Lisette Ashton - Dragon Desire

Tavia glared at him.

This was not going as she had hoped, but she knew, if skill at negotiations had been easy, her own well-honed abilities to influence and manipulate would have little worth. Quashing her exasperation, refusing to let the emotion show on her features, she fixed him with a politic smile.

‘What a shame,’ she muttered.

She had come to him dressed in formal military surcoat over her red and gold kirtles. The surcoat was emblazoned with the silver-on-black arms of the Order of Dark Knights. The Order of Dark Knights was an elite military unit headed by the castellan of Blackheath. Wearing the formal surcoat over her best kirtles, Tavia felt reassured by the protection that came from the symbol of silver swords crossed over a stone tower. It seemed a more imposing motif than her family heritage of three golden water-carrying maids on a crimson background.

She glimpsed the arms of the Order of Dark Knights as she reached into the folds of her skirts to remove a cloth purse. The sight gave her a surge of confidence.

‘I can do this,’ she whispered.

The cloth purse was heavy. The gold pieces it contained rattled together. Tavia shook the purse lightly, allowing the coins inside to chatter. There was a distinctive sound to gold on gold that she had never heard replicated by any other metals scratching together.

She saw the seer stiffen and tilt his head, as though listening.

He was clearly familiar with the sound of money.

‘I had wanted to do business with a seer.’

Tavia said the words as though she was speaking to herself. She shook the purse again. The musical chink of gold on gold rang from the dungeon walls.

‘But, if you no longer have the gift of second sight, Alvar, son of Erland, then I’ll leave you to your tankard and your bucket. I shall say prayers to the benevolent gods that you don’t confuse those two receptacles too often. And I’ll wish you a good morrow.’

Turning away from him, she started toward the dungeon doorway.

It was a calculated bluff. But she knew that all successful negotiations were nothing more than calculated bluffs. And Tavia prided herself on being a mistress of successful negotiations.

She didn’t hear him follow her.

He moved from his escritoire with a stealth that she would later consider chilling. She had taken three brisk steps toward the dungeon doorway when he placed his right hand on her right hip and clamped his left hand over her mouth.

Her gasp of surprise was muffled beneath his palm.

She was spun until she faced him.

The purse of coins fell heavily to the floor.

There was a clatter of gold rolling over cobbles.

Tavia’s stifled squeal of surprise was lost beneath the sound of money rolling away from her on the darkened floor. Her heartbeat raced as she realised she was in the arms of a strong and powerful man. He had a gaze that made her loins melt with sultry need. The musky scent of his nearness made her yearn for him.

‘Is this some sort of trick?’ he whispered.

She waited until he had removed his hand from her mouth. She liked that he was holding her tight. She could feel the thrust of his rigid manliness. It pressed from his loins, through his rich obsidian tunic, toward her stomach. It struck her that he wanted her as greedily as she wanted him. She stifled that thought, knowing that throwing herself at the seer at this stage would not help with the delicate negotiations she was trying to make.

‘Is this some sort of trick?’ he repeated.

‘You’re supposed to be the seer,’ she replied. ‘You tell me if this is a trick.’

In the light of the raw orange flames his eyes glittered with menace. He inhaled deeply and for an instant she saw something that resembled a smile crossing his lips.

And then the expression was gone.

With a grunt of frustration he pushed her from his embrace.

Tavia stumbled and almost fell to the floor.

‘Get down on your knees and pick up your gold,’ he snapped. His voice sounded hurt and angry. ‘Gold coins are of no use to me in this dungeon. Nothing is of any use to me in this damned dungeon; so you can take your gold coins and your nice-smelling hair and you can fuck off.’

She glared at him.

She was thankful for the poor light because it hid her blushes. He thought she had nice-smelling hair. The compliment struck her as being absurdly touching. She was grateful that someone had noticed she washed her blonde curls in a balsam of lemon and orange oils. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to be touched by the seer’s praise.

‘I knew you weren’t a real seer,’ she scoffed. ‘I knew you didn’t have the gift of sight.’

He reached into the pocket of his tunic. When he pulled his hand free she saw he was holding a well-thumbed deck of tarot. He rolled his shoulders and shuffled the cards with one hand. For a man who looked as though he had been dragged from the depths of a grog-induced slumber, his fingers worked on the deck with surprising agility.

She stared up at him as he stood with his back to one of the torches. He was nothing more than a silhouette but she thought his shape seemed to grow as he handled the cards.

She had seen expert swordsmen demonstrate skill in the mastery of their craft and believed it was always a pleasure to watch any competent artist excelling in their field. She had watched horsemen breaking wild stallions and she had witnessed gifted sculptors carving great statues. She had seen the smiths and tailors showing off their talents in demonstrations of more commonplace skill, craft and artisan mastery. But she had never before seen a man who was so clearly in love with his own vocation as the seer was with his gift of second sight.

Alvar, son of Erland, beamed as he shuffled the cards.

He pulled one from the deck and studied it with a single cocked eyebrow.

‘Your name is Tavia, twin sister to Caitrin and younger sister of Inghean. You’re the daughter of Duncan, castellan of Blackheath.’

She started to pluck the gold coins from the floor. It had not been the impressive display of second sight she had hoped to witness. ‘You could have recognised me from your dealings in Blackheath. I’m known in my father’s court. You might even have overheard the gaoler addressing me before I came in here.’

Alvar sniffed.

He plucked another card from the top of the deck and studied it with an unreadable gaze. ‘You’ve recently had an experience.’

She flashed a silencing gaze in his direction.

He chuckled. It was a low and lewd sound but not entirely unpleasant. He studied the tarot card in the fluttering torch light as though it showed moving pictures. ‘It seems it was a very exciting experience,’ he decided. ‘A pleasant experience. And it’s clearly an experience you want to repeat.’

Tavia’s blushes deepened.

She figured she had retrieved as many of the gold coins as she was likely to find in the dark. Drawing the strings on the purse closed she put it back into her kirtles as she stood up.

‘The cards seem to tell you so much and so little,’ she said primly. ‘Perhaps your cards could say some things that don’t sound like the cold-reading comments of a cheap court conjurer?’

Idly, he plucked another from the pack and studied it before responding. ‘The cards tell me that you’re willing to do a lot in return for my assistance. Is that true?’

‘I have gold.’

She reached for the purse but he stopped her. The warmth of his hand on hers was surprisingly pleasing. She wanted to refuse the suggestion of pleasure that came from his touch.

‘I have a life sentence to serve in this dungeon. As I’ve already told you, I own a tankard and a bucket. With those essentials covered, I don’t have a lot of need for your gold.’