The Dragon and the Jewel

by Virginia Henley

  Suddenly she heard the door of the cabin thrown open. Simon’s naked body filled its frame. In a panic she tried to mount. Breathlessly she pulled herself into the saddle. As she straightened she looked into a hard, dark face, rigid with anger.

  He grabbed the bridle and jerked her from the saddle. She kicked out at him and screamed, but it was a wasted effort to think she could pit herself against his strength. He managed woman and horse, one in each hand, until they were back inside the lean-to. His grim silence alarmed her. She feared his fury was so great he did not trust himself to speak. Finally he did. “Get inside,” he ordered, low.

  “No! I’m leaving! I’m going back to Chepstowe now. Look at yourself!” she cried, and swept her hand to indicate his naked body, tattooed with dragons, his weapon encased in its black leather sheath.

  His voice came like the crack of a whip. “Do not speak again until I give you leave. Do you understand me?” She knew his anger and worry combined to make him capable of violence. His ruthless black eyes told her clearly he was ready to beat her.

  She stood mute, unable to disobey him.

  He unsaddled the mare, fastened her securely, then covered her again with the warm blanket. Then he threw open the door, roughly pushed Eleanor inside, and kicked the door shut behind them.

  Her wet cloak slid from her shoulders and lay where it fell. She was shivering from cold and fear, afraid to speak. He dragged her before the fire. “Remove your boots!” he ordered. With shaking hands she bent and did what he commanded. He picked them up in one hand and violently threw them across the room. She jumped as they crashed against the wall.

  He stooped to lift the hem of her sodden gown. She half raised her hand thinking to prevent him, but the fierce warning that flashed from his black eyes made her abandon any resistance. He lifted the gown above her thighs to reveal silk-clad legs and no other undergarment, no barrier to keep him from her. The firelight played over her bared thighs and the black curls between them.

  Stunned, he lifted her skirts higher. Blazing anger turned instantly into blazing passion. “Christ, English.” He groaned. His fingers raked through the tight curls. As she shivered he pulled off her wet gown and carried her to the bed.

  “No!” she cried.

  “Not a bloody word!” he ordered. He pulled back the covers of the warm bed and jerked his head in a wordless command. Slowly she slipped inside and Simon followed her. He pulled her hard against him, his arms molding her body to his. He held her there imprisoned until gradually her body warmed and her shivering ceased. Her heart hammered and as she lay with her cheek pressed against his chest, she heard the slow, strong thud of his heartbeat.

  For one terrifying moment she feared the exertion of struggling with her and carrying her through the snow while he had been stark naked would prove too much for him and he would die. Then she realized that was completely irrational. It was a ghostly finger of fear from her past.

  She began to giggle nervously. His lips brushed her temple. “Kathe … what?” Her name was a caress.

  “Oh, Sim,” she whispered, “I am ridiculous … I thought I had overtaxed you.”

  Now that they were warm, he lifted the covers back so he could see her body. She held her breath as she watched his hands skim down her curves and his long fingers sought between her legs. He stroked her there gently, watching her face intently, and held her firmly when she tried to pull away.

  Her face showed surprise and clearly told him the sensations he evoked were new to her. With the pads of his fingertips he stroked, then circled the tiny bud of her womanhood. At last he saw the dawning of pleasure. She parted her thighs a little and he knew that she was beginning to trust his touch. He knew his size, his swarthy looks, and his temper must be extremely intimidating, yet she stood up to him on every occasion. Her own pride and temper matched his, yet he would not have her any other way. All he had to do now was teach her to match his passion. Think of the sons he would get on her. He warned himself to go slowly.

  Eleanor thought, He is ruthless, but do I want a gentle man? She wanted to arch her mound of Venus into his hand. His strong fingers sent threads of hot pleasure to her woman’s core, blotting out everything save the unique sensations.

  A look of great surprise suddenly came into her face and her soft lips parted. He was aware he had awakened something only he could satisfy. Then she gave in to the sensual arousal and arched high into his hand, crying “Sim, Sim!”

  He looked down at her in wonder. “Have you never done this for yourself?”

  She shook her head and hid her face against his shoulder. He brought her palm to his mouth and his tongue traced the love line in it. She became aware of the scent of the man who held her—leather, horse, male flesh. She felt his breath upon her skin and knew she wanted this man more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. The thought shook her and frightened her, because she had surrendered herself to her need for him.

  A voice within asked, “Who are we hurting?” A louder voice said, “The scandal will rock England.” The first voice asked, “Who will know?” The louder voice replied, “None must ever know.”

  Simon’s excitement sent the blood beating in his throat and in his engorged shaft. He schooled his ardor, banking the fires of his raging desire as carefully as he had banked the fire on the hearth. She was not yet strong enough for him to make love to her. When they came together it would be no pale, tame imitation of love. It would be a fight to the finish between them— winner take all. It would be cataclysmic. “Look at me, love,” he coaxed.

  Shyly she lifted her face from his shoulder and lifted her lashes.

  “There is no shame in what I just did to you.” “My vow,” she whispered.

  “We broke no vows … yet,” He changed the subject. “I want you to rest. Store up all your strength for the journey back to Chepstowe. We will leave at dawn. Your mare had no fodder today, but she will manage well until tomorrow. She will still be able to carry you down the mountain if I lead her.”

  “You cannot walk all that way through such heavy drifts.”

  “By then most of the snow will have gone. The temperature has risen steadily all day.”

  “Have it your way,” she said, glad to leave the decision to him.

  “I intend to,” he murmured, grinning down at her. “I think you would rest better if I left the bed.”

  She nodded her head, then bit her lip. “When we are back at Chepstowe, you must keep this secret. Please promise, Simon.”

  He slipped from the bed. “Close your eyes and stop worrying.” She sighed and did as he commanded, not noticing that he had not promised a thing. At dawn he awakened her and brought her dried clothing to the bed. He picked up her shift and slipped it over her head. Her cheeks were pink with indignation. “I can assure you, de Montfort, I don’t need you to dress me. I feel perfectly recovered, sir.”

  He hid a smile. She was back to defying him and that was good. With a straight face he said, “I just want to make sure you put on your undergarments today. To think of you naked beneath your gown drives me insane. I could not be responsible for my actions unless these hands pull on your woolen hose.”

  She slapped his hand away, knowing if he put those damnably attractive hands upon her, she was the one who would not be responsible. He carefully rolled the wolf pelt and snow-hare skin and attached them to the saddle. She wondered when he’d had time to clean and scrape them so they could cure and felt a pang of guilt as she realized he’d done it while she slept.

  Outside it was a beautiful autumn day. If she had not lived through the nightmare of the early blizzard, she would not have believed it had happened. The ground was exceedingly soggy but only the merest traces of snow lay beneath the thick trees. Meltwater ran in rivulets down the mountain path where he led her, and it seemed that at every turn they startled wildlife that had ventured from their lairs and burrows to feed before the next heavy snow blanketed the land.

  Flights of swans and herons
were leaving for their winter feeding grounds and the earl remarked, “The hunting will be excellent for the next few days.”

  She remembered how much William had loved to hunt in Wales and how he’d insisted she hunt at his side. “Mayhap I will join you tomorrow,” she said, like a true-born member of royalty bestowing her favors.

  He grimaced. “Women are not much use in the hunt.”

  She flared. “Damn your eyes, de Montfort, you think women are only of use in bed!”

  He gave her a level look. “Very few actually, unless they have been schooled by a connoisseur.”

  “Oh!” she cried. Her mare misstepped and she bade him, “Watch where we are going. I swear you are the poorest lackey I’ve ever had.”

  No woman had ever spoken to him so before. “Lackey?” He raised a lazy brow. Her insolence matched her pride. He knew he would rather have a fiery woman to subdue than one who obeyed his every command, but this was going to be his woman, his wife, and he intended to start out as he meant to carry on. This exquisite creature had been called the King’s Precious Jewel all her life, and he intended to give her a little taste of what it would be like if she were insolent to him.

  “I am afraid we overestimated the stamina of your little mare, Eleanor. You will have to walk if you don’t want to lame her.”

  She swiftly examined his features to see if this was a deliberate taunt. He called her Eleanor whenever he was annoyed with her. When she saw no teasing light in his eyes, she was immediately contrite for burdening her mare. He made no offer to lift her down, for he knew she would use such an opportunity to disdain his help.

  She slid from the saddle and sank ankle-deep in mud. His long strides urged the horse to keep up with him, but Eleanor had to struggle and very shortly the hem of her gown and cloak were bedraggled with mud and the slush splashed up her legs to soak and befoul her stockings. She almost called out to him to ease the pace, but just then her foot slipped upon the slate rock and she sprawled headlong into the mire. She picked herself up quickly before his eyes could sweep over her with amusement, but she was too late.

  “Hunting with you would be a slice of heaven,” he said blandly, and moved off again.

  She trudged on uncomplaining until at last the massive stronghold of Chepstowe loomed ahead. She bit her hp. He’d succeeded in shredding her pride before his, but she could not bear to walk into Chepstowe like a subdued captive. “De Montfort, do not make me walk in.”

  He turned and bestowed a look of admiration upon her. Then he carried her to the mare and lifted her into the saddle. By way of explanation he said quietly, “If you attempt to control me, Eleanor, you will be in for a battle royale.”

  She lifted her pretty chin. “I’ll fight, if only for my amusement. I’ll test my mettle and sharpen my skills upon you.”

  28

  when the men of Chepstowe’s garrison and the stablemen and grooms saw the tall Earl of Leicester leading the countess into the bailey, they could not hide their admiration for his courage in completing what he had set out to do. Here was a man indeed. In their eyes his worth went up a hundredfold. His destrier had returned two days since with the hounds, one of them wounded. They had thought never to see him again.

  The heavy front door opened and Bette rushed out, crying “God be praised. I’d given you up for dead after all this time.”

  Eleanor waved her hand as if her woman was making a mountain from a molehill. “I was perfectly all right. De Montfort found me at the hunting lodge, where I told you I would shelter if the blizzard returned.”

  Simon did not contradict her, but he followed Bette out to the kitchens where she went to order a meal be prepared. He held his hands out to the blazing fire and said, “Cosset her a little. She’s had a hard time of it.”

  They went their separate ways to bathe, change, and eat. Then Eleanor rested and Simon tended the horses and talked with the men of Chepstowe. They tested his ability with the longbow, and when he proved his skill were delighted when he organized a hunt for the morrow. He ate the evening meal with the Welshmen then joined Eleanor and Bette in the hall where the women sat before the roaring fire listening to a minstrel. He pulled up a chair and stretched his long legs to the flames, content to watch the firelight flicker over Eleanor’s beautiful features.

  They began to banter with each other, striking sparks in verbal challenge. Bette soon realized there was sexual tension between the couple and excused herself to brew Eleanor some herb tea.

  “Surely your palate prefers something stronger than tea,” he challenged.

  “I am unused to wine,” she said repressively.

  “Order us some, or are you afraid it will put fire and passion in your blood?”

  “Your demeanor is ever assertive and swaggering. You speak as if you expect to be obeyed,” she pointed out.

  “I do,” he asserted.

  “In any case, I have always had fire and passion in my blood without wine. You forget I am a Plantagenet.”

  “If I forget, you will remind me, Princess,” he said, slanting a mocking black brow.

  “You can convey lust with the lift of an eyebrow,” she accused.

  “I intend to lift more than an eyebrow,” he said with a leer.

  “You are disgusting,” she said, glancing about to see if the servants overheard.

  “You put a man’s mind on bed,” he told her.

  “Hush! Have you no discretion? Your tongue will brand me wanton with such loose talk.”

  Her words inflamed him. He stood to tower over her, not knowing if he could keep his hands from her. “My tongue will brand you. It will scald you when I make love to you,” he promised. Blood of God, the fire was snaking through his loins.

  With alarm she saw a servitor approach with wine, and Bette was returning with her tea. “How dare you stand so close to me?” she hissed.

  “I dare anything, English. Do you want me to carry you up to bed? Have a care, lady, lest I brand you my woman before the whole of Chepstowe.”

  She was breathing deeply to calm herself as she took the herb tea Bette handed her.

  The last thing he wanted at this moment was to fight with her. She was ravishing and he wanted her desperately. She saw him reach for her and in desperation she deliberately let the steaming tea slip from her hands. He didn’t even flinch as the scalding liquid splashed over his hand and thigh, but she saw the need in his eyes turn to rage and it filled her with satisfaction.

  “I came all the way to Wales to avoid you, my lord,” she said, not caring that Bette heard. “Now you are forcing me to retire to bed to avoid you.”

  “Rest assured, lady, that if I willed it, I would share your bed”—his eyes flicked over Bette—“as I’ve shared it twice before.” It was his turn to feel satisfaction.

  Eleanor fled the hall. Later Bette kept a wise silence as Eleanor paced about her chamber, calling de Montfort twelve different kinds of villain. “He has a bronze fist inside a velvet glove. He needs to exert control over even the primal forces around him,” she muttered as she remembered his triumph over the wolf and the blizzard. “He enjoys command so much, he would like to control the universe. Well, he won’t control me. I won’t buckle under to his lechery. The wretched man will not leave me alone. He pursued me to Odiham, then he pursued me all the way to Chepstowe. He’s like a thorn in my side, ever pricking me to remind me of his presence.”

  “Hush, my lady. Do not fret so. There are only my eyes to see, and you know my lips are sealed.”

  “Thank you, Bette. I wish I could rid myself of the brute.”

  But in the morning when she discovered the Earl of Leicester had gone off hunting for the day and taken the entire garrison of Chepstowe with him, she was livid.

  “This is damnable, beyond all!” she cried. “He knew I wished to join the hunt. I hate being cooped up when the herons are on the wing and the roe deer are running.”

  Bette rolled her eyes. How could she call herself cooped up when she had not be
en back from the dangerous wild mountains a full day? “I don’t think the earls intent was cruel, my lady. I think it was kind. He told me you had had a hard time of it. He left you at the castle today so you could rest and regain your full strength.”

  Eleanor knew a restlessness she could not explain. She talked to the Welsh women of Chepstowe who showed an open curiosity about her beautiful clothes, and she admired the cloth they wove, especially the scarlet wool they made into skirts and warm capes. She inspected the kitchens, watching the baking and cooking of the strange dishes and tasting everything that went into them. She talked with the steward and the scribes, and they showed her the books William had collected from different parts of Wales. She spoke to the minstrel and asked him if he would come back to Windsor with her to be part of her court.

  When the first shadows of the afternoon began to gather, she retired to her chamber to bathe and choose a gown for the evening meal. There was no mistaking the sounds of a returned hunt. Horses, dogs, and men tended to be noisy whenever they were grouped together, and whether the men were French, English, or Welsh they shouted, they laughed, and they cursed.

  The hall was busy when she came down the stairs dressed in the striking deep-blue velvet with her sapphires blazing about her throat. Every male eye admired her beauty, every man of Chepstowe envied de Montfort for whatever was between him and their countess, yet none would have wanted her for his woman. There was too much fire in her, too much passion. Eleanor Plantagenet was too willful, too beautiful, too extravagantly expensive for their tastes.

  As Simon watched her descend the stairs, he knew he wanted her exactly as she was. She looked down at the powerful man. He had a masterful stance. His strong presence marked him as a leader. She thought, He does not really want me to buckle under to his will, he just wants a challenge.

  She held up her hands for silence. “I have no doubt the hunt was successful, so I would like all of you to dine in the hall tonight. We will celebrate.”