The Dragon in the Stone Page 5

  A quick look out of the stained glass window showed her nothing but sea as far as the eye could see. She was too far up to hear the waves breaking against the cliffs the castle stood on, but she recalled seeing them now, as they’d flown up the seemingly never ending expanse of cliff side until the ruined castle had come into view.

  Only it wasn’t a ruin, was it, and Ireland sure made sense. While geography was certainly not her strong point, it would match what she remembered of their flight away from home, and Ireland had many ruined castles along its shore line, didn’t it?

  The cymbals she had been fighting in her head returned with a vengeance, and giving up on trying to place her location, she sank into the surprisingly deep waters of her bath with a sigh. It must have taken an army of servants to fill this cavernous stone to the brim with water, and even longer to heat it.

  Mind you, Drorgan was a dragon, and he had had his hand in the bubbling water when she’d come into the room, so maybe hot water wasn’t that hard to come by in this place.

  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, whi
ch 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 shee
r 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.