Sharon Schulze - Heart Of The Dragon

But he could tell right off. Shepherds and farmers, the lot of them. When he could no longer stand to watch their clumsy attempts, he stripped off his shirt and tunic and, snatching a practice sword off the ground, leaped into the fray.

His first battle roar sent half the company to the curtain wall, backs pressed against the stone. They blanched and shook with terror, much to the onlookers’ amusement. Once he began to lay about him with the dull blade, only two men held their ground to parry his attack.

Their movements were awkward, but he saw their confidence increase with every swing of his sword. He didn’t try to overpower them—he wanted to test their mettle, if they had any, not scare them off. But, unlike the others, they rose to the challenge and worked harder still.

After a time, one stepped away, sweat streaming down his face as he gasped for breath. But the other pressed on, grinning, his eyes alight with the joy of battle.

Ian pushed harder and brought him to his knees, the blade at his throat. “Do you yield?”

“Aye, m-milord,” the youth stammered. He looked Ian straight in the eyes. “But only ‘cause I got no choice.”

“Get up.” Ian handed the sword to one of his men and picked up his shirt. “You and you—” he nodded to his other opponent “—come with me. The rest of you,” he said, raising his voice to reach the men along the wall, “stay here with Dai. See if you can learn something from him.”

Dai rolled his eyes and offered a mocking salute. “Whatever I did to offend you, milord, I apologize—a thousand times over. By Christ, you don’t really expect me to make fighters out a them, do you?”

“We need every man we can get. If you can’t teach them to use a sword or a bow, at the least they should be able to handle a spear. It’s not too different from a shepherd’s crook,” he added dryly. He tugged his shirt over his head. “When you’ve finished here for the afternoon, come to me in my chamber. I’ve another task for you, one I’m sure you’ll find more to your liking.”

Laughing at Dai’s grumbled curses, Ian led his two apprentices away.

He practiced with them until they looked ready to drop and he’d worked up a sweat, as well. But the labor brought satisfaction, as hard work always did; he couldn’t help smiling as he returned to his room to wash and change his filthy clothing before the evening meal.

He found Dai leaning against the wall outside his room. His lieutenant’s sparse, grizzled locks stood out from his head as though he’d dragged his hands though them more than once. “Seems you had a good afternoon,” he snarled as Ian unlocked the door and motioned him into the room. He flopped onto a stool with the ease of long acquaintance. “Wish I could say the same.”

Ian grinned. “I think we’ll make fighters out of those two.” He filled a pair of mugs with mead and handed one to Dai. “Here. Your favorite, made by my sister’s own hands. I can see you need it. Getting too old for this work? You know there’s a place for you at Gwal Draig.” He tried not to laugh at Dai’s expression of disgust at the familiar taunt—and his typical reply.

“Aye, beneath six feet of dirt.” Dai drained the brew, then stood up and helped himself to more. “They worked you over good, eh, lad?” he asked, tugging on the trailing cuff of Ian’s sleeve.

“Not a scratch on me. They look worse than I do. I doubt they’ll be jumping too lively with the ladies tonight.” He finished his mead in one swallow, then poured water to wash. “Did you have any luck with the others?” he asked, without much hope. Yawning, he stripped off his shirt and tossed it onto the chest, then stretched the kinks out of his shoulders.

“Are you daft? You know as well as I, that lot’ll never be ready. Even after all I put them through,” he said, his voice tinged with exasperation, “or mayhap because of it, most of them will still turn tail at the first sign of battle.” He sipped at his mead, then asked, “What of the lad you pulled from the wall last night? Anyone willing to try that must have a measure of courage.”

In the process of scooping cold water over his head, Ian chuckled, and he came up sputtering. He groped for the drying cloth. “That she does.”

“Something wrong with my ears, lad? I could swear ye said ‘she.’”

“I did.”

He took his time drying off, savoring the other man’s glare. Dai hated to wait more than almost anything. ‘Twould do him good to learn patience. By the time Ian had tugged a clean shirt over his head and picked up his comb, Dai looked ready to explode. “She’s the reason I asked you here.”

“Who is she?”

“She says she doesn’t know.”

Dai leaped to his feet. “Did she hit her head on the way up the wall?” He slammed his empty cup onto the table. “Or did you hit yours? Enough of your foolery, milord. ‘Tis a jest, am I right?”

“’Tis no jest. ‘Tis more a puzzle.” He walked over to the bed and stared down at the place where Lily had sprawled. He could see her there still, her hair shining against the dull gray coverlet. That image had haunted his dreams, just as the look on her face when he agreed to help her had dominated his thoughts throughout the day. Mayhap he’d have time to see her before the evening meal. He’d take Dai to meet her, he decided, instead of simply sending him—

“Come on then, milord,” Dai said, cutting into his thoughts. “Can’t say something like that, then leave me hanging. Tell me more.”

“In good time. Will you allow me to finish dressing, or must I parade through the bailey bare-assed?” Ian asked as he settled a clean tunic over his shirt and leggings.

Dai snorted. “Aye, the ladies’d like that, I make no doubt. Not that you’d notice. Never saw a man turn away so many invitations as you, milord.”

“It’s not me they want, but the chance to bed the Dragon. Besides, ‘tis damned difficult to lay a wench who’s staring at you with fear in her eyes,” Ian said with disgust.

“So don’t look at their eyes. Christ, how’d you get so choosy? If the lass is a toothsome armful and willing, what does the rest matter?”

“It matters to me.” Ian scanned the room for his cloak before he remembered he’d left it with Lily. He didn’t need it, anyway. His blood had flowed hot from the moment he first tussled with her. The feel of her in his arms remained imprinted upon his body.

And his mind.

Dai’s words made him think of her vivid green eyes. He had recognized many things in her gaze when it rested so steadily upon him. But he hadn’t seen fear among them.

Jesu, he grew maudlin! Next thing he knew, he’d start composing a song about the way her hair glowed in the candlelight. Perhaps he’d spent too much time in his Norman brother-in-law’s company and his courtly manners had rubbed off on him.

A quick glance at the sky through the window slit showed the sun hovering just above the horizon. If he wanted to take Dai to meet Lily before supper, they had best go now.

“Come along, old man,” he said, urging Dai away from the mead and out the door. “I’ll show you a woman who doesn’t know how to fear.”

“Indeed, milord.” Dai squinted at his face in the dim light of the corridor; Ian felt the measuring weight of his scrutiny. “And how would you know that?”

“She calls me Dragon.”

Ian fought back a smile as they left the tower and crossed the bailey. Seldom did he move Dai to silence, but the other man hadn’t said a word since his last comment. Although he valued Dai’s counsel, and trusted him implicitly, he often found himself only half listening as he prattled on.

He picked up his pace as he led the way down the stairs into the cellars, but then stopped dead in the corridor. No guard stood outside the cell.