Dream of Me/Believe in Me (96 page)

JOSIE LITTON
lives in New England where she is happily at work on a new trilogy of historical romances. She is also at home at
www.josielitton.com
.

Turn the page for a sneak preview of

Come Back
TO ME

available November 2001 wherever Bantam Books are sold

D
AMN, DAMN, AND DAMN AGAIN! THE
cursed habit h ad followed her all her life since tenderest childhood. How she loathed being different, how she despised always
knowing.
Lie to her and she would be happy, trick her into believing what was not and she would be delighted, prevaricate, falsify, fib, and palter, nothing would thrill her more. To be in blissful ignorance, never to know or at least not to know beyond the ordinary ken whether someone spoke the truth or lied, that was her great dream as much as freedom itself, for it was a kind of freedom all its own. Let her be done with truth!

He was a man, nothing more. A stranger and a threat. She was glad to be done with him.
Lies.

Her mouth set thinly, she came away from the moss-draped rock and launched herself back upon the course of least resistance through the wood. She would reach Hawkforte before dark. She would wrangle her way upon a merchant ship bound for Normandy. She would find
Thurlow there and together they would make a new life far from the loathsome threat that hung over her were she foolish enough to remain in England.

And that, for anyone who cared, was
truth.

There was silence in her mind and in the wood, as though nature itself stilled before her blind determination. She drank it in, nodded once and hurried on. It did not occur to her to glance back or even train her hearing in that direction. Not that it mattered. Had she done so, she would have perceived nothing. The Dragon moved over the land like smoke, fathomless and irresistible.

He caught up with the lad scarcely an hour after the first sign of movement. It would have been quicker but he'd hung back awhile, making sure he hadn't been spotted and waiting for the right moment to take him by surprise. He intended to make this quick and get it done with before the boy could hurt himself struggling. After that there would be time for the customary courtesies.

And so it would have been but for one of those vagaries of nature that can never be anticipated. A family of grouse was at home in the underbrush. Dragon's sudden passing roused the parents to protective fury. The male flew from the nest batting his wings and squawking furiously. The female arched her neck, stretched out her wings protectively, and hurled her own dire threats.

The clamor was answered by a slew of other birds who lifted into the air, cackling, cawing, hooting, shrieking and scolding until the hitherto tranquil wood fairly rang with their outrage. The noise penetrated even the fog of Rycca's fatigue and made her look round in surprise.

Surprise that turned swiftly to shock.

The handsomest man she had ever seen.

A shiver of disbelief rippled through Rycca. She did not linger to contemplate the stranger's sudden reappearance or her own absurd thoughts. Instead, she turned and ran with all the desperate speed her weary body could muster.

Dragon followed swiftly. He saw no reason to let the boy exhaust himself any further. Best he face what he rightly had coming and be done with it. Then they would settle the matter of why he was alone and where he was heading. Dragon would see him safely there whether his destination be Hawkforte or not, and whether the lad wanted the company or not. Not mere protectiveness alone dictated that he do so. There was also the matter of curiosity. He sensed a story behind the lad's solitary journey, and if there was one thing Dragon loved, it was a good story. Indeed, people claimed he had a collection of them to rival that of any skald or bard. There were even some who said Dragon should have been one of that happy fraternity, traveling from manor to manor proclaiming the great tales of the age. Fate had called him to a different life, that of warrior and leader. So be it. He still enjoyed those evenings spent round the fire when the ale flowed freely and he held an audience spellbound in the magic of his words.

The lad truly was desperate, Dragon realized suddenly, for he was moving far more quickly than he should have been after the miles he had already covered. With a shake of his head, Dragon closed the distance between them. The boy had strength and stamina, there was no doubt of that, but Dragon was a man full grown, trained to hardship and war, at the peak of his powers. His legs were steel, rippling with muscle, devouring ground. He ran without effort, moving easily over every obstacle, remorseless and inescapable.

The boy seemed to realize that suddenly as he darted a glance over his shoulder. Dragon was so near that he could see the shock in eyes so wide and thick-fringed they must surely provoke teasing. A sudden, dark thought flashed through his mind. Perhaps the boy had a particular reason for taking such desperate measures to escape. A memory rose sharply despite its being long years old. Little more than a child, torn from his home by the
ravages of war, Dragon had set sail upon the world's seas in the company of his older brother. In the hold of a ship, at night, a man … Even now, Dragon grimaced in disgust. He had fought and fiercely so, but alone he would not have escaped. It was Wolf, already big for his age and with the skill that would make him one of the most renowned warriors of their day, who had saved him. Striking with savage intent, he gutted the attacker, leaving him to writhe in his death throes as he hugged Dragon fiercely and swore they would survive against all enemies and all dangers.

So they had done, rising to vast wealth and power, but not climbing quite so far that Dragon had forgotten how it felt to be young, helpless, and very afraid.

Mildly chagrined by his own kinder self, he nonetheless called out to the boy, “There's no need for this. I'm not going to hurt you. Just stop and we'll talk.”

The look this earned suggested Dragon must have suffered a recent head injury in addition to that done to his nether parts. With a last backward glance, the boy redoubled his efforts to get away.

Dragon sighed. He took half a dozen more strides and flowed smoothly into the air, bringing his quarry down in a single motion. Even then, he rolled as they hit the ground, taking the impact himself and sparing the boy all but a simple jarring. He might have done better to knock the wind out of him for the brat struggled furiously, kicking out in every direction and doing his damnedest to get his teeth into any portion of Dragon that presented itself.

“Oh, no, you don't!” Dragon exclaimed. “I've had enough from you.” He bounded to his feet, hauling the boy up with him, and gave him a good shake. “Calm down! All I want to do is talk.”

That accomplished precisely nothing. Flush-faced, wide-eyed, the lad continued to struggle with all his might. Prudently, Dragon held him off at arm's length
and even so kept a careful watch on his flailing limbs as they slowly but inexorably wound down. He waited until the miscreant had scarcely enough strength left to twitch before he tried again.

Pleasantly, he asked, “Are you ready to talk now?”

The boy was panting so hard he probably wasn't capable of speech but he did manage a glare of pure venom.

“No? I can wait.” He continued to hold the boy a few inches above the ground, dangling at the end of a very long, very strong arm. At the same time, he repeated quietly, “I am not going to hurt you.”

When the boy looked at him in utter disbelief, Dragon added, “Oh, I considered it rightly enough. You deserve a thrashing for what you did. But I'm willing to allow that you may have thought you were acting in self-defense, even as I myself was when I seized you. Any man has a right to protect himself.” Deliberately, he awarded the stripling a title he would not merit for many years yet. On closer appraisal, the lad might be even younger than Dragon had thought. Cheeks that had been red with exertion were paling rapidly, revealing damask smooth skin without the slightest trace of even an infant beard. The boy's features were delicately drawn, a straight and slender nose sitting above a full mouth and gently rounded chin. But it was those eyes, those huge, slightly uptilted eyes the precise shade of clover honey that sent a prickle of apprehension down Dragon's back. A sudden, hideous suspicion stirred in him.

Without warning, his free hand darted out and snatched the cap that swaddled the imp's head.

“Noooo!”
Slender fingers flew to stop him, too late. Masses of silken hair glinting with the sheen of copper tumbled free. Dragon stared in disbelief. A girl. He had been brought to his knees by
a girl.
The realization stunned him if only because in all his experience with women—his very long, very considerable experience— nothing remotely similar had ever happened. In all
modesty, no female had ever looked upon him with other than warm encouragement and affection. That may have been because of his appearance although he'd never thought anything of how he looked one way or another. And perhaps his wealth and position had impressed some. But he suspected it had much more to do with the simple fact that he adored women. Utterly, completely, unreservedly
adored
them. Women were the greatest of the gods' considerable accomplishments, the best gift, the most marvelous delight that could be bestowed upon the earth and upon man, including his own lucky self. Women were soft and strong, they smelled good and had beguiling smiles, they gave life and made it count for something. In bed, out of bed, he delighted in them. Old, young, in between, he found their presence a constant source of comfort and enjoyment. That one of these marvelous creatures might actually seek to do him harm left him stunned.

Not that he could blame her. She must have been absolutely terrified and while he was thinking about it, what in hell's name was she doing traveling alone? No wonder she was gotten up as a boy, but that was scant protection. If he'd had more than a few seconds to look at her earlier he would have realized at once what he had finally discovered.
A girl
.

“It's all right, sweetling,” Dragon said gently. He set her down with the utmost care, watchful lest in her exhausted state she topple over. “There's nothing for you to be afraid of. No one's going to hurt you. I'll see you safely to wherever you're going and—”

She turned and, fleet as a young doe, ran. He stared after her in amazement. Where had she possibly found the strength to try to escape yet again? It was truly amazing and just one more testament to the extraordinary mystery of women. Not that he could let her go, of course. She might get lost, or have trouble finding food, or be cold once night came, or run into some man with altogether
the wrong sort of attitude toward women. Dragon couldn't allow any of that to happen. Nor could he allow her to harm herself by dashing through the woods probably paying no attention at all to her surroundings.

Frowning with concern, he hurried after her.

Rycca's breath came in labored gasps. Her legs were lead, the effort of running agony. Only the desperate courage deep within her kept her from slumping to the ground in defeat. Of all the cruel tricks for fate to play upon her. She had escaped the brutality of her family and their nightmare plans for her future only to find herself in the hands of the most terrifyingly powerful warrior she had ever seen in her life.

And the handsomest man.

If she had possessed even a whisper of breath to spare, she would have laughed in sheer disbelief at herself. Even now, fleeing for her life, she could harbor such a thought. She must be possessed of some inner demon.

Only truth.

Truth be damned! And with it all the rest that life had inflicted upon her. She would not fall to the warrior or to her own weakness. She would run until her heart burst if she had to but she would never,
ever
give up. Surrender was for the craven and meek. She was neither. Heedless of the tears of exhaustion and fear that streamed down her cheeks, Rycca ran on. She did not see the ground change around her, did not notice the trees thinning away, paid no heed to the sea shining below the cliff that suddenly loomed before her. Nor did she hear Dragon's frantic shout. Drained of strength, bereft of hope, driven only by despair, she tumbled straight over the cliff face. A strangled scream broke from her. Grasping at bushes, she tried to halt her headlong plunge. The effort failed and with a last sob of terror she glimpsed the white-foamed breakers rushing up toward her.

Dragon saw the girl disappear over the cliff and
fought the wave of sickness that clawed at him. He could scarcely believe what his stubborn pursuit had wrought but there was no denying the brutal result. The girl was gone, might even at that moment be dead or dying, and it was his fault. With a horrified groan, he flung himself down the cliff side, scarcely controlling his fall as he slipped and slid until leaping the last dozen feet to the beach.

The sight that greeted him made bile rise in his throat. She lay crumbled at the edge of the water against the boulder that had finally stopped her. Tendrils of copper hair drifted on the incoming tide. Another few minutes, and the water would be deep enough to drown her. As it was, her slender form was unmoving. A thin trickle of blood oozed from a wound on her forehead, flowing away into the sea.

Scarcely breathing, Dragon lifted the girl and carried her a safe distance up the sand. He laid her down carefully, then hesitated, momentarily uncertain of what to do. The man who had seen more injuries on the battlefield than he could count, and who had prevented his own death a year before by swiftly dealing with a wound that would have killed him, found himself at an utter loss. She looked so fragile lying there, all the strength and courage suddenly gone from her. Swallowing thickly, he opened the small pack hanging from his belt, drawing from it the supplies that good sense and his sister-in-law, herself a renowned healer, assured he always carry with him. The soft, clean cloth he pressed against the wound on the girl's forehead slowed the bleeding. He left the makeshift bandage in place and quickly checked her limbs, relieved to find none of them broken. In the process, he could not help but discover that the loose boy's clothing concealed a body of strong, flowing curves. Firmly putting that discovery from his mind as best he could, he carefully slid his hands beneath the tunic and, ignoring the odd trembling
that inexplicably struck him, confirmed that her ribs were also intact.