Tall, Dark, and Medieval

by Barbara Devlin

  “You don’t frighten me,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

  “Oh, I think I do, little girl.”

  “I’m not a little girl. I am a woman.”

  “Then start acting like one. We are to be married in the morning and I’ll not have you making a fool of me in front of my men again.”

  “You have no right to try to keep me here.”

  He took a step closer, and she could see a vein bulging in his neck. He was trying to hold back his anger. The thunder grew louder and the rain pelted against the stone walls. She could hear the sea churning in the background and feet running in the hallway.

  “I’ll be here all night, with you laying at my side. Do not even try to escape if you know what’s good for you. And if I see you touch that dagger again, I’ll . . .”

  “My lord,” came his squire’s voice and a pounding at the door. “I think the dragon is stirring.”

  He was close to her, but at that announcement he whipped around and ran to the window. He looked out over the mountains toward the sea and she was surprised to see he no longer paid her any attention. She had half a mind to sneak out, or at least over to the dagger, but decided not to move.

  His eyes searched the land outside and she noticed his breathing quicken. Then he turned back toward her, barely glancing in her direction as he paced the room, running a hand through his hair.

  “Shall I ready the archers?” asked Asad from beyond the door.

  “No,” he mumbled. “No!” he shouted, and ran back to the window.

  Brynn watched him grip the hilt of the sword strapped to his waist. The dragon head on the hilt shined brighter and the ruby and emerald eyes glowed under his palm. She had never seen anything like it.

  Still staring out the window, he grabbed hold of the sill with both hands, as he half bent over. He looked like he was about to retch. His breathing was still labored, and she saw his anger turn into something else. Was it fear? How could the strong, infamous Dragon’s Son fear a beast such as Dracus? He was known as a warrior. He was one of the fiercest, bravest men to ever walk the hills of Lornoon. Yet she saw something in his stance, in his gestures that she didn’t understand at all. Her fears of him subsided as she glimpsed the warrior’s own fears overpowering him.

  He struggled to calm his breathing and regain his composure, all the while his back toward her, as if he didn’t want her to see his face. She could have escaped easily. She knew she could have made it past Asad at the door, and out of the castle in the midst of the confusion, but something made her stay.

  Could it be because of Juturna’s words? Could she really be smitten with this man like the old woman accused her of being? She tried to convince herself otherwise, but her heart told her differently. She no longer felt he killed her parents, though she wanted to hear the explanation coming from his mouth. But her own needs pushed aside, she felt like he needed her to stay.

  Something scared her about this man, and she wondered if it scared him as well. The feeling of darkness struggling with light. The feel of goodness trying to overcome evil. She didn’t understand any of it, but knew her place was at Thorndale. She felt inside herself that she should stay, not leave. If he needed her help, so be it. Juturna was right. She needed his help as well. If he didn’t kill her parents, then he probably knew who did. And if she could convince him to help her, she would have revenge on the true killers after all.

  He finally raised his head, his composure regained, and looked toward the door. “The dragon will not come tonight,” he spoke to his squire.

  “But how can you be sure, milord?” Asad’s voice sounded through the door.

  “Tell the men they can retire for the evening.” He looked out the window, and Brynn realized the thunder and lightning subsided, yet the rain was still pouring down. “There will be no sacrifices this night.”

  “Aye, milord,” answered Asad. She heard his footsteps scurrying away and the sound of his voice through the corridor reassuring the men the dragon would not come.

  Drake turned slowly back toward her, and by the look on his face, she knew every ounce of his energy had been spent.

  Her own realization of just how much he needed her had her backing closer to the fire for strength. She could see it in his eyes. Like a lost soul crying out for help before giving up to defeat, he silently cried out to her, and a part of her wanted nothing more than to take his hand and tell him everything would be all right. Oddly enough, she felt as if she cared for him. She could no longer deny it. She’d looked inside her heart just like Juturna had told her, and saw that what the old woman said was true. Somehow, some way, she felt their meeting was planned from the start.

  They stood silently, looking at each other for what seemed like eternity, the fire behind her giving her the strength she needed to face her unspoken confession of attraction. His eyes drank her in, and she felt his gaze heating her body, hotter and hotter.

  Then he opened his mouth as if to say something, but his eyes opened wide instead. He ran to her and her heart leapt. He picked up the coverlet on the way, and throwing it around her, knocked her down and rolled atop her upon the floor.

  “Get off of me,” she commanded, hitting him with her fists, wondering why he’d done this. Mayhap he was no better than Calais, being vulgar and wanting to mate right on the floor.

  “You’re on fire!” he told her, holding her tightly, rolling around the floor with her to put out the flames that indeed had caught her skirt ablaze when she backed too close to the hearth.

  With the flames extinguished, he lay atop her, his arms supporting his weight from crushing her. His face was alarmingly close to hers, his hair hanging down and brushing her cheek. She trembled as her body vibrated from his touch.

  He didn’t say anything, but his eyes rested on her lips as he drew his mouth daringly closer. She lifted her chin to meet him, closing her eyes as their lips touched. His kiss warmed her down to her belly. She was in a dangerous position, being kissed by The Dragon, but was unable to stop herself from opening her mouth as his tongue entered. She let him in, welcomed The Dragon into her mouth, reveling in the taste of this warrior man invading her with his strength and claiming her as his own. He reached out to run his finger softly against her cheek and she found herself wanting him to run his fingers over the rest of her body as well.

  Suddenly, she was ashamed of her actions. Memories of lying with Calais flitted through her head and she felt like a woman with no morals. She hardly knew this man - this warrior who’d taken over her castle - and yet she’d let him kiss her and brazenly enough she’d returned his advancements. If her parents could see her now, they would be highly ashamed of her actions.

  “Stop it!” she cried, gripping his wrist tightly.

  He cried out in muffled pain and jumped off of her, holding his wrist. It was then she saw the imprint of her father’s dagger on his inner arm. She had burned him badly with it earlier.

  She scurried to her feet, not knowing what to do.

  “What happened?” he asked. “You seemed to be enjoying my touch immensely just moments ago, yet now you want me to stop?” He collapsed onto the bed and laid back, still holding his burned wrist.

  “You have a way of making me do things I don’t mean.”

  “I doubt that. That kiss wasn’t forced. It told me you wanted to do so much more.”

  She did want to do more, but she didn’t want to hear him say it. It made her feel wanton, and that angered her. She smiled wickedly and with a flick of her hand, caught the pillow afire. He jumped up and beat out the flame, looking to her with wide eyes.

  “You did that, witch, didn’t you?” His eyes scrutinized her.

  “My name is Brynn, and I’d appreciate it if you stopped calling me witch. I am of the faerie realm.”

  “Witch, or faerie, it’s all the same to me.” He sat back down, holding his burned wrist.

  “It’s not the same. I am of the elemental world. This is nothing like the tricke
ry of spells and witchcraft.”

  “Then what do you call that little trick you just did?”

  “I called forth fire. Fire is my ally. I beckon it and it comes to my aid.”

  “You don’t deserve that power. You’ve misused it. If you misuse an ally, it’ll eventually turn against you.”

  She straightened her hair and let out a breath. “You sound as if you speak from experience.”

  He didn’t answer, but she felt in her heart it was true. Something bothered him immensely, like a demon of the past. She longed to find out more about Drake Pendragon, but she knew he was never going to tell her if she didn’t let down her guard.

  “You are right. I did misuse it, but only because I wanted to teach you a lesson.”

  He held up his dagger-burned wrist. “I think you already tried that.”

  “I’m sorry.” She moved forward, picking up the jar of cream from the bedside table. She opened the jar and reached for his hand. He looked up, but didn’t comply.

  “I promise you, no more tricks. I only mean to put ointment on your burn.”

  He offered his wrist to her, and she rubbed cream gently against his burned flesh.

  “Tell me about your kind,” he said. “Are there others like you? I thought faeries were tiny elflike creatures who used wings to flit from flower to flower.”

  She laughed. “There are those of which you speak, but they are from pure faerie blood and live deep in the woods, never coming in contact with humans. My ancestors mated with humans long ago. I come from mixed blood. My father was human, my mother of the elemental world. I come from those who find their power in fire.”

  “So are you saying there are others who can call forth the other three elements as well?”

  She dipped her fingers into the jar and rubbed him gently as she relayed her story.

  “There are. There are faeries from the elements of earth and air, and also of water. Each find their strength in their ally.”

  “And where are these faeries? Do you have a village or a place where you meet?”

  “No,” she answered sadly, feeling the emptiness within her heart. “Those of mixed blood were shunned by the others and not allowed to return to the village. My great, great grandmother was the first to mate with a human man. Through the generations, the babies of mixed blood grew larger and larger, until eventually we were the size of humans. Our powers grew as well, but because we were part human, we weren’t as skilled at maintaining control of our element.”

  “Such as this?” he asked, pointing toward the burned pillow.

  “That I did on purpose, but when my anger rises, I cannot help where fire appears. I no longer have the control of my ancestors. Once the blood was mixed, disasters started. Through the years, each of the generations continues to lose a power. My grandmother had more than my mother, and my mother more than me. I have only two. And when I have a child, she will inherit only my power of fire. After her, I am not at all sure there will be any power passed on at all.”

  “So what, besides throwing fire, is your other power?”

  She closed up the jar and placed it back on the table, wiping her hands in a rag.

  “You already know of it by the rumors you heard of me being a devil. I can dreamwalk. I can leave my body at will.”

  “So the mating with a human hasn’t really harmed the faerie world then, has it?”

  “It is sullied because of my ancestors. The elementals were once a coalition of sorts. All four elements worked together. But because of intermarriage, there is a flaw. Those of mixed blood of the faerie world chose to all go their own ways. Like you mentioned, what once was an ally turned to a foe in a matter of speaking. While I get my power from fire, there is an element that can destroy me. This was never so before the blood was tainted. While we’re gifted by the elements, we are also threatened at the same time.”

  “So what element can destroy you? I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t wish to speak of this any more. Instead, I would hear of what happened when Thorndale Castle was stormed.” She turned and walked across the room. When he didn’t answer, she looked back to see him staring at her bottom.

  He cleared his throat. “You may want to try to find some undergarments. It might be to your advantage.”

  She looked down to see the back of her mother’s dress burned right off from the flames. Sometimes not feeling the fire or being burned by it, had its downfalls.

  “How dare you look!”

  “It isn’t like I haven’t seen it before,” he commented nonchalantly, unfastening his scabbard and laying his sword next to his pillow. “If I had wanted you, I’d have taken you when I bathed you while you were unconscious.”

  She thought about it for a moment, and realized it was true. He’d never pushed himself on her against her will. Even the kiss was warranted by both of them. Still, she didn’t quite trust him.

  “Because you refrained from ravaging my body doesn’t make you chivalrous.”

  “Ah, that it doesn’t. But then again, who said I was known for chivalry?”

  She watched him remove his boots, placing them next to the bed.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting ready for bed.” The lustful look was back in his eyes as he removed his tunic and threw it to the foot of the bed. Her eyes opened wide as he reached for the ties on his leather braies.

  “I beg you not to remove those, my lord!” She would have turned around in embarrassment, but she knew she’d only be showing him her bare backside if she did.

  “Some day you’ll be begging me to do just the opposite.”

  She swallowed deeply, eyeing up his body. Somehow she had a feeling his words had merit.

  “Come here,” he told her.

  She shook her head and stepped away from the bed.

  “I only want to rub healing cream on your wounds like you did to me.”

  She wanted to feel his fingers upon her skin, but not when he was half-clothed. She didn’t know if she could trust him, or if she could trust herself.

  “No,” she said with a shake of her head.

  “You’re going to be my wife on the morrow,” he reminded her. “You should get used to my touch.”

  “I will marry you, but only to keep the title of Lady of Thorndale. Only because I know I will never be able to defend these walls myself. I will take back what is rightfully mine, but I will use you for my own needs.”

  “Aye. As I will do the same.”

  “I will not lay with you,” she told him. “It will be a marriage of convenience only. Without a man by my side, the people will not accept me as their new ruler.”

  “But they will accept me as their ruler without a woman by my side. So tell me, why should I let you rule as Lady Thorndale when you are not willing to consummate the marriage?”

  “Because Juturna told me you need me. To fight the dragon. And I will not help you unless you let me regain my title.”

  “She also said I must lay with you of your own accord, or it will not work.”

  Brynn thought of her desire to lay with Drake. This man was handsome and intriguing. And exciting as a dangerous warrior. Juturna was correct in saying she wanted what she knew she could not have. But here he was, offering to her everything she’d fantasized about in secret. Drake Pendragon had his eye on her, and to make matters even sweeter, he needed her.

  She thought of the power in this situation. She thought of what she could accomplish with Drake at her side. But then she thought of what she’d done by giving herself to the despicable Calais. By trying to save her life, she’d ruined her future as Lady of Thorndale. No lord wanted a used woman. No man, not even the infamous Drake Pendragon, would stoop so low as to marry a woman who’d already been deflowered by another man. As soon as he took her to the marriage bed, he’d know her secret. Then he would punish her as was proper, and probably exile her from her own home.

  While she needed him, she knew he would not like being deceive
d. But if she didn’t marry him, she would lose her father’s holdings forever. She would have nowhere to go, no one, not even the faerie realm to take her in and accept her. And now that the only family she had was dead, she felt so alone it made her want to cry. Confusion muddled her head, and she couldn’t think straight.

  “And if I refuse to lay with you?” she asked.

  “I won’t take you by force,” he told her. “But you will be married to me in the morning. I will take your maidenhead, and all the world will know you are mine. It would not be wise to refuse me on our wedding night. Now I suggest we both get some sleep, as it has been a long day.”

  Drake settled upon the bed, and just like a man, he instantly fell into a deep slumber. She watched him lying there, so peaceful, so harmless. The great Dragon’s Son was almost like a little boy when he turned off the flames of anger and passion. She felt sorry for him in a way. He seemed so lost, so lonely. Just like her. Two lost souls searching for the half who would make them complete.

  She felt the need to touch him, and gingerly reached out her hand to smooth a lock of hair from his face. His essence coursed through her and she could feel her need for him growing stronger. She, being of the elements, felt the fire of want and lustful desire stronger than anyone. And she knew if she stayed by him any longer, she would not be able to keep from wanting to satisfy that need. Her urge was too strong. She would never be able to refuse him. Her secret would be spilled, and her father’s lands and her title would be stripped from her forever.

  If she didn’t leave here soon she may be trapped under his spell forever. Mayhap there was another way to reclaim her castle without having to marry him. He was asleep now, and there wasn’t a guard at the door. This was her moment to escape. She grabbed his tunic from the floor, pulling it over her to cover the burn in her gown. Then she took the jug of ale and stale trencher of bread he’d left, and made her way to the door.

  She could be far away hidden in the hills of Lornoon before he even awoke. She’d steal a horse and be long gone from here when dawn broke. She’d go up to the hills and think things through. She’d figure out a way to gather up an army to go up against Drake and his men.