Heart Of The Dragon

That question haunted her as they jogged along, both man and horse apparently tireless. Lily fought sleep as long as she could; once the sun rose, she concentrated on taking note of anything unusual along the way. If she managed to escape Swen, she needed to know the route back to Dolwyddelan.

Not if, she reminded herself firmly as she stifled another yawn. When. When an opportunity to escape presented itself, she must take it. Her chances of getting away—and staying out of his reach—were much better here in the hills and forest than they’d be once he locked her up again.

If Swen hadn’t been her captor, she’d likely have found him an amusing companion. He loved to talk, and it didn’t seem to matter whether she answered him or not. He just kept up a steady stream of comment, his deep voice droning on in her ear until she could ignore him no longer.

“I don’t know where you’re from, but do all people in your homeland talk as much as you?” she asked in exasperation.

He chuckled. “Not all, but most. My home is far north of the Frankish lands. ’Tis cold there much of the year, not like this place. In winter the nights are very long. We like to gather round the fire, drink ale and tell stories. Much like your Welsh bards, only merrier.”

Here was a chance to quench her insatiable thirst for news of foreign places. “You miss it.” She heard it in his voice.

“Aye.”

“Then why have you come here?” She looked back at his face. “Why are you doing this?”

His expression told her nothing. What made men so inscrutable? She found it far easier to read women’s faces, though perhaps ‘twas only that she’d had more practice.

She poked him in the gut with her elbow. He grunted, but appeared unharmed. “You cannot go silent on me now,” she chided. “Do you owe Llywelyn a debt? Or has he offered you riches? I don’t understand why he wants me locked away. It makes no sense, since I cannot possibly be of any value to him, but nothing that’s happened since I scaled the castle wall has—”

“You climbed the wall?” He gave a muffled grunt of laughter. “I would like to have seen that. Did you make it all the way up?”

“Almost. The Dragon pulled me over the top of the wall.”

Grabbing her chin in his callused palm, he turned her head and stared down at her face. Finally he shook his head. “Quiet and meek! Llywelyn’s men are fools. And I worried that this would be an easy task, boring, a waste of my talents. I will need to watch you carefully,” he said. A wide smile split his face. “Good.”

Lily jerked free of his hand and turned her back to him. That slip of the tongue would cost her dearly. The last thing she wanted was Swen watching her more closely; those pale eyes already saw too much. Beneath his affable mien a sharp mind—and a dangerous man. She’d been a fool to underestimate him.

Exhaustion made her mind too dull to focus on anything important now. Instead, she badgered Swen for more information about his home. Finally, his deep voice rumbling in her ear, she drifted off to sleep.

Swen looked down at the girl, her face resting back against his shoulder, her body slumped against him with the bonelessness of utter exhaustion. She surprised him. As he’d told her, she was nothing like those idiots had led him to believe. Perhaps everything else they’d told him was a lie, too.

They expected him to accept her as a convent-bred lady, escaped from the abbey to run off with a Norman churl? It hadn’t rung true even before he met her. And now that he had…

He didn’t believe a word of it.

Llywelyn wanted her out of Dolwyddelan, Swen knew that much. She hadn’t wanted to leave. And the look in her eyes—and something in her voice when she said his name—pointed toward the Dragon as the man Llywelyn wanted to separate her from.

For her protection, or the Dragon’s?

This grew more interesting by the moment.

Swen shifted the girl in his arms, savoring the way she nestled against him. If she belonged to the Dragon, he had no intention of enjoying more than this. A pity, but he didn’t poach on another man’s territory.

Especially the Dragon’s.

Lord Ian could be on their trail even now. Swen’s blood heated in anticipation. This situation might prove to be far more enjoyable than he’d imagined.

He gazed at Lily’s face once more. Soft skin, vivid eyes, hair of flame.

And courage.

The Dragon would find them.

Swen smiled. He loved a good fight.

Chapter Six

Before dawn, Ian stood outside Lily’s chamber, key in hand. Fortunately for him, the man on guard at the foot of the stairs owed him a favor, one he’d never imagined he’d bother to collect. But he needed to see Lily, without Llywelyn’s learning of it. This was the only way.

He unlocked the door and slipped in quietly. Flickering lamplight cast an eerie glow over the small room, but nowhere did he see Lily.

Hell and damnation. He swiftly drew the door closed and leaned his forehead against the planks. Llywelyn had done it again.

Heart pounding hard with frustration and concern for Lily’s safety, he stalked over to the pallet and picked up the clothes tossed carelessly aside. At least she’d gotten a chance to change, hopefully into something better. He forced himself to calm, and looked about the room with more care.

A wooden tray lay near the door, bread crumbs scattered around it on the floor. Her shirt had been torn, but it didn’t appear to have been ripped from her body, thank God. A square of the fabric was missing. A bandage? He searched the area around the pallet, but he didn’t find any blood.

However, he did notice several blade marks in the walls. The wood appeared fresh-cut. Lily didn’t have a knife, not even an eating knife, though these cuts had been made by something larger, thrown with force, to judge by the depth.

Ian clenched his fist around the remains of Lily’s shirt. He knew of only one man with the habit of tossing his knife.

Swen Siwardson.

Had that arrogant Viking bastard been in this room— with Lily?

Siwardson had arrived at Llywelyn’s court scarce three months ago, sent by his father to handle trade negotiations. Almost immediately he’d wormed his way into the prince’s favor.

Ian felt no jealousy over that fact, but he didn’t trust the Viking’s constant jovial manner. Unless the man was daft, how could he be so happy all the time? His size and strength, combined with his unusual looks and good humor, made him near as popular with the ladies as the Dragon, though he took more advantage of that popularity than Ian ever would. He couldn’t fault the man for that.

But what business did he have in this chamber with Lily? He couldn’t have gotten in without a key. Ian could see Llywelyn’s hand in this. Clearly, his overlord intended to take no chances with the Dragon’s obedience. If Lily wasn’t there, she couldn’t tempt him away from his duty.

Or so Llywelyn thought.

Since he’d come to realize that Lily reminded him of Gillian, his mind hadn’t stopped conjuring up reasons to explain the resemblance. Every explanation that came to mind was far too bizarre to contemplate. He hoped Dai would discover something useful. Llywelyn’s actions only served to reinforce the feeling that there was more to Lily’s tale than he’d first thought.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.