Sir Henry seemed not to notice. He jabbed his wooden lance into the soft ground and deftly hopped off the swaying dragon. Dropping his reins, he left the animal unattended. His strides toward her were those of a man rushing to claim his prize.
She had mixed feelings on the matter.
“Come to watch me do battle, milady?” Henry handed off his helmet to the servant Sorcha had talked to.
“You won,” she stated, waiting for him to bring up the topic of what he won.
“Yes, I did.” His grin widened.
“That must please you a great deal.”
“Naturally.” He brushed back his sweat-dampened hair and winked. “I don’t know anyone who enjoys losing.”
“Especially when there is a prize to be had.” She tried to keep her focus off the excitement she felt.
“No prize. Reven and I were performing an unscheduled exhibition.” He walked away, crossing the field toward the village.
“You didn’t win anything?” She had to quicken her steps to keep up with him.
“I won these cheers.” He paused and lifted his arms as he neared the enthralled crowd.
Sorcha grabbed his arm and pulled him around. “And me.”
Henry lowered his arms and started removing the elbow guards without saying a word.
“Lady Kathryn told me everything, Sir Henry. How you wagered your dragon for the right to bed me.”
He stopped what he was doing and looked at her. “That may be true, but I did not win you, Sorcha. I defeated his claim on you. There’s a distinct difference.” He bent down to unbuckle his shin guards. “He had no right to treat you as he would his dragon or a slave.”
Sorcha saw his difficulty with the tight buckle behind his knee and she stooped down to help. “So you don’t want me?”
“Are you joking?”
The seriousness in his voice made her look up.
“I don’t know a man here that wouldn’t want to bed you, my lovely.”
“I signed a parchment, pledging to service the bearer who won the dragon fight. Sir Reven beat me, and he had every right to dispose of the marker as he wished.”
Sir Henry waved over the Herald. The young man handed him a scroll, and Sir Henry held it to her. “This is your pledge back.”
Sorcha moved close to Henry, feeling the heat of him radiating through the armor. “You, sir, have won the rights granted in that letter.” She put her hand against his chest and felt the rapid beat of his heart beneath. “You will not have to throw me over your shoulder this time, Sir Henry.”
He touched her cheek with the back of his gloved hand. She closed her eyes as his caress rolled down her neck and around, under her chin. Then her face rested in his palm. She waited for him to tip her head back, for him to bend toward her, for him to show his claim with a powerful kiss.
“I enjoyed having you squirm atop my shoulder.” He grabbed her hand.
“You wouldn’t do it again? Not out here in front of the crowd,” she exclaimed, backing from him, her arm extended by the hold he had on it.
“Just teasing.” He turned and towed her back toward his dragon.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“For a ride.”
“No.” She balked at the idea of making his dragon carry them both after an exhausting battle. “We’ll take my dragon, Charger. He’s rested.”
Henry stopped and smiled. “Good idea. Nimbly will appreciate your kindness toward him.”
“Your dragon’s name is Nimbly?”
“Is there something wrong with the name?”
“Oh no, Sir Henry. I am sure ‘tis a name that suits him well,” she replied, walking along, surprised and a bit elated that Henry still held her hand.
“My brother, Ware raises dragons. He gives them names that often relate to their temperament or best attribute.”
“And Nimbly is nimble then?”
“Hell, no. Nimbly is the clumsiest dragon you’ll ever see.”
His laugh warmed her all over, but she tried to focus on the conversation.
“Then why do you ride him and how do you win battles if he’s awkward?” She thought back to the animal’s other defects—his head held too high and his tail hung too low.
“I have enough skill to compensate for his weakness. My brother thought I should look to a safer, more lucrative business than dragon fighting, so he tried using Nimbly to discourage me from learning. Little did he foresee my determination. I know all Nimbly’s weaknesses, and he knows I love him regardless. You cannot do better than have a dragon’s trust and loyalty.”
They stopped where a steward had tethered her dragon in the pasture. “He is very lucky, as am I to have you as our champion, Sir Henry.”
He looked over at her with a pensive smile.
Charger snorted a warning at Sir Henry. He was distrustful. As with all dragons, time was required for bonding. She had raised Charger. He knew what she wanted of him and how well he’d be treated for his loyalty.
“Easy, boy,” Henry snatched up the reins.
Sorcha heard the rumble vibrating inside Charger’s throat. Heat built within his ducts. Like a blacksmith’s furnace, the dragon’s heavy breathing worked like bellows on the coals.
“Behave yourself, Charger,” Sorcha spoke calmly.
If she weren’t standing right next to Henry, she knew flames would have followed the hiss of air puffing from the dragon’s flared nostrils.
“You should mount first.” Henry handed over the reins.
Charger looked at her, as if checking to make sure she was the one in control. She tugged and he immediately dropped to his knees. The sounds of his upset faded and she sprang into place on the saddle first. Once seated, she took her foot from the stirrup so Henry could use it. He swung up agilely behind her. His hands slid over her hips, around her waist, and he took the reins from her.
“Now that he’s let me get on again, you don’t mind if I fly him, do you?” he asked.
“You know the way to wherever it is you’re taking me,” she said, liking the warmth of his arms around her. “Just remember, we’ve only two girth straps holding the saddle on.”
“I promise. No stunts.”
The peaceful ride was relaxing. Neither of them spoke much. She liked the quiet between them. It gave her time to think over the events that had led her into the embrace of a knight unlike any she had ever met before. He wanted to bed her, and yet he showed remarkable restraint. It wasn’t as if she’d fought him every step of the way.
Several times during their course of travel, she felt his hand push her hair aside from her neck. She knew it was because the wind of flight kept blowing it in his face. But her heart raced with the anticipation of his lips pressing beneath her ear.
She watched the ground below. The lofty perch in the heavens made everything appear smaller. The running flock of small sheep, the miniature houses and the tiny people looked like toys on a landscape. A few times, Sir Henry flew lower, bringing the scenery back into lifelike focus. He pointed out landmarks, and commented on what he knew of them.
On his best behavior, Charger followed every command Henry gave him. He flew in a smooth and peaceful manner, never faltering at any turn. His large wings flapped when needed to propel them, and they floated stationary when he caught a current of air that carried them.
Unable to contain her curiousness, Sorcha finally said, “You have yet to tell me where we’re headed.”
“Pembroke.”
“You’re taking me to Pembroke Castle? Whatever for?” Facts ran through her head. Sir Ware Pembroke, legendary dragon fighter and prominent dragon breeder, lived at Pembroke Castle. Was Henry taking her there for an introduction? Was he going to ask his brother to accept her challenge? Hundreds of things ran through her thoughts as she planned what she would say. Surely, he’d need convincing that she was worthy.
Henry steered low, flying her dragon along with the contours of the land. Her thoughts shifted from what she’d sa
y to Sir Ware Pembroke to that of the whisper of Henry’s warm breath near her ear.
“Welcome to my home, Sorcha.” The pride in his voice made her shiver with excitement.
“It’s beautiful,” she replied, enjoying the snug way Henry held her.
She looked down at the rolling green pastures, lush and perfect for grazing dragons. The fields she used were over-grazed. Short grass and rocky terrain were less than favorable, but that was all she could afford for her dragons.
“Wait ‘til we crest the next knoll.” He steered their flight lower, skimming the terrain almost as if they rode a horse instead of a dragon. Then he lifted them over the top of a high hill.
“Oh, they’re simply wonderful,” she gasped.
The sight of a dozen female dragons was spectacular. Their coloring was glossy and even. Just perfect. It was obvious the Pembrokes could afford grain. Hers were starting to show signs of poor nourishment, white spots at the base of their scales.
“I’d land and introduce you to each of them, except that we’re riding a male. My brother would not like hearing how I impregnated his herd with an unknown.”
“Charger may be an unknown, but his quality is superb,” she said sharply.
“I can see he is.” Henry shifted the reins into one hand and rubbed her arm with the other. “He’s a fine stud and I know it’s your care that has made him such.”
“Yes, my care,” she muttered, feeling inadequate as a caregiver.
Charger was the one she lavished the most grain on. He had the best of everything. It was on him she hoped to build her reputation. But it pained her to think how much her mares needed the same to produce fertile eggs. The year before, she’d managed a good showing, but what of this year? Her tavern job wouldn’t earn enough to get the feed they needed.
“Look there?” Henry pointed at a female with one of her young.
Sorcha leaned over and watched the stunning creatures playing, until Henry took her dragon over the next hill.
Pembroke Castle loomed on the horizon. The large impressive stone fortress sat nestled in a hillside surrounded by forest. As they neared, she observed the years of wear on the wall. Repairs showed a vigilant upkeep. Tall embrasures faced the east and taller turrets guarded the west.
Sir Henry circled the castle once and then landed her dragon inside the walls of the courtyard. Charger snorted and danced, protesting the confinement. However, Sir Henry showed patience and skill in calming the animal.
“He’ll be safe here.” He dismounted first. “I’m not sure where the stud is for those females in the pasture and I wouldn’t want your dragon to get injured in a territorial fight.”
When he lifted his arms, Sorcha considered refusing his help to get down. The instinct to show her independence was always forefront in her actions, but this time, she overcame the acquired trait. She swung her leg over the saddle and slipped down to Sir Henry. He caught her with his strong hands grasping her just above the waist. How easy it would be for him to crush her ribcage she thought as he showed how gently he could use his strength.
He lowered her to her feet, and for the briefest of moments, they stared into each other’s eyes. Were her desires as plain on her face as Sir Henry’s were? She tried to make it so, wishing and willing him to kiss her.
He turned instead and swept an arm at the surrounding area. “Welcome to Pembroke Castle, milady.”
“How will your brother feel about you bringing me here?” she asked, eager to meet Sir Ware with her challenge.
“Ware doesn’t live here, nor does my other brother, Kilburn. This is all mine. Well, it belongs to the three of us, and as the eldest, Ware is in charge. However, he lives at his wife’s home of Mansfield. They have a little girl as beautiful as her mother and as stubborn as her father. As for Kilburn, he lives at Stanwyck with his wife and our cousin, leaving me caretaker and ruler of the Pembroke’s ancestral home.”
That Henry had not brought her to Pembroke to help her with her quest shattered her dream. Nonetheless, it was her own damn fault. The facts had always been clear—the handsome knight didn’t think women should fight dragons. He was the defeating force to her spirit.
“What’s wrong, Sorcha? Don’t you like it here?” He pulled off one glove and stroked her arm. His look combined disappointment and genuine concern.
“Tis not that, Sir Henry. I foolishly thought that maybe you were going to help me with my problem.”
“What problem?” His brow wrinkled, expressing puzzlement.
“Finding a dragon knight to accept my challenge in the tournament at Tregarth.”
“That’s why you asked about my brother? You thought I had brought you here to meet him?” He waved over a footman.
She gave a nod, feeling the fool for her high expectations.
“Do you want to go back to Milstead?” he asked.
She looked up at the towering castle. The pride with which Henry spoke of his home, and his crestfallen face when he thought she wasn’t interested, tugged at her heart.
“I am honored by your invitation to see Pembroke,” she set aside her objectives for the meantime. “I am most eager for a tour.”
Sir Henry’s adorable smile resembled that of an eager boy, and then faded as he turned his attention to the footman. “See to it this dragon is given hay and grain, and plenty of water.”
“Right away, Sir Henry.” The man gave her a polite smile as the he bowed and hurried off.
She watched him motion to a boy playing with a ball. The boy skipped over to him and together they disappeared around the corner.
“Is something wrong?” Sir Henry asked, again. “Maybe you didn’t want him fed so soon after the flight? I can call Wendell back and tell him to wait.”
“No, don’t do that. Nothing is wrong. I was just looking around, taking in as much as I can.” She smiled, thankful for the free grain meal for Charger. He didn’t need much time to cool down after that short flight.
“Feel free to tell me any time you think I’ve overstepped my boundaries.” He took her arm by the elbow.
“Didn’t I try at the tavern, only to be slung over your shoulder for refusing to kiss you?”
Sir Henry’s charming smile widened. “I said you can tell me. I didn’t say I’d always listen.” He led her to the doors of the castle.
Inside the foyer, she took in the luxuries of heavy tapestries covering the cold stone walls and the thick braided rugs warming the stone floor.
“Shall we have something to eat?” He pulled her into the doorway of a long dinning hall and left her there as he went ahead to the table.
A servant emerged from another room. “Sir Henry, where have you been? You were to be back yesterday to deliver that dragon to. . . . ” The man stopped his reprimand when he caught sight of her. “Forgive me, milady. I did not see you there.”
Sir Henry laughed and strolled back to her. “Thomas, this is Sorcha. She is my guest, and we are famished. Have Metta make us something hearty to eat.”
“Yes, Sir Henry.”
Sorcha waited until the man left, then she strolled over to the fireplace and looked up at the tapestry emblazoned with the Pembroke’s crest. It brought her thoughts back to her mission. She had started out vowing to do whatever it took. Sir Henry wanted sex with her, but wouldn’t give his word to compete against her. Sir Reven had thought her sexual favors worth wagering for, and what other weapon did she have? Whatever Sir Henry thought of her, just a tavern wench to bed, or just a lady to be protected against her will, Sorcha knew he was far from immune to her charms. She would just have to try harder.
Still studying the tapestry, noting the intricate details of the crest that didn’t appear on Henry’s tunic, she debated her next move. While Henry’s dark blue tunic had the shield design with a white dragon over crossed swords, the tapestry had a red heart on the dragon, and three slashes of green in a circle in the bottom left corner. She reached up and fingered the green lines.
“Those repre
sent the three sons of Lord Gareth Pembroke,” Sir Henry said. “They’re not original to the tapestry. It’s been in my family for over a century, but my father added the marks.
“What does the heart mean?” she asked.
Sir Henry walked over and stood alongside her. “Depends who you ask. My father, who died of an illness several years ago, said the heart represented power. Ware said it was our lives tied to the hearts of dragons. Kilburn said it symbolized the strength of our bloodline. But I like the servants’ version the best.”
“And what is that?”
“That my father had it added when he married my mother as a testament of his love for her.”
“What does your mother say?”
“I don’t know. She died when I was born.”
“Then you spoke the truth when we met?” The ache of losing her own mother resurfaced.
“The truth about what?”
“When you lay in the street outside the Tavern where we met, I asked if your mother had taught you no manners. I thought you might have lied about her being dead.”
“I don’t remember telling you that.” Looking away, he stared intensely up at the tapestry as if he’d never seen it before. Once again, she noticed the vulnerability in his watery eyes. How had she doubted the sadness so evident in his quiet stare?
“I’m sorry, Sir Henry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“It was a long time ago. I can’t miss what I’ve never known.”
“You don’t have to say that, not to me.” She touched his arm and coaxed him to look at her. “I lost my mother before I was a year old. My father, dear man that he was, raised me the best he could. But I have always, and I mean always, felt the loss of not knowing what it would be like to know her, to hear her voice, to have her advice.” Her eyes went teary and through her blurred vision, she saw Henry’s expression of long buried pain soften into relief.
He put his hand up against her face and brushed away an escaping tear rolling down her cheek. She touched his hand and turned it to look at the ring he wore. The band of gold was engraved with the design of a heart. She rubbed her finger over it.
“My father had three of them made, one for each of his three sons,” he said.
A Tavern Wench to Bed Page 5
