Once upon a Dream (11 page)

“You're mad, sir. Let go of me, or you'll be sorry,” she growled, deepening her voice as much as she could and praying he couldn't see her fear.

But if the man called Blaine was the least bit frightened by this threat from the slight youth with the dirty face and thin arms, he gave not the faintest sign of it. His cold soldier's gaze was riveted on the vial in her fingers, and with his free hand he pried it from her.

“It's no use denying it. You tried to poison me.” He
spoke in a low, deadly tone. Still holding on to her, he rolled the vial slowly between his fingers. “And I'm going to know why.”

Gurth had paused to watch, and now his shrewd glance skimmed over the youth in the ragged clothing. “Hired by one of your enemies, no doubt, my friend.” His lips slashed upward in a grin. “Or else the boy's merely jealous of the attentions of that serving maid. Hey, boy, you wanted her for yourself, eh? Was that it?”

He stepped toward Willow and grabbed her by the front of her tunic. “Don't you know that no maid can resist the Wolf of Kendrick?”

He shook her, laughing uproariously.

“Shut up, Gurth.” Blaine was staring hard into Willow's face. She fought back a rising terror. Never had she seen eyes so cold, so flat and frightening. Blaine knocked his friend's arm aside and came to his feet, towering over Willow. Still holding her wrist in a viselike grip, he swung her around so that she was pinned against the trestle table.

“Who hired you?” he demanded softly.

Willow spoke quickly. “No one, sir. It was an accident—I never meant harm to you. This is some medicine for my sister—a midwife in the village gave it to me. I didn't mean to spill it near your drink—”

“
In
my drink, you mean. And you're a filthy little liar.” Suddenly Blaine began dragging her toward the door.

“What…what are you doing?” Desperately Willow tried to break free, but she may as well have struggled against iron chains.

No one paid much attention as he hauled her unceremoniously toward the inn's door, except Gurth, who called out, “Need any help?”

“With this whelp? I'll beat it out of him before you can take your next sip of ale,” Blaine growled back over his shoulder.

Fear swept through Willow as she was dragged out the door and into the cold gray dusk. Her wrist ached where his fingers were clamped so tightly, and she wondered if
she would be able to escape this man—this fiend—who was so strong and so clever as to have caught her trying to drug him. She must be slipping. Time was, she could have poured the entire contents of the vial into a bowl of soup and have no one the wiser. Either she was losing her touch or this man was far more keen-eyed than even she had given him credit for.

“You're making a mistake, sir,” she cried, forcing her voice to remain low, but she couldn't control the quaver in it.

Blaine of Kendrick shoved her against the side of the barn, and she hit the wooden wall hard, then fell to her knees in a puddle of mud. Quickly, she scrambled to her feet, and her hand flashed out with her dagger.

“Keep back, or I'll kill you,” she said breathlessly, yet her voice held confidence now. With the weapon she felt she might just be a match for him. He was huge and strong and ruthless, as she had already learned, but for all her slender build she knew she was quick and well trained.

King Felix's man-at-arms had seen to that.

But to her dismay, Blaine of Kendrick merely smiled. A wicked, unpleasant smile. The icy expression in his dark eyes was even more unpleasant, Willow thought as the shadows of the encroaching night fell and the cold air whistling down from the mountains sliced right through her garments to chill her skin.

Alone, she faced the formidable man whose chain mail glinted in the dusk.

“If you think that little knife is going to stop me, boy, you're mistaken,” he told her grimly. “If you want to spare yourself a beating, you'll tell me right now what you were up to—because once I lay hands on you I'm not going to stop until you're dead or you've told me everything I want to know. And you won't like my methods.”

Willow swallowed. Beneath her long, tattered tunic, her knees shook, but she managed to hold the dagger steady.
“You won't like the feel of this in your heart,” she said as calmly as she could. “That's where it'll go if you take one step toward me.”

“We'll see about that.” Blaine lunged toward her so suddenly that Willow barely had time to lash out with the dagger. But she did. And sidestepped quickly, just as she'd been taught. Yet the trick she'd worked so hard to master didn't work the way it was meant to. Blaine of Kendrick dove straight at her, and his hand somehow shot out and caught her wrist without feeling the bite of the knife. With one hard wrench that made her cry out in pain, he had the knife from her and tossed it into the dirt.

Then his fist shot out, and she went crashing back against the barn. The world swam, a dark place filled with gnarled trees and squawking chickens and cold night stars and the odor of dung.

A tall form loomed over her, stooped, yanked her upward, and she was futilely struggling once more against strong arms.

“If you think I'll spare you because you're so little and scrawny, you're wrong. You tried to murder me and—”

Suddenly he broke off. As Willow stared dizzily up at him, she saw the incredulity on his face. At the same moment she realized that in her struggles her cap had fallen off. The thong must have come loose from her tresses as well, because her hair tumbled down around her shoulders in a bright, wild tangle.

“What the devil?”

Blaine's skin flushed, and his cold black eyes flickered with an emotion she couldn't read as his gaze swept from her hair to her face. She glared defiantly back at him.

“A girl.” He spoke slowly, beginning to sound amused. There was a light in his eyes she didn't care for, and his lips curled up in a mocking smile. “Well, well. Perhaps you're not so scrawny after all.”

“M
AYBE I SHOULD
get a better look at you.” Blaine gripped the front of her cloak in his fist.

In that instant, Willow realized he intended to rip it away.

“No!” she whispered, her heart in her throat. “D-don't. Let me go, or I'll kill you!”

The amusement in his eyes deepened. “I fear I'm even less daunted by a woman than by a spindly boy,” he said dryly. “Or are you even a woman? You look like a scrawny little imp. I'm tempted to find out. But,” he continued as her eyes sparked with fury, “I'll let you be if you answer my question. This puzzle grows more interesting all the time.”

“It was a mistake, I tell you. I never meant you any harm.”

He saw the mark on her face then, where his fist had struck, and his mouth tightened. “I hurt you.”

“Not a bit.”

But Willow winced as his fingers brushed over the
forming bruise, and her long-lashed eyes closed for a moment. She then opened them quickly to find him searching her face.

“You deserved it. And more,” he added angrily. “It's time for answers, wench. Start with your name. You can tell me here and now or—” Suddenly his eyes gleamed in a way that made him look both boyish and menacing all at once, and her heart stopped.

“Wh-what are you thinking?” Still a bit dizzy, Willow could nevertheless read the dark devilment and equally dark determination in his face. “Whatever it is, I promise you you'll be sorry if you don't—Ohh, what are you doing?”

But this became immediately self-evident as the Wolf of Kendrick slung her over his shoulder like a sack of grain and stalked with her back toward the inn.

“Let me down! How dare you! You will pay dearly for this!”

She's well born,
Blaine thought, striding through the inn. He spoke a few words to the innkeeper, grinned, and waved a salute to Gurth as he continued toward the narrow stairs.
Her voice is cultured. I should have seen she was a girl all along. Something about the way she moves. And speaks. Something in those eyes…

With a sudden surge of curiosity, he found himself wondering what she looked like under that tunic and cloak and those dirty boots. Well, he would soon find out.

“So 'twas a girl trying to murder you!” Gurth shouted across the room and then let out a bark of laughter. “Aye, I should have known there'd be a woman involved. Hahahahaha!”

Blaine didn't bother to respond. He was thinking about the squirming bundle over his shoulder, anticipating the pleasure of uncovering all of her secrets.

“You should have told me the truth before, imp,” he muttered as he reached the landing. He winced slightly, then grinned in admiration as she continued to rain pound
ing blows onto his broad back. “Lost your temper, have you, my girl? So you don't much fancy hanging upside down. Maybe, though, it will loosen your tongue.”

Willow gave a shriek of pure fury. Wrath choked her as she bobbed helplessly over his shoulder. Never had she hated any man so much in her life. Even the vile, murdering outlaw Ervin of Gronze, whose hand she'd chopped off after he tried to attack a village girl, had not inspired such a torrent of violent emotions.

If she couldn't rout this lone soldier, how could she hope to defeat the sinister outlaw bands roaming the Perilous Forest—not to mention the ghost of the Troll King.

The situation didn't appear promising.

Her dagger lay in the dirt by the barn, and her vial of sleeping powder was in her enemy's possession. She'd seen him drop it into his pocket just before he slung her over his shoulder.

Now she was hopelessly overpowered.

But she had to get away, get a head start into the forest. Somehow she had to leave this arrogant brute far behind, unable to catch up to her and beat her to the necklace.

By the time he had stomped into a room, kicked the door shut behind him, and swung her around, Willow was formulating a plan, but her head was spinning from both the blow and from being carried upside down, and her apprehension about the man who had captured her was growing by the moment. He was too quick, too strong, too intelligent. She'd underestimated him earlier. Though she usually enjoyed a worthy opponent, this matter was too important to have to waste time on a battle of wits and resources. This Wolf of Kendrick made a dangerous enemy. She would have to leave him behind—far, far behind.

Somehow or other, before the night was over, she would make good her escape. If she couldn't defeat a shallow, self-important bully like him, she was not the woman she thought herself to be.

But in the meantime…

“Start from the beginning,” Blaine ordered. He set her down on the floor with a thump that rattled her teeth. “What poison was it that you shook into my ale?”

He looked so daunting standing there before her, blocking the door, that Willow wanted to scurry to a far corner of the room. The single candle burning on the rough wood table near the window sent amber light flickering over his rugged features and thick black hair, illuminating his broad, muscled chest and powerful shoulders, and the clenched hardness of his lean jaw.

Never had she met so intimidating a man, and never had she found it necessary to summon up every drop of her courage merely to stand her ground.

But she did stand her ground, refusing to budge an inch, even as he stepped closer.

“Answer me, damn you. Or else, girl or no, you'll be sorry.”

“Threats from a man who bullies youths and women.” Willow's delicate chin lifted. “Pardon me if I don't quail before such as you.”

“You'll quail, all right.” Blaine grasped her arms in a brutal grip that she was beginning to know. “If you don't loose your tongue, perhaps I'll have to cut it out.”

She stared into his eyes, gleaming like coals in the candlelight, and her breath caught in her throat. He just might mean it. He had the look of a man capable of anything. Anything at all.

“You're hurting me. Let me go, and I'll tell you the truth.”

“Tell me, and then I'll let you go.”

She winced as his grip seemed to tighten even more. But she reached a decision. Up until now, lies hadn't fooled him. Maybe the truth would serve better after all.

“It was a sleeping powder. Nothing worse. Now…please…”

She heard the quaver in her voice and hated it, but wasn't able to stop it anymore than she was able to stop the sudden tears brimming at her eyes. It was with min
gled mortification and relief that she felt Blaine of Kendrick abruptly relax his grip on her arms. Those iron fingers did not release her, but they eased enough that she was able to draw a breath.

“Go on.” It was a growl, edged with impatience.

Willow's violet eyes lifted earnestly to his black ones. “I heard you speaking to your friend about venturing into the Perilous Forest.”

“You were spying on me?”

“No…
no
. I just happened to overhear. I paid attention because…I am going there myself.”

“You?” Incredulity and scorn showed in his face. Willow flushed with anger.

“You idiot girl, if you set one foot in that place, you'll be eaten alive. Don't you know of Eadric the Terrible? His roving band of outlaws live there when they're not raiding the countryside—killing and raping all they encounter. Then there's the wild boars, the poisonous snakes, and the evil spirit of the Troll King—”

“I know all about Eadric and the Troll King—and the necklace.” In the candlelight, her eyes were brilliant as jewels. “And I know that you want it, badly. But you can't have it. That's what I have to say to you. I am going after the necklace. I need it for something far more important than the winning of a princess's hand in marriage,” she told him with contempt. “And I'm going to get it.”

For a moment he just stared at her. Those black eyes searched her face, keen and intent, and a muscle throbbed in his jaw. Suddenly he threw back his head and whooped with laughter.

“You? You think you're going to get the necklace—instead of me?” He gave her a shove that sent her spinning down onto the rough straw bed. “That's a good tale, my girl. Now tell me another—and make it the truth.”

“That is the truth. Look into my eyes and if you have any sense at all, you'll see that I mean what I say.”

Slowly she rose from the bed and faced him. Slowly he studied her face and saw the truth staring back at him.

Blaine shook his head. “Why would a little thing like you want to brave such danger? What makes the Necklace of Nyssa so important to you?”

“That is my concern, not yours.” Willow's lovely mouth was firmly set. “But I assure you that my reasons are far more imperative than yours. To win the hand of a princess,” she said with quiet scorn. “If that is your desire, you'll have to find another way to woo poor Maighdin.”

He grinned at her. “I happen to like this way.”

“That is unfortunate for you.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “You're very sure of yourself. I'll grant that you possess courage and mettle. You never wavered back there by the barn when I threatened to beat you to find out the truth. But even you, fair imp, would tremble if you were to set foot inside the forest.” Suddenly he reached out and cupped her chin, tilting it up. “Tell me your name.”

“Why?”

“Do you always answer a question with another question?”

“What concern is it of yours if I do?”

He laughed again. Some of the coldness left his eyes—indeed, she felt a certain heat in his gaze as it traveled over her, appraising her afresh.

“You are spirited.”

“You are insufferable.”

“Don't get in my way,” he warned. “If you interfere with my quest for the necklace, all your beauty will not save you from my anger.”

“Behold, I tremble,” Willow retorted mockingly. Yet she was stunned. Beauty? He thought she possessed beauty? She had never felt less beautiful—her cheeks were dirty, her hair a tangled mass of curls, her garments—unflattering, to be sure.

The man was mad.

She started toward the door, only to have her path blocked again. He was too big, too strong. She knew she would not get past if he did not wish her to do so.

“Our business is finished, sir.” She met his gaze squarely. Inwardly she was aware of a strange, fluttering excitement as those midnight eyes nailed hers, but she managed to keep her composure despite the intensity of his gaze. “Let me pass now—and as far as the necklace is concerned, may the better one of us win.”

“There's something you should know, imp. I always win. Ever since I was a boy, I have won every contest, every game, every tournament, and every fight. I learned that was what I needed to do to survive.”

“You wish to wed a princess so that you may survive?”

“To prove that I can.”

“To yourself or to others?” Willow asked quietly.

He looked surprised. For a moment there was silence but for the din coming from the taproom far below. Then Blaine spoke, his tone matter-of-fact. “Both.”

Willow smoothed her hair back from her eyes. In the light it glimmered like fire. “Poor Maighdin. Is that the
only
reason you wish to wed her?”

“What other reason could there be? Most men do not wish to tie themselves to a woman, one woman, unless it need be.”

“Oh, so you do not seek fortune. Or power. Or ease and security. I see.”

“Not really.” His grin spread, and he shrugged, his hand falling lightly to her shoulder, sliding slowly down her arm. “I seek to win what others cannot achieve. It is my nature.”

“And what of love?” Willow's voice was low.

“Love.” He said the word as if it were a kind of worm not worthy of his notice. His arm slid around her waist before she could protest. She felt a shock of heat.

“What is love, little imp?” he asked mockingly.

For a moment she was mesmerized by the gleam in his eyes, then she wrenched free of his grasp. “I'm not your little imp!”

His face lit with amusement. And something else, something darker, deeper, that made her blood race.
“You're very beautiful when your lip trembles just that way with anger,” he said softly. “And your eyes spark like flames. Magnificent. I hope my princess will be as lovely.”

Suddenly he stepped closer and seized her arms, not roughly, as he had before, but gently, as if she were some fragile thing that would break.

“You speak of love. That tells me you are young and foolish. And innocent. To believe in such things,” he said with a curt laugh.

“Those who do not believe in love are the foolish ones.”

One dark eyebrow slanted upward. Mockingly, he smiled. “Whom have you loved, imp?”

She felt hot color flooding her cheeks. “Let me go.”

“When you answer my question.”

An image of Adrian flashed into her mind. She saw him as he was the day that he had ridden off to battle, his fair hair tousled by the breeze, his smile easy and confident and kind. He had kissed her hand…oh, so gently. And bid her to take care—of herself and her father.

Willow's throat closed. She couldn't speak.

Seeing the emotions that passed across her fine-boned face, Blaine's jaw tightened. Who the devil was she thinking of? he wondered. He frowned, angry with himself. What did it matter? She was a pest, a hindrance, a foolish girl who believed in things he knew well did not exist. A girl who would try to get in his way if he didn't frighten her off.

Yet there was something about her that made him hesitate. He'd seen many beautiful women in his travels, and most of them at one point or another had thrown themselves at him and invited him to taste of their lips—and much more. But there was something particularly appealing about this one, something that set her apart from the others. He couldn't see her curves beneath the bulky garments that covered her, but her face was heart-shaped, delicate, her eyes entrancing. And under the soot on her
face, her small nose and her cheeks were lightly freckled. Charming.