by Paula Quinn
“He thinks to take you from me,” his answer was spoken with less anger, as if looking at her brought him back from his lair.
“I don’t belong to you.”
He looked so incredulous, so utterly stunned and dismayed that Sam didn’t know whether to laugh or throw a fork at him.
“Very well, then.” He backed away and bowed to her like a knight from one of her books. She watched him leave without another word, the same way he’d arrived.
“I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with own eyes,” Thomas said, watching him go, as well.
“Wouldn’t have believed what?”
“How quickly you subdued him, for one. But more than that, his reaction to thinking I meant to take you from him.”
“I know, and I’m sorry for that, Thomas. Did he hurt you?”
“No, sweet, don’t you see? You’ve become his treasure.”
*
Sam climbed the stairs to the room she and Marcus shared. Was she truly his treasure? Was that why he was so possessive? She ached to take the steps two at a time to reach him sooner, but she’d probably trip over a bunny ear and break both her legs and then he would be even more angry with her. She sighed. That wasn’t the only reason she didn’t run to him. She didn’t care if she was a treasure or not, how dare he be angry with her? She’d done nothing. Marcus was going to have to learn to trust her, and then he was going to have to learn that she wasn’t a piece of cattle that he owned.
She stomped up the stairs the rest of the way and pushed open the door to their room expecting to find him snoring like the big oaf that he was. When she saw him sitting in a chair in front of the hearth, staring into the flames, she paused. He looked so beautiful in his lonely silence, so masculine with his long legs stretched out before him and his forearms resting on his flat, bare belly. Sam almost forgot her anger at the sight of those wide, glorious eyes with flames dancing in their reflection. But he turned then and looked at her.
“Did you finally tire of Thomas’s babbling?”
She held her ground, even if the sound of his deep, rumbling voice turned her to damned butter. “Thomas doesn’t babble,” she retorted with a cheeky smile and slammed the door shut. “At least he doesn’t boss me around.”
Marcus scowled and her heart ached. “Boss. What does that mean?”
Crossing the room, Sam kicked her slippers off her feet and threw herself on the bed. “It means he doesn’t tell me what to do. He doesn’t think he owns me, nor does he want to.”
Marcus left his chair and stalked over to the bed and stood over her. “Own you?” he repeated with a hooded look and a tight clenching of his jaw.
“That’s right.” Sam looked up at him. “He’s not an oaf…like you.”
“I’m not an oaf, Sam.” His anger flared right along with stung pride.
“You are, Marcus.”
“I’ve been called many things, but I don’t like being called an oaf by you.”
Sam almost sighed dreamily into his face. He was so completely honest, so bare and open. When his heart felt something, he said it without reserve or double meaning.
But he was so arrogant. “You don’t truly prefer Thomas over me, do you?”
She wanted to laugh at his puffed-up pride that belied the worry in his eyes. What a fool he was to even suggest it. “Well, he does have pretty hair.”
She squealed with laughter when he swooped down on her and lifted her in his arms. He pressed kisses to her neck and collarbone that tickled her belly and made her laugh even more.
“Forgive my anger, Sam.” He stopped kissing long enough to gaze down at her. “You have become very important to me. The thought of someone else…”
She quieted him by leaning up to kiss his mouth. “There’s no one else. There’s only you.”
He pushed her down on the bed and began undressing her.
“Marry me, Sam.”
She looked up, confused. “What?”
“Marry me. Tomorrow. And then I’ll be your husband and I can own you properly.”
He laughed when Sam punched him in the arm and then he finished undressing her.
*
Marcus was already bathed and dressed when Ellie called everyone down to breakfast. He stepped into the great hall moments before Thomas.
“Ah, good morn to you, lovely lady,” Thomas sang.
Marcus mumbled under his breath. He guessed he was going to have apologize to the White for manhandling him yesterday. He didn’t like these new feelings of regret and injured feelings, but they came easier to him as the weeks passed.
“Thomas!” Ellie practically beamed right out of her shoes. “You’re always so pleasant in the morning.”
“Why shouldn’t he be?” Marcus grumbled. “He’s living here in this beautiful castle, free of charge.”
Thomas laughed, passing him to plant a kiss on Ellie’s cheek. “Someone has to protect Sam against the beast that lives here,” he teased and swatted Marcus on the arm with his rolled-up newspaper.
“I’m not a beast.” Marcus brooded, wishing he still had fangs and swatted Thomas back with his fist.
Thomas grimaced at him, rubbing his arm.
“Are you two boys fighting?” Ellie turned to admonish both of them with a cool, motherly glare and shook her spatula at them. “Because I won’t have it. I’ll box both your ears.”
Thomas threw up his hands in surrender. “My mother boxed my ears once. And let me tell you, your ears haven’t been boxed properly until they’ve been boxed with ten inch claws.”
“Well, I dare say!” Ellie didn’t have that kind of venom in her on her angriest day.
She tossed Thomas a pitied look and then blushed to her roots when he burst into laughter. Even Marcus allowed his mouth to hook into a smile at Thomas’ teasing.
An instant later, they heard a crash from the outside hall, followed by a severe chastisement by Tabitha. And then, like a typhoon bent on destruction, Garion flew into the kitchen. He wasn’t trying to hit anything. It was just that his wings, like those of any Drakkon, were bigger than the rest of him and got in the way of the seemingly clear path followed by his eyes.
“Good lord!” Ellie squealed as the Drakkon flew over her, slapping her in the head with the tip of one wing.
Tabitha rushed into the kitchen with Sam close at her heels. The younger girl skidded to a halt when she saw Marcus and the others ducking to avoid Garion’s sharp, dangling claws.
“I’m sorry.” Tabitha clutched her hands to her chest, then threw Garion a venomous look when he sailed over her, narrowly avoiding a disastrous encounter with Sam’s curio shelf.
“Sorry for what?” Marcus asked, barely shielding his amusement. The poor girl looked on the verge of tears and her raven braid was coming loose in a dozen places. It looked as if Garion had tried to nest on top of her head. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Tabitha. Drakkons should be permitted to fly outside.”
Tabitha shot a glance to Thomas. He had decided for the boy’s own safety he should not be allowed to leave the castle in his Drakkon form. But Tabitha had to agree with Marcus. Garion was just too big and too inexperienced a flyer to soar around indoors.
Apparently, Garion agreed. He screeched Marcus’ name and barreled toward him at the precise moment that Ellie’s bacon decided to fire a sizzling missile of splattered grease onto one of Garion’s tender scales. The Drakkon tumbled in the air, wings still flapping, and long, metallic-colored talons aimed straight for Sam’s face.
Marcus vaulted forward. He covered Sam like a shield and spun her out of the way so fast she lost her footing and fell against his chest. When he was sure she wasn’t hurt, he gritted his teeth and turned to Thomas. “Bring him outside. Now!”
“You coming, Marcus?” Thomas asked, needing his affirmation. Marcus was the only one besides Garion who could fly.
Everyone followed the small Drakkon into the inner bailey with Tabitha calling for the boy to put on his coat. Garion ca
lled back that he didn’t need it, and Marcus’ reassurance that he would keep him from danger.
The moment the young Drakkon felt the fresh air on his scales, Marcus knew he’d made the right decision, for Garion opened his wide jaws and a sound more beautiful than a chorus of angel’s singing rushed out of it. The Drakkon flapped his leathery wings and soared toward the heavens with such great speed, they all paused after a moment, seeing nothing but a speck in the sky. But they could still hear the heart-wrenching song of his soul being set free.
An instant later, the speck became a golden star falling to the earth, and then the figure diving toward them grew larger until his scales could be seen sparkling like polished bronze in the sunshine.
*
With his head tilted toward the heavens, Marcus watched Garion’s flight and smiled. It was a smile of pure, unrequited joy that brought tears to Sam’s eyes when she turned to look at him. This was what Marcus might never feel again, what the Whites had taken away from him. He could still fly, but the magic of such natural, graceful majesty was gone. The power of his size, the swoosh of his great tail slicing the air, the brilliance of his luminescent scales reflecting and bouncing off golden rays of sunlight, was snatched away from him in one terrible moment.
His voice was still beautiful though, Sam comforted herself, and then looked away quickly when he lowered his head and turned to gaze at her.
“Blaseiaaaaaaaa!” Garion roared to Sam’s right and she looked up in time to see him open his jaws directly behind a small meadowlark.
His body paused in the air for the space of a breath and then surged backward. Sam stood in awestruck wonder as he blew out a stream of fire that not only charred the bird, but a tip of one of the castle’s turrets more than thirty feet away as well.
“Well,” Thomas said, grinning from ear-to-ear when Garion dove and swallowed up his meal before it reached the ground. “That’s one less for breakfast, Ellie.”
“Two,” Marcus corrected.
“You’re not having breakfast with us?” Sam asked, her heart breaking for him.
“I’m going to stay out here and keep an eye on him.”
“We can call him in,” Tabitha suggested.
“No. He’s having too much fun.”
Once again, Sam realized what Marcus had lost, and she knew she could never be enough to make him happy. She doubted, after seeing the true magnificence of a Drakkon in flight, that anything ever could again. She turned and followed Ellie and the others back to the castle.
*
Marcus watched her leave. He wanted to go to her and take her in his arms. He wanted to touch her soft hair, kiss her eyelids, and then her delicate, pouting mouth. He ached to smell her, for now she longer wore the scent of a virgin, but of him. And no matter how she felt about it, she was his. She loved him. He could feel it exuding from every pore. And he loved her. Hell, if anyone had told him that love hurt this much, and that he would one day suffer the crushing weight of it, he would have burned them to cinders. He didn’t want to leave her, but…
He looked up at Garion soaring above him and sighed. How easy life had been as a Drakkon compared to this ache in his heart. He hadn’t flown with a Drakkon in so long, he couldn’t remember doing it. He lifted his arms over his head and pulled his shirt off. He tossed it to the ground with a careless smile and unfolded his great, aqua wings.
Just below the clouds, the powerful arch of cool, liquid-like wings captured the wind and carried Marcus higher and higher. He set his gaze on Garion and watched the small Drakkon flap his wings wildly to catch up. When he did, he grinned, exposing small, sharp fangs. Marcus laughed and dipped to the right with perfect grace. They flew together for over an hour, playing and tumbling through the clouds. Marcus showed him how to prepare his fire before he found his target so that he wouldn’t have to breathe in so deeply and pause his flight.
Garion practiced until there wasn’t a bird left in sight. When he grew tired of flying, Garion transformed into a boy and rode on Marcus’ back, squealing with delight while the wind whipped through his hair.
Later, they sat atop the battlements with their legs dangling over the edge. Garion popped his thumb into his mouth and listened with great interest while Marcus told him the tale of the great Sir Henry, a knight who lived in the thirteenth century.
“Why did he hunth you, Marcush?” the boy asked with his lips still wrapped around his chubby finger.
“Well, unlike the other knights, this one had a good reason,” Marcus told him. “You see, he loved a virgin that I had wanted to eat.”
“Whath is a virgin?”
Marcus looked down at the wide, golden orbs looking back at him and remembered that this child was Drakkon. He was going to need to understand what virgins were and why Drakkon desired them. “A virgin is a person who has not been touched or spoiled by…ehm…another person’s…essence. When a human bonds with another their body absorbs a part of their lov…ehm…mate.” Marcus rubbed his forehead. It was starting to ache. There was just no way to explain to the child what made a person unchaste physically but not spiritually.
“Did you eath her?” Garion asked, thankfully returning to the original course of the conversation.
“No,” Marcus said quietly, remembering. He cast Garion a long, sideward glance. “But it wasn’t because I couldn’t beat Sir Henry. It was because I didn’t want to beat him.”
“Why noth?”
“Because while I was busy licking my chops day after day over the virgin Isobelle, I was forced also to watch the way Henry loved her.” Marcus laughed softly to himself, recalling a day he’d spied on the couple from beyond a low hill. Sir Henry, mighty champion to the throne of England, slayer of two Reds, and lord of his own castle, had knelt on one knee reciting poetry to Isobelle. And pitiful poetry it was, too, though his lady seemed to like it enough.
Could you write me something better?
In my sleep, he replied haughtily, hearing Sam’s delicate voice in his mind, missing her face, seeking her out.
You don’t have to pen me any prose. She let him off the hook. I’m not one for poetry. But can you do me a favor and stop talking about licking your chops over a virgin?
He smiled, basking in the sound of her in his head and because he didn’t have to sit down with a pen. I didn’t know you were listening.
I like how you are with the boy. If you are looking for ways to court me, you’re doing fine right now.
He felt a rush of her warmth cover him.
“They called it courting back then,” Marcus told the child leaning against him. Sir Henry was much like the men in Sam’s books. His heart sank when he thought how unlike those men, he was.
You’re better, she whispered across his thoughts. You’re real.
“Whath’s courthing?”
Cutting Garion another side-glance, Marcus scowled at him. “You sure do ask a lot of questions.” To which he received a gut-wrenching smile.
“Come, it’s time to return indoors. Keep your current form inside from now on and I’ll bring you flying daily.” He gathered the boy in his arms and smiled at Garion’s sleepy eyes. “Do we have a bargain?”
“Yes.” Garion pulled his thumb out of his mouth and smiled at him. “Marcus?” he asked a moment later, while Marcus lowered them to the ground. “Do you like Sam?”
“Aye, I do,” Marcus told him. “I love her.”
“But Tabitha said one of the Whites told her you don’t love anything.”
“Well.” Marcus kissed the top of his head. “The White was wrong.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sam moved further into the shadows along the thin battlement wall, staying carefully hidden while Marcus stood to his feet a short distance away. Only when he stepped over the side did she allow herself to move. She knew she shouldn’t have spied on them, but she’d suspected earlier that Marcus wanted to fly with Garion. She’d been right and the sight of them, especially when Garion rode his back as a boy, tor
e at her heart. But she hadn’t been able to look away.
She was thinking about how selfish it was to want Marcus to stay when giant talons clamped around her waist. She drew in a breath to scream at the fiery red wings flapping almost silently above her.
It was a Drakkon! A very real, very alive, full-sized Drakkon!
Open your mouth, it warned, turning its huge scaly head around so that it could look at her, and I’ll burn everything to ashes.
No! Everyone she knew and loved was in the castle. She didn’t open her mouth but she couldn’t stop her heart from beating wildly—so wildly, she fainted.
*
“Oh, thank you for getting him to sleep.” Tabitha met Marcus at the back door and took Garion from his arms. “I’ll have some peace tonight.”
Marcus smiled and promised her an entire day off on Sunday. He and Sam would look after him.
Sam, where are you? I’ll come get you, my love.
When only silence filled his thoughts, he looked around the kitchen at Ellie and Thomas. “Where’s Sam?”
“We thought she was with you,” Ellie told him.
No, no, he wouldn’t think the worst. Samantha! When she still didn’t answer, he turned his pale face to Thomas. “She isn’t answering me!”
At once, Thomas bolted from his chair. He pulled a small black stone from his pocket and looked into it. “I cannot see her,” he said and ran for the door. “Did any of you hear a car?”
Samantha, answer me this instant.
Still nothing. His heart faltered. Where did he even begin to look for her? The castle and its perimeter were the first places. If she’d fallen somewhere and was unconscious she wouldn’t hear him. If Patrick had taken her, he’d done it for ransom. He wouldn’t have killed her already. Marcus was going to kill him and any others who came against him. But how would he find them?
“I’m going to look for her,” he said, feeling the need to do something.
“I’ll take the car.” Thomas turned for his keys.