Tears of the Dragon

by Cyndi Friberg

  Rowena paused, her eyes curious and assessing. “Tell me about her, Dominic. You know all my shameful secrets. Tell me about Monica.”

  It was a challenge, a demand. His entire body went rigid and his heart slammed against his chest. Damn her. She knew just where to strike and how to drive him back. “I told you about Monica. I did not kill her. That is all that matters.”

  “I disagree. Why have people clung to the story for so long? Why is her name whispered even now? What sort of man have I married?”

  He ignored her questions. She was provoking him and he knew it, but she’d chosen her weapon masterfully. “Monica is dead. The past has no place here. I do not wish to discuss it with you or anyone.”

  “And I did not wish to marry you,” she shot back. “You owe me this at the very least.”

  “I had nothing to do with her death, Rowena. If you cannot accept my word on that, then we have nothing to discuss.”

  “Then we have nothing to discuss.” She spun on the ball of her foot and strode into the bedchamber.

  Damn her! Why was this so important to her? If she would not believe his claim of innocence, then why would she believe the whole sordid tale?

  Kicking aside the toppled bench, Dominic headed for the stables. A good long gallop on Majesty’s back might help pound the frustration from his body and offer him a new strategy.

  The marshal, a lanky young man with a mischievous smile, met Dominic in the stable yard with a friendly wave and a tug on his forelock. “Evening, milord.”

  Dominic struggled to remember the other man’s name. “Good eventide,” he muttered. “I thought I’d take Majesty out.”

  “Very good,” the marshal replied, and turned toward the stable. “The name’s Milton.”

  Allowing the grim line of his lips to curve just a bit, Dominic followed Milton into the stable. He stood in brooding silence while Milton saddled Majesty.

  “There seems to be an epidemic of accidents,” Milton began offhandedly as he efficiently worked to ready Dominic’s mount.

  “How so?” A certain intensity in Milton’s casual comment caught Dominic’s attention. He moved closer to the stall where Majesty fidgeted restlessly.

  “First, Lady Rowena is struck down by a stray arrow, and now I learn that Lissette was killed.”

  “Really? When? How?”

  “The same day Lady Rowena was wounded Lissette’s horse came limping into the yard. Lissette’s foot was tangled in the stirrup, and her neck was broken.”

  “Where was Edwin?”

  “He was at Llangly manor all day. I’m the last one who’d defend that bastard, but he couldn’t have shot Lady Rowena.”

  “Such is not true of Lissette.”

  “Just thought you’d be interested.”

  Dominic nodded. “I am. Is Edwin still there?”

  “Nay. He departed not long after, and no one has seen him since.” Milton offered the information with a knowing smile and then took his leave.

  Dominic swung onto Majesty’s back and quit the stable yard. The brisk ride was invigorating, as Dominic had hoped, but when he returned to the castle, he was no closer to solving the problem with his new wife.

  Was it such a sacrifice to tell Rowena about Monica, if it would allay her fears and bring peace between them?

  Dominic was stunned by the thought. He was unused to compromise for any reason. As the commander of men, he expected his orders to be obeyed without hesitation or discussion.

  But Rowena wasn’t one of his men.

  She was the most frustrating combination of headstrong pride and vulnerability. One moment he wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled and the next he wanted to wrap her in his arms and protect her from anything that had ever frightened her.

  But mostly he wanted to love her, and he wanted her to open her heart to him.

  If the only way to reach Rowena’s heart was through the mire left behind by Monica, then he would simply have to wallow in the mire.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Milady, we need your assistance. Quickly.”

  Rowena looked at the lanky youth for a moment before she recalled where she’d seen him. On the training field he was never far from Dominic’s side. “Ephraim?” This was her husband’s squire.

  “Aye. Milton has readied horses. We really must go.”

  “Go where? What is the nature of this emergency?”

  “I’ve been taking supplies to your guest in the forest, and this morning he decided that his companion was no longer necessary. Ordered him out of his sight at knife point.”

  It took her a moment to correspond the details. Brother Leland had ordered Ezra away at knife point? Why? The friar couldn’t possibly stay in the monastery alone. “Let us away.”

  Brother Leland could be powerfully stubbornness when something contradicted his principles. And she suspected she knew the cause of his sudden surliness. His body had recovered enough to loose his fury. She could relate to the transition all too well.

  Ezra lounged on a fallen tree within sight of the monastery’s entrance. Thankfully he didn’t look angry. Rowena dismounted and approached him as Ephraim took her palfrey’s reins.

  “Did you try to poison him?” She smiled, assuring the knight she was jesting.

  Ezra chuckled and offered an elaborate shrug. “He awakened in the devil’s own temper. No warning, no provocation. If you can make him see reason, you’re a better man…er, woman than me.” He laughed at his mangled words.

  “Let me see if I can find out what’s really bothering our guest.”

  Brother Leland sat in his cell, staring into nothingness. “I am not an invalid and I will not be treated thus.”

  “I didn’t realize we were treating you like an invalid. I thought we were treating you like the victim of a brutal beating.”

  His weathered face turned in her direction, his sightless eyes filled with anger and pain. “I have been Edwin’s victim long enough. How do I reclaim my life? I have work awaiting me, people who need me. I cannot hide in this musty prison forever.”

  She knelt before him, gathering his frail hands between hers. “To continue your work you must remain alive. You cannot help the people counting on you if Edwin realizes he didn’t succeed in killing you the first time. These are harsh words, I know, but we must find him. And you must stay here until we do.”

  He said nothing for a long time. His hands gently squeezed hers and his lips trembled, but he didn’t speak. “I am keeping Sir Ezra from his fief. It is not fair. Release him and let the boy tend me.”

  “Brother Leland, Ezra is a seasoned knight. He can protect you if—”

  “If it’s my time to go, I’m more than ready. Send Sir Ezra on his way, or I will stumble down those stairs and find my way back to my cozy cottage, trusting the Lord to protect me.”

  She shook her head. “Were you always this stubborn, or has it been cultivated over the years?”

  He grinned, obviously pleased with himself. He’d regained some measure of control. Perhaps that was all he needed.

  * * * * *

  Where the hell was she!

  Dominic impatiently paced the wooden floor of her bedchamber. Their bedchamber! They had yet to share this room as man and wife, but he had hoped to rectify that lack tonight. After he told her about Monica, he planned to make slow, sweet love to her on the softness of her fur-strewn bed. With that goal in mind, he’d arrived with food and wine, even the blasted rose she’d admired in the garden. But the chamber had been empty. Thora turned down the bed, banked the fire and shot him an encouraging smile before leaving him to his own devices.

  He’d been down to the great hall twice, ventured to the guard tower, checked the chapel and the kitchens. Several horses were missing from the stables, but he refused to believe what that implied.

  Fear gnawed at his belly. She wouldn’t have left the castle compound. It was inconceivable that she’d be so foolish after all that had happened. Yet the church bells rang, announ
cing Compline, and Dominic could ignore his suspicions no longer. He strode across the solar, meaning to organize a search, but Rowena met him at the door.

  “My lord,” she said softly, her expression inscrutable.

  “Where the hell have you been?” He snapped out the question.

  Rowena’s chin shot up and her eyes narrowed. “Did we have an appointment?” she asked mockingly. “I do not recall you requesting my presence.”

  “Where were you?” This was not a good start for their reconciliation, but damn her impetuous soul, she’d nearly died the last time she ventured beyond the curtain wall.

  “I went to see an old friend who has not been feeling well.”

  He advanced on her steadily, but Rowena held her ground. “Who? Where?”

  They stood toe-to-toe. He glared down into her upturned face.

  “Can you not guess?” She pushed past him.

  “Did you seek solace from a man of God?”

  His convoluted question seemed to defuse her anger a bit. “Aye.” Her expression turned quizzical as she unfastened her cloak. “Do you not feel free to speak his name?”

  “I’ll not feel free to do anything until Edwin dangles from the point of my sword!” He strode toward her. “But you don’t seem to take his threat seriously. You’ll not allow me to protect you.”

  He grasped her shoulders and yanked her up onto her toes. Their noses nearly touched.

  “Did you not understand my request?”

  “I…did not think…”

  “Aye! God’s blood, woman, you did not think. You are my wife! I will have your obedience. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Aye!” She shoved herself away from him. “You make yourself perfectly clear. The wedding has taken place, so there is no need to treat me decently.”

  “It is indecent to want you safe? You nearly died, Rowena. And I was with you then.”

  Her features softened and he had to look away. He didn’t want her pity. He wanted her love.

  “I was not alone, my lord. Only a fool makes the same mistake twice. Ephraim accompanied me on my errand. It was he who notified me of the problem.”

  She swung her cloak from her shoulder while she explained what had transpired. “So you have temporarily lost your squire, and Sir Ezra is on his way to Granville Cross.”

  “You might have left word with someone—”

  “How? No one else knows Brother Leland is still alive. Even Thora is unaware of our deception.”

  He crossed the room to stand before the fire.

  They lapsed into silence.

  “In my anger, I threatened to have Farrell hanged if he did not leave my—our lands. No one has seen him since. Do you happen to know where he went?”

  Her voice came from behind him. He was unable to suppress his smile, so he continued to stare into the fire. “I didn’t wish to gainsay Lady Pendragon, but Farrell is a masterful steward. I gave him leave to visit a friend until we have determined his fate.”

  She was closer now. He could sense her hesitation and feel her gaze upon him.

  “Good,” she said softly. “I’ll invite him back.”

  He waited for her to join him, listening carefully for her movements.

  “Did you hear about Lissette’s accident?”

  He nodded.

  “If Lissette is dead and Edwin doesn’t wish me harm, then am I still in danger?” Her voice was no closer. Stubborn chit.

  Folding his arms over his chest, he turned to face her. “Edwin may not have launched that arrow, but he is still a danger. Never doubt it.”

  She stared at him.

  He stared at her.

  Longing pulsed between them like a beating drum.

  “I’m sorry I frightened you,” she whispered.

  He trembled with the need to touch her, to reach beyond her defenses. “Don’t do it again.” Her only response was a stiff nod and his chest clenched, his heart feeling clumsy and tight. “Are you hungry?” The question sounded foolish, yet he could think of no gallant words, no romantic phrase to put her at ease. “I brought food and wine.” Unwilling to tolerate the tension a moment longer, he nodded toward the tray.

  “Aye.” She walked to the small wooden table.

  He watched the sway of her hips and the fluidity of her steps. This beautiful creature, this delicate woman, was his wife. The tightness in his chest released in a warm rush of sensation that settled low in his gut. He sat on the bench opposite her, but his gaze followed her slender hands as she poured watered wine into a silver cup, transfixed by the simple task.

  “Do you have a confidant?”

  Her softly spoken question jarred him from his thoughts and back to the reality of what they had yet to accomplish.

  “Someone with whom you can share your every thought, every feeling without fear or reservation?”

  “I suppose there is little about me that Ezra does not know.”

  “And I have Thora, but I was speaking of something else, something different.”

  “Like your friar?”

  She chuckled and took a sip of wine. “Nay. I was quite young when my father died, but I remember many things about him. I remember his gentleness toward my mother and me.”

  He took the rose from the tray and twirled it between his fingers. Did she not think him capable of gentleness? He lived in a world that rewarded brutality, but he could be gentle. He longed to show her tenderness, to prove that all men were not the same. But she continued to push him away, protecting herself with mistrust and ultimatums.

  “I remember their closeness, the sparkle in their eyes as if they shared a secret that the rest of the world would never understand.” Her voice sounded hushed, almost reverent.

  As he twirled the flower a thorn caught on his thumb. Blood beaded over the wound and he raised it to his mouth. Typical. I focus on the flower and I’m gouged by the thorn.

  He glanced at his wife, feeling a renewed surge of determination. “My parents also enjoyed such a union. What has this to do with us?”

  “My first marriage showed me all of the disadvantages of the wedded state. Deep in my heart, I knew I would have to wed again, but I wanted to find a husband with whom I could experience the sort of relationship my parents enjoyed. They knew each other, they loved each other, and they trusted each other completely.”

  His gaze shot to hers at the word trust. He snapped off a thorn and tossed it onto the tray. She watched him closely, speculation clear in her inquisitive eyes. He snapped off another thorn. He knew where her story led, had spent all day preparing for the conversation. “What prevents you from finding that with me?”

  “Trust.” She raised the cup for a quick drink. He couldn’t see her expression and suspected that was the reason for her sudden thirst.

  He waited until she lowered the cup and drew her attention to the rose. He snapped off the last thorn and handed her the flower. “Now you can enjoy the color, the softness and the scent with no fear of pain. It is harmless.”

  She raised the bloom to her nose, her eyes closing as she inhaled the sweet fragrance.

  “It is also defenseless.”

  Her eyes flew open and a nervous chuckle escaped her throat. “Surely you need no protection from me.”

  “I was referring to you.” He watched her gaze cloud, become guarded. “The sort of trust our parents shared made them vulnerable to each other.”

  “I am vulnerable regardless.”

  She held the flower out to him, but he folded his arms over his chest. “I will tell you about Monica, if that is what it takes to make you believe that I love you.”

  Her gaze dropped to the flower, and he gritted his teeth. She was still hiding from him. How could he ever hope to win her when she wouldn’t let him near? The question made his entire body ache.

  Patience. He must be patient.

  “This isn’t about Monica—well, it is, but not in the way you mean. I don’t care about the woman. I don’t care about the details of what tra
nspired so long ago. I need to know that you trust me enough to share them with me. Do you understand the difference?”

  “I understand.” He was not sure that he agreed. The past couldn’t be changed. But this was obviously important to her, so he was willing to oblige. “I met Monica at court. I never felt comfortable there, and she shared my restlessness. She seemed sweet, innocent and honest, but Monica was none of those things.”

  She continued to toy with the flower, glancing at him then back at the rose. “How long did you know her before you became betrothed?”

  He stood suddenly and lifted the table to one side. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and uncertain. Her hands still clutched the flower, but he took that from her too, leaving nothing between them, no pretense, no barriers.

  She pressed her lips together and folded her hands in her lap. He saw the way they shook and muttered a curse.

  You’re frightening her, you dolt.

  Dominic straddled the bench and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her waist. He needed to touch her, needed to feel her warm, supple body pressed against his. Thank God, she didn’t pull away. Scooting closer, she looped her arm around his and leaned against his chest. His heart lurched and heat churned in his belly.

  “Monica’s family had grown wealthy during King John’s reign. By the time I met her, this was no longer the case.” He was uncomfortable with the tale, eager to have it told.

  Rowena squirmed against him. He eased away and looked into her face. Her expression appeared strained. “What is amiss?”

  An embarrassed flush colored her delicate skin and her gaze dropped to her hands. “Are you wealthy? Your interest in my holdings led me to believe…”

  He chuckled and cupped her chin, turning her head to face him. Her gaze met his with obvious reluctance, so he stroked her cheek reassuringly. “I’ve amassed a sizeable fortune over the years, but when I knew Monica I had barely earned my spurs. I rode the best horses and wore the best armor, so many presumed I had wealth beyond my true station. I was the ward of William Marshal, nothing more.”