The Dragon and the Dreamwalker (Elemental Series) (3 page)

"In here," she heard the knight say as she drifted in and out of consciousness. Then she felt the softness beneath her as he gently laid her down. She opened her eyes for a mere second, and the first thing she noticed was the candlelight flickering on the stone walls of the room. It reminded her of her own home - of her father's castle before the Klarens stormed it, burnt the village and took over Thorndale Castle as their own. Too exhausted to continue her perusal, her eyelids closed.

"Shall I send the women up to see to the girl?" asked Asad.

Brynn’s eyelids were heavier than she'd ever remembered. It was too much effort to try to talk, so she stayed silent.

"Nay," answered the knight. "Just help me off with my armor. Then send for the old seer from Lornoon to bring some herbs."

"From Lornoon?" asked Asad. "Why not use our own healer?”

"I want the old seer named Juturna. She's also said to be a healer. You can ask the Elders where to find her. She’s said to live like a hermit somewhere in the cliffs.”

"She won't come, my lord. They're all afraid of you."

Brynn thought it an odd statement that someone would be afraid of such a gentle man like this.

"She'll come," the knight answered. "Just send the messenger with word that I sent for her myself."

"Aye, milord."

Brynn heard the sounds of the squire helping the knight out of his armor. Then she heard his footsteps and the creak of an opening door.

“You’ll need more help than just the old woman if you’re to bathe the girl before her wounds are tended to. Shall I stay and help you lift her into the tub?”

“I’ll manage by myself,” came his reply.

Then the door to the room thudded closed and all was silent.

Drake looked at the woman lying upon his bed. Her body was charred from the dragon's fire and he was sure her skin was blistered beneath her clothes. He pulled a dagger from his belt and held it up to her bodice. She moaned and turned her head toward him, though her eyes remained closed.

She'd almost died today and he couldn't forgive himself for being responsible. But this time he'd gotten there promptly to free her before the dragon saw to take its sacrifice. He felt the bile rise to his throat as he thought of all the other virgins who had gone to their deaths at the jaws of the beast. It never should have happened. He should have stopped Dracus long before now. He had to stop the dragon forever, and this time he would not fail like all his past attempts.

His hand wavered above her and he closed his eyes for a second and released a deep breath. He wasn't at all sure he wanted to see her charred and blistered flesh, but knew he had to help her.

He opened his eyes and used the dagger to cut the ties of her bodice and chemise underneath. Her bodice sprang open and her breasts fell free before him. He looked at her beauty, and couldn't believe her skin was as soft as silk and as white as snow beneath her clothes.

He hurriedly ripped the rest of her gown from her and pulled the charred clothes away from her flesh. She was beautiful beneath her clothes. Her skin was smooth, her curves delicate, her breasts mature but yet firm and rounded. And at the juncture of her thighs he saw the fiery silk that told him she was a redhead.

He looked back to her arms, legs and face. All the skin that was exposed at the time the dragon tried to consume her was black with soot, as well as her hair. He'd thought her to be a brunette when he'd first rescued her. Now he knew beneath the dirt, her long tresses were red as well.

He placed his dagger on the bed-side table and quickly removed his tunic. He gently scooped her into his arms, and she wiggled in her sleep and turned her cheek to lay against the bare skin of his chest.

He felt her breath warm him as he carried her over to the washtub which the pages had previously filled with hot water. He tested it, knowing it was hot enough to clean her, yet not scald her in the process.

"Who are you?" he whispered into her ear as he slowly lowered her into the tub. Her head fell back against the wooden side and he knew he must be careful as she still hadn't regained consciousness.

He removed his hose and stepped into the tub with her. This way he'd be able to hold her so she wouldn't fall beneath the water. A bowl of soft soap sat on a chair next to the tub along with two towels. He scooped some of the rose-scented soap into his hand and rubbed it on her arm.

He gently washed around the rope burns on her wrists and brought the scarred flesh to his lips and kissed her gently.

She moaned and stirred, and would have fallen over if he hadn't grabbed her in his arms and pulled her close to him. Her hair fanned out over the water and he washed it as well.

"Fiery red tresses," he commented to himself, not being able to block the dream from his mind he'd had the night before.

He awoke in the darkened room, having the feeling someone was watching him. He grabbed his sword from beneath the covers and sprang to his feet. A beautiful woman with hair the color of the setting  sun walked through the room, not even noticing him. She seemed as if she were looking for something and frustrated that she could not find it. Then she'd gone to the window and looked out. The full moon shone down on her as she leaned against the wall. It was as if she belonged there. As if he were the intruder, and she the inhabitant of the room.

He knew the previous lord of the castle was said to have a daughter. Thorndale Castle was said to be inhabited by a witch with fire for hair and amethyst eyes. He'd come looking for her, but never found her. He hadn’t meant for trouble, but the Klarens broke through the walls and surprised him from behind. He’d once led the Klarens on attacks, but long ago. Now he had his own men whom he trained to reason. He was ridding himself of his past, and he had so much to release. But this time, his haunted past followed him, and because of it, many were dead.

He'd witnessed the death of the lord of Thorndale and his wife. He'd tried to save them, but the Klarens were too many and too strong.

By the time Drake's men were able to overtake them and run the rest of the Klarens from the land, they'd ransacked and burned the village, killing not only men, but women and children as well. They'd come to find the witch-girl just as he had. Just hearing of her power had them wanting to kill her. The prophecy was that this woman would be the cause of the Klarens to fall from power. They'd found her walking amidst the fire. He'd seen the Klarens running in fear, declaring that she was the devil as their swords went right through her and did not harm her. The Klarens were shaken and had left, but he knew they’d be back eventually. After all, as their past leader he’d been the one to teach them to never run in fear, but to stand their ground to the end. Once they’d shown fear, they’d given away their power. By running from the girl, they’d shown weakness. Yes, they would be back to correct their mistake and annihilate the woman whom they’d felt was a threat to their existence.

He finished washing her, and then himself. He lifted her out of the tub and laid her on the bed as he dried her with the towel. This had to be the girl he sought. The fire did not harm her. She was the witch he'd been looking for. The Klarens thought of her as a devil, but he could see she was an angel of truth. A woman who could help him. The only person who could help him find his answers and stop Dracus from taking any more lives.

He covered her nakedness with the fur coverlet, feeling his loins aching to have her. But he wouldn't have her like this. She'd be willing first. And once he’d had her, no one else ever would. Because once she awoke, he planned on making her his wife.

Chapter 3

Brynn didn't know how long she'd dozed off, but when she opened her eyes the first thing she noticed through her blurred vision was the tub of water across the room. Then she heard the deep timbre of the man's voice and snapped her head around to see his silhouette standing by the fire, a tankard of ale in his hand.

"Do you feel better now that you’re bathed and your wounds cleansed?"

Brynn pushed herself up on the bed, almost falling back in the process. She could feel the strength drained from her. Bathing wasn’t something she enjoyed, as each time it would take her long to recover from being submerged in water.

She slowly pushed back the coverlet and was planning on getting to her feet until she realized she was naked under the blanket. She pulled it back up to her chin and sank down into the pillows of the bed in humiliation.

"How dare you look upon my nakedness as if you had the right to."

"How else was I suppose to bathe you unless I removed your clothing?"

"
You
bathed me?" she asked meekly. "Not your chambermaid?"

"You're my responsibility now. No one will touch you except for myself and the old healer when I advise her to."

Brynn closed her eyes, took a deep breath and released it. Then she remembered him saying Juturna was going to be coming to her aid. She felt a connection with the seer, even though she’d never met her. They both were looked upon as outcasts with their 'gifts' of prophecy and astral travel.

"Has she been here yet?" Brynn kept her eyes closed, not wanting to look at the man who'd probably fondled her nakedness while he’d cleansed her. Ever since she gave herself to Calais, she cursed the thought of any man touching her again.

“She’s in the courtyard as we speak. Asad will bring her as soon as I’m finished with you.”

Her eyes flew open at that remark. His words were cold and uncaring. It almost sounded as if he meant to harm her. She couldn’t help but remember the Klarens’ words as they killed her villagers one by one. The screams and cries echoed in her head, along with the attackers’ words,
we’re not finished with you yet.

She spied the nighttime candle next to the bed and brought it to her. She held her hands over the fire to help regain her strength.

She took a moment to focus her vision in the semi-darkened room. Though she feared the man in the shadows, she still had the odd sensation of being comfortable with her surroundings.

She looked up to the velvet draperies that hung from iron rods around the bed. Her heart beat faster and she sat upright, barely breathing at all as she recognized the carved spindles at each corner. Her father had carved these spindles - engraving his love for his wife in the vines and faeries that wrapped around and around, climbing to the top and ending in a moon or star. She knew now why she felt at home. She
was
home. Resting in her parents’ bed.

“No!” she exclaimed, not wanting to believe it were true. She placed the candle on the bedside table. Her eyes shot to the wall looking frantically for her father’s banner - his crest of sword and shield, a mighty arm holding one, a feminine arm the other. But it was no surprise when she found it missing. Instead, a banner with a fierce fire-breathing red and black dragon consumed the spot.

“You act as if you’ve seen a ghost. As if my castle’s dwellings could speak to you.” He still stayed hidden in the shadows.

“Every stone in the walls, every rush on the floor - they cry with anguish for the lives that have been lost here recently. And if you are so bold as to call this your castle, then it can only be you who is responsible for the blood that’s been shed on these grounds.”

“I claim many a triumph of the men I’ve conquered or the fiefs I hold, but I cannot put my mark on the lives lost here. I claim the castle only.”

“’Twas you who killed my parents! ’Twas you who stole my family’s wealth.”

“You’re parents?” he asked, sounding bewildered. As if he didn’t know who she was when he saved her from the dragon only to claim her as his prize.

She grabbed the coverlet from the bed and wrapped it tightly around her, easing herself to the floor and hoping her father’s ivory-handled dagger still lay hidden under the loose floorboard. She would never be the spoils of war. She’d kill him before she lived at the side of the man who murdered her parents.

“I’ve heard it said that the former lord and lady of Thorndale Castle had a daughter. A daughter who befriends fire and has magical powers at her command,” he answered from the darkness.

“And I’ve heard it said that the man who leads the Klarens into battle, killing and ransacking everything in sight is a black-hearted man who gains his power at the hands of others’ misfortunes. His reputation is known throughout the hills of Lornoon. He’s the one mothers warn their daughters about. He’s the one they mention to threaten their children when they’re bad. Yet his name is never spoken aloud, for fear the darkness that possesses this man’s soul may follow his name, striking down dead the one who spoke it.”

It was then he stepped slowly out of the shadows and into the soft light of the fire that flickered from the bedside candle. The glow encompassed him as his dark eyes bore into her. One fist gripped a tankard of ale in front of him. He was tall, handsome, foreboding and carried his body frame straight and proud as he strolled toward her. His chest was bare - wide and sturdy. Every muscled ripple showed in his physique. His arms were huge in a strong sort of way, empowering the rest of his warrior body. And like a warrior, he still carried a weapon though he was half-clothed.