B00CGOH3US EBOK (12 page)

A betraying flush reddened her cheeks and he knew in that instant she realized the insult of her careless words.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Aye, you did," he cut her off. "You just did not intend to voice the thought aloud. Fear not. You will not suffer unwanted attentions from me for the duration of our journey together."

An awkward silence stood between them, broken only by the crackle of the fire.

Finally, she cleared her throat. "So, did you have any luck hunting?"

Baelin tossed a fat, gray hare on the ground at her feet.

Lady Jill paled and covered her mouth with her hand, her face stricken. "You killed the Easter Bunny."

"You do not care for rabbit?"

"Not when it comes with the fluffy bunny fur and cute wiggly nose still attached." She visibly shivered. "You have just succeeded in murdering one of my childhood illusions."

He clenched his teeth as emotions waged battle inside him. Incredible as it seemed, the woman had managed to both wound and insult him in almost the same breath.

"It appears there is no pleasing my lady this eve."

An unladylike curse escaped her lips as she focused her big, green-flecked eyes on him. "I'm sorry if I offended you about the horse, and the rabbit, and…the other thing." She waved her hands around, unable to utter the last word. But he knew what she meant. Was the idea of kissing him so abhorrent she could not even say it aloud?

He read the sincerity in her face, could hear the contrition in her voice, but it did little to soothe his wounded pride. When he offered no response, she continued on.

"You'll have to bear with me. I'm new to this world of yours. And since we're going to be spending a lot of time together, you'd better get used to the fact that I'm going to make mistakes. Apparently a lot of them where you're concerned."

"Then I consider myself forewarned."

Baelin scooped up the hare and stalked off before he did something he would regret—like strangle the maid with his bare hands.

Jill swatted at the pesky bugs swarming around her face. As the sun went down, they had multiplied by the hundreds. Hearing another high-pitched whine as one made a dive bomb for her neck, she waved her hands in a fruitless effort to keep them at bay.

"Why are these mosquitoes eating me alive and they don't seem to be bothering you one bit?"

"Mosquitoes?"

Baelin glanced up from where he was busy driving two branches into the ground on either side of the fire to serve as a makeshift rotisserie for the recently deceased rabbit. It was the first time they'd spoken in over an hour and Jill was acutely aware she was treading on shaky ground with him. She figured mosquitoes were a safe enough topic to talk about.

"Ah, those are midges."

"I don't care what they're called, they're driving me crazy. What kind of medieval bug repellent are you using?"

He frowned a moment until understanding eased the creases on his brow. "I am not doing anything. They naturally avoid me."

"Let me guess. They can
sense
the predator in you." Jill said it as a joke, trying to lighten the mood between them, but Baelin surprised her by confirming her words.

"Aye, there may be some truth in that."

"What do you mean?"

"Dragon's blood flows through my veins. If I were to bleed, it would burn anything it touched. I can only assume they sense to drink of it would mean their death."

"Really? You mean your blood is like some kind of acid?"

"Aye, if this acid you speak of burns like fire."

"That doesn't sound very healthy for your arteries, but the built-in bug-be-gone is a nifty side affect."

Baelin stilled. "My lady, I would gladly suffer the bite of a thousand vermin every day of my life than to live one more day as a dragon."

Jill could've kicked herself. There she went, saying the wrong thing again. "Right. I guess when you put it like that, the small benefit isn't worth it. Sorry."

She scratched at the dirt with a stick, feeling awkward and irritated with herself. Every time she opened her mouth, she managed to offend him. The difference in their times could explain a lot, but she knew if she stopped to think before she spoke, it would go a long way toward easing some of the tension between them.

She sat quietly as he prepared the rabbit for roasting. Finally, curiosity got the better of her. "So, how did you end up being cursed to be a dragon anyway?"

Baelin nearly dropped the rabbit in the fire as he attempted to balance the skewered carcass between the two stakes.

"I see forthrightness is also one of your…virtues."

Jill snorted. "If that's what you call it. Most people say it's being nosy." When he didn't answer her, she prodded again. "So, dish. Give me the gory details. Inquiring minds want to know."

"'Tis not something I talk about."

Something in his voice caught her attention—a bitterness tinged with regret.

"Is it because you don't like to talk about it or because none of the other girls ever bothered to ask?"

He sat on the opposite side of the fire. She could tell he was thinking, probably remembering, and she was all too aware she'd touched on a painful subject for him.

"They never asked."

"Well, I'm asking." She spoke without demand, offering without saying the words to listen to his story and perhaps, in the telling of it, relieve some of his lonely burden.

He looked away. "I prefer not to remember that time. It was long ago, when I was too young, too proud." He paused for the span of a heartbeat. "Still human."

She was surprised when he returned his gaze to her, those warm, brown eyes filled with an intense pain he didn't bother to hide.

"What does it matter now? I am what I am."

His softly spoken words recalled the hurt in those same eyes when she made the comment about not wanting to kiss him. How could she have been so insensitive? The poor guy had been alone in a cave for two centuries. It's not as if he'd had a lot of opportunities to get any action, and she had to go and say something stupid.

She chose her words carefully, aware this was her chance to bridge the gap between them, to mend the hurt she'd already caused. "It might help me understand you better."

He straightened, his haunted expression transforming to one of puzzlement. "Truly?"

"Yeah." Jill shrugged, trying to give the impression the conversation they were having was as casual as talking about the weather. "Sort of like 'you show me your scars and I'll show you mine'."

She watched him swallow, as if the words fought to come out but he wanted desperately to hold them back. "'Tis not a pretty tale."

"Somehow, I didn't think it would be."

He sat there staring into the fire so long, Jill wondered if he was going to say anymore. Finally, he sighed and rested his arms on his raised knees.

"When I was a lad of about seven years, my father sent me to foster with Amdarch the Black."

"The Black?" The nickname gave Jill visions of a swarthy barbarian overlord who would think nothing of beating a young boy into obedience. "Was he called that because he was mean?"

"Nay." Baelin smiled as some fond memory eased the tension in his face. "He was called The Black because in his youth his hair was dark as night. But by the time I went to foster with him, it had turned more gray than not. He was a good man, wise yet firm, and he taught me well."

"You were so young. Did you miss your family?"

"Aye. 'Twas but four days walk betwixt our lands, so I was able to return home once or twice a year. Besides, his son Osmund was of a like age and we became as brothers."

He paused in his tale to turn the rabbit over the fire so it wouldn't burn.

"When I reached my seventeenth year, we set out on a journey to Egremont to fetch Osmund's intended bride. He and I rode with his father and half of The Black's knights. 'Twas a dark time for England, when the barbarians of the north plagued the land far and wide. We stayed ever vigilant, always on guard against attack. Little did we know there was another danger lurking near. Something more evil and deadly than the Vikings." A dark shadow passed over his face, like a cloud covering the sun. "Something hunting us."

"What?" she asked, although she already suspected the answer.

"Dragons. Three of them. They flew out of the sky like demons from hell. We had heard tales of winged creatures that breathed fire, but 'twas the first time any of us had ever seen them. They swooped down, burning grass, horses and men alike. I watched as half of the Black's men were either consumed by flames or mortally wounded by fang and claw. They attacked while we stood out in the open, defenseless against their power. We did not know how to fight them."

He shifted his gaze back to the fire, staring at it, almost hypnotized by it. Did it remind him of the dragon's fire? she wondered.

"They caught Osmund first. I watched him burn to death before my eyes and I could do naught to save him."

Jill covered her mouth with her hand to stop a sob from escaping. Her throat ached from the effort of holding it inside. She couldn't imagine watching someone she loved die such a horrible, painful death.

"Certain I would be next, I turned to see the beast almost upon me. Determined to fight to the very end, my last thought was to die with honor, with my sword in my hand."

His words recalled the all too recent terror she'd felt when Baelin had chased after her in his dragon form. She couldn't imagine the horror he must have gone through, a boy who was not yet a man, witnessing so much death and then trying to be brave facing his own.

"Somehow as the beast fell upon me, my sword found its mark and ran the creature through its black heart." His voice softened, the words broken. "I was knighted that very day, out there on a charred, bloody moor, by a man who had just lost his only son."

Jill jumped when his golden dragon eyes suddenly turned her way. It was the second time she'd seen them take on that eerie, unnatural glow. Did high emotions trigger the transformation, or was it the dragon inside him rising to the surface?

"I was knighted for slaying a dragon. It was the first of many."

His body tensed and she knew his tale was not over. The worst was yet to come.

"From that day on, we knew how to fight them. How to kill them. The Black and I dedicated our honor, our very lives, to destroying the beasts. Others soon joined us in our fight to rid the land of this winged plague. We called ourselves dragonslayers.

Baelin looked away, shielding his own dragon eyes from her.

"We learned that for centuries upon centuries, the creatures had lived peacefully high in the mountains, only venturing out of their dens to feed. The loss of a cow here or a few sheep there generally went unnoticed. But then the Dark Witch discovered a way to control them, to harness their power, and she began to use them against mortal man."

"So, this Dark Witch, she's not human?"

"Nay. She looks human enough, but she is not. As far as anyone knows, she has existed as long as the dragons have."

He shifted where he sat, but still refused to look at her as he continued his tale. "Our battle was no longer against the dragons alone, but with the Dark Witch as she used them against us. Three years passed. Three long years of hunting these creatures with every waking hour. Then the day came when we faced her army, a thousand warriors strong, with countless dragons under her power in the air. By the end, we were defeated, our entire force destroyed."

She watched as Baelin tensed, could tell by the way he clenched his fist that he was remembering holding his sword, reliving the battle.

"That day, I held Amdarch the Black in my arms as he breathed his last."

He glanced down at his hands, uncurling stiff fingers until the palms lay open. What did he see as he looked at them? Was it his sword, his only defense against the dragons? Or was it the blood of the man he loved like a father, slipping through his fingers as his life ebbed away?

"To this day, I can still smell the stench of charred flesh and boiled blood as it poured in rivers from the lifeless bodies of the men around me. I can still hear the screams of agony from those who had yet to embrace the blessed relief of death. I can still feel the bloody battlefield beneath my feet as I stood surrounded by those dying men, awaiting my own."