B00CGOH3US EBOK (21 page)

But her patience had its limits and in a pique of anger, she'd cursed him. Cursed him to be the very thing he hated.

She shook her head at the woven image of him. Baelin of Gosforth, the only man who'd ever had the courage to refuse her.

A weaker man would've been driven mad by the dragon inside him. But not Baelin. He was still out there, biding his time in the futile hope he could break the curse without submitting to her. The fool. It was only a matter of time before he came back to her.

He had to. He must.

Damn his pride. In over two centuries, he'd never set foot in her realm again. If he had, she would've known. If he had, her power over him would've been stronger, the call too great to resist.

She never thought he would last this long.

She stood and walked to the tapestry, running her fingers over his handsome woven face. "You will come back to me, Baelin. You cannot resist forever."

It was then that something caught her eye. Something small, waving in the draft of the chamber, delicate as a spider's web.

"No. It cannot be."

There, hanging from the bottom of the tapestry, dangled several threads. She stood still, fearing any sudden movement would set the tapestry unraveling further. It did no good. Before her eyes, row after row worked itself loose, the threads coiling on the floor at her feet.

"Nay!" the Dark Witch raged.

Somehow, after all this time, Baelin of Gosforth had found a way to break the curse.

Jill sat on a driftwood log and plucked at the last bit of cloth on her right hand.

Unfortunately, when it came off, so did a good deal of the scab that'd been stuck to it.

She winced as fresh blood oozed from a half-healed blister. She could really use a fresh bandage for it, but she had precious few left and they needed to be rationed. Baelin had torn one of the extra smocks she'd packed into strips for dressings, one of which now served as the makeshift maxi-pad she wore thanks to the untimely appearance of her period. And since underwear hadn't apparently been invented yet, she'd been forced to use more of the strips to hold it in place. She wasn't about to sacrifice the last few clean ones she had left for an oozing blister.

Jill shifted uncomfortably, feeling as if she was wearing a diaper instead of a feminine hygiene product. What did the women use before maxi-pads came along? She'd been too embarrassed to ask Baelin, but she figured he wouldn't know anyway. The very idea of menstruation gave even modern guys the heebie jeebies.

Reminded yet again of the inconveniences of the Middle Ages, she cursed whatever fate had landed her in this godforsaken place.

"My kingdom for a tampon!"

"Did you say something, my lady?"

She felt her cheeks flush. She hadn't realized she'd voiced her thoughts aloud. "Nothing. I'm just talking to myself again."

Baelin nodded but made no further comment. He went back to sharpening the blade of his sword. Evidently, he was getting used to her odd behavior.

She glanced out over the lake to the steep hillside jutting up on the far shore. After that first rainy night, they'd made their way down the shoreline to their present campsite, a pristine spot where a thick forest of oak and pine met the rocky beach, offering them both shelter and firewood, and a place for Jill to regain her strength and to heal.

She scratched at her neck. If she had a knife, she was sure she could scrape off several layers of dirt and dust covering every inch of her skin. She didn't even want to think about what might be crawling around in her hair.

Rummaging through her satchel, she pulled out her last clean gown and a small pot containing a soft soap concoction she'd snagged from the cave. Stuffing all her dirty clothes back in the satchel, she made a beeline for heaven in a lake, the twinkle of the sun on the water drawing her like a magpie to a shiny bauble.

As she passed by Baelin, his sharpening stone stopped in mid stroke. "Where go you?"

"I go to take a bath."

He stood and placed his broad mail-clad body between her and a much needed head to toe scrubbing.

"Is there a problem?"

His gaze shifted to her satchel and then back at her. "You bathed not long ago. 'Tis unhealthy to wash so often."

She snorted. "Are you kidding? It's unhealthy to be in my skin right now. I'm filthy, I smell, and I have an inch of God knows what under my nails. The last time I had more than a sponge bath was back in the bat cave when I fell in the pool."

Baelin glanced up at a sky blazing red and orange with the setting sun. "'Tis almost nightfall. 'Twould not be safe for you to venture far in the fading light. You may lose your way."

She pointed over his shoulder to a spot not more than fifty yards away. "I'm not going far. I'll just be right over there, around that bend."

"'Tis too far for my liking. There are dangers for a woman alone."

Jill's eyes darted to the dark shadows looming in the trees. "You don't think there are more medieval mountain men around here, do you?"

"Nay, but there is always the risk."

"Well, since you don't think there are any bad guys hiding in the bushes," she made to go around him, "I'm willing to take my chanc—"

Baelin grabbed her by the arm, stopping her. She glanced from where his large hand encircled her arm to his face and cocked a brow at him.

"I cannot allow it."

"You cannot
allow
it?" She couldn't believe was she was hearing. "Excuse me, but who died and made you king of the bathtub?"

His brow creased and he looked confused. "To my knowledge, King John still lives. Then again, a great deal could have happened during my past year as a dragon I am not aware of…" Baelin shook his head. "Who currently sits on the throne of England matters not. What matters is that I must protect you."

"So, you're protecting me from being clean?"

"I cannot keep you safe if I cannot see you."

"Oh." That made sense, sort of. "Well, it makes you feel better, I'll be sure to splash around and make plenty of noise so you'll know I'm all right."

He groaned, as if the idea caused him physical pain. Whatever his problem was right now, she wasn't in the mood to deal with it. She tried to pull her arm away, but he held her tight, just short of hurting her. This was unreal. He was acting more like a Neanderthal than a knight in shining armor.

"Do you mind?"

The muscles in his jaw bunched. "God's teeth, woman. Must you gainsay everything I say?"

"I will
gainsay
you or anybody else who thinks they can bully me around. I'm not your prisoner and I don't need your permission to do anything, including take a bath."

"A prisoner you are not, but as long as you are with me, you are under my protection. Have you so easily forgotten the trouble you encountered when you ventured off on your own the last time?"

Jill huffed. "Oh, fine. Throw that up in my face. I said I was sorry."

"I still cannot allow you to go." He continued to stand there, a human chain-link fence blocking her way.

"Why?"

"Because I cannot protect you if I cannot see you."

"Because you can't see—" Then the truth hit her. "Oh, my God. This isn't about protection. It's about trust, isn't it? You don't trust me out of your sight. You think I'm going to try to run away again, don't you?"

Baelin didn't answer. He didn't have to. His rigid stance, the constant glances to the satchel she carried, told her she was right.

"How many times do I have to apologize? I made a mistake. I learned my lesson, the hard way. I promise I won't do it again."

"A knight's word is his honor. Trust, once broken, is hard to regain."

Jill's stomach tightened into a knot. She understood what honor meant to him and the high value he placed upon it, and now he was questioning hers.

"You said you forgave me." Her words came out in a soft, timid voice, like a contrite child's.

"Forgiveness and trust are two different things. While I bear you no malice for what is in the past, I would be a fool to trust you again so soon."

His words sliced through her, reopening an all too familiar wound. Here she was, in another place and another time, and she was still screwing up. Always falling short. Always disappointing. She should be used to it by now. But somehow, seeing her failure reflected in Baelin's eyes—a man whose honor meant more to him than his life—cut deeper than it ever had before.

"Gee, Baelin. I'm sorry I'm not brave and honorable like you. I'm sorry I've disappointed you. You'll have to excuse me for being a little grumpy, but in the past two weeks I've been catapulted eight hundred years into the past, hog-tied to a stake by crazed villagers, chased down by a fire-breathing dragon, attacked by Robin Hood and his Not-So-Merry-Men, witnessed one of those men get Kentucky fried before my eyes, locked in a dungeon, and nearly executed by molten metal. And all the while, you're hovering around me, expecting me to be this paragon of maidenly virtue and Xena the Warrior Princess all rolled into one. But I'm not. I never said I was and I probably never will be."

He stood silent, listening to her rant and rave without so much as a single retort in return. His dark eyes bored into her and she couldn't help but feel she was being tried and judged all over again. Only this time, the pain hurt more than any hot iron could, because she brought it on herself.

She fought back the tears that threatened to choke her. She would not cry. Not this time.

"Fine. If you don't trust me out of your sight then you'll have to come with me, because like it or not, I'm taking a bath."

Baelin reared back, shocked at the suggestion. "I would never dishonor you so."

"Oh really? That precious honor you cling to so tightly didn't stop you from playing the peeping tom—or should I say peeping dragon—when I walked around the cave naked, did it?"

The shared memory flashed between them and the flare in his eyes told her he recalled it too—in every intimate, bare-skinned, glistening-wet detail.

"You didn't think I'd remember that, did you? Seems like we both have a little work to do on the trust issues."

Baelin flinched as if she'd slapped him. He let go of her arm, a mixture of anger, shame and frustration in his eyes.

Her conscience smacked Jill in the back of the head. What was she doing? In her foul mood, she'd struck out and hit him where it hurt most, his honor. She glanced at the ground between them, unable to face him. How could she be so self-centered? This man needed her. He was counting on her to help break this damn curse of his. He was not the type of person to rely on anyone but himself and yet here he was, forced to depend on her of all people. Boy, did he get the short straw on that one.

Okay, so maybe she was being a little unreasonable.

All right, a lot unreasonable.

But could anyone blame her? After everything she'd been through, it would make even Mother Teresa a bit snarky. Throw in PMSing big time and being unable to stand the smell of herself, and she was behaving like a major bitch with a capital B.

But no matter how crappy she felt, it didn't give her the right to be nasty to the man who'd saved her life. Finally, she gathered the courage to look him in the eye again.

"I'm sorry, Baelin. That was completely uncalled for. You've been nothing but patient and kind to me since I've been here. You've taken care of me and put up with more than anyone should have to. I didn't mean what I said. I'm just tired and dirty and that makes me a not-so-nice person to be around."

He stared at her for the longest time, the threads of their fragile relationship stretched taut between them. She wondered what was going through his mind. Would he accept her apology, as lame as it was?

"And taking a bath will make you a nice person to be around once again?"

For a second there she thought he might actually be trying to joke with her. But he wasn't smiling. Come to think of it, he hardly ever smiled. Could she blame him? There'd been little to be happy about lately, and she wasn't making matters any better with her smart mouth.

"Yes, as a matter of fact it will."

He glanced out over the lake, then he turned his attention back to her, gracing her with a half bow. "Then by all means, partake of your bath, my lady."