Tall, Dark, and Medieval

by Barbara Devlin

  The musicians in the gallery up above dribbled out some bits and pieces of music, warming up for the dancing that would take place that eve. A juggler practiced throwing bottles into the air and catching them, while the mime talked to him in sign language of sorts. Even the dogs sat patiently at his feet, tongues hanging out and drooling, hoping to get a bone or scrap of food.

  “Dammit, Asad,” he cursed to his squire at his side. “This woman will be the death of me yet. How long does it take to change into dry clothing?”

  “Yes, my lord, I do see your point.” Asad stood next to him, his thumbs linked into the belt strapped around his waist. “Women do tend to take longer at removing their clothes than men.”

  Drake graced him with a sideways glance. “I guess you would know. You probably have more experience with that than anyone in the castle.”

  Asad’s smile melted down. “I’ll take that as a compliment, my lord.”

  “Of course.” He paced the dais as he talked. “You already managed to help me remove my wet and rusting armor, plus polish my sword and wipe down my horse in the time it’s taken her to put on a simple dry gown. I just don’t understand.”

  “Nothing about women is simple, my lord.”

  “Hmmmfff,” he mumbled. “Especially this one.”

  Just then, the heralder blared out an announcing note on his long trumpet, signaling the lady of the castle’s approach.

  “Finally,” Drake mumbled, happy of his bride’s arrival. He turned toward the entranceway but stopped in motion. There stood the most ravishing beauty he had ever laid eyes upon. Brynn stood in the entrance arch dressed in a glorious white wedding gown. Her handmaiden rustled around behind her, fixing her train. Brynn wore a headpiece, a crown of some sort with jewels winking in the firelight. The veil trailed down her back, longer than the train. Her fiery hair was pinned up in swirls, and she clutched a bouquet of blooming wild herbs in her hands. She looked like a lady who was proud of her husband on their wedding day. She acted nothing like the feisty witch who’d been doing her best to kill him. He wanted to touch her, to know she was real. He wanted to take her to bed and truly make her his wife.

  Drake was speechless, and the trumpet blared again. The room quieted, waiting for his command.

  “Excuse me, my lord,” Asad leaned over and whispered. “I do believe everyone awaits you.”

  “Aye, of course.” Drake felt like he was in a dream. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, stood at the doorway. His bride. He didn’t deserve a woman of such grace and beauty. He wasn’t even dressed for the occasion. After the chapel incident, Drake decided he wouldn’t be so foolish again. He’d changed out of his wet attire and now sported a simple, wrinkled tunic, battle-scarred leather braies and dirty hose.

  “My lord?” Her voice rang forth sweetly. Her eyes twinkled and her cheeks looked rosier than usual. Her faced glowed with the vibrancy of a blushing maiden wanting her hero knight to take her into his arms.

  He wandered forward to meet her. He was afraid to touch her. Afraid it was all a dream and as soon as he did, she would disappear. But he had no choice. He held out his hand, and she reached forward to gently lay her slender fingers atop his arm. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as he led her to the long trestle table atop the dais at the front of the room. Music played sweetly as he sat her on his right - the place reserved for the lord’s lady. Birdie straightened her train and stood behind her should she need help again.

  He stood there staring at her, and Asad finally had to prod him in the back to make known every eye in the room was on him as he stood there doting over his new wife.

  “Continue,” he called out. “Bring on the food!”

  A cheer went up from the crowd and the head cook hurried his servers towards the dais with platters loaded down with venison, dressed pheasant, stuffed quail with grape leaves, sautéed eel, and fruit pudding.

  The ewerer stepped forward with a ewer of water in his hand and a fresh towel over his shoulder. He held a basin at his hip. Drake put his hands over the basin and the boy washed his lord’s hands with the water. He then continued on to everyone seated at the dais. Drake stood next to his lady, once again wondering if she was truly his wife.

  “Will you be sitting anytime soon?” Asad stood at his left side patiently awaiting his turn to sit, hungrily devouring the platters of food with his eyes. Squires weren’t normally seated at the dais, but Drake thought of Asad as so much more than a squire. The man deserved the same treatment as the nobility, in Drake’s opinion.

  “Aye,” Drake said. “Of course.” He sat in his own chair - the only armed chair in the room - the one reserved for the lord, and Asad breathed a sigh of relief, grabbing food before his buttocks even hit the chair. The priest sat at Brynn’s side, and the steward sat beside Asad. They all dug into the food, obviously very hungry.

  “Wine, my lord?” The cupbearer stood before Drake with a decanter in his hand.

  “Aye,” he replied, holding up his wooden goblet. Once filled, Drake gave it to Brynn. The cupbearer filled another and handed it to him.

  “A toast!” Drake called, rising from his chair. “To the most beautiful bride a man could have.”

  Asad jumped up, his own goblet in his hand, wine sloshing over the rim. He shoved food into his mouth as he did so. The room cheered and Drake held his goblet up to Brynn in a toast. Unfortunately, she didn’t acknowledge it. He nodded to the roomful of people, and sat. Asad followed his lead. Without looking at him, Brynn picked up the goblet and drank.

  “I may be dressed as a bride, but as I told you, I will not be playing the part of the obedient wife.”

  Suddenly, Drake’s dream diminished. He was back to reality, his beautiful, obedient bride nothing more than the feisty little witch in a costume.

  “Not even a thank you for saving your hide today?” he questioned, bringing a piece of venison to his mouth.

  “Me, thank you?” she asked, appalled. “Mayhap you should be thanking me for stopping you from committing the stupidest act you’ve ever done.”

  “If you’re referring to our marriage, ’tis too late for that. You weren’t able to stop it.”

  He knew that would infuriate her, but he didn’t care. She had a mouth on her that wouldn’t be tolerated by any other man. He sincerely wondered why he tolerated her.

  “I was speaking of your addled act of offering yourself to the dragon, and you know it. How are the people of Lornoon, let alone the occupants of Thorndale Castle, supposed to fare without their warrior to slay the beast? If you’re dead, you cannot very well do that, can you?”

  “So you’ve finally discovered how valuable it is to be married to me?”

  “Don’t take our marriage too seriously,” she warned him.

  “What do you mean by that, my lady?”

  “I may have been forced to say my vows, but I will never truly be your wife.”

  He continued eating, not bothering to look at her as he spoke. It would either arouse him or anger him, and he didn’t want either at the moment.

  “If you’re speaking of the act of coupling, my dear wife, than I suggest you not be so shy and come right out and say it.”

  “I will abide by that suggestion.” She looked directly at him. “When it comes time to take me to your bed - or should I say my parents’ bed - I will not lay with you. You will not touch me, and I’d prefer you slept in another room altogether.” She seemed satisfied with her answer, and began nibbling on food, ignoring him.

  “May I remind you, wife, of a certain promise you gave when you thought I was going to sacrifice you to the dragon?”

  “That meant nothing.” She continued eating. “I would have rather ended up in the belly of the dragon rather than to let you touch me again.”

  He refused to let the chit anger him during his wedding celebration. He pushed his trencher aside, wiping his hands in the cloth that covered the table, not being able to find his hand cloth.

  “You would do well
to remember that, next time you see to beg me to spare your life.”

  “So, I acted in error, my lord. It will not happen again.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he replied. “A promise is a promise and I plan on collecting what is due to me. You are my wife now, and I’ll touch you where I want, sleep where I want, and do with you what I want. You will not deny me again.”

  Brynn was about to argue with him, when he dragged her to her feet and hauled her out to the floor to dance. There wasn’t much space, and the men jumped up and started moving the long trestle tables to make more room.

  “I do not wish to dance, my lord.”

  “I command you to, wife.”

  Before she knew it, he had flung her train over his arm and pulled her tightly to him, with his arm around her waist.

  “Look at me,” he instructed, and Brynn found herself doing it against her will. His face was so close to hers that she could smell the wine on his breath.

  “Why did you wear this gown tonight?”

  “I . . . I did not have anything else to wear that was dry.”

  “That is a lie.”

  It was, and she wasn’t doing a good job to come up with another excuse. She’d worn it because she felt gypped in a way. He looked so handsome at the wedding, so proud sitting in his armor upon his horse. She had felt like a widow, not a bride. She’d never known the glories of being a bride, and she knew she may never have the chance again. So she had donned her mother’s gown, hoping to feel some of the same joy her mother had felt when she was married years ago. Unfortunately, it wasn’t working.

  “You wore it to please me, didn’t you?”

  “I did nothing of the sort. I did it to please myself.”

  “And did you?”

  He twirled her around and lunged, leaning her back over his knee. His body hovered over her, his face close to hers. She clung to him, feeling safe in his arms.

  “Being a bride isn’t as grand as I’ve been told.”

  He brought her back up and pulled her to him again. She could feel the sting of the wound from the dragon’s spiked wing beneath her gown. She’d had Birdie bind her wounds, but the scratches from her fall ran deep and the blood had yet to stop its flow.

  “Why do you flinch when I hold you close?”

  “You are a man accused of having innocent blood on your hands, and yet you have to ask?”

  “I am not the only one with blood on them.” He looked down to her waist and she could see the blood from her wounds soaking into her mother’s gown. “You’ve been hurt by the dragon more than you led me to believe.”

  “These scars will heal, my lord. The ones of the heart will not.”

  He swept her feet from under her and carried her to the stairs. The crowd cheered, thinking he was taking her to her bridal bed. Many of his knights followed him up the stairs, and Birdie ran after them. When he got to the top, he kicked the door open with one foot and went inside.

  “She’s not ready yet, milord,” cried Birdie. “Let me prepare her for the bridal bed.”

  “I have no need of you tonight, chambermaid. You may leave.”

  The girl looked frantic, unsure of his order, but curtseyed anyway.

  “As you say, milord.” She hurried out the door and several of Drake’s knights, including his squire rushed in.

  Brynn knew it was customary to have witnesses at the consummation, and she winced as Drake set her gently upon the bed and unstrapped his sword.

  “Please, my lord.” She looked up at him and then over to his men. He almost seemed as if he’d just noticed they’d followed him there.

  “Out!” he said to his men.

  “But my lord,” said Asad, “don’t you want us to witness the consummation so everyone will know she’ll no longer be a virgin, but your wife?”

  “I’ll know. That’s good enough for me. Now get out of my sight before I send you all to walk the battlements for the evening.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Asad left and the rest followed. Drake walked over and closed the door after them. Brynn was surprised to see the bar hold was fixed when he slid the bar across the door, locking them in for the night.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were wounded?” He rubbed his own hand, the one that was struck by lightning, as he talked.

  “Would it have mattered?”

  “You should have told me.”

  “You almost sound as if you care of my well being.”

  He walked to her side and raised her chin to look in her eyes. “I am not the ogre you think I am, Brynn.”

  The use of her actual name, instead of Witch was a welcome change. She liked the way it sounded on his tongue. She felt the warmth of his hand on her chin and liked that too. Still, she wanted answers from him, nothing more.

  “What happened the night my parents were murdered?” she asked in a soft but steady voice.

  “I told you, Brynn. I did not kill them. And I never came with any intention of a siege.”

  She felt the tears welling in her eyes at the memory of seeing her parents lying dead. She was in her etheric form at the time and couldn’t even bury their bodies. She had tried to get back into the castle after she’d reentered her body, but the doors were bolted.

  “Then if it wasn’t by your blade, it was still by your command. You are a Klaren. You give their orders. You are responsible for the deaths of so many!”

  “No!” he growled. “I left the Klarens long before the attack on the castle. I go by my own crest now. The crest of the dragon. I did not know they were following my men into the courtyard. Had I known, I would have stopped them. They were the ones to kill your parents, Brynn. My men and I were caught in the middle. Your father allowed me to enter in peace, but when the Klarens appeared, he thought I had deceived him. He no longer trusted me. He attacked, and I ordered my men to defend themselves. None of this was supposed to happen.”

  “Why did you even come here at all? What was it that was so important that so many people had to lose their lives because of it?”

  His eyes bore into her like knives. His jaw twitched from being clenched so tightly. “I came for you, Brynn.”

  “Me?” She didn’t understand. Her heart ached with the weight of his words.

  “I came to find you as the prophecy instructed so you could help me find the answer of how to stop Dracus.”

  “I know not how to stop a dragon.”

  “And neither do I. But somehow, the old seer thinks together we can discover the answer. But with each passing day, my faith in her scrying becomes weaker and I lose hope that I’ll ever be able to stop this dragon at all.”

  He picked up his sword and belt and headed for the door.

  “You’re leaving?” She felt a surge of sudden disappointment.

  “Aye. And though I said I would take you, I won’t force you to lie with me, even if you are my wife. When I take you to my bed, it’ll be because you go willingly. No ogre would do that, would he, Brynn?”

  “If you go out that door, everyone will know we haven’t consummated the marriage. Your men will look at you with less respect in the morning.”

  “And if I stay here I will be tempted to take you in the night, and break my word of honor. If I did that, I could not respect myself. So, you see, it no longer matters.”

  He slid the lock bar off the door and pulled it open. He looked back at her with his dark eyes and she almost wanted to beg him to stay.

  “I’ll send Birdie to help you undress. I will also make certain Juturna is sent for to tend to your wounds.”

  She jumped to her feet. This is exactly what she’d wanted - for him to leave. But now that he was doing it, she wanted nothing more than for him to stay. She didn’t know what to do, what to say. She had so much she wanted to ask him about the attack on the castle. She wanted to know if he was injured by the dragon, or even if he would perhaps come back to her later that night or the next day.

  “My lord?” she asked, stopping him from leaving. He look
ed back at her, but didn’t speak. “Thank you,” she whispered, not sure if she was really thanking him for not touching her, or for saving her life.

  He didn’t answer. Just turned and left, closing the door behind him.

  THE DRAGON AND THE DREAMWALKER

  CHAPTER TEN

  Brynn stared out the window as Birdie undid every one of the many buttons at the back of her wedding gown. She watched Drake making his way across the torch-lit courtyard below. His men approached him one at a time, but with a slight motion from his hand, he dismissed them all. He didn’t look at them, just straight ahead as he made his way toward the mews. Brynn felt an emptiness inside her. One that possibly could have been filled by Drake if she had only let him try.

  “Thank goodness you didn’t have to sleep with the man,” commented Birdie as she slipped the gown from Brynn’s shoulders.

  Brynn didn’t say anything, just stepped from the dress as Birdie lowered it to her feet.

  “I was so frightened for you,” said Birdie. “The thought of you having to undress in front of him and lie naked with him in the bed horrified me.”

  Brynn turned toward her, laying a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

  “That is what a husband and wife do on their wedding night, Birdie.” The girl was scooping up the gown, but stopped at the sound of Brynn’s words. She looked up to her with innocent eyes.

  “But he’s the devil himself, my lady. If you had to lie with him, there’s no telling what would have happened.”

  Brynn walked to the bed and laid her hand against one of the carved posts. She ran her fingers over the spirals, carved flowers, and faeries, and wondered about her own parents’ wedding night. She was sure it had been filled with love and laughter. Not arguing and emptiness, as was her own.

  “Yes, Birdie, you are correct. There is no telling what would have happened.”