Come Back to Me (6 page)

Sooner begun, sooner ended. She had never been one to put things off. Barely had she learned of her family's plans for her than she had laid her own plans for escape. There was no sense waiting around for things to get worse. Yet try though she did, she could not take that first necessary step into the water. She could stare at it, all right, and think about how important it was for her to get away. But there she still was on the riverbank, leaning against a tree and blinking dazedly in the overbright light.

Her whole body hurt. She felt as though she had… fallen off a cliff. The realization made her laugh weakly. How else could she possibly feel? Not that it mattered. She still had to do what she had to do.

Just that first step…

She managed to push herself away from the tree that had been holding her up but the moment she did so, she swayed alarmingly. Reaching out to the sturdy trunk, she steadied herself and took several deep breaths. That seemed to help. Mayhap if she went very quickly, the shock of the water would revive her enough so that she would be able to keep going.

Mayhap she would fall flat on her face and drown. She had escaped death once that day by a hair's breadth. Did she truly want to tempt fate again?

Yet what other choice was there? Stay where she was and wait to recover her strength? In company with a sworn man of the Lord Hawk. Oh, yes, that was a splendid idea. Why not simply tell him everything right now and go like a lamb to the slaughter?

Damn herself for being so weak! If she had a man's strength, she could push on, but no, she was trapped in a woman's body and prey to all the vulnerabilities that brought. Even now, her eyes burned with tears of sheer weakness. Furiously, she scrubbed a hand across her face. At the very least, she could spare herself the ignominy of crying.

No, it seemed she couldn't, because the tears continued to trickle down her cheeks. Worse yet, her legs were giving way. Even as she grabbed hold of the tree and tried to stay upright, her knees seemed to dissolve right out from under her. She slid down onto the mossy ground and stayed there, too weary to move.

Thus did Dragon find her a short time later when he returned from the hunt. At first glance inside the lodge, he was alarmed to find the bed empty. But it was easy enough to see where she had gone. Shaking his head at such folly, he went after her.

She was sitting beside the river, her legs drawn up and her chin resting on her knees. He had a moment to enjoy the pure line of her profile and the tumble of coppery hair down her back before she sensed his presence. She turned her head very slightly, looked at him, then looked back at the river.

Dragon sighed. He sat down beside her. Silence drew out between them until he said, "Do you like rabbits?"

"Hopping around or on a stick?"

"I was thinking more of rabbit stew."

Her stomach growled.

He grinned, stood up, and offered her a hand. She stared at it for a moment before her shoulders slumped. With obvious reluctance, she allowed him to help her up.

"Are you strong enough to walk?" he asked.

"Of course I am." She took a step and sat right back down on the ground.

Dragon cursed under his breath. He scooped her up, ignoring her protests, and started back to the lodge. She frowned the whole way, including when he set her on the bed.

Gently, he said, "You'll feel better after you've eaten."

She looked up at him and he saw for the first time that she had been crying. His heart turned over. She might not have much sense but she had courage aplenty and he admired that. "Look," he said, going down on his haunches and taking her hands in his, "you've been through a bad time and I suspect I don't know the half of it. But things will get better now. You just have to trust me."

Truth.

He actually meant it. This fierce warrior intended to help her. She studied him with the same intensity as she would have given to a marvel of nature never before encountered. Her twin, Thurlow, had a kind heart, but that made him unique among all the men she had ever known. Never before had she met a man who had the power to compel others to his will yet acted with compassion.

For a moment, the temptation to unburden herself to him was almost overwhelming. She was stopped only by the knowledge that if she told him who she was, he would be caught between duty to his lord and desire to help her. That was no way to repay kindness.

She stared down at the powerful hands holding hers and felt an odd tightening in her throat. Such strength and yet such gentleness… Locked in the tumult of her emotions, she did not notice the single silver tear that fell like a sparkling star against his wind-roughened skin.

THE TEAR SEEMED TO SCALD HIM. DRAGON gazed at it for a long moment before he released her hands and rose. A little gruffly, he said, "Lie down and rest now. I'll wake you when supper is ready."

She nodded, too drained to do anything else. He drew the cover up over her and waited as her breath became slow and deep. Only when he was certain she was asleep did he go back outside to see to the stew. Swiftly, he built a small fire and set over it an iron tripod from which he hung a pot filled with water drawn from the nearby well. As the water warmed, he added the meat, as well as wild carrots, turnips, cabbage, and a handful of herbs and spices. Leaving the whole to simmer gently, he went around the back to the larder, finding there the skins of wine, loaves of fresh-baked bread, golden rounds of cheese, and baskets of summer fruits left by the servants of his thoughtful host.

Let it never be said that Hawk did anything halfway. But then besides being a good friend, he had every reason to want Dragon in a reasonably decent mood. If it took a few days at the hunting lodge, holding the world at bay, so be it.

A few days in the company of a beguiling Saxon girl. Oh, yes, that was a good idea. There was a real risk he would end up even less reconciled to his fate than he was already. Yet it was a risk he would take willingly, determined as he was to make amends for running her off the side of a cliff.

A proper meal would be a good start. By the time the stew was ready, the girl was stirring again. Carrying the pot into the lodge, he watched with amusement as first her nose twitched, then her eyes opened. She sat up and looked at him curiously.

"What is that?"

He hoisted the pot a little before setting it on the table. "Come and eat."

She came but cautiously, not taking her eyes from him until finally she bent over the pot, took a long sniff, and blinked dazedly. "You can cook."

He shrugged modestly. "The credit is not mine. A friend showed me how to make this."

She was back to looking at him. "You seem to have a lot of friends."

Dragon grinned and held out one of the chairs for her. "It's true, I'm fortunate in that regard. Likely it comes from being a friendly sort of person."

"A friendly warrior. Do you hug your enemies on the battlefield? Crushing the life from them in an excess of amicability?"

Ladling stew, he paused before answering. He had heard the thread of bitterness beneath her words. Not surprising in a land where one even as young as she might well have known war. But not of late. "Haven't you heard? We are at peace."

"Ah, yes, the peace of blessed Alfred. Do you know some say he will be made a saint? Of course, he will have to die first."

He concealed his surprise but with difficulty. She spoke so easily of the king, almost familiarly. Were all English like that? Or did it reflect her upbringing in a noble house? A house perhaps not loyal to Alfred?

Dragon set her bowl before her along with a spoon carved from oak. He served himself before replying. "It is not wise to speak of the death of kings."

She looked surprised by the reprimand, mild though it was. "I wish the man no harm—to the contrary. I am merely… skeptical."

He picked up the bread, tore off a hunk, and handed it to her. "Of Alfred or of peace?"

She did not answer directly and he had the sense she thought she had already said too much. The stew provided a ready distraction. She took a spoonful, then another, and sighed deeply. "Your friend is a genius."

Dragon laughed. He thought of one-eyed Olaf, the old Viking who had joined up with Dragon and his brother while they roamed the world and stayed with them through the long climb to power. The recipe was his and he was rightly proud of it.

"I will tell him you said so. Try the wine." He filled a goblet before she could object. She took a sip cautiously. It was very good wine, brought all the way from the land of the Franks, but Dragon did not expect her to be surprised by it. He had already concluded that she was the daughter of a noble house, therefore likely well accustomed to such luxuries. Yet, contrary to his expectation, she looked first startled, then amazed.

"Surely, you have tasted such before?"

She spared him a quick glance before returning her attention to the food. "It is good enough."

They ate in silence, both hungry and doing justice to the meal but aware of all that lay unspoken between them. While yet she refused to tell him who she was, he would reveal nothing of himself. Never before had Dragon realized how very little that left to talk about. Several times he thought to speak but did not. She was still very tired, the bruise on her forehead a constant reminder of what she had suffered. He could not bring himself to press her.

When they had finished, he rose from the table and gathered up the dishes. The sun had almost vanished beyond the western hills. Soon it would be dark. "I think you will find a night robe in the chest, if you look."

Her head lifted at that and she scrutinized him. "Do you think the lady who obviously comes to this place would approve of my using her things even if she is so foolish as to leave them here and unlocked?"

"She is generous, not foolish, and she would not mind."

"Who is she?"

The question came so suddenly that he was on the verge of answering it when he caught himself. "Who are you?"

She scowled and looked away. He sighed, loudly and exaggeratedly, and continued clearing the table. "When you are better rested, I'll expect you to help with the chores."