by Meara Platt
Crack!
Boom!
Two loud blasts shattered her concentration along with several panes of glass on the wall immediately behind her. Then she heard another loud boom! Something hot and small whizzed by, tearing her sleeve as it grazed her arm. The pot of tomato plants she’d just set down shattered along with the remains of the glass wall.
Saron burst into the room as yet another shot rang out. What was it, three? Four?
“Anabelle, get down!” He grabbed her none too gently by the waist and yanked her to the floor just as another small object whizzed past her ear. A second pot of tomato plants exploded on her experiment table and fell to the ground.
“What…oof!” She fell atop Saron as he landed with considerable force against the floor’s wood slats, his large frame taking the brunt of the fall and shielding her from the impact with his body.
Before she had the chance to catch her breath, he flipped their positions in one fluid motion, rolling them under the sturdy table and heaving himself over her to create additional shelter from the shower of debris, the shards of glass and splintered wood that suddenly rained down as the entire wall of glass collapsed atop them in a deafening, destructive roar.
She had no time to think, for it all happened so quickly. The ominous groan of the wall as it fell and the sharp crack of breaking wood, the deadly cascade of jagged glass, all resounded in her ears. She shut her eyes and dared not open her mouth to speak while debris filled the air.
Saron’s big body still covered her. Several moments later, as all grew quiet once more, he eased himself off her. The cloud of debris swirling around them began to settle. Ever so gently, he wiped dust off her lips with the pad of his thumb. “Anabelle, are you hurt?”
Her heart was pounding through her ears, but Saron had kept her safe. His strong, protective arms still enveloped her. “No harm done.” Her voice was hoarse because of the choking dust she tried hard not to breathe in. “I tried to run, but my legs wouldn’t move.”
Indeed, they had felt mired in quicksand.
He frowned. “Can you move them now?”
“Yes.” Her body trembled violently the moment he eased off her. “I don’t know what came over me. Fear, stupidity. I simply froze the moment I realized someone was shooting at me.”
He lifted her into his arms, and without pausing to look back, carried her from the laboratory to the safety of the shielded hallway, out of the line of fire even though it appeared the shooting had now stopped. He set her down and withdrew a handkerchief from his breast pocket, using it to wipe smudges of dirt off her cheeks.
“Better now?” he asked softly, still holding her, for she had not stopped shaking.
“I think so.”
He gave her hair a gentle stroke. “Good.”
She was alive because of Saron’s quick thinking. If not for his prompt action, that last shot would have killed her. She meant to thank him, but the simple expression of gratitude seemed quite inadequate. Her thoughts were in such a muddle, she wasn’t certain what she’d finally said to him.
He released her to brush dirt and debris out of his own hair and off his clothes. “The fools weren’t trying to hurt you, just neighbors trapshooting.”
“With what? Cannons?”
He brushed a little more debris off his shoulders. “One would think so for all the damage done. But no, it was only rifles. Stupid incompetents, they were playing a game. I saw them in the meadow a short while ago.”
“A deadly game, it seems.” She did little more than nod, for her heart still pounded madly and chills still ran up and down her spine.
“Cold, little one?”
“No one’s ever shot at me before.” She moved back into his arms when he opened them to her, resting her cheek upon his chest and gaining strength from the strong, steady beat of his heart. “It all happened so quickly. The wildest thoughts ran through my mind, but mostly I was so scared.”
“Me, too.”
She glanced up at him in surprise, for Saron feared nothing and no one. Wasn’t it so? She supposed he was pretending fear for her benefit, hoping to inject a touch of humor in a valiant attempt to soothe her. It had the intended effect, allowing her to open up to him and release her pent-up tension. “I thought the Dragon Lords had come after you,” she said, clutching his lapels. “Then I realized it couldn’t be, for those shots hit my laboratory and you weren’t in there. They would have killed me, not you. But what better way to hurt you?”
In that moment, she saw something in his eyes, an emotion beyond any she understood or could have imagined. Suddenly, he was no longer with her, though his arms were still about her. It seemed as though he’d been transported back in time, back to tortures that had shaped his existence.
“Saron?” She put a hand to his cheek, felt tension in the clench of his jaw. “What is it?”
He had the look of a wounded animal seeking the safety of its lair, only there was nowhere to hide from his cruel memories. He eased away, muttering something about finding the shooting party and confiscating their weapons.
“Wait, I’ll come with you.”
“No, damn it. Stay here.” He ignored her protests and took off for the meadow.
She meant to follow, but wasn’t yet steady on her feet. As she rose, she felt something warm dripping down her forearm.
Blood.
She’d been hit.
*
“Marian and Catherine Sissingham,” Anabelle said numbly when Saron returned a short while later to inform her that her assailants had indeed been none other than Lord Chalmers’ idiot nieces.
“Aiming too close to Harleigh Hall and with unwieldy shotguns, no less,” he explained.
Anabelle struggled to suppress her mounting anger and exasperation. She was still seated beside the pantry where Saron had left her. Servants bustled about, clearing out the significant debris in her now ruined laboratory.
The news that Marian and Catherine had been the prime culprits was a relief, but at the same time Anabelle remained unsettled. Innocent mistake or no, she could have been killed.
“Little one, you’re still shaking.”
She nodded, hoping Saron would wrap his arms about her again. “I can’t seem to stop. My arm’s bleeding.” She turned slightly to reveal her ripped sleeve. “It’s only a flesh wound. The shot didn’t lodge in–”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” He lifted her into his arms and carried her into the kitchen, setting her down gently on a stool. At the same time, he issued orders to the servants, calling for a clean cloth and whiskey. Was he going to use it to cleanse her arm or give it to her to drink? She’d never had whiskey before, but could certainly do with tossing back a glass of strong spirits right now.
His brow was knitted in worry and his gorgeous eyes were blazing. He was angry, seemingly at himself, although how was he to blame for this incident? “It’s just a graze. I’ll survive it.”
“I know, little one.” He moved with comforting determination, first carefully tearing away her sleeve, then washing the blood off her arm with aching care. He poured a little of the whiskey onto the cloth. “This will hurt.”
She nodded. “I’m strong. I can take it. Ouch!”
The stinging heat brought tears to her eyes.
He caressed her cheek. “Sorry, little one. The last thing I wish to do is hurt you.”
She cast him a tender smile as she slowly released a ragged breath. “Perhaps I’m not so brave, after all. Thank you, Saron. I think that last shot would have killed me if you hadn’t shoved me down in time.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t thank you? For saving my life? Too late. I just did.” Although she was still reeling from her unexpected brush with death, the shocking event made her realize how fragile life truly was. Saron was so worried about what the Dragon Lords would do, and in the end it was a foolish neighbor who had almost ended her life.
Perhaps this would convince him that they had to experience life
to the fullest, to take the risk and love each other, not hide in fear. “Saron, I love you.”
He said nothing, just helped her to her feet and stepped back, allowing Dolly to now fuss over her. “Ye gave us quite a fright, lass.” Dolly frowned, her concern obvious as she inspected Anabelle’s arm and then gave her a beefy hug.
“I’ve scraped my elbow worse many times before.” She sought to dispel everyone’s concerns by resuming her authority over the household. She assigned the sturdier men the task of hauling away the shattered glass and dangerous debris. She gave the women the task of gathering the damaged plants in the hope some could be salvaged. She’d pot the surviving plants again soon.
Anabelle modified the tasks of the other servants in order to complete the still undone household chores. After she finished handing out the duties, she suddenly realized that she’d imposed on Saron’s authority, spouting orders and he hadn’t stopped her. When she turned to look for him, he was gone again.
Where was he?
She needed to find him. The staff no longer required her presence to put all in order, though they’d never be able to repair her devastated laboratory. It was ruined.
She found Saron in the parlor speaking to Penelope. Both appeared agitated, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying. However, she distinctly saw Penelope mouth the words Lord Bloodaxe.
Anabelle eased back, hoping to learn more, but she must have come at the end of their conversation, for Saron marched off with the purposeful stride of a man intent on a mission. Penelope came toward her and gave her a hug. “Show me what happened.”
She led Penelope to the laboratory.
Penelope’s eyes rounded in surprise. “Goodness, it really is as bad as Saron warned. You’re covered in dirt, Anabelle, and your workroom is in shambles. I’m so sorry, my dear.”
She laughed mirthlessly. “If I needed a sign that my days at Harleigh would soon be over, I assume this is it.” She hugged herself. “I’ll miss this place terribly.”
Penelope kicked at several shards of glass and frowned. “Lord Chalmers ought to have known better than to arm his foolish nieces with shotguns.”
Anabelle took a breath. “In truth, they did me a favor. There was nothing demonic about this incident. But it proves we can all be taken at any time, for whatever reason. Saron cannot control my fate, no matter how badly he wishes to do it.”
Penelope sighed. “He’ll never accept it, for he has a stubborn, dragon will. But we have another problem, my dear. Lord Chalmers and the Sissinghams were to join us for supper this evening. Obviously, we must cancel. I’ll send a note to them at once explaining that we’ll have to postpone. They’ll understand of course.”
Anabelle emitted a short, startled laugh as she shook the last stray shards of glass off her gown and out of her hair. “Don’t postpone our supper party. I think Lord Chalmers will be devastated if we condemn him to another night alone with the Sissinghams.”
Though enjoying a game of whist with the Sissingham girls, the silly geese who had almost killed her, wouldn’t be quite so much fun. In truth, she knew they hadn’t meant to harm her and were likely quite overset by what they had done.
Still, it would take great effort to be civil to the girls this evening.
But she adored the jovial Lord Chalmers, regarded him almost as a member of the Harleigh family. He and his wife often joined them for supper. They were quite entertaining and would distract her with their good cheer.
As Anabelle’s thoughts drifted to preparations for the party, so many questions still plagued her. Would her love for Saron save him or destroy him?
Why did the Stone of Draloch want her to save Lord Bloodaxe?
Would Saron ever agree to it?
*
Feeling her aches and bruises, Anabelle ordered a tub and hot water brought up to her chamber. She took a long soak, washing dust out of her hair and scrubbing grime off her arms and legs, but no amount of scrubbing would remove the memory of Saron’s tortured expression.
Would she ever convince him to save Lord Bloodaxe?
Climbing out of the tub, she quickly toweled herself dry, then donned her robe and settled on the window seat to bask in the fading afternoon sunshine. The sun’s rays at this time of day were particularly intense and warmed her as she combed her hair. She leaned back, and was about to close her eyes when she saw Lord Bloodaxe in her garden, still dressed in his barbaric, black attire, his axe tucked into the belt at his hip. He was frowning at her. Do not save me.
Could she talk back to him? Would he hear her thoughts? The Stone of Draloch says I must.
His frown was now a glower quite reminiscent of Saron’s. It lies.
She had meant to ease back and allow the tensions of the day to flow out of her, but now she was more on edge than ever. Did you kill Gideon?
He held out a hand and waved it in front of her. The next thing she knew, she awoke several hours later to the sound of Dolly chirping in her ear. “Time to get dressed for supper, my lamb. I’ve freshened the tea rose gown for ye.”
Which meant she had to wear it or face Dolly’s wrath—not that Dolly, despite her sternness, would ever raise a hand to her. “I’ll dine in my room tonight,” she muttered sleepily. “Please convey my apologies to…oh, blast. The Sissinghams are to join us.”
“You mustn’t let His Grace face them alone, not after what he did for ye today.”
Anabelle groaned as she rolled to her feet and shook herself out of her fog. “The tea rose it is.” She needed to speak to Saron as soon as possible and tell him what had happened. Was the Stone of Draloch lying to her? Did it wish to harm the Draloch men? In truth, it made no sense. The stone was their pillar, the source of their strength throughout the centuries.
She was about to pin a matching fichu in place to add a little modesty to her gown, but Dolly snatched it away with a frown. “The Sissingham girls may be a pair of geese, but they’re fashionably dressed geese. I won’t have you lookin’ like their poor country relation. Ye’re the lady of this house and they ought to be reminded of it.”
Anabelle shook her head and laughed. Though she was not keen on dressing in the London style, neither was she keen on butting heads with Dolly. She quickly issued her surrender, which was met with a grunt of approval from her housekeeper.
How odd, to be dealing with the mundane and at the same time with the looming battle between demons and mankind. Had she struck her head on the cobblestone drive and been trapped in dreams all these weeks?
“Ye are lovely, child. A treat to look upon,” Dolly said with another grunt of approval.
Anabelle’s hair was properly done up in an intricate French chignon. She glanced in the mirror and was pleased by her reflection. Would Saron be as pleased? It would take more than a pretty gown or bright smile to win him over.
Dolly pursed her lips. “Get downstairs and show yerself off now.”
To Anabelle’s surprise, the evening passed quite pleasantly, a stark contrast to the start of the day. Oh, the Sissingham ladies did chatter incessantly, but that was to be expected. Truth be told, their gaiety and frivolous conversation chased more serious concerns from her mind. Even Saron seemed resigned to their presence, their stream of questions certainly forcing his attention from weightier thoughts. He had no choice but to join them in discussing the questions of the day, such as, did Lord W. really have an affair with Lady G. and will this Season’s crop of debutantes yield any Incomparables?
He occasionally tossed a smile her way, each time sending warm tingles running up and down her body.
“Anabelle, I’m so sorry! Can you ever forgive me?” Marian pleaded shortly into the soup course, as though suddenly remembering that she’d almost killed Anabelle. “I’ll never go near a shotgun again!”
“Of course, I forgive–”
“Because it really was an accident.”
“I know.”
“La!” she said with a giggle. “I was sure you wouldn’t stay angry with me.
In truth, I was hurt worse than you, bruising my shoulder when that horrid gun recoiled. Then everyone started running toward me, shouting at me, and someone snatched the weapon from my hands. The incident was as shocking for me as it was for you.”
“I’m certain it was,” Anabelle replied, wishing to end the conversation before she said something unkind to Marian. Honestly, how could the pea hen complain about a little bruise to her shoulder in view of the damage she’d caused?
“Thank you for understanding. I’m so glad we’ve remained friends.” That said, she gave no further thought to Anabelle’s near demise and returned her attention to Saron, who seemed to hold every female at the table in his thrall.
Anabelle had to admit even she was not immune to his charm. The cold, proud Dragon of Draloch, with his concerned gaze and sensual smile, had generated quite some heat among the ladies, herself included.
She passed most of the evening in earnest conversation with Lord Chalmers. The poor man was desperate to be rid of his relatives, but didn’t know how to make them leave without angering his wife or offending his nieces whom he loved despite their silliness.
Lord Chalmers needed a plan and she needed the distraction. By the dessert course, consisting of marmalade cake, clotted cream and strawberries, and an exquisite blancmange, Anabelle had devised one for him. It was a harmless ruse designed to send his visiting family packing.
The plot did help to take her mind off Saron and what she had to tell him about Bloodaxe. However, he was too much of a commanding presence to be overlooked or ignored for very long. Finally, giving in to temptation, she cast him a glance and was surprised to find him softly gazing back at her.
“What about you, Anabelle?” Marian’s younger sister, Catherine, asked.
“Yes.”
The sisters giggled. “Your favorite color is yes?”
“What? No. I mean, green. Yes, the vibrant green of our surrounding hills.” She chided herself for once more lapsing into thought of Saron instead of paying attention to the dinner conversation.
