The Dragon and the Dreamwalker (Elemental Series) (17 page)

“Fire is fed by air, earth, or more flame. Drake holds none of these for me. I am fire, he is water. He’s a nasty storm that can only dampen my spirits and put out that flame.”

“I don’t believe it,” she told her. “You speak as if you’re his enemy, when in fact you are his wife . . . in every way.”

She jerked her eyes upward, wondering if the woman knew of her nightly visits with Drake. She couldn’t. No one knew but herself. She wasn’t about to tell anyone about it. She’d hold her secret till she went to her grave.

“I am not his wife. Not really,” she said. “A wife stands by her husband’s side in pride. She respects him and his wishes and would give her life for him. She clings to his every word and sews him tapestries, darns his socks and mends his clothes. A wife gives of herself freely to suffice her husband’s hunger. And then a husband still finds solace in another’s arms. No, I’m not his wife nor shall I ever be.”

“That’s your opinion of a wife’s duties,” explained Juturna. “But you’re forgetting the most important part of a marriage.”

“What could that possibly be?” She fiddled with the burnt pieces of the banner, trying to fit them back together though they were beyond repair.

“A husband and wife are one and the same. They feel each other’s needs, each other’s pains and joys as well. When one is lonely, the other fills that emptiness. When one is sad, ’tis the other that brings back the joy. A husband and wife are bound together in the name of God, not only in body but also in spirit. Once their souls are linked, nothing can tear them apart.”

Brynn remembered the way Drake’s spirit had filled her own needs. Even if he wasn’t being the husband she longed for in real life, he had always been there for her in the
dreamwalking
state. The old woman’s words did make a bit of sense.

“But he’s always so angry,” said Brynn.

“So, what’s the cause of that anger?”

“I suppose it’s me. But somehow I feel there’s so much more. Something he’s kept hidden from everyone his entire life. There’s a certain sadness within him that makes me want to cry.”

Juturna placed her hand on Brynn’s shoulder. “A good wife can change that sadness to joy, but first you must find a way to open his locked heart. The
Dragon’s Son
is a complex man. It’ll take a special woman to help him find himself.”

“I suppose you think I’m that woman?”

“Are you?” Juturna looked at Brynn and then down to the burnt pieces of banner lying on the hearth.

“I don’t know if I am,” said Brynn. “Sometimes I feel like we’re two lost souls that are destined to be together. Other times I feel like he’s my biggest enemy. I fear him more than I fear Dracus, the dragon.”

“He has many secrets, Brynn. Ones of which I am not of liberty to speak. But I can tell you this. There’s only one woman who can save him from his self-destruction. That woman is you. But only if you’ll accept him.”

“I - I’m not sure.” She smoothed the pieces of her father’s banner out with her palm. “There’s a dark side to Drake that I want nothing to do with.”

“Can’t a fire light the dark corners of one’s soul?”

Brynn looked to the fire for her strength. She didn’t really understand what the old seer was trying to tell her, but she did feel she could be the woman that saved Drake from his anger if she wanted to be.

“I’ll have to think about that,” said Brynn.

“Of course,” said Juturna. “However, in the meantime give him a chance. Now let me tend to your wounds. Then we’ll get you dressed for dinner.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think I’ll be going to dinner tonight.” Brynn could feel the woman’s eyes heavy on her, though Brynn kept her gaze focused on the fire.

“’Tis your choice,” Juturna said indifferently. “Either way, let me see those wounds.”

* * *

“You want me to do what?” asked Asad, polishing his sword as he spoke.

“Shhhh,” Drake warned him, keeping his eye on Calais who was making another futile attempt at tackling the quintain before it tackled him.

“I just need a few tips in how to woo a lady.”

Asad smiled from ear to ear. “Well, you’ve come to the right place, my lord. I’ve been wooing many a lady for many a years.”

“I don’t need your vanity, Asad. I just need your advice.”

“I’d be happy to help, my lord. But first I must ask of the name of this woman you aim to woo?”

Drake frowned at the question and let out an impatient breath of air. “Egads, Asad, I’m a married man. Who do you think it is? Brynn, of course.”

“I just wanted to be certain,” he smiled. “Marriage doesn’t necessarily mean commitment. After all, most lords have mistresses.”

“Are you going to help me woo her or are you trying to set me up with a kitchen maid?”

“My apologies,” said Asad, putting his blade back in place. He looked over to Calais, picking himself up off the ground after the quintain arm swung around and knocked him off his horse. “Try again!” he called out. “You need to hit it on target if you don’t plan on being unseated.” He then looked back at Drake. “I’m not sure Calais is even capable of being trained as a squire. After all, he is more the age of a knight, though I don’t believe he’d ever qualify for that. I’m surprised - ”

“Asad?” Drake scowled and his squire nodded.

“Wooing,” he said, clearing his voice. “The first step is to make the lady think you like her.”

“Of course I like her,” Drake growled. “Any fool can see that.”

Asad looked up and raised a brow. “Really? I’ve known you for a long time, my lord. And though I know when you cuss at me or throw your helm across the field or even when you throw me into the horse’s trough, you’re showing admiration . . . a lady may not quite understand.”

“All right, Asad, you’ve made your point. You’ve been kind enough to show me my weaknesses, now tell me how to correct them.”

“Certainly.”

A screech went up from Calais who somehow got his foot tangled in the reins and was being dragged around the practice field by his horse.

“Uh, if you’ll excuse me my lord?” Asad motioned toward the incapable man.

“Forget him! Now tell me what I need to know.”

Asad looked at Calais and then back to Drake uneasily. “Well, you could try bringing her flowers, or praising her in public.” His gaze shifted back to Calais, still crying out for help.

“Flowers?” Drake cupped his chin with his hand in thought.  “I suppose. I never thought of that. What else?”

“You - you might want to try telling her how beautiful she looks, or comparing her eyes to a shiny object. Women like that.” Asad’s concentration was definitely elsewhere.

“Go on, go on.”

“Take her for a walk somewhere romantic. Hold her hand. Put your arms around her as you look at something romantic.”

Calais slid by them in a blur of dust as his spooked horse sped up instead of slowing down. Asad shifted back and forth. “I think he may be hurt, my lord.”

“Nonsense. ’Tis good warrior training. Now tell me more.”

“Well…you could be kind to an animal or a child. Women like that in a man.”

“I see, I see.” Drake paced back and forth, contemplating the idea.

“And don’t forget to ask her opinion on issues.”

“What?” He stopped in his tracks and looked at Asad. “You have to be jesting. I would never ask her opinion on anything of importance.”

“No, no. Nothing that’s important of course. Something little and trivial. Something that doesn’t really matter. That’s where women put their interests. Try something emotional. For some odd reason women fall at my feet when I ask them something that deals with emotions. You’ll have her eating out of your hand by the end of the night. Hold on, Calais,” called Asad. “I’ll be right there.”

“I’m not sure I quite understand about these emotions.” Drake crossed his arms over his chest in thought.

Asad flinched as Calais was dragged through horse dung and then over a pile of broken weapons before he ended up tangled around the post of the lists. The rest of the knights and squires in the practice yard looked on, and laughed.

“You’ll do just fine,” answered Asad. “If I may be excused, my lord. I truly think the man is hurt.”

“Fine, fine,” he growled. “Go to him. I’ll just attempt this by myself.”

“Just remember everything I told you,” called Asad, jumping atop his own horse and heading over the practice field to help Calais.

“Remember everything,” Drake mumbled, walking back to the castle to change for dinner, trying to organize the thoughts in his head. He ran a hand through his hair and let out a deep breath. Asad made it all seem so easy. He wasn’t sure he understood any of this. He would never understand why a man had to bother with any of these things to win a woman’s admiration.

“How hard can it be?” he asked himself aloud. Then he thought of the feisty witch who’d been sleeping in his bed while he slept in the mews. She’d been nothing but trouble ever since he saved her from that damned dragon. She was a hellion, a brash chit with no respect for her lord. She was a stubborn wench with a will tougher than steel. She was infuriating, exasperating, and much more trouble than she was worth.

She was his wife.

He headed toward the solar to get dressed for dinner, wondering where the hell he was going to find flowers.

When Brynn didn’t show up for the meal again, Drake felt his anger rising faster than the color of a blushing bride’s face. Everyone sat patiently, awaiting his word to start the meal. The food was served nearly a half hour earlier, but Drake wouldn’t let anyone start eating until Brynn arrived. He knew the food was already colder than usual - not that it was ever hot, having to be carried across the courtyard from the main kitchen. But this was starting to be embarrassing on his part. This was the third time it happened and he had no doubt in his mind it wouldn’t be the last.

His knights fidgeted at the trestle tables, trying to converse with the ladies, but not being able to ignore their hungry stomachs or the food sitting right in front of them. Their squires tried to keep them happy by refilling their tankards with ale, but even that didn’t help. Father Pelltun was leading the fourteenth prayer, blessing the cold food, and even Drake was becoming irritated with his monotone words of thanks.

The serving wenches stood idle in the doorways, something they’d never done before. Everyone was ill at ease, and only Brynn was to blame. Had she been here when she was supposed to be, none of this would be happening.

The musicians up in the gallery plucked away on their lutes, one playing the rote, five-stringed harp, nearly putting Drake to sleep. He couldn’t help but see the stifled yawns from his men. This was lasting much too long. One of Drake’s hounds sat at his side, eyeing the food on the table and then eyeing Drake with eager anticipation.

“You may get all this food if she doesn’t show soon,” he whispered to the dog. The dog’s tail swept quickly back and forth over the rushes at the mere idea.

“Shall I go see what’s keeping her, my lord?” Asad sat next to him, eyeing the food on the platters in front of him.

“Damn that little chit! This is the last time she’ll make me look like a fool.” He pushed to his feet, ready to strangle her neck right after he punished her severely.

“Don’t forget the flowers,” Asad suggested.

Drake stopped in his tracks and looked back toward him.

“Flowers? Hell, if I’m going to bring her flowers when she can’t even show to dinner.”

“I thought you wanted to woo her, my lord.”

“So did I. Mayhap I was wrong.”

Just then, Brynn showed up at the door with the old seer, Juturna, and her handmaiden, Birdie, right behind her. She was dressed beautifully, head to toe in royal blue velvet. Her fiery red hair looked like fine spun silk as it lay long and loose across her shoulders. She didn’t wear a headdress this time. Her loose hair was the style of an unmarried women - done probably just to spite him. Still, she did look beautiful, and he couldn’t say he didn’t like it.

The talking of the crowd stilled, and all eyes were on Brynn waiting at the door.

“You should have had flowers,” Asad reminded him in a whisper.

“I tried,” he whispered back, “but when I stormed the castle, all the gardens burned to ashes. Not to mention, when I tried to purchase some, to my dismay, I found the peddler who normally visits with fresh flowers is ill today.”

“So much for lesson one,” commented Asad under his breath.

Drake looked down to the platters of food. Atop the venison with plum sauce sat two long sprigs of rosemary, almost in bloom. He grabbed them and headed for Brynn.

“What are you doing my lord?” came Asad’s troubled voice from behind him. Drake just ignored him.

“My lord,” said Brynn as he approached her.

“My lady.” Drake held out the sprigs of rosemary toward her. She looked to him with question upon her face. “For you.” He held them out to her, but she did not take them.

“Shouldn’t I sit at the table before I consume my supper?” she asked, maintaining the cool composure expected of a lady.