If My Heart Could See You

by , Sherry Ewing

  “You sorely test my patience, Amiria,” Dristan murmured, “especially when I had planned to give you time to get used to the idea of us as husband and wife.”

  “Surely you jest, my lord, if you think we shall wed,” she said defiantly.

  He gave her a smirk that she had come to know all too well, usually when they were out in the lists. “And surely you realize that I would do nothing less than wed thee once I took you to my bed.”

  She quickly gazed around the chamber and saw that she was indeed not in her own room. Still, this changed nothing to her thinking. “I know you not well enough that I would pledge my troth to you.”

  “You know of me,” he drawled lazily with another smile that spoke more than any words could reveal.

  Amiria frowned in puzzlement. Was that a hint of hurt she detected in his words or just conceit, thinking how she must be pleased with him? She was so very confused! “Nay I do not, my lord. I know you not at all.”

  Apparently conceding the battle of wills at least temporarily, Dristan rose from the bed and began to don his garments. Once he was fully clothed, he built up the fire to take the morning chill from the room. The task did not take long and Amiria watched his every move with uncertainty, not wanting to admit where her course in life would now lead.

  He at last turned his attention back towards her, and Amiria’s breath caught in her throat from the intensity of his gaze. Dristan stood afore her as the embodiment of a champion knight favored by his king. Any woman in her right mind would be lucky to have a man such as him to call her husband. Yet, her stubbornness refused to allow another to make a life’s decision for her whether ’twas reasonable or not. She refused to remember that if her sire yet lived, she would have obeyed his commands of whom she was to marry without question. She gazed at Dristan, carefully trying to assess what was crossing his mind when he remained staring at her from across the chamber.

  He moved in one fluid motion. She was his prey and he stalked her with a precision and a determination she had never witnessed afore. She could only imagine he was the same when it came to planning a strategy upon the battlefield. She drew the fur blanket up to her chin, as if that alone would save her from his steady gaze. He came and sat next to her but did not touch her.

  “You know me better than most know those who would wed together,” he clarified. “Resign yourself to the idea that you shall be my wife.”

  “How can you want me as your lady wife when you’ve only known me as a lad?” she protested.

  “Surely even you know that is no longer the case, ma cherie,” he said as he reached out to touch her.

  Amiria jerked away from his hand in distaste at how easily he thought she would comply with his demands. “Do not think that after one night you can be so free with me again. I will not allow it!”

  Dristan gave a slight chuckle of amusement. “Your destiny has been decided Amiria and one that was truly never yours to control. You have a most fiery soul, my lady, and I would be hard pressed to find a more perfect match even if I searched ’til the end of time.”

  “You still canna be free to touch me at your will!” she protested, knowing Dristan would do whatsoever he pleased.

  He reached again towards her and although she slapped his hand away a second time, he gave her a devilish grin and tucked a lock of her hair behind one ear. “Touch you I will whenever I so wish it. Again I tell you to resign yourself to your fate, for we shall indeed wed.”

  “But you must give me time,” Amiria pleaded. “Several months at the very least.”

  “Take care of what you ask of me, my lady, for I will be honest with you . . . after what we have just shared, I will be hard pressed to get you afore a priest with all due haste.”

  Amiria blushed crimson at his words. “You cannot plan to hold me to that which I thought was but a dream!” she retorted hotly.

  “Aye, my sweet Amiria, I can and will do so,” he said, feeling her forehead and finding it cool to his touch. “Your fever has left you. ’Tis a good sign.”

  “How long have I been sick, my lord?” she inquired hesitantly.

  “’Twas longer than to my liking.” Dristan once more swept her with his intensive gaze. “Stay abed this day. I will see that food is brought to you so you may break your fast.”

  Amiria allowed him to softly run his fingers through her hair once more. Memories of their night together flashed across her mind and she knew her cheeks blushed most furiously yet again. He seemed to know where her thoughts had taken her as his smile broadened. With another satisfied glance at her features, he at last rose from her side.

  She watched his every move as Dristan strode about the chamber ’til he finally took up his sword, fastening it to the belt about his hips. He gave her one last satisfied look afore he took leave of the room.

  ’Twas not ’til her air had left her with a sudden whoosh that she realized she had been holding her breath. With a muffled groan, she threw the covers over her head and pondered the mysteries of her sorry life. She was beyond angry with herself for allowing her deepest most thoughts to become a reality even whilst she thought it all but a pleasant dream. Oh, how she hated that insufferable man!

  ’Twould be well into the afternoon afore she came to the realization that against her better judgment, her dragon had indeed made claim to her as his mate and had branded himself into her very soul.

  Twenty

  “I swear, if I must stay within this chamber one moment longer I shall scream from sheer boredom loud and long enough to bring down around us the walls of this keep,” Amiria ranted sullenly.

  “Mayhap if you resume your stitchery, sister, ’twill soothe you,” offered Lynet whilst her fingers worked at the cloth in her lap.

  Amiria quit her pacing to stare in annoyance at her sibling. “You know better than anyone that there is only one thing that will calm my nerves and taking up needle and thread is not it.”

  “’Tis forbidden . . . besides, you are to rest.”

  “I have rested enough.”

  ”Mayhap ’tis so, but our Lord Dristan has ordered you to stay within your chamber so you must obey his will,” Lynet reminded her. She frowned in concentration as she began to loosen another botched attempt at mending the garment beneath her usually nimble fingers. “He would not be pleased to find you wearing hose and tunic instead of gown and wimple. You should not test him so.”

  “I will wear what I choose as I have always done!”

  “Be prepared then to pay the consequences when you are staring up into his angry eyes, for I do not believe you will like the view,” Lynet predicted, focusing on trying to undo a knot that appeared in her unraveling of the mess she had made. “Please sit, Amiria, for you are distracting me with your frantic stomping about, and I must now start this over yet again.”

  “I am restless, and the pacing helps my already stretched nerves.”

  Lynet ignored her sister’s words and continued her chiding. “Your behavior and rambling about Lord Dristan’s untimely demise has been far from ladylike. I can almost hear mother’s voice taking you to task for it.”

  “I need fresh air,” Amiria complained, as she continued traipsing from one end of the room to the other.

  “Then go to the window and open the shutters for goodness sake,” Lynet proposed in irritation of being cooped up with her sister.

  “’Tis not enough.”

  “’Twill have to be for that is all Lord Dristan shall allow you.”

  Amiria whirled around at her sister and threw up her hands in frustration. “Say his name just one more time Lynet and I swear by all I hold dear I shall thrash you for it. I will not be held prisoner in my own keep!” she yelled.

  “Surely you are not a prisoner, Amiria. It also does you no good to take out your irritation on me,” Lynet said, calmly putting down her mending. “I have seen the way he looks on you when he comes to see how you fare each eve. He only means to ensure you are healed from your illness. Besides . . . I like
him.”

  Amiria merely grumbled quietly about the nerve of the man that he should dare to order her about as if she would listen to him. ’Twas not as if they were already wed, and even if that miracle came to pass, she was not sure she would give him the satisfaction of obeying him. Lynet’s words, however, still hovered in the air like an unforeseen shadow of what was yet to come. She made her way to the window seat and opened the shutter as her sister had suggested. The slight amount of fresh sea breeze wafting its way to her senses was like a welcoming balm to her troubled soul. She soon became lost in thought as the past se’nnight’s flashed across her memory.

  Dristan had come each eve to bring her supper, assuring himself she had eaten her fill and was on the mend. The silence stretched between them had been deafening and, if it had not been for Lynet and Patrick’s chatter, there would have been no conversation at all. Her hand trembled in recollection on how each night as he left, he lifted her numb fingers and placed a tender kiss upon them. If she closed her eyes and willed it hard enough, she could still see how the torches held in the wall sconces reflected the light onto his black hair whilst he looked down upon her from his towering height. She gave a hearty sigh and wondered when she had become such a dewy eyed imbecile, who could no longer put more than two words together once in his presence.

  She slammed the shutter closed in disgust. “I’ve had enough of this confinement,” she decided and went to her chest at the end of her bed. Lifting the lid, she began to haphazardly throw gowns up over her head ’til she reached towards the bottom and found what she had earnestly sought. “Help me don this,” and she began to pull her armor out with a loud clank of metal as it hit the stone floor.

  “He will not like it,” Lynet advised with a grim expression.

  Amiria silenced her with a stony glare of warning ’til her sister held up her hands in defeat and began to help her with the tedious task of settling the heavy armor on her small frame. ’Twas not ’til the mail coif was placed on her head that she began to feel a bit of her old self. Her scabbard missing a most vital element, she began to search every corner for her sword.

  “’Tis not here, Amiria,” Lynet said carefully in answer to the empty sheath Amiria all but shoved in her face.

  “’Tis mine and I shall not allow him to take that which our father gave me,” Amiria retorted, as she reached for her helmet, pushing the mail coif from her head and pulling out her braid. “Why did he see fit to take my sword of all things?”

  “Given your reaction, I believe he did what he thought best in his own behalf. I think he must care for you, Amiria,” Lynet chimed in. “He declared he would keep it so as not to offer you the temptation of sending him to keep the devil company and thereby depriving you of a husband.”

  “I’ll send that horses arse to the devil alright and enjoy the pleasure of performing just such a task to rid me of that vermin!” she raged.

  She left her chamber and sibling behind her in a huff of righteous determination to set things straight with the lord of the keep. She would begin by finding out where Dristan had put her sword. With her helmet under her arm, she made her way down the spiral turret and through the Great Hall with an unwavering stride to begin her search for her dragon. God help his sorry hide when she found him.

  Twenty-one

  “Sword!” Dristan shouted at Riorden as yet another blade was tossed into his eagerly waiting fingers. Never taking his eyes off his two opponents, he swung both blades now gripped firmly in each hand. Now this was a challenge he would prefer instead of that sulking bit of a female who confused his thoughts at all hours of the day.

  “Mon ami, I believe you have grown weak since you have tended your young mademoiselle,” Nathaniel taunted, assessing his lord for where he might strike to win a victory in his name.

  “You would have thought he would have learned a thing or two from Fletcher’s sire,” Rolf added with a gleam in his eye whilst he also swung his blade. “Mayhap he must needs return to the duties of squire!”

  “’Twould be fitting, since he cannot remember to don his armor or even chain mail,” mocked Morgan. “Just look at him, strutting about the lists, bare chested as he is.”

  “Don your armor, my lord, or the castle whores will be of no use to any of us but you,” ridiculed Taegan. “’Tis no wonder they laze about lusting after such as he.”

  Raucous laughter filled the lists from Dristan’s guard, along with a number of silly giggles from those same lusty wenches who dared much to be in the lists just to gaze upon him as he trained.

  The men had all halted their own individual training to watch the spectacle and skill of Dristan hefting two blades at once. The whores only licked their lips with hope that he would take notice of them and have him beckon unto at least one of them to share an evening of delight in his arms. Much to their dismay, he was too preoccupied with the task at hand and that was to relieve the garrison knights of their swords and perchance a bit of pride in their own worth. There could be no doubt, to those who viewed his performance, that he demonstrated his superior prowess and ability with his weapons. Even Ian and those of Amiria’s guard appeared impressed upon the site afore their eyes.

  “A wager! Aye! A wager, Rolf will be the first to find his sorry arse in the dirt,” Turquine forecast whilst he continued watching his three companions fight. His grin only broadened from the glare tossed in his direction from Rolf, who advanced on the field again towards his target. “Come now . . . surely one of you will take my bet, or are you all cowards?”

  A groan went up in the air from those on the sidelines as they watched Turquine’s prediction come to pass afore any coins could exchange hands. Nathaniel closely followed with a grunt of pain as he, too, landed on his backside.

  Dristan looked over at his men, giving them a silent demand to join him. Ulrick took up the challenge next. He let down the visor on his helmet and Drake followed closely on his heels. ’Twas an impressive site as Dristan engaged another two opponents. On and on, he continued his assault with sure steady strokes, taking on one of his guard after another, including dispatching Ian and his men. ’Twas not ’til he was left standing alone on the field that he stabbed both blades into the dusty earth in front of him as he looked to see who he could take on next. ’Twas a good day’s training, but he was ready for more as he had hardly worked up a sweat of much merit to his thinking.

  “Perchance, now that you have had a small warm up, you would care to take on someone more experienced to challenge you,” Bertram called confidently.

  Dristan laughed. “Well come hither if you dare, Sir Bertram, and let us see what skill you have this day. I shall endeavor to give you aid by only using one blade, if you think it shall help with your feeble attempts to actually heft your sword upright.”

  “No need. I will not be coddled like some babe!” Bertram called, advancing to the center of the field.

  Once more the sound of steel connecting with steel rang out in the air, surrounding the two men, who stood toe to toe in combat. Bertram gave an impressive effort as Dristan labored at least slightly harder to keep him at bay and at arm’s length.

  ’Twas only when a slighter figure dressed in armor, with her long red braid swinging behind her to and fro, came into the corner of his vision that Dristan faltered in his stance. One sword went flying as ’twas torn from his grasp. He hissed seconds later, feeling a nick from Bertram’s blade skimming across his arm. Merde, that woman will be the death of me, he thought.

  He watched Bertram back off a pace or two, aghast that he had actually somehow managed to penetrate his liege’s defenses and draw blood that seeped down his arm.

  “My lord I−,” Bertram began appalled at what he had inadvertently done, which was no small feat.

  Any further words of apology were silenced and Dristan waved off his efforts, as the mistake was of his own making. As her liege lord and soon to be husband, he assumed Amiria would obey him and stay off the lists, remaining in her chamber as he h
ad commanded. His stupidity knew no bounds for ’twas obvious by her determined stride as she advanced towards him that he was to suffer a lifelong battle of keeping the upper hand where she was concerned. By the look upon her face, her Scottish pride was in full fury mode. She stopped afore him and gazed at him with blazing violet eyes. God, what a beauty, he thought silently.

  “Where is it you vile excuse for a man?” she said and made to give his chest a shove to drive home the depth and point of her anger. She became further annoyed when he did not budge even an inch. He folded his arms over his massive chest and began to smile.

  “My lady,” he replied casually.

  “Do not belittle me with useless titles. I am certainly not yours!”

  “You are mistaken if you think differently, Amiria,” Dristan replied for her ears alone.

  “How could you take that which is mine to protect myself . . . my sword of all things?” she yelled furiously.

  “You have no further need to carry a blade, as you now have me to protect you. Do you not agree ’tis only fitting I should do so, given the status of our new relationship?” he asked smartly.

  “You had no right to take my blade, Dristan!” Amiria retorted hotly between clenched teeth, ignoring the gasps heard around her when she addressed him so informally.

  Seeing the men listening intently to their conversation, he made light of the situation for their benefit since he would not have them think he had become soft, as he dismissed her words. “What is it you want of me that you interrupt my men’s training? Do you not perchance have something to sew to keep you occupied ’til you can attend me this eve?” he joked more loudly than he intended, as his men joined in with their own laughter. He did not miss the quick look of hurt that flashed in her eyes afore it quickly transformed into hot blazing ferocity.

  A snarl erupted from Amiria’s lips. She threw her helmet onto the ground and swirled around to look upon her men, who stood nearby. She noticed Devon and advanced on him, since he was shorter than the rest of her guard. Amiria held out her hand and waited for her guardsman to release his blade over to her.