Heart Of The Dragon

His face told her nothing, but what did his opinion of his master matter to her? She had run Llywelyn to ground at Dolwyddelan, climbed the curtain wall and survived. Relief weakened her already shaky knees. She plopped down on the stool. “Saints be praised,” she said, smiling.

Ian stared. Her smile transformed her face, and her green eyes appeared lit from within. Although dirty streaks still covered her cheeks, she looked happy. And beautiful.

Christ on the cross, had he turned into a besotted fool? He shifted his gaze to the narrow beam of sunlight streaming through a slit high in the wall. Somehow, this woman had addled his brain.

But he refused to give in to the temptation she presented. The image of a strong, unified Wales rose in his mind, the shrine he worshiped above all others. He’d likely given up all hope of heaven, of family and a life of his own, to attain that goal. A mere slip of a woman would not keep him from it.

He’d ignored far more compelling distractions, he reminded himself as he forced himself to look at her again.

Her smile had disappeared. Perhaps God’s light still shone upon him, after all.

“Would you plead my case, milord?” she asked. “It truly is important. I’d never have tried so hard to see him, otherwise.”

What harm could there be in it? Christ knew, she’d shown more valor than many a noble warrior. She’d earned her chance to speak—to him, at least. “I’ll hear what you have to say.”

“Thank you, sir.” Lily settled herself on the stool, her spine straight as an arrow, despite the fact that she had to ache like the devil. “I searched for the prince for more than a fortnight, though it seems as though my quest had gone on forever.”

“Where have you come from?”

“I’ve lived in the abbey of Saint Winifred all my life. My mother and I were boarders there.”

“What is your mother about, to permit you to wander the countryside alone?” He began to revise his initial opinion of her. No one of low degree boarded at an abbey, especially an abbey as wealthy as Saint Winifred’s. And her speech carried the refined tones of the nobility. His wits had gone begging. He should have noticed that immediately.

“My mother is dead, milord, this month past.” She made the sign of the cross. “May God grant her peace.” She closed her eyes, sadness etched upon her face.

Perhaps grief at her mother’s death had confused her, sent her upon this senseless journey. “Surely you must have family,” he said, ignoring the way her eyes had filled with tears—-just as they had last night. “Someone must have paid the abbey to keep you. The Church’s charity doesn’t stretch that far.”

Lily shook her head and met his gaze. She believed what she told him, he could see it. And no cloud of madness or confusion tainted the clear emerald of her eyes. “The abbess, Sister Maud, swore my mother was the only family I had. And that our board had been paid, and would continue to be paid, by a benefactor unknown to her.”

“Surely the bishop—”

“I sought him out first of all, once I’d escaped the confines of the abbey.”

“Escaped? They had no right to hold you,” Ian said. The more she told him, the less he understood. Nothing she’d said made sense.

She stood up, slipped his cloak from her shoulders and placed it carefully on the stool. “There are many ways to hold someone close by without making them a prisoner, Dragon. The sisters never locked me up. They simply made certain I had no opportunity to leave.” A winsome smile lit her face. “But I used their own ways against them. All my life they sought to school me to patience. So I bided my time and lulled their suspicions. Eventually a chance arose and I took it.” She laughed. “I truly doubt they care that I am gone—I’ve been a trial to them since I first learned to speak.”

He could imagine it. “What did the bishop say?”

She paced the narrow confines of the cell before she replied. “I never saw the bishop himself. But his clerk assured me the bishop knew nothing about my situation. And I could scarce return to Saint Winifred’s to question the abbess. I’d never get away again.”

When would she come to the point? He could have growled with frustration, but he pushed the feeling deep. If only he had patience, he’d learn what he wanted to know—sooner or later.

But he had more important things to do than listen to a mysterious young woman recount her meandering tale. “How does Llywelyn fit into this? He isn’t a patron of Saint Winifred’s, I know that for a fact. And I doubt even he has the power to force the bishop to tell you anything.” Straightening, he crossed the room and stood before her. “What is it you want from Llywelyn?”

“I think he knows who I am.”

Ian shook his head in disbelief and bit back a laugh. “Do you think the prince so powerful he knows all— and everyone—within his domain? I cannot believe God himself has such dominion.”

Lily looked at him as if he, and not she, were the fool. “While my mother lay close to death, I could swear I heard one of the sisters ask another if they should send word to Llywelyn. When I mentioned it to the abbess, she turned my question around and never gave me an answer. That way she did not have to lie, if it were true. Sister Maud prides herself on her honesty,” she added, her voice scornful.

She held her hand out to him in supplication. “My mother was all I had, though she rarely knew me. I have nowhere else to turn, milord, and nothing left to lose. I am tired of being alone. All I want is to find some place where I belong.”

That, he could understand. It did not bother him to be on his own, but he also had his sister, Catrin, and his cousin Gillian, to turn to when he tired of his own company. And Llywelyn was his kinsman, as well as his overlord.

He chose to live a solitary life. Lily didn’t have that choice.

“Is there anything else I should know? Your mother’s name, at least—you must know that.”

“Nay. Everyone called her ‘milady.’ I never heard her name.” She sighed. “You must understand—she lived in a world all her own, a world filled with people who didn’t exist. I believe ‘twas why she’d been sent to the abbey. No one wanted to care for her, most like. But she wasn’t mad, just filled with sadness. No one could lift her from it”

Something inside Ian recoiled at the lonely life Lily had led and the matter-of-fact way she spoke of it. He couldn’t imagine a childhood spent without a mother’s love. And it didn’t sound as though the sisters of Saint Winifred’s Abbey had spared any affection for Lily. His parents had been everything to him; he would have done anything to save them, if he could. Their loss was a pain he buried deep and refused to expose.

Perhaps he could help her. “I will do what I can for you.”

She reached out and took his arm in a firm clasp. “Thank you. You have no idea how grateful I am, milord.”

He looked down at her hand. He liked the way it felt, far too much. So he did what he had to to make the feeling go away. “I make you no promises. Llywelyn may not wish to hear what I have to say. He has little time to waste on one person’s petty concerns.”

She released him immediately. But the wounded expression in her eyes lingered, long after the warmth of her touch faded from his arm. “I understand. And I appreciate whatever you can do, sir.” She turned and picked up his cloak. “I’ll bother you no further,” she said, holding the bundle out to him.

“Keep it.” He crossed the room swiftly, feeling as if he’d kicked a helpless animal. “You need it more than I.” Cursing under his breath, he jerked the door open and made good his escape before he did something even more gallant.

And more stupid.

Lily huddled within the welcoming folds of the Dragon’s cloak and struggled yet again to recall any snippet of information useful to her quest. She’d racked her brain on numerous occasions over the course of her journey, but so far, she could remember very little.

Her life at the abbey had consisted mainly of endless days of stultifying boredom. The only child among the few boarders, she’d counted herself fortunate when an elderly noblewoman enlisted her help to spin or sew. Rarer still had been the chance to venture beyond the cloister walls into town. The games the village children played in the meadows, running and shrieking with joyous abandon, were as foreign to her as the sight of a man of fewer than fifty years. Other than their elderly priest, she’d seen men only from a distance. The sisters had been careful to keep her close by on their infrequent forays into the village.

She’d been astounded by the size and strength of men when her travels took her into a town, alone. And their crude suggestions had shocked her, though not for long. But she didn’t fear them, a fact that surprised her. Indeed, she found nearly everyone she encountered a refreshing change from the occupants of the abbey, with their regimented lives and devotion to duty.

In a way, this journey was the embodiment of a childhood dream. How many times had she lain in the grass, staring at the birds flying overhead and envying them their freedom? She’d always known a whole new world existed beyond the abbey walls. Now she had the opportunity to explore it.

There had been a gatekeeper at the abbey years ago, a very old man who’d traveled far and wide. He told her of lands and people different from any she’d ever known. His brief stay at the abbey shone as a rare bright spot in her memory. She’d never forgotten the tales he’d shared with her.

If the Dragon couldn’t help her, perhaps she’d make her way south, to Pembroke or Manorbier. Each castle had its own town, of a size she could scarcely imagine. Strangers from foreign lands came there to trade, bringing with them news of places far beyond her ken.

Though she knew that for many the cloister provided a safe haven, to her it had been a prison. She’d never return, no matter what she had to do to survive.

The sound of the bar thumping against the door startled her. Her heart pounding wildly, she stood and tossed aside the cloak. Had the Dragon returned so soon?

The door flew open beneath the force of two brawny men. Before she could do more than gasp, one entered the cell and grabbed her roughly by the arm, while the other stood guard in the doorway.

He pulled her arms behind her and bound them with a coarse rope. “What are you doing?” she asked. Already her shoulders throbbed with pain, so tight were the bonds. “Did Lord Ian order this?”

“Ye’re to come with us,” the guard said. “Don’t give us trouble, missy, else ye might get hurt.” He wrapped a musty rag around her mouth and tied it behind her head.

He gave her a shove to start her moving. Her feet slipped in the loose straw, and she scrambled for purchase, stumbled and almost fell on her face. Her burly escort saved her from that fate, but her arms felt wrenched from their sockets.