by Meara Platt
“She had special powers that you do not.”
She tossed back her beautiful, red curls in indignation. “What makes you think I don’t? Perhaps it only takes the right guidance to bring them out. After all, the Stone of Draloch spoke to me. Is it mere coincidence that all my life I’ve been dreaming of dragons? And now, you’ve come into my life.”
He didn’t want to consider her words, for he was angry that there might be some truth to them that he didn’t wish to explore. All he wanted to do was keep her beautiful soul safe. “I’ll think about it.”
“Thank you, Saron. It’s all I ask.” She eased back in the chair beside him. “When do we leave for London? Or has something happened to change our plans?”
“No change in plans. We’ll leave the day after tomorrow.”
She sighed, then fidgeted a moment before emitting another sigh. “While you’ve been drinking yourself into oblivion, I’ve done something I’m not certain you will like. It’s taken me a few days to put it together, but I finally finished it this morning.”
He choked on the tea he’d just swallowed. “Dare I ask what?”
“You may, but it is something I prefer to show you. Oh, and before you glower at me and begin to rant–”
“I do not rant.”
“Let’s not quibble about that right now. I’d also like to assure you it has nothing to do with our journey to London. I promised I would go and meant it. I’d go with you anywhere.”
“That does not cheer me.” He leaned closer. “What you mean is that you’d follow me into the depraved bowels of Brihann’s realm to save me if you thought I was in danger. I won’t have it.”
She paused and took a deep breath. “The air is so sweet in springtime,” she said, inhaling the scent of lilac wafting in through the open window on the gentlest breeze. “The flower beds are filling with blooms and butterflies.”
“Is that what you wish to show me? Flower beds and butterflies?” He muttered something unintelligible, or rather, certain impolite words she wasn’t meant to hear or understand. What was she up to? It wasn’t like her to babble about inanities.
“Spring is a beautiful time of year, the farms, the lake, the mountains all waking from winter’s sleep. You ought to take a long walk to view the signs of life.”
“I have already been out for my morning ride.” He gazed at her more closely, noting the sparkle in her eyes and healthy blush to her cheeks. Wisps of hair, curled by the morning mist, prettily framed her face. He glanced at her stained boots. “You’ve also been out this morning, walking about the fields?”
“Oh, Dolly will have my hide for tracking mud in here. I only meant to take a quick turn in the garden, which I did before ending up in the barn to check on little Saron and the kittens. But after that, I…I can’t explain it to you. It was as though a notion overtook me the other day and I simply had to get it done. I’ll have to show you.”
Saron did not bother to hide his annoyance. “How long will it take?”
“I don’t know.”
“Take a guess.”
She cast him another stubborn scowl. “I can’t.”
“Try.” He wanted to kiss her indignantly pursed lips.
“No.”
He’d been around Anabelle long enough to recognize the determined look in her eyes. At such times, no one could butt heads with her and win. Oh, they may have thought they could, but they couldn’t. Not even he. “Very well, show me. But be quick about it.”
“It isn’t something that can be rushed.”
He growled softly. “Anabelle.”
“If you think snarling at me in that beastly way of yours will scare me, let me assure you that it won’t. I know you’d never hurt me.”
As she leaned forward, he brushed aside the soft curls covering her ears and gently tugged on one earlobe. To his surprise, she grinned and suddenly wiggled both of her ears, then one at a time. It was an absurd thing to do and she looked quite silly doing it, in an adorable way. He burst out laughing. “I never realized you were so incredibly talented.”
He should have done silly things such as this in his childhood, and his parents should have doted on him and thought him brilliantly funny instead of detesting him, beating him, and turning him over to the Dragon Lords for their demonic sport. They should have sat together at the breakfast table as a family, laughing, chatting about nonsense, and wiggling their ears at each other. He and Gideon on occasion passed the time entertaining each other with such antics, though not often enough, for they’d had so little time together.
“And now that I have you in my thrall,” she teased, unaware of the thoughts swirling in his head, “please take a walk with me.”
He slapped his hands lightly on the table. “Ah, very well. Where exactly are we going?”
She rose and motioned for him to follow. “It’s a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
She took his hand, her expression one of breathless anticipation. “You’ll like this one. I hope.”
“You hope?”
“You will. Trust me.”
She led him down a long garden path that cut across a shaded lane he hadn’t noticed before. They turned down the lane, crossed a newly tilled field, careful to avoid seedlings and several large puddles, and finally came upon a wooded glade. She led him into the glade, to a quiet pool hidden in filtered sunlight, a place where faeries might dance at twilight.
“What have you done?” He glanced about in horror.
The water was the most brilliant blue he’d ever seen and the leaves on the neatly spaced trees were a glittering silver-green. At the far end of the pool stood a massive tree stump fashioned into a throne. Two rabbits played on the throne’s seat and bluebells abounded at its foot.
Bluebells.
“It used to be called Anabelle’s Hollow. I played here as a child.”
He nodded, understanding that Anabelle saw this as a place of innocence, a magical place meant to resound with the laughter of children and harmless Woodlands faeries.
“The pool and surrounding trees have always been here. Back then, Masterson helped me carve out the chair and I planted wildflowers around it. I was a royal princess and my brother and the village children were my brave knights. Our days were filled with enchantment.”
“Defeating evil wizards and slaying dragons?”
“We didn’t slay our dragons. We tamed them,” she said, casting him a meaningful glance. “It took time and great patience.”
“And it was all make-believe.” Anabelle was wrong to think she could tame him.
“I haven’t played here in years,” she said with a sigh, “but I have such happy memories of the place. I’ve spent the past few days restoring it. And this morning, I renamed it.”
“What?”
She led him past a row of low shrubs to a neat wooden sign with the words ‘Gideon’s Hollow’ freshly painted on it. “Look. What do you think?”
He glanced at the abundant bluebells surrounding the carved-out throne.
A scent of honey wafted in the air. That scent alone would have alarmed him, but it was also mingled with a far more sinister scent. Dragon ash.
He stared back at the sign, his heart pounding so rapidly it threatened to burst. She had no right to take his anguish and turn it into…this…this, damn it.
Her smile vanished. “Penelope loved the idea, but I see it was a terrible mistake. I’ll take the sign down at once.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll do it for you.” He ripped it out and smashed it over the throne, sending the rabbits scattering in fear.
“I meant it as a gift for you.”
“Be quiet, Anabelle!” He reached down and ripped out the bluebells, tossing them into the water, then methodically proceeded to destroy everything else in the hollow. He turned angrily to gaze at her, his emotions fiercely warring within him. “You had no right.”
“To plant flowers? To provide a remembrance for Gideon? Surely, he would ha
ve loved this place,” she said cautiously, obviously no longer certain that she was safe in his presence. In truth, he wasn’t certain of it either.
He continued to gaze at her while Gideon’s laughter played in his brain. He imagined the boy beside him, jumping leapfrog over the tree stump, the sun shining on his freckled nose as he played his favorite game, a game he’d been playing on the morning of the day he died. How had Anabelle known? Not even Penelope knew.
“I’ve muddled this,” she said with a terrible ache to her voice. “I should have left well enough alone, but things weren’t well and I felt I had to do something to diminish your pain. Not to make you forget Gideon, but to give him a special place of his own in tribute to his existence.”
He stared at the magical pool amid the silvery glade. It reflected the beauty of his little boy’s heart. What would Gideon think? he wondered. A breeze shimmered through the newly budded trees, carrying with it the foul scent of dragon ash.
It was wrong, all wrong. “Who helped you to restore it?”
“No one. I did it myself.”
“Who?” he insisted.
“No one! I only meant well. What have I done?”
Created a portal into the demon world.
Had the Dragon Lords somehow guided her? Had Bloodaxe somehow exerted power of her feelings and thoughts?
“Not this. Never this,” he said, his voice raw and brittle as he destroyed the rest of it.
Chapter Fourteen
One week later, after a rather uneventful journey, Anabelle found herself standing in front of the Blakefield family residence in the fashionable London neighborhood of Belgravia. “It’s a beautiful house.”
Saron nodded. “I’ll show you the rest of it once you’ve settled into your quarters.”
Was he ever going to mention the incident at Gideon’s Hollow? He was clearly remorseful for his outburst and no doubt ashamed of destroying the memorial she’d tried to create for his son, but she couldn’t overlook that she had unwittingly created a demon portal there. Would she have been abducted and carried through it had Saron not destroyed it in time?
Perhaps they would speak freely about it now that they’d arrived in London. She had accepted that King Cadeyrn and his mortal queen Melody existed. She’d also accepted the existence of dragons, demons, and Fae portals. Having done so, she wanted to learn more about how to protect herself. Saron wouldn’t always be by her side.
They had found another dead lamb just before leaving for London, ripped apart by an animal no local huntsmen could describe, only to say for a certainty what it was not. “It ain’t no wolf or boar,” these hunters had decided, “nor bear or dog.”
She and Saron knew what manner of beast had done this, but who would believe them? Hopefully, the attacks would stop now that she and Saron were in London.
“Careful, Anabelle.” Saron drew her against him as the Draloch coach, after depositing them, passed too close on its way through the imposing black wrought iron gate that surrounded Saron’s home. The coachman was taking the carriage to the mews that was situated around the corner behind the house.
She squinted into the late London afternoon sunshine while inspecting the exterior of his townhouse. The pale limestone facade was softened by graceful arches and soothing colors, the facade itself an elegant shade of grayish blue, paler than the color of Saron’s eyes, but no less compelling. The Palladian windows and solid doorway were trimmed in white. “Do you like it?” he asked as though caring for her response.
She sensed his pride and was pleased that he sought her opinion.
She had expected a gothic monstrosity with a bleak aura and sense of desolation about it, but there was no darkness to be found here.
No, the only darkness resided in Saron’s soul.
She walked through a well maintained front garden and up the entry steps. “This is so unexpected.” She smiled at him. “Your home is beautiful.”
“Not at all the dungeon you thought it would be.”
“Quite the opposite. There’s a gentleness, a warmth to this house. I can’t explain it any other way.”
“Come, Penelope and I shall give you a tour.”
Penelope, who had already been greeted by Saron’s man of affairs and cordially helped inside, turned upon hearing Saron’s offer. “You do the honors, dear boy,” she said, shrugging out of her fur-lined wrap and heaving a weary sigh. “I’m quite done in. You don’t mind if I abandon you to my nephew, do you, Anabelle?”
“Of course not.” She removed her cloak and handed it to an efficient servant who promptly took it away to be dusted off and freshened.
“Saron knows this place far better than I, since I rarely visit here,” Penelope said. “I have my own residence in town, but having closed it up just recently, I saw no point to opening it up again.”
“But I thought you had decorated…that is…” She turned to Saron, once more feeling quite overwhelmed. Was it possible this delightful home had been designed by him?
“I can only take credit for hiring competent workers,” he said, a glint of amusement in his eyes.
The conversation momentarily took another path while Saron arranged for their trunks to be brought upstairs and hers deposited in the Orchid Room, a name that piqued her interest, bringing to mind a hothouse filled with exotic flowers.
Saron ordered tea and cakes to be brought up to his aunt’s bedchamber. “What about you, Anabelle? Would you care for refreshments first or are you eager to see the property?”
Having spent the better part of the day bounced around by the jarring motion of the coach, she quickly opted for the chance to stretch her legs.
He motioned for her to follow him through a door to his right which turned out to be his formal salon. Though painted in light colors, there was nonetheless a sense of power to the place, an unmistakable authority, and at the same time, great appeal.
Just like its master.
The furniture was of the highest quality without being ostentatious and she particularly admired the carved marble fireplace and exquisite carpet, but could not overlook the dragon markings prominent in both. Indeed, not. She expected that dragons would be found everywhere in Saron’s home, their presence subtle but unmistakable. She decided to count them as they toured, although it didn’t really matter how many there were.
The only dragon that mattered to her was Saron.
Although he’d been surprisingly polite and attentive on the journey to London, there was no overlooking he was the unhappiest soon-to-be bridegroom ever to exist. Not for his sake, but for hers. Despite his hesitation in marrying her, Anabelle sensed she could be happy here. She’d only seen the one room meant to be seen by visitors, purposely designed to impress. But as they walked through each room of the house, the rest of it turned out to be just as impressive. Each possessed a distinct elegance, yet subtly fit together as a whole. By the time they climbed the sweeping staircase to the second floor, her mouth was once more agape.
Saron chucked a finger under her chin. “I see that you are suitably awed.”
“I learn more about you every day.” And liked him more with each discovery.
Something had changed between them. Oh, quite a subtle change, for Saron hadn’t turned soft as pudding overnight. Indeed, he’d retained the hard exterior, but she’d caught a glimpse of the true man, of the warmth and gentleness he was capable of and had once shared with Gideon.
At times, he seemed ready to confide in her. There was something he wished to tell her, possibly about Lord Bloodaxe, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. She hoped he would soon. “Did you renovate much of the house or has it always been as beautiful as this?”
“I scrapped everything when my father died, save the few heirlooms passed down through the centuries. I wanted no reminder of him…or her,” he said, his eyes darkening to a thunder-gray, and Anabelle knew he referred to his mother.
She swallowed hard, struggling to control her anger. It was not directed at him, bu
t toward those who’d hurt him so badly. Shame on his parents for creating those bitter childhood memories.
He must have sensed her turmoil, for he took her hand and squeezed it lightly. “Little one, that particular battle has been fought and is long finished.”
She cast him a small smile, not quite agreeing with his remark. He may have rid the house of unpleasant reminders of his past, but the scars on his back were not so easily removed. Indeed, they would haunt him for the rest of his life and, at best, diminish in importance.
But they would always be there, as would those hideous blue webs embedded in his skin.
They climbed the stairs and slowly made their way along the hall, inspecting each of the guest quarters. Finally, he opened one door, but did not proceed inside. Instead, he motioned for her to enter. “This is your bedchamber. You may choose another if it is not to your liking.”
She gasped. “It’s lovely.” The Chinese silk wallpaper was of a tasteful orchid design, decidedly feminine yet not at all cluttered or busy. The room filled with sunlight as she strode through it and a gentle breeze blew in from tall windows which overlooked a rear garden. She peered out a window to inspect the splendid view, then dropped the lace drapery she’d held aside and turned back to him with a heartfelt smile. “I’m sure it will suit me very well.”
“I thought so. This suite of rooms is the duchess quarters and connects to mine. I’ve had a lock added, one that I hope will come down once we’re married.” He remained standing at the door, refusing to follow her in, thereby signaling to his staff that he was her guardian and would not take liberties with her virtue, even though they would be married within a matter of days.
Though there were no servants in sight, Anabelle knew she and Saron were being watched and their every movement dissected and discussed. By acting the gentleman, he’d left no doubt that he expected her to be treated as a lady.
She noticed her trunk in the corner, as yet unpacked.
He followed her gaze. “I’ll have the rest of your bags brought up.”