Читать книгу Heart Of The Dragon - Sharon Schulze - Страница 12

A light glowed before her, shining through a small slit set high in the door. She had to be dreaming. Lily raised her head from her updrawn knees and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She looked again, but the light didn’t disappear. Instead, it shone brighter.

“Who’s there?” she called, slowly rising to her feet. A strange shuffling noise, accompanied by the rustle of fabric, came from the corridor. No one answered.

She had no way to mark the passage of time, but her rumbling stomach told her that many hours had passed since she’d broken her fast. Perhaps one of the guards had returned with food. They had to feed her sometime—didn’t they?

Though her body protested with every step, she made her way toward the door. The wide, metal-banded planks felt solid and impenetrable when she leaned her weight against them. She ran her hand along the edge, where the door met rough plaster and stone, but she couldn’t find a handle. Anyone lodged here was meant to stay.

She had to crane her neck to see out the window. The glare from a torch blinded her, but her nose worked all too well. Coughing, she moved down from the opening and slumped back against the wall.

She couldn’t imagine anything that could cause such an indescribable stench. Whatever it was had to be on the other side of the door. Even the dank, fetid air of her cell smelled better.

She filled her lungs before rising on tiptoe to peer out once more. She blinked several times, until her vision adjusted to the brightness.

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.

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.

But although she should probably fear that side of him, it intrigued her.

Especially since he’d kissed her.

She sensed he’d held himself in check—his touch had been quite gentle—but she’d felt a wildness simmering on the edge of her awareness.

That might have been nothing more than a reflection of the heat that bubbled through her veins at the mere thought of his lips touching hers. He drew her to him by means of some invisible thread—a look, a touch, all it took to make her want to return to his arms.

No doubt he’d be horrified if he knew. She was naught but a stranger to him, ignorant of men and women, no one of importance.

And he was Llywelyn’s Dragon.

She’d know better the next time her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. The first time, she could pass off as an accident; if she did it again, he’d know her for a fool.

With luck, she’d find out what she needed to know soon, perhaps on the morrow. Then she’d be on her way.

And the Dragon need never know how he’d singed her heart.