George & the Virgin

by Lisa Cach

  Which lies did he want explained? There were so many, and the most important yet to be discovered. “Will you hand me my chemise?” She tried to sound unruffled, and as condescending as a true mistress of the mount. “I would rather be dressed if you are going to question me like a naughty child.”

  “And let you run away and hide again? I don’t think so. I like you right where I can see you, with no door you can lock between us.”

  “It hardly seems fair for you to scold me while I cannot so much as sit up,” she stalled. She was aware of her naked body beneath the sheet and blankets, stretched out and vulnerable.

  “Fair is not a concept that seems to concern you overmuch.”

  Had he guessed about the false sleeping powder for Belch? Had he seen the broken dam? She had yet to see him lose his temper, but if he did, she would have no defense against someone of his size.

  Her fear, instead of making her cower, pricked her ire. “What would you know of fairness? You know nothing of what we have all been through, and what we have had to do to survive.”

  She sat up, holding the covers over her chest, freeing one arm to gesticulate. “You cannot come tramping onto my mount and tell me what is best for myself or my virgins. You know nothing of what the world out there is like for women. You, with your strange clothes and ways, who can walk into a country without even a sword and know yourself safe because you are a man and are physically strong.”

  “If I know nothing, then tell me. Tell me, Alizon, why you had to lie to me about the virgins living here, and not on the mainland. What were you afraid I might do?”

  She stared at him.

  “What? What did you think? That I might throw them to the dragon?”

  “No.”

  “That I might try to take them to my bed?”

  “No! And not that I would care if you did.”

  “Liar.”

  She tightened her lips. She could not very well deny the accusation, not when he had caught her in so many other lies.

  “Tell me. Why?”

  She wrapped her arms over her chest, staring at him, lips still tight together.

  He stared back.

  “I was …” she started, then stopped herself. She did not have to tell him anything! Interloper! Foreigner! He would be gone soon enough.

  “Tell me,” he said softly.

  She felt the corners of her mouth draw down, and she clenched her jaw against the emotion. He was still staring at her, green eyes withholding judgment. When she told him, though, then what might she see in those eyes? How could he ever understand?

  It came home to her then how much she wanted his approval. His respect, even. She wanted him to keep looking at her with interest and affection. She did not know if she could bear it if he turned away from her after having drawn so close.

  Or would all people forever turn away from her when they got close enough to see her fully? All but the virgins, who could not leave, who needed her.

  Let him show his true colors. “I was afraid that if you knew they were here, you would try to take them back to Markesew.”

  “Damn right I would!”

  She reached for him, grabbing his arm, not caring that her shoulders and half her breasts were exposed. “You cannot!”

  “The villagers can hardly throw them back to Belch when it’s so clear that he doesn’t need virgin flesh to be controlled. There is no reason for them to remain here locked away from a normal life.”

  “You do not know them as I do! They do not listen to reason. Look what they did to Reyne, and that several weeks after she was to have gone to Belch.”

  “She was just one virgin. Twelve of you, coming back, would be proof enough for anyone.”

  She shook her head. “Not for them. I will not take that chance.”

  “Is it your decision to make?”

  “It is not yours!”

  He clasped her hand in his. “It is neither of ours. You’ve done a great thing here, Alizon, saving those girls from horrible deaths, but you’ve taken it too far. They’re old enough to decide for themselves whether they should stay or go.”

  “They will not leave. They know what would await them.”

  “You’ve been locked up together here for too long, with nothing but your fears to guide you. Of course no one would venture out if every time someone brought up the idea, Reyne was held up as an example of what would happen to her.”

  She tugged her hand out of his. “We would not wish to go back, even if we could.”

  “I don’t believe that. Maybe some of you are happy here, but little Flur isn’t. She misses her mother. How can you keep her here, knowing

  that?”

  “It is for her own safety.”

  He shook his head. “Alizon, don’t you see? None of this secrecy is necessary. Whether Belch lives or dies, the virgins can leave. And if they’re afraid to go to Markesew, they can at least go together to a different town. You’ve taught them a trade that they can use to support themselves.”

  “They may be able to support themselves, but how will they protect themselves?”

  “I can do that, until they settle. The least I can do is give those women a chance at a normal life, by acting as their guardian as long as they need me.”

  So he would leave, and take everyone she cared about with him.

  “You could come, as well,” he said. “You don’t need to stay here.”

  “Who else would feed Belch? Who else would wait here for the yearly sacrifice? If the dragon yet lives, I cannot leave.”

  “He won’t live. I’m going to kill him.”

  “And if you don’t? You’ll take everyone away?” It came out more plaintive than she had wanted.

  He looked at her for a long, hard moment, and then he spoke in soft amazement. “You don’t want them to go. You want to keep them here, whether or not there’s any danger. You would have them grow old, virgins still, weaving their tapestries and never seeing the outside world again. My God, Alizon, don’t you see what you’re doing to them?”

  “I only see that you are bent on destroying the one safe home we have had!”

  “It’s a prison, and you are the jailer.”

  “I saved them.”

  “You did, but for what? To be your pets? To be slaves in your tapestry workshop? You have to set them free, and let them live their own lives.”

  “They need me.”

  “They needed you. Give them the chance to find their own way and they’ll grow strong. You weaken them by keeping them within these walls. You steal their lives from them as surely as if they had gone to the dragon.”

  His words pierced her heart. She did not want to listen to him, did not want to believe what he said, but there was an answering tremor in her heart that said he had struck the chord of truth.

  “Take them, then,” she said, as if she did not care.

  But she did, and the pain of it lodged in her throat. She struggled to keep it hidden there, her jaw tight, her eyes stinging.

  St. George had come to the mount and destroyed her world. She wanted to hate him, but her sense of justice would not let her do even that. He was right about the virgins.

  Ah, Jesu mercy, she had lost everything. Everything. And she could not even fight against it.

  He bent down and started untying his boots.

  “What are you doing?”

  He pulled off the left one.

  “Do not think you are getting into this bed!” She scooted back a couple of feet, to the middle of the enormous mattress. She might not hate him, but neither was she feeling amorous. The disaster of the night before drifted unhappily back into her mind, and a flush of embarrassment heated her cheeks. Her stomach fluttered as she remembered both pleasure and pain, and felt their echoes in her body.

  He pulled off his right boot, and lifted the covers and slid into her bed. Before she could say one thing or another, he reached over with his long arms and dragged her down beside him, her naked body pressing up a
gainst his clothed one.

  “Alizon, Alizon,” he said, pressing his lips to the top of her head, his hand stroking down her back in that way he had that she could not resist. “I don’t know that I’ve ever met anyone as stubborn and as brave as you.”

  Brave? She did not know what was brave about letting him take everything away from her.

  “You face so much that others never could.”

  She did not know what he meant. It seemed to her now that she had spent years avoiding facing the people of Markesew, as well as the truth deep in her heart that the virgins should be given their own choice of where to live. She wouldn’t think about such uncomfortable thoughts now, though. It hurt too much.

  She stretched her arm over his chest, her breasts flattening against him. The warmth of his big body and the solid presence of it beside her was strangely soothing. His hands on her moved with tenderness, but she could detect no sexual intent.

  She reminded herself that he did not want her that way anymore, after she had botched their coupling last night. Tears of self-pity started in her eyes.

  He massaged the small of her back, and she fought between a sudden impulse to push him away, and wanting to accept the undemanding comfort he offered. His hand on her back won out, and she sniffed back her tears and let herself relax against him.

  He was assaulting her with kindness, and once again she had nothing against which to fight. She was helpless in the face of it, as she never was against an attacking foe.

  She knew she would be sorry for her capitulation when he left the mount; that her heart would ache the more for these moments together. She decided not to think about that, either.

  “I should have been sleeping here all along,” he said, and she felt a rush of warmth and hugged him. Yes, he should have, with his arms wrapped around her, their two bodies safe together from the world beyond the walls of the fortress. “This mattress is much more my size.”

  She could have bitten him.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “So what I’ll do is catch the end of his jaw in this loop, and then with a bit of luck Belch will start to thrash and roll, and he’ll wind the rope around his own jaw, tying it shut.”

  “Then you’ll take the spear and run him through the heart!” Pippa enthused, and feinted with the weapon.

  “Right. And it will be good-bye, dragon.”

  “Awesome!” Pippa said, using the new word George had taught her.

  Alizon stood with her arms over her chest, feeling uncomfortably like an outsider in her own kitchen. Six virgins were packed together on the sofa watching the antics of George and Pippa, while Joye was sitting at the table fluttering her eyelashes and offering food or drink. The others, including Braya, shyly drifted around the edges of the group, and yet had small, excited smiles on their lips.

  It was appalling, the difference in behavior that the presence of a man could bring. Hair was tossed and touched with unseemly frequency, voices became higher and temperaments decidedly sweeter. It was nauseating.

  The day since George had discovered the virgins had been filled with near-constant giggles and talk, the only moments of quiet uncertainty coming when Alizon herself had announced George’s offer to take away anyone who wanted to leave the mount, and act as their guardian until they settled in a town and set up shop. No one had immediately asked to go, but neither had anyone insisted they would not.

  It left her feeling both hurt and ashamed to see in their faces the indecision. She could tell from the glances they sent her that they worried how she would react if they chose to return to the mainland. How much had she been imposing her will, listening only to her own desires at the expense of theirs?

  George’s presence lit them like candles. They shone where most days would have found them dully going about their business. It was hard to admit, but most of them probably would be happier if given the chance to marry and live in the outside world.

  Such could never be her fate, though. She had been at the mount too long, her life too intertwined with it. And there were yet girls to be saved, if George failed again in his quest to kill Belch.

  Greta came and stood beside her, and slipped her hand into Alizon’s. “I do not want to go back,” she said.

  Alizon squeezed her hand. “You will not be made to. I will stay here, as I always have.”

  Always, safe and alone within her fortress.

  “You’re sure that lock will hold?” George asked.

  “She is just a girl.”

  “Mmm. Is that supposed to reassure me?”

  Pippa had begged to be allowed to watch his final fight with Belch, but both he and Alizon had, in one firm voice, refused. He didn’t want there to be even a chance that the wild-haired girl would see him chewed up. No one needed a sight like that in their memory.

  And, too, he was afraid she might come down into the lair proper and try to help him in his battle. From what Alizon had told him, the girl seemed a right little hellion, a medieval Huck Finn.

  George shifted the coils of rope over his shoulder. He carried several long lassos and plain lengths of rope, and was counting on his memories of the techniques used on the show “Crocodile Hunter” to help him subdue Belch. He wore his white surcoat for good luck.

  They tramped down the now-familiar tunnel to the platform, and he wished he had his entrance music playing. He needed something to hype him up. Now that he knew the dragon was real, all the fun had gone out of fighting it. This was no longer a game, where he could reset and start over. It was no longer something he was doing to feel better about himself or his career. It was, now, something that must be done for others, and something that had real consequences.

  Belch had to be killed—for the sake of Emoni, for the virgins, and most of all, for the sake of Alizon. She would never let herself leave this island if Belch still lived.

  From where he stood now, George’s depression over the negative publicity in his “real” life looked silly and self-absorbed. There were more important things to worry about than if someone called him names: important things like taking care of the people who needed him. Important things like taking care of the one he loved.

  He loved her. They walked out onto the platform, and he met Alizon’s dark eyes, the realization taking him by surprise. Honest to God, heart and soul, he loved her. How the hell had that happened?

  She was ornery and stubborn, and defensive past reason. She was secretive and controlling. He had to be crazy to be in love with her.

  Crazy, or a saint.

  Or maybe she wasn’t those things, and instead was strong-willed and determined, with a tender heart in need of protection. She knew how to keep a secret when others depended on her, and was a natural leader. He would be crazy not to love her.

  He supposed the reasons why didn’t matter, only that love her he did. He would free her from this castle, and then …

  And then what? Live the rest of his life in the middle ages? Try, somehow, to take her back with him to the future?

  He’d have to wait to figure that out. First things first: kill the dragon.

  And get a kiss for good luck.

  He leaned his spear against the wall, took her face between his hands, and before she could say aye or nay kissed her long and hard. She swayed when he released her, her eyes half-closed.

  “I’ll be expecting more of that when I’m done,” he said.

  “Will you?” She sounded both amazed and hopeful.

  “Damn right. We have some serious unfinished business between us, Mistress Alizon.”

  A soft smile touched her lips. “Such pleasures will give me something to remember you by when you are gone.”

  Was that a joke? He chuckled uncertainly, then picked up his spear. First things first.

  She touched his arm. “Take care.”

  He put his hand behind her neck and pulled her close once more, kissing her first on the forehead and then again on the mouth. “I will.”

  He took a deep breath, s
quared his shoulders, then started down the stairs.

  This sucked. This really sucked. He’d liked fighting the dragon much better when it was imaginary.

  He tensed his jaw against the fear, shoving it away into a corner of his brain, and called up every ounce of grit and determination he had. Third time’s a charm, he told himself. Fake it ’til you make it.

  It was time to make it.

  Belch was lying in his usual place on the beach, yellow eyes open and watching as George descended. “Yeah, you’d better watch me, worm-gut,” he muttered, getting into the fighting mood. “Sorry-ass piece of lizard poop. Breathing blob of genetic misengineering. Yeah, how do you like that one, reptile-brain?”

  Belch made a gurgling growl, like a giant garbage disposal full of water. The deep sound flipped switches of mammalian alarm in George’s body.

  “You can scare me, but you can’t eat me.” He was on the bottom step, and he jumped onto the beach.

  Belch swung his head and snapped. The side of his jaw hit George and batted him into the water, making him drop his spear, the ropes uncoiling off his shoulder as a loop caught on one of Belch’s teeth.

  He surfaced thrashing and sputtering, trying to clear his eyes in time to see the beast bearing down on him. Alizon was screaming, the sound disorienting. He swiped water from his eyes and saw instead that Belch was lying with his head down and that smug, fixed grin on his green leather snout.

  One of the ropes trailed out of his mouth like a piece of brown dental floss.

  Alizon’s screams cut off as George sat up in the shallows, and Belch showed no sign of doing anything more than reclining and gurgling, as if in amusement.

  Something bumped against George, and he flinched, then looked down to see, of all things, his long-lost pitchfork floating beside him.

  No wonder Belch was laughing.

  He picked it up, found his footing, and slowly moved out of the water.

  Belch opened his mouth as he approached, and hissed at him on a breath of cold, foul air. George saw that one of his lassos was caught firmly around a lower tooth. The stupid dragon had no idea.