Teresa Medeiros - [FairyTale 02] (21 page)

They followed the length of the gallery until they reached a winding stone staircase identical to the one that led to Gwendolyn’s tower. Even though he was now the prey instead of the predator, the Dragon seemed to anticipate every turn, every shattered block of stone, every gaping crack in the mortar that might have slowed their steps. They shot around the corner of the first landing, stumbling to a halt when they nearly ran head-on into Tupper.

His hair was disheveled and his black silk shirt torn in a dozen places. He wore only one boot and blood streamed from a shallow gash on his temple. “I was able to elude the villagers just long enough to signal the ship from the battlements!” he cried, doubling over to catch his breath. “The men should be sending the longboats even as we speak.”

Recognizing that he was near exhaustion and hysteria,

Gwendolyn tore a strip of lace from her cuff and dabbed at his wound. “I don’t understand, Tupper. How did this happen?”

The Dragon swept a narrow look over his friend. “Aye, Tupper. Perhaps you’d better explain to Miss Wilder how this happened.” He stole a glance at the window, then at Gwendolyn. Although his face was still in shadow, the light of the torches bobbing their way up the cliff path was rapidly growing brighter. “And quickly.”

“All my fault,” Tupper gasped, straightening. “They followed Kitty when she came to meet me and—”

“Kitty?” Gwendolyn repeated. He winced in pain as she dropped the makeshift bandage and seized his elbow.
“My
Kitty? “

Tupper shook his head. “My Kitty. Or at least I had hoped she’d be mine, which is why I asked her to—”

“I don’t give a damn whose bloody cat it was.” The Dragon jabbed a finger at the window. “I just want to know why an angry mob is out there howling for my head.”

Tupper shot him a sheepish glance. “It’s not
your
head they want. It’s mine. They think
I’m
the Dragon.”

The Dragon’s voice grew deadly quiet. “And pray tell me, Mr. Tuppingham, just how did they come to that particular conclusion?”

Tupper’s cherubic countenance was at its most innocent. “I really wouldn’t know. But they’ve been tracking me for hours. Hunting me like a fox. I would have been
done for if I hadn’t accidentally tumbled down a hill onto a ledge that was out of their reach. I believe that’s when they decided to march upon the castle.”

The Dragon slipped to the side of the window, still taking care to keep his face in shadow. The villagers were clearly visible now. Gwendolyn shivered as the air resounded with a Highland battle cry that hadn’t been heard in that glen for over fifteen years.

The Dragon’s voice was low and bitter. “If the bastards had been that zealous in defense of their chieftain, he might still be alive today.”

Tupper tugged at his sleeve. “There’s no time to dally. We must make haste. If we can make it to the caves before the mob rushes the castle, we might still be able to escape with our heads.”

The Dragon swung around and clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Good thinking, man. Let’s go.”

He reclaimed Gwendolyn’s hand, but it took him several steps before he realized her feet weren’t moving. He tugged at her hand. “Come, Gwendolyn. You heard Tupper. We have to make haste.”

“I’m not going,” she said softly.

“What do you mean you’re not going? Of course you’re going.” His hands closed over her shoulders. “You must be mad if you think I’d leave you at the mercy of that bloodthirsty pack of wolves! They almost murdered you once before. I won’t give them another chance.”

Gwendolyn flattened her palms against his chest, her mind racing. “It’s not me they’ve come for this time.

It’s the Dragon. They think I’m dead. Perhaps the shock of finding me alive and well will buy you and Tupper the time you need to get to the longboat. I can even stall them while you’re rowing out to the ship.”

“I’ll not leave you, damn it,” he said grimly.

“You don’t have any choice. If they find us here together, my life will be of no more value to them than yours.” She gave his chest a violent shove. “Now, go, damn you! Before you get us all killed!”

The Dragon glanced out the window, then over his shoulder at Tupper, who stood on the third stair below him with head bowed, refusing to sway him with a look or a word. The light of the torches was growing brighter with each passing moment. If he lingered much longer, his masquerade would have all been for nothing.

Even before he cupped her face in his hands and ran his thumbs along her cheekbones as if he could brand their memory on his fingertips, Gwendolyn knew he was leaving her.

“I’ll be back for you,” he said fiercely. “I swear it on my life.”

She touched his face, smiling through the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. “You once told me that I made you wish you were a man of your word. Well, now you’ve gone and made me wish you were, too.”

Before he could swear another oath he might not be able to keep, Gwendolyn tangled her hands in the rugged silk of his hair and dragged his mouth down to
hers. It was a kiss like no other they had shared, a hot and salty-sweet communion forged from promises and regrets, broken dreams and unfulfilled desires.

They heard the crash of what was left of the courtyard gates being toppled from their moorings, followed by an alarmed cry from Tupper.

“Go!” Gwendolyn shouted, shoving the Dragon toward the stairs. “Before it’s too late!”

Casting one last look at her, he plunged into the darkness of the stairwell, moving fast on Tupper’s heels.

As the echo of their footsteps faded, Gwendolyn smoothed her hair, possessed by a strange calm. She knew that both the castle and her dreams might very well come crashing into flames all around her, but none of that mattered as long as she had a Dragon to defend.

As Gwendolyn materialized on the top step of the three broad flagstone stairs that descended into the courtyard of Castle Weyrcraig, the villagers fell back in amazement.

Gwendolyn believed they were simply surprised to discover her alive and uneaten. She had no idea what a vision she presented, with the color still high in her cheeks from the Dragon’s kiss and her generous curves no longer shrouded in scratchy wool, but hugged by sleek taffeta in a hue that perfectly matched the blazing blue of her eyes. Her unbound hair tumbled down her back, its gilded waves catching sparks of fire and ice from the flickering torches and the frosty moonlight.

She stood there, her head no longer bowed, but held straight and high.

“Gwennie!” Kitty was the first to break the silence as she fought to tear herself from Niall’s ruthless grip. “The Dragon told me you were alive! They tried to convince me I was a silly little fool to believe him, but I knew he would never lie to me.”

Gwendolyn blinked in confusion before realizing that Kitty couldn’t have been talking about
her
Dragon. Tupper’s sheepish confession was suddenly beginning to make sense.

Nessa and Glynnis were gaping at her as if they’d never laid eyes on her before. Gwendolyn searched the crowd for Izzy, hoping to find at least one ally, but saw no sign of her. The loyal maidservant must have remained at the side of Gwendolyn’s papa.

Ailbert separated himself from the crowd, flanked by his burly sons. “Step aside, lass. We’ve no quarrel with ye.”

“Then it may surprise you to learn that I’ve a quarrel with you. After all, you were the ones who left me here to die in this very courtyard a little over a fortnight ago.”

“Ye seem to have done all right for yerself,” Ross snarled.

As his gaze lingered on the swell of her breasts spilling over the square-cut bodice of her gown, Gwendolyn suddenly recognized the contempt in his eyes for what it had always been—lust. All the times he’d tripped her, pinched her, called her cruel names,
he’d simply been trying to punish her for making him want her.

“I suppose I’ve done better than you, Ross,” she said gently. “Since I’ve never felt so small inside that I had to belittle others just to make myself feel bigger.”

There were several gasps. Ross took a threatening step toward her, only to find himself restrained by his younger brother.

Lachlan tossed his dark hair out of his eyes, keeping one muscular arm wrapped around Ross. “Surely ye can’t mean to defend this Dragon fellow!” he cried. “Why, he’s been helpin’ hisself to all the lasses in the village. Like young Kitty over there and God only knows how many others!”

“He wanted to make me his wife,” Kitty wailed.

Nessa snorted. “If I had a shilling for every time I’ve heard that…”

“You probably do have a shilling for every time you’ve heard that,” Glynnis retorted, sending an uneasy ripple of laughter through the townfolk.

Ailbert’s gaze was no longer stern, but imploring. “Ye’ve always been a good girl, Gwendolyn Wilder. A sensible lass.” At the sound of those familiar words on his lips, Gwendolyn felt a muscle in her jaw begin to twitch. “Surely ye must see that this scoundrel has made fools of us all, includin’ ye. He’s lied, stolen, and cheated us out of all the things that were rightfully ours.”

“He had his reasons,” she said, wishing she knew what they were.

“P’r’aps he did,” Ailbert conceded. “Just as we’ve got our reasons for comin’ here tonight. We’ve come for the Dragon’s head, and it’s his head we’ll have. Now step aside, woman, before I’m forced to do somethin’ we’ll both regret.”

Gwendolyn did not know whether she’d bought Tupper and the Dragon enough time to make it to the longboat, but her own time was running out. When Ailbert started forward, expecting her to stand aside and let him pass, she darted down the steps and grabbed the pitchfork out of Granny Hay’s hands. Ignoring the old woman’s startled cry, she jabbed the pitchfork at Ailbert’s chest, forcing him to dance a merry jig to keep from being impaled on its tines.

“Damn ye, lass,” he whined, retreating into the arms of the villagers. “Have ye well and truly lost yer mind? “

“I’d wager it’s not her mind she’s lost, but her soul.” Ross’s words sent a ripple of fear through the crowd. “Just look at her! Is that the same sweet Gwendolyn Wilder we all grew up with?”

As a hush fell over the villagers, Gwendolyn remembered that Ross had never been smart, but he’d always been cunning.

He swaggered forward, taking care to keep just out of reach of the pitchfork. “Why, the Gwendolyn we knew was fat and plain! She kept her head down and her nose buried in a book. She would’ve been perfectly content to spend the rest of her miserable life lookin’ after that daft father of hers.”

“My father is a hero!” Gwendolyn cried. “His sanity
was the price he had to pay for your father’s cowardice and the cowardice of every man in Ballybliss!”

Ailbert blanched, but made no effort to defend himself.

Ross’s sneer only deepened. “And what was the price you had to pay to win the Dragon’s favor? Your virtue? Your mortal soul? “ He swung around, appealing to his fellow villagers. “Just look at her—with her hair unbound and her breasts spillin’ out of her dress as bold as any harlot’s. She dares to defy us only because she knows the Dragon has given her the power to inflame the lust of every man here.” Ross lowered his voice, forcing the villagers to strain to hear him. And strain they did, their eyes devouring Gwendolyn as they considered his words. “As she herself pointed out, she’s been alone with the beast for o’er a fortnight. Why, there’s no tellin’ what ungodly acts he’s taught her to perform.”

Lachlan swallowed hard, his oversized Adam’s apple bobbing from the effort. Even the stoic Ailbert had to draw a kerchief from his pocket and mop his brow, drawing a glare from his wife.

“The Dragon is no beast!” Gwendolyn shouted, hating Ross for making something so sordid of the tender encounters she and the Dragon had shared. “Why, he’s twice the man you’ll ever hope to be!”

“See!” Ross exclaimed. “It’s exactly as I feared. The monster has bewitched her!”

“How could he have bewitched her,” Kitty cried, “when you yourself admitted that he was only a mortal?”

Unexpected tears stung Gwendolyn’s eyes. If she lived long enough, she was going to give her baby sister a great big hug.

Ross shrugged. “I could have been wrong about that, you know.”

“Or perhaps
you
were bewitched,” Gwendolyn suggested, inciting a wave of nervous laughter.

The laughter quickly died beneath Ross’s sweeping glare. “I say we burn the lass.”

“Aye, burn her!” his mother echoed, shooting Ailbert a triumphant look.

The crowd took up the cry, their shouts sending an icy chill through Gwendolyn. The stake they’d tied her to the night they’d left her at the Dragon’s mercy was still rammed between the cobblestones in the center of the courtyard. It would be easy enough for them to bind her to it, pile some debris around her feet, and set it alight with their torches.

Gwendolyn backed up one step, then another, waving the pitchfork in a broad arc. If they rushed her, she was done for.

“The Dragon didn’t bewitch me!” she cried, fighting to be heard over the rising din. “He’s not a monster! He’s a man! A kind and noble man!”

The villagers began to surge toward the steps, torchlight glinting off the blades of their weapons. Glynnis and Nessa hung back helplessly. Kitty finally succeeded in freeing herself from Niall only to be swallowed by the mob as she tried to reach her sister’s side.

As Gwendolyn reached the top of the stairs, she
looked up into the moonlit sky. There was no echo of a roar to be heard, no winged shadow darting its way to her rescue. If she hadn’t been so foolish as to believe in something as impossible as a Dragon, she wouldn’t be standing here on these steps, waiting to be taken by the mob. But she didn’t regret any of it, not a single kiss or touch.

As Ross moved in, flanked by his father and brother, Gwendolyn backed into the shadows of the doorway.

A strong arm circled her waist from behind, enveloping her in a warm cocoon. Gwendolyn breathed in a fragrant rush of sandalwood and spice, and exultation surged through her veins.

The Dragon had come back for her. Just as he had promised.

As he stepped forward, bringing them both into the light, the villagers fell back, gasping with shock. Gwendolyn could hardly blame them. The gleaming pistol in the Dragon’s hand made all of their rusty swords and ancient daggers look like nothing more than the toys of petulant children playing at soldier.