She threw a handful of dirt at him. “You are insufferable.”
“Such cruel words from my maid,” he murmured. He chuckled as he dodged another clod of dirt. Darting around her, he threw himself onto the bench and then reached out to touch her chin with his thumb, rubbing away a streak of dirt. “Prickly as a rose.”
She shook her head and lightly smacked his hand away. “Most men would mention a rose’s beauty, not its thorns.”
“I appreciate both. The danger of a thorn makes the rose’s beauty all the more . . . fascinating.” He leaned in close and whispered, “Although now would be an excellent time for you to propose to me.”
She gave him an incredulous look and then laughed. “Why would you say such a thing?”
“Because the feast is tonight and being able to announce our betrothal in front of all the nobles of the north as well as Sir George will go far in protecting you from any inquisitor scheme.” He paused and winked at her as he flicked a finger at her. “And, you are on bended knee at this particular moment.”
“I am not going to propose to you. And, I am not going to be on bended knee either.” She patted the dirt around the base of the rose as she murmured, “I never imagined myself as having to be the one to propose marriage to a man. I already said I wanted to change our relationship, after all.”
Tancred considered her for a long moment. She’d donned a simple brown kirtle, and her sleeves were tied up. Her hair was hidden beneath a turban and streaks of dirt smudged her hands, arms, and face. She looked beautiful.
He reached down and grabbed her hands, uncaring for the dirt transferring to his hands. Pulling her off the ground as he rose to his feet, he searched her face for any sign of hesitance or regret. “Do you still have that wish? Haven’t changed your mind?”
“No, of course not. I am not fickle, and I know my heart.”
“Good.” He started to say something further before he remembered why he had originally come to find her. It was too important to wait with their visitors already arriving and his lack of success in sniffing out the spy. “I have something for you.”
She drew back slightly, a warning look entering her eyes, as she drew out his name, “Tancred.”
“Damaris.”
He let go of her hands and quickly strode to where he had left a bag on the ground. Digging inside it, he walked back to where she still stood with her arms crossed. Her eyes widened when he pulled the shoes out. “Are those glass? Or . . . not diamond?”
“No, they are better. Here sit.” Taking advantage of her surprise, he navigated her into sitting on the stone bench and then knelt in front of her. “They are carved from taimana. And, they’re comfortable.”
“Tancred, I cannot accept these.”
“You will accept them because they will protect you.”
Her brow furrowed at once. “They are slippers. Extremely unusual and even outrageous slippers, but still slippers.”
He pulled off her dirt encrusted shoes and set them aside. “No. They are taimana and that makes all the difference.”
“I don’t understand. What are you doing now?”
He looked up from dipping a cloth in the water bucket she’d been using on her roses. “Washing your feet. Now, cease squirming. Do you truly not know the significance of taimana?”
She frowned at him, but didn’t try to pull away as he ran the damp cloth over her feet, wiping away the dirt that had slipped inside her shoes during her work. “No. It is a rare stone and valued for it. That is all I know.”
“Taimana possesses unique properties. It can be used to block scent and magical signatures if something is placed inside a chest made of it. However, it can also be used to hold enchantments without it ever being detectable by any race of creature who could sense magic.” He paused as he patted her feet dry with his sleeves and then he slipped the first taimana slipper over her foot. “These I have personally enchanted with protection spells against dragon magic.” He slipped the second slipper on, and then nodded. “There. You are protected from dragon magic so long as you keep them on. Promise me that you will wear them whenever you are awake.”
“Tancred.”
Standing he grasped her hands once more and pulled her up from the bench. “Promise me, Damaris.”
“All right, I promise.” She closed the distance between them and brushed a kiss against his lips. It was far too fleeting for his liking.
“Marry me, Damaris,” he breathed. “Be my mate and treasure for the rest of our lives together. The best and dearest of companions. There’s a priest here for the spring feast. He can marry us tonight or tomorrow or whichever day you choose. We’ve witnesses at the ready among our guests. Marry me, Damaris, please. I have no desire to be parted from you.”
“Tancred, I—”
“My lord! My lord, the Marquise of Carabas has arrived!”
He groaned, cursing under his breath at the interruption. Tightening his grip on Damaris’ hands, he opened his mouth to ask her for an answer. Even the barest nod would have sufficed. But, the call came again.
“You should go. That is Clotho, and we cannot have the housekeeper in a fit today. Her nerves must be accommodated.”
“Come with me.”
Damaris squeezed his hands, a smile dancing across her lips. “I cannot appear on your arm dressed as I am. Tonight. Tancred. My answer is tonight.”
He grinned. “For marrying or merely accepting my proposal?”
“My lord!”
Damaris laughed softly as she shoved him away. “Go. For all your teasing today, I shall make you wait to know that answer too. Until tonight.”
He pulled her close, stealing another all too brief kiss, before he sprinted in the direction of the housekeeper’s voice. They only needed to reach tonight, and then he would have his true treasure.
* * *
A soft laugh escaped her lips as she continued working the soil around the base of the fifth and final rose. That was . . . It was madness to feel so happy and to even contemplate marrying a man after so short a time, especially one that was a dragon. Yet, she couldn’t imagine her heart feeling so full with anyone else.
And, he wanted to marry tonight! Damaris shook her head at the thought. Shaddai preserve them both. He made her feel so . . . so . . . impulsive that she could almost consider it. Almost.
She brushed the dirt off her hands, rising to her feet, and took a step only to pause when her foot bumped against the edge of the stone bench with a distinct clink. Worry immediately flooded through her. Had she damaged it? Tancred had been so insistent about her wearing them that she’d forgotten to ask him if they were truly suited to her work in the garden. Lifting her skirts, she peeked at the taimana slippers. They looked more like colored diamond than glass, and she couldn’t see any obvious cracks.
Damaris glanced around, worried some other servant might enter the gardens and see her slippers. They were far too fine for a maid to wear, especially for her chores. She crouched back down and slipped her foot free to better inspect the slipper’s surface. Running her fingers along the smooth material, she couldn’t breathe easy until she’d confirmed no chip or cracked marred the slipper. Thank Shaddai. She couldn’t imagine trying to explain to Tancred how she had managed to break one of the slippers not even a full day into wearing them. Although, perhaps, it would be better to wear clogs in the garden. A habit she’d slipped from since leaving her old home in Roseshire.
“Why are you not readying yourself for the feast?”
A gasp escaped her as she twisted around at the unexpected voice. Her hand rose to her chest, and she hung her head slightly. “Forgive me, my lady, I didn’t hear you approach.” Rising to her feet, she hoped her skirts didn’t allow either the slippers or the fact that she hadn’t had the chance to put the second slipper back on to show. She dipped a shallow curtsey to the marquise as the older woman drew closer. “Did you leave Sir Reed with the earl, my lady?”
The marquise blinked, looking almos
t . . . surprised before her expression cleared, and she offered a slight nod. “Yes. Do you no longer intend to be at the feast?” Her gaze swept over Damaris and she added, “Your attire is not quite suited to it.”
Her cheeks grew warm as she brushed at her skirts. “Yes. That is, Tancred, I mean, the earl has invited me to the feast and the rest of the festival. It is only . . .”
The marquise drew closer, head tilting to one side. “Only?”
“May I ask you a question, my lady? One of a personal nature?” At the older woman’s nod, Damaris dropped her voice to a whisper as the question tumbled from her lips, “How long was it before you wed Sir Reed? Was it a very short courtship?”
The marquise drew back slightly as her eyebrows rose. Her gaze swept over Damaris once more, and then a hint of incredulity crept into her voice as she asked, “The earl has proposed to you?”
Heat rose higher in her cheeks, yet she couldn’t keep from smiling. “Yes, just a little while ago.”
“And, you did not answer?”
“We were interrupted. I . . .” Damaris twisted her hands in her skirts, feeling her blush strengthen as she continued in a low voice, “He actually asked if I would agree to marry him tonight since we’ve witnesses already gathered. And I . . . I want to do it, but then I worry marrying so soon would make people suspicious and report him to King Stephen’s inquisitors. Perhaps tonight would be better to only give my answer, and then we could marry tomorrow . . . Or, no, that is still too soon, isn’t it? Perhaps three days from now instead?”
“What are these words?”
Damaris abruptly stopped speaking as the marquise’s voice broke over her. Anger filled the other woman’s face. Bewilderment flooded through her as she replied hesitantly, “I thought . . . I thought you would approve. You were right. He does love me and I . . . I love him.”
“Love?” The marquise laughed, but it was a harsh sound. “You think you know love. That a human could ever love a dragon.”
She took an instinctive step back, opening her mouth to call for someone, anyone, when the marquise’s appearance changed. The woman in front of her wore a gown of emerald, matching her emerald green eyes, and her smooth dark hair fell in waves around her shoulders. She clapped her hands together. “Your naïveté is matched only by the foolishness of your beloved. You wish for my advice, young one?”
Damaris couldn’t move, her limbs frozen, as she stared into emerald eyes. A prickling burning sensation accosted her, similar to the bonding ceremony only it hurt so much more, as the woman continued speaking. “Go to the feast, Damaris Desrosiers, and promise that fool Tancred he shall have an answer. Dance with him tonight and promise an answer in the roses. However, he shall never hear the answer spoken from your lips. Instead, you shall allow your actions to announce it for you will leave him here in this grotto waiting for you. A fitting answer to a foolish dragon whose youth has made him forget not only the crimes of your kind against ours, but also what is appropriate for the bonds of companionship. You are not suited to be a dragon’s companion, much less his mate. This too you shall do as punishment for reaching too high, when the night watch sounds midnight you will flee Silvermere to the southern cities. None who know you now shall recognize you, and you shall forget your time as a dragon’s companion. Like a dream unremembered, you will remain with nothing save the memories of a cinder lass until the dragon you so foolishly dared to love renounces you.”
* * *
Chapter Eleven
“Wake up, girl.”
The rumbled words broke through her forgotten dreams, as did the sensation of being rocked. Damaris opened her eyes slowly to find Captain Huon leaning over her. He looked . . . concerned as he finally ceased shaking her shoulder. “How did you fall asleep on the ground?”
She couldn’t remember. The last thing she remembered was . . . emeralds. She bolted up right with a gasp, clutching at the captain’s sleeve. “Stranger . . . There was a stranger here.”
“There are many strangers here tonight or have you forgotten the feast entirely?”
The feast . . . Tancred . . . It was only then that she realized the sky had darkened, leaving only the stars to light the gardens aside from the lantern resting on the ground near her skirts. Damaris touched a hand to her throbbing temple. What had happened? “The woman . . . Where is she? She’s dangerous. She . . . Emeralds . . .”
She couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t form the words she wanted into speech. She couldn’t remember much, but she remembered the woman. She remembered emerald eyes and smooth black hair and her voice, cold with fury, as she commanded . . . She’d wanted Damaris to forget she’d ever been there and to never speak of her to anyone.
A low moan escaped her as her skin burned. Large hands wrapped around her elbows, pulling her off the ground and then guiding her to sit on the grotto’s bench. The captain’s attention was fixed on the ground, however. She followed his gaze to the slipper gleaming faintly in the lantern light. He didn’t question her on it, didn’t say a word, as he picked up the slipper and placed it on her foot.
The burning in her skin eased, although she could still feel it. Damaris took a breath. She couldn’t remember everything beyond the curse . . . that terrible curse knotting itself around her like a noose. She had to warn Tancred.
“Slow down,” came the warning rumble as she forced herself to stand. “What was this about a woman?”
“I . . .” Her words trailed off, choked again, even though now she could picture the woman far more clearly. “Emeralds,” she choked out, “stranger with emeralds.”
The captain frowned. She shook her head. The woman, no, the dragoness had done something to keep her from revealing what had happened. “I need to find Tancred.”
“He is at the feast.” Then Huon wrapped a steadying hand around her arm, keeping her from falling to the ground as she stumbled. “You should change first if you intend to go to him.”
She had to find him. No, wait, she didn’t want to find him. She was going to hurt him. The burning in her skin grew hotter, driving her to distraction as she tried and failed to fight the urge to find him. To give him a message.
Sweat trickled down her back by the time Captain Huon escorted her to her chamber. She wanted to call him back, to warn him to go searching for the dragoness with emerald eyes, but the words choked her until she released the idea. Then, she was left alone.
There was a bundle on the center of her bed again. She tried to ignore it as she quickly washed away the sweat and dirt coating her skin. However, the burning sensation grew worse, almost doubling her over when she removed her slippers. When she’d changed into a clean chemise, she quickly stepped back into the taimana slippers, shuddering with relief as the burning in her veins lessened once more.
Unable to resist the package, she untied the ribbons and pulled back the linen wrapping to reveal gold that sparkled beneath the firelight. It was darted through with silver thread. She shook her head even before she read the accompanying note out loud, “‘My treasure, consider this your wedding gown. If not tonight, wear my other gift.’”
She ran her fingers over the expensive fabric before she covered it back up. No. She wouldn’t do that to him. That would be too cruel, and the dragoness could not force her into it. A necklace fell out of the wrapping as she moved the dress to the other side of the bed. She picked it up and a low sob rose in her throat at the sight of the glass orb holding a delicate silver filigree rose in full bloom. It was perfect.
She fastened it around her neck and then walked to her wardrobe. There was a gown she could wear that would complement the necklace perfectly. The gown of silvercloth. She’d only just slipped into it when a knock sounded at the door before Bettrys bustled inside. The snowy haired healer paused at the sight of her and then she harrumphed. “You look suitable, like a future countess. Although, you’ll need a girl to lace you in properly after tonight. Turn.”
Damaris silently obeyed, wishing she could tell Bettr
ys what was happening. But, the burning sensation wrapped around her throat now choking her from even hoping to mention the encounter with the dragoness. The healer adjusted her laces with deft fingers and then gave a curt nod. “Now, go downstairs before his lordship forgets his manners entirely and abandons his guests to search for you.”
She didn’t want to go. But, the burning in her skin compelled her to obey the healer. She made her way down to the great hall, pausing just outside the doors. She could hear the muffled sounds of music and conversations. Still, she resisted opening the doors and stepping inside.
“Now, your ambitions are laid bare for all to see.”
She spun to find the inquisitor rapidly approaching, triumph and even a touch of fear in his eyes. His black robes and their slashes of silver made him look like a speckled crow flapping its way toward carrion. His hiss carried poisonous hatred as he drew ever closer. “How dare you dress in the finery of a noblewoman? Witch. You may have fooled my companion, but I knew better. The king wishes to hear your confession.”
“I have nothing to confess,” she replied quietly.
“Lies.”
“I am inclined to believe the lady,” interjected a voice she recognized.
The inquisitor’s face twisted with distaste at the interruption. “My lord, this woman is a—”
“Member of the earl’s household and a fellow guest to the feast,” Sir George replied simply. He smiled at the man as he added, “And there is no evidence against anyone in the Earl of Silvermere’s household to warrant further interrogation. That is what your superior wrote. Do you intend to slander her word?”
“Of course not, my lord. However, I felt further information should be acquired from this woman. She has not risen through the ranks of the household by the usual means, after all.”
“That is Silvermere’s business, not ours,” Sir George stated firmly, his smile fading. “Behave as a guest or retire to your accommodations, which were graciously provided despite your not being an expected guest.”
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