Sharon Schulze - L'eau Clair Chronicles 03 Page 8

  “He can be dangerous. He’s not a pet, like a dog.”

  She smiled as she continued to rub the beast’s velvety muzzle.

  “But he’s so gentle. What is his name?”

  Surprisingly, the animal seemed to enjoy her attention.

  Of course, he’d enjoy it, too, if she was stroking him like that. If the beast tolerated it, where was the harm?

  “It’s ridiculous,” he said wryly.

  “My sister named him Mouse.”

  ““Tis a good name,” she said. She murmured to Mouse, too softly for Ian to hear, then looked up at Ian and smiled.

  “He likes it, I think.”

  Didn’t she know anything about horses? Mayhap she didn’t, he reminded himself. She’d told him that her entire life had been spent within the abbey. Most likely the largest animal she’d seen there was a cow.

  But it was amazing to see her treat this war-beast as if he were as docile as some farmer’s milk cow. Evidently the stallion’s size didn’t frighten her.

  Did anything?

  He’d be better off to stop wondering about her, thinking about her, But he might as well tell his brain to cease working. She’d managed to worm her way into his mind.

  He couldn’t make her leave; in all honesty, he wouldn’t have, even if he could.

  “Come, we’ll eat on the way,” he told her. He rummaged in the saddlebag again and handed her a hunk of cheese and half a round of dark bread, then hoisted her onto Mouse’s back.

  Once they were moving, she broke the cheese and bread into pieces for each of them, then handed him his.

  “Are we going back to Dolwyddelan?” she asked before she bit into her share.

  “Are you daft? Why would I free you from Siwardson, only to turn you over to Llywelyn again?” Didn’t she realize who had ordered the Viking to take her away?

  By Christ, he was an idiot! He should have discovered where Siwardson had been taking her. It wouldn’t have changed his own plan—if he could call the unformed thoughts floating through his head a plan—but perhaps if he’d known, it would have given him a bit more information about Llywelyn’s intentions. It was too late now.

  Or was it?

  “Did Siwardson mention where he was taking you?”

  “No. Just that I’d be safe there.” She munched on her food for a moment, then asked, “Why wouldn’t I be safe in Llywelyn’s keep—or anywhere else, for that matter?

  Safe from what? I almost wish I hadn’t gone there.” She looked up at him from beneath her lashes.

  “Almost.”

  Ian fought against the temptation to lose himself in the depths of Lily’s eyes, instead forcing himself to scan their surroundings until she returned her attention to her food.

  Silence reigned until they finished eating and he nudged Mouse to a faster gait.

  “I believe that Llywelyn is trying to keep you away from me.”

  She turned to meet his gaze head-on, her green eyes assessing.

  “Are you a threat to me, Dragon?”

  “I could be,” he growled.

  “But I don’t think that’s why Llywelyn wants to keep us apart. There’s something about you he’d like to keep hidden—from me, at least.

  He doesn’t usually act this way with me, but I’ve seen him do it to others often enough to recognize the signs. I just don’t know why.”

  “Whatever his reasons, I’m glad he didn’t succeed. I didn’t fear Swen, but I didn’t trust him, either. I know you won’t allow anyone to harm me,” she said.

  “And I won’t permit any harm to come to you.”

  Startled, he watched her expression. He could see that she meant what she’d said, although how she could protect him, he did not know. She’d heard his reputation—much of it exaggeration, true, but close enough to reality.

  “How is it you don’t fear me?”

  “You are a good man, Dragon.” She met his skeptical look with a smile.

  “I’m not stupid. I realize you’ve done things that would make most people shake with fear. But you don’t frighten me—I know there’s more to you than the deeds you’ve done. You did them for a reason, I imagine.

  A good reason. Who am I to question your judgment?”

  Ian glanced away first. How did she know these things?

  How did she know so much about him? There were times when he couldn’t understand how anyone could bear to be in his presence, including his own flesh and blood. He didn’t blame people for their reaction to him; he expected nothing less.

  But Lily’s unquestioning loyalty and trust made him quake inside. He didn’t deserve it, nor her.

  It was past time he reminded himself of that fact.

  Perhaps he’d bring her to l’Eau Clair, he decided, though not immediately. Llywelyn might expect him to go to ground there with his cousin Gillian, or to Ashby with his sister Catrin.

  But first he’d find a place to lie low for a while, until he had a chance to meet with Dai. Only when armed with more information about this mystery woman—this woman who made the powerful Llywelyn nervous—could he decide whether Lily might be a danger to the others.

  The cave! Well hidden in the remote hills, yet not too far from Ashby, l’Eau Clair and his own manor at Gwal Draig, he could think of no better place. It had served Catrin and Nicholas well as a shelter after they were attacked by outlaws. He’d be able to track down Dai, and obtain supplies from home. Best of all, no one but his family knew of it.

  Lily would be safe there.

  Toad made his way through the passageway with ease, despite the lack of light. Dark or light, it mattered not.

  He’d traversed these hidden corridors and stairs so many times the past few months, every detail remained etched upon his brain.

  He found it amazing how the mind and body could adapt themselves to any situation. When he considered the injuries that had resulted in his crippled state, he marveled that he’d survived at all. But the mind trapped within this hideous shell remained unchanged; if anything, it had grown sharper, more keen and alert.

  Only thus could he endure this taste of hell.

  He’d triumph in the end, show all his slowwitted kin how wrong they’d been to underestimate him. They were so stupid, they believed him dead. Couldn’t they see what frequently stood right in front of them?

  How he wanted to laugh when they walked by him, looked past him, turned away from the ugly thing he’d become.

  He would laugh one day, when the tides of power turned and he regained all he’d lost—and more. Skulking through the walls like a rat, listening to Llywelyn’s plots and dreams. For endless months he’d waited, at times impatiently, for the proper opportunity to come along.

  And now he’d reap the rewards.

  She was so beautiful, the girl called Lily. Far more lovely than the woman he’d nearly made his bride. He laughed, the near-silent sound rich with satisfaction. Aye, Lily would suit him better. Since she’d never left the abbey till now, he had little doubt of her purity The Viking wouldn’t touch her, for fear of Llywelyn’s anger, and Toad knew well that the Drag n had little to do with women–other than his hell-born bitch of a sister.

  If only he’d had a chance… He shook off the old anger. It availed him nothing to think of what might have been. Instead, he must look to the future, to the girl Llywelyn had protected so well all these years. How the prince would howl when he learned his plans were all for naught.

  Toad would have the last laugh, when Lily was his.

  Swell awoke to find bright sunlight blinding him. He closed his eyes quickly, but it didn’t seem to matter. His skull still felt as though it had been pierced by a razor sharp dagger.

  Probably his own.

  His band and feet were numb, and his backside was cold and damp. Where was he?

  He forced one eye open a crack, just enough to catch a glimpse of his surroundings. What he saw made him damn the consequences and risk opening both eyes again.

  It felt as if Thor
’s hammer kept pounding on his head, but he ignored the pain as memory came flooding back.

  Lily.

  And the Dragon.

  Trust Lord Ian to truss him up like a holiday goose around a spit! He tested the bindings tied about his wrists and ankles. Aye, he could break them, but not without skewering himself a thousand times, at least, on the thorny bush he sat wrapped around.

  Since he always appreciated a good joke, even when he was the butt of it, he had to chuckle at the picture he must present. He never would have imagined that the Dragon had a sense of humor. He hadn’t seen any evidence of it in his time at Llywelyn’s court.

  Perhaps Lily made him laugh, made him more than a humorless man bent upon nothing but carrying out Llywelyn’s law. From what he’d seen of the woman, she was worth fighting for. He flexed his aching jaw and grimaced.

  Hell, she was even worth a beating, when it came down to it. Clearly, the Dragon thought so, he’d taken his share of abuse in their battle.

  He must care for the girl deeply, to go against Llywelyn’s wishes. In his admittedly brief acquaintance with the Dragon, Swen hadn’t seen any sign that the Welshman might defy his prince—or deny him anything.

  Swen slipped his hands free of the cord that bound them, heaving a huge sigh of relief. Perhaps it was just as well that Ian had beaten him and taken the girl away.

  She would have remained safe in his care on their journey, but who could say what might have occurred once he handed her over at their destination? Llywelyn hadn’t seen fit to share his plans for her with Swen—he’d simply taken advantage of a convenient ally to perform a messy job.

  Look at the situation he’d gotten himself into!

  Llywelyn’s promise of the trade concessions Swen had been seeking had sounded too good to be tree. The “simple favor” the prince required of him in return had turned out to be anything but simple.

  Swen had come to Wales at his father’s behest, hoping for adventure; instead, he had discovered how slow and boring trade negotiations could be. Any chance that Llywelyn would uphold his end of the bargain had disappeared the moment Swen lost possession of Lily.

  But he couldn’t regret that he’d taken on the task. In fighting the Dragon, he’d finally gained what he’d wanted all his life.

  Excitement. Challenge. Adventure.

  All he had to do was convince the Dragon to take him on as one of his men.

  Swen looked up, then burst into laughter again at the sight of his gear draped over the branches above his head.

  Evidently the Dragon didn’t intend his escape to be too easy.

  if Lord Ian wanted a head start on him, he had it. But in the long run, it would not matter. Swen would find him.

  He trusted the Dragon to get Lily away, to keep her safe.

  Swen had done as Llywelyn asked, so far as he was able. But he had no intention of collecting on the debt Llywelyn now owed him.

  Now he would do whatever he could to help the Dragon keep Lily safe.

  From everyone.

  Ian pushed Mouse as hard as he dared, considering that the poor beast carried a double burden. At times, rough terrain kept them to a walk, but they managed to cover a remarkable distance in spite of it.

  He estimated it might be several days before they reached the cave, especially since he planned to avoid settled areas. The farther they remained from civilization, the better their chance of evading Llywelyn’s men. Ian knew it was only a matter of time before Swen freed himself and returned to Dolwyddelan to report that he’d lost possession of Lily; even if the Viking didn’t go to Llywelyn right away, there was always the risk that the prince might learn that Ian hadn’t gone to Rhys’s keep.

  Ian looked down at Lily’s hair, savoring the way the setting sun gilded the coppery stands. He dropped a light kiss on the top of her head—scarcely touching her—and settled her sleeping body more comfortably in his arms.

  He couldn’t imagine what it took for her to remain so uncomplaining. His sister Catrin would have harried him nigh unto death if he’d dared to drag her across northern Wales at this headlong pace, and he’d have deserved every word. He was no gentleman, he knew it well, but he did what he had to do. What good were courtly manners if you were dead?

  Since the light was fading, he dismounted, carrying Lily with him, and placed her on his cloak under a tree while he tethered Mouse, then scouted the area for a spot to make camp for the night.

  A stream flowed nearby, and deadwood enough for a small fire lay scattered beneath the trees. He gathered fir boughs and built a small shelter before Lily stirred.

  She appeared confused for a moment, but then she caught sight of him watching her and smiled.

  “How could you let me sleep when there was so much to do?” she asked, attempting to rise.

  One of her legs buckled beneath her, but she reached for the tree trunk beside her, pulled herself up and leaned back against it. ““Tis most unfair for you to do all the work. You must be weary. Sit and rest, milord. I’ll prepare our food.”

  “There’s precious little to prepare,” he told her. He came to her side and urged her to sit, but she would have none of it.

  “I set some snares, so perhaps we’ll catch a rabbit before we starve.” He dropped down on the cloak, leaving plenty of space for her beside him as he lounged there. Though she appeared reluctant, she sat down on the edge of the material.

  “Come, I’ve bread and cheese.”

  She shook her head.

  “Nay, you eat it. I’m not used to eating much, anyway.”

  He picked up her hand and slapped a piece of bread onto it.

  “I was joking, Lily. There’s nothing to cook right now, but we’ve enough food. You needn’t go hungry,” he told her, exasperated by her self-sacrifice.

  She nibbled at the crust, but seemed uneasy.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Are you worried about spending the night here? I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

  Tossing aside the bread, she leaned toward him.

  “I

  made the trek from Saint Winifred’s to Dolwyddelan by myself.” The flush on her cheeks looked as hot as her voice sounded.

  “Do you think I’d be concerned about something so unimportant as that?”

  He felt properly chastened. He hadn’t meant to insult her courage. God knew, he’d seen evidence of it often enough. But it had been a valid concern.

  “Then what is it?”

  She reached out and placed her hand along his jaw, absently running her fingers over several days’ growth of dark whiskers. He clenched his teeth against his body’s immediate reaction, but he didn’t push that caressing hand away.

  “I’m worried about you.” She lowered her gaze to a spot somewhere in the vicinity of his chest.

  “You shouldn’t have come after me, Ian. I must be exceptionally thick-skinned, for I didn’t think of this till now. But Llywelyn will be very angry that you took me from Swen, won’t he? That night in your room, I could see that he wanted you to have nothing to do with me.”

  He’d hoped she wouldn’t realize that, at least not so soon. But he didn’t regret a thing he’d done, nor a moment of the time he’d spent with her.

  “It’s not your concern,” he said evenly.

  She straightened and moved her hand away from his face.

  “How can you say that? You should send me back to Dolwyddelan immediately, or at least take me back to Saint Winifred’s. I cannot begin to guess what Llywelyn intends for me, but I don’t want you involved. I don’t want him to blame you for helping me. For some reason, he sees me as a threat. Why else would he continue to lock me away?”

  “The first time was my decision. I could have lodged you in the keep, I suppose, though I really didn’t have any place for you, but I sent you to the cell, as I would have a man who’d done what you had.”

  “I knew that. And I expected no less, when I decided to scale the wall.” Her face looked soft and forgiving
in the firelight.

  “It was a risk I chose to take. But the other time—we both know he was the one who sent me into the vaults.” She slid closer and touched his face again.

  “And you cannot deny how angry he was, Ian. Although I’d never seen him before, ‘twas clear to me he was not pleased to have you interfere.”

  Trying to ignore the heat flowing between them, he laid his hand over hers and held it still. Instead, she traced a fingertip over the outline of his lips.

  He sat up swiftly.

  “Are you doing that on purpose?”

  he snarled.

  “What?” She looked confused—and adorable.

  “Touching me–tempting me.” He grabbed her hand and held it tight.

  “Do you realize what it does to a man when a beautiful woman touches him, pets him?”

  “I meant no harm—” “The harm will be to you, Lily, if you continue. Do you think I’m made of stone?” he asked as he released her.

  “You would never harm me! How dare you say that!”

  She reached out to him again, but didn’t touch.

  “I thought you liked it when I touched you.”

  “Aye, I like it,” he admitted.

  “Far too much.” He took her hand in his once more.

  “Don’t you understand what comes after the kissing, the touching? By Christ, Lily, if you keep that up, yOU’re apt to find yourself flat on your back with me between your legs before you even realize what I’m about.”

  It was difficult to see her expression in the firelight, but he didn’t think she understood. Otherwise, she’d have moved as far away from him as she could by now.

  “I want you, Lily, as a man wants a woman. Feel what you do to me.” He pushed her hand down, pressing her palm over his swollen manhood. Perhaps this would shock her into keeping her distance.

  If it didn’t kill him first.

  Ian knew he’d made a mistake even before she moved her fingers, Shaping his aching hardness in an innocent caress. Innocent or not, that simple touch threatened to send him over the edge. He’d hadn’t felt so near to spilling his seed with so little provocation since he’d taken his first woman.

  “I didn’t realize,” she said, wriggling her fingers again.