The Dragon's Mate

by Emilia Hartley

  “All true.”

  “Yes, well,” Ellie said with a wry laugh, “true as it may be, it didn’t make those thoughts mine. Every time I got close to the bouquet, my so-called feelings for him would increase. When I stepped away, I felt more like me again.

  “And then there was the man himself. He practically cornered me the moment I came back into the room, and he smelled of the roses as well. If it was an enchantment he was using, I’m pretty sure he used it on himself. He was, um, seductive.”

  “I just bet he was,” Matt said darkly, and guilt formed a ball in Ellie’s throat. Matt must have noticed. He ran his hands up and down her arm before pulling her to him. She rested her head against his chest. “I don’t blame you, Ellie. From what I can tell, his family is a bit backwards in matters of the heart. Actually, I brought something for you. My sister helped me find it.”

  Rifling through his bag at the foot of the bed, Matt pulled out a large scroll of parchment. From the discoloration, she would guess it was several hundred years old.

  Ellie’s eyes lit up. “Oh, wow, where did you get that?” She watched eagerly as he unrolled the artifact and spread it out over the bed.

  “It was at the museum. I had to dig for it—and enlisted a little help—but it’s definitely interesting. Look. It’s your family tree.”

  Sure enough, Ellie found herself staring down at an illustrated history of the Hargrove family, accented by handwritten notes that seemed to connect the Hargroves to love interests and family friends. She ran her fingers across the surface of the paper in wonder. It was amazing that this was her family when she had never met any of them. She scanned the faces of her relatives done in intricate brushstrokes and vivid color. It was clear the artist had taken a lot of time on them.

  At the bottom of the page, she found a dark-haired girl of maybe twenty years old smiling back at her. Anne Elizabeth Hargrove was written beneath the picture. Tears filled Ellie’s eyes as she stared down into her mother’s face. “I haven’t felt this close to her in more than ten years,” she said quietly, her finger lightly brushing her mother’s cheek.

  “Is that your mom?” Matt asked, peering over her shoulder.

  “Yeah. She was beautiful, wasn’t she?”

  He nodded. “She looks a bit like you, actually.”

  “Oh, she does not,” Ellie replied, but she chuckled just the same. “She’s much prettier than I could ever hope to be.”

  Gripping her face, Matt forced her to look at him. “Now I know that’s not true. You’re a bit shy, to be sure, but you are beautiful.” Brushing his lips against hers, he kissed her softly. “Don’t ever forget it.”

  Her smiling face heating with embarrassment, Ellie turned back to the parchment. How did she get so lucky as to meet such a sweet man? Matt really was…

  “Matt, that’s you!” Pointing to a man on the parchment, Ellie set her finger on the portrait of one, Matthew McKinnon. He looked exactly like the Matt McKinnon sitting next to her.

  “No way. Possibly the father of Elizabeth’s child,” he read incredulously. “Wait, that old story was true?”

  “It must be,” Ellie said, looking down the line at his connection. “And look, here’s Elizabeth Hargrove and…and Lord James Dabney. Oh, my word.” Astonished, Ellie put a hand to her mouth. It couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t be.

  And yet, it was.

  Her own face stared up at her from Elizabeth Hargrove’s portrait. The same vivid green eyes, the same vibrant red hair. The same curve of chin, cheek, and lips. It was impossible to believe, and still Ellie couldn’t look away from her own face. “I don’t believe it,” she murmured softly, her hands playing over the illustrations.

  “Believe it.” Matt frowned as he stared down at the parchment. Dabney looks just the same, too. And look. Forty-years later, here you are again. And there he is. Twenty years later, twenty-five years later. Your face keeps popping up every generation or so, and every time you die young.”

  Fear crept up her spine and took root deep within her heart. Was an early demise her destiny as well? “What’s the connection?” she asked timidly, alarmed when she heard her voice crack. Offering comfort, Matt took her hand.

  “Dabney is,” he answered, scowling. “Look. In almost every generation, whether your look-a-like shows up or not, there is Lord James Dabney. It’s like he never changes. And yes, the family resemblance between all our lines is uncanny, but I refuse to believe it’s just a coincidence that his face appears exactly the same every time. Nobody has entire family that looks exactly alike. It’s just not possible.”

  Frowning, Ellie studied the parchment. He was right. James Dabney looked the same in every listing. “How is that possible?” she whispered, terrified to know the answer.

  Matt just shook his head. “Well,” he said slowly, glancing sideways at her, “I have a theory.”

  “And?”

  “Do you believe in past lives?”

  Ellie stared at him. She could hardly believe her ears. “Past lives? As in reincarnation?”

  He nodded. He seemed to be watching her every move, waiting for her to damn him as crazy. Ellie, however, thought he might have been on to something. Even if it did seem impossible.

  “So, what?” she asked, not convinced. “You think he’s coming back after every life or something? Wouldn’t that mean that each previous life was ridiculously short if he could come back so fast? That’s, what? Every fifteen to twenty years or so?”

  “Maybe,” said Matt, pursing his lips. “But not just him. I think you’re coming back, too.”

  “Me?” Shocked, Ellie sat back. The fear was beginning to turn into terror. What had she gotten herself into? “You can’t possibly mean me.”

  “Oh, yes I can. See? It all starts with Elizabeth Hargrove. She marries, has a baby, and shortly after, throws herself from the white cliffs into the sea. Then, two generations later, Eleanor Montgomery-Hargrove is born, and she looks just like you. The pattern continues, see? Elsie Hargrove, Eliza Turner, and then you, Elizabeth ‘Ellie’ Fitzgerald. It doesn’t look like it falls in a straight line, but your face definitely appears every so often, you can’t deny that.”

  “No,” Ellie said slowly, “I suppose not. But what about you?”

  Matt furrowed his brow. “What about me?”

  “You’re on here, too,” she told him. “And you’re not the only McKinnon to be tied up with the Hargroves. Look.” She pointed to the scribbled notes listing a Margaret and a Laura as best friends for two different generations of Ellie’s family, and then there, in a hand-written paragraph next to her mother’s name, was Meredith McKinnon.

  “Meredith McKinnon?” Matt wondered, staring at the name. “But that’s my aunt.”

  “Your aunt?”

  “Yeah, my mom’s older sister.” His frown deepened into a scowl. “I didn’t know she was friends with Anne Hargrove.”

  Ellie didn’t know what to say. He sounded so disappointed. Not that she could blame him. “Matt,” she said slowly, seeing something she had missed before. “Matt, I don’t think I’m the only one who reincarnates.” She pointed to her own doppelganger and followed the line to her love interest. “See? Every time one of my past lives falls in love and dies tragically, one of your past lives is right there with her. And every single time they both die tragically.”

  To show him the connection, Ellie followed the trail with her fingers. It began with the original Elizabeth Hargrove and Matthew McKinnon, both of whom died young. Elizabeth, of course, committed suicide, and Matthew was murdered, defeated in a duel by Lord Dabney. A few generations later, the pair of lovers were killed in a carriage accident. Another time, Lord Dabney also played a hand in their deaths by sending Richard McKinnon across the ocean to the Americas. Elsie Hargrove followed him aboard and the ship went down within a month.

  “They didn’t both die this time,” Matt commented, indicating Eliza Turner and Marcus McKinnon. “Well, he did end up in an insane asylum.”
r />   “And she was murdered by her jealous husband.”

  “One, Lord James Dabney.”

  “Exactly.” Ellie didn’t want to think about all the pain and tragedy her family had gone through, or the possibility that the perpetrator was still alive and maybe even hundreds of years old. “So, that means that you and I…”

  “Are doomed to die young,” Matt finished for her, rolling up the parchment and setting it aside. “Yeah. Seems like it. And your boyfriend will probably be the one to kill us.”

  “He is not my boyfriend,” she assured him crossly, playfully slapping him on the arm. He tossed a throw pillow at her in return.

  “Oh no?” Laughing, he flipped her over, pinning her down by her shoulders, and kissed her lips. “Are you sure?”

  Ellie returned his kiss eagerly, reaching for him with her tongue as her body was no longer permitted to move. Feeling unusually bold, she bit his lip gently, loving his sharp intake of breath that was less from pain and more from desire. “Oh yes,” she breathed, kissing him again. “I’m sure.”

  “Then who is?” His hand trailed between her thighs and he cupped her center, causing her to spasm against him.

  “And if I say no one?”

  His fingers quickly undid her pants and tugged them down her hips. “I suppose that is an acceptable answer,” he conceded, playing over the hot, slick, wetness of her and making her moan with pleasure. “Though I may have a better one.”

  Her body bucked beneath his touch, and she contemplated just letting him “torture” her for as long as he wanted. “You,” she answered, struggling to breathe.

  Grinning, Matt released her arms and laid his body along the length of hers, crushing his mouth to hers with a ferocity that had her head reeling. “Good answer.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Elizabeth woke in Lord Dabney’s chambers in a panic. Their wedding had taken place only a few days ago, and, while she was willing enough to fulfill her wifely duties after drinking Dabney’s wine, she always awoke feeling as though she had been violated in some way, like she hadn’t wanted to lie with her husband at all. Was it possible that her so-called feelings for him were against her will?

  It had to be. Every time she thought of Matthew, her mind cleared, yet the wine would devote her to Dabney again. Was it possible he controlling her somehow? With witchcraft or sorcery?

  Rising as quietly as possible, Elizabeth dressed in her white shift and dressing gown before slipping on her shoes. Grabbing a torch from the bracket on the wall, she eased the heavy wooden door open and crept into the hall, shutting it behind her. Even though she had been attempting to be quiet, the impact of door on stone still echoed down the hall.

  Elizabeth flinched at the sound. The last thing she needed right now was for her husband to wake up and call her back. As quickly as she could, she dashed down the hall to her own bedchamber and hauled open the door, lighting the torches and candles around her room to see. Luckily, her fire was still going, so the room was relatively warm.

  On a mission, Elizabeth rushed to her writing desk and pulled a quill and ink from its depths before searching for a roll of parchment.

  My dearest Matthew, she wrote, scrawling her words as fast as she could. I may not have much time before he discovers that I am again myself. I believe he is controlling me with the wine. It might possibly be witchcraft of some sort. Sorcery. Whatever it is, it isn’t me.

  I do not love my Lord Husband. I became Lady Dabney out of duty to my father, not love for the man as he would have you and the town believe. My heart, as always, belongs to you, my love. Please do not believe for one moment that I have forsaken you.

  Find a way to free me, my dear Mr. McKinnon. Otherwise, I fear we shall be lost to each other for an eternity.

  With all my love, your Elizabeth.

  With that, Elizabeth folded up the letter, placed it in an envelope, and dripped a few drops of red wax on the paper, stamping the Hargrove Family Crest on the front to seal it. Standing, she once again grabbed hold of the torch and, clutching her dressing gown around her, she silently made her way through the house and out into the garden until she found the cove she and her lover now called their own.

  On the far side of the clearing, a small wooden box sat on a stone shelf sticking out from the wall. They had been exchanging letters this way since the beginning, and Elizabeth could only hope that he still checked the box even though she was now legally bound to another.

  With a shaking hand, she lifted the lid of the wooden box and let out a gasp. There, nestled within the confines of the four cedar walls, was a letter from Matthew. Crying in relief, she traded the letter for her own, shut the lid, hurried back through the misty garden, and up to her own set of rooms.

  Once inside, she leaned against the door and tore open the envelope, dropping it to the ground in her haste. She unfolded the letter.

  To my beautiful Elizabeth, it read. I know not whether you will receive this, though I must believe your heart is still as it was; that it still belongs to me. I know your marriage was a necessity, but your feelings were not. You pledged your heart to me, and I hope beyond hope that whatever spell Dabney has cast over you can be broken.

  Keep your window open, my love. I will come find you.

  Love always, your Matthew.

  Sobs escaped Elizabeth’s throat and she sank down to the floor, her back still pressed against the door. He still loved her. He knew it was a spell. He knew she would not forsake him so easily. There was still hope. Knowing that only made her cry harder.

  How was she going to be with her love when her husband controlled her heart? If she refused the wine, he would know, and he was in no way an understanding man. But if she did nothing, she would be lost forever.

  She must hide the letters, she decided. Somewhere in her house where Dabney would never find them. Dashing from her room once more, Elizabeth ran to the back stairs that led up to the attic. When she was a girl, she had loved to go play up there, even though her mother forbade it. One of her favorite things to do in the attic was find places to hide her treasures. It was to these treasures that she ran now.

  Her feet pounded up the stairs, and in her desperation, she dropped the letter, stopping only long enough to pick it up. When she reached the top, she fumbled with the latch, sobbing harder when she found the door to be stuck. Yet Elizabeth Hargrove was not one to give up. Leading with her shoulder, she threw herself against the door and managed to shove it open. She stood silently for a moment, hoping she hadn’t woken the house. When she didn’t hear anything, she made a bee-line for the nook around the far corner and pried up the loose floorboard she had found when she was ten. Still sobbing, Elizabeth stuck the letter inside, replaced the board, and ran as quickly as she could back to her room, locking the door behind her.

  Ellie awoke with a start, sitting straight up in bed. Beside her, Matt stirred, reaching for her with one bare arm, though he didn’t wake. Ellie’s chest was heaving, her pulse pounding in her ears like it had so many mornings ago when she had arrived in Dover. So, Elizabeth married Lord Dabney against her will, controlled as she was by whatever he put in his wine. She lived with him, she slept with him, and she believed she loved him until the effects of the wine wore off. What a horrible existence that must have been. And all because one man’s cruel obsession led him to control her.

  Could Matt be right? Could the Lord Dabney of Elizabeth’s time be the same James Dabney who kept trying to seduce her in her family’s home? It seemed impossible, but then, so did the fact that she was living another woman’s life in her sleep. So then, maybe.

  “Matt,” she whispered, shaking him gently. “Matt, wake up.” Groaning, Matt buried his head deeper into the pillows. Ellie laughed. “Matt, I’m serious, wake up.” This time, she leaned down and left a trail of kisses down his back. When he merely held the pillow down over his head, Ellie shrugged and got out of bed.

  She dressed quickly in a warm pair of sweats and a sweater, and was just about
to open the door when Matt finally lifted his head. “Where are you going, babe?” he asked. He looked so groggy and cute, it took a lot of willpower for her to not join him in bed again.

  “I had a dream,” she replied, her hand on the handle.

  “A dream?” he wondered. “What kind of dream?”

  “Elizabeth and Matthew continued to see each other after she was married. That part of the story was true. They exchanged letters at their secret spot in the garden, and probably even continued their affair. But Matt, she kept the letters.”

  Confused, he frowned at her. “So?”

  “So, she hid them in this house. Somewhere no one else would find them. Yeah, I see I have your attention now.” Matt sat straight up and alert. Ellie smirked. “And I know where.”

  “So where are these mystery letters?” Matt asked as he tugged his shirt over his head and followed her down the hallway. She had allowed him enough time to pull on pants, but to get back at him for not believing her, she’d started out before he was dressed. And she enjoyed every second of his muscled, bare chest that she could.

  “They’re in the attic,” she answered, opening the door to the back stairs. Matt slipped into his shoes without tying them and pounded up the steps behind her.

  “Have you ever been up to the attic?”

  “No.”

  “Then how do you know where you’re going?” he asked. “Hargrove House is huge.”

  Stopping, she turned to face him with a finger in his face. “Are you doubting me?” she wanted to know. “After everything we’ve discovered, after all your theories of past lives and other craziness, are you seriously thinking that I don’t know what I’m doing?”

  Laughing, Matt held his hands up in surrender. “Whoa, calm down there, Turbo. It was just a question.” Ellie raised a brow. “Okay, okay. No, Miss Fitzgerald, I am not doubting you. I swear. I was merely – stupidly - asking if you knew where you were going. My mistake. I won’t do it again.”

  Narrowing her eyes, Ellie leaned forward and brushed her lips against his. “Okay. Forgiven.”