Heart of the Dove

by Tina St. John

  Rand headed back for the street, his muscles taut, his step brisk with purpose.

  Serena was waiting where he had left her, standing bravely near the cart of flowers while the press of the market crowd ebbed and flowed around her. Rand walked up to her in haste, taking her hand in his to lead her away from curious ears.

  "What is it?" Serena looked up at him, likely reading the dread in his eyes. "What has happened?"

  "Shifter," Rand told her, speaking the word at little more than a whisper.

  Although her gaze widened in sudden fear, she maintained her calm. "Here? In Egremont?"

  Rand gave her a sober nod. "It nearly killed one of those knights at the alehouse when he provoked it unawares."

  "Mother Mary." Her face went pale as frost. "Did you see it yourself?"

  "Nay. The beast has fled, but I do not wager it's gone far. The streets are not secure, my lady. They will be less so once evening falls."

  He pulled the small pouch of coins from out of his boot.

  "Come, Serena. I don't want you out here any longer. Let us find safe quarters for the night."

  Chapter 18

  "Won't you have some of this with me?" Serena asked, after they had found a room and a meal at one of Egremont's small inns. "This--mutton, did you call it?--is delicious."

  Rand only grunted, shaking his head.

  There was no table in their small quarters, only a bed with a fur coverlet and one thin bolster. A squat wooden stool comprised the rest of the furnishings, which was where Rand had seated himself since their arrival. But if the lodgings were sparse, the tavern's food more than compensated. Serena sat on the edge of the bed's hard-packed down mattress, enjoying the warm meal of roasted meat and boiled vegetables. Rand had procured a flagon of wine, too, which Serena found to be a curious drink--too potent at first, then mellowing with each further sip she took from her cup.

  "There's plenty to eat for both of us," she told him, concerned that he seemed so tense and preoccupied. So distant. "You should have something, Rand."

  He held a cup of wine in both hands, his shoulders hunched, elbows braced on his spread knees. For long moments, from nearly the time he sat down, Rand merely stared into the battered tin cup, his face drawn in dark contemplation.

  They had not spoken of the danger they had narrowly avoided in town that day, but it was plain that Rand's thoughts were fixed on his enemies and the confrontation that seemed to be drawing ever closer, even as they sat together in the candlelit peace of the modest inn.

  "Tomorrow," he said, speaking at last, "as soon as it is light, I'll take you back to the grove."

  "There is no need," she told him, knowing that had not been part of their agreement. "I know the way now. I can make it back home on my own."

  "I will take you," he insisted, and the look in his eyes was steely with determination.

  "What about Scotland?"

  "It will have to wait."

  "But if that knight in the market square truly saw what he said he did--a shifter--then the man you seek cannot be far behind. Isn't that so?"

  He did not confirm it, but Serena knew it was true. She knew that it was this troubling fact that had put the grimness in Rand's mood. He lifted his cup and downed the wine in one gulp. Then he rose from the stool and stalked over to the bed, pouring himself another serving of the rich claret.

  "Rand." When he set the flagon down, Serena reached out to him, placing her hand lightly over his. "Tell me what this is about--all of it. If this man commands these beasts, these shapeshifters, then what does that make him?"

  "A monster," Rand answered, and from the stark tone of his voice, Serena knew he spoke in utter honesty now. He took a drink of his wine, then leveled a grave look on her before stepping away to lean his shoulder against the timber wall of the chamber. "I don't even know if he's human. Certainly if ever he was, there is naught left in him that's truly alive anymore."

  Serena weathered a shudder as she considered the sort of creature that was Rand's enemy. She knew so little of villainy, had no true examples of evil outside of that which lived in dark fairy tales. She could hardly guess at the diabolical purpose that might drive someone--man or monster--to wreak so much destruction and pain. "What is it about the treasure you carried with you that makes this man crave it so? Why should a cup be worth so much?"

  Rand's chuckle was hollow, almost brittle. "It is not the cup so much as it is the power that resides within it."

  "What kind of power?"

  "Wealth. Strength. The security that comes in knowing there is nothing beyond your grasp, and that none exists who could rise and stand against you. Immortality, my lady. That is the Dragon Chalice's greatest promise."

  "Dragon Chalice?" Serena tilted her head, feeling a mix of confusion and mild incredulity at the mention of the name. "The Dragon Chalice isn't real," she said, carefully now, for Rand was staring at her most peculiarly. "'Tis a fanciful tale--my mother used to tell me about the mythical treasure when I was a little girl."

  "You know of the treasure?"

  "I know the story--that of an enchanted Chalice bearing four magic gemstones its bowl."

  "What more do you know?" Rand asked, a certain hesitance in his voice. "Have you seen the Chalice?"

  "Nay, of course not," Serena replied, shaking her head. "No one has. 'Tis myth, that's all."

  Rand was utter seriousness now. "Tell me the tale as you have heard it, Serena."

  "Very well."

  She proceeded to recite the story that had long been one of her favorites. She explained how the Dragon Chalice was stolen from a glorious kingdom by an evil warrior. How that kingdom's magic had broken the enchanted goblet into four smaller cups, each bearing one precious stone imbued with otherworldly power. A sorcerer's spell then scattered the Dragon Chalice across the mortal realm, where the pieces lie in wait, even now, for a noble soul to restore the Chalice and bring the lost kingdom back to glory. She told him of the dread prophecy, which proclaimed that if the treasure was returned by trickery, or in the hands of a man unworthy of its power, the lost kingdom would face an eternity of enslavement by a great and terrible dragon.

  When she finished, Rand's brow was knit above the intensity of his gaze. "Jesu."

  "'Twas one of my favorite stories," Serena added, but seeing his grim expression was making it difficult to cling to the idea that the Dragon Chalice tale was pure myth. "My mother said it has long been known to our kin. The story has been passed through the generations for many years."

  "Whatever your mother told you, it is no fairy story, Serena. I have seen the Dragon Chalice--or part of it, at the least. It is real, so is its power. And so are the villains who seek it for their own gain."

  Serena swallowed a bitter sip of wine, supposing, just for a moment, that what Rand was telling her now was true. "What about you? You're after the Chalice as well. What will you do with it?"

  "Destroy it, if I must. Anything to keep it from the clutches of Silas de Mortaine."

  Familiar yet distant, the name flitted through Serena's mind like a hint of brewing storm. "The man who ordered the attack of Greycliff?"

  "Aye. The monster who called for me and my family to be slaughtered in our beds by his changeling beasts. He is also the man who took my friend Kenrick of Clairmont prisoner because of his study of the Chalice."

  "Kenrick is your friend who gave his heart to the shifter, Haven."

  "The very one. Kenrick had discovered much about the treasure in his work for the church some years ago. He recorded his findings in a series of ledgers, not aware that it was de Mortaine who commissioned them. When Kenrick realized who he was inadvertently serving, he took steps to hide his work. Some he kept near him at his castle home; one crucial piece--something no one knew existed--was entrusted to me."

  "The object that the shifters sought when they raided Greycliff," Serena said, understanding now.

  Rand nodded. "A metal seal that would act as a key in unlocking one of the four Chal
ice pieces, once its location was found. We had no time to search, for not long after Kenrick gave me the seal, he was captured by de Mortaine and held hostage."

  "For how long?"

  "Six months, more or less. De Mortaine ransomed him to his family, demanding Kenrick's findings pertaining to the Dragon Chalice. Kenrick's sister, Ariana, all he had left after their father passed while Kenrick was away, was given the charge of delivering the information to de Mortaine."

  "And did she do this?" Serena asked, curling her legs beneath her on the bed. She took a drink of her wine, needing its warmth for the anxious chill that was growing inside her. "Did Ariana surrender Kenrick's findings to this man?"

  "Not all. She allied herself with a mercenary called the Hunter, and together they cleverly freed Kenrick from his captivity." Rand chuckled a bit, as though recalling the details. "That, however, is a long tale in itself, and one better saved for another time."

  Serena watched him for a long moment, unmoving, gripped with a sudden sorrow. A fear clung to her as she gazed at Rand and understood the day was coming that they would part forever.

  "Rand," she whispered, "if, as you intend, you do confront this man--this Silas de Mortaine--will you...do you think you can defeat him?"

  "If I had the piece of the Chalice I lost in the storm, perhaps. If I had that and the piece Kenrick has told me likely rests in a chapel in Scotland, then it is possible that I could defeat de Mortaine."

  "And if you have none of that power to aid you, will you still seek him out?"

  Rand turned his gaze to the wobbling flame of the candles. There was determination in his eyes, but also a note of flat acceptance. "He must be stopped, Serena. He is evil, and I have made a vow. Not only to the memory of Elspeth and Tod, but to Kenrick as well. My honor demands this of me. Silas de Mortaine must pay for what he has done."

  "Even at the cost of your own life?"

  He looked at her now, and nodded gravely. "Even then."

  She wanted to curse his bloody honor, but could form no words. She wanted to beg him to abandon his plan, but she knew there was nothing to hold him back.

  Not even her love, for that was what she felt for him.

  The sweet ache, the tender thrill just to be near him, could be nothing less than love. And the misery in knowing he did not feel the same for her--perhaps never could--bred a desperation in her to cling to him even tighter, especially when she knew he would soon be leaving her.

  But she loved him more than that. Enough to accept that she could not keep him, no matter how dearly she wanted to beg him to return with her to the cottage on the morrow and live the rest of his days at her side. His honor would not permit that. He would take her back to the grove, but then he would leave to carry out his plans.

  Serena turned away from him and his rigid principles--his honor, which would get him killed sooner than later--and stretched out on the bed. She pressed her cheek into the bolster, determined not to think of what lay ahead of Rand in his damnable quest for revenge.

  "You must be tired," he said, misreading her sudden sulkiness. "I'll leave the food here beside the bed, should you want anything more."

  She heard the soft scrape of the wooden tray on the floor.

  "Sleep well, Serena," he whispered, and stung her further by gifting her with a chaste kiss to her temple.

  He did not stretch out beside her, even to be practical and share the meager warmth. He walked away, his feet padding quietly on the floor. There was a short puff of breath across the small room, and then the lights were extinguished.

  The bed remained cold. The space beside her was empty, the room dark, and too soon morning would come.

  * * *

  She could not sleep.

  Serena tossed in the bed, restless in the unfamiliar surroundings, and her senses too attuned to the fact that Rand was awake in the room as well. Finally she sat up on the mattress.

  "What is it?" he asked her, his muscular bulk leaning up against the wall beside the bed.

  Serena pushed her hair out of her face and held her hand out to him in the dark. "Come up here. There is no point in you trying to sleep on the floor when the bed is large enough for both of us."

  "I'm not trying to sleep."

  "What are you doing?"

  "Thinking. And watching you."

  She slipped out from beneath the fur coverlet and moved to the edge of the bed where he sat on the floor. He was still dressed, but his tunic was unlaced at the throat, and his boots rested nearby.

  "Come up here with me."

  For a long moment, he did not move or speak.

  "Rand. Sit with me." She held her hand out to him once more, fingers bare and outstretched. "Lie down with me."

  His voice was rough in the dark. "I think that would be a mistake."

  "Why?"

  "It could lead to more."

  "I am not afraid."

  He exhaled a tortured-sounding laugh, but then he was moving, slowly coming to his feet beside the bed. He peered at her through the gloom of the lightless chamber; his touch was gentle as he smoothed away an errant tendril of her hair. "Are you truly so fearless, Serena of the grove?"

  "I think so," she answered, smiling as his warm fingers curled around hers. She drew him back with her on the bed. "Isn't this better than the floor?"

  He didn't say anything. He was gazing at her in a sort of potent silence. Poised over her, his weight braced on one hand, he merely looked at her and Serena felt a strumming warmth begin to pool from somewhere deep inside of her. The quiet anticipation of something more to come stretched out to agony, but then Rand dipped his head and kissed her.

  Serena drifted into his kiss with abandon, wrapping her arms about his neck and eagerly parting her lips to him when his tongue pressed for entry. His mouth was sweet heaven on hers, hot and demanding, and just a bit wild. He kissed her until she was breathless, then caught her head in his hands and kissed her some more.

  "Come, then," he murmured against her mouth. "Lie back with me."

  He took her by the wrist, and eased back on the furs, smoothly guiding her toward him. He moved to lace his fingers through hers, bringing her hand down against his chest. Serena stiffened with an instinctual resistance. She drew her fingers back, fisting them against her breast. She could not touch him. For all her bravado about not being afraid, she was suddenly terrified. She was afraid to shatter these perfect moments they were sharing.

  "What's wrong?"

  Serena gazed down at him, her tongue thick behind her teeth.

  "Have I hurt you somehow? Are you all right?"

  She swallowed hard, forced herself to speak. "I am not her, Rand."

  His scowl deepened. He sat back slightly, giving her a small measure of space.

  "I'm not Elspeth. I need to know that you know that. I'm not her, no matter how you might wish it--"

  "God's love." He raked a hand through his hair, tousling the dark chestnut waves. "Is that what you think? That I look at you and wish you were someone else?"

  "Elspeth," she said again, needing to put the name out there even though it pained her to allow her ghost into the room, into this exquisite, torturous moment. "I am not her, Rand. I need to hear you say that you know this. That you accept me. Just...me."

  "Serena, I have never--"

  "Yes, you have," she whispered. "You have compared me to her in many ways. And that early morning, when you came upon me at the falls, you called her name."

  "Ah, that." He gave her a remorseful look. "I explained that to you--my disorientation, feeling like I was reliving the night of the raid. It meant nothing. Once I saw you, I knew where I was. I knew who you were."

  Serena gave a sad little shake of her head. "You reached out to me, but it was her name on your lips, her name in your touch. I felt it. The Knowing never lies."

  "It is you, Serena. Now, as it was that day." His expression became grim, solemn. "Have you any idea how I've had to fight my feelings for you? I have, from the moment
I first opened my eyes on that beach and saw you gazing down at me. I didn't want to be attracted to you, Serena. I didn't want to feel anything--not for anyone--until this thing I must do is done. I never wanted to drag you into this."

  When she would have inched away from him, he caught her hand in his and held it, firmly yet with a tenderness that made her ache. He brought her back to him, guiding her fingers to the open neckline of his tunic. He placed her open palm against his chest. His heart thudded, strong and warm beneath her fingertips.

  "The Knowing never lies," he said, repeating her own words now. "Touch me, and know that it is you I want. It is you I desire, Serena of the grove." He shook his head slowly. "Though why that pleases you I shall never understand."

  Serena reveled in the beating warmth of his skin, the crisp hairs on his chest tickling her palm. Very slowly, the Knowing stretched and awakened, showing her the keen pleasure he felt as he reclined in the nest of furs, watching her stroke the muscular slabs of his chest, the coiling hunger that gripped him as her fingertips teased the flat buds of his nipples into small, tight pebbles.

  She needed no gift of touch to understand the heated look in his eyes. It burned through her, simmering embers that sparked in his dark gaze and seemed to settle someplace deep inside of her, where she was boneless and needful, where she was melting.

  He was holding himself back, she realized. Like mental chains holding him down, he lashed his need for her with a seething restraint, finding a greater pleasure in her slow exploration of his body. Serena learned the contours of every sinewed inch of his broad shoulders, his strong chest, and his ridged belly. She braved to venture farther down, to where the loose waistband of his braies met the lacings of his hose.

  Rand groaned as her fingertips slid beneath the fabric, caressing his skin, which twitched under her careful, tentative discovery. He was both soft and hard, patient and demanding in his silent observation of her. Serena delighted in his contrasts, and in the burning, hooded look in his eyes. That look deepened as she slid her hand across the uppermost line of his slim pelvis. She drew in a little breath as she brushed the velvet tip of his manhood, which stretched greedily toward her questing fingers. Surprised, curious, she returned to it, and delicately traced its thick, bulbous cap. From its very tip, it wept a silky bead of warmth, slicking her fingers as she marveled at its astonishing form.