Heart Of The Dragon

She heard the key turn in the lock with a curious sense of pleasure. This, her third prison of the day, was certainly the best appointed. It met her simple requirements amply.

She’d already noticed that there was no window in this door, so she availed herself of the facilities with a sigh of relief. There was even a ewer of water, she scrubbed off as much of the past few days’ filth as she could before investigating the contents of the tray.

‘Twas simple fare, coarse bread and hard cheese, with a mug of warm ale. To Lily it seemed manna from heaven. She savored every bite, setting aside half, lest they bring her nothing on the morrow. Besides, after the scanty meals she’d had the past few weeks, her stomach could bear no more.

More comfortable than she’d been since her mother’s death, she settled on the pallet to mull over everything that had happened. She’d believed that coming to Dolwyddelan would give her answers; instead, she had more questions than before. But she couldn’t regret that she’d come here, despite her sojourn in the bowels of the castle.

She couldn’t regret meeting the Dragon.

Absently working her fingers through her tangled hair, she tried to think, but her brain reeled with exhaustion and confusion, not to mention the lump still swelling on the side of her head.

She needed sleep to clear her mind. Only then could she make sense of everything.

But she’d no sooner closed her eyes than she heard the rattle of a key in the door.

Sweet Mary, what did they want now? Had they permitted her the luxury of refreshing herself, of food and drink, only to drag her back to the pit? If that was their plan, she would not go.

She’d been too compliant, not wishing to anger Llywelyn. By God, what more could he ask? She refused to go against her nature any longer.

When the door swung open, she stood ready with the tray, prepared to knock her jailer over the head, if need be. She hit the man in the head three times before he managed to wrest it from her, although she inflicted little damage.

“Leave me be!” she shrieked. “All I want is a decent night’s rest! I’ll go wherever you wish tomorrow!”

He held her wrists in one meaty hand, making a mockery of her struggles. “You’ll do as I wish, girl, else you’ll pay for it.” He chuckled, the sound resonating from deep within his massive chest. “They told me you were a quiet thing, and meek. Ha! What do those Welsh bastards know? Puny little runts, most of them, with brains to match.”

Lily stared up into his face, intrigued by his strange looks and accent—and intimidated by his sheer size. He towered over her. Hair so fair it looked almost white hung past his shoulders, and his eyes gleamed an icy blue in his deeply tanned face. Even his clothing was odd, the fur-and-skin tunic leaving his arms and part of his chest bare. Despite his forbidding mien, laugh lines crinkled the corners of his eyes; indeed, he was smiling down at her now, clearly amused by her meager show of rebellion.

“Who are you?” she asked. And, more important to her—why was he here? He couldn’t be Welsh. What business could he have with her?

“I am called Swen Siwardson. Your prince sent me to take you to your new home. Here,” he said, releasing her and tossing a bundle on the bed, “I have brought you proper clothes.” His gaze swept her from head to toe. “Though I like what you wear now well enough.”

He made her feel awkward—naked—in her tunic and leggings. Turning away, she wrapped her arms about herself for a moment, then unfolded the packet.

It contained an underdress of linen, softened by many washings, and a faded wool bliaut. Though well-worn, they smelled clean. Lily held them up—they should fit, with room to spare.

But she still didn’t intend to go anywhere.

“You put them on, then we will leave,” Swen told her. He stood in front of the door and, drawing his dagger, flipped it through the air. It landed, quivering, in the opposite wall.

“Would you go out into the hallway to wait?” she asked when she found her voice. If he’d done that trick to intimidate her, it had worked.

“Nay. You get dressed now.” He crossed the room in three strides and retrieved his knife. “We must be far from here before dawn.” Another flick of the wrist, and he sent the blade into the wall just past her head.

He’d made his point. Hands shaking, Lily picked up the undertunic and pulled it over her head, then, using the roomy garment as if it were a tent, slipped out of her old clothes.

She had trouble lacing up the bliaut, but what did it matter, so long as she didn’t trip over the excess fabric? At least Swen didn’t watch her dress—not so she could tell, anyway. The thought of traveling to some unknown destination with him frightened her, but she didn’t seem to have a choice. She might as well go with him willingly; he looked capable of killing her with his bare hands. He’d probably enjoy it, too.

After she gathered the Dragon’s cloak about her, she ripped a square of material from her shirt and wrapped the extra food to take with her, then joined Swen by the door.

Reaching into a pouch at his waist, Swen pulled out a slender piece of rope. Sweet Mary save her, but she was growing tired of this! She remained silent while he took her bundle of food, then bound her wrists. He picked up her torn shirt from the floor and eyed her consideringly. “You going to be quiet, or do I need to tie your mouth, too?”

“I won’t say a word, I swear,” she assured him.

He nodded, a grin on his face. “Good. But it won’t matter if you do. No one will hear you where we’re going.” Swen moved to the wall and shoved at one of the wooden panels. It slid open to reveal a dark, gaping passage. “Come on, then, girl.”

Grabbing her by the rope wound about her wrists, he drew her into the wall with him, and they plunged into darkness.

She would never forget her journey with Swen so long as she lived. The man didn’t understand how it felt to be tired, he just plodded along and carried her with him, alternately bullying her and encouraging her to keep her moving. They traveled through the passageway seemingly for hours before they emerged from a rocky outcropping well outside the castle walls. No one would even know she’d left, unless they came looking for her.

Since no one had seen them leave, how long might it be before that happened?

A horse stood tethered in a copse of trees, loaded with several small packs, awaiting their arrival. After checking the area to be sure they were alone, Swen tossed her into the saddle, then climbed up behind her.

He held her steady before him, but she didn’t like his arm wrapped around her waist, nor his body pressed against her back. He was larger and more muscular than the Dragon, but she’d far rather have had that enigmatic Welsh lord holding her close than this blond giant.

However, she didn’t have a choice.

Looking back over his shoulder, Lily caught her last glimpse of Dolwyddelan Castle as the moon set behind the towers. Would she ever see it—or the Dragon— again?

That question haunted her as they jogged along, both man and horse apparently tireless. Lily fought sleep as long as she could; once the sun rose, she concentrated on taking note of anything unusual along the way. If she managed to escape Swen, she needed to know the route back to Dolwyddelan.

Not if, she reminded herself firmly as she stifled another yawn. When. When an opportunity to escape presented itself, she must take it. Her chances of getting away—and staying out of his reach—were much better here in the hills and forest than they’d be once he locked her up again.

If Swen hadn’t been her captor, she’d likely have found him an amusing companion. He loved to talk, and it didn’t seem to matter whether she answered him or not. He just kept up a steady stream of comment, his deep voice droning on in her ear until she could ignore him no longer.

“I don’t know where you’re from, but do all people in your homeland talk as much as you?” she asked in exasperation.

He chuckled. “Not all, but most. My home is far north of the Frankish lands. ’Tis cold there much of the year, not like this place. In winter the nights are very long. We like to gather round the fire, drink ale and tell stories. Much like your Welsh bards, only merrier.”

Here was a chance to quench her insatiable thirst for news of foreign places. “You miss it.” She heard it in his voice.

“Aye.”

“Then why have you come here?” She looked back at his face. “Why are you doing this?”

His expression told her nothing. What made men so inscrutable? She found it far easier to read women’s faces, though perhaps ‘twas only that she’d had more practice.

She poked him in the gut with her elbow. He grunted, but appeared unharmed. “You cannot go silent on me now,” she chided. “Do you owe Llywelyn a debt? Or has he offered you riches? I don’t understand why he wants me locked away. It makes no sense, since I cannot possibly be of any value to him, but nothing that’s happened since I scaled the castle wall has—”

“You climbed the wall?” He gave a muffled grunt of laughter. “I would like to have seen that. Did you make it all the way up?”

“Almost. The Dragon pulled me over the top of the wall.”

Grabbing her chin in his callused palm, he turned her head and stared down at her face. Finally he shook his head. “Quiet and meek! Llywelyn’s men are fools. And I worried that this would be an easy task, boring, a waste of my talents. I will need to watch you carefully,” he said. A wide smile split his face. “Good.”

Lily jerked free of his hand and turned her back to him. That slip of the tongue would cost her dearly. The last thing she wanted was Swen watching her more closely; those pale eyes already saw too much. Beneath his affable mien a sharp mind—and a dangerous man. She’d been a fool to underestimate him.

Exhaustion made her mind too dull to focus on anything important now. Instead, she badgered Swen for more information about his home. Finally, his deep voice rumbling in her ear, she drifted off to sleep.