Heart Of The Dragon

The sight that met her eyes had to be a fiend of Satan. She couldn’t imagine how anyone could suffer such injuries and live. She’d seen cripples before—many had come to the abbey for help—but never had she encountered such a horrifying combination of infirmities.

Bent almost double, he leaned on a rough stick, one misshapen foot twisted at an unnatural angle. A scraggly beard covered most of his face, but through the silver-shot hair she could see that his nose and one cheek had been smashed nearly flat. His left eyelid drooped closed. His forehead, and the hand that held the torch in an unsteady grip, were covered with scars.

“Might not want to look,” he rasped. “I’m not a pretty sight.” His laugh had a maniacal quality to it, sending a shiver down Lily’s spine. She crossed herself, thanking God this unfortunate creature couldn’t see her—or the loathing and pity she couldn’t hide.

“Who are you? Why have you come here?” she asked when she found her voice. She backed away from the door to catch a breath. “Are you here to let me out?”

“Nay. I saw the guards bring you here. ’Tis the first chance I’ve had to follow. I wanted to see for myself.” He shuffled away from the door and placed the torch in a bracket on the wall. “A shame I can’t reach the window —I didn’t get a good look when they dragged you from the other cell. But I heard about you.”

He’d heard about her? Was his mind as twisted as his body? Even if she had the Dragon to thank for her new accommodations, she couldn’t believe he’d discussed her with that…creature out there.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

He laughed again, a humorless sound. “I had a noble name, and power, once, not so long ago. But that man is dead—or so I hear.” He coughed, sounding as if he were choking. “Until I can prove them wrong. You can call me Toad. ’Tis as good a name as any, for now.”

She stared at him again, forcing herself to take in every wretched detail. He must be a madman. He could no more be noble than she.

But even a madman deserved pity, as long as he did no harm. And from the sound of him, he wasn’t long for this world—a blessing, she had no doubt. She’d listen to him ramble, just to hear another human voice. But she didn’t have to look at him.

She stepped away from the door. Sweet Mary, his image was already etched upon her mind’s eye. And he wouldn’t know whether she could see him or not.

She moved to the middle of the floor and sank down upon the cold stones, drawing her knees to her chest and gulping great breaths of fresher air. “So tell me, Toad, what have you heard of me? I’ve been here but a day—hardly anyone knows I’m here.”

“My honored kinsman knows. Though he isn’t quite certain what to do with you. Have a care, girl—you’ve upset his schemes. He doesn’t like it when that happens.”

Did all madmen speak in riddles? Just so had her mother rambled on. Their words made no sense to any but themselves, and woe betide those who tried to understand them. She’d found ‘twas best to let them wander. It harmed no one—although it frustrated Lily no end not to understand.

“Should I fear for my life, then?” God knew, she’d thought of little else since the cell door had slammed shut behind her.

He chuckled again, an evil sound over the restless shuffling as he moved about. “Perhaps.”

She’d kept her gaze on the window while they spoke, grateful for even the dim glow from the corridor. But suddenly the light faded. “Wait!” She sprang to her feet and rushed to the door. “You cannot leave!”

Especially not after his last remark. She needed to know more—

Lily stretched, catching a glimpse of him, but he’d almost disappeared from view. “Toad! Come back!”

“Sleep well, milady,” he called as he rounded a bend in the corridor.

Leaving her in total darkness once more.

Frustration left Ian feeling like a caged beast. He prowled the confines of his chamber, his body as restless as his mind. He knew Llywelyn had lied to him, could feel it deep within his bones. He’d witnessed that act of innocence too often not to recognize it now. He simply didn’t understand why Llywelyn would treat him thus.

“Quit your pacing and sit down, milord,” Dai snapped. He shoved a stool in Ian’s direction. “All this stomping about is making me daft. You’re acting like a spoiled little lordling. Christ, man, use the brain God gave ye.”

He forced himself to stop, and faced Dai, letting the words sink in. When would he learn to listen with his head, instead of his emotions? Most of the time, he could keep his temper contained. But Dai had witnessed it often enough in private that it had no effect on him— except to exasperate him.

Nodding, Ian righted the stool and sat down. “He’s lying. We both know it.”

“Aye. And why would he do that, milord? I think you’d better tell me more about this girl.”

“Woman,” he corrected absently. “She’s a woman full grown.”

“Is she? Is that what’s got your head in a spin, lad? I’d never have believed it of ye, but there’s a first time for everything. Even a dragon needs a mate.”

Dai knew him too well.

“Something about her haunts me,” he admitted. “Although she’s dirty, and wears men’s clothes, there’s a…beauty about her. She won’t leave me alone.”

“Tell me about her, and what you want me to do.”

It didn’t take long, he knew so little.

“I want you to go to Saint Winifred’s Abbey and find out all you can. Something about this bothers me— all the more because of Llywelyn’s reaction. I’ll nose around tonight. She could still be here.”

“Should I wait till the morn to leave?” Dai asked.

“Aye. No need to arouse suspicions. Take two men with you. If anyone asks, I’ll say you have business for me at Gwal Draig. But get back to Gwal Draig as swiftly as you can. If I cannot meet you there, I’ll send word. I mislike this entire situation.”

He ushered Dai out, then went to stand by the window. Darkness had fallen. He stared out into the welcoming shadows and sought counsel from the night.

The wisest course would be to return to the hall, as he did most evenings, but the chances he’d learn anything of value there were virtually nonexistent. Perhaps he ought to share a few ales with the castle guard in their quarters. No one would think anything of it. He’d done so before.

Whether Lily had left Dolwyddelan of her own volition, as Llywelyn maintained, or had simply been moved, someone had to have seen her.

He would find her.

And when he did, somebody would pay.

By midnight, Ian felt awash in ale but no closer to finding Lily. His feet heavy on the tower stairs, he sought the cool night air. He needed to clear his head before deciding what to do next. After half a night spent dicing and drinking, the only information he had was that no one had seen her leave.

So either Llywelyn had lied to him, or the guards at the castle gates had all gone blind. In his present mood, ‘twas all he could do to prevent himself confronting his princely kinsman and demanding the truth.

That would gain him nothing.

No one had seen Lily outside, but there were bound to be passageways throughout the keep that he didn’t know about. A smart man always left himself an escape route. He would return to Lily’s cell and investigate further.

There wouldn’t be a better time. No one had any business in the cellars at this time of night.

He moved quickly through the shadows and retrieved a shuttered lantern and his cloak from his chamber. He saw no one as he slipped into the cellars and closed the door behind him.

As far as he knew, none of the cells held prisoners. He should be able to search to his heart’s content. A rabbit warren of corridors lay deep beneath the keep. He’d never had reason to explore them before, so he set about it in a methodical fashion.

From the number of undisturbed spiderwebs he found, he knew that some areas hadn’t been occupied in quite a while. But several passages could have been used recently. He chose the widest and set off.

He hadn’t gone more than fifteen paces before the corridor ended in a wall.

Ian smiled.