of his fingers across Rowena’s forehead. Her skin was warm but not hot. Unconsciously, his fingers drifted down across her cheek and sank into her hair. “Rowena, hold fast. We can survive this, I promise.”

  He didn’t realize he’d spoken the words out loud until Farrell asked, “Are you in love with her?”

  The question brought him up short. He had convinced himself that Pendragon Castle was all he sought, but he found the thought of losing Rowena more painful than anything he’d ever endured. Nothing was more important than having her by his side.

  “Aye,” he admitted for the first time. He bounded up from the bed. “Let’s have this thing done.”

  In a flurry of activity, Dominic drew a sharp, jeweled dagger from the sheath hidden in the top of his boot. He cleaned the blade and then passed it through the flames smoldering in the hearth. “Hold her fast.”

  Dominic tucked her arm under the blankets, leaving only the wound exposed. Farrell used the blankets to similarly constrain her on the other side. Lifting her slightly, Dominic slipped a folded piece of cloth beneath Rowena’s shoulder and securely gripped her before he began.

  Rowena was unconscious, so her shrill scream shocked him. The instant the knife blade parted her traumatized flesh she began to struggle. She thrashed beneath the covers, twisting her body madly to elude the pain. Her screams turned quickly to pathetic whimpers that were even harder for Dominic to bear. He whispered to her, attempting to soothe her as he dug for the arrowhead.

  Blood quickly filled the gaping hole created by the dagger. A crimson river flowed across Dominic’s hand and spilled onto the folded cloth beneath her shoulder. Panic spread through him. His heart pounded painfully and his ears began to ring. Her blood was hot and slick. He wanted to capture it with his hand and press it back into her body, but it flowed between his fingers, slipping beyond his grasp.

  “Hurry,” Farrell cried.

  “I have it!” He lifted a gore-covered object roughly triangular in shape.

  * * * * *

  Thora shot a thin golden beam into the keyhole and grinned as the latch flipped open. Rushing inside the dark apothecary, she quickly gathered the least useless of the human herbs. If only she had more time! She’d gather in the Fairy realm. Well, that wasn’t possible. She must make do with what she had.

  Clutching the basket to her breast she transformed and flew, riding the wind back to the castle. She paused in the solar, debating what form to choose. Farrell might question a complete stranger, so she fashioned the likeness of the castle’s midwife.

  “I have it!” She heard Dominic’s deep voice.

  He had what? What had they done?

  She swept into the room with obvious intention.

  “Be you the midwife?” Dominic asked.

  “Aye,” she affirmed. “What happened?”

  “The lady and I were riding toward the castle when she was struck by an arrow. She feared the arrow was poisoned. Can you help her?”

  She quickly examined the wound. “Did the shoulder bleed freely?”

  “Aye, both when the arrow hit and just now when I dug out the head.”

  “Good, that may be our only advantage.”

  Without further comment, Thora went to work. She mixed a thick paste, infusing it with Fairy energy far more beneficial than the plant’s healing properties. She smeared the paste generously on a piece of linen. After cleaning the blood from Rowena’s shoulder, chest and arm, she pressed the linen directly over the wound.

  “Should it not be sewn?” Domenic objected.

  “Nay. The putridity needs to seep out of the wound. To sew it shut would encourage the foul humors to spread within her body. She will have a larger scar this way, but it is safer.”

  She longed to reassure him, to share her secret and put his fear to rest. But she dare not. She had risked much just tending the lady’s wound. Every time she accessed Fairy energy it sent ripples through her father’s realm.

  “Do you think she’ll survive?”

  Thora paused. How to answer? They had accomplished much. What she witnessed in the monastery was very encouraging. Still, they were both so stubborn. Was it time for another nudge?

  “If she survives the night she might recover, but prepare yourself, sir.” She paused before meeting his gaze. “I would send
for a priest. She has lost too much blood.”

  “Nay!” Dominic staggered back. His head pounded as if his skull would split in two. Clutching his temples, he shut his eyes. She could not die. Please God, do not let her die!

  When he managed to open his eyes, the midwife was mixing a potion in a shallow wooden bowl. Dominic watched in a horrified stupor as she trickled it down Rowena’s throat and then left the chamber.

  He couldn’t think. The feelings ravaging his mind were overwhelming. He wanted to wail. He wanted to find Edwin and kill him slowly—painfully. How could he lose her now? The frozen fragments of his heart had only begun to melt and mend.

  She deserved happiness. She deserved to live one day of her life without fear and sorrow. She didn’t deserve to die!

  With a roar of anguish, Dominic swept his arm across the table. The bowl and remnants of the midwife’s cure went flying. He wasn’t appeased. He toppled the table and kicked it across the room. “I will kill him! If it takes the rest of my life to find that bastard, I will taste his blood!”

  Farrell stood near the door, his hands clenching and releasing in front of him. Tears trailed in unabashed profusion from his eyes. “Even Edwin’s death will not undo this, milord. You must marry her now.”

  Dominic’s breath came in harsh pants and the red haze receded from his vision. “What? Your lady lies dying and you speak of weddings?”

  Farrell moved toward the bed, his expression suddenly resolute. “It is because my lady lies dying that I speak of weddings. Do you not see? If Lady Rowena dies, Pendragon goes to Edwin.” His dark eyes flashed with hatred. “All she has fought for will be lost. She will have died in vain. That cannot happen.”

  “He is right, milord.”

  Thora stood in the doorway. He couldn’t say how long she’d been there, but her eyes were red-rimmed and tears streaked her face.

  “I cannot wed an unconscious woman.” Dominic raked both hands through his hair. “I have no right to force this upon her.”

  “Would this be forced upon her? You told me you love her. Has she not made a similar claim?” Farrell took two steps toward the bed.

  Pressing his tightly clenched fists against his temples, Dominic growled out his exasperation. “You do not know what you ask. She will despise me!”

  Thora stepped up to him and placed a tentative hand on his forearm. “It must be so. Pendragon cannot fall to Edwin.”

  Dominic began to pace. He glanced at Rowena’s face so pale and helpless and then at her two closest friends. Their expressions shouted their expectations and their eyes tortured him with hope.

  “There is no one who would perform such a ceremony,” Dominic muttered.

  “Brother Samuel would,” Thora said.

  Dominic paused in his pacing and looked at her. “Who is Brother Samuel?”

  “Brother Leland’s apprentice.”

  He glanced at Farrell then back at the handmaiden. “Does this friar know of Brother Leland’s fate?”

  “Aye. He would bless the union, and he may even say that he performed the ceremony yesterday while you two were away from the castle.”

  Farrell moved closer to Thora, drawing Dominic’s attention. “Then you can ask William Marshal to set his seal on the union. No one in Christendom would argue with that.”

  It all made perfect sense, yet he knew he would be damned if he agreed. He would have his heart’s desire, and it would cost him his soul. Even if Rowena survived, she would never trust him, never allow herself to love him.

  “She loves you, milord. She would want this, I assure you.”

  Glancing into Thora’s wide blue eyes, Dominic was tempted to believe.

  “How could I bear to make her my wife only to watch her slip away?” His words were harsh and choked.

  “Do you object to the marriage?” Farrell challenged impatiently. “Perhaps we both misjudged you. We could just as easily say that I was the one Rowena wanted. Send for Brother Samuel, Thora. I will wed Lady Rowena myself.”

  Dominic took an automatic step toward the other man. His possessive instincts screamed for violence. It took all his frazzled will just to keep his fists from flying.

  “Nay,” Dominic insisted. “She is meant for me.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Pleased by her daring, Titania lingered in the forest. Some things could be left to chance and some things required personal attention. She kicked the bow into the bushes and brushed her hands off on her skirts. With her Fairy abilities so suppressed, she wasn’t sure she could make the shot. The arrow had flown fast and true, ensuring that this generation would not see the end of the Pendragon curse.

  How she missed the Fairy realm, the festive courts and glistening halls of Oberon’s palace. Spreading her arms, she turned in a slow circle and inhaled the fresh autumn breeze. She only needed to stay until she sensed Rowena’s death. Then she would release her hold on this human body and depart for home.

  Soon. This would all be over soon.

  “Sooner than you think, Titania.”

  She staggered to a stop and lowered her arms. How was this possible? She had been so careful.

  “Since I forbade her to use her power, Fiona has done little more than shift from one form to another.” His tone was conversational, but she wasn’t fooled by his calm. She could smell his fury. “Today Puck asked me what had upset her.”

  Summoning all of her courage, Titania turned to face Oberon. Regal, ancient, ageless, he emanated power while remaining incredibly graceful. With his silky dark hair and amber eyes, no other being could match Oberon’s physical beauty. His vicious expression, however, promised mayhem for his wife.

  “I don’t understand the significance,” she evaded.

  “The ripples of Fiona’s emotions were so intense my jester sensed them. You don’t find significance in that?” His eyes burned with golden fire and his lips pressed into a grim line. “Fiona is my firstborn child. That will never change. Wives can be put aside or banished utterly.”

  She debated her reaction. The next few moments might well determine her fate. “I will release my hold on this body and return at once.”

  He snorted. “That is where your penance will begin.”

  “I’m your wife, Oberon—”

  “I’m your king!”

  She sank to her knees, resentment festering along with her fear. Sometimes the wisest course was to retreat and fight another day. “I await your judgment, sire.”

  “Fiona. Appear to me now.”

  Titania looked up in time to see her enemy materialize.

  “I’m sorry, Father.” Fiona’s voice was soft and contrite, with a deference Titania would never be able to muster. “I sensed the nature of the poison on the arrow and knew I was Rowena’s only hope. I would never have interfered were it not for—”

  “I did not summon you for reprimands. My wife has been sabotaging you in ways I can scarcely imagine. I suspect this is not the first Pendragon lady who has fallen prey to Titania’s treachery.”

  Titania gasped. “That’s not true. I have never—”

  “Silence! I will deal with you when we return.” He shifted his gaze back to his daughter. “You have my leave to access your power in any way you see fit. I cannot reverse your banishment, but this should make things easier.”

  “What? You can’t let her…” Titania’s objections faded away as Oberon sent her to the Fairy realm and Lissette’s body crumpled to the forest floor.

  Fiona held her breath. Had his decree been sincere, or was he provoking Titania?

  “Will Rowena recover?” he asked.

  “I’m doing what I can.”

  “Now you can do more.” He paused, his features hardening into a fierce scowl. With a wave of his hand, he positioned Lissette’s body near her horse, her booted foot hooked through the stirrup. “Titania has always been wily, but this was unacceptable. See to your human friends. I must see to my wife.”

  He flashed out of sight, and the horse darted off
through the trees, dragging Lissette’s body behind it.

  * * * * *

  “Are you frightened, Rowena?”

  Spinning from the open window, Rowena heard her own gasp echo off the high, stone walls. Her surroundings seemed familiar yet everything was strange. The shape and structure of her bedchamber hadn’t changed, but the furniture and the wall hangings were different.

  Where was she? Who spoke to her?

  She took a step. The room weaved and spun. Had she consumed too much wine?

  Are you frightened, Rowena?

  Should she be frightened?

  A sudden flash caught Rowena’s attention. The tiny illumination flickered and floated. She knew this light, but never before had she heard a voice. It expanded gradually, growing in size and intensity.

  Rowena backed toward the window, but distinct pulses radiated from the nimbus, passing through her body like silent peals of thunder. Her heart pounded and her skin prickled.

  “Who are you?” she whispered. “What are you?”

  The light shimmered, flaring for a moment with all the colors of the rainbow, and a woman glided toward her with otherworldly grace.

  Rowena wanted to run, but her body wouldn’t obey the frantic urgings of her mind. This couldn’t be real, yet she could see the aberration, feel the air around her stir, smell a verdant, floral scent that hadn’t been there a moment before.

  The diaphanous material of the woman’s rich green gown floated all about her. Tall and lithe, she raised one willowy arm to brush the hair away from her face. Her hair was extraordinary, a bright true gold that fell in distinct waves to her knees, but the face now revealed stole the breath from Rowena’s lungs.

  She fell back a step. This creature was not human. No being of this world was so staggeringly beautiful. Rowena lowered her gaze, overcome and a bit afraid.

  “Come here, Rowena. Let me look at you.”

  The soft, musical voice drew her, compelled her to obey. She slowly raised her face and took several tentative steps toward the apparition. Her body felt weighted, her mind dazed.