Carolyne Cathey (8 page)

"Never tease
about the Queen, woman.  I've seen King Edward's vengeance.  To even mention
his name might stir the . . ." He paled.  "Aye, the dragon.  How know
you of this beast?"

Her fingers felt
numb she clenched them so hard.  "'Twas part of the second message, my
lord."

Air hissed into
his lungs.  "And what, pray tell, is this further information?"

"When
Brigham handed you the missive from the king, a dragon rose from the flames of
hell.  I heard screams, smelled smoke, and sensed . . . death."

"Interesting." 

"I believe
that, somehow, the dragon is connected to the message, or to Brigham."

"Not
Brigham."  Lord Kyle scooted back his chair and stood, then ambled to the
chest beside the hearth.  He picked up the rolled missive and moved to the
fire.  Hesitant, he opened the scroll and read in silence.  Fiery light writhed
on the angles of his face, and she could see the seriousness of his expression.

"I am to be
honored with a visit from our king by All Souls' Day."  Lord Kyle crumpled
the parchment in his battle-scarred hand and tossed the message into the
flames.  "The end begins." 

A flare leapt,
burned bright; the scroll curled into black, then crumbled into ashes.

In apparent
thought he picked up the poker and stirred the embers to a blaze.  One end of a
log collapsed into glowing coals.  Sparks swirled above the flames, then were
sucked past her view into the chimney.

Firesparks. 
Against black.  As in the vision.

A shudder flowed
along her spine.

Lord Kyle cleared
his throat as if to dislodge an emotional clog. 

"I witnessed
the Prince of Wales' execution.  He was tortured because he dared to fight for
the preservation of his own country.  Then he was castrated, hacked into
pieces, and his various parts sent to the different towns to be displayed upon
pikes.  Edward wished to warn the world what happens to those who dare defy his
majesty."  Metal grated against stone as Lord Kyle leaned the ash-covered
poker against the wall.

She wondered how
the dragon related to the death of Prince Davydd.  To the king.  She waited for
him to explain the correlation, but he mused in silence.  And what had he meant
by the end begins?  Did he refer to his life?  Queasiness struck with the
thought.

Then he
straightened, an ebony icon backlit by flame. 

"I must make
the most of my time."

He lifted his
chin to a decisive angle and she held her breath, certain his decision affected
her future.

"Eleanor,
even though I know you jested about the Queen, I'd not even consider such
foolishness as her seduction.  Not only because of my king, but because she
isn't mine."  He turned to her, his face shadowed, his determination
obvious.  "But you are mine, Eleanor.  Your own vision said as much.  And
I will have you."

He strode forward
and scooped her into his arms as if she were a newly won prize, then carried
her toward the bed.

He meant to
ravish her!  A jolt of terror skittered along her nerves and she squirmed to
break his hold, her mind in a frantic scramble for a persuasive argument.

"My lord,
you misconstrue the message."   

"I told you
I would judge the meaning for myself, and I have."  His knee pressed on
the mattress as he laid her atop the fur cover.  Then he loomed over her, smoke
spiraling beyond him into the blackness of the rafters, firelight aglow on one
side of his face, the other side in darkness.  He looked like Satan intent on
his next victim. 
Her
. 

A scream wedged
in the cramp of her throat.  She kicked, but he merely placed his shins atop
hers and proved her impotence, his power.  She pushed at his arms and struggled
to rise.

"My lord,
cease!" 

The bed creaked
and the mattress sank while his weight came down on her thighs, her stomach, as
he lowered his body onto hers, the bedding cradling her into a lush prison. 

"Sire, I
remind you of the dream!" 

"And I
remind you that in spite of your macabre insinuations, your interpretation that
you are my advisor is inconsistent with our status, thus cannot be correct, and
in truth, matters not."

"You only
believe the part convenient to your purpose, a dangerous folly."

"You are not
to interfere, Eleanor.  There is much of which you know naught."

"What of the
dragon?  Of Brigham?"

"Jerrod
mentioned the dragon when we first arrived.  The slip of his tongue gave you
what you might then claim to be . . . revealed information.  So we'll speak no
more of this beast.  Or of Brigham."

"But I
saw---"

"'Tis an
order."  He brushed wayward strands from her face as if for better access. 
"You are mine, lass.  Don't fight me."  Then his lips covered hers. 

Afraid of her
shattering resolve, Eleanor shoved against his chest.  He tasted her mouth, his
tongue insistent on an entry.  She twisted her face from his, but he gripped
her hair and turned her toward him.

"Nay---" 

He plunged his
tongue past her denial, scorched the inside of her mouth, plundered her
willpower.  His hand seared her face, her neck, her breast.  She couldn't cry
out in protest; he had claimed her breath.  She couldn't move; he had pinned
her to the bed, hard muscle atop her, soft fur beneath.  Tears welled in her
eyes and ran hot past her ears into her hair.  The wet trail chilled in the
night air.

Lord Kyle
shifted.  He drew up her skirt as his callused hand scalded a path along her
bare leg.  His mouth moved a heated path down her neck to her chest.  Then his
mouth blazed lower and covered the peak of her breast.

Eleanor gasped
with shock, with arousal, with fear.  A tangle of emotions and sensations
battled for supremacy.

"'Tis
ravishment, my lord."  Her words rasped from her throat.

He froze.

"I do not
submit to you willingly, Sire.  The only way you will take me is by
force."

Lord Kyle pushed
back on straightened arms.  "You want me, I can tell.  I hear your breaths,
I feel your heart.  Your nipple hardens beneath my tongue even though protected
by the silk.  'Tis not ravishment, lass.  Not when both want the same
fulfillment."

She shivered, but
didn't know if caused by the Satanic appearance of his half-lit visage, or that
he spoke the truth.  "I admit you stir a desire within me I didn't know
possible to feel, Sire.  But I will not be your whore.  'Tis not the
fulfillment the vision indicated."

A growl rumbled
low in his chest.  As if in answer, thunder rumbled low outside the window. 
The air in the room hung heavy, still, and she could scarcely breathe.

"Then how do
you propose to entertain me, wench?  For I shall not sleep as I am now.  And
unless you deter my mind and my desire, an impossible task, I may take you by
force after all, for my time evaporates from this earth like steam from a hot
stone."

"Nay, not
your
shortened time.  If I succumb to your temptation, the death foreseen will be
mine, as punishment."

Desperate,
Eleanor reached out to push herself from under Lord Kyle's boulder-like
weight.  One hand touched something cool on a table beside the bed.  She
grasped the figure and held the piece to catch the fire's light. 

A queen.  Carved
from ivory.

"Chess, my
lord."

He grunted in
surprise.  "What's that you say?"

"I challenge
you to a game of chess."

A laugh erupted
from his throat.  "You?  A woman?  And a peasant, at that?  Do you wish to
be humiliated yet again?  Do you hope to soothe me with a foolish game?"

"I'm quite
proficient, my lord."

He laughed again,
a low, throaty laugh that vibrated through her chest and into the pit of her
stomach. 

"If you are
as proficient at chess as you are at shaving, then I shall best you before your
imprint upon this mattress has a chance to cool."  Lord Kyle shifted his
weight to one arm.  He molded his other hand over her breast and gently
squeezed.

Eleanor gasped to
cool the torrid heat that pulsed from his palm to her heart, to her womanhood. 
She shoved at his arm, to no avail.

"You are
filled with hidden passion, lass.  'Tis only in wait for me to release your
lust.  And you speak of chess?" 

A gleam flashed
from his determined eyes.  His mouth curled into a slow grin as if a devilish
thought took root in his mind.  He ran his thumb over the tight bud of her
nipple and she fought a moan. 

"I accept
the challenge."  His tone indicated an amused excitement.  He scooted from
the bed.  "Up woman.  I will have this over with.  Take your chair." 
In silhouette he picked up the chess board and carried it to the table. 
"'Twill be a game of Fool's Mate since 'twill be over in so few
plays."

Eleanor scrambled
from the bed and limped to her seat.  She had distracted him.  A strange sense
of power crept into her mind. 

"Then, Sire,
when I best you, shall I call you, My Lord Fool?  Or only, Fool?"

Amazement shone
from his widened eyes that were twin reflections of a stormy sky.  "Such a
sharp tongue.  I wonder that my own tongue isn't shredded after its plunge into
your mouth."  Then he showed a one-sided grin of supreme cockiness. 
"This game will dull the edges of your verbal weapon.  When next your
tongue surrenders to mine, lass, 'twill be soft as velvet."

She couldn't
retort in kind; her tongue had stuck to the roof of her mouth and refused to
shape a word.

Lord Kyle laughed
and turned to unbolt the door.  "John!"  He bellowed the name down
the stairwell.

A scramble of
footsteps pounded the stairs.  "Aye, milord."

"Bring a
fresh ewer of ale and another tankard."

"Right away,
milord."  Energetic footsteps faded into oblivion.

Lord Kyle strode
toward her, rubbing his hands together as if he planned a secret strategy. 
Before she knew his intent, he seared her mouth with a quick kiss, then sat
across from her, mischief in his eyes. 

Still feeling his
brand on her lips, she stared as he placed the ivory and jet on the
chessboard. 

White. 
Black. 

Eleanor shuddered
with trepidation. 

Thunder vibrated
the shutters.  Wind moaned through the narrow wood slits as if in warning. 

Lord Kyle flashed
a devilish smile.

"You shall
have your game, Eleanor.  But I propose a wager."

She inhaled a
tight breath.  "A wager would be a sin, my lord."

"Hah.  Who
says?  Life is a wager.  Will we die this day, or the next?"

"And what if
I lose, Sire?  What would be my punishment?"

He reached across
the table and stroked her cheek with his rough fingertips.  "Punishment? 
Nay.  Reward."

"Which
is?"

"You shall
be my leman."

Eleanor brushed
his hand from her face.  "Why should I accept such a wager, my lord?"

Lord Kyle didn't
answer, only smiled. 

"And if I
win?"

He showed mock
sadness.  "Then you lose.  You may choose not to be my leman."

Eleanor rolled
her eyes.  "And what do you risk in the bargain, my lord?  An empty bed
for the length of time it takes for Beth to answer your summons?  Do you think
me dense?"

"Either we
play as you have suggested, or we go back to what occupied us before
now."  He nodded his head toward the bed.

Anger clutched at
her heart.  "You ask me to risk my most valuable gift while you risk
naught?  All I have to offer a man is my purity.  I have no property, no title,
only my maidenhead that proves I am untouched by man.  Once I give away my
virginity, I can never again reclaim the status.  And you suggest I risk this
for a game?" 

Lord Kyle reached
across the table and grabbed her wrists.  "Listen to me, Eleanor.  Nay,
don't fight me.  Let me think." 

"'Tis wasted
effort, Sire.  There is naught you can offer to equal such a sacrifice."

Thunder grumbled
as if to make a collusive suggestion, then Lord Kyle's eyes narrowed with
cunning.

"I sweeten
the wager.  If
I
win, you will be my leman.  But if
you
win . .
."

A chill draft
whisked down the chimney.  Flames flared as if a dragon breathed in
anticipation, then blazed blue brilliance like the heat in Lord Kyle's eyes.

"I will give
you my name." 

She jerked from
his hold.  "But, 'tisn't done, my lord!  A knight doesn't wed below his
status."

"This knight
will do as he pleases.  I am determined to have you."

Eleanor's heart
pounded against her ribs.  Her thoughts tumbled too fast to catch hold of only
one.  Temptation beckoned her to accept.  As his lady she would have the power
to fulfill her destiny.  But the risk seemed too great.

He still leaned
close, his gaze intense.  "Do you fear you will lose, lass?  Do you
over-boast your skills?"

Eleanor swallowed
to loosen the knot in her throat.  "No one knows for certain he will win,
but my confidence is strong."

Lord Kyle
grinned.  "Then, 'tis a bargain?" 

He held out his
hand for her to take. 

As in the
dream
.

 "Think what
my name will do for you, Eleanor.  If you win, you will reign as lady of
Trystonwood.  Do you ever hope to receive a grander offer?"  He shook his
head at his own question.  "Nay.  The most you dare hope for is to wed a
beggared cottar."

Eleanor's head
throbbed.  Dare she accept?  She looked at his fingers to detect a nervous
tremble, but they remained steady, controlled, unlike her own.  She searched
his face and saw that he believed he couldn't possibly lose, that he only
plotted her submission. 

"And will
you keep your word when I best you, my lord?"