Dragon Desire

‘But, Cait –’ the mage started.

Caitrin silenced the interruption with a kiss. She allowed the moment to linger as their tongues twisted and twined together inside the battleground of their joined mouths.

‘I’ll make you a promise, Nihal,’ she decided. ‘I’ll continue my quest to find dragon horn. And I will find it. And once I’ve got a secure supply, I’m going to bring some back here so that you and I can share it together.’

‘But, Cait –’ the mage began again.

Caitrin shook her head and continued. ‘If, once you’ve tried it, you still think I should give up my quest, then I’ll consider your point of view.’

There was a long silence from within the shadows of Nihal’s hooded cowl. Eventually the mage said, ‘You’re determined to do this, aren’t you?’

‘More than you can know.’

‘In that case,’ the mage sounded sad but determined, ‘I’ll do what I can to help you find dragon horn.’

Caitrin brightened, shocked to discover she now had an ally in her quest.

‘You should join your father at the banquet hall this evening,’ the mage went on. ‘I believe the castellan is greeting Gethin ap Cadwallon and it would serve you well to meet the High Laird of the West Ridings.’

‘I wish I could stay here with you.’

The mage’s head moved from side to side inside the cowled hood. The bitternut hickory wand was suddenly flashing bright light into the room. And Caitrin realised the clothes had returned to her body. She also realised that there was a ring now sitting on the middle finger of her left hand. It was a band of gold emblazoned with a shimmering eye of moonstone that looked like the pearl-white stone they called a mage’s eye.

Caitrin examined the ring and then glanced into the shadows covering Nihal’s face. Again, she said, ‘I wish I could stay here with you.’

‘If you ever need me,’ said Nihal softly, ‘all you have to do is call my name.’ The mage spoke with a soft and earnest conviction that could only be the truth. ‘If you ever need me, simply take yourself to the peak of a climax, close your eyes and then whisper my name. If you do that, I’ll be with you.’

‘I want more than that,’ Caitrin sighed. ‘I want to stay here with you.’

‘Go to the banquet hall, Cait,’ Nihal whispered. ‘My magicks aren’t strong enough to grant all your wishes.’

Chapter Three – Owain of the West Ridings (#ulink_f6109245-e182-54ad-ae4e-0e1874380e51)

Owain had a momentary insight into the figure that he presented. He was tall and broad and conventionally handsome. The linen tunic he had worn for travelling was a plain green that hugged the muscles of his powerful chest. With fresh hosen on his legs, and a sword dangling idly from his left hip, he supposed he looked like a debonair and attractive stranger.

Not that the redhead by his side was there because of his appearance, he thought glumly. She would have stood eagerly outside the cage if he had been a hunchback dwarf dressed in motley and burdened by pox scars.

She wasn’t there for him.

She was there to see what was hidden inside the cage behind the flag.

Not that the flag was hiding much, he reflected. The flag showed a red dragon, six foot tall, standing on a white background above a green base. The dragon on the flag was as red as the brightest sun rubies. It was as red as the most heartfelt desire. It was as red as the dragon hidden beneath the flag concealed inside the cage.

On the journey up to Blackheath, Owain had told Laird Gethin ap Cadwallon that using the flag to cover this cage was like hiding the whole of the West Riding’s coffers beneath a flag decorated with golden coins, sapphire purses and diamond-encrusted ingots.

But, not for the first time, Gethin had ignored Owain’s observations.

‘Are you sure you want to see this?’ Owain asked the redhead.

She was a pretty young maid who had taken the time to help him guide the wheeled cage into a covered storeroom beside Blackheath’s stables. The earthy smell of horses filled the air around them. There were no torches or sconces inside the stables but there was sufficient moonlight for Owain to appreciate the young woman’s milk-skinned beauty and the shine of daring that danced in her emerald eyes. He had seen that her hair was the russet colour of an autumn sunset. He had also seen the leather band on her heart finger but he was doing his best to brush that latter consideration from his thoughts.

All men, he knew, were able to brush that sort of consideration from their thoughts.

The redhead giggled and pressed close to him.

His nostrils flared as he caught the sweet scent of her nearness. She wore a perfume that reminded him of the exotic aroma of the flowers from the kingdom’s most forbidden gardens. The bouquet was rich and heady and intoxicating.

His need for her hardened.

‘I’ve seen dragons before,’ she admitted.

There was a musical lilt to her voice. He didn’t know if it was a typical accent for someone from the North Ridings, or a dialect peculiar to Blackheath, but from her it sounded different and enchanting. His yearning for her grew stronger.

‘I can see Gatekeeper Island through my spyglass when I stand in the highest offices of the watchtowers,’ she told him.

She nodded back over her shoulder, as though gesturing toward the main buildings of Blackheath Priory. He glanced at the silhouettes of towers standing black against the midnight-blue sky, blocking the stars from shining down. This was his first visit to Blackheath and it looked as though the entire fiefdom was made up of too many dark towers.

‘I can see the dragons circling the temple through my spyglass,’ she explained. ‘But I’ve never seen a dragon up close. I’ve never touched one.’

She stressed the penultimate word: touched.

He stiffened. She had a warm body and was pressed lithely against him. The well-rounded swell of her thinly covered breasts brushed against the brawny muscles of his bicep. Her small hands, delicate and cool, touched him with deliberate urgency. Her nearness inspired a healthy hardness to spring between his thighs and strain against his hosen. He cautioned himself against being tempted by her before knowing more about who she was.

He cautioned himself to remember Carys.

Owain had suffered for being imprudent in the past. He did not believe himself to be a man who often made the same mistake twice. Whilst he was trying to tell himself to proceed with caution he continued wilfully not thinking about the leather band on the third finger of her left hand.

‘You need to be careful around dragons,’ he whispered.

He found himself murmuring the words into her ear. There was something about her height and shape that made him yearn to share the sentiment in an intimate fashion. He didn’t know if it was the vibrant colour of her hair, the whey-like milkiness of her complexion or if it was simply an effect of working so closely with dragons.

‘Dragons breathe fire. Those dragons that are out there with foul tempers can cause harm and devastation to anyone who earns their ire. It’s something you need to remember whenever you’re handling these beasts.’

She nodded attentively.

‘But the very nearness of dragons has an effect on us humans.’ His voice dropped a notch lower, so that he was sure she was straining to hear him. ‘It’s an effect that we can’t control,’ he murmured.

‘And what effect might that be?’

She returned his whisper with lips so close he could have kissed her without moving his head. Her breath was sweet with the memory of summer fruits and evening wine. Her emerald eyes shone for him with a reflection of the sparkling moonlight.

‘Is it an effect similar to dragon horn?’ she asked.

He pulled away from her with a stiff abruptness. Whatever passion had been blossoming between them was instantly rent apart.

‘Dragon horn is a stupid myth,’ he grunted. His hand fell to the sword on his hip. With a deliberate effort he moved his fingers away from the pommel. ‘Dragon horn is a lie put about by charlatans and bastards and those who know less than a headless cockerel. Dragon horn is nothing but –’

‘I didn’t mean –’ she faltered.