Heart Of The Dragon
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He hadn’t gone more than fifteen paces before the corridor ended in a wall.
Ian smiled.
Only a fool built a passageway leading nowhere. He set the lantern on the floor, then felt around the edges of the wall, pushing and prodding at the stones until his patience was rewarded. Just as he had suspected, the wall was actually a door. Surprisingly silent, it opened inward. Picking up the lamp, he pushed on.
The air had a sweetish scent overlaying a dank, earthy odor, as if something had died. The stench, combined with the ale he’d consumed, made his stomach roil in protest. But he kept walking. The ceiling dropped so low his hair brushed against the splintery planks above him. Crouched low over the lantern, he almost missed the two doors to his left.
“Lily?” he called, banging on the first door with his fist. “Are you here?”
He heard the sound of footsteps, then pounding on the other door. “Dragon?”
He couldn’t mistake that voice.
And no one else called him Dragon.
Holding the lantern high, he turned toward the door. “Aye, Lily, it’s me.”
He tugged on the door, but the lock held firm. “There’s no key,” he said after scanning the area. “I’ll have to try my dirk.”
When he lowered the lamp to the floor, Lily called out, “Don’t take away the light.” He could understand her plea; it must be black as pitch inside the cell. He hooked the lantern over the wall pricket and drew out his dirk.
The blade scarcely fit in the lock, but Ian took his time. If he snapped the knife off, he’d never get her out on his own.
And he had no intention of seeking help, now that he saw where they’d put her. Locking her away down here could only be a deliberate attempt to keep her hidden.
Most likely from him.
Slowly, gently, he wiggled the knife, until he felt the lock give. He pulled the dirk free, shoved it back in its scabbard and yanked the door open.
Lily leaped into his arms with an inarticulate cry.
He gathered her quivering body close and held her tight, smoothing his hand over her tangled hair. “Hush,” he whispered. She tried to speak, but the words came out jumbled and indistinct. “Slowly, sweeting. Hush. It’s all right.”
He held her as he would an injured child, trying not to notice the way her body fit so well to his, nor the softness of her hair beneath his cheek.
But his body would not listen. Heat rose in his blood, intensifying her scent, magnifying the feel of her pliant curves pressed against his hardness.
Carrying her with him, he stepped back into the corridor, into the light. He framed her face with his hands and stared into the eyes that had haunted him, asleep and awake, for the past day. She met his gaze, stare for stare, until, with a muttered curse, he crushed his lips to hers.
Her mouth didn’t move, but neither did she try to push him away. She kissed like a child, lips pressed to lips. He gentled his hold and showed her another way.
He outlined her mouth with his tongue, then nibbled at her lips until they opened enough to allow him entrance. Pressing on the corners of her mouth with his thumbs, he urged her to give him more.
She sighed and took a step back, her eyes wide. Then, grabbing the front of his tunic in her fists, she pulled him close again.
But this time she burrowed her face against his chest and clung to him. “Why did you send me here?”
“How could you think that?” He drew back enough to see her face. That she believed what she said, he could not doubt, not after searching her eyes.
“No one else knew about me.” She eased her hands from his mantle and smoothed the wrinkled fabric. “And you’d locked me away already.”
“Only because I didn’t know what else to do with you. I’ve never found a woman scaling the castle walls to see Llywelyn before,” he said, his heart pounding harder in remembrance. “I did not send you here.” He held her gaze until he thought she believed him.
A shiver coursed through her; her skin felt icy beneath his hands. He drew his cloak off and wrapped her securely within its warm folds. “They didn’t give me a chance to take this,” she said, her voice faint.
He pulled her into his arms again, just to warm her, he told himself. Never mind that holding her brought him a measure of comfort, as well.
“Who brought you here? And when?”
Lily closed her eyes, as if trying to remember—or to forget. “Two men burst into my cell, before midday, I think. They bound my arms and gagged me, then dragged me here. ’Twas too dark—I could not see. Before I realized what they were about, they untied me and shoved me in here.”
He could feel the effort it took for her to recount the tale so calmly. But her voice stayed even, almost emotionless. He knew she was frightened, but she hid it well. Few men had her courage. He brushed a kiss across her brow and held her close a moment longer.
“We must leave,” he told her. “You’ll be safer away from this place, while we decide what to do.” He released her slowly, reluctant to let go.
Lily grabbed his sleeve. “If you didn’t send me here, who did?”
“I’ll tell you later, once we’re away from here. Come, don’t you want to leave?” He’d rather wait until she’d had a chance to eat and get warm before he told her his suspicions.
Besides, he wanted to learn more before he leveled his accusations against the man she’d come to for help.
Llywelyn.
He drew his knife again, weapon enough in such close quarters, should he need it. She stared at the dirk, then his face, for what seemed forever, thinking he knew not what. But she must have found what she sought, for she nodded once. “Lead the way, Dragon,” she said. She unhooked the lantern from the wall, then tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “I trust you.”
He might well be the only person here she could trust, he thought as he closed the cell door.
He’d do whatever he must to prove himself worthy of it.
Lily clung to the Dragon’s arm, her grip barely short of desperation, as he led her through the labyrinth of passageways. She expected Toad—or some other creature like him—to slither into their path at any moment. Even with enough light to see, ‘twas a frightening place.
The relief she felt at the knowledge that Lord Ian hadn’t sent her into the cryptlike cell was near overwhelming.
But if not the Dragon, then who?
Toad said he knew who had sent her there, and much else, besides. But how could she believe such an obviously deranged person? Nothing he’d told her made any sense.
And he certainly didn’t appear to be someone a prince would confide in.
No, she’d simply have to be patient. The Dragon would tell her what he knew, when the time was right. She knew he’d keep her safe.
She knew he was worthy of her trust.
When the corridor seemed to end, he gently eased her hand from his arm and took the lantern. “In case anyone’s watching,” he said, extinguishing the light and plunging them into complete darkness once more. Before she could ask him what he was about, the Dragon pushed on the edge of the wall and a door pivoted toward them. He stood silently for a moment— listening, she concluded—then handed her the lantern. “Come—no one will see us now,” he whispered. Grasping her by the elbow, he led her through the corridor.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked. Not back to the other cell, surely?
“To my chamber, for now. We’ll decide what else to do in the morning.”
They skulked around the dimly lit boundary of the bailey with far more stealth than on the previous night. But except for the fact that this time she was able to walk, instead of riding slung over the Dragon’s shoulder, it felt much the same.
Lord Ian ap Dafydd seemed most comfortable lurking in the shadows, from what she’d seen of him thus far. She could feel a darkness within him; perhaps ‘twas why he sought the shadows instinctively.
But although she should probably fear that side of him, it intrigued her.
Especially since he’d kissed her.
She sensed he’d held himself in check—his touch had been quite gentle—but she’d felt a wildness simmering on the edge of her awareness.
That might have been nothing more than a reflection of the heat that bubbled through her veins at the mere thought of his lips touching hers. He drew her to him by means of some invisible thread—a look, a touch, all it took to make her want to return to his arms.
No doubt he’d be horrified if he knew. She was naught but a stranger to him, ignorant of men and women, no one of importance.
And he was Llywelyn’s Dragon.
She’d know better the next time her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. The first time, she could pass off as an accident; if she did it again, he’d know her for a fool.
With luck, she’d find out what she needed to know soon, perhaps on the morrow. Then she’d be on her way.
And the Dragon need never know how he’d singed her heart.
Chapter Five
Once again Lily waited outside the Dragon’s chamber while he found his key, then turned it in the lock. But this time he kept her behind him when he slipped through the door into the dark room, his dagger in one hand, the other wrapped about the hilt of his sword.
She wondered at his caution, until he shoved her backward as the room filled with light. She fell sideways into the corridor, landing on the floor and bumping her head against the stone wall. Though her head reeled, she sat up and groped for the lantern to use as a weapon. Before she got a good grip on the handle, someone wrenched it from her hand. She glared up at the soldier, then slumped back against the doorway.
The Dragon slashed wildly at two armed men and laid open the face of one with his knife. As the fighter spun away, a voice cried, “Hold, Ian! Would you murder our own people?”
Lily blinked to clear her foggy vision. Lord Ian slowly lowered his sword and stepped closer to her. “Nay, milord,” he said. Without turning to face her, he reached down to help her to her feet. She took his hand and pulled herself up beside him. He gestured to the four guards in the room, meeting the wounded man’s glare with a mirthless smile. “Do you threaten us?”
The speaker came toward them from the shadowy end of the room. Though dressed no differently than the others, he wore authority as if it were a mantle. He could only be Llywelyn, prince of Wales.
She couldn’t interpret the look he sent the Dragon, but she knew it didn’t bode well for him. “I see she didn’t leave after all,” Llywelyn said with a wry smile. “Clearly someone made a mistake—a costly one for him, I’m sure.”
The Dragon sheathed his sword, but kept his dirk in his hand. “No doubt,” he agreed. “Mistakes happen.”
Llywelyn moved closer. His gaze swept over her, taking her measure, then staring into her eyes. She couldn’t tell if she passed muster, or if he found her lacking. But she refused to back down or look away first. It was a relief when he ceased his scrutiny and returned his attention to the Dragon.
“Trust you to find her before any knew she was missing, Ian. I’ve always known I could count on you for anything,” Llywelyn said. He motioned to one of his men. “Take this woman to her quarters. ‘Tis too late to discuss anything of importance now.” When the Dragon stepped forward, he added, “She’ll be perfectly safe, Ian. You’ve done your duty. ‘Tis no longer your concern. I’ve other work for you.”
Lily placed her hand on the Dragon’s arm and looked earnestly at Llywelyn. She couldn’t understand why he refused to meet her gaze. “Milord, I don’t wish—”
At Llywelyn’s nod, the guard took her by the elbow, tugging her away from her protector and out of the room. Ian turned to watch as they led her away, his expression unreadable.
Outwardly calm, Ian watched the two men lead Lily away. But inside he seethed with fury, a fury he did not intend to show Llywelyn.
He needed to tread warily. By looking for Lily after Llywelyn told him she’d left, he’d already committed a grave error. He didn’t wish to compound his mistake now.
The results were too important.
Llywelyn had made a mistake, as well, and Ian had caught him out.
Llywelyn knew something about her, something he wanted to keep hidden.
The trick would be to discover that secret—and soon.
With a nod toward the door, the prince ordered the other men from the room. Ian closed the door and leaned against it, waiting for the ax to fall.
He didn’t have long to wait.
Llywelyn stood tall, an imposing figure, though he didn’t intimidate Ian. He’d committed too many sins in Llywelyn’s name—the other man owed him too much. But Ian wasn’t a fool. He knew how easily a powerful man’s favor could turn to vengeance.
“What were you about, Ian? Do you doubt my word now, that you must go behind my back and foul my plans? If I thought you needed to know where the girl was, I would have told you.”
Thus he gave himself away. Ian hid his satisfaction, and sought the words to free himself from this coil. “I understand that, milord. And I didn’t doubt you. But I hear things from many sources. Word reached me that led me to believe you’d been given false information. I merely wished to verify what I’d heard. There’s no harm done. She’s back in your possession, to do with as you will.”
For the moment, Ian added to himself.
Llywelyn eyed him assessingly. He evidently passed muster. Ian saw nothing but approval in the other man’s expression. “Very well. ’Tis forgotten. Besides, I have need of your expertise in the trouble with my nephew Rhys. He’s begun making noise about reclaiming his lands. I want you to find him, make him understand my position before he goes too far. I’d rather not be forced to harm my own kin,” he added, his gaze steady. “Leave as soon as you can, and take as long as you need to make him see reason. We’ll manage fine until you return.” He nodded and headed for the door.
“As you wish, milord,” Ian said, opening the door and bowing as Llywelyn walked past.
His movements slow, he pushed the door closed, then turned the key in the lock. He stared at the worthless piece of metal, then heaved it across the room.
Damnation! It didn’t do much good to lock the door when someone else had a key.
He couldn’t have done worse tonight if he tried. Now Llywelyn had taken Lily away. If Llywelyn tried to hide her again, Ian could be certain he wouldn’t find her this time, unless Llywelyn allowed him to. And that wasn’t likely to happen.
By the time he returned from placating Rhys, she’d be so well hidden, he’d never find her. Assuming, of course, that they let her live. Considering where he’d found her, that was not a certainty.
Weary beyond belief, he removed his sword and dagger and placed them within easy reach before he stripped off his clothes and fell into bed. He didn’t even bother to douse the light, hoping the brightness burning through his eyelids would show him whatever clue he kept missing.
Letting his mind drift, it filled immediately with images of Lily. He would never forget the expression of joy on her face when he’d opened the door to her cell. Again that jolt of familiarity assailed him, the sense that the knowledge he sought hovered just beyond his reach.
Her smile lingered, and he focused on it, the way her green eyes glowed, the slight tilt of her lips at one corner…
He sat bolt upright. He knew that smile, had seen it a thousand times before. When he added the green eyes and coppery hair—similar, but not quite the same—he truly thought he’d gone mad.
What he had in mind was impossible. There was no way that Lily could be related to Gillian de l’Eau Clair FitzClifford, marcher baroness.
His cousin.
The soldiers hustled Lily across the bailey and into the keep itself. She followed where they led; ‘twas the least she could do, since this time they hadn’t bound or gagged her. She scarcely had the energy to walk, let alone try to escape. Besides, running would avail her nothing, for she had nowhere left to go.
She returned the stares of the revelers they met on the stairway. Never had she seen such fine clothes, nor so many people the worse for drink. Several women, their bliauts laced so tight she could have seen a flea bound beneath them, smiled invitingly at the guards and frowned at her.
It was a relief when they stopped outside a chamber at the top of the stairs. She almost didn’t care where they put her, so long as it was bright and warm. And if they brought her food, as well, she’d think she’d gone to heaven.
They unlocked the door and motioned for her to enter. A maid followed her in and placed a tray on a stool next to the straw pallet. A chamber pot in the corner completed the furnishings.
The maid and one of the guards left. The other guard kindled a lamp hanging next to the door. “Stay quiet and give us no trouble,” he said gruffly before pulling the door closed.
She heard the key turn in the lock with a curious sense of pleasure. This, her third prison of the day, was certainly the best appointed. It met her simple requirements amply.
She’d already noticed that there was no window in this door, so she availed herself of the facilities with a sigh of relief. There was even a ewer of water, she scrubbed off as much of the past few days’ filth as she could before investigating the contents of the tray.
‘Twas simple fare, coarse bread and hard cheese, with a mug of warm ale. To Lily it seemed manna from heaven. She savored every bite, setting aside half, lest they bring her nothing on the morrow. Besides, after the scanty meals she’d had the past few weeks, her stomach could bear no more.
More comfortable than she’d been since her mother’s death, she settled on the pallet to mull over everything that had happened. She’d believed that coming to Dolwyddelan would give her answers; instead, she had more questions than before. But she couldn’t regret that she’d come here, despite her sojourn in the bowels of the castle.
She couldn’t regret meeting the Dragon.
Absently working her fingers through her tangled hair, she tried to think, but her brain reeled with exhaustion and confusion, not to mention the lump still swelling on the side of her head.
She needed sleep to clear her mind. Only then could she make sense of everything.
But she’d no sooner closed her eyes than she heard the rattle of a key in the door.
Sweet Mary, what did they want now? Had they permitted her the luxury of refreshing herself, of food and drink, only to drag her back to the pit? If that was their plan, she would not go.
She’d been too compliant, not wishing to anger Llywelyn. By God, what more could he ask? She refused to go against her nature any longer.
When the door swung open, she stood ready with the tray, prepared to knock her jailer over the head, if need be. She hit the man in the head three times before he managed to wrest it from her, although she inflicted little damage.
“Leave me be!” she shrieked. “All I want is a decent night’s rest! I’ll go wherever you wish tomorrow!”
He held her wrists in one meaty hand, making a mockery of her struggles. “You’ll do as I wish, girl, else you’ll pay for it.” He chuckled, the sound resonating from deep within his massive chest. “They told me you were a quiet thing, and meek. Ha! What do those Welsh bastards know? Puny little runts, most of them, with brains to match.”
Lily stared up into his face, intrigued by his strange looks and accent—and intimidated by his sheer size. He towered over her. Hair so fair it looked almost white hung past his shoulders, and his eyes gleamed an icy blue in his deeply tanned face. Even his clothing was odd, the fur-and-skin tunic leaving his arms and part of his chest bare. Despite his forbidding mien, laugh lines crinkled the corners of his eyes; indeed, he was smiling down at her now, clearly amused by her meager show of rebellion.
“Who are you?” she asked. And, more important to her—why was he here? He couldn’t be Welsh. What business could he have with her?
“I am called Swen Siwardson. Your prince sent me to take you to your new home. Here,” he said, releasing her and tossing a bundle on the bed, “I have brought you proper clothes.” His gaze swept her from head to toe. “Though I like what you wear now well enough.”
He made her feel awkward—naked—in her tunic and leggings. Turning away, she wrapped her arms about herself for a moment, then unfolded the packet.
It contained an underdress of linen, softened by many washings, and a faded wool bliaut. Though well-worn, they smelled clean. Lily held them up—they should fit, with room to spare.
But she still didn’t intend to go anywhere.
“You put them on, then we will leave,” Swen told her. He stood in front of the door and, drawing his dagger, flipped it through the air. It landed, quivering, in the opposite wall.
“Would you go out into the hallway to wait?” she asked when she found her voice. If he’d done that trick to intimidate her, it had worked.
“Nay. You get dressed now.” He crossed the room in three strides and retrieved his knife. “We must be far from here before dawn.” Another flick of the wrist, and he sent the blade into the wall just past her head.
He’d made his point. Hands shaking, Lily picked up the undertunic and pulled it over her head, then, using the roomy garment as if it were a tent, slipped out of her old clothes.
She had trouble lacing up the bliaut, but what did it matter, so long as she didn’t trip over the excess fabric? At least Swen didn’t watch her dress—not so she could tell, anyway. The thought of traveling to some unknown destination with him frightened her, but she didn’t seem to have a choice. She might as well go with him willingly; he looked capable of killing her with his bare hands. He’d probably enjoy it, too.
After she gathered the Dragon’s cloak about her, she ripped a square of material from her shirt and wrapped the extra food to take with her, then joined Swen by the door.
Reaching into a pouch at his waist, Swen pulled out a slender piece of rope. Sweet Mary save her, but she was growing tired of this! She remained silent while he took her bundle of food, then bound her wrists. He picked up her torn shirt from the floor and eyed her consideringly. “You going to be quiet, or do I need to tie your mouth, too?”
“I won’t say a word, I swear,” she assured him.
He nodded, a grin on his face. “Good. But it won’t matter if you do. No one will hear you where we’re going.” Swen moved to the wall and shoved at one of the wooden panels. It slid open to reveal a dark, gaping passage. “Come on, then, girl.”
Grabbing her by the rope wound about her wrists, he drew her into the wall with him, and they plunged into darkness.
She would never forget her journey with Swen so long as she lived. The man didn’t understand how it felt to be tired, he just plodded along and carried her with him, alternately bullying her and encouraging her to keep her moving. They traveled through the passageway seemingly for hours before they emerged from a rocky outcropping well outside the castle walls. No one would even know she’d left, unless they came looking for her.
Since no one had seen them leave, how long might it be before that happened?
A horse stood tethered in a copse of trees, loaded with several small packs, awaiting their arrival. After checking the area to be sure they were alone, Swen tossed her into the saddle, then climbed up behind her.
He held her steady before him, but she didn’t like his arm wrapped around her waist, nor his body pressed against her back. He was larger and more muscular than the Dragon, but she’d far rather have had that enigmatic Welsh lord holding her close than this blond giant.
However, she didn’t have a choice.
Looking back over his shoulder, Lily caught her last glimpse of Dolwyddelan Castle as the moon set behind the towers. Would she ever see it—or the Dragon— again?