Tall, Dark, and Medieval

by Barbara Devlin

  “We need to talk about what just happened.”

  “We need to make a fire to dry our clothes and cook our meal first.”

  “You don’t seem very surprised a dragon was here a minute ago and has since disappeared. You know something about this pool, don’t you?”

  He didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at her. He just went on with his work.

  “I have something else to tell you.” She figured she’d try to tell him about his father even though he most likely wouldn’t listen. The warning sounded urgent, and he needed to know.

  “It can wait.” He pulled a blanket out of the saddle bag. “I only have one blanket. You use it. Give me your wet clothes and I’ll start them drying over the fire.”

  Brynn figured if she used the blanket, Drake would be sitting next to her naked while his own clothes and cloak dried. She couldn’t have that. She grabbed for the dagger at his waist, but his hand trapped hers at his hip. He gave her a look that said he didn’t trust her. She gave him the same look saying she didn’t trust him either.

  “Remove your hand from mine,” she commanded.

  “So you can run my own dagger through my heart?”

  “I would have used my father’s dagger, but unfortunately I left it back at the castle. Now remove your hand. If I was trying to kill you, I’d go for your sword. While you slept.”

  “Such a reassuring thought.” He removed his hand slowly. His eyes met hers in challenge and she just grinned. She pulled the dagger from his belt and held it up in the torchlight.

  “Good. Nice and sharp. Just how I like it.” She grabbed the blanket he held and cut it in half. She then replaced his dagger and handed half the blanket to him.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We’ll share. I won’t have you sitting naked while your own clothes dry.”

  “Too tempting? Or is your concern that’ll I’ll catch a chill?”

  “I don’t feel it’s decent.”

  “God’s eyes, woman! I’m your husband. Modesty is for virgins, not for married women.”

  “What are you insinuating? That I’m not a virgin?”

  “I wasn’t. But now that you mentioned it . . . ”

  She didn’t give him a chance to continue.

  “You are not acting at all like a husband.”

  “Oh really? So tell me, how should I act? What should I, as your husband, be doing?” She knew by the look on his face what he thought was a husband’s duty, but that wasn’t what she had in mind at the moment, and she planned on telling him so.

  “He’s supposed to provide food, shelter, warmth and safety for his wife.”

  “Which I’ve done.”

  She looked down to the dead rabbit bleeding on the floor. Her stomach convulsed at the sight. She would never get used to seeing blood, ever since her own parents were murdered.

  “I guess you have.” She had nothing more to say. Without her realizing it, Drake had done his husbandly duties. Mayhap it was she who was not doing what was expected of a wife.

  “I’ll start the fire,” Drake told her. “You’re shivering. Now go change out of your wet clothes.”

  * * *

  Dinner was awkward with Drake sitting so close, and naked beneath the blanket he used like a loincloth. Brynn’s half of the blanket was wrapped around her body, and now she knew she shouldn’t have divided the blanket evenly. A woman has more to cover. Drake’s wrap was folded in half, and hung from his waist to his knees. Hers barely covered her breasts, let alone her thighs. It rested just above her knees, and when she sat, it climbed even higher. Therefore, she had just stayed standing, leaning against a rock as she ate her share of rabbit. Drake had collected some rain water in a wooden cup he’d found in the saddlebag and they’d shared it.

  “You can’t stand all night.” He squatted by the fire, legs spread. She could have seen up the blanket, but she looked the other way.

  “Are you ready to talk yet?” She threw the bones of the rabbit into the fire, and wiped her hands in her blanket. The cave smelled from woodsmoke, grease and damp earth.

  “About what?” He poked at the fire with a stick, mesmerized by the flame. Sparks shot up, giving her the strength she needed to continue.

  She knew she had to get his attention somehow. He was never going to talk about what happened in the cave unless she pursued it. Her own body was weakened from her spells in the water and she needed to replenish her energy with fire. She walked up to the fire, and bent down opposite him. Her blanket rose on her legs as she did so. His eyes followed, as she knew they would. Then she reached into the fire and picked up a burning ember. The flames licked her fingers, and smoke billowed out around her hand, but she was not burned.

  He jumped to his feet, and she followed, burning coal still in her grasp.

  “I can touch fire. It doesn’t burn me.”

  “I know that.” He still seemed uneasy of the fact, and kept his distance. Not many people had actually ever seen her submerge herself in fire, but those who had, were always frightened by her ability. That’s why she normally waited until she was behind closed doors to use her gift. His eyes traveled from her face to the flame in her hand and then back again.

  “It still disturbs you, doesn’t it?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “People called my mother a witch,” she explained, “as I’ve already told you.” She figured if she told him her background again, it may make him more apt to tell her his. “Actually, she was both human and faerie, the blood of each one running through her veins. I am similar, as my father was human, but my mother had magical blood within her veins. She could withstand fire too, and see visions in the flames. It is nature of our kind. We are from the elemental realm. We are one with the element of fire.”

  “Can you see visions in the flames too?” he asked suspiciously, yet very curious.

  She looked at the burning wood in her hand and tried once again to see the future, see the past, see anything. She couldn’t.

  “Nay.” She threw the wood back into the fire and held out her hand for him to examine it for burns. “I have not the ability to scry. I haven’t enough faerie blood in my veins to do so. But I can withstand fire, and I get my energy from it. It restores me.” She took a deep breath and then released it, reveling in the energy the fire had shared with her.

  “What else can you do, Witch?”

  “Don’t call me that again, or you’ll find out. My name is Brynn. Witch is actually a derogative name for our kind. We don’t like it.”

  “So that is why it bothers you so much. Tell me. What other powers do you hold? You told me before about your other power, but I don’t really understand it.”

  “The faerie blood running through my veins is scant since my mother and grandmother both married male humans. The gifts given to us diminish through generations because of this, as you see with my inability to scry. I hold the power over fire only. However, I do have the ability to . . . dreamwalk,” she told him. “I can leave my body in a semi-dream stage and travel without it.”

  “Like a ghost.” He folded his arms in front of him and leaned back on a rock.

  “In a way. Although, I’m not dead. My spirit leaves my body and travels about freely, never seen by human eyes.”

  “Is this a special trait of the faeries also?”

  “Not really,” she explained. “Actually, anybody can do it. People leave their bodies every night, but are not able to remember it upon awakening. That’s where I’m different. I’m totally aware of my doings on the astral plane.”

  “So you meet other Dreamwalkers then?”

  “Aye. Sometimes, I do.”

  He approached her, and she felt the cool rock of the wall against her back. He leaned forward, wet hair brushing against her arm and sending a spark through her entire body. He placed one hand at the side of her head and brought his face close to hers. She could feel his breath on her lips as he spoke.

  “And have you met me there?” he ask
ed in a half whisper. “Have I dreamwalked as well?”

  She stayed silent, not wanting to give him the answer he needed.

  “Mayhap I’ve met you in this state and just don’t remember,” he continued. “Perhaps we’ve done more while dreamwalking than we’ve done in waking life.”

  He almost sounded as if he knew they’d made love on the etheric plane. But she couldn’t be sure. It was too incomprehensible to think he’d remember his own dreamwalking. Only magical people with special powers or those who were totally aware could remember what they’d done in this form. He couldn’t remember. She prayed he hadn’t.

  “So, tell me wife. Have you seen me while dreamwalking or not?”

  She found herself not wanting to answer. All her memories of making love with Drake on the dreamwalking plane flooded her at once. A heat coursed through her body and she felt her legs wobble beneath her. His mouth was too near hers. His arm had her trapped against the wall and she felt his presence filling her senses. She looked to the ground so she wouldn’t have to reply.

  “Your face blushes like a ripe peach, dear wife. Do tell me why?”

  She ducked below his arm and walked away from him. She needed to gain control of herself before she ended up kissing him again. She crossed her arms over her chest and bit her lip.

  “Tell me about your mother,” Brynn said, trying to change the subject. When he didn’t say a word, she turned and caught his expression. His face was stone-like and his eyes traveled to a cave shelf behind the pool. Brynn’s attention followed his, and she first noticed the sealed goblet shining in the firelight. She strolled over to inspect it. A chalice of gold with carved etchings of flowers and vines sat among the alcove of the rocks. A rim of wax sealing the top to its base was unbroken.

  “What is this?” Brynn reached out for it, but Drake’s hand stopped her. His grip on her wrist was strong in a protective sort of way. Not to protect her - but more like he was protecting something or someone else. Whatever was inside the chalice.

  “’Tis none of your concern. Now come away.”

  He tried to pull her away, but suddenly she knew what his actions meant. He’d looked to the chalice when she asked about his mother. He held a concern, a sadness, a certain respect in his gaze when he sought out the chalice. Something Drake admired deeply was sealed inside. Something - or someone’s ashes.

  “’Tis your mother, isn’t it?”

  He still held onto her wrist, but looked the other way. She could see his eyes glistening in the firelight, wetter than just from the rain. She realized he was biting the inside of his cheek, his neck tightening as he did so. He fought to hold back the emotions that were threatening to spill forth.

  “I don’t care to talk about it,” he said in a mere whisper.

  “How did she die, Drake?”

  He looked directly at her, and she felt his own sadness deep down to her soul. He fought to speak, though his words were choking him. Finally he answered with vengeance to his voice.

  “She was murdered.” He dropped her wrist and sat down by the edge of the pool.

  Murdered? Ironic, the man who was responsible for the murders of her own parents had lived through the same pain as her. She felt the loss of the woman’s life, but held no remorse for Drake’s own feelings.

  “So now you know,” she said with a vengeance of her own. “Now you know what it’s like to have one’s parents murdered.”

  He didn’t answer, and she didn’t pursue the subject. Though it wasn’t by his blade they’d died, she still held the man responsible for her own parents’ deaths. That is, because he hadn’t stopped it from happening. It was hard forgiving the man who’d taken her father’s castle. If it wasn’t for him bringing his men inside the castle walls to begin with, her parents might still be alive today.

  “I saw your father while you were away.”

  His eyes snapped up to hers and then back down to the water.

  “My father’s been dead for years. You must have seen someone else. It wasn’t him.”

  “He was in the pool. His form was reflected there, yet I don’t know from where it came.”

  “How could you know it was him?”

  Drake hadn’t seemed surprised she saw a vision in the water. He hadn’t even asked how it happened. She found that odd since she’d just told him she didn’t have the ability to see visions. He knew so much more than he was willing to share.

  “He told me who he was. Not to mention, you are a lot like him.”

  “I’m nothing like my father!” He got to his feet, defending himself. “My father was evil. He was a cold-hearted bastard. He killed for pleasure, laughing at his victims as they bled to death at his feet. He started wars for fun. He raped young virgins because he could. He was so greedy that he’d do anything to get what he wanted. He even took my mother as his wife against her will, right after he stormed her castle and killed her parents.”

  “Really. And yet you claim you are nothing like your father?”

  She knew her words cut him deeply, as she could see the disappointment in his eyes. He was a little too much like the father he hated, and her words only brought the fact out in the open. She knew he’d been denying this for years. She also knew she was right. If not, her accusation wouldn’t have roiled him so.

  He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. His eyes were dark again, and his jaw was set firm.

  “Don’t ever compare me to that devil. I am nothing like him, do you hear?”

  He must have realized he treated her roughly. He suddenly released her and stepped away far from her.

  “I - I didn’t mean to do that,” he admitted, seeming ashamed of his actions.

  “I apologize for my words, my lord, but it seems to me you two are one and the same. Unless you tell me otherwise how you differ, I will believe nothing less.” She should have stopped roiling him, but her will wouldn’t let her. She felt she had the upper hand, and was seeing Drake’s hidden emotions for the first time.

  “You play with fire, woman, with the words you challenge me with.”

  “Ah, but as you know, I get my strength from fire, my lord. My words don’t lie, do they?”

  She knew she was trying his patience and aggravating him immensely. She also knew she didn’t have her father’s dagger with her, and had no way to protect herself if he should decide to hurt her. He wasn’t armed at the moment, but his hands on her shoulders alone had been tight and gripping. If he wanted to snap her neck in two with his bare hands right now he could do it easily.

  “How are you different?” she prodded, wanting to know more about Drake and his hatred for his own father. Standing up to him was invigorating, though she knew she was foolish to do so. “What is it that makes you any better than the man who begot you?”

  “My father,” said Drake, trying to talk though his lip trembled in anger. “Aurelius Pendragon, the man who begot me was a murderer.”

  “You already told me that.”

  “So I did.” His words were softer now, as if he was lost in thought.

  “Is there more?”

  By the look on his face, she’d say there was lots more he wasn’t telling her. If only she had the ability to scry like her late mother. If she had that ability, she’d be able to save Drake from his memories. But she wasn’t here to save him. She was here to find out about the man to whom she was married.

  “He was worse than that,” Drake finally answered.

  “Worse than a murderer? I don’t think I understand.”

  He looked directly at her, and she could read the pain along with the hatred in his eyes. She felt a darkness within him that made her shiver. A darkness she’d rather not be experiencing alone with Drake in a cave.

  “Aye, ’tis much worse,” he told her in a low voice. “You see, my father was the one who murdered my mother.”

  THE DRAGON AND THE DREAMWALKER

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Drake watched as Brynn’s eyes opened wide, along with her mou
th. She was shocked at his words, and he couldn’t blame her. He’d told her something he’d never told anyone before. He’d let her know the secret of just how evil a man his father had been. The man who’d spawned him. The man who raised him to walk in his footsteps every step of the way.

  “He killed your mother?” she repeated, aghast.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “But how? Why? Why would a man want to kill his own wife?”

  These words coming from the witch’s mouth were almost amusing. Almost, but not enough to make him laugh aloud.

  “Why would a woman want to kill her own husband?” he challenged her. She seemed confused at first until she realized he was speaking of her. Her defense was up once again.

  “You gave me reason to want to kill you. I only wanted revenge for my parents’ sake.”

  “Wanted?” He walked to her and stroked a finger under her chin. Her eyes met his with the same wanting in them he’d seen earlier when she’d thought to kiss him. “It almost sounds to me as if you’ve changed your mind. Have you changed your mind about other things as well?”

  She tightened the hold of the blanket around her breasts. “You gave me your word you wouldn’t touch me.”

  He stepped away, and rubbed the fingers of his one hand together.

  “So I have. And I have kept my word. I haven’t touched you in a lusty manner yet, have I?”

  She almost seemed disappointed if he wasn’t mistaken. He liked that. Her defenses were breaking down. Brynn was the type of woman who always got what she wanted. Even if she did ask for his touch, he had half a mind not to give it to her, just to teach her a lesson.

  “You’ve managed to turn the conversation around once again, my lord. I believe we were talking about your father, not about us.”

  She was a sharp one, he had to admit. Most women weren’t aware enough to realize when he took control of a conversation.

  “I think we should get some sleep. ’Tis late. We’ll be getting an early start back to the castle in the morning.” He grabbed the clothes thrown over a rope by the fire, feeling that they were dry. He tossed hers to her, and took his own toward the mouth of the cave. “Get dressed. I won’t have you tempting me during the night if your blanket should come loose.”