Heart Of The Dragon

Only a fool built a passageway leading nowhere. He set the lantern on the floor, then felt around the edges of the wall, pushing and prodding at the stones until his patience was rewarded. Just as he had suspected, the wall was actually a door. Surprisingly silent, it opened inward. Picking up the lamp, he pushed on.

The air had a sweetish scent overlaying a dank, earthy odor, as if something had died. The stench, combined with the ale he’d consumed, made his stomach roil in protest. But he kept walking. The ceiling dropped so low his hair brushed against the splintery planks above him. Crouched low over the lantern, he almost missed the two doors to his left.

“Lily?” he called, banging on the first door with his fist. “Are you here?”

He heard the sound of footsteps, then pounding on the other door. “Dragon?”

He couldn’t mistake that voice.

And no one else called him Dragon.

Holding the lantern high, he turned toward the door. “Aye, Lily, it’s me.”

He tugged on the door, but the lock held firm. “There’s no key,” he said after scanning the area. “I’ll have to try my dirk.”

When he lowered the lamp to the floor, Lily called out, “Don’t take away the light.” He could understand her plea; it must be black as pitch inside the cell. He hooked the lantern over the wall pricket and drew out his dirk.

The blade scarcely fit in the lock, but Ian took his time. If he snapped the knife off, he’d never get her out on his own.

And he had no intention of seeking help, now that he saw where they’d put her. Locking her away down here could only be a deliberate attempt to keep her hidden.

Most likely from him.

Slowly, gently, he wiggled the knife, until he felt the lock give. He pulled the dirk free, shoved it back in its scabbard and yanked the door open.

Lily leaped into his arms with an inarticulate cry.

He gathered her quivering body close and held her tight, smoothing his hand over her tangled hair. “Hush,” he whispered. She tried to speak, but the words came out jumbled and indistinct. “Slowly, sweeting. Hush. It’s all right.”

He held her as he would an injured child, trying not to notice the way her body fit so well to his, nor the softness of her hair beneath his cheek.

But his body would not listen. Heat rose in his blood, intensifying her scent, magnifying the feel of her pliant curves pressed against his hardness.

Carrying her with him, he stepped back into the corridor, into the light. He framed her face with his hands and stared into the eyes that had haunted him, asleep and awake, for the past day. She met his gaze, stare for stare, until, with a muttered curse, he crushed his lips to hers.

Her mouth didn’t move, but neither did she try to push him away. She kissed like a child, lips pressed to lips. He gentled his hold and showed her another way.

He outlined her mouth with his tongue, then nibbled at her lips until they opened enough to allow him entrance. Pressing on the corners of her mouth with his thumbs, he urged her to give him more.

She sighed and took a step back, her eyes wide. Then, grabbing the front of his tunic in her fists, she pulled him close again.

But this time she burrowed her face against his chest and clung to him. “Why did you send me here?”

“How could you think that?” He drew back enough to see her face. That she believed what she said, he could not doubt, not after searching her eyes.

“No one else knew about me.” She eased her hands from his mantle and smoothed the wrinkled fabric. “And you’d locked me away already.”

“Only because I didn’t know what else to do with you. I’ve never found a woman scaling the castle walls to see Llywelyn before,” he said, his heart pounding harder in remembrance. “I did not send you here.” He held her gaze until he thought she believed him.

A shiver coursed through her; her skin felt icy beneath his hands. He drew his cloak off and wrapped her securely within its warm folds. “They didn’t give me a chance to take this,” she said, her voice faint.

He pulled her into his arms again, just to warm her, he told himself. Never mind that holding her brought him a measure of comfort, as well.

“Who brought you here? And when?”

Lily closed her eyes, as if trying to remember—or to forget. “Two men burst into my cell, before midday, I think. They bound my arms and gagged me, then dragged me here. ’Twas too dark—I could not see. Before I realized what they were about, they untied me and shoved me in here.”

He could feel the effort it took for her to recount the tale so calmly. But her voice stayed even, almost emotionless. He knew she was frightened, but she hid it well. Few men had her courage. He brushed a kiss across her brow and held her close a moment longer.

“We must leave,” he told her. “You’ll be safer away from this place, while we decide what to do.” He released her slowly, reluctant to let go.

Lily grabbed his sleeve. “If you didn’t send me here, who did?”

“I’ll tell you later, once we’re away from here. Come, don’t you want to leave?” He’d rather wait until she’d had a chance to eat and get warm before he told her his suspicions.

Besides, he wanted to learn more before he leveled his accusations against the man she’d come to for help.

Llywelyn.

He drew his knife again, weapon enough in such close quarters, should he need it. She stared at the dirk, then his face, for what seemed forever, thinking he knew not what. But she must have found what she sought, for she nodded once. “Lead the way, Dragon,” she said. She unhooked the lantern from the wall, then tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “I trust you.”

He might well be the only person here she could trust, he thought as he closed the cell door.

He’d do whatever he must to prove himself worthy of it.

Lily clung to the Dragon’s arm, her grip barely short of desperation, as he led her through the labyrinth of passageways. She expected Toad—or some other creature like him—to slither into their path at any moment. Even with enough light to see, ‘twas a frightening place.

The relief she felt at the knowledge that Lord Ian hadn’t sent her into the cryptlike cell was near overwhelming.

But if not the Dragon, then who?

Toad said he knew who had sent her there, and much else, besides. But how could she believe such an obviously deranged person? Nothing he’d told her made any sense.

And he certainly didn’t appear to be someone a prince would confide in.

No, she’d simply have to be patient. The Dragon would tell her what he knew, when the time was right. She knew he’d keep her safe.

She knew he was worthy of her trust.

When the corridor seemed to end, he gently eased her hand from his arm and took the lantern. “In case anyone’s watching,” he said, extinguishing the light and plunging them into complete darkness once more. Before she could ask him what he was about, the Dragon pushed on the edge of the wall and a door pivoted toward them. He stood silently for a moment— listening, she concluded—then handed her the lantern. “Come—no one will see us now,” he whispered. Grasping her by the elbow, he led her through the corridor.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked. Not back to the other cell, surely?

“To my chamber, for now. We’ll decide what else to do in the morning.”

They skulked around the dimly lit boundary of the bailey with far more stealth than on the previous night. But except for the fact that this time she was able to walk, instead of riding slung over the Dragon’s shoulder, it felt much the same.

Lord Ian ap Dafydd seemed most comfortable lurking in the shadows, from what she’d seen of him thus far. She could feel a darkness within him; perhaps ‘twas why he sought the shadows instinctively.