A Tavern Wench to Bed

by Brenda Williamson

  “He’ll not lose to a woman.”

  “And that brings me back to my initial question.” Henry glowered. “How can you see to it he wins?”

  Lord Uther grinned at him as he rose from his seat. “As you’ve pointed out, I can’t.” He took Lady Kathryn’s arm as she rose, and escorted her away.

  The crowd gasped and Henry immediately looked up. Sorcha had somehow slipped from her saddle. She hung from the rigging alongside her dragon. She struggled to pull herself up, but the jarring flap of the animal’s wings worked against her. Upside down, her foot caught in the twisted stirrup strap, she bounced helplessly, dangerously close to the dragon’s forefront talons.

  Henry immediately suspected foul play. Lord Uther’s comment and Sorcha’s sudden mishap couldn’t have been just coincidence.

  Reven landed on the field, no doubt feeling victorious.

  Henry ran out to him. “Take me up there.”

  Reven’s dragon pranced from side to side not liking the added weight of Henry hanging on the side of his saddle.

  “What are you going to do?” Reven asked.

  “Save her, of course.” He swung up behind Reven. “Fly me up above her dragon.”

  “She’s going to get you killed.” Reven snapped his reins.

  Within seconds, they were in the air. Sorcha had managed to cut herself free of the entangling strap, but it left her hanging onto the reins. The pull to the left kept the animal flying in a constant circle.

  He heard her shouting the command, “Land!” But the dragon was too upset to heed the order.

  “Fly over the saddle and keep up with him.” Henry told Reven. “I’m going to jump down to it.”

  “I can’t get close enough for you to do that. She has a stallion. Mine will want to engage in an attack and her animal will dive or sling her to the ground.”

  “Just get me as close as you can. Once I jump, you get clear.” Henry tried anticipating Sorcha’s moves so his jump wouldn’t knock her loose.

  “This is as close as I dare go. Hurry up.” Reven urged.

  Henry listened to the snort of Reven’s dragon. The one below responded. The animals were ready to do battle. He had to move fast. He leapt quickly dropping haphazardly onto the rear end of Sorcha’s dragon. The beast protested and reared, flinging Sorcha into the wing. Henry threw himself forward. He grabbed the front edge of the saddle’s cantle with one hand, and reached down to snatch hold of Sorcha’s wrist with his other hand.

  “Are you trying to kill me?” Sorcha screamed.

  “I think you were trying to do that all on your own.” He hauled himself to an upright position, dragging her up.

  She gripped the edge of saddle and climbed up in front of him.

  He slid back. “Or did you plan to flop around at the side of your dragon until you dropped to the ground?”

  Sorcha squirmed against him as he wrapped his arms around her and let her have the reins. She smelled of an interesting, appealing combination of animal, leather, sweat and, strangely…roses. If he weren’t so angry, he would have laughed at the idea of Sorcha bathing in scented water before entering a man’s gaming arena.

  “I told you this sport is dangerous.” He’d had many mishaps of his own on a dragon, but he was never as stricken with the fear Sorcha gave him.

  “And I told you. I am well aware of the risks. If I had been left alone for a few minutes more, I would have been back in control.”

  “A few minutes more and you would have been dead. Your dragon was tired from his dizzy spin and he would have shook you lose to take command of his life. They are a loyal, gentle breed with human interaction, but dragons will instinctively reach a point they react out of self-preservation.”

  Her hips rocked as she rose forward. “I know my mount’s limits.” Her aggrieved tone told him what a beating her pride had taken, but she gathered her spirits and lifted her head. “Hold on and watch.” His hands dropped to her thighs where he felt the tension in her legs as she locked her knees against the saddle. He leaned against her, shifting his weight as well so as not to confuse the dragon.

  Sorcha guided the dragon to land where he had plenty of room to stumble if he must. Surprisingly, he glided in smoothly, took a few extra steps more than normal upon touchdown, and then stopped without effort.

  “You’ve a strong dragon,” he said, impressed by the beast’s stamina.

  “No more than any other.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “He’s just been trained and conditioned well.”

  “He’s not the only one well conditioned.” He stroked her sides, looking deeply into her sparkling eyes.

  “A compliment from a dragon knight, how rare.”

  “Now why would you say that? I’ve praised your beauty inside and out in a hundred ways.” He tried kissing her, but she turned her head away so he propped his chin on her shoulder.

  “A hundred is an exaggeration, Sir Henry, but you have been most generous in words with the ways in which you want me. It’s just rare to hear how skilled you think I am on a dragon.”

  “I said you had a well conditioned body, nothing about riding a dragon.” He teased, using a serious tone. “You were unseated by Reven within minutes from the start of your competition.”

  “It wasn’t my fault.” She tried shaking him away.

  He hugged her back and whispered in her ear, “I’m joking, Sorcha. You were brilliant in pulling up your dragon out of that death plunge. Something very few dragon riders can do smoothly.”

  He felt her relax.

  “You’re just saying that to bed me.”

  “You and I both know I don’t have to trick you into such a situation.” He rubbed his hand over her belly and up against the underside of her breasts.

  “Nice save.” Reven shouted.

  Henry dropped his arms away from Sorcha. She tapped the dragon to lower. He slid off before the animal finished kneeling.

  “Thank you.” Reven grinned.

  “And what do you have to be thankful for?” Henry stood close to the dragon as Sorcha dismounted. He held an arm up to assist her. She refused the help.

  “I imagine for saving me for him,” she answered and stalked away, leaving him confused.

  “What is she talking about?” Henry asked Reven.

  “That pretty wench wagered her sweet ass for a chance to prove herself a skilled dragon rider.” His grin widened. “The deal was, if I won, I bed her. Believe me, after seeing her agility on that dragon, I can say I am happy to see her all in one piece.”

  Anger flared heat up the back of Henry’s neck. “Touch her, and I’ll bring you before the tournament judges for misconduct.”

  Reven laughed a short, loud sound. “The judges could care less about me or anyone else fucking the saucy little wench. She has probably opened her legs to every man she meets.”

  Henry drew back his fist and punched Reven in the mouth. They had fought before, but this was not going to be like their occasional scuffle or drunken brawl. A lady’s honor was at stake and he wanted to pound Reven into the dust for suggesting Sorcha was anything but a lady.

  “You son of a bitch.” Reven wiped his hand across his split lip, smearing a streak of blood onto his cheek. “I’ll bet you think you should have all rights to her, but this was her idea, Henry.”

  “And you just had to be noble and accept her challenge in lieu of her virtue.” He spit out the acerbic words.

  “What’s going on here?” Lord Uther Tulane suddenly appeared and stepped between them.

  “I was just explaining to your brother how you boasted of foul play,” Henry said. “Don’t make me look further into that claim. I won’t stop digging until I find the evidence that gets him banned from the Dragon Fighter’s Society and barred from tournaments.”

  Reven’s nostrils flared and he tried pushing his brother, Uther aside. “I did nothing prohibited in the dragon fight, Pembroke.”

  “Oh no?” Henry walked over to the dragon and lifted the broken girt
h strap. “This didn’t just break on its own.” He held up the half cut, half torn leather strap that broke free and had tangled around Sorcha’s leg.

  “Are you saying I tampered with the wench’s rigging?” He snorted a laugh. “Maybe she did that herself, as an excuse for her loss. Some women will go to all sorts of extremes to get me to fuck them.”

  Henry sidestepped Uther to punch Reven again.

  But Uther moved and pushed Reven back as he turned to Henry again. “Since you feel so strongly about the wench’s virtue,” Uther said, “then maybe you can win it from my brother.”

  “Wait a minute,” Reven protested. “I won the right to bed the wench.”

  “Your betrothed would not be very amenable,” Uther commented.

  “My betrothed?” Reven looked stunned.

  “Yes,” Uther answered. “I have come to terms with Lady Kathryn Stanwyck. She wants a husband from a powerful family.”

  “Lady Kathryn has no lands. What do you get in return?” Henry asked, curious about the sudden news.

  “Oh, she has lands. She’s just not in possession of them. After she and Reven are married, I will look into her claims on your dear demented cousin, Lady Rachel Stanwyck’s estate.”

  “Lady Kathryn has tried to steal those lands before and failed.” Henry informed him. “If anything were to happen to Lady Rachel, Lady Kathryn’s brother, Sir Duncan would be the rightful heir. Until then, my brother Kilburn oversees Rachel’s lands.”

  “Sir Kilburn’s involvement is a small inconvenience which we shall remedy when the time is right. Now about this wager Reven has won, and that you dispute. I propose Reven wagers the comely wench against your dragon.”

  Anger speared Henry again. “He has no right to offer Sorcha up like that.”

  “Oh, but he does.” Lord Tulane reached beneath his tunic and produced a parchment. “The terms were set down in writing. Of course, if you do not want to wager for her, maybe another knight would like the wench straddling his cock.”

  “I’ll accept,” Henry told them, heatedly, “but it will be done here and now. You’ll have no time for more trickery.”

  “What trickery?” Reven grinned. “I’ll win against you fairly, as I have before.”

  Henry stalked off to untether his dragon from the pasture. Reven had beaten him before, more than once, but Reven lost to him as well. With a tally close to even, Henry worried more about losing Sorcha than his dragon. She didn’t deserve to be treated as chattel for men to wager.

  Chapter Three

  Sorcha felt alone in the world. She sat at the village well thinking over her choices. If she gave up her ambition to become a well-respected dragon trainer, she could leave. Not sleeping with Sir Reven had merit. While handsome enough, he didn’t have the sexual charisma to attract her in a physical way.

  Since leaving was out of the question, she thought about what other options she had. It was then she noticed the tall, dark-haired lady approaching. She clearly wasn’t a commoner, dressed in a white and gold embroidered gown and sashaying down the middle of the thoroughfare with her chin up in a haughty fashion.

  “Are you the tavern wench who trains dragons?” the woman asked when she neared.

  Sorcha slid off the low stone wall surrounding the well. A flutter of excitement tickled her insides. Had her flying skills already attracted a customer? The woman hardly appeared the type to own a dragon. But then the dragon knights were a bit surprised to hear of a woman training one, so why not? It would not be soon enough to her to have men see women as equals.

  “Yes, milady, I am Sorcha Bronson.” She curtseyed slightly, never taking her gaze off the woman.

  “I hear you have lost a bet to Sir Reven,” the lady said.

  “Yes, milady, ‘tis true. However, if you were watching, you must have noticed I had the advantage until that problem with my rigging. A broken girth strap could happen to anyone. That’s why we have three straps, front, back and a safety. When dragons inhale, their bellies expand considerably, a lot more than we can possibly make them exhale when we are cinching the straps in place.” Sorcha explained, hoping the lady overlooked the mishap in favor of her dragon’s trained maneuvers and her own knowledge.

  “There are as many reasons for defeat as there are dragon riders. However, neither your problems with saddling nor your skills with a dragon are my concern.” Exceedingly tall for a woman, Lady Kathryn looked down her nose at her.

  “They’re not?” Sorcha asked, confused.

  “No.” Lady Kathryn shook her head. “My problem lies in preventing you from practicing your other talents.”

  “My other talents?” She couldn’t image what the woman was talking about.

  “Whoring yourself out to gain favor,” Lady Kathryn said bluntly.

  Caught off guard, Sorcha inhaled a sharp breath.

  “I want you to leave Milstead,” Lady Kathryn continued.

  “It so happens I was thinking over that very plan, milady,” Sorcha said.

  Disappointment at the lady’s lack of interest in dragons won out over the anger she suffered. She sat back down on the rim of the well, feeling less than cordial.

  “So you will be going?” Lady Kathryn sounded pleased.

  “If it did not interfere with my goals, I would. But no, I have to stay. Inasmuch as I would have liked not to have made a bet with Sir Reven, I did, and I am obligated to pay up.”

  “What if I made it worth your while to disappear?” Lady Kathryn held out a blue silk purse and jingled the coins it contained.”

  “Why is it you want me gone?”

  “Sir Reven is to be my husband. Naturally, I’d disapprove of any other woman giving him pleasure. That’s for me to decide, don’t you think. Of course you do. Well maybe not, given your lowly profession.”

  “Excuse me?” Sorcha raised a brow at this woman who was so full of herself she almost pitied her. The 'almost’ feeling went away as quick as it had come. She wasn’t having a good day and saw no reason anyone else should. “He’s not married to you yet, Lady Kathryn. I believe what Sir Reven does is entirely up to him to decide.”

  “Then I shall have to see to it that Sir Henry wins the dragon fight against Sir Reven, won’t I?” She looked up at the dragons circling over the tournament field. “Dear Henry has always had a chivalrous soul. It is quite noble of him to wager his dragon for you, don’t you think?”

  “He what?” Sorcha looked longer at the dragon riders making their first charge.

  “Though, maybe it’s his mannish urges getting the better of him,” Lady Kathryn continued saying. “Men are so competitive when aiming to win anything. Whether it be a game or a woman, they go at it without a forethought of what they may lose.”

  “He’s not put his dragon up for me,” Sorcha said, trying to convince herself Sir Henry couldn’t be that stupid.

  “As we speak, they are vying for the right to lie between your legs. As I’ve been trying to tell you, men are fools when it comes to their playthings. I’m sure, if they thought it through, they would have realized that as easily as you signed that pledge you would have lain with them both in turn.”

  “I beg your pardon, milady, but not every woman is so easily had.” Sorcha turned her gaze back to the sky when she heard the blended gasps from the crowd.

  “True,” Lady Kathryn replied. “Women of substance, such as I, are quite a bit more choosy.”

  Flames from Reven’s dragon shot over Henry as if the breath of fire licked him in play. Sorcha hurried away, leaving Lady Kathryn talking to herself. She rushed to the fairgrounds, keeping an eye on who was the better dragon fighter, who was more skilled at riding and maneuvering. Both were equals. They showed agility and endurance. She found herself impressed by them and their mounts. A flutter of excitement rippled through her when Henry’s lance knocked Reven’s aside. As in a joust on horseback, the riders would employ different weapons until one gave up by landing, or God forbid, falling.

  She waited nervously a
t the end of the exhibition field bearing Sir Henry’s banner.

  “Has he gone up against Sir Reven before?” she asked the steward wearing an armband with the Pembroke colors.

  “Yes, miss. They’re quite equally matched. Sometimes the young Pembroke wins, sometimes he loses. It mostly has to do with Sir Henry’s mood.”

  “His mood?” She clenched her fists at her side, holding onto imaginary reins in her hands.

  “If he is playing around, he doesn’t take the battle too seriously, and then he usually loses. Today, he seems to be of solemn mind. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he and Reven were fighting over their family grudge again.”

  “What grudge?”

  “Tis a long battle tale, Miss, but for Sir Henry, the worst of the story was when Sir Reven’s father, the evil Sir Elan Tulane stabbed Henry with a dagger in the back, almost killing him.”

  “Oh my.” She wrapped her arms around herself to stop the shivering chill rippling up her spine. “Does Sir Henry get himself into such circumstances very often?”

  “Does the sun rise everyday, Miss?”

  She could see the man was quite serious about Sir Henry’s precarious lifestyle.

  When she turned back to the tournament, she saw Sir Henry’s dragon had gone into a severe nosedive. She watched in fear of him losing more than just a battle. After having experienced the same earthward plunge with her dragon, she knew he had to be feeling the rush of energy created by the fear of death.

  “Yes,” she cheered quietly, watching him turn out of the free fall. The maneuvers he made were daring, unlike anything she had ever tried. To her practiced eye, they seemed performed only because of flaws in his dragon. The animal’s legs were often at the wrong angle. She wondered if that was why Henry chanced some of his more eccentric risky moves.

  With admirable precision, Sir Henry knocked Sir Reven’s lance from his hand. The crowd’s riotous roar rose to a peak of excitement she hadn’t heard before. The joust finished, Sir Henry came in for a landing. The dragon met the ground as if he stumbled down a hill rather than alighting on a flat grassy plain.