Teresa Medeiros - [FairyTale 02] (18 page)

So this was it, Gwendolyn thought, her head falling back to loll helplessly against her shoulders. This was the unholy rapture for which Nessa and Kitty had traded their innocence and their pride. He lavished her mouth with kisses, all the while petting and stroking her until she was slick with a nectar thicker and sweeter
than honey. Only then did he flick his thumb across the swollen bud at the crux of her curls. Only then did he press one finger deep into the aching hollow that had never before known the touch of a man.

Gwendolyn arched against his hand, pleasure spilling through her in a shimmering cascade that seemed to have no end. She almost cried out his name before remembering with a pang of dismay that she did not know what it was.

He was a stranger. A stranger looming over her in the darkness with his face masked by shadows and his hand up her skirt.

Feeling suddenly sick with shame, Gwendolyn shoved at his chest. “No,” she cried, breaking away from his embrace.

He followed her, stopping at the very brink of the shadows. “What is it? Did you think I would force you? For God’s sake, Gwendolyn, even
I’m
not that much of a monster!”

Gwendolyn clutched the arm of the settee, fighting to steady her breathing. She didn’t want to cry in front of him; she wasn’t a pretty crier like Glynnis or Nessa. “You don’t understand. It’s not you. It’s me!” She hung her head. “I should have warned you. The women in my family all seem to possess a terrible weakness of the flesh.”

A relieved laugh escaped him. “Oh, is that all? I can assure you, sweeting, that what you just experienced was utterly normal. There was nothing terrible about it. Not for you and most certainly not for me.”

Gwendolyn whirled around to face him. “Do you know what the men in the village say about my sister Nessa? ‘Take care when ye toss up the skirts o’ that Wilder lass—ye may find another lad already under there.’ They wink and they nudge each other and whisper, ‘Do ye ken what’s bonnier than a Wilder lass on her back? Why, one on her knees!’ “ The Dragon watched her from the shadows, his stillness uncanny. “Nessa has given herself away until there’s nothing left of who she might have been. And now my youngest sister Kitty has started down the same path. But how can I condemn her when I’ve proved I’m no different from either of them! I’m just as willing to offer myself to any silver-tongued rogue who plies me with kisses or praises the softness of my skin.”

He was silent for a long time—long enough for Gwendolyn to begin to wonder if she’d wounded him with her words. “And just how many other silver-tongued rogues have you offered yourself to?”

Gwendolyn pondered the question for a moment, sniffing back a sob. “None. Only you.”

“Why, you’re quite the little strumpet, aren’t you? “ he said lightly.

“You can’t deny that I let you commit unspeakable liberties!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t call them unspeakable,” he replied, anger restoring the clipped edge to his voice. “First you let me kiss your mouth. Then you let me touch those exquisite breasts of yours through your nightdress. And then you let me put my fingers—”

“Stop it!” Gwendolyn clapped her hands over her ears, unable to bear his deliberate mockery. “How could I have let you do any of those things when I’ve never even seen your face? When I don’t even know your name?”

“That may be true,” he said quietly, “but for just a moment there, I would have sworn you knew my heart.”

Gwendolyn’s chest shuddered with the effort of choking back her tears. She wanted nothing more than to run into his arms, but she was as trapped by the moonlight as he was by the shadows. As long as he refused to reveal his identity, the expanse of floor that separated them would remain as uncrossable as the chasm of nothingness separating the tower from the sea. Fearful that she might try anyway, she spun around and ran from the hall.

Fingers of moonlight streamed through the open door, beckoning her toward freedom.

Gwendolyn ran up the stairs, leaving the Dragon to his shadows. She did not see him burst from the great hall, braving the light to come after her. Nor did she see him slump against the wall and rake his hands through his hair when he heard the sobs echoing down from the highest reaches of the castle.

G
OD
’
S
FORESKIN!”Izzy bellowed, slamming a basin heaped with soiled nightshirts down on the kitchen table.

Kitty flinched and Glynnis snatched her breakfast of stale sugar biscuits and tea out of the path of the grimy water that came sloshing over the basin’s edge. The hound napping on the hearth took one look at the maidservant’s thundercloud of a brow and bolted from the room.

Kitty and Glynnis exchanged apprehensive glances, but wisely held their tongues as Izzy dumped the contents of the basin into a large iron kettle that was already steaming on the grate. Still cursing beneath her breath, she grabbed a wooden spoon and began to stir the laundry, looking like a wild-eyed witch brewing up a batch of toil and trouble.

Nessa came drifting into the kitchen, her eyes swollen and bleary from lack of sleep even though it was after ten in the morning. “For heaven’s sake, Izzy,
must you bellow and bang so? It’s enough to wake the dead.”

“The dead p’r’aps, but not ye.” Izzy removed the spoon from the water long enough to shake it at her. “And I’ve every right to bellow and bang. I was up at dawn when ye and Kitty were just creepin’ in after dal-lyin’ all night with the menfolk.”

Kitty blushed while Nessa sank into a chair and stretched, taking advantage of the graceful motion to steal a biscuit from Glynnis’s plate. “Since Lachlan is the only lad I’m interested in at the moment, that would be
manfolk.”

The maidservant rolled her eyes. “One man at a time, maybe. But there’s always another one right behind him.”

“Unlike Nessa,” Glynnis pointed out, “I can be quite loyal. I never once strayed from the beds of either of my husbands.”

“That’s most likely what killed ‘em,” Izzy said. “Two puir auld men tryin’ to do the job of a dozen strappin’ lads.”

While Nessa cackled with laughter, Glynnis sniffed and bit off a dainty piece of the biscuit. “Perhaps I should have taken my breakfast in one of my own cottages, Izzy. There’s simply no point in trying to make polite conversation with you when you’re in such a foul temper.”

Izzy jabbed her spoon at the wall. “Ye’d be in a foul temper, too, young missie, if ye were locked in this manor day and night with that daft father of yers. I
don’t see how yer puir sister bore it all those years. If I were her, I’d’ve begged the Dragon to eat me!”

They shared a moment of somber silence in honor of Gwendolyn before Kitty said softly, “Papa mistook me for Mama yesterday. He kept clutching at my skirts and begging me to forgive him.”

“As well he should,” Izzy snapped, “since it was his own greed that killed the puir creature.”

All three girls turned to stare at Izzy, having never heard such a thing pass the maidservant’s lips before. For an elusive moment, her florid face seemed to be flushed by more than just the heat of the fire.

She averted her gaze, poking at the laundry with renewed violence. “I just meant because he had to go and try to get a son on her. After all, what man wouldn’t be content with the lot o’ ye?”

“What man indeed?” Kitty murmured, pushing her plate away.

Glynnis shifted her worried gaze to her youngest sister. “What ails you, kitten? You’ve been moping about for days. It’s not like you.”

“You’re not breeding, are you, lass?” Nessa asked, reaching over to pat Kitty’s hand.

Izzy groaned. “ That’s all we need ‘round here. Another arse to wipe.”

Kitty snatched her hand away from her sister’s, her dark eyes blazing. “Of course I’m not breeding. How could I be when you taught me how to prevent it with my first monthly course? “

Nessa sank back in her chair and poured herself a cup of tea, eyeing her sister cautiously. “And I should think you’d be grateful for that.”

“Why should I when you might have taught me something useful? Like how to mend stockings or polish the silver or manage a man’s household.”

“Trust me, Kitty,” Glynnis said, arching one flawlessly plucked eyebrow. “You’re better off knowing how to manage a man than his household.”

“Aye,” Nessa agreed. “It’s not the silver most men want polished.”

Kitty grew even more fierce. “Maybe every man isn’t interested in
that.”

Glynnis exchanged a knowing look with Nessa. “If he has a heartbeat, he’s interested.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve met a man who can resist your charms!” Nessa teased.

Kitty’s ire subsided. “Perhaps he doesn’t think I have any,” she mumbled, gazing dolefully into her teacup.

Glynnis reached over to stroke her hair. “Don’t be ridiculous. Why, everyone knows you’re the bonniest lass in all of Ballybliss!”

“And if you think that’s easy for her to admit, you’re wrong,” Nessa added, giving her older sister a feline smile.

Glynnis wrinkled her nose at Nessa before returning her attention to Kitty. “You haven’t gone and done something foolish, have you, pet? Like falling in love? “

Letting out a pathetic wail, Kitty shoved the teacup
aside and buried her head on her folded arms. “Oh, why couldn’t I have been the one the villagers fed to the Dragon? “

“Now why would that randy old Dragon want you? “ Glynnis exclaimed, hoping to cheer her. “He only has an appetite for virgins!”

While Izzy snorted and Nessa joined Glynnis in her merry peals of laughter, Kitty burst into tears, sprang to her feet, and ran from the room.

Her sisters stared after her, their laughter fading. “What on earth do you make of that?” Nessa asked, frowning.

“I don’t know,” Glynnis replied grimly, rising to her feet. “But I intend to find out.”

The Dragon sat with his back braced against one of the stone merlons at the pinnacle of Castle Weyrcraig. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d watched the rising sun tip the waves with gold or felt a southerly breeze play across his brow. He turned his face to the sun, bathing in its grace.

Last night’s storm had washed the world clean, leaving it smelling as fresh and pure as a newborn babe. He only wished his own sins could be washed away so easily.

Even with his eyes closed, he could still see Gwendolyn standing in the moonlight, her hair a tousled halo of gold and her cheeks flushed rose from the pleasure he had given her. It was as if one of the
demigoddesses painted on the ceiling of the tower had tumbled to earth. But such gifts were not meant for the hands of mortal man.

Especially a man like him.

Remembering the wounded shame in Gwendolyn’s eyes as she’d fled his arms, he lifted his hands to gaze at them. Even when they sought to give pleasure, they brought only pain.

A muffled footfall, followed by an awkward cough, warned him he was no longer alone. “When I went to check on Gwendolyn just now,” Tupper said softly, “the panel was ajar. At first I thought…”

“… that you’d find her in my bed,” the Dragon finished, shooting his friend a wry look. “I hate to tarnish my reputation, but my powers of seduction aren’t quite what they used to be.”

“If that’s true, then why didn’t she run away?”

“Why don’t you ask her?”

“I didn’t wish to wake her. From the tearstains on her cheeks I deduced that she’d cried herself to sleep.”

The Dragon’s anger flared. “What’s wrong, Tup? Bored with tormenting the villagers? Aren’t they providing enough sport for you?”

“Actually,” Tupper said, propping one booted foot on the stone embrasure between the merlons, “I’m finding their antics quite entertaining. Old Granny Hay took to her bed because she believed my piping was the wail of a banshee coming to claim her soul. One of the blacksmith’s sons got into fisticuffs with one of the tinker’s sons because they were both convinced
the other’s father was the one who betrayed the Mac-Cullough. And Ian Sloan nearly shot his wife when he awoke from a drunken stupor and mistook her for the Dragon.” Tupper rolled his eyes. “Or so he claims.”

“You’re getting rather cozy with the good folk of Ballybliss, aren’t you? “ the Dragon remarked, studying his friend’s face.

Tupper flushed. “How else am I to ferret out that thousand pounds?”

The Dragon turned back to the sea. There had been a moment last night when all of his grim plans had seemed to recede into the shadows before the tender sweetness of Gwendolyn’s kiss. But that moment had been as elusive as the pleasure they’d shared. He had no future to offer her, only a past.

His eyes followed the path of a gull as it went wheeling down the rocky coast. “ The ship is anchored in an inlet right beyond those cliffs, you know. Just waiting for my signal to come take us away from this place.”

“Ah, but there’s no r-rush, is there?” Tupper stammered. “After all, the villagers are just beginning to show signs of cracking. We mustn’t be too hasty. Perhaps if we gave them another fortnight… ?”

The Dragon surged to his feet. “I don’t have another fortnight to give them! I’m not even sure I have another night.”

He paced the length of the parapet, raking his windswept hair from his brow. How could he explain to Tupper that the darkness that had sheltered him for so long was now his enemy? That he could no longer
roam its shadows without fear? Fear that as soon as the gloom of dusk began to descend, he would betray his own will and make that long climb to the tower. Fear that he would no longer be content to lurk in the dark and watch Gwendolyn sleep, but would slip over to that bed and cover that delectable mouth and body of hers with his own.