The Reluctant Lord (Dragon Lords)

by Michelle M. Pillow

  Instantly, all sound stopped but for the gurgling upset of the ceffyl as it pawed the forest floor. A few of the boys began to chuckle, only to think better of it when Clara didn’t readily stand to face them. She slowly pushed up from the ground with her elbows. One by one, the boys lost their fighting stances.

  Vlad reached down to help her. “Clara, are you injured?” He instantly hooked her arm as she’d shown him to do in the marriage tent and helped her to her feet.

  Her answer was a weak noise as pain radiated down to her toes from her side. The stiff boots had kept her legs straight and jarred her hip during the fall. She felt tears burning her eyes but she forced them away. Her lip trembled slightly, but she managed to say evenly, “I am fine.”

  The boys had all dropped their weapons to the ground and stood frozen, wide-eyed and scared as they looked at Vlad.

  “We didn’t mean…” one boy tried to say.

  “We thought,” another added before pointing at Clara’s face. “She has on war paint.”

  “You always play with us in the forest.” The tallest boy crossed his arms, almost defensively. “And she is your wife.”

  The way the child said it made it seem as if that was reason enough for their actions. She waited for her husband to punish them, prepared to step in and forgive as they were only children and she would hate for them to be sentenced to death for attacking a lady.

  “I know,” Vlad said to them instead.

  Clara looked at him stunned. Her mouth opened, the pardon already on her lips. She pulled it back, not speaking.

  “You meant no harm, but let this be a lesson to be more careful in the future with ladies new to our planet.” Vlad waved his hand. “Run ahead to the village. I am sure your mothers are looking to feed you soon.”

  The boys obeyed. A few picked up their weapons as they began a new game of chasing each other down the path.

  “Sorry about that,” Vlad said. “I had no idea they would mistake your,” he looked at Clara’s face and gave a small chuckle, “face paint as war paint.”

  She barely heard his words. Her hip throbbed, sending waves of pain down her leg and up her back. Trying to look balanced, she leaned all her weight on one foot to ease the pressure on her injured hip.

  “We’re almost there. Once we arrive I’ll take you to get cleaned up. Can you ride?”

  Clara nodded once and weakly said, “As you wish.”

  * * *

  Clara stared at the center horn of the ceffyl, focusing on biting the tip of her tongue each time it stepped forward on its right legs. The movement swayed her onto her injured side, which in turn caused a wave of pain along her body. Vlad didn’t speak as he continued onward. Though she listened, a little worried the rowdy boys would attack again, she heard nothing beyond the blue birds in the trees.

  The first signs of civilization came in the form of a small home set into the trees. It was constructed of rocks stacked evenly together and trimmed with planks of wood. Even rows of plants grew in a very small, very strange square of a garden spot. One of her small attackers smiled at her from where he sat alone on a large stone, not pausing in his pointless task of smacking a large stick against the ground in steady thumps.

  Clara nodded once at his attention, unsure as to why he was looking directly at her like that. The oddness of the encounter took her mind off her pain for a moment.

  “What is this place called where we are going?” she asked.

  “Mining Village.” Vlad glanced back at her before turning his attention forward once more.

  The mud on her gown had begun to dry and crumble, though the material still felt wet against her hip and ass.

  “That is its name?” Clara tried to shift her weight, but it did little good. No matter how she adjusted herself, she was uncomfortable.

  Vlad chuckled. “Not very creative, I know. It used to be called Mining Camp, but then the miners discovered a rich vein of ore and their families built homes to settle the area and it became Mining Village. Apparently, their wives didn’t want to raise their children in tents.”

  “Rightly so,” Clara agreed. “You’re not primitives.”

  He gave a small laugh and said wryly, “Thanks for noticing.”

  More homes very much like the first stone one appeared in greater frequency in the trees. The forest opened to a long valley cut into the earth. Mining Village was nestled into the rectangular valley, opening up toward a jagged cliff surrounded by a mountain view on one side and dense trees on the other. The sound of water, faint and constant, came from beyond the cliff.

  Vlad led the way down into the small village to a center main street paved with stones. The village was kept immaculately clean, built with a calculated perfection of angles. Along each side of the center road, four buildings were plotted together, then another four, then another, and so on, each cluster separated by a side street that cut through at a ninety-degree angle. The four structure pattern continued along the side streets, easily discernible from her height above the village. The houses were of rock and wood and, from what she could discern, unless they were banished from the village, it appeared as if even the poorest of the Draig people were well cared for.

  As they rode closer and reached the main street, she could no longer see the entire village. People came from their homes and workplaces to view the newcomers. Clara stiffened and sat as straight as she could, despite the discomfort it caused her body and the precariousness of her balanced position on the animals’ back. She forced her face to tense as she stared forward above her husband’s head. At least, she tried to stare forward. Her eyes kept wandering to the side as she gazed upon the people and things around her. Had she known they would have a procession through the commoners, she would have insisted he allow her to fix herself.

  Vlad was much more relaxed as he waved in greeting. Several people called him by name, not title. Such disrespect would have been severely punished on her home world. Even she had to call her father “Great Lord” when in public.

  She noticed some of the young boys from the forest. They were standing with their parents, talking excitedly and pointing in her direction. A few waved like they were already well acquainted with her. She nodded at them, unsure how to respond. The openly curious expressions of the crowd combined with smiles and greetings to her husband made Clara uncomfortable—not because they were nice, but because she had no idea how to respond to such things. Until that moment, she’d not realized just how alien this world really was.

  Her heart began to beat hard in her chest and her hands trembled. She glanced around, hoping to see their destination—the manor he would take her to. There were only more houses. How could she monitor herself with nowhere to retreat to?

  Let it be over. Let it be over. Let it be over.

  Her situation overwhelmed her. The gown she wore was too thin, too indecent. The skirt did nothing to hide her natural curves. It closely matched the ladies of the village, although hers had the addition of the dragon crest, finer embroidery and her hemlines were more ornately stitched. The Draig men wore light linen tunics with the comfortably loose drawstring pants she’d seen near the palace. A few of them were covered in fine dirt, all except their eyes, which were surrounded by two clean ovals where goggles had been.

  “Vladan!”

  Clara forgot herself as she turned to the excited feminine voice. The woman who called to her husband was pretty, with rich dark hair that flowed down her back in large curls and a bright, open face. Her dark eyes were expressive as she ran from the front of one of the homes toward Vlad.

  “We did not expect you so soon!” the woman continued. She wrapped her arms around Vlad in a tight embrace, which her husband returned.

  Clara’s ceffyl stopped walking and interested himself with nearby grass growing along the center street. She barely noticed as she watched the ritualistic greeting unfold. The woman’s hand lingered on Vlad’s arm. Clara felt dizzy.

  “Arianwen, it’s great to see you,”
Vlad said. “How are the boys?”

  “They’re in the mines. One of the shafts caved in last night and they’re helping to dig it out,” Arianwen said. “No one was hurt, but it is strange. I’m sure Tomos will give you a full accounting of it later.”

  “I noticed the men looked particularly dirty. I thought maybe the new laser drills had broken and they were pickaxing by hand.” He turned his attention to the mountain and frowned.

  “No one was hurt,” Arianwen repeated firmly.

  Clara remained on the ceffyl, but she was ready to move on past this woman touching her husband. In fact, if the ceffyls path took the beast right over the woman, Clara wouldn’t necessarily be upset by that. She pressed her nails into her palms, digging them in to keep her emotions at bay.

  Arianwen suddenly turned toward Clara, as if just now seeing her. She frowned in disapproval. Clara stiffened and lifted her jaw. Arianwen smacked the back of her hand hard against Vlad’s chest. “Boy, what do you think you’re doing? Did you drag this poor creature through the swamps? And the gown! You’re lucky I’ll be able to fix that.”

  “Arianwen, this is my wife, Clara,” Vlad said, smiling at Clara as if nothing was amiss. Clara glanced at his chest where the woman had last made contact.

  “Lady Clara, please, come inside.” Arianwen gestured that Clara should dismount. “You must forgive our men for their boorish manners. They have absolutely no concept of females when they first marry.” She gave Vlad a stern look and he looked properly chastised. “Come, I have many gowns you can choose from.”

  Never in her life had Clara been in such a position. She had absolutely no idea what she was supposed to do. Vlad looked expectantly at her. Arianwen smiled, welcoming. If her mother were here, she’d faint at the very thought of her daughter going into a common household to borrow a gown. But her mother wasn’t here. In fact, neither of her parents were. They had sent her to this planet, banished her to be married to an alien man.

  Clara held her arm out to Vlad and he came to help her off the ceffyl. She stood, nervous, before the woman. And then she tried something she’d never really done before. Clara looked the stranger in the eyes and smiled. The gesture felt strange on her lips and she quickly released it into a blank expression. She looked at her husband, wondering at his reaction to the gesture. His face didn’t change as he hooked his elbow around hers. It would seem her effort had gone unnoticed.

  “The boys will be home soon,” Arianwen said. “We planned a simple meal, but as always, you are welcome in our home.”

  “Anything you provide, Arianwen, will be welcome. Perhaps your cooking will induce my bride to eat more than a handful.” Vlad patted Clara’s arm, leading her into the modest home as he followed Arianwen inside.

  “Ah.” Arianwen chuckled. “You’re one with dietary customs, are you?” She paused at the door, looking at Clara. “You are tiny, but I’m sure your husband will soon fix that. We brides all have some quirks when we arrive here. As per my people’s warrior customs, I had no hair and lines drawn all over my face. It took me months to agree to wear so many clothes.” She glanced down at her long skirt. “We assimilate. Now I love sewing. I can’t even imagine following in my ancestor’s Malkyrie past.” Then, pointedly to Vlad, she added, “But I still throw a knife straighter than my husband.”

  Clara found herself intrigued by the thought of a woman warrior. She’d heard of such races but had never been allowed to meet a descendent of one.

  “Not much of a talker, are you?” Arianwen waved her hand as if it were of no concern. She led the way inside.

  The commoner’s home was not what Clara expected. Her parents always spoke as if the non-titled were somehow dirty. Arianwen’s home, though packed full of items, was very organized and clean. The miniature rooms were filled with furniture. A drawing hung on the wall. She didn’t recognize the beast it depicted, but it looked fierce. Material had been tucked over the couches and left to drape along the sides, which centered on a small fireplace in the wall. The only dirt she detected was on a pair of boots near the front door. They were caked with dried mud and set aside in a bin.

  “Vlad, make yourself useful. Bring in firewood for me.” The woman gestured that Clara should follow her. “My lady, please, this way.”

  Clara watched, surprised that her husband obeyed the woman’s command. When they were alone in a narrow hall, Arianwen looked over Clara’s face. “I’ll draw you a bath first, so you can clean up.”

  Clara attempted another smile, but Arianwen turned before she could form it. The woman pushed open a door. Inside, a large square had been cut into the floor. Water bubbled inside it and steam curled into a vent.

  “The water renews itself,” Arianwen explained. “There are natural springs around here that we tap into. The minerals keep the water clean and there are underground filters installed beneath the town. I would not recommend swallowing the water. Many do not like the taste.”

  Clara nodded. Her eyes traveled along the smooth walls to a counter inset into the wall. The stone looked as if it had been plucked from the ground outside and carved to fit the home.

  “If you give me that gown, I can repair it for you. I imagine you are very upset by the damage.” Arianwen tugged at the tie hanging at Clara’s waist to loosen it more.

  “Yes,” Clara said. “Very much so.”

  “Understandable. Many women feel sentimental about their wedding gowns.”

  It wasn’t exactly what Clara had meant, but she did not correct the woman. It seemed rude to point out she had thought more about her embarrassing lack of propriety rather than the gown’s emotional value. On her world, they put more value on the actual cost of the gown than any other attachment to it.

  This isn’t my world, she reminded herself. Not that she needed the reminder.

  “Vlad was very anxious when he asked me to sew this for him. I’m glad you are attached to it.”

  Clara felt instantly bad for not complimenting the garment. “It is very well constructed. The seams appear to be very sturdy.”

  Arianwen paused for a few quiet seconds before nodding. “Thank you for noticing.” She began tugging at the laces to help Clara disrobe.

  Without thought, Clara allowed the woman to assist. She lifted her arms so Arianwen could pull the material over her head. Arianwen tossed the gown over her shoulder to carry it while freeing her hands. Loosening her boot laces took a bit longer, but once Arianwen started helping, she didn’t stop. She attended her task with an admirable concentration and sense of purpose.

  Clara let her remove the first boot and start on the second. “I require a handmaid to work for me at the castle. There will be retraining, of course, but I would like to honor you with a place in—”

  “Ah!” Arianwen let loose a high-pitched gasp as she stopped tugging at the second boot’s laces. “What did he allow to happen to…?” Her voice trailed off before she yelled in anger, “Vladan!”

  Clara jolted in shock at the loud noise. She glanced down her body to where Arianwen had been looking. A large dark bruise formed down her side and hip around a swollen patch of flesh. Angry red scrapes only added to the injury. It hurt to move her leg, but she’d been managing. By propriety, Arianwen should have ignored it.

  The woman took the gown with her, leaving Clara to stand naked in the room with one boot on. She crossed her arms before her chest and frowned. When Arianwen didn’t immediately return, Clara pulled the remaining laces with her little fingers and managed to get the footwear off herself. With the pressure of the boot gone, her leg began to throb. She did her best to ignore it.

  Glancing to the bath, she hesitantly touched the water with her toe. Instant warmth curled up her leg. Gingerly, she stepped down into the bath, easing in slowly to protect her injured hip. The process of stepping down hurt and she bit the tip of her tongue.

  “…medic immediately!” Arianwen yelled from another part of the house. Clara turned to the door. She winced as she brought another foot into
the bath.

  “What are you yelling about?” Vlad asked. He stumbled into the entryway, as if pushed. Stopping, his eyes instantly went to his naked wife, half in the tub. A grin spread over his face. “Never mind the yelling, Ari, I’ll do my duty by my wife with little badgering. Be gone, woman, leave me to it.”

  “You call that duty?” Arianwen demanded. She stormed into the room. Clara quickly tried to cover herself, discomfited by the quickly filling space. Her husband stared at her chest. An angry Arianwen pointed at Clara’s injuries. “You call that doing your duty?”

  “What?” Vladan’s expression fell as he followed Arianwen’s gesture. He pushed his way into the bathwater, unmindful that he was dressed. “Clara, what happened? Why didn’t you say?”

  Clara sunk down into the water to hide.

  “Leave us, Ari. Find a handheld medic unit,” Vlad ordered.

  “There’s only one in the village. I’m not sure who has it. I’ll ask around.” Arianwen seemed more docile now, at least in the volume of her tone. She closed the door and her footsteps could be heard rushing from the home.

  “Clara? Did this happen when you fell?” He kneeled into the water, not bothering to remove his clothing. Vlad urged her to stand, nearly yanking her to her feet when she tried to remain in the water. “Why didn’t you say?”

  “You did not ask.”

  “I did. When you fell. You said you were fine. This is not fine.” He touched the injury lightly. She jerked away from him as a reflex.

  “I am a lady. I cannot complain in front of others. You did not inquire again in private so it was not my place to put my burden on you without your invitation to do so.”

  “Taking care of my injured wife is not a burden,” he scolded. “You should have told me you needed medical attention.”