Heart Of The Dragon

But although she should probably fear that side of him, it intrigued her.

Especially since he’d kissed her.

She sensed he’d held himself in check—his touch had been quite gentle—but she’d felt a wildness simmering on the edge of her awareness.

That might have been nothing more than a reflection of the heat that bubbled through her veins at the mere thought of his lips touching hers. He drew her to him by means of some invisible thread—a look, a touch, all it took to make her want to return to his arms.

No doubt he’d be horrified if he knew. She was naught but a stranger to him, ignorant of men and women, no one of importance.

And he was Llywelyn’s Dragon.

She’d know better the next time her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. The first time, she could pass off as an accident; if she did it again, he’d know her for a fool.

With luck, she’d find out what she needed to know soon, perhaps on the morrow. Then she’d be on her way.

And the Dragon need never know how he’d singed her heart.

Chapter Five (#ulink_c51d42b2-0e89-5396-8789-5490739ac344)

Once again Lily waited outside the Dragon’s chamber while he found his key, then turned it in the lock. But this time he kept her behind him when he slipped through the door into the dark room, his dagger in one hand, the other wrapped about the hilt of his sword.

She wondered at his caution, until he shoved her backward as the room filled with light. She fell sideways into the corridor, landing on the floor and bumping her head against the stone wall. Though her head reeled, she sat up and groped for the lantern to use as a weapon. Before she got a good grip on the handle, someone wrenched it from her hand. She glared up at the soldier, then slumped back against the doorway.

The Dragon slashed wildly at two armed men and laid open the face of one with his knife. As the fighter spun away, a voice cried, “Hold, Ian! Would you murder our own people?”

Lily blinked to clear her foggy vision. Lord Ian slowly lowered his sword and stepped closer to her. “Nay, milord,” he said. Without turning to face her, he reached down to help her to her feet. She took his hand and pulled herself up beside him. He gestured to the four guards in the room, meeting the wounded man’s glare with a mirthless smile. “Do you threaten us?”

The speaker came toward them from the shadowy end of the room. Though dressed no differently than the others, he wore authority as if it were a mantle. He could only be Llywelyn, prince of Wales.

She couldn’t interpret the look he sent the Dragon, but she knew it didn’t bode well for him. “I see she didn’t leave after all,” Llywelyn said with a wry smile. “Clearly someone made a mistake—a costly one for him, I’m sure.”

The Dragon sheathed his sword, but kept his dirk in his hand. “No doubt,” he agreed. “Mistakes happen.”

Llywelyn moved closer. His gaze swept over her, taking her measure, then staring into her eyes. She couldn’t tell if she passed muster, or if he found her lacking. But she refused to back down or look away first. It was a relief when he ceased his scrutiny and returned his attention to the Dragon.

“Trust you to find her before any knew she was missing, Ian. I’ve always known I could count on you for anything,” Llywelyn said. He motioned to one of his men. “Take this woman to her quarters. ‘Tis too late to discuss anything of importance now.” When the Dragon stepped forward, he added, “She’ll be perfectly safe, Ian. You’ve done your duty. ‘Tis no longer your concern. I’ve other work for you.”

Lily placed her hand on the Dragon’s arm and looked earnestly at Llywelyn. She couldn’t understand why he refused to meet her gaze. “Milord, I don’t wish—”

At Llywelyn’s nod, the guard took her by the elbow, tugging her away from her protector and out of the room. Ian turned to watch as they led her away, his expression unreadable.

Outwardly calm, Ian watched the two men lead Lily away. But inside he seethed with fury, a fury he did not intend to show Llywelyn.

He needed to tread warily. By looking for Lily after Llywelyn told him she’d left, he’d already committed a grave error. He didn’t wish to compound his mistake now.

The results were too important.

Llywelyn had made a mistake, as well, and Ian had caught him out.

Llywelyn knew something about her, something he wanted to keep hidden.

The trick would be to discover that secret—and soon.

With a nod toward the door, the prince ordered the other men from the room. Ian closed the door and leaned against it, waiting for the ax to fall.

He didn’t have long to wait.

Llywelyn stood tall, an imposing figure, though he didn’t intimidate Ian. He’d committed too many sins in Llywelyn’s name—the other man owed him too much. But Ian wasn’t a fool. He knew how easily a powerful man’s favor could turn to vengeance.

“What were you about, Ian? Do you doubt my word now, that you must go behind my back and foul my plans? If I thought you needed to know where the girl was, I would have told you.”

Thus he gave himself away. Ian hid his satisfaction, and sought the words to free himself from this coil. “I understand that, milord. And I didn’t doubt you. But I hear things from many sources. Word reached me that led me to believe you’d been given false information. I merely wished to verify what I’d heard. There’s no harm done. She’s back in your possession, to do with as you will.”

For the moment, Ian added to himself.

Llywelyn eyed him assessingly. He evidently passed muster. Ian saw nothing but approval in the other man’s expression. “Very well. ’Tis forgotten. Besides, I have need of your expertise in the trouble with my nephew Rhys. He’s begun making noise about reclaiming his lands. I want you to find him, make him understand my position before he goes too far. I’d rather not be forced to harm my own kin,” he added, his gaze steady. “Leave as soon as you can, and take as long as you need to make him see reason. We’ll manage fine until you return.” He nodded and headed for the door.

“As you wish, milord,” Ian said, opening the door and bowing as Llywelyn walked past.

His movements slow, he pushed the door closed, then turned the key in the lock. He stared at the worthless piece of metal, then heaved it across the room.

Damnation! It didn’t do much good to lock the door when someone else had a key.

He couldn’t have done worse tonight if he tried. Now Llywelyn had taken Lily away. If Llywelyn tried to hide her again, Ian could be certain he wouldn’t find her this time, unless Llywelyn allowed him to. And that wasn’t likely to happen.

By the time he returned from placating Rhys, she’d be so well hidden, he’d never find her. Assuming, of course, that they let her live. Considering where he’d found her, that was not a certainty.

Weary beyond belief, he removed his sword and dagger and placed them within easy reach before he stripped off his clothes and fell into bed. He didn’t even bother to douse the light, hoping the brightness burning through his eyelids would show him whatever clue he kept missing.

Letting his mind drift, it filled immediately with images of Lily. He would never forget the expression of joy on her face when he’d opened the door to her cell. Again that jolt of familiarity assailed him, the sense that the knowledge he sought hovered just beyond his reach.

Her smile lingered, and he focused on it, the way her green eyes glowed, the slight tilt of her lips at one corner…

He sat bolt upright. He knew that smile, had seen it a thousand times before. When he added the green eyes and coppery hair—similar, but not quite the same—he truly thought he’d gone mad.

What he had in mind was impossible. There was no way that Lily could be related to Gillian de l’Eau Clair FitzClifford, marcher baroness.

His cousin.

The soldiers hustled Lily across the bailey and into the keep itself. She followed where they led; ‘twas the least she could do, since this time they hadn’t bound or gagged her. She scarcely had the energy to walk, let alone try to escape. Besides, running would avail her nothing, for she had nowhere left to go.

She returned the stares of the revelers they met on the stairway. Never had she seen such fine clothes, nor so many people the worse for drink. Several women, their bliauts laced so tight she could have seen a flea bound beneath them, smiled invitingly at the guards and frowned at her.

It was a relief when they stopped outside a chamber at the top of the stairs. She almost didn’t care where they put her, so long as it was bright and warm. And if they brought her food, as well, she’d think she’d gone to heaven.

They unlocked the door and motioned for her to enter. A maid followed her in and placed a tray on a stool next to the straw pallet. A chamber pot in the corner completed the furnishings.

The maid and one of the guards left. The other guard kindled a lamp hanging next to the door. “Stay quiet and give us no trouble,” he said gruffly before pulling the door closed.