Kiss of the Dragon

by Christina James

  “You think that apples will make him feel better?”

  “Oh, yes. He eats them whenever he gets a chance, morning, noon and evening before bed. He cannot seem to get enough of them. If anything will make him feel better, it would be fresh apples.”

  “Then by all means, we must certainly take him some apples.”

  * * * * *

  Through long days, and even longer nights,

  So close they became that they could no longer fight

  The attraction that grew between them.

  As the two lovers came together in blissful heaven,

  There were secrets that had to be told.

  But the answer he sought was destined

  To keep them together as their future did unfold.

  The Maid would keep the Knight and he would take her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Way up. Yes, that one. The beautiful, delicious-looking one.”

  Draco reached high to retrieve the fruit that Bianca pointed out and dropped two plump apples down into her waiting hands. He had agreed to climb into the upper boughs of the fruit tree just to please her whim. At her urging, he plucked fat, juicy apples and dropped them into her hands as she waited below on the ground.

  They had spent several hours roaming about the orchard picking apples, talking, laughing and eating some of the fruit. They were so distracted that they had at first not noticed the sky covering over with dark clouds. It was not until a particularly dark-looking one opened up and let down a torrent of rain that they mounted Inferno and rode pell-mell for home.

  By the time they reached the castle they were both drenched and Bianca had taken a slight chill. After housing Inferno in the stable, Draco escorted Bianca back to the great hall where he left her in the capable hands of her maid with instructions that she have a hot bath to chase the chill from her bones. Without argument, Bianca allowed Leia to lead her away but as she was about to turn the corner of the sweeping staircase she glanced back and found that he was still watching her. She raised one hand and gave him a wave before continuing out of his sight.

  As she climbed the rest of the stairs the loud pounding of boots followed close behind her. She had just reached the upper corridor when Draco caught her. She was startled to find that he followed her. His expression was intense and the look he sent Leia sent the maid fleeing on ahead to prepare her lady’s bath.

  When the little maid was out of sight, Draco took Bianca’s arm and escorted her a little farther down the hall and into one of the many small, darkened alcoves that had been built into the outer wall of the keep. When she hesitated about following him, he merely used his very large, very muscular body to crowd her into the small space.

  The heat that emanated from his great bulk so close to hers felt wonderful against her chilled form. Bianca moved close seeking his warmth, boldly splaying her hands over the wide expanse of his chest. A groan rumbled deep within his chest and before she realized what he was about, Draco abruptly sat down on the stone bench and pulled her on to his lap without giving her a chance to protest. Even if she had voiced such a protest, it would have been cut off as he lowered his head and his mouth captured her parted lips in a passionate kiss. Fortunately, she was not of a mind to set up any kind of resistance when she knew with all her heart that this was right where she wanted to be.

  She welcomed his kisses, returning them in kind as she wound her arms about his neck, thrusting her fingers into the silky hair at the nape of his neck to hold him captive. His lips moved over hers slanting, trying to find the perfect fit drawing a whimper of pleasure from her. When the wet tip of his tongue swept across the seal of her mouth, she opened for him relishing the taste of him.

  Draco cupped her face and rained small kisses over her eyes and cheeks, returning to her mouth.

  She relaxed farther into his embrace as he nipped at her lips with his teeth, teasing her, and then lapping the small sting with his tongue to comfort her. “You have no idea what you do to me, my beautiful Bianca.”

  His mouth slanted over hers again and again searching for a perfect fit as he whispered words of encouragement. “Yes, this is the way a man kisses a woman, sweeting. The lips are one on the most sensitive areas of the human body. What a man and a woman do with their mouths can heighten the carnal pleasure between them.” Even in her arousal, the exotic meaning of his words made her blush. It was evident that Lord Draco had had his share of intimate encounters over the years. Jealousy nipped at her for a moment before she pushed it away. The number of lovers he had taken in the past should be of no concern to her. At the moment he was hers, held tightly in her arms, his lips on hers.

  With a sigh, she relaxed in his arms and gave herself over to his loving. Encouraged, she tentatively rubbed her tongue against his, learning his taste and finding that she very much enjoyed this kind of kissing. It was so sensuous and arousing that she felt a sudden wetness between her legs and her breasts seemed to swell and peak, aching for his touch. Like a wanton, she writhed in his arms trying to find some relief for her condition.

  It was Draco who put an end to their tender tryst when he raised his head, effectively ending the kiss. “I want you more than you know, sweet lady.” His voice was low and hoarse as if he was in pain. His admission made so low that she nearly missed it as he touched his forehead to hers, cupping her cheek gently. “But this is neither the time nor the place to show you just how much.” He gently eased her off his lap and on to her feet as he rose to face her.

  “Draco?” Bianca sounded breathless and swayed dizzily on her feet. Her physical desires were riding her hard, her emotions in complete shambles. She took several deep breaths to steady herself as she realized what he had just admitted.

  He wanted her!

  But did that signify that he loved her? Mentally, Bianca shrugged. Obviously only time could give her the answer. Unfortunately, time was a fleeting commodity of which she had too little. Her father had given her until week’s end to get the great baron-knight to pledge his troth and the week was nearly over.

  Draco edged her out into the corridor, his large hand at the small of her back. “Come, sweet, before your maid returns to find out what has become of you.”

  Bianca placed her hand on his sleeve, hesitating to let him leave. She stole a quick glance at his face and discovered he watched her with a curious, arrogant expression on his face. It was obvious that he was well pleased with what had just transpired between them. Before she could object to his hasty dismissal, he gave her a quick peck on the lips and turned her in the direction her maid had disappeared and gave her a little push.

  “Go enjoy your hot bath, Bianca. I will see you at dinner.”

  But Bianca had not made it down to dinner.

  The drenching she had taken in the sudden thunderstorm left her with more than just a mere chill; it had bloomed into a case of grippe. Still she refused to take to her bed and have her maid fuss over her. It would have been only a matter of time before her stepmother found out she was ill. And then the woman would have accused her of trying to shirk her duties to the multitude of suitors who continued to arrive at the castle.

  That was the principle reason Bianca sluggishly made her way up the narrow staircase that led up to Galen’s sanctuary. A succession of dainty sneezes escaped her and echoed up around the spiraling granite walls as she slowly climbed the stairs. The jarring action caused shooting pain behind her eyes like a hammer striking a blacksmith’s anvil inside her head.

  Stopping for a brief moment, Bianca placed one fever-flushed cheek against the cool stone wall trying to suppress a moan of pain. She was now paying the consequence of being caught in the cold rain, but she would have endured worse for the enjoyment of Draco’s company. Perhaps it was God’s way of reminding her that she walked a very fine line between morality and sinfulness. But she considered Draco worth the suffering.

  Pushing herself away from the wall, Bianca trudged wearily on until she reached Galen’s door. There she knocked
faintly, wincing once again as the pounding reverberated throughout her head.

  “Come in.”

  She found Galen sitting at his small desk, writing in his journals. It was his habit to keep a journal of every patient he treated, writing down the signs and symptoms of each ailment, and his prescribed cure. He was very particular about this and scoffed at by other healers who did not take the time to do so. His journals were a means to educate himself and others who came looking for answers.

  “I feel like death, Galen.”

  Bianca spoke low as she eased herself into a chair cradling her aching head in her hands. The healer turned his head to look at her and he was on his feet at once, coming to kneel beside her. He pushed the mass of black silky hair that had fallen forward over her face. He placed his cool palm on her forehead and then her heated cheeks. Tsking, he stood back and peered down at her through his narrow spectacles.

  “You do have a decidedly morbid look about you. A bit pale with but a tinge of green about the gills, but hot to the touch.”

  “Are you laughing at me?” She tried to muster up enough force in her voice to give her words some heat, but she merely sounded nasal and drained.

  “No, my lady. What kind of doctor would I be if I mocked my patients?”

  “Now you’re just being condescending.”

  “What would you like me to be?”

  “How about being a little more sympathetic?” She looked at him with red-rimmed eyes.

  “If I give you too much sympathy, you would be more inclined to wallow in self-pity and that would not be at all good for your health.”

  Her unladylike snort was his only response.

  “Let me see what I have for your malady.” He riffled through his cupboard of herbs and potions, picking up first one bottle and then another until he found what he was looking for, and brought out a small pouch. “A little of this and you will feel more like yourself by this evening.” He opened the pouch and dropped a few pinches of the herbal concoction into a cup of wine, which he then handed to her. “Drink.”

  “What is it?” she asked scrunching up her face in distaste as she took a whiff of the vile-smelling redolence. The odor hit her even through her stuffed-up nose. It was definitely a potent brew.

  Galen had his back to her as he reorganized his cupboard. “It is best that you do not know. Just drink it down and you will begin feeling better in no time.”

  “I hope this works.” Bianca grumbled as she pinched her nose between the thumb and forefinger of one hand and tipped up the cup and quickly downed the medication nearly choking on the repulsive remedy. She gagged and fought to gain control of her stomach. She thought for a moment that Galen’s shoulders shook. Was he laughing at her? Surely not. But at that point, she was not in any condition to care.

  “I think I will return to my bed for the rest of the day. I need a little rest.”

  “That would probably be best. Take a long nap and you will feel more like yourself by evening.”

  “I truly hope so. I have matters to take care of that cannot wait any longer. Thank you, for your kindness, Galen.” Bianca smiled wanly at the old healer before making her way back down the tower stairs making for her room. She decided to take his advice and take a good long nap.

  * * * * *

  “Take that and that, villain.” The wooden sword thwacked against trees and slashed through shrubs as the aggressor pushed his imaginary foe farther and farther into the overgrown rose garden at the back of the curtain wall behind the keep.

  The only witnesses to his heroic battle were a couple of chattering squirrels and several outraged blue jays that scolded him fiercely for invading their quiet sanctuary. Theron ignored them as he clambered on until he had thoroughly vanquished his foe, finally driving the villain to the ground where he lay wounded, begging for mercy.

  It was while he stood debating on whether to grant the pretend scoundrel a pardon or not that he heard rustling in the bushes near the curtain wall behind him. His head came up as several startled birds above in the trees took to wing at the first sign of an intruder, shrieking a warning.

  Thinking that one of the maids had been sent to find him and feeling guilty about sneaking away from his assigned chores to play make-believe in the back garden, he ducked behind a large lilac tree and flattened himself to the ground.

  From there he watched as a strange man moved stealthily into the middle of the garden. He had an ominous appearance about him with his tall, broad-shouldered form covered in a long black cape, his face hidden beneath the cowl, which he had pulled up over his head to hide his identity.

  When the man suddenly stopped and glanced around in his direction, Theron thought he had been discovered and he held his breath as he waited, expecting to be called forth from his hiding place. But when nothing happened, he raised his head and peeked up over the tall grass to find that the mysterious stranger made his way along the side of the keep to disappear through the kitchen door.

  How odd. Perhaps it would be best if he followed the stranger just to keep an eye on him. By the looks of the fellow, he could very well be a spy! Or worse. A slow smile split Theron’s face. This could be his chance to repay the Dragon for his generosity. He would follow the man and determine what he was up to and then report his find to his master.

  Theron glanced back in the direction the man had come and hurried through the overgrown garden to the wall to discover how he had gained entry to the garden since there was only high curtain wall surrounding it. That was when he found the small gate hidden behind a gardener’s shed, old, with rusty hinges, little used, and forgotten until now.

  Sensing a good adventure, Theron ran across the garden and into the kitchen door. As he moved through the large room crowded with servants carrying about trays and tubs. He did not see the black cloaked man.

  “Here what are you doing in the kitchen, you little scoundrel? Get out to the stables and do your master’s bidding.” Theron ducked just before the hand of the cook’s assistant would have cuffed him alongside the head. He could have told the woman that he had very little to do until his wounds were healed but he noticed the doorway that led up the back stairs and he dodged the blow and ran for it. He nearly laughed out loud at the crash of a pot hitting the floor and the cook’s loud voice scolding her assistant for being so clumsy.

  Theron raced up the stairs, only slowing as he neared the second level of the keep to listen for footsteps ahead of him. On the stairs above, he could hear the light tread of booted feet taking the steps quickly. Theron moved up the steps as quiet as a cat, slowing occasionally to listen intently before he moved forward. When he made the fourth level of the keep he peered around the stair railing to see the hem of a black cloak disappear through a doorway down the corridor, the door clicking closed after it.

  Hesitating for but a moment, Theron crept on silent feet, his hand sliding along the cold stone wall. He had been on this floor several times, but the memory of the last time still gave him chills. He had accompanied his friend, Paul, who worked in the kitchen when he had been sent to deliver firewood to that very same room. At the time, he had thought it a lark to have the run of the Great Keep but he was quickly disillusioned.

  As he waited outside the door while Paul crept in and quickly dropped the wood near the fireplace and bolted for the door. He had grabbed Theron’s hand and pulled him down the stairs as fast as their feet would carry them. When they were safely hidden in the storeroom beneath the kitchen, a breathless Paul had explained why he had rushed them away from that particular room. There in the safety of the darkness beneath a heavy wooden table Paul had related a strange tale about the duchess being a witch. He said that she would occasionally use young boys in her strange rituals, cutting off their fingers and toes to make her witches’ brew. And if a boy was fortunate enough to escape her with those intact, he would be forever cursed by the evil eye she placed on him. As they squatted in the dark, shivering by the horrid thought, Theron was not sure wheth
er to believe his friend. But Paul had assured him that he had it on the good authority of Marie, who was the chambermaid of that level of the keep. It had been later, when Theron had actually met Marie, he realized she was only trying to scare Paul with her tales to keep him in his place.

  That was why Theron had not hesitated about making his way down the corridor now. He did not stop until he was right outside the door. With great caution, he stepped close and placed his ear to the keyhole and strained to hear what was being said on the other side of the door.

  * * * * *

  “Dear God in Heaven! What have you gone and done? You imbecile!” The harsh reprimand was tinged with shock at what Heloise had just witnessed. Even as the words left her mouth, her mind worked to discover a means to cover up the deed that her companion had performed with startling precision and brutality.

  “What was I supposed to do, Heloise? I had no choice. Would you rather that the little whelp had prattled on us? You know that he would have run straight to that blasted Black Dragon and told him what he had learned. He is the bastard’s little page, after all. If that occurred, what would have happened to your plotting and scheming?” Standing negligently against the wall next to the door, wiping the blood from his dagger, he watched distractedly through heavy-lidded eyes as the duchess frantically worked to clean up the blood that now stained the floor of her private chambers.

  “You could have chosen a less messy means to achieve the same end.”

  “Perhaps you could recommend a good poison.”

  His sarcastic barb hit home as the buxom noblewoman flushed red and then lost all color as she realized that her partner in crime knew more than she would have liked. Heloise, Duchess de Neige, could not afford to be connected to a murder at this point in her schemes. She shot him a look that said more than words how much she disliked his sarcasm.