Dragon's Lair (20 page)

Davina needed no second invitation. She dropped her shoes in the

shadow of a large rock and plunged down the slope towards the

pool. She flinched momentarily as the cold water swirled round her

ankles, but soon found the coolness refreshing after her walk. She

scooped up a handful of water and trickled it over her wrists,

enjoying the sensation on her warm flesh. She wished she had

brought a swimsuit with her—the thought of a swim in this remote

and peaceful spot had a potent appeal. She tilted her head back and

stared up at the dragon rock. It had an austere grandeur all its own,

she thought. A powerful presence, even.

She gave a wry smile, deriding herself for her own fancy. It was

nonsense to imagine that a piece of stone, eroded by the elements,

could have power of any kind, or to think that a bathe in the pool at

the foot of the rock could possibly give her any kind of immunity

against the all-too-human power that awaited her back at Plas

Gwyn. All that a swim could do for her would be to make her feel

cool and clean again, washing away the touch of his hands on her

skin. She sighed bleakly, wishing that she could erase the memory

of that delight from her mind as easily.

She stared around her, listening to the silence, registering the

emptiness of the slope behind her, the utter solitariness of the place.

There was absolutely no one about, she told herself. Who would

see her if she did go for a swim? And the bra and briefs she was

wearing were no more revealing than many bikinis seen on beaches

these days. Her indecision at an end, she began to unfasten her

dress. She folded it neatly and took it back to the rock where she

had left her shoes, placing them on top of it to anchor it down.

This time as she entered the water, it merely felt welcomingly cool.

She waded in until she was waist-deep, then struck out strongly

towards the waterfall. She swam round in a long slow circle,

keeping at a respectful distance. She guessed that some

underground channel must take the water away and wanted to avoid

any possible dangerous currents. She floated on her back for a

while, watching the sky. High above a hawk hovered, its wings

motionless against the deep blue. Even in this peaceful place there

were predators, it seemed, and even as the thought came to her she

heard somewhere quite close at hand the rattle of a pebble against

someone's shoe. Tension filled her immediately. She turned in the

water and swam quickly towards the rocks at the other side of the

pool. She was shivering as she hauled herself out of the water and

crouched among the rocks. They afforded only the minimum of

shelter. Anyone coming down the track to the pool would be almost

bound to spot her. She swallowed. There was no need to panic, she

told herself. Plenty of people must use these hills—hikers,

picnickers. Why jump to the conclusion that the person coming

along the track could only have one identity? She was shivering

now, and her teeth chattered. Why on earth had she left her dress

and sandals out in the open, a plain advertisement of her presence?

She could only keep well down and rely on the intruder walking

straight past and over the mountain. She glanced down at herself

and gave an involuntary grimace. There was a marked difference

between the wisps of underclothing she was wearing and a bikini,

after all. Bikinis did not normally become practically transparent in

water.

She could hear no further sounds of approach and lifted her head

cautiously to look around. There was no one in sight, yet a tingle of

awareness told her that she was not alone, that even at this moment

someone might be standing at the top of the track, looking down

into the hollow. She ducked her head down again and looked

around for a more secure refuge. Timothy Fenton had said

something about a cave—the dragon's cave behind the waterfall.

She craned her neck. Was that a dark opening she could glimpse

behind the rush of the water? It was only a matter of yards away,

although getting to it would mean coming out into the open.

She kept very still for a moment, her ears pricked for the sound of

footsteps or voices, but all was silent. So she stood up and began to

edge her way very carefully across the rocks. It wasn't easy. The

stones were slippery with water and slime and the spray from the

waterfall felt like droplets of ice on her cooling skin.

She bit her lip. The cave seemed a definitely uninviting prospect,

and she paused indecisively, staring across the pool at the track.

She was just beginning to convince herself that the sharer of her

solitude had gone on his way long before and that she was getting

thoroughly chilled for nothing, when he came down the track

towards the beach with his long easy stride.

A gasp broke from Davina's lips. Her instinct, it seemed, had been

only too right. Any second now he would see her dress and sandals

lying on the grass, she thought, and as if he was telepathic, she saw

him pause and bend to pick them up.

She had never moved faster in her life. Her only thought was flight,

and she dived for the cave, uncaring about the stones that stubbed

at her toes and wrenched her ankle.

It wasn't really a cave at all—just a scooped-out space, dark, cold,

running with moisture with barely enough room to stand up. Behind

her a deep crack ran back into the mountain itself, but this wouldn't

even admit the skinniest child. She leaned forward a little to see

what Gethyn was doing, and wet fern fronds, clinging to a narrow

ledge, brushed across her face. They smelt dank and cold, and she

shivered again, miserably conscious that her exposed skin was

covered in goosepimples. For a moment she found herself wishing

that this was indeed a dragon's cave. A friendly, fire-breathing

dragon would have been more than welcome right there and then.

But no self-respecting mythical monster would have tolerated such

a damp, cramped hideout even for five minutes. And she wasn't

sure how much longer she would be able to last out either.

Her heart sank as she took another furtive peep across the pool. She

could see Gethyn quite clearly. He was sitting on a rock, smoking a

cheroot, and her dress and sandals were lying on the ground at his

feet. Fury rose in her. What kind of a cat-and-mouse game was

this? For how long precisely did he intend to sit there while she

froze to death in this miserable little hole? She rubbed her cold

hands up and down her arms, to keep her circulation going.

How the hell had he known where to find her? she wondered

despairingly. All she had said was that she was going for a walk,

and yet he had traced her unerringly. He knew she was around

because he had her clothes, yet for all he knew she might be

drowned. He didn't show any signs of concern—of continuing his

search, she thought, wrapping her arms across herself, and taking

another cautious look.

At last he moved. He rose from his rock, pitched the half-smoked

cheroot into the water, threw her dress across his shoulder and

disappeared back the way he had come. Before his tall figure had

vanished round the bend in the track, Davina was out of her hiding

place. She was too numb and cold to swim. Instead she began a

slow and painstaking traverse of the rocks before wading through

comparatively shallow water to the beach.

She was thankful for the warmth of the sun on her body, but

nothing could ease her inward chill. He had taken her

dress—actually gone off with it. Her sandals too, of course, but that

wasn't the disaster that her dress was. Barefoot, she could manage

to get back to Plas Gwyn, but the mere idea of trying to make her

way back down the mountainside next door to naked made her

cringe.

Bastard! she raved inwardly. The fact that he had also crippled her

car seemed relatively unimportant suddenly. Why, she might run

into Huw Morgan—the returning pony-trekkers—anyone. She

would have to wait here until her undies dried and gave her at least

a semblance of decency, then try to brazen it out. After all, she had

met no one on her way here. She would simply have to pray for

similar good fortune on the return journey. Unless, of course,

Gethyn had decided to organise some kind of reception committee

for her, just to make her humiliation complete.

She sank down on the grass, a sudden feeling of weakness

overpowering her. It was getting late, she thought, though she had

no idea of the actual time because her watch was also in the pocket

of her dress. An overwhelming urge to burst into tears was

beginning to take possession of her, but she had to fight it. She

couldn't let him win. Somehow she had to find the courage to make

it look as if she was quite used to roaming about on remote Welsh

hilltops wearing nothing but a few square inches of nylon fabric.

She put her arms round her knees and drew them up to her chin. I

hate him, she told herself vehemently. I hate him! And at the

realisation how far—how very far—that was from the truth, in spite

of everything that had happened, she felt a harsh sob rise

uncontrollably in her throat, and the tears she had tried vainly to

suppress finally overcame her.

'Weeping for your damaged pride, lovely?'

Her head was up in an instant, her trembling lip firmly caught in her

teeth at the sound of his sardonic voice. He hadn't gone far, she

realised, just round the bend in the track. And there he had been

waiting to see what she would do. Oh, why the hell had he had to

find her crouched here on the ground, snivelling? Why couldn't she

have marched up the path with her head in the air, whistling as if

she didn't have a care in the world?

She glared at him. 'May I have my clothes, please?' she asked with

icy calm.

'Must you?' His eyes went over her, insolently appraising,

reminding her how totally inadequate her present covering was.

She got deliberately to her feet and returned his stare, fighting an

urge to cover herself with her hands. 'Do tell me when you've seen

enough,' she invited with dangerous politeness. 'I don't want to

interfere with your voyeuristic little games, but I am getting rather

cold.'

His smile was not pleasant. 'Then come here,
cariad,
and I'll warm

you,' he suggested gently.

The silence that followed seemed endless. Davina heard herself

swallow deafeningly. She stared down at the grass at her feet,

willing herself not to look at him—meet his glance. Something

compelling inside her was warning her that would be fatal. There

had been unholy amusement dancing in the green eyes, and

something else as well, less easy to define, that could, if she wasn't

careful, mesmerise her across this few feet of turf into a situation

that she would regret for the rest of her life.

It was one thing to acknowledge deep inside herself that all the old

cravings were there, devastatingly rekindled. It was quite another to

betray herself to him any more than she had done already. What

had changed, after all? She could still arouse his desire, but there

was nothing new about that. What she had to keep at the forefront

of her mind was the fact that his future plans had no place for her at

all. Besides, too much had happened between them in the past. She

could not let him use her for the casual satisfaction of his physical

appetites, which was how he had regarded their marriage. He had

not been prepared to give her the shared companionship and

responsibility—the love that she had wanted more than anything

else.

'What's the matter, lovely?' The caress in his words tingled over her

bare skin. 'Wishing that you'd stayed in the dragon's cave and

frozen to death?'

'Frankly, yes,' she replied shortly, her toes curling defencelessly into

the short-cropped grass.

She heard him laugh deep in his throat, and then he tossed her dress

towards her.

'Put it on,' he advised almost carelessly. 'Pneumonia doesn't figure

in my plans for you at all.'

Davina dragged the dress over her head, thrusting her arms into the

sleeves and working at the buttons with fingers that shook as much