Could he be…?
She looped Fearsome Dragon and dove toward the knight’s massive steed.
“What are you doing?” the dragon demanded.
“Guiding her toward discovery.”
* * * * *
Knowing the blood wasn’t hers did little to ease Dominic’s alarm. Her slender body trembled in his arms. His pulse leapt with each shuddering breath. From what sort of attack had she been forced to defend herself? How far had the assault progressed? And where was her assailant now?
“There’s a stream…” Her voice broke, so she pointed, and tried to rise.
Dominic stood, still cradling her against his chest, and strode in the direction she indicated.
She shifted in his embrace, restless and anxious. “The blood.” She shuddered. “I can feel it drying in my hair, sinking into my skin.”
At the water’s edge, he set her on her feet, but she waded into the stream and sank to her knees. “Get it off me! I want it off!” Scooping sand from the streambed, she scoured her skin and scrubbed her clothing. The water turned pink all around her.
He tugged off his boots, placed his sword within reach, and joined her in the water. “Rowena.” He used her name intentionally, calling her back from the brink of hysteria. “Rowena, we need to take off your bliaud. Your skin will come clean if we dispense with the garment.”
Expecting her to argue, he stumbled back a step when she tugged the sodden outer garment off and tossed it to the grassy bank.
“Now try the sand,” he suggested softly.
Calling upon all the powers of Chivalry, he dragged his gaze away from her lissome body and focused solely on her battered face. The corner of her mouth was caked with blood, and a purple bruise shadowed the crest of her cheek. His fists clenched at his sides.
“Rowena, who did this to you?”
Her wide, haunted gaze lifted to his face. “My hair. It’s in my hair.”
Fortifying himself for the prospect of touching her, he pulled off his tunic and surcoat together, and tossed them near his boots. His loose woolen leggings were meager protection against the cold stream, but he knelt beside her.
He gathered the thick mass of her dark red hair as she bent forward, inadvertently offering him a magnificent view of her high, round breasts.
Damn William and his confounded vow! This woman was ripe for the plucking.
Snapping his wayward attention back to the task at hand, he fanned her hair out in the current, using the natural flow of the water to rinse the blood from the long strands.
“Better?” he asked.
She had begun to shiver. He stood and helped her to her feet. The thin material of her shift was virtually transparent. Her nipples had beaded in the cold, and even the shadow of her areolas was visible beneath the cloth. God’s wounds, he ached for her.
Pushing her hair away from her face, Rowena noticed the direction of his gaze. She glanced down at herself and gasped. Her arms flew to cover her breasts, and her gaze rounded comically when she spotted the conspicuous bulge in his leggings.
He grinned sheepishly. “I beg your pardon, but I cannot control the way my body responds to such a display.”
Her eyes clouded with the most confounding combination of emotions. He recognized curiosity and uncertainty, but what had caused the flicker of hope?
“My clothing is dry. I propose we share.” Retaining the velvet surcoat for himself, he handed his tunic to her. “You can don it over your shift, if you like. But I will turn my back, if you wish to shed your shift.”
“That would be my preference.”
Dressed in their odd combination of garments, they set out across the orchard.
“How did you know where to find me?” Rowena asked.
“Thora told me. What information did this man have that you did not already know?”
“None. This was all for naught.”
She sounded so forlorn that he couldn’t help but believe her. “Was the man you agreed to meet the man who attacked you?”
Pausing she raised her gaze to his and stiffly explained, “A second man came unexpectedly. I was forced to stab him or submit to his unwanted attentions. The first man threatened my life if the second dies because of his wound, but they don’t know who I am.”
The urge to berate her for her foolishness nearly overwhelmed him, but tears shone behind her long eyelashes and her lips trembled. “You are safe, my lady,” was all he said.
Trepidation suddenly gripped Dominic. He stepped in front of Rowena and drew his sword.
“Majesty.” Keeping her behind him, he advanced. “I left him there. Where is my horse?”
“Your horse is gone?”
“Could these men still be about?” Agitation made his voice terse.
“I don’t believe so. Could your horse have wondered off?”
Dominic snorted. “Majesty does not wander. Something foul is afoot.” An odd sound escaped her. He glanced at her, amazed to find she had smothered a laugh. “What is so amusing?”
“It would seem that we are afoot.”
He shook his head and sheathed his sword, but his senses remained alert. “We have nearly lost the light, and it will take several hours to reach your castle on foot. Your steward spoke of a monastery built for defense. That would be an acceptable location to protect you for the night. Is it nearby?”
“I cannot…” She averted her face.
“We can’t stay here.”
After a long pause, she admitted, “It’s just beyond the meadow. Not far at all.”
* * * * *
Rowena tossed upon the fur, unconsciously searching for warmth. Wiggling beneath the blanket separating her body from Sir Dominic’s, she snuggled close against his back.
For a long time she did nothing more than press against him. He had been the perfect gentleman the entire evening. He provided what comforts he could with the meager provisions kept stashed in the monastery for emergencies such as this, but he had treated her with kindness and complete deference.
Even when she suggested they spread the fur pelt before the hearth and conserve their body heat, he had insisted on a blanket barrier. You would think he was the virgin!
Dominic turned in his sleep, rolling onto his back, and pulled her tight against his side. Her breath caught in her throat. Heavens above, heat emanated from him like rays off the sun. It felt wonderful.
Her shift tangled about her hips, and one of her legs lay across his thigh. Her naked pelvis was flush against the hard contour of his hip. Rowena knew she should pull away, disentangle their bodies and go back to sleep. But she couldn’t bring herself to move, to deprive herself of the warmth of his hard, muscular body.
Afraid to disturb his sleep with her restlessness, she tried to relax against him, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. Her hand rested lightly in the center of his chest. The lacings of his surcoat gaped, offering her bare skin. Slowly, she stroked her palm across his chest, absorbing the texture of his flesh, the contour and the heat.
He mumbled groggily, but she didn’t stop her brazen exploration. His skin was intoxicating. She suddenly wished they were naked. Drawing nearer, Rowena pressed her parted lips to the side of his neck. His strong, steady pulse pounded against her mouth, and she sighed.
She felt so odd, hot yet shivery.
His large palm found her leg, and Rowena gasped softly against his throat. Sweeping up along her thigh, his hand cupped her bottom and squeezed, drawing her more tightly against him. He encircled her in his arms, sweeping her beneath him. His weight pressed her down into the fur. His knee wedged her legs apart and his hips settled between her thighs.
Tangling his hands in her hair, his mouth covered hers. His lips brushed back and forth until Rowena moaned and clung to his thick upper arms. He coaxed her lips apart, tracing the soft crease between with the tip of his tongue. She hesitantly opened her mouth. He licked and nipped, driving her mad with the fluttering caresses.
Was this what it was like to kiss? She n
ever imagined there was so much…motion, so many different sensations.
His mouth finally sealed over hers and he eased his tongue just barely between her lips. She responded tentatively at first, touching his tongue with hers. Warm and wet, firm yet incredibly soft, his mouth intrigued and fascinated her. A hot ache flared within her. She arched against him, kissing him wildly.
He wanted her!
The realization astounded Rowena. His body was hard and throbbing against her, undeniable proof that he wanted her. Her senses soared. Tingling triumph heightened her excitement. She’d finally understand. He’d show her what it meant to be a woman, all the pleasures Thora enjoyed, and wives…
Dominic pulled back suddenly, extending his arms to put distance between their heated bodies. Rowena groaned in ragged protest and reached out blindly for him.
“Damn you,” he muttered. “I cannot do this. I gave my word.”
“I need this, Dominic. Please, I need you to do this.” She whispered the words against his throat, but he disentangled her arms and rolled to her side.
Rowena felt cold air assail her as he flipped back the covers and moved away. She could hear him fumbling in the darkness, and she quickly sat, yanking the shift down around her. She turned her back to him, drawing up her legs and resting her forehead against her knees. Twice now she had failed to seduce this man. She closed her eyes. At least this time he had shown some interest. He had wanted her—just not enough.
“Rowena.”
She raised her head and glanced over her shoulder. He set the burning candle on the stone mantel and moved toward her, his expression grim.
“Please explain this to me.”
This was not a man used to requesting information. “I cannot.” She turned back to the darkness.
“Why?” He eased down beside her.
“I don’t trust you,” she admitted honestly. “I don’t know you. How can I trust you?”
“I will not hurt you, Rowena. I have no reason to betray you.”
“You have no reason to be loyal to me either.”
“I need to know what frightens you. I cannot protect you from an enemy I don’t understand. I give you my word that I’ll not betray your confidence. The word of a knight is a sacred vow. I will not break it.”
He had vowed not to touch her, and they were sitting side by side instead of thrashing about on the fur. Surely that was proof enough that she could trust his word. “To whom did you promise you would not bed me?”
“William Marshal. He wouldn’t explain the request, and I thought it odd at the time, but apparently the stipulation was justified. Why were you so anxious to mate with me?”
Rowena had never felt this helpless. She might well be falling into Edwin’s trap, but she was too exhausted, both physically and emotionally, to fight on alone. “Edwin intends to prove that my marriage to Gaston was never consummated. Then he will seek to have the marriage annulled, thereby abolishing my claim to all Pendragon holdings.”
“Edwin is your mother’s husband but not your father.”
He would want to know every detail, every twist and turn. Rowena steeled herself against the painful memories and prepared to indulge his curiosity. “Edwin at one time was betrothed to be my husband. He chose to marry my mother after my father’s death rather than wait for me. I was in no way opposed to this, you understand. I have always despised the man.”
“Did Edwin negotiate your betrothal to Gaston of Pendragon?”
“Aye.”
“Does Edwin share kinship with Gaston?”
“Aye,” she said again. “Gaston was Edwin’s nephew.”
“Is he the closest surviving relation?”
“Aye, except for me,” she clarified.
“Is Edwin’s claim valid? Was the marriage consummated?”
“Aye and nay.”
“Aye, his claim is valid and, nay, the marriage was not consummated?”
Frustration and humiliation twisted inside her, making her response harsh and hurried. “Aye, I am a virgin still! My husband was so displeased with me that he brought his whore from the village and installed her in my place. I was subjected to humiliation and ridicule from them both until the day he died.”
He just stared at her in incredulous silence. “I do not understand,” he said finally.
“Then you are daft. I explained far more than you need to know.” She scrambled to her feet, hating the weakness blinding her with tears. Dominic caught her around the waist and pulled her back against his chest.
She struggled against the tenderness, needing anger to drive away the pain. Spinning within his arms, she shoved against his chest, arching away from his embrace.
“Calm, Rowena, be calm. We are not finished yet.”
“Let me go,” she said. “I find your touch repulsive.”
He laughed. “Do you now? It did not seem so a few moments ago.”
“You were a means to an end. That is all.”
The barb must have found its mark. He released her. She grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders then sat and scowled into the glowing embers of the fire.
“Edwin will demand an examination,” she muttered. “I cannot be a virgin when I reach William Marshal.”
“And I cannot be the man to take your maidenhead,” he countered heatedly.
“Then once again we are at an impasse. I will not surrender everything I hold dear because my husband failed to keep his promise! It is not fair. I did not fail as a wife. He failed as a husband.”
“What promise?”
She clutched the edges of the blanket to her chest, her throat burning with surpassed tears. “I was delivered to Gaston at fifteen. Not an uncommon age for a bride, but he was supposed to have spent the summer with me before we exchanged our vows. He arrived two days before the wedding.”
“But you said the marriage was never consummated.”
This was plain speaking indeed. Rowena felt her face heat. He was confused and she could not blame him. The events seemed twisted to her, and she had lived through them. “Gaston came to me, drunk and abusive. I was terrified, but he saw only that I refused him what was his due.”
“As your husband, it was his due,” he pointed out quietly. “Why did he not just—take you?”
She closed her eyes. “He tried.”
“What stopped him?” he persisted.
“You won’t believe me.”
“We will never know unless you try.”
Meeting his gaze directly, she said, “Fair Fiona.”
“Who is Fair Fiona?”
She hesitated. Only Thora and Brother Leland knew the details of what had transpired between Gaston and her. Did she dare entrust them to this man? She lowered her lashes, shielding her eyes. He would probably think her daft, so what difference did it make.
“An entity of golden light appeared that night and stung Gaston until he ran naked from the chamber. I believe it was the same Fairy who has placed a curse upon the Pendragon line. Her name is Fair Fiona.”
His dark brows arched and he absently nodded. He didn’t believe her. She hadn’t expected that he would.
“I learned the following morning that he had fetched Lissette, his leman, from the village.”
Again he only nodded. Why should his doubt upset her? It was a wild tale.
“He produced bedding, proving that we had consummated the marriage. But he announced publicly that I had failed to stir his passions, that he found pleasure only with Lissette.” The closer they drew to the heart of the matter the harder she found the words.
“‘Failed to stir his passions’? That is ridiculous. Was there no one you could turn to? Nowhere you could go?”
“My mother had taken to her bed, as she was great with child, so that left only Edwin.”
“What kept Gaston from your bed in the following years?”
His obvious discomfort in asking the question gave Rowena the courage to answer. “I don’t know. I told him I would keep my m
arriage vows if he would but treat me with kindness. He…preferred Lissette. Thora believes the Pendragon curse delivered me from Gaston because I was not meant for him. All I know is I’ll never allow myself to be that powerless again. I’m free. I’m controlled by no one.”
“And you honestly believe you can remain thus?”
“If you hadn’t stopped a few moments ago, I’d be well on my way to a happy tomorrow,” she muttered.
“What would have prevented me from telling Sir William I compromised you and asking for his blessing on our marriage?”
His tone was light and conversational, but Rowena’s head snapped toward him and her gaze bore into his. “Pendragon is mine. Nothing and no one will take it from me.”
“And how will you produce a Pendragon heir without a husband?” His brow arched, accenting the challenge.
“If I find a man willing to think of me as more than chattel, I will consider wedding again. If not, I will simply become one more Lady Pendragon to die childless, as the curse foretells.”
“You honestly believe in this curse?”
She huddled beneath the blanket trying to hide her shivering. The room was frigid, but he seemed to be oblivious to the cold. “How can I doubt it? I have seen Fair Fiona with my own eyes.”
“Lie down. Let me warm you.”
She didn’t argue. Regrettably, her virtue was perfectly safe with him. She lay on her side, and after he had snuffed the candle, he lay close behind her. One arm slipped beneath her neck, the other reached around her waist and pulled her snugly into the curve of his body.
“Tell me about the curse,” he prompted.
He settled the blanket over them and stroked her hair. She started her story. “The curse was all I heard about when first I came to Pendragon. Thora speaks of the events with such vehemence you would think she experienced them. Lady Fiona is a documented Pendragon wife, but all of the other elements of the story cannot really be substantiated or refuted.”
“What is the story?”
“Fiona fell hopelessly in love with the first Lord Pendragon. Tyrus, I believe was his name. She gave her love freely, but he was untrue. Do not all curses begin with betrayal?”
“Most do,” he agreed. “Lord Pendragon betrayed Lady Fiona, so she put a curse on him?”
Tears of the Dragon Page 6
