The Dragon Prince

by Mary Gillgannon

  Bridei sat down cross-legged a short distance from Eastra, and the strings of the harp shimmered in the firelight. He set his hand to the instrument and played a ripple of notes. Like a cascade of water, they danced through the air. In his rich, deep voice, Bridei began the tale of Kiernan and Olwen. He sang how fair Olwen was with her white brow and her shining hair like a river of gold. Of the bold and heroic Kiernan, and of the tender love they shared for each other. And he sang of all the trials Kiernan had endured to win his beloved.

  Then he sang another song, this one of a battle. His voice swelled and rose to the treetops as he described the clash of weapons and the fierce combat, then softened to a throbbing whisper as he told of the deaths of Cadwallon and Achlen, of their bravery and valor, how the women wept for them and the linnets and nightingales in the tree-tops added their voices to the fallen heroes’ lament.

  Glancing over at Eastra, Rhun felt something inside himself snap. He jerked to his feet and walked off into the trees. There he stood in the darkness, taking deep breaths, trying to calm the turmoil inside him. It was almost as if he hated his brother. He wondered what kind of person he was to feel such rage at his own kin. After all, he did not really believe Bridei would try to seduce Eastra. Even his amoral brother had more honor than that. But Bridei was obviously winning her over, charming her, making her forget all about the special moments the two of them had shared in Londinium. Rhun told himself it was for the best, that Eastra could never be his anyway. But his heart roared and raged over the loss like an animal in pain.

  At last, in the distance, the silvery voice of the harp grew still, and he could hear nothing but the vague rustlings of the birds in the trees as they roosted for the night and the soft whisper of a night breeze in the boughs overhead. He took a deep breath, knowing he should go back and seek his bed so he would be fresh in the morning, yet well aware he would never be able to sleep. As soon as he closed his eyes, he would be tormented by the image of Eastra’s rapt expression as she watched Bridei sing.

  Instead, he sought out Dewi, who was guarding the periphery of the camp, and told the warrior he would take first watch again. Although Dewi said nothing, Rhun saw the warrior’s speculative look, and he had the awful realization that every man in the troop was aware of his bitter jealousy. The thought flooded him with humiliation, and in his rage all he could think of was going back to camp and thrashing Bridei senseless.

  But then he would be doubly a fool, he told himself. Such a childish display of temper would change nothing and might even make Eastra favor Bridei all the more. He did not need to remind her he was a harsh, ruthless warrior when it was already clear how much she preferred Bridei, with his graceful tongue, his charm and sophisticated allure.

  Staring miserably into the darkness, Rhun wondered how things could have come to this sorry pass—that he should be reduced to this level of self-pity and despair. His whole purpose in life had been to wield a sword and to fight for his people, his country, and his God, but Eastra had robbed him of his rock solid belief in that cause. For how could she—beautiful, fine, and intelligent as she was—be his enemy? His faith in all the things he thought he believed in was suddenly in doubt. He felt lost and helpless.

  No wonder the bards sang tales of lovely maidens and their power to bring down mighty warriors. It was true. Eastra, with her sweet smile and her glowing beauty, had done what no warrior could. She had brought him to his knees.

  He grimaced, fighting for control. He would not give up yet. Somehow, he would find the will to survive this journey. He would drive them all ruthlessly, that they might reach Gwynedd as soon as possible. Once there, he would deliver Eastra to his father’s fortress and then ride away as fast as Cadal would take him.

  * * *

  The next morning, Eastra and Bridei rode along in silence. This day he shared no stories. Instead, he seemed to be waiting to see what she would do, if she would follow his advice. The truth was, she had not decided yet.

  Recalling Rhun’s behavior this morning, which had been just short of rude, Eastra began to wonder if she had misread him. Maybe he didn’t care for her after all. Those few moments they had spent in each other’s arms in Londinium might mean nothing to him. Or perhaps he blamed her for the attack that came after. He might see her as a danger to himself and want to be rid of her as soon as possible. Certainly his brusque treatment this morning implied he felt that way.

  But in her heart she did not believe that. Rhun was behaving like a man seething with frustration and jealousy. Jealousy—aye, that was it. As short-tempered as he was with her, Rhun was positively hostile to Bridei, as if looking for any excuse to leave him behind. And Rhun would only be jealous if he felt something for her.

  So he must care for her. All he needed was some encouragement, the right circumstances to make him confront his feelings. She might be able to bring about those circumstances, if only she had the courage to do so. Chewing on her lower lip, Eastra considered what she had to lose. If Rhun truly didn’t desire her, her plan would anger him all the more. But even then, his sense of honor would not allow him to be too unkind to her. Her heart would be broken, but at least she would know for certain her dream was futile.

  If, on the other hand, her instincts about Rhun were true, then oh, what delights, what magic they might enjoy together! To be alone with Rhun, to feel his strong arms around her, to smell his enticing male smell, to press her mouth to his and taste him...

  Her breathing quickened at the thought. There were risks in her plan, but there were always risks in gaining something worth having.

  They were barely out of the glade where they had camped when Eastra looked at Bridei and nodded. Today she would risk her heart to find out what Rhun truly felt.

  * * *

  Rhun glanced up at the sullen, gray sky. It was going to rain before the day was over. He didn’t like the prospect of traveling in the rain, but he’d done it many times before. They could all don the oiled leather capes they kept in their packs and keep on riding. But with Eastra in their company, it might be better to find a sheltered spot and make camp for the night. Yet that would delay their journey all the more. And he could well imagine them all huddled in a makeshift lean-to, Bridei and Eastra beside each other, while he was forced to watch them. No, better to press on.

  The forest was growing denser and it was slow going. There were places they had to travel single file. That gave him a respite for a time, to know Bridei and Eastra could not easily talk as they rode. But the thick cover made him uneasy in another way. If anyone planned to attack them, this would be a good opportunity, with all the warriors strung out in a line and unable to fight off an ambush.

  Were they in danger? It seemed unlikely they’d been followed all the way from Londinium. And yet something inside him, some instinct, would not allow him to relax. He felt tense and jumpy, like an animal being hunted.

  “Rhun!”

  He turned as Bridei called out from behind him. “Can we not stop for a time?” his brother asked. “Just a brief respite to stretch and have a drink?” Bridei motioned with his head toward Eastra, suggesting she was the reason for his request.

  Rhun frowned. This was not the best place to call a halt, and it was scarce past midday. He glanced back again, and Bridei raised his brows. In his expression was a clear message: What sort of barbarian are you that you would consider denying Eastra these few comforts?

  Rhun’s grimace deepened. How did Bridei always manage to put him the wrong, especially when it came to Eastra? He went a little farther, until they reached a small clearing. There he turned and shouted back to the other men, letting them know they were going to stop for a time.

  Rhun dismounted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bridei helping Eastra off her horse. Rhun took a deep breath, fighting for control. When Eastra walked off into the underbrush, Rhun approached his brother. “Is she ill?”

  Bridei shrugged. “I don’t know. But she did ask me to ask you if we could stop for a
time. You have driven her pretty hard on this journey.”

  Rhun gritted his teeth at Bridei’s scolding tone. But his brother was probably right. He’d given little concern to Eastra’s comfort. And she was not only a woman, but a princess, and no doubt used to having someone wait upon her. He was suddenly struck by what a bumbling oaf he was. While they were in Londinium, he should have insisted they find some young woman to serve as her maid. But who could they have found? He was quite certain Eastra would reject the idea of having a slave, but by what other means would they have been able to procure a female bodyservant to make this journey?

  It didn’t matter now, he told himself. It was too late to find a female companion for her. He was simply going to have to be more considerate and try to make her as comfortable as possible on the rest of the journey.

  After a few moments, he glanced up at the leaden sky. The threat of rain increased by the moment. Where had Eastra gone off to? He hoped she hadn’t strayed too far from the path. It was easy to get lost in woods like these. He felt a twinge of anxiety, thinking he should have insisted one of the men accompany her. Or gone with her himself. He was responsible for her. If anything happened...

  He took a deep breath, then went to his pack and dug out his oilskin cape. “I’m going after her,” he told Bridei.

  Chapter 9

  A fat drop of rain struck Eastra on the nose. She brushed the wetness away and gave the sky an uneasy glance. Bridei’s plan did not include rain, and she had not thought to bring her cloak. While finding cover under some trees would provide a little protection, if she did that, how would Rhun ever find her?

  Doubts crowded her mind. Bridei had told her to wait until they reached more forested country. Then she was to act as if she needed to relieve herself and go off a distance from the others. Rhun would come to look for her—Bridei assured her of this—and then she should pretend to have sprained her ankle. While Rhun examined her ankle and decided what to do, she would have some time alone with him, an opportunity to reawaken the burning hunger they had experienced in the alley in Londinium.

  A simple plan, and only a little deceitful. But she had not figured on the weather turning bad. As the wind whipped her traveling gown and tore at her braids, she considered forgetting the whole scheme. There would be other opportunities to entice Rhun. She could implement her plan tomorrow as easily as today.

  She started back. After going some distance, she stopped. She’d thought that clump of hazel bushes back there was the one she’d passed soon after leaving the others. But if that were the case, she should be near the horses and the rest of the traveling party by now. She turned around, trying to remember what landmarks she’d passed. Suddenly, all the trees and bushes seemed to look alike. More raindrops splattered on her face, increasing her sense of urgency.

  She thought she recognized a hawthorn bush and a stand of oaks further on, but then things grew unfamiliar again. The rain was increasing, making her shiver as it dampened her thin gown. Concerns about Rhun finding her were suddenly replaced by the need to seek shelter. She spied a draw and headed in that direction. At least there she would be out of the wind.

  When she reached the hollow, she heard the sound of water running and realized she was near a small stream. Instinct warned her to climb to higher ground in case the rain was heavy and the stream flooded. She crossed the stream and made her way up a ridge. The rain pelted her harder and she gave a gasp of cold and exasperation. Spying a huge oak, she headed toward it. She sank down into the blanket of mast and dead leaves beneath the tree. This was as good a place as any to wait out the storm. But that did not change the fact that she was hopelessly lost.

  Where was she? Had she run away? But where would she run to? Dark thoughts filled Rhun’s mind as he hurried through the woods. What if Eastra had planned to escape all along? What if some of her countrymen had been following them, waiting for an opportunity to steal back their princess?

  But that made no sense. Why would the Saxons pursue her so deep into British territory? Why not rescue her nearer to Londinium, if that was their scheme?

  Or what if she been abducted by other enemies? Some chieftain who was in league with the Saxons might have come up with a plan to kidnap Eastra and throw the truce into jeopardy. Stealing Arthur’s hostage would be a good way to embarrass him and discredit his cause. But the way Eastra had insisted they stop, then gone off alone, suggested she was part of the plot. He could scarcely believe she would betray him like that.

  Maybe there was some other explanation. In this broken woodland, it would be easy for someone to lose their way. What if she had simply gone off to find some privacy and been unable to find her way back?

  Anxiety stabbed him. He reminded himself it was unlikely anything would happen to her. Wolves didn’t attack people unless the beasts were starving, and this time of year there was plenty of prey. She could easily find water to drink and a few berries to eat if she became hungry. She could not have gone far. He would find her eventually.

  He glanced back the way he had come, wondering if he should alert the others that Eastra was missing. Then he felt a drop of rain, and he decided that although Eastra might not be in danger, she could end up miserably wet and cold. He would not waste precious time by going back. Better to search for her right away, while she must still be close by.

  The rain began to drizzle down in a steady, cold shower. Rhun hardly felt it. He was too caught up in finding Eastra. He’d been searching for what seemed like a long time. It was as if she had vanished.

  He sighed in frustration. The thought came to him that she might have made her way back to the others and be waiting there. But if that was the case, why hadn’t Bridei or the other men sounded the horn as a signal, or even called out for him? Now that the wind had died down, he would surely hear their shouts.

  For that matter, why had he not thought to call out for Eastra? If she were in the area and wanted to be found, she would surely answer. But if he was wrong and she had been abducted, shouting would alert his enemies as to his whereabouts. Alone, he would be an easy target. He thought of the apprehensive mood he’d been in all day, the nagging conviction they were being followed. He decided to go back and get some help. The men could divide up into groups, then systematically search for her, calling out her name.

  He had scarce gone a few paces when he saw her. She was huddled up under a large, spreading oak, her pale hair the only thing that made her visible in the gloom.

  “Eastra!” he called out.

  When he approached her, she raised her head and gave him a frightened, anguished look. “Oh, Rhun!” she cried, “I’m so glad to see you.” To his surprise she did not stand up, but remained huddled down. “I’ve twisted my ankle,” she said as he drew near. “I was not able to walk back and find you. And then it started to rain.” She gave a shiver.

  He quickly pulled off his oiled leather cape, then sank down beside her and arranged the waterproof material to cover her. He could feel her trembling, and he gathered her onto his lap and put his arms around her. Her gown was wet through, and her hands were icy cold. He rubbed them between his fingers. Tremors swept through her. He clutched her tighter, feeling her body warm.

  “I got lost,” she mumbled.

  A deep sense of relief went through him. She had not been abducted, nor had she betrayed him. The anguished doubts left him and he began to relax. He continued to hold her, feeling her body warm. Then, gradually, he was aware of her in a different way. Of how lithe and soft her body felt in his arms. Of her smell, like a mist surrounding him, warm and sensual and female. His shaft grew hard, and he had to shift her weight so he was not so uncomfortable.

  He looked at her and saw the color coming back into her face. Her eyes appeared dark and wild, her lips rosy, plump, and tempting. It was so strange, he thought. One moment he was fall of concern and worry for her. The next, he was on fire with lust. He knew he should release her. He should examine her ankle to see how bad the injury was. Bu
t he did neither of those things. Instead, he bent his head and kissed her.

  She tasted of rain and forest, but beneath those things he discovered the even sweeter nectar of her mouth. She made a small noise, a sigh of contentment. He tightened his arms around her and deepened the kiss. She opened her mouth, inviting him to explore, and suddenly he was falling, falling, down into a world ancient and full of mystery.

  Warm skin, the throb of the heartbeat in her throat. The feel of her breast, so soft and perfect in his hand. The tender peak tightening beneath his fingers. Her breathing, fast and rhythmic as he shifted her off of him. He spread the oilskin cape on the ground, then helped her lie down on it. Shoving aside the damp fabric of her gown, he nibbled and mouthed his way down her neck to one swollen nipple. He suckled her, feeling her body stiffen and his own answering response. Cupping her other breast in greedy fingers, he laved and licked the silken skin until she arched her back and moaned.

  And then, mindless, he was pushing her skirts up, finding the linen loincloth and tearing it away as if it were a frail husk guarding some ripe succulent fruit. A glimpse of creamy thighs and the delicate, dark gold thatch between them. He touched the soft, hidden folds and her body quivered as if he were a harpist striking a stirring chord. He could feel the echo of the note throbbing inside him, and there was nothing he could do but answer it with his own harsh, male melody.

  He kissed her long and hard, his fingers on her, readying her, easing her. With each kiss, she yielded more to him, both her openings wet and slippery and hungry. Her slim form trembled with need. He fumbled with his clothing, too urgent and desperate to do more than free his shaft. For a second he stared at her, memorizing the vision of milky, feminine beauty, the exquisite perfection of her face. Then, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he pressed himself against her wetness.