Читать книгу Heart Of The Dragon - Sharon Schulze - Страница 11

Lily bit back a whimper. The shadows pressed in on her from all sides as she wavered on her feet, then sank to her knees beneath their weight.

Her arms hung, useless, from her shoulders, yet already they tingled with the return of sensation. She forced her fingers to move despite the fiery pain, hoping to speed up the process. For now, any further motion was impossible.

Only darkness met her frantic gaze. Darkness meant the unknown. Her mind envisioned a thousand formless terrors lurking all around her. She drew a deep breath. Perhaps if she learned the bounds of her new prison, it would cease to frighten her. Since she could not see in the impenetrable gloom, she closed her eyes and concentrated on her other senses. The air tasted dank and moist upon her tongue. A foul stench emanated from somewhere to her left; she’d be careful not to move in that direction.

She had no intention of standing up, lest there be spiders or some other horrid creatures above her.

The faint sound of scurrying she recognized. Rats, loathsome but familiar. So long as they kept their distance, she had no objection to sharing her cell with them. She found their company preferable to that of the men who’d dragged her here.

Why had they brought her here?

She hadn’t been surprised when the Dragon had locked her up. Though she posed no threat to anyone, she could see the need for caution, especially in the prince’s keep. If the guards had been willing to allow a stranger in to see Llywelyn, she wouldn’t have ended up on the wall—or in the Dragon’s custody.

The sudden chill in her heart rivaled the cold air surrounding her. The Dragon had to be responsible for her new accommodations. She thought he understood her dilemma, the need that had driven her to Dolwyddelan.

How could he do this to her? And why?

Lily huddled in a ball on the floor, her arms wrapped tight about her knees for warmth and comfort. His betrayal cut deep. Although she’d confided in him, trusted him with her story, he owed her nothing. And the pull of attraction she felt in his presence simply meant she was ignorant of men, a fool.

Shame and anger jolted her. Self-pity solved nothing. Her journey thus far hadn’t been easy, but she knew her situation could be worse. Battered and bruised, cold and hungry—she’d been all those things before. But she was still whole and healthy, with a spirit to match.

She would survive. And triumph.

A lifetime spent within the imprisoning walls of Saint Winifred’s Abbey had taught her the value of patience. She’d use that patience again. What else could she do but familiarize herself with her surroundings and make her plans? In time she would discover what the Dragon wanted of her, why he’d sent her here.

And he would learn her spirit would not break so easily.

Ian’s interview with Llywelyn haunted him long after he left his overlord’s presence. Something about the meeting disturbed him, though he had yet to figure out why. Llywelyn had listened to his words and agreed to consider permitting Lily to meet with him soon. There was nothing unusual about that, contrary to what he’d led Lily to believe. Llywelyn possessed a deep sense of curiosity and a well-developed mind. Ian admired his ability to look ahead and plan for the future.

It was their shared vision of a united Welsh people that had led Ian to join forces with Llywelyn. Llywelyn could bring that dream to fruition, draw together the independent nobles into a power to be reckoned with, whether dealing with Norman tyrants—or Welsh ones.

In this quest, he’d committed deeds he could never have imagined in his youth, before the destruction of his family. The bastards responsible for his parents’ deaths had paid with their worthless lives long ago, but his desire for justice remained. He knew his sister wondered at the change in him, perhaps even mourned the loss of the man he had once been. When he looked back at that innocent, he did not recognize himself. But what did that matter, in the greater scheme of things?

He would do anything necessary to achieve his goal.

At times, that task seemed nigh impossible. His latest chore promised to tax his patience—and that of his small company from Gwal Draig—to the limit. Dai and several others had joined him in the bailey to watch as ten young men from the hills—future warriors all, he reminded himself with a snort of disbelief—played at mock combat.

“D’ye think any of them has ever seen a weapon close up, milord?” Dai asked, his voice choked with pent-up laughter. “Look at how they’re holding their swords. Were we ever so daft?”

“I hope ‘tis just ignorance, not stupidity. We’ll find out soon enough.” He saw nothing to laugh about in the chaotic scene. Rarely did they find men like these, freemen without an overlord to command their loyalty. With luck, they’d gain some decent fighters, always in short supply. If not, he didn’t doubt he could find some task for them. He’d suggested this exercise to determine what he had to work with.

But he could tell right off. Shepherds and farmers, the lot of them. When he could no longer stand to watch their clumsy attempts, he stripped off his shirt and tunic and, snatching a practice sword off the ground, leaped into the fray.

His first battle roar sent half the company to the curtain wall, backs pressed against the stone. They blanched and shook with terror, much to the onlookers’ amusement. Once he began to lay about him with the dull blade, only two men held their ground to parry his attack.

Their movements were awkward, but he saw their confidence increase with every swing of his sword. He didn’t try to overpower them—he wanted to test their mettle, if they had any, not scare them off. But, unlike the others, they rose to the challenge and worked harder still.

After a time, one stepped away, sweat streaming down his face as he gasped for breath. But the other pressed on, grinning, his eyes alight with the joy of battle.

Ian pushed harder and brought him to his knees, the blade at his throat. “Do you yield?”

“Aye, m-milord,” the youth stammered. He looked Ian straight in the eyes. “But only ‘cause I got no choice.”

“Get up.” Ian handed the sword to one of his men and picked up his shirt. “You and you—” he nodded to his other opponent “—come with me. The rest of you,” he said, raising his voice to reach the men along the wall, “stay here with Dai. See if you can learn something from him.”

Dai rolled his eyes and offered a mocking salute. “Whatever I did to offend you, milord, I apologize—a thousand times over. By Christ, you don’t really expect me to make fighters out a them, do you?”

“We need every man we can get. If you can’t teach them to use a sword or a bow, at the least they should be able to handle a spear. It’s not too different from a shepherd’s crook,” he added dryly. He tugged his shirt over his head. “When you’ve finished here for the afternoon, come to me in my chamber. I’ve another task for you, one I’m sure you’ll find more to your liking.”

Laughing at Dai’s grumbled curses, Ian led his two apprentices away.

He practiced with them until they looked ready to drop and he’d worked up a sweat, as well. But the labor brought satisfaction, as hard work always did; he couldn’t help smiling as he returned to his room to wash and change his filthy clothing before the evening meal.

He found Dai leaning against the wall outside his room. His lieutenant’s sparse, grizzled locks stood out from his head as though he’d dragged his hands though them more than once. “Seems you had a good afternoon,” he snarled as Ian unlocked the door and motioned him into the room. He flopped onto a stool with the ease of long acquaintance. “Wish I could say the same.”

Ian grinned. “I think we’ll make fighters out of those two.” He filled a pair of mugs with mead and handed one to Dai. “Here. Your favorite, made by my sister’s own hands. I can see you need it. Getting too old for this work? You know there’s a place for you at Gwal Draig.” He tried not to laugh at Dai’s expression of disgust at the familiar taunt—and his typical reply.

“Aye, beneath six feet of dirt.” Dai drained the brew, then stood up and helped himself to more. “They worked you over good, eh, lad?” he asked, tugging on the trailing cuff of Ian’s sleeve.

“Not a scratch on me. They look worse than I do. I doubt they’ll be jumping too lively with the ladies tonight.” He finished his mead in one swallow, then poured water to wash. “Did you have any luck with the others?” he asked, without much hope. Yawning, he stripped off his shirt and tossed it onto the chest, then stretched the kinks out of his shoulders.

“Are you daft? You know as well as I, that lot’ll never be ready. Even after all I put them through,” he said, his voice tinged with exasperation, “or mayhap because of it, most of them will still turn tail at the first sign of battle.” He sipped at his mead, then asked, “What of the lad you pulled from the wall last night? Anyone willing to try that must have a measure of courage.”

In the process of scooping cold water over his head, Ian chuckled, and he came up sputtering. He groped for the drying cloth. “That she does.”

“Something wrong with my ears, lad? I could swear ye said ‘she.’”

“I did.”

He took his time drying off, savoring the other man’s glare. Dai hated to wait more than almost anything. ‘Twould do him good to learn patience. By the time Ian had tugged a clean shirt over his head and picked up his comb, Dai looked ready to explode. “She’s the reason I asked you here.”

“Who is she?”

“She says she doesn’t know.”

Dai leaped to his feet. “Did she hit her head on the way up the wall?” He slammed his empty cup onto the table. “Or did you hit yours? Enough of your foolery, milord. ‘Tis a jest, am I right?”

“’Tis no jest. ‘Tis more a puzzle.” He walked over to the bed and stared down at the place where Lily had sprawled. He could see her there still, her hair shining against the dull gray coverlet. That image had haunted his dreams, just as the look on her face when he agreed to help her had dominated his thoughts throughout the day. Mayhap he’d have time to see her before the evening meal. He’d take Dai to meet her, he decided, instead of simply sending him—

“Come on then, milord,” Dai said, cutting into his thoughts. “Can’t say something like that, then leave me hanging. Tell me more.”

“In good time. Will you allow me to finish dressing, or must I parade through the bailey bare-assed?” Ian asked as he settled a clean tunic over his shirt and leggings.

Dai snorted. “Aye, the ladies’d like that, I make no doubt. Not that you’d notice. Never saw a man turn away so many invitations as you, milord.”

“It’s not me they want, but the chance to bed the Dragon. Besides, ‘tis damned difficult to lay a wench who’s staring at you with fear in her eyes,” Ian said with disgust.

“So don’t look at their eyes. Christ, how’d you get so choosy? If the lass is a toothsome armful and willing, what does the rest matter?”

“It matters to me.” Ian scanned the room for his cloak before he remembered he’d left it with Lily. He didn’t need it, anyway. His blood had flowed hot from the moment he first tussled with her. The feel of her in his arms remained imprinted upon his body.

And his mind.

Dai’s words made him think of her vivid green eyes. He had recognized many things in her gaze when it rested so steadily upon him. But he hadn’t seen fear among them.

Jesu, he grew maudlin! Next thing he knew, he’d start composing a song about the way her hair glowed in the candlelight. Perhaps he’d spent too much time in his Norman brother-in-law’s company and his courtly manners had rubbed off on him.

A quick glance at the sky through the window slit showed the sun hovering just above the horizon. If he wanted to take Dai to meet Lily before supper, they had best go now.

“Come along, old man,” he said, urging Dai away from the mead and out the door. “I’ll show you a woman who doesn’t know how to fear.”

“Indeed, milord.” Dai squinted at his face in the dim light of the corridor; Ian felt the measuring weight of his scrutiny. “And how would you know that?”

“She calls me Dragon.”

Ian fought back a smile as they left the tower and crossed the bailey. Seldom did he move Dai to silence, but the other man hadn’t said a word since his last comment. Although he valued Dai’s counsel, and trusted him implicitly, he often found himself only half listening as he prattled on.

He picked up his pace as he led the way down the stairs into the cellars, but then stopped dead in the corridor. No guard stood outside the cell.

And the bar to the door lay on the floor, as though tossed aside in haste.

Motioning to Dai to keep silent, Ian drew his sword and crept forward, then pushed on the door. It swung inward in a slow, creaking arc, revealing the darkness within.

Dai snatched a torch from the wall and handed it to him. Sword at the ready, Ian entered the cell.

He paced the narrow boundaries, but of Lily he found no sign. The three-legged stool sat where he’d placed it, his cloak draped over the seat, the only clues that his visit hadn’t been a dream.

“Lord Ian.”

He whirled at the sound of Dai’s voice, then kicked the stool aside and snatched his cloak off the floor. “Where is she?”

The formless suspicions he’d harbored after meeting with Llywelyn crowded into his head, a jumble of curiosity and accusation, barely noticed hints that something wasn’t right. He should have followed his instincts, sent Dai off to investigate sooner, instead of—

“Mayhap Llywelyn let her go,” Dai commented.

“He hadn’t agreed to see her. Even if he decided to meet with her, he would have sent for me to be there, as well. I’m the one who questioned her.”

“What does it matter, lad? She was here, now she’s gone. You said yourself she didn’t know who she was.” Dai shook his head. “I know for a fact you’ve got more important work to do than this.”

But it did matter. “There’s something strange about this. The situation Lily described seemed odd.” He righted the stool and sat down, his mind working furiously. “I want you to go to Saint Winifred’s Abbey once we discover what has happened here. I’m certain you’ll have better luck finding answers than a lone young woman would,” he said pointedly.

“Aye, milord.”

“But first we need to find her.” Ian rose to his feet. “Come. Let’s see what Llywelyn has to say about this.”

The prince had yet to leave his chamber for supper, which suited Ian’s purpose. He’d rather not discuss the mysterious Lily before all and sundry in the hall.

Once the meal ended, the revelry would begin. And when the wine began to flow, any kind of conversation would be impossible.

“May we speak with you privately, milord?” Ian asked. At Llywelyn’s nod, he ushered Dai into the chamber. “I’ve matters of importance to discuss.”

Llywelyn returned his attention to a basin of water as Ian pulled the door closed with a sharp snap. His expression revealed nothing but impatience as he took his time drying his hands on a strip of fine linen.

Tossing the towel aside, he crossed the room to a table in the center and picked up a jeweled chalice. “Would you care for wine?” He poured the deep red liquid from a pitcher, sending the scent of spices wafting through the air.

Ian declined the wine and the offer of a chair, then waited impatiently as Dai accepted a goblet and joined the prince at the table. Finally the niceties were satisfied, and Ian got down to business.

“I went back to see the girl, to tell her you would deal with her once you had more time.” He watched his kinsman’s face with interest, although he kept his own expression casual, disinterested. “I planned to release her from the cell, since she poses no threat to anyone.” He toyed with a thread on the sleeve of his tunic, continuing to observe Llywelyn from beneath lowered brows. “I was surprised to find she wasn’t there.”

All Llywelyn’s attention seemed focused upon his wine. Then he glanced up and met Ian’s gaze. Ian could see nothing in the other man’s face but a mild annoyance, gone so swiftly he might have imagined it.

“You needn’t have bothered,” Llywelyn said. “Any more than you should have bothered me with her tale in the first place. I know nothing of her or her mother, and so I told her.”

“Then where is she?” Ian demanded.

“She had no wish to stay, once she saw I could not help her. A guard escorted her from the castle.” Llywelyn raised the goblet to his lips and avoided Ian’s scrutiny. “She’s here no longer. Beyond that, I cannot say.”