Tall, Dark, and Medieval

by Barbara Devlin

  “Lady Brynn?”

  Brynn looked up to see her old friend and chambermaid standing in the doorway.

  “Birdie!” She called out to the girl and ran to greet her. Birdie stepped inside the room, quickly closing the door behind her. They embraced each other in a hug of friendship.

  “I thought you’d died with the rest when the castle was attacked. Let me look at you, are you all right?”

  Birdie stood before her with a huge smile on her face for such a small woman. She was petite and chipper, not more than six and ten years of age. Her eyes twinkled and there was song in her voice. She had always reminded Brynn of a bird. While her true name was Bertha, Brynn had given her the name of Birdie.

  “I managed to hide in the well to stay out of danger when the castle was under siege,” she told her. “But I was discovered the next day when the lord’s squire lowered the bucket for a cool drink.”

  “How about the rest?” asked Brynn. “How many were killed? Who is left?”

  Birdie lowered her head but Brynn noticed the tears in her eyes. “There weren’t many who survived. Most the kitchen help is still here, but between those who were killed and the ones who escaped, the castle has mostly new occupants. The rest of your father’s soldiers pledged their allegiance to their new lord rather than to be imprisoned. Even Rowley, the falconer. But he hates Lord Thorndale for killing his son.”

  “Oh!” Brynn clasped her hand to her mouth. Rowley’s son wasn’t much more than a child. What kind of beast would kill a boy? “He is not Lord Thorndale,” Brynn told her. “That title was my father’s. He is Lord Dunsbard, naught more.”

  “Aye, he is still Lord of Dunsbard as well, and while his original men still call him that, he insists we call him Lord Thorndale now.”

  “Well, I will never do that. Now tell me more.”

  “Oh, Lady Brynn. Your parents . . . ” Birdie clasped a hand to her own mouth, tears flowing from her eyes. Brynn pulled the girl into her arms to comfort her.

  “I know, I know,” she said in a soft voice. Tears welled in her own eyes at the thought.

  “I’m so afraid of him, my lady.” Birdie pulled back and wiped the tears with the back of her hand. “I do what he commands in order not to be punished or killed, but if I could, I’d run far from here.”

  “Birdie, you mustn’t. ’Tis not safe for a young girl to be out there on her own.”

  “Not any more dangerous then staying here. I am so afraid for you, my lady. Having to marry such a beast!”

  Brynn straightened her stance and brushed off the tunic she was wearing. Drake’s tunic. His scent clung to it, only reminding her of the kiss he gave her on the dreamwalking plane last night. She felt like a traitor marrying the man responsible for all this trouble. But deep down, she felt what Juturna said was true. He didn’t kill her parents. He couldn’t have, or she would sense it. And she sincerely doubted he killed women or children. She just felt in her heart he’d been telling the truth when he said he hadn’t done it.

  “I’m not afraid of him, Birdie. And though he has a horrid reputation, I don’t believe he’s responsible for the lives he has been accused of taking.”

  “How do you know this? Did he tell you?”

  “Nay,” she answered, pondering the fact that Drake hadn’t told her much about that night at all. “It’s just something I feel.”

  “Either way, you’ve got to leave here, my lady. I will help pack your things at once.”

  “No, Birdie. I will stay. I will marry the man as he has commanded me to do.”

  Birdie’s eyes popped open, the look of fear evident, her body stiff. “You can’t mean you’re going to go through with the wedding?”

  “I have no choice. I must marry him. If I don’t, he is sure to hunt me down, and I do not take a fancy to facing his anger.”

  “But I thought you wanted to escape, my lady. Isn’t that why he has been placing guards at your door?”

  “I did want to escape, but I’ve changed my mind. I believe to be married to Drake Pendragon will be to my advantage after all.”

  “You cannot mean that.”

  “I do. This is my father’s fief and if I am to hold the title of Lady of Thorndale, there is no other way.”

  “But there must be another.”

  “Nay, Birdie. I have already considered the consequences. If I don’t want to lose the lands that should rightfully be mine, I must marry Drake. ’Tis the only way to secure my future.”

  “But he doesn’t belong here,” the girl protested.

  “No, he doesn’t,” she said thoughtfully. “But mayhap I can change things once I claim the title of wife to the man who stole what wasn’t his to take. Now help me find something to wear to this wedding.”

  Birdie followed her to the trunk. “What are your feelings about Lord Thorndale? Do you not hate him like the rest of Thorndale’s original occupants?”

  Brynn looked up, wondering if she should tell Birdie about the dreamwalking plane and what happened between her and Drake. But then she remembered how scared Birdie had been when Brynn first showed her how fire could not harm her. The girl almost swooned when she’d watched Brynn put her entire arm into the fire. Then it took months before Birdie would even look her in the eye or talk to her again. Birdie had been one of her best friends at the castle, but their friendship had nearly been ruined that day.

  Not everyone accepted Brynn’s ability with fire. There were many who had decided she was an evil witch with darkness in her soul. But in time, people started to like her, forgetting about their fear of her powers. Now that her dreamwalking ability had been discovered by the Klarens, she knew word would be out and once again she’d be feared. No, she couldn’t tell Birdie about the dreamwalking plane. Not just yet.

  “I am not sure how I feel about Lord Dunsbard,” she answered, purposely not using his preferred title. She no longer wanted to pursue this subject.

  Brynn lifted the lid and looked into the trunk. Fond memories stirred inside her when she spied her mother’s belongings. She ran her hand over the rich materials of velvet and satin. She picked up an ivory-handled hairbrush and clutched it to her heart. She remembered her mother telling her that her father had given it to her on their wedding day. It had been a special gift that she’d always wanted. She handed the brush to Birdie, and spied the long purple hooded cloak her mother loved to wear, folded up neatly in the corner of the trunk.

  Witch, witch, she heard in her mind. Her mother stopped wearing it just to keep her father from being upset. She had treasured this piece of clothing, but yet her husband meant more to her. She didn’t want the people turning against him. It was hard enough that he’d married her. It was on their wedding day that she put away anything that might be used to accuse her of being a witch, and never took them out again. If only people would understand they had faerie blood running through their veins, and that they weren’t witches at all.

  “Oh, this is beautiful!” Birdie reached into the trunk, pulling out Brynn’s mother’s own wedding gown. It was breathtaking. A long white train hung from the gown, decorated just as beautiful as the long tippet sleeves adorned with tiny pearls and amethyst gemstones. Brynn picked up the matching headdress. It was a crown of jewels, with a long frilly veil connected that was longer than the train of the dress.

  “Oh, I couldn’t,” said Brynn.

  “But ’tis your wedding day!” exclaimed Birdie. “Don’t you want to look comely?”

  She thought of what Drake would be wearing to the wedding. After their conversation, she knew it would be naught more than very dirty, wrinkled clothes that he probably hadn’t changed in months. She wasn’t going to wear anything that looked like she enjoyed the wedding. She didn’t want to marry Drake this way. She felt no better than a servant the way he commanded her to marry him. His words held no tenderness, just power. She would marry, but she would also remind him it was naught more than a means of convenience in name only. And she saw the perfect way to do this.<
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  “This will be just fine.” She picked up a drab black, plain gown and a headdress that sported a black veil to cover her face.

  “But, that is what one wears when in mourning, my lady. Are you certain?”

  Brynn held it against her with a grin on her face, knowing this was her first act of reclaiming her title and power. She looked at Birdie and nodded.

  “Oh, yes, I am certain.”

  THE DRAGON AND THE DREAMWALKER

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Brynn walked to the chapel, escorted by two of Drake’s guards. Birdie followed along behind, wringing her hands in worry.

  “The lord will not like this, my lady. Perhaps you should have worn the white gown.”

  Brynn was dressed from head to toe in black. In her hands she carried a bouquet of dead, dried flowers she’d lifted from a vase in the hall. Her hair was pinned up tight under the ugly headdress. The black veil covered her face.

  She’d stalled as long as she could in the room, and only left because Drake had ordered his men to go in and carry her down to the chapel ready or not. He was not a patient man, and didn’t like when one didn’t follow his orders. She’d come to the chapel of her own accord, but only because she didn’t want Drake’s warriors touching her.

  The guard pulled open the chapel door, and the strong, bold music of bagpipes and drums split the air as she entered. Sun streaked in from the stained-glass windows - a rare and expensive present from a wealthy earl to her parents at their wedding. Relief surged through her that the windows hadn’t been ruined in the attack. It brought to her a feeling of security. A feeling that her parents were there with her in some way. The chapel looked as if it hadn’t been touched during the siege. Most likely the will of God to keep it from being demolished. The beams of the ceiling met at a point high overhead, reaching down to a huge crucifix mounted behind the altar.

  The benches for worshippers were decorated with gold cloth ribbons made into bows, and had there been flowers in her mother’s garden, she was sure they would have adorned the place as well. A scarlet runner lie on the ground for her to walk upon. Dragons graced the cloth sporadically along the length of the walkway. It surprised her that Drake went to such extremes to make the wedding beautiful. She didn’t want a beautiful wedding. Not when she was being forced to marry. She wanted to keep this as plain and simple as possible.

  Asad stood at the front dais with the priest, a disturbed look crossing both their faces when they saw her. Drake’s knights, all donned in their polished armor, shields at their sides, lined the aisle forming a canopy with their raised swords for her to walk under. She was being treated with the utmost respect. This was something she hadn’t counted on at all.

  She looked back to her handmaiden who should have been helping her, but Birdie waited outside the door, shaking her head, begging with her eyes not to have to enter.

  “I don’t want to be in the same room as The Dragon when he loses his temper. Please don’t let him hurt me.”

  “No one is going to hurt you, Birdie. But if you’d feel better, why don’t you go down to the kitchens and wait for the feast to begin.”

  “Thank you, my lady.” Without hesitation, she scurried away through the hall. The guards stood at attention, one holding each door, waiting for Brynn to enter. She was the only woman here, and not happy about it. She entered the knight-lined aisle, walking to the altar, looking for Drake in his dirty, worn clothes.

  Asad took her hand as she approached, leaving her standing in front of the priest. The music stopped and she looked around, but didn’t see Drake anywhere.

  Then, the whinny of a horse caught her attention and she turned around quickly. A knight in full armor, helm visor down, sword at his side and shield in his hand, sat majestically high upon his steed. His long red cloak hung off his shoulders and down the sides of his mount. The horse’s tack was elaborate. Bells jangled as it walked, and colored strips of taffeta and leather hung in fringes down its side. Even the horse’s head, back, and neck, were covered with red and black crinet and flanchard, all boasting the dragon crest.

  Brynn was surprised to see the horse in the chapel, and slightly amused. The knight had to duck when he entered through the doorway, so the tall metal dragon atop his helm and red and black plume would fit through. The horse clip-clopped down the aisle to the altar, the man sitting high and proud as every eye watched him. The dragon crest emblazed upon his gambeson almost seemed to come to life, announcing the groom as he came forward.

  Drake’s bold act of riding his horse into the chapel intimidated her, and made him look even more powerful.

  The Dragon continued down the aisle, and every man there bowed his head in reverence. He dismounted at the altar and handed the reins to Asad, who stilled the horse. He pulled off his helm, dark eyes watching her as intently as everyone was watching him. His long, dark hair spilled down to his shoulders making him look most handsome in his battle attire.

  “My lord?” Her lip trembled slightly as she forced a smile and nodded her head in acknowledgment.

  Asad handed the horse’s reins to the steward and stepped forward, taking the helm and shield from his lord. Setting them upon the bench, he helped Drake remove his metal gauntlets.

  Drake smelled fresh, clean, and she could see he’d recently shaved. His hair glowed with a raven’s purple cast, and fresh, crisp clothes peeked out from beneath the armor. She suddenly felt very out of place in her mourning dress and black veil. She looked down to her dead flowers now shaking as her hands trembled slightly.

  “Are you ready for the ceremony to begin, my lord?” asked the priest with a catch to his voice. He held his book open to the proper page, looking like he wanted this to be over just as much as she did.

  “No,” answered Drake, never taking his eyes off her as he spoke. He pried the flowers from her hands and threw them across the room. She jumped in alarm and backed away.

  “What is the meaning of this attire?”

  Lightning flashed through the stained-glass window behind the altar and the rumble of thunder echoed the boom of his voice.

  “I believe we’re getting married,” she remarked coolly.

  “You look as if you’re going to a funeral.”

  “Is there a difference? Weddings, funerals, they’re the same to me just as witches and faeries are to you.”

  “I’ll not have you ruin my wedding day.”

  “Haven’t you already ruined mine?”

  “I dressed for battle as you suggested my lady, but I didn’t think the battle would come so soon.”

  “You did not think I’d actually come adorned, did you? This ceremony is naught more than a convenience, just like the way you laid siege to my father’s castle, just because you could.”

  “Remove the veil,” he said softly, but she did nothing to abide by his word.

  He reached over and tore the headpiece from her hair, throwing it across the room. She met his challenge defiantly, pushing back a lock of hair that had come loose from its bindings.

  “Is that what you think?” he asked lowly. “That I stormed the castle because it suited my needs to do so?”

  “I know your kind. You can’t say anything to make me think otherwise.”

  “Then I’ll not try, shall I?” He looked at the priest and commanded, “On with the ceremony.”

  He stilled her with a hand to her arm when she tried to walk away. And when it came time to say her vows, he made her speak loudly so everyone could hear, and there would be no question as to what transpired.

  “You are a vile, ruthless man!” she spat. Her powers not honed when she angered, she once again sported fire. But this time it was to the Bible the priest held. The man shouted, and dropped it, backing away.

  “The devil’s spawn,” shouted the priest. “She surely is a witch to set the Lord’s word afire.”

  “I am not a witch,” she ground out, and this time the decorations on the seats started to burn. His men hurried to put out the small
fires.

  “Stop that!” Drake demanded. “You are ruining the ceremony.”

  “I told you, I have no control over my power of fire when I anger. Every time I hear someone call me a witch, I lose my temper.”

  “Well no wonder they call you a witch when you go around burning Bibles!”

  “I didn’t do that on purpose.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he ground out. “Now let’s finish the ceremony before you burn the place to the ground.”

  Thunder boomed again and rain came down in torrents outside. The men stirred uneasily, and the priest nervously took his place on the dais. “Do you have rings?” he asked Drake.

  “Rings? No . . . I have no such thing.”

  “No rings?” Brynn asked, more amused than amazed that he hadn’t thought of bringing any.

  “Then, the ceremony is finished,” announced the priest. “May we all go in peace. You may now kiss the bride.”

  Brynn’s stomach jolted at these words. Drake’s jaw twitched in aggravation, and she didn’t want him anywhere near her, let alone kissing her in front of a room full of men.

  He took a step forward, his eyes burning, his body stiff. He reached out for her, but stopped when a guard called from the door.

  “’Tis Dracus, milord. The dragon has risen from the sea and is headed for the castle.”

  “Damnation, not now!” Drake turned and jumped onto his horse. His squire handed him his shield quickly.

  “Shall I alert the men to arm themselves?” asked Asad.

  “Nay. I’ll handle this on my own.”

  “But my lord, the dragon is fierce. You cannot possibly fight him off by yourself. Even donned in armor, you will be burned to a crisp if the dragon uses his fiery breath upon you.”

  “Aye,” he agreed. “That is why my wife will ride with me. To protect me from the dragon’s fire with a wall of fire of her own.”

  “You cannot be serious,” shouted the priest. People ran in commotion, shouting in the corridor. “She’s a lady. She shouldn’t be exposed to such things.”

  “A lady she may be,” said Drake, “but she’s also immune to the dragon’s fire. You saw it for yourself just now that fire is her ally.” He reached down for her and Brynn backed away.