“You are avoiding the subject, Sir Henry.” She rose and faced him with hands on hips. “Do you accept my challenge?”
“No,” he said flat out.
“You despicable, dishonorable, poor excuse for a dragon knight! You knew you were going to say no all along.” She spun around, her gaze sweeping the room as if she searched for something.
“You’re one to talk of dishonorable. Bring a man to the brink of ecstasy and then leave him in pain.” He rubbed his crotch, soothing the tenderness of his still throbbing cock beneath his britches. “That’s the act of a coldhearted bitch.”
He glanced up at the sound of her small gasp. He regretted his words, immediately. Frustration was no excuse for berating any lady, even one who had just sexually teased him.
“I apologize. I shouldn’t have—” He took a deep breath.
“You can make amends by accepting. . . . ”
“No. You would inevitably get hurt, and I shan’t have that on my conscience.”
She looked around the room again. He was sure she hunted for anything small enough to throw at him. The termagant had enough fury to kill him for denying her request. He saw the impending trouble pass when she flung open the door to leave. The heavy wood slammed back against the wall, shaking the whole tavern.
“Sorcha, wait.” He followed her into the crowded room.
The patrons, consisting of locals and dragon knights, turned. Reven Tulane’s intense gaze flitted from him to Sorcha.
“Sir Reven, may I talk to you?” Sorcha marched up to him. “In private?”
Henry clenched his jaw to hold back from trying to stop her. She was a stubborn woman. He wanted to prevent her from throwing herself at another man, but her life was her own, and her business not of his concern.
“Certainly.” Tulane bowed, and gave a wave of his hand indicating they take their conversation outside.
Henry half hoped for a glance from Sorcha. Just one showing an ounce of regret for what she was planning next. It never happened. What possessed him to think he made a difference to her? Her mind was clearly set on finding a willing knight to accept her challenge. She had no physical attraction to him. No heartfelt bonding connected them.
“Damn, wench,” he grumbled, trailing in the wake Sorcha and Tulane made through the sea of men. He couldn’t let Reven take advantage of the lady.
“Was she sweet, Pembroke? All soft and warm?” someone asked.
Henry curled his fingers into a fist. Fighting was in his nature in the name of fun or sport. The urge to defend a lady’s honor turned him toward the man still talking.
“I bet she made you too weak-legged for riding a dragon tomorrow.”
The man was a villager, a farmer or sheepherder there to watch the tournament. While his comments were crass, they were only to be expected when dealing with tavern wenches. Henry forced himself not to react. He turned away and headed for the door. There he bumped into Tulane coming back into the tavern.
“Where’s Sorcha?” He looked outside.
“She said something about getting ready.” Tulane shoved him aside.
“What did she want with you?”
“Come now, Pembroke. The wench obviously found you lacking in performance and rethought her options.” Tulane’s statement sent a round of laughter around the tavern.
“I will not ask again.” Henry grabbed Reven’s arm. “What did Sorcha want with you?”
“Just that. The comely wench wanted me.” His cockiness had no end. “Jealous, Pembroke? Afraid you’re losing your gift with the ladies?”
“Stay away from her.” Henry warned.
“She is a vivacious beauty, Pembroke. Her ambitious nature intrigues me, and her determination to get what she wants has me spellbound. I doubt you or any other man has a say over what that woman wants. She has the qualities of a true lady. My lady, when I finish with her.”
“What are you up to, Rev?”
“To best you, Henry, in the tournament and in the bed of that saucy little tavern wench. She has an ingenious way of getting what she wants. How can I refuse?”
Henry left the tavern in search of Sorcha. Where to begin? Where did she live? Had she gone home or somewhere else? She said she worked in a tavern. He’d never seen her before, so she had to be from another village.
The sprawling village of Milstead consisted of dozens and dozens of houses and shops. In the market square, the influx of traveling merchants had thickened the area with peasants. He didn’t have time to involve himself with a willful woman trying to get herself hurt. Yet, there he was looking for her, instead of beating more answers out of Reven about his mother and Reven’s grandfather. Reven had implied his mother was a whore, discarded when Lord Relt Tulane tired of her. It wasn’t the first time he had heard a rumor linking his mother to Relt Tulane. His brothers never talked about their mother and never even answered his direct questions. The latest had outraged him enough to seek the source of the lies about her, or—God forbid—the truth.
Eventually, Henry returned to the fairgrounds at the south end of the village. The level, open terrain was ideal for spectators to watch the dragon fights overhead.
As the crowds made their way into the arena, he watched for Sorcha. Where else would she be, if not there, when the exhibition started? She had made it clear she was interested in dragons, enough to claim she owned some, though that was unlikely, since dragons were expensive animals to keep fed.
An hour later, spectators filled the modest wooden stands made to form a grandstand. The seating overflowed making some people have to stand nearby. Conversations blended into a drone of voices. When he found a spot he thought was most advantageous for watching for Sorcha in the crowd, yet also seeing the sky event, he noticed the first competitor.
Reserved for the knights going against their accepted challengers, this contest seemed odd. Reven never bothered with Dragon Society hopefuls, and yet there he was landing his dragon at the east end of the field.
The mighty beast with dark gray-green scales let out a ferocious roar. Short flames licked the air and left a smoky scented cloud. The crowd gasped and then cheered, as Reven reared the huge dragon, showing his domination over the animal.
Out of the west, the second competitor arrived, flying in low. The smaller, sleekly toned dragon landed with perfection. While his body was thin, refined like a bird’s, his long, muscular legs gave him more height than Reven’s stocky legged animal. The dragon lowered on bended knees at the rider’s pat on his shoulder.
Dressed in unmarked armament, the rider dismounted. Unable to recognize the challenger, Henry watched him remove his helmet. From beneath the plain steel, Sorcha’s long curly locks of flame red hair spilled free.
A chilling coldness coiled up his spine. He tensed, angry that Reven would accept a challenge from a woman—angry with Sorcha for not heeding his warning. He marched out onto the field to put a stop to the contest.
Chapter Two
Sorcha saw Sir Henry from the corner of her eye. His quick strides and scowl alerted her of an impending argument. The memory of her encounter with him in the back room of the tavern had completely different effects on her ability to stay calm. She had wanted to continue their sexual relationship, going as far as intimacy could take them, but he had been too uncooperative about her request to compete against her.
“I see you’ve found yourself a dragon knight to ride against,” he said. “If you think I’m going to let you do this, you would be bloody hell wrong.”
“You have no say in what I do, Sir Henry,” she told him, insulted by his arrogance.
She patted her dragon’s shoulder, letting Charger rise to keep his legs from cramping.
“What did you offer him?” His gaze swept over her, his tone insinuating that she’d offer sex to any man as if she were a whore.
It quickly occurred to her that he was displaying a hint of jealousy. She glanced toward the other end of the tournament field wondering how best she could take advant
age of his interest in her. However, while she was thoroughly disgusted with the bargain she had with Sir Reven, she’d not give Sir Henry the satisfaction of knowing it.
“Sir Reven wished the same services from me as you did,” she told him.
“You and he didn’t. . . . ” His features hardened, his green eyes darkened.
That he was hurt or jealous of any dealings she had with Sir Reven shouldn’t have mattered. They were strangers. Her freedom of choice, her independence, gave him no rights whatsoever over her body or her heart. Yet, in their brief and unusual introduction, she had found a lot to like about the handsome knight.
“What I do or have done with anyone is none of your concern. Sir Reven and I have a mutually beneficial deal. He accepted my challenge, and in return, I agreed to certain conditions.”
“And what do you hope to accomplish from this?”
“A name for myself as a dragon trainer just like my father.”
“Your father?”
“Kell Bronson, the dragon trainer. He taught me everything about selective breeding and training. I’ve been with him through the raising and training of some of the best fighter dragons around,” she said.
She stroked her dragon along the shoulder. Henry put his hand over hers. He appeared hesitant about something he wanted to say. She waited with patience, anxious to know his thoughts. For what gain, she didn’t know.
“I don’t want you to do this,” he said, quietly. “Dragon fighting is unsafe. Only skilled riders know how to avoid injury. Milstead’s exhibition field is small, which makes maneuvering harder.”
“Size is only an obstacle to someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing. I am skilled, Sir Henry. Did I not just explain that my father taught me everything he knows?”
“Breeding and training are far different. Even if you’ve had years of practice, ‘tis not the same as going up against someone who wants to win. Reven can be calculating and ruthless. He will do whatever it takes to beat you. He will not be fair and he will not care that you are a woman. His aggressive tactics could get you killed just the way his brother killed your father.”
“I am an excellent rider. My dragon and I are well acquainted. I’m at one with him. I know Sir Reven cannot say the same. He most likely changes dragons as often as he does women.”
“That is where you are wrong. Reven has had that dragon for over a year now and he doesn’t just train, he practically lives upon the animal.”
“No matter, I’m a good dragon rider and I can outsmart him.”
Sir Henry glanced toward the judge’s stand when the herald declared her challenge to Sir Reven. She waited nervously for his acceptance. Sir Reven paced in front of his dragon with the appearance of contemplation. Would he refuse? Had he set her up for disappointment and embarrassment?
“He’s not going to accept.” Henry’s smugness irritated her as much as Sir Reven’s hesitancy.
“He hasn’t said no,” she said, hoping that was a good sign. “I don’t know why this exhibition is being held at Milstead, anyway. Aside from the small fairgrounds, the village is too small for a decent crowd. I’m actually surprised to see Tulanes or Pembrokes here. I thought maybe there would be some new society members.”
“Lord Milstead requested to have a full tournament in honor of his youngest son, Sir William Milstead’s marriage. But because of William’s treachery a few years ago, the Dragon Rider’s Society rejected his request. Reven, as member of the society is hosting this event.”
“What was Sir William’s treachery?” she asked.
“Sir William was part of a plot to kill my brother Ware’s father-in-law Lord Mansfield.”
“Then shouldn’t he be convicted instead of married?” She tapped her foot, impatient for Sir Reven’s nod.
“Ware refused to testify against an old friend. Sir William saved him in a war and this was my brother evening the score.”
“But it was his wife’s father. I should think his loyalty to her would be stronger.”
“From what Ware told me, it was at her urging he let Sir William go. She had a fondness for the man and believes his only wrongdoing was trusting his puppet master, Lord Elan Tulane. There’s no threat from Sir William anymore. He disappeared from Mansfield shortly before Sir Lord Elan was killed. And Reven’s older brother, Uther, blames William for his father’s death. William leads a different life than he once did, and I have to agree with Ware to leave bygones in the past.”
Sorcha looked down the field at Reven.
“Sir Reven doesn’t blame Sir William like his brother?”
“Reven both loved and hated his father. He was loyal to the head of his family, but he didn’t always approve of what the man did.”
Reven finally looked in her direction. He gave her a nod and raised his banner to the Herald.
He’s accepted. She wanted to shout her joy from the nearest spires. She settled for giving Sir Henry a gloating smirk.
“Sir Reven Tulane accepts Sorcha Bronson’s challenge,” the Herald shouted. “Let the games begin.”
“Sorcha, you do not have to do this.” Henry gave her a serious, pleading expression.
She hadn’t known him long, but his concern was touching. “I need to do this to rebuild the reputation of Bronson trained dragons if I’m to carry on my father’s business.”
“Ware raises dragons. I can get him to give you a good recommendation.”
“Tis not the same, Sir Henry. He may get a few of his friends to take pity on me, but it will not give me the name I deserve. If I can win against a Tulane, there will be an endless supply of knights eager to have me train their dragons. Now excuse me, I have a battle to win.” She moved to the side of the dragon and put her helmet back on her head. Sir Henry picked up the reins and handed them to her. For a second, his warm hands encased hers. The heat of them radiated through her worn thin leather gloves. She looked at him, worried he’d forcefully try to stop her.
“Be careful, Sorcha.” He squeezed her hands.
“I will be skillful, you’ll see.” She smiled, showing him her confidence.
He let go and backed away.
She tapped Charger’s shoulder, getting him to lower. Then she put her foot in the stirrup and swung up onto the saddle.
She took a quick glance to make sure he was out of reach of her dragon’s wing. Then, after drawing her visor down, she gave a sharp nudge to his flanks. Charger responded to the order to take flight.
Within seconds, she was circling the small tournament field and lining up for her first approach at Sir Reven. She found a good position, charged, and angled high, hoping for the advantage of a downward strike against Sir Reven’s lance. He flew under, circled, and came at her from behind. Now, she knew, he would slow down. Otherwise, his weight combined with the big dragon’s cumbersome size would tire his mount too soon. Sorcha let Charger find a buoyant current and glide into his turn, only to find Sir Reven pushing his beast hot on her tail. She yanked Charger’s head around, but too late. The face to face closeness of the two male dragons created instant rivalry. Charger twisted his head and spit out flames. Sir Reven’s dragon climbed higher and expelled a long flame in her direction. The air heated her face beneath the visor. A backlash of her dragon’s tail fanned the flames spitting out and the heat coiled her head. She flinched, smelling burnt hair.
“A stupid mistake,” she grumbled, as her dragon tipped too far into the escaping turn.
Sir Henry had warned her. She had underestimated her opponent’s craftiness and his animal’s dexterity. Now she had no choice but to bring herself out of the deadly downward spiral toward the crowd.
* * * * *
Henry didn’t blink or breathe. Sorcha’s dragon in a nosedive had him praying for a miracle. Dragons had a pecking order. If a male threatened too severely, a lesser male—or one that was off kilter with surprise—would give up and ground himself. Only a skilled dragon rider had a chance at convincing an animal to pull up and come out of the s
urrendering plunge.
“Come on, Sorcha, get him under control.” He clenched his fists and pounded them against the sides of his legs nervously. “You can do it. You said you were good.”
He began looking for her to bail. It was the first of many lessons his brothers had taught him—when and how to dismount a falling dragon.
Sorcha showed her stubbornness. She made the dragon spin in a daring barrel roll, quickening their descent, but then she brought him up, using his confusion to turn him out of the plunge. Then giving precise guidance signals, she tricked him into stretching out his feet toward the ground. The whole maneuver slowed the dragon and encouraged him to fly forward for what he thought was his landing. Instead of letting him go down, she took him back up into the sky, back into flight.
“Damn, she is good.” Henry exhaled and rubbed the tension from his jaw.
Cheers for Sorcha drew his attention from the sky and to the people who shouted her name. Through a gap in the dozen villagers alongside him, he spotted Reven’s brother, Lord Uther Tulane, seated next to Lady Kathryn Stanwyck on the bottom row of the stands as if they just arrived.
“I tell you Uther, that woman Sorcha Bronson just might beat your brother,” Lady Kathryn said.
“She might have a chance, given Reven’s knack for underestimating women, but I have already seen to it that he wins,” Lord Tulane answered.
The comment concerned Henry and he pushed his way through the people toward them. “And just how might you have any say in what happens with you down here while they are up there?” he asked.
“Why, Sir Henry, do you have nothing to do today other then play spectator to this farce of a match?” Uther chuckled.
Henry ignored the jab at his worthiness. “Reven apparently doesn’t think it’s so comical. After all, he’s the one who accepted the lady’s challenge.”
“I had a discussion with him about the consequences of his actions.” Lord Uther stated.
“Maybe he thought he needed a boost to his ego. Of course, if he loses—”
A Tavern Wench to Bed Page 3
