Come Back to Me (5 page)

HER FEATURES BECAME SMOOTH AGAIN AS THE awareness of pain slipped away. That was good. If only she would stay asleep until they reached the lodge, she might awaken feeling much improved. The lodge was about another hour's walk at the pace the Dragon was keeping. No great distance by his standards. Truth be told, he could have gone on carrying her much longer. There was undeniable pleasure in holding her, despite the circumstances. Of course, he would much rather have had her in his arms awake and amorous, but he wasn't going to think about that.

Instead, he mulled over the mystery she presented. Obviously she'd been headed for somewhere, and Hawkforte still seemed the likeliest place. What could a lone girl, probably of good family, hope to accomplish there? Was she, perhaps, intending to petition Hawk for redress of some injury? Possibly, but then why hadn't she just said so? Had she really lost her memory? Probably not, for there was too much awareness in those honey-hued eyes. But he was willing to allow that the brother might be real. Perhaps she meant to meet up with him in Hawkforte, but again, why not just say that? Could she have some reason for concealing her brother's identity, more even than her own?

In his most recent letter, Hawk had written of putting down an attempted rebellion by a Mercian lord. Mercia was allied to Wessex, ruled by the great Alfred, who had extended his dominion in other directions including Essex, where men of good sense, Hawk chief among them, were glad to acknowledge him as king. Mercia had done the same but not, apparently, without discord. Could the girl's family have been involved in that?

Dragon frowned, thinking on. Since his brother Wolf's marriage to the Hawk's sister, Dragon had visited Essex several times. He knew it fairly well now but the rest of England was a little hazy in his mind. If he remembered correctly, Mercia was landlocked. Anyone seeking to flee from there would have to go south into Wessex or southeast to Essex. Any other way out would mean going through territory still held by the Danes.

He glanced down at the girl. Sooner or later, he would find out how much trouble she was in. He would not let her go until he did.

The realization that somewhere in the course of the last hour he had come to that decision didn't surprise him. His mind often worked beneath the layers of his awareness. Nor did he much care that acquiring the company of a beautiful Saxon girl would raise eyebrows, at the very least. He was prepared to do his duty. If that didn't satisfy everyone, too bad.

Having decided on a course of action, Dragon continued on in better humor. It did not escape his notice that for a man who had been kicked in the balls only a few hours before, he was in a remarkably good mood. Indeed, he felt far more cheerful than he had in months, ever since realizing he could not dodge what fate had in store for him. Nothing had really changed yet somehow he felt more the master of his destiny. After all the lovely, accommodating women he had known in his life, why being assaulted and snarled at by a copper-haired spitfire should improve his outlook bewildered him. But he did like a challenge and she was that.

However, she was also injured, and honor demanded he put aside all other consideration until she was healed. That being the case, he was relieved to see the roof of the lodge come into view beyond a copse of pines.

It was a small building of rough-hewn planks roofed in thatch. Another, smaller structure was nearby, meant to house the horses that, as he had expected, had already arrived. His attendants had left them as arranged before continuing on their own way to Hawkforte. They would also have fed and watered the beasts since Dragon had no fondness for doing either.

He pushed open the door with his shoulder and stepped inside. There was only one room but it was spacious and comfortably appointed. A large iron brazier sat in the center of the floor below the smoke hole in the roof. A fire had already been laid and awaited only the addition of the glowing embers left in the metal box beside the hearth. Near the fire, set along one wall, was a sleep bench covered with a down-filled mattress, coverlets of finely woven wool, and a lush fur throw. If that was not sufficient indication that the lodge was the property of a wealthy lord, the choice selection of shields and banners hanging from the walls would have informed the least tutored eye.

A finely carved table with chairs and several chests completed the furnishings. From previous visits, Dragon knew there was a shed at the back for food storage and a sauna dug into the nearby hillside. Hawk had built the lodge as a gift for his beloved wife, the Lady Krysta. The pair of them with their baby son used it when they felt the need to escape from their duties and enjoy a few days together. They were also generous about lending it to friends, including Dragon.

He crossed the room and laid the girl carefully on the sleep bench. She scarcely stirred. After a moment's hesitation, Dragon removed her sandals but left, the rest of her garb undisturbed. She was skittish enough as it was. Covering her, he went out to check on the horses.

As he expected, his attendants had seen to the animals. There was nothing left for him to do save to look at them warily. There were two, both chestnuts with coats so glossy they held a silver sheen. They were brothers born a year apart to the same mare. Oversized brutes, they could gallop tirelessly all day and charge straight into battle with rambunctious glee. They could also cavort as though they were still colts. When Dragon was fool enough to come near them with apples, they would give him no rest until he fed them, rubbed their velvety noses, and told them how wonderful they were.

He despised them. No, that wasn't fair. He despised the need to have anything to do with them. The animals themselves weren't to blame for that. It wasn't their fault he hated to ride and would never feel at home on the back of a horse no matter how much time he grimly and stubbornly spent there. Not that anyone knew his secret. He rode with the same power and grace he brought to everything but he took no credit for it. The gods had seen fit to endow him with unusual size and strength; he thanked them for it and went about his business. Every chance he got, he planted his feet firmly on the ground and counted on them to get him wherever he was going. They had never failed him, nor did he have to find fodder for them.

The horses, dumb animals that they were, had no hint of his true feelings. They thought he liked them, which probably explained why they were always glad to see him. Even now, they were butting against him, vying for his attention, and making slobbering fools of themselves. He bore it as long as he could, checked again to make sure they had everything they needed, and retreated to the lodge.

The girl was still asleep. She looked to remain that way for quite some time. Dragon plucked a bow and a sheaf of arrows off a peg on the wall and headed out the door.

RYCCA WOKE AS THE SUN WAS DRIFTING LOWER in the sky. She sighed luxuriously and turned over onto her side. What luxury to be in a comfortable bed. Truly, she could not remember the last time she had felt so utterly relaxed. Not at home certainly because she had fled from there and…

Her eyes shot open. She sat up abruptly and looked around. There was no sign of
him
, for which she was much relieved, and she did not at all feel a small pang of alarm. Absolutely not. Her head still hurt but not as much as it had. Yet did she feel bruised all over, as though the full effects of tumbling down the cliffside were only now making themselves felt.

This must be the lodge he had mentioned. Her brows drew together. The appointments were far more luxurious than she had expected. The bed she was lying in was bigger, softer, and the covers… She plucked the blanket, noting that it was of finely spun wool skillfully woven. There was a large table near the fire. Its sturdy legs were carved in a spiral design and the whole was well polished. Two high-backed chairs startled her for she had never seen but two others like them in her life, her father's chair and the one he kept for honored guests. Yet not even he could boast the beautifully made pillows embroidered with bright flowers that graced each chair and assured the posterior of anyone seated in it would be well content.

Pillows? Slowly, Rycca rose from the bed. The lodge boasted several windows equipped with ox-hide coverings that were rolled up to admit light and air. Beneath them were intricately carved chests. She walked over to one, tentatively lifted the lid, and was surprised when it opened. Instantly, the scent of honeysuckle and lilac rose to greet her. Eyes widening, she bent closer. Directly below the lid of the chest was a wooden tray and in that tray was…

Soap? Perfectly formed circles of soap scented with honeysuckle and lilac replacing the usual smell of rendered animal fat and lye. Astounded, she lifted one and sniffed deeply. Instantly, she felt transported to a summer meadow. As though burned, she dropped the soap and slammed the chest shut. But that could not stop her from scanning the lodge anew, seeing now all the myriad little touches that signified a woman's presence. There were dried flowers hanging from the rafters. The sleep bench was draped with lushly embroidered curtains drawn back by tasseled ties. The iron brackets set in the walls were designed not for torches that would smoke but for precious candles.

No mere woman then but a lady. She must be somewhere nearby, for the chest had been left unlocked. Suddenly acutely conscious of her dirty face, rough clothing, and bruised forehead, Rycca hesitated. Realizing there was nothing to be done about any of that, she steeled herself and eased open the door.

A freshening breeze riffled the tops of the trees. She stepped out and glanced to either side. No hint of movement, no sound of footfall to suggest where the lady might be. But she did hear a low nickering coining from the building she assumed was the stable.

Slowly, she went in that direction. She had almost reached it when a gleaming chestnut head popped out the window. Rycca found herself being gazed upon by the most appealing pair of brown eyes she had ever seen. A rapturous sigh escaped her, escalating to a blatant groan of delight when a second head appeared. There were two of them! A matched pair of magnificent chestnuts, as she discovered when she hurried into the stable. The horses nickered a welcome from their adjacent stalls.

"Oh, look at you!" Rycca crooned in sheer delight at the lithe, powerful animals. She adored horses, had ever since as a tiny child she had clambered aboard her first mount when no one was watching. That it was a warhorse only the strongest men could manage meant nothing to her at all. On the back of a horse, she felt safe and secure, protected from the violence of the world around her and at one with the swift galloping wind. Heaven could not offer anything better.

What a strange day this was turning out to be. Awakening to the sight of the most compelling man she had ever seen, fleeing from him, running right off the edge of a cliff, and now encountering these glorious horses.

Her aches and pains forgotten, Rycca smiled. "Aren't you just wonderful! Aren't you the most beautiful horses ever?"

They agreed with her heartily, tossing their proud heads and nuzzling her until she burst out laughing. "You're such sweethearts! Who owns you? Who deserves a pair like you?"

He had said his horse awaited him at the lodge but the stable contained only these two. Either his mount wasn't here after all or…

Her smile faded. Only a warrior of lordly rank could possess such horses. Likely, they would be the gift of a great noble in thanks for services rendered. There was only one such thane in this part of England, the man called Hawk. A shiver ran through Rycca. She had heard her father and brothers speak of him with fear and envy. Such was his power that people from all walks of life flocked to his side. His stronghold of Hawkforte had become a thriving port and market town as the wiliest merchants prospered under his protection. Rycca herself was making for it because it offered the best possible chance of getting a ship to Normandy. Yet did Hawkforte also pose the greatest possible danger to her should her identity be discovered.

The warriors of the Hawk were said to be the most fearsome in the land.
He
would certainly fit that description, which made it likely he was a sworn man of the Hawk himself. Praise be to heaven that she had told him nothing!

The realization of how close she really had come to disaster banished the daze of uncertainty that had clung to her since awakening in the unknown bed. She had to get away and quickly before he returned. The horses posed an undeniable temptation. On the back of one of them, she could cover miles in scarcely any time. But so, too, would she be the focus of all eyes. A lone boy riding a horse known to belong to a sworn man of the Hawk could expect to be stopped and challenged.

But she would have no better chance on foot. Belatedly, she realized what should have been starkly evident to her when he appeared hours after she thought she was safely away from him. He had tracked her easily and he would do so again unless she could find some way to conceal all trace of herself.

The problem made her head hurt even more. She left the horses reluctantly and continued to explore around the lodge. There was still no sign of a lady, which, now that Rycca thought about it, was probably fortunate.
He
had said the lodge belonged to a friend. Likely it belonged to the Hawk himself and unlikely that his lady would be anywhere about without his own presence. Rycca shuddered. She had seen the Lord Hawk once; more to the point, he had seen her. That she might encounter him again chilled her to the bone.

Her head was throbbing by the time she spotted a glint of water just visible through the trees. A narrow trail led down to what proved to be a river. Hope flared within her. If the water was not too deep or fast running, she might be able to escape undetected after all.

Might, if she wasn't half blinded by the sunlight and weak as a day-old kitten. She took a deep breath, trying to find within herself the strength to step into the river, make her way over slippery rocks and fallen branches, and trudge mile after mile for however long it took to reach Hawkforte, presuming the river went that far.