Sharon Schulze - L'eau Clair Chronicles 03 (5 page)

“It’s not me they want, but the chance to bed the Dragon. Besides, ‘tis damned difficult to lay a wench who’s staring at you with fear in her eyes,” Ian said with disgust.

“So don’t look at their eyes. Christ, how’d you get so choosy? If the lass is a toothsome armful and willing, what does the rest matter?”

“It matters to me.;’ Ian scanned the room for his cloak before he remembered he’d left it with Lily. He didn’t need it, anyway. His blood had flowed hot from the moment he first tussled with her. The feel of her in his arms remained imprinted upon his body.

And his mind.

Dai’s words made him think of her vivid green eyes.

He had recognized many things in her gaze when it rested so steadily upon him. But he hadn’t seen fear among them.

Jesu, he grew maudlin! Next thing he knew, he’d start composing a song about the way her hair glowed in the candlelight. Perhaps he’d spent too much time in his Norman brother-in-law’s company and his courtly manners had robbed off on him.

A quick glance at the sky through the window slit showed the sun hovering just above the horizon. If he wanted to take Dai to meet Lily before supper, they had best go now.

“Come along, old man,” he said, urging Dai away from the mead and out the door.

“I’ll show you a woman who doesn’t know how to fear.”

“Indeed, milord.” Dai squinted at his face in the dim light of the corridor; Ian felt the measuring weight of his scrutiny.

“And how would you know that?”

“She calls me Dragon.”

Ian fought back a smile as they left the tower and crossed the bailey. Seldom did he move Dai to silence, but the other man hadn’t said a word since his last comment.

Although he valued Dai’s counsel, and trusted him implicitly, he often found himself only half listening as he prattled on.

He picked up his pace as he led the way down the stairs into the cellars, but then stopped dead in the corridor. No guard stood outside the cell.

And the bar to the door lay on the floor, as though tossed aside in haste.

Motioning to Dai to keep silent, Ian drew his sword and crept forward, then pushed on the door. It swung inward in a slow, creaking arc, revealing the darkness within.

Dai snatched a torch from the wall and handed it to him. Sword at the ready, Ian entered the cell.

He paced the narrow boundaries, but of Lily he found no sign. The three-legged stool sat where he’d placed it, his cloak draped over the seat, the only clues that his visit hadn’t been a dream.

“Lord Ian.”

He whirled at the sound of Dai’s voice, then kicked the stool aside and snatched his cloak off the floor.

“Where is she?”

The formless suspicions he’d harbored after meeting with Llywelyn crowded into his head, a jumble of curiosity and accusation, barely noticed hints that something wasn’t right. He should have followed his instincts, sent Dai off to investigate sooner, instead of-“Mayhap Llywelyn let her go,” Dai commented.

“He hadn’t agreed to see her. Even if he decided to meet with her, he would have sent for me to be there, as well. I’m the one who questioned her.”

“What does it matter, lad? She was here, now she’s gone. You said yourself she didn’t know who she was.”

Dai shook his head.

“I know for a fact you’ve got more important work to do than this.”

But it did matter.

“There’s something strange about this. The situation Lily described seemed odd.” He righted the stool and sat down, his mind working furiously.

“I want you to go to Saint Winifred’s Abbey once we discover what has happened here. I’m certain you’ll have better luck finding answers than a lone young woman would,” he said pointedly.

“Aye, milord.”

“But first we need to find her.” Ian rose to his feet.

“Come. Let’s see what Llywelyn has to say about this.”

The prince had yet to leave his chamber for supper, which suited Ian’s purpose. He’d rather not discuss the mysterious Lily before all and sundry in the hall.

Once the meal ended, the revelry would begin. And when the wine began to flow, any kind of conversation would be impossible.

“May we speak with you privately, milord?” Ian asked. At Llywelyn’s nod, he ushered Dai into the chamber.

“I’ve matters of importance to discuss.”

Llywelyn returned his attention to a basin of water as Ian pulled the door closed with a sharp snap. His expression revealed nothing but impatience as he took his time drying his hands on a strip of fine linen.

Tossing the towel aside, he crossed the room to a table in the center and picked up a jeweled chalice.

“Would you care for wine?” He poured the deep red liquid from a pitcher, sending the scent of spices wafting through the air.

Ian declined the wine and the offer of a chair, then waited impatiently as Dai accepted a goblet and joined the prince at the table. Finally the niceties were satisfied, and Ian got down to business.

“I went back to see the girl, to tell her you would deal with her once you had more time.” He watched his kinsman’s face with interest, although he kept his own expression casual, disinterested.

“I planned to release her from the cell, since she poses no threat to anyone.” He toyed with a thread on the sleeve of his tunic, continuing to observe Llywelyn from beneath lowered brows.

“I was surprised to find she wasn’t there.”

All Llywelyn’s attention seemed focused upon his wine. Then he glanced up and met Ian’s gaze. Ian could see nothing in the other man’s face but a mild annoyance, gone so swiftly he might have imagined it.

“You needn’t have bothered,” Llywelyn said.

“Any more than you should have bothered me with her tale in the first place. I know nothing of her or her mother, and so I told her.”

“Then where is she?” Ian demanded.

“She had no wish to stay, once she saw I could not help her. A guard escorted her from the castle.” Llywelyn raised the goblet to his lips and avoided Ian’s scrutiny.

“She’s here no longer. Beyond that, I cannot say.”

A light glowed before her, shining through a small slit set high in the door. She had to be dreaming. Lily raised her head from her up drawn knees and robbed the sleep from her eyes. She looked again, but the light didn’t disappear.

Instead, it shone brighter.

“Who’s there?” she called, slowly rising to her feet.

A strange shuffling noise, accompanied by the rustle of fabric, came from the corridor. No one answered.

She had no way to mark the passage of time, but her rumbling stomach told her that many hours had passed since she’d broken her fast. Perhaps one of the guards had returned with food. They had to feed her sometime—didn’t they?

Though her body protested with every step, she made her way toward the door. The wide, metal-banded planks felt solid and impenetrable when she leaned her weight against them. She ran her hand along the edge, where the door met rough plaster and stone, but she couldn’t find a handle. Anyone lodged here was meant to stay.

She had to crane her neck to see out the window. The glare from a torch blinded her, but her nose worked all too well. Coughing, she moved down from the opening and slumped back against the wall.

She couldn’t imagine anything that could cause such an indescribable stench. Whatever it was had to be on the other side of the door. Even the dank, fetid air of her cell smelled better.

She filled her lungs before rising on tiptoe to peer out once more. She blinked several times, until her vision adjusted to the brightness.

The sight that met her eyes had to be a fiend of Satan.

She couldn’t imagine how anyone could suffer such injuries and live. She’d seen cripples before—many had come to the abbey for help—but never had she encountered such a horrifying combination of infirmities.

Bent almost double, he leaned on a rough stick, one misshapen foot twisted at an unnatural angle. A Scraggly beard covered most of his face, but through the silver-shot hair she could see that his nose and one cheek had been smashed nearly flat. His left eyelid drooped closed. His forehead, and the hand that held the torch in an unsteady grip, were covered with scars.

“Might not want to look,” he rasped.

“I’m not a pretty sight.” His laugh had a maniacal quality to it, sending a shiver down Lily’s spine. She crossed herself, thanking God this unfortunate creature couldn’t see her–or the loathing and pity she couldn’t hide.

“Who are you? Why have you come here?” she asked when she found her voice. She backed away from the door to catch a breath.

“Are you here to let me out?”

“Nay. I saw the guards bring you here.

“Tis the first chance I’ve had to follow. I wanted to see for myself.”

He shuffled away from the door and placed the torch in a bracket on the wall.

“A shame I can’t reach the window—I didn’t get a good look when they dragged you from the other cell. But I heard about you.”

He’d heard about her? Was his mind as twisted as his body? Even if she had the Dragon to thank for her new accommodations, she couldn’t believe he’d discussed her with that … creature out there.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

He laughed again, a humorless sound.

“I had a noble name, and power, once, not so long ago. But that man is dead–or so I hear.” He coughed, sounding as if he were choking.

“Until I can prove them wrong. You can. call me Toad.

“Tis as good a name as any, for now.”

She stared at him again, forcing herself to take in every wretched detail. He must be a madman. He could no more be noble than she.

But even a madman deserved pity, as long as he did no harm. And from the sound of him, he wasn’t long for this world—a blessing, she had no doubt. She’d listen to him ramble, just to hear another human voice. But she didn’t have to look at him.

She stepped away from the door. Sweet Mary, his image was already etched upon her mind’s eye. And he wouldn’t know whether she could see him or not.

She moved to the middle of the floor and sank down upon the cold stones, drawing her knees to her chest and gulping great breaths of fresher air.

“So tell me, Toad, what have you heard of me? I’ve been here but a day—hardly anyone knows I’m here.”

“My honored kinsman knows. Though he isn’t quite certain what to do with you. Have a care, girl—you’ve upset his schemes. He doesn’t like it when that happens.”

Did all madmen speak in riddles? Just so had her mother rambled on. Their words made no sense to any but themselves, and woe betide those who tried to understand them. She’d found ‘twas best to let them wander. It harmed no one—although it frustrated Lily no end not to understand.

“Should I fear for my life, then?” God knew, she’d thought of little else since the cell door had slammed shut behind her.

He chuckled again, an evil sound over the restless shuffling as he moved about.

“Perhaps.”

She’d kept her gaze on the window while they spoke, grateful for even the dim glow from the corridor. But suddenly the light faded.

“Wait!” She sprang to her feet and rushed to the door.

“You cannot leave!”

Especially not after his last remark. She needed to know more-Lily stretched, catching a glimpse of him, but he’d almost disappeared from view.

“Toad! Come back!”

“Sleep well, milady,” he called as he rounded a bend in the corridor.

Leaving her in total darkness once more.

Frustration left Ian feeling like a caged beast. He prowled the confines of his chamber, his body as restless as his mind. He knew Llywelyn had lied to him, could feel it deep within his bones. He’d witnessed that act of innocence too often not to recognize it now. He simply didn’t understand why Llywelyn would treat him thus.

“Quit your pacing and sit down, milord,” Dai snapped.

He shoved a stool in Ian’s direction?

“All this stomping about is making me daft. You’re acting like a spoiled little lordling. Christ, man, use the brain God gave ye.”

He forced himself to stop, and faced Dai, letting the words sink in. When would he learn to listen with his head, instead of his emotions? Most of the time, he could keep his temper contained. But Dai had witnessed it often enough in private that it had no effect on him–except to exasperate him.

Nodding, Ian righted the stool and sat down.

“He’s lying. We both know it.”

“Aye. And why would he do that, milord? I think you’d better tell me more about this girl.”

“Woman,” he corrected absently.

“She’s a woman full grown.”

“Is she? Is that what’s got your head in a spin, lad?

I’d never have believed it of ye, but there’s a first time for everything. Even a dragon needs a mate.”

Dai knew him too well.

“Something about her haunts me,” he admitted.

“Although she’s dirty, and wears men’s clothes, there’s a … beauty about her. She won’t leave me alone.”

“Tell me about her, and what you want me to do.”

It didn’t take long, he knew so little.

“I want you to go to Saint Winifred’s Abbey and find out all you can. Something about this bothers me—all the more because of Llywelyn’s reaction. I’ll nose around tonight.

She could still be here.”

“Should I wait till the morn to leave?” Dai asked.

“Aye. No need to arouse suspicions. Take two men with you. If anyone asks, I’ll say you have business for me at Gwal Dralg. But get back to Gwal Dralg as swiftly as you can. If I cannot meet you there, I’ll send word. I mislike this entire situation.”

He ushered Dai out, then went to stand by the window.

Darkness had fallen. He stared out into the welcoming shadows and sought counsel from the night.

The wisest course would be to return to the hall, as he did most evenings, but the chances he’d learn anything of value there were virtually nonexistent. Perhaps he ought to share a few ales with the castle guard in their quarters.

No one would think anything of it. He’d done so before.

Whether Lily had left Dolwyddelan of her own volition, as Llywelyn maintained, or had simply been moved, someone had to have seen her.