Come Back to Me (7 page)

Her head whipped around so quickly that hair like copper silk lashed his arm. "What makes you think I will be here long enough for that?"

"I am paying you the compliment of assuming you are intelligent." Before she could conceal her wary surprise, he added, "Or if not, that you have at least enough common sense to realize that you would not get very far." Ominously, he added, "If I have to go after you again, I will put aside any concern I have about why you are concealing your identity and take you straight to the authorities. Is that clear?"

She paled slightly, making him twinge with guilt, but he ignored that. The threat was as much for her own good as for his peace of mind. When she murmured under her breath, he bent closer. "What was that?"

Their eyes were level. Hers blazed. "I said," she repeated, enunciating very clearly, "you'll have to catch me first."

Dragon recognized desperation when he heard it. "It wouldn't be much of a contest right now," he said gently. "Perhaps when you're recovered."

He was being kind to her again, not throwing her defiance back in her face as she had half expected, not even getting angry at it. Truly, this wasn't fair. He looked like a god of ancient yore, was remarkably good-humored and genuinely kind, and, miracle of miracles, he cooked. Men like that did not exist in Rycca's world, at least not as far as she had ever seen.

Perhaps in going off that cuff, she had leaped into a new land with as yet unsuspected marvels. Wasn't that a thought?

But not for her aching head. The wine had not been a good idea. She was duzzled enough as it was. Duzzled wasn't a word, was it? Ought to be, though, for it perfectly described what she felt—dazed and dulled.

A god of ancient yore. Really not fair at all.

"Let me help you," he said and eased her gently from the chair. A few steps and she was back to the bed—the so big, so comfortable bed so obviously built for two. Never, ever had she thought of sharing a bed with a man and she wasn't thinking of it now. Absolutely not. He was very close, holding her elbow lightly. His touch seared her. She was fevered and chilled all at the same time. She was coming down with the ague, she decided, and who could blame her after the day she'd had? But she was as hearty as the horses she loved and likely to throw off any ailment swiftly.

"I will sleep outside," he said, "but if you need anything, call and I will hear you."

That was a twinge of relief she felt, not disappointment. Her nature was not so bold, at least not in such matters. It was merely the duzzling that had made her mistake one emotion for the other.

After he had left, closing the door quietly behind him, she sat for a while on the edge of the bed. The food had given her a little strength and she had already slept far more than was usual, so she was content for a time to merely take in her surroundings. The lodge fascinated her. Never before had she seen such evidence of a woman's influence. Or for that matter any influence at all. Her father's holding was starkly shorn of feminine touches. If any had ever existed, they had died with Rycca's mother. That pale, silent woman had perished in childbed when Rycca was eight, her death the result of the last in a long series of miscarriages. No trace of her remained but for the grave visited only by Rycca and her twin. Certainly there was no sign that she had put her mark upon her husband's holding, nor had any other woman done so. There, all that was feminine was decried as weak and contemptible. But not here, in this place where the womanly seemed not merely allowed but celebrated.

Mulling that over, Rycca stood and made her way to the carved chests beneath the windows. Slowly, she bent and opened the one in which she had discovered the marvelous soaps. The man had said something about a night robe—

She had never slept but nude or in a rough shift. Certainly she had never seen anything like the confection of finely woven linen and lace she drew from the chest. On impulse, she raised it to her face and inhaled deeply. The garment smelled of sunshine and roses. The yearning to wear something so extraordinarily feminine just once overwhelmed her. She was about to remove her tunic when a knock at the door stopped her. Quickly, she stuffed the night robe back into the chest.

"What is it?"

Dragon cracked the door open. He was carrying a bucket of toughened hide rilled with water. "I thought you might want this." He stepped inside and set the bucket on the table. "But be careful, it's hot. Let it cool a little."

She nodded, trying to absorb the fact that he had brought her water to wash. A warrior drawing water, heating it, and not even for his own use. Truly, this had to be a different world.

"Thank you," she murmured but he was already gone, closing the door behind him.

A short while later, scrubbed from head to toe and clad in the night robe, Rycca slipped back into bed. She had cleaned up carefully after herself though it took what little strength she had left. The lodge looked just as it should, which was to say perfect. She lay on the softest mattress she had ever known, beneath cloud-light covers, and watched the long summer twilight fade to gentle dark. Her last thought before drifting off was that she was already dreaming.

Dragon required longer to get to sleep. He lay on a bed of pine needles, his arms folded behind his head, and looked at the stars. From long habit, he picked out the shapes men saw in them, recalling the stories associated with each. But his mind kept drifting far closer to home.

He'd been right to think her a puzzle. She wore the garb of a highborn youth and had the manner to go with it, defiant and confident. But she had never tasted good wine before and the smallest courtesy seemed to take her by surprise. Was this merely typical of the English or were her circumstances unusual? That he had no way of knowing did not stop him from wondering. But the day had been long and eventually he, too, drifted off.

Only to wake abruptly in the thick of night, shocked upright by a scream that interrupted the drone of summer insects and sent a prowling fox scurrying for its den. Dragon was on his feet, reaching for the sword that lay beside him, when he realized the scream came from inside the lodge. In a single motion, he tore the blade from its sheath and hurled himself straight through the door. Any intruder would have been hacked down in a breath but there was no one to be seen save Rycca. She was sitting up in the bed, gasping for breath, her eyes wide but sightless. A long shudder ran through her as she tried to fight free of sleep that had become the gateway to terror.

Dragon was at her side in a heartbeat. He set the sword down on the floor and gathered her into his arms. Perched on the edge of the bed, holding her, he rocked her back and forth, crooning to her softly. "It's all right, nothing's going to hurt you. There's nothing to be afraid of, you're safe."

She shuddered again but clung to him, her head burrowed against his chest as though she was trying to shut out all the world. Sobs racked her. Bewildered and deeply concerned, Dragon tightened his hold. Perhaps she had dreamed of falling off the cliff. That possibility stabbed through him and he resolved to do anything necessary to calm her. Truly, he could not bear to see a woman in distress. Carefully, he eased her back down on the bed, fitting himself in beside her, protecting her within the curve of his body as he sought to soothe her.

Rycca did not hear his murmured words but she felt his hand lightly stroking her hair. It penetrated the fog of her terror, reaching not the woman he held but the little girl locked inside her memories.

Such terrifying memories… smoke rising from burning huts… bodies sprawled everywhere… people running in every direction, screaming, falling… and Aelflynne… dear, sweet Aelflynne, only Rycca's age, also without a mother, the best friend ever for creeping into hay racks to play with precious poppets and exchange secrets. Aelflynne…

"Nooooo!"

She struck out desperately, hammering against Dragon's chest, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.

The breath caught in her throat as it had that terrible night. She was choking, unable to breathe, fighting her way through smoke to reach her friend's side, slipping on dark blood oozing away into the greedy ground. And Aelflynne so still… eyes wide and staring at the uncaring sky.

She wanted to die, as she had yearned to then, to escape a world that held within it such horror. Yet caught within memory's grip, she was also aware of something else holding her… someone… speaking to her softly and urgently, surrounding her with gentle strength, drawing her back from the precipice of despair.

Someone…
him
… the hero of the strange new world in which she had found herself. Beneath his hands, in his arms, she felt terror flow away. She opened her eyes once, saw his gazing at her, and slipped into blessed dreamlessness.

Dragon exhaled slowly. The girl was a limp weight against him but he scarcely noticed. He was glad that whatever nightmare had troubled her was gone. Yet could he not think to leave her lest it return. A deep sigh escaped him. With the girl nestled against him, he found it impossible to return to sleep. His response to her was predictable enough, for clad only in the thin night robe, no illusion of the boy remained. Yet for once he did not wish to be blessed with quite so ardent a nature. Still he was as he was and he could be grateful she was unaware rather than afraid or shocked. What he would do in such eventuality he really didn't know for he had no experience with women who were other than… friendly. This one was not. Indeed, she put him in mind of a prickly little creature, all sharp points sprouting in every direction.

She stirred against him just then and he was reminded that, prickly or not, she was also very soft and smooth, gently curved and lithe in his arms. He smothered another sigh that was really more of a groan and schooled himself to fortitude. It was going to be a long night.

RYCCA WOKE GREATLY REFRESHED. HER HEAD hurt scarcely at all compared to the pounding of the previous day. Her limbs bore the faint echo of an ache but a little luxurious stretching eased that away. She left the bed, carefully removed the night robe, and was washing with water from the bucket on the table when she remembered the dream. A shudder ran down her back but she wasn't really cold. The day was already balmy, and besides, the water she was using was warm.

Which it could not have been if it was the water left over from the night before, which meant someone—
he
— had brought her fresh water not long ago while yet she slept as she had all night in that bed, which, now that she noticed, bore in its soft mattress the mark of two bodies— not one—resting side by side.

Water she forgot to wipe away trickled down her face as memories of the night overtook her. That the dream had come did not surprise her for it always did when she was especially tired, in pain, or frightened. Yet surely it was a trick of memory to think
he
had also come, holding her gently, murmuring reassurances so that the haunting terror faded far more swiftly than it ever had before. Had he truly done all that and remained with her throughout the night, chastely and protectively, holding her fear at bay?

Good food and hot water were unusual enough; such comfort as she imagined he had given her was surely impossible. Yet there was the depression in the bed to say otherwise. On impulse, she bent down beside the bed, put her head to the smooth linen, and inhaled. Sun… wind… sea… whispers of wildness and power that were purely male. Her own spirit—proud, strong, female—rose in instinctive response. She swallowed hard and spun away from the bed. Quickly she dressed, retreating into her boy's garb.

When she was finished, pride made it impossible to remain inside. Yanking open the door, she stepped into dappled sunlight.

DRAGON CROUCHED ON THE GROUND, STIRRING the fire. He looked up as she emerged and slowly stood. She looked well, he thought, better than might be expected after a haunted night. But she would not meet his eyes and her self-consciousness was palpable.

None of the women of his vast acquaintance would have felt the least self-conscious for having merely spent the night in bed with him. At least not unless chastity embarrassed them. Yet there she was, her cheeks aflame, and her gaze skittering off to anywhere other than where he stood.

He hid a smile and returned his attention to the fire. "There's porridge if you're hungry."

She shrugged but came nearer. Taking that as encouragement, he ladled porridge into a wooden bowl, added a drizzle of honey, and topped it off with a scattering of wild strawberries picked that morning. When he handed it to her along with a spoon, she blinked in surprise.

"Another of your friend's recipes?"

"No one needs a recipe for porridge."

Her swift glance suggested otherwise but quickly she turned her attention to eating. After a tentative first taste, the rest of the porridge disappeared with speed he could not help find nattering.

"There's more," he offered, but she shook her head, self-consciousness returning.

"About last night—" she said.

Hurrying to put her at ease, he said, "You had a bad dream. I held you and you quieted, that's all."

"It was very kind of you." She looked at him once, quickly, and looked away again. "Thank you."

"You seem little accustomed to kindness."

She took the bowl to a pail of water near the fire, rinsed it out, and returned it to him. Perhaps she had taken to heart what he'd said about helping with the chores. Or maybe she was buying time to reply to a question that, answered carelessly, might reveal something of her identity.

"I am as I am." Unconsciously, she echoed his thoughts of the night before. The similarity startled him. Were they alike then in some way? He would not have thought so but beneath the obvious differences of man and woman, he sensed her pride and strength, her courage and fortitude, all virtues he liked to think he possessed.

A sudden smile lit his sculpted features. She stared, caught herself, and frowned. "What is it?"

"I was just thinking you are like a warrior, a woman warrior. There are legends of such beings, you know."