The Dragon in the Stone (5 page)

A bubble of laughter escaped her
at the reality of her situation came crashing down at her. It really was laugh
or cry. How had she ended up in her very own real life fairytale, and how on
earth did she get out of this? Perhaps more importantly did she want to?

Apart from her job there was
nothing else for her back home. No family, or pets, not even friends, as Rhonda
kept people at arms’ length. Work colleagues didn’t count as friends, after
all. No one would really mourn her departure. She would become another one of
the many people who went missing every day, another statistic.

Closing her eyes, Rhonda ducked
under the water, until she was fully submerged and let that thought take hold.
How many of these missing people ended up like her? After all, if it happened
to her, then, surely it happened to other people too, and if she was living her
own twisted version of a fairytale, then how did it end?

Did she kiss her proverbial frog,
or rather dragon, and then what?

Magda said she would find the
answers in the library, so with that in mind, she grabbed the lavender scented
soap she found on the side of the bath and made short work of cleaning herself.
It felt odd to wash her hair with soap, but it worked surprisingly well, and
having rinsed off all the suds she stood up out of the bath.

Water went over the sides, and
she watched as it disappeared under the stone wall. Another giggle escaped her
at the thought that this castle held all the conveniences of a modern wet-room.

The wooden lever at the wall
caught her attention, and having shrugged into the robe-like garment she found
draped over a wooden chair and having wrung her long strands of hair out as
much as she could to get rid of the excess moisture, she yanked on it.

A clanking and grinding sound
later, the bottom of the bathtub opened slightly and the water drained away,
presumably into the sea, and not drenching another passerby.

Rhonda smiled at her convoluted
thought processes, and pulled in a sharp breath of delight when she entered the
bedchamber. She had been too groggy to take much stock of her surroundings, the
odd times she had struggled awake in the semi darkness during her recuperation.
The room was stunning.

Several large stained glass
windows brought lots of natural light into the room, and a roaring fire blazed
in the hearth. The fireplace seemed carved out of the stone itself, like so
many of the fixtures in this place, and she traced the intricate design of a
sleeping dragon with her fingertips. That design was repeated everywhere she
looked, on the ornate brass candle holders set at regular intervals around the
room and the big wooden chest that stood at the end of the huge four poster
bed.

Heavy drapery hung off the posts,
which, too, held depictions of a sleeping dragon. It had to be his crest or
something.

Double wooden doors on the other
side of the room caught her attention, and pulling them open, she gasped again.
Chests of gold coins, pearls, and other jewelry greeted her, as well as
weaponry and tunics, leggings, belts, and leather boots.

All held the sleeping dragon, and
the predominant color scheme was black, with the odd muted brown, dark green,
and blue thrown into the mix. On closer inspection she could see the tiny
jewels sewn into the hems and adorning the belts, and she whistled through her
teeth.

Even by today’s standards the
contents of this room alone would make Drorgan a very rich man indeed, and that
was without the small matter of the castle she stood in.

The castle that is a ruin in
your time, so this can’t be real.

Rhonda ignored that annoying
little voice in her head, and heading back into the chamber stared up the
intricate tapestry that hung off the wall. The vibrant colors made it come to
life in front of her eyes. She could almost smell the horses, hear the clanging
of swords, and feel the fiery breath of the dying dragon as it lay on its side.

Shivers raced down her spine as
she took in the scene. This dragon didn’t look like Drorgan did in his dragon
form, but it was similar enough to make her wonder if it was a relation. If so
it was an odd scene to have in your bedchamber, unless it served as a reminder
of the dangers of humankind.

Rhonda was under no illusion what
would happen if people in her time ever got their hands on Drorgan. At best he
would be dissected in some lab, if they didn’t kill him first. Her fingers
tingled as she remembered the feel of his scar under her fingertips. The way
he’d closed his eyes and grumbled deep in his throat. It hadn’t been a human
sound, more like the rumble of a sleeping beast, his dragon perhaps. Did they
purr when you stroked them like big cats? More importantly, did she really want
to know the answer to that?

A knock on the door pulled her
out of her insane
thought, and she gathered the folds of her robe closer around her
body.

“
Come in?”

The huge doors swung open to
reveal a fresh faced young girl, who could be no older than fourteen or
fifteen. Her long red curls were held back by a ribbon, and she gave a small
curtsy before she stepped into the room.

“
Good day to you, my lady. Mistress Magda said you
would be ready by now, so I’ve come to help you get dressed.” She curtsied
again and then approached the bed, putting down the colorful assortment of
ladies’ clothing in her arms.

“
Errm
, right, that’s very
kind of you...” Rhonda wracked her brain to come up with the girl’s name, but
her headache was still thumping around the edges of her consciousness, and try
as she might she couldn’t conjure it.

“
I’m sorry, I can’t recall your name, and I’m sure I
can get myself dressed, thank you.”

The girl in front of her giggled
and shook her head.

“
I’m Miriam, my lady, and pardon my frankness, but I
doubt that.
You’s
not one of us, my lady, and well,
the garments one of your station needs to wear … let’s just say, they’re
impossible to manage on
ye’s
own.”

She curtsied again, and waved
Rhonda over. A quick glance at the myriad of material on the bed meant Rhonda
kept her instant denial to herself, and with a growing sense of doom, she
allowed the girl to pull her robe off her shoulders. The way this Miriam
studied her and pulled in a sharp intake of breath when she saw the bruises
marring her abdomen and side, before she traced the faint fingermarks remaining
around Rhonda’s throat, made her feel uncomfortable. It also brought back the
terrifying details of her attack and made her shudder.

“
They say he’s changed, but these—sorry, my lady,
‘tis not my place.”

Miriam turned around to pick up a
long piece of white material, not unlike the thin night rail she had slept in
and held it up for Rhonda to put on. She responded automatically, and it was
only when she pulled her head out of the material, it dawned on her what the
young girl had meant.

“
This,” she gestured to her throat, and glared at the
maid. “This wasn’t Drorgan. I don’t know why you would think that. He saved me.
He’s done that twice now, in fact, when he really didn’t need to either time.
He could have just left me to my fate, yet he didn’t, so I really resent your
assumptions.”

The girl blanched and mumbled an
apology under her breath, which made Rhonda sigh, especially when Miriam
produced a brush and started to slowly untangle the knots from Rhonda’s still
damp hair.

“
I’m sorry, my lady. I didn’t mean nothing by it.
It’s just…” She stopped speaking as she untangled a particularly nasty knot of
hair.

“
It’s just what, Miriam?” Rhonda turned her head to
look at the other woman, and Miriam frowned.

“
Talk to me, please. I’m sorry if I jumped down your
throat, but the
Drorgan
I know has only ever been
kind to me, so if you know differently, then by all means tell me.”

Miriam shook her head and taking
a portion of Rhonda’s hair twisted it into a braid. She did the same on the
other side, and then tied everything off at the base of Rhonda’s neck with a
ribbon.

“
There, that should do. It will allow my lady’s hair
to dry properly while not getting in the way.”

She picked up what looked like
some sort of corset to Rhonda’s untrained eye, and interpreting her wince in
response correctly, put it back down again.

“
Perhaps not the best idea with your ribs. We’ll lace
you into the bodice instead.”

She pulled out the most gorgeous
velvet maroon gown, and Rhonda gasped when Miriam held it up against her.

“
I can’t wear that,” she said, and Miriam grinned.

“
Of course you can, my lady. Arms up and hold still.
This will go perfectly with your coloring, and show off all those curves.”

Rhonda wasn’t at all sure about
that, but she dutifully donned the gold colored undercoat and shimmied into the
long sleeved bodice and sides that made up the rest of the outfit. By the time
Miriam had tightened the strings of her bodice, re-arranged her hair to fall
down her back, and held up a gilt edged hand mirror for Rhonda to inspect
herself, she didn’t recognize the wide eyed woman staring back at her. The
faint bruises marring her skin notwithstanding, she looked every inch the high
class medieval lady. The dress hugged her curves, and showed off her breasts to
an almost indecent level. At least the strings of the bodice held her in
somewhat or she would be wobbling all over the place.

It felt strangely decadent to
slip on the shoes Miriam also produced, knowing that she wasn’t wearing a
stitch of underwear. Somehow she didn’t think that thin under-shift counted for
anything.

“
There, my lady, now you’re ready to face Lord
Drorgan.”

Rhonda wasn’t at all sure of
that, but taking a deep breath in, she followed Miriam out of the door, and
down the long corridors, until they hit the grand hall.

It was only when Eugene, the
butler, announced her presence at the door that it dawned on her that Miriam
had never elaborated on why she had such a low opinion of Drorgan.

Chapter Five

Drorgan listened to the
complaints brought to him by the villagers with only half his mind on the task.
It was mind numbingly boring stuff, sorting out their petty disputes,
especially when his mind was still up in the solar with Rhonda.

His dragon stretched and grinned
from ear to ear at the mere mention of her name, and Drorgan hadn’t realized
his lips had quirked into a smile until the old man stood in front of him
frowned and stopped talking.

“
My lord? Are you feeling unwell?”

Drorgan frowned and focused his
attention back onto the old man stooped over from hard work. Only he wasn’t
that old. Duncan was only in his late forties, but famine and hard physical
labor in his farm had taken its toll. As had the pestilence which had taken the
man’s wife and three youngest children only last year. He was here to seek
Drorgan’s permission to wed his oldest and one remaining son to the steward’s
daughter.

Frowning, Drorgan regarded the
young couple through narrowed eyes. Duncan’s son had his arm wrapped around the
girl, who didn’t dare look up, while her father, the steward glowered from
under his bushy eyebrows.

“
Of course Lord Drorgan is not feeling well, having
to listen to your prattle. I told you once and I told you a thousand times, my
daughter is not going to marry the likes of your son.” He spat on the floor for
good measure, and if looks could have killed both men would have keeled over.
“A mere farmer’s boy. The audacity of it all, and if you’ve compromised her
I’ll see her dead, before I’ll have her bring up a bastard child.”

The girl winced, and Duncan’s son
pulled himself up to his full height, hand on his dagger, as he guided her
behind him.

Drorgan held up his hand to stop
the underlying tension in the room, just as there was a commotion at the
entrance to the great hall. A murmur went through the crowd when a vision in
dark red swept into the room.

“
The Lady Rhonda, my lord.”

Eugene’s voice rang out loud and
clear, and Drorgan swallowed hard when his gaze connected with Rhonda across
the hall. A faint blush stained her cheekbones, as though she was embarrassed
by all the attention being focused on her, when the crowd parted to let her
through.

Any conscious thought fled his
befuddled brain, when she started to walk toward him. Uncertain at first, as
people around her murmured, her back stiffened. The wood under Drorgan’s hands
cracked as his dragon roared his displeasure at what he was hearing, the
suspicion he sensed from the crowd as they took in her bruising. How he stopped
himself from shifting and tearing the fuckers limb from limb he would never
know. He was sick and tired of the snide remarks, especially when Rhonda would
hear them. It shouldn’t matter what she thought of him. After all she couldn’t
stay here, and he would make sure he took her back to her world once she was
fully recovered, but his reawakened heart thudded faster, nonetheless. He found
he cared a great deal about what she thought of him, and he swallowed a curse
when Rhonda’s steps faltered, as little Geva was pushed in front of her.

Rhonda’s eyes widened as her
mother pulled the hood off the little girl’s golden hair, and the full horrific
extent of her injuries came to light. Injuries he’d caused and which would
haunt him to this day and forever more.

He hadn’t realized he’d shot to
his feet, until he stood in front of Rhonda. She’d sunk to her knees better to
see the child, presumably, and she glanced up at him from her position on the
floor, before she addressed Geva, completely ignoring him.

“
And who might you be?”

Geva smiled at her as best she
could manage with her scarring, and Drorgan crossed his arms over his chest, to
stop himself from wrenching Rhonda to her feet and away from the girl and her
vile mother.

“
Her name is Geva, my lady, and she wanted to see
you.”

Geva’s mother shot him a mutinous
glance when he snorted his disgust at that statement. More like Cheryladna had
heard of his arrival and did her usual rubbing her daughter’s injuries in his
face, like she always did. The rational side of him knew it had been nothing
more than a tragic accident, but his awakened conscience wouldn’t let him
forgive himself, and Geva’s mother made sure he never would. Magda said it was
because she blamed herself. After all it had been his anger at finding his
mistress in bed with another man that caused his dragon to lose control.

He’d thrown the fool who dared to
invade on his territory from the highest tower and into the sea, and as he’d
roared his dragon’s fury little Geva had wandered into the resulting stream of
fire, setting her dress alight.

While he’d grabbed her and dived
into the sea with her to stop the flames, one side of her body was hideously
scarred and even Magda’s skills hadn’t managed to heal her.

“
Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Geva.” Rhonda’s
soft words brought another smile to the little girl’s face, and Drorgan held
his breath as Rhonda raised her fingertips to Geva’s face to trace the worst of
the scars, just like she had done to his own. Had that only been this morning?

And why did it seem as though she
was caressing him, as he watched her map out Geva’s injuries?

“
That looks sore, little one,” she said. “What
happened to you?”

“
He happened.” Rhonda drew in a sharp breath as
Cheryladna
pointed one long finger at Drorgan and another
murmur went through the crowd. “He burned my precious baby girl out of sheer
spite.”

Drorgan had to give it to the
woman. She could make it as an actress, the way she squeezed out tears and
played the part of the grieving mother. Too bad he knew different. Cheryladna
saw her daughter as nothing more than a cash cow. Her injuries ensured that
Drorgan was forced to continue to provide financially for his ex-mistress,
instead of washing his hands off of her once and for all. While he didn’t care
two hoots for Cheryladna, he would not see her innocent daughter suffer more
than she had to.

“
Eugene, please escort Cheryladna and her daughter
off the premises. I do believe her work here is done.”

Cheryladna’s smile in answer
didn’t reach her eyes, and as Rhonda slowly rose to her feet, giving him a
delightful view down her exposed cleavage, Geva’s mother leant in and added in
a loud stage whisper.

“
I just wanted you to know what sort of man he is.”
She let her poisoned gaze fall to Rhonda’s neck, and she sneered. “Perhaps you
already know that, however.”

Rhonda’s hand flew to her
bruises, and Drorgan growled low in his throat. It sent Geva hiding behind her
mother’s skirts, Cheryladna blanched, and Eugene looked worried. Rhonda stopped
his advance by placing her hands on his chest. It made him suck in a breath,
and some of his anger fled when she looked up at him and shook her head.

Turning around she pushed her shoulders
back again, and addressed
Cheryladna
.

“
I know exactly what sort of a man Drorgan is, and
the Drorgan I know would never hurt a child on purpose. If he did this, then
I’m sure it was an accident.” The words were brave and wrapped themselves
around his heart in a vise. It made his chest feel tight with a surge of
unwanted emotion, especially as he sensed her inner turmoil. While she publicly
defended him, he could tell, the seeds of doubt had been planted.

Damn Cheryladna and her meddling
ways. He should have given into his first, immediate instinct and thrown the
bitch off the tower after her lover, but after what happened with Geva he
hadn’t been able to do that.

Instead the woman was allowed to
be a thorn in his side, and had been for the last goodness how many centuries.
Drorgan had long since stopped counting. What was the point of it, after all?

Cheryladna lost some of her
superior air, at last and grasping Geva by the hand marched out of the hall
with her head held high.

“
Eugene, make sure she is not granted access again,
will you? I can do without her displays of…”

He let his words trail off, all
too aware of Rhonda’s brows drawing together, while Eugene nodded.

“
But what about the child, my lord?” he asked, and
Drorgan took a deep breath in to calm his agitated dragon.

“
Geva is always welcome in the castle, you know that,
Eugene.”

His butler smiled, inclined his
head to Rhonda, and followed Cheryladna and Geva out of the hall. Drorgan held
his hand out to Rhonda, willing her to take it, and when she slid her trembling
fingers into his, he breathed a sigh of relief.

That simple act of trusting him
really shouldn’t mean that much to him.

****

Rhonda had to remind herself to
breathe when Drorgan’s fingers closed around hers. Tingles of awareness shot up
her arm, and his intense gaze grew heated. She could see the flames in his
irises when she looked up into his blue eyes. It was the oddest, yet utterly
fascinating thing to witness, and when he tugged on her hand, she willingly
followed where he led.

The murmurs of the crowd started
up again, and dread crawled up her spine. She recalled very little of the story
of his life Drorgan had told her when she was a little girl, but one thing she
did remember.

…
there
was a very naughty dragon, called Lord Drorgan. He ruled his world with magic
and disdain.

She’d always thought he’d embellished that part,
yet now, here in the great hall with his people whispering and giving him a
wide berth she wasn’t so sure that he had. It was becoming obvious that the
whole place was under some sort of magic spell. That was the only explanation
that made any logical sense. Not that any of this was logical. How else was she
to explain all this, however?

His hand in hers was as real as her own. The heat
that emanated off him scorched her skin, and at the same time drew her to him
like a moth to the flame. A very dangerous flame as had been so aptly
demonstrated by little Geva.

Rhonda’s heart squeezed painfully at the horrific
extent of the little mite’s injuries. Back in her time, a plastic surgeon would
be able to at least reduce some of that awful scarring, but here, in this time,
whenever that was, such skill was sadly unavailable.

Lost in her ruminations, and in her very real need
to make sense of what she had witnessed, she startled when Drorgan addressed
her.

“
Take
a seat. I need to deal with these matters, before I can decide what to do with
you.”

His assumption that she was something to be dealt
with stung, but Rhonda swallowed the snarky response hovering on her tongue
when she looked up at him.

Far from being haughty, the raw need that showed in
his gaze before he blinked and masked his emotions made her heart beat faster.
His fingers crushed hers for the second it took her to incline her head in
compliance, and another murmur erupted behind her.

Drorgan’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, but his
thumb caressed the back of her hand. The slightly calloused pad sent tingles of
awareness along her nerve endings, and she immediately missed the contact when
he released her, nodding toward a wooden chair on the dais next to his.

This, too, carried the intricate carvings of a
sleeping dragon, just like his navy
surcoat
did. The
fabric stretched over his broad shoulders when he sat down on his chair. Larger
than hers, it carried the exact same design. Black diamonds made up the eyes of
the dragon’s head that graced the top of his backrest, and a shiver went down
Rhonda’s spine as they seemed to come to life under her gaze. She hastily
shifted her focus to Drorgan’s muscular thighs as he stretched his long legs
out in front of him, while he adjusted his belt away from a sizable bulge. Heat
filled her cheeks when it dawned on her why he was doing that, especially when
she caught him watching her out of the corner of his eyes, and his lips curled
in a sardonic smile.

In the blink of an eye the mask was back in place
as Drorgan waved a hand at the scowling nobleman, who stood to one side of the
dais, hand on the hilt of his broad sword.

“
Right,
forgive the intrusion, Johannes. I believe you were telling me how you’d sooner
kill your daughter than let her marry Duncan’s son?”

Rhonda gasped in horror, and following Drorgan’s
dismissive wave of his hand, she noticed the young couple standing on the other
side. The man held a simple dagger in his hand, one arm wrapped protectively
around his sweetheart. A much older man, face lined with age and his body
stooped over as though he was in pain, was talking to him in low urgent tones
and a rough dialect that Rhonda didn’t understand. He had to be the young man’s
father, because the resemblance was clear to see.

“
If
that what it takes, then yes, I will.” The nobleman spat the words out, and the
young woman started to cry. Rhonda itched to go to her, to offer comfort any
way she could, but she’d read enough history books to know that would only make
things worse.

This castle, this time was Drorgan’s domain. She
had no right to interfere, no matter how much she wanted to. Magda appeared in
her line of vision, and her encouraging smile reassured Rhonda that she was
doing the right thing by keeping her mouth shut, even if she wanted to scratch
that girl’s father’s eyes out.

The young man tightened his grip on the girl, and
said something to her that made her look up at him. There was no mistaking the
love that shone out of her eyes. It made Rhonda feel as though she was
intruding on a very private moment, and she looked away. Far safer to glare at
the nobleman, who now stood with his arms crossed, looking murderous.