dragon archives 02 - pursued by a dragon Page 6

  It was growing late by the time Cathryn and Margaret emerged from the gardens. When Cathryn indicated her disappointment that she hadn’t seen the woods or wilderness beyond, Margaret was quick to reassure her.

  “We still have the whole of tomorrow,” she said. “Perhaps you would enjoy exploring on horseback?”

  “Yes, that would be lovely.”

  “You enjoy riding?”

  “Very much so. I have a beautiful mare that I try and ride as often as I can. There is an open meadow just beyond the town gate, and it is the one place where I feel completely free. At the far end is an enormous oak tree, and Morana and I ride as though the devil were on our heels.” She laughed self-consciously as Margaret smiled.

  “I enjoy riding as well. I will arrange for the horses to be saddled and ready in the morning.”

  The two women had reached the house, and passing under the porch, entered the hall. “I need to speak to the steward,” said Margaret, “so I will take my leave of you for now. Supper will be ready soon, so join us in the dining room when you are ready. Except for Sundays and feast days, we prefer to take our meals there.”

  Thanking her hostess, Cathryn headed down the narrow passageway towards the spiral staircase. She glanced over the wall into the courtyard as she passed, pausing to watch the antics of some children playing at swords, when a slight movement above the scene caught her eye. Glancing up, she saw a man standing in the upper passageway, his arms crossed over his chest. He wore no tunic, leaving his muscled chest bare, and although he looked slighter than Favian, Cathryn saw no reason to doubt his strength. He had golden brown hair that hung over his shoulders, and from some trick of the light, his eyes seemed to be blazing. He was staring at her, his gaze lowered, direct, and angry. She drew back behind a pillar in fright, her heart pounding in her chest, before risking another look, but the man had gone. Leaning back against the pillar, she drew in a deep breath, wondering who the person could be. Checking once more that the man was gone, she ran up the stairs to her chambers, where she settled the bar across the door and crossed over to the pitcher of wine, pouring herself a glass with shaking hands.

  By the time Cathryn had changed into a gown of sapphire blue, and had braided and coiled her hair, securing it with a pin of silver and bronze, the feeling of dread had passed. In fact, she was glad no-one had been around to see her foolish display. It seemed unlikely that the Drakes would be harboring any dangerous criminals, and even if the person was not pleasant, as a guest of the Drakes he would do nothing to threaten her. She made her way down the stairs to the dining room, where Margaret and Owain were already waiting.

  “Have you recovered from your journey?” Owain asked Cathryn as they sat down.

  “Yes, thank you. I spent a most pleasant afternoon in the gardens.” She paused a moment. “I saw someone in the passage opposite mine earlier. Was that your nephew?” She watched as Owain and Margaret exchanged a quick look.

  “What did he look like, my dear?” Margaret asked.

  Cathryn blushed as she replied. “He had light brown hair, but his chest was bare. He appeared to be rather angry about something.”

  “That sounds like him. I dare say you caught him unawares, which is why he appeared angry.”

  “Yes, you are probably right.” Cathryn nodded.

  She turned her head at the sound of Favian walking into the room, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown. He gave her a quick glance as he walked around the table.

  “Who is angry?” he asked, bending down to give his mother a kiss on the cheek.

  “Aaron,” said Owain. “Cathryn saw him earlier.”

  “Ah,” said Favian, meeting and holding Owain’s gaze.

  It was loaded, that ‘ah’, thought Cathryn. Perhaps her fears hadn’t been foolish after all. She looked down as Favian switched his gaze to her.

  “You are perfectly safe here,” he said. He dropped down into a seat next to his mother, grabbing a shank of lamb off a platter and placing it on a plate.

  “You haven’t eaten?” his mother asked.

  “I have,” he said with a grin, “but I am a growing lad.” He turned to face his father. “I was over at Morgan’s earlier, helping him repair his roof.” Owain nodded as Favian explained. “Morgan is one of our tenants, and his roof caught alight the other day. Thankfully the house was empty. It is uncertain how the fire started, but not too much damage was done.”

  “Perhaps it was lightning,” Cathryn suggested.

  “Well, that is a possibility,” Favian said, “except that the sky was clear.” There was a note of challenge in his voice that urged Cathryn to respond.

  “Well, maybe an ember from the hearth.”

  “Hmm, the roof had been burnt from the outside, though,” Favian said, smiling in amusement.

  “Perhaps someone set it deliberately.”

  “Yes, but who would do that?”

  “Favian …” Owain said, but Favian ignored him.

  “The man is liked well enough, and no-one saw anything suspicious,” he said, placing his arms on the table and leaning towards her, his eyes intent.

  “A villain, bent on havoc then.”

  “True, but I like to think that someone would have noticed a stranger lurking about.”

  “Well, I don’t know,” Cathryn said, exasperated. “Maybe it was a dragon!”

  Favian leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest, his mouth twitching with laughter.

  “Maybe it was, at that,” he said.

  “Just ignore him, my dear,” said Margaret, glaring at her son. He glanced at her, unrepentant, before returning his gaze to Cathryn. She met the challenge for a moment, and then turned to Owain, a smile pasted on her face.

  “Do you have many tenants?” she asked.

  “A few,” he replied, glancing at Favian, before settling his gaze on their guest. “Most of our land is given over to pasture though.”

  “Sheep?” said Cathryn, her interest piqued. Owain’s smile widened.

  “Yes, sheep,” he said.

  “Ah. What breed?”

  “Lincolns.”

  “Oh, really?” Cathryn said, glancing up as a servant placed a tray of sweetmeats on the table. Lincolns were prized for their long wool, which produced very fine cloth. Owain watched her quietly as she made her selection from the tray.

  “How many?” she asked, before popping a tiny fruit pastry into her mouth.

  “Two thousand.” Owain eyed the tray before leaning forward to make his own selection. Cathryn suppressed a smile. Two thousand was a good-sized flock.

  “And what do you do with the wool?” she asked, quelling the urge to lick her fingers. The pastry was delicious.

  “Some years we take it to market. Other years we negotiate a contract with a merchant,” he said. “But it is Favian who deals with these matters.”

  “Oh,” she said, casting Favian a quick glance. He was still leaning back in his seat, listening to the conversation without comment. He grinned at her evident dismay.

  “I’m quite willing to discuss terms,” he said, “but be warned that I hold to the maxim ‘act in haste, repent at leisure,’ so our negotiations may be fairly lengthy.”

  Cathryn ground her teeth in frustration. She was under no illusion as to what Favian was doing. Lengthy negotiations meant hours spent alone with the man. She did a quick calculation in her mind. Two thousand sheep would see a good return — not something to be lightly turned away from. She nodded, silently agreeing to his terms.

  Margaret had been observing the conversation silently, but at Cathryn’s acquiescence, she tapped her hand on the table.

  “Enough business for one night. Come Cathryn, let us retire to the parlor.” She nodded at the men. “Join us when you are ready.”

  Chapter 13

  Cathryn spent a pleasant few hours in the company of Margaret and Owain, ignoring Favian where he sat quietly observing her from a darkened corner. She stood as Margaret and Owain retired
for the evening, determined to follow their example and head for her bed.

  “Cathryn,” Favian said, but Cathryn held up her hand to interrupt.

  “Please, Favian, I’m very tired,” she said.

  “I want to propose a truce,” he continued, ignoring her interruption. Cathryn looked at him in surprise.

  “A truce?”

  “Yes. You are here as my mother’s guest, and I do not want you to feel uneasy. As long as you are staying here, we will treat each other with perfect respectability.”

  Cathryn eyed him suspiciously. “You won’t say anything about my betrothal?”

  “Only if you don’t.”

  “And you won’t discuss your feelings for me?”

  “Not so long as you do not wish me to.” Cathryn continued to look as he went on. “I will behave like a perfect gentleman. We can become better acquainted.”

  “Friends then?”

  Favian smiled wryly. “We can try.”

  Cathryn nodded. She wasn’t willing to lower her guard, but you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, she knew. Unsure how to continue, she watched him cautiously from across the room, but he took matters into his own hands.

  “Do you read?”

  “Of course. I learnt to read when I was still a child.”

  “Oh, I know that. What I meant was, do you read for enjoyment?”

  “Whenever I am able. Unfortunately, Father believes that the only books worth reading are those that will impart knowledge and increase understanding, so there is little opportunity for me to read for pleasure.”

  “Well, we have a fine library here at Drake Manor, and you are welcome to borrow one or two titles. Would you like to see it?”

  “Oh yes!” All thought of sleep flew from Cathryn’s mind. “I would love to.” Favian smiled.

  “Come,” he said, leading the way out the door and heading down the passage. He paused at a door and gestured for her to enter first, following close on her heels and almost bumping into her when she stopped in her tracks. The room was filled with more books than she had ever seen. Opposite the doorway was a window which looked out towards the front lawn, while on either side of the window was shelf upon shelf, all filled with leather-bound tomes. A fire burned in a grate set in the wall to the right, while a desk stood in the center of the room. Cathryn looked around, her eyes taking in the rows of books that lined the walls, before moving slowly forward. She headed to a shelf and ran her fingers over the embossed leather spines, reading the titles softly as she did so, before turning around to face Favian.

  “This is incredible! Where did you get all these books?”

  Favian shrugged. “My father’s been collecting them for many years.”

  “But there must be over a hundred!” Turning back to the shelf, Cathryn slowly moved along its length, reading the titles under her breath. She paused at Canterbury Tales, and reaching up, pulled the heavy volume off the shelf. The book had a thick leather cover, the title embossed in gold. Carrying the book over to the desk, Cathryn opened it carefully, turning the pages until she reached the Prologue. The writing was in a fine script, carefully executed by a master scribe, the first letter of each page beautifully decorated in bright hues. Curling tendrils embellished the margins of the yellowing pages, and Cathryn traced them with her finger, skimming through the opening lines of the tale. She gave Favian a sly look as she read aloud the description of the knight:

  He found the highest favor in all eyes,

  A valiant warrior who was also wise

  And in deportment meek as any maid.

  He never spoke unkindly, never played

  The villain’s part, but always did the right.

  He truly was a perfect, gentle knight.

  “Was it you that Chaucer saw at the Tabard, going on pilgrimage?” she asked.

  Favian leaned over her shoulder as she read, and with a laugh, turned the page and read another passage:

  Of table manners she had learnt it all,

  For from her lips she’d let no morsel fall

  Nor deeply in her sauce her fingers wet;

  She’d lift her food so well she’d never get

  A single drop or crumb upon her breast.

  At courtesy she really did her best.

  Cathryn tried to pull the book away, but in a movement so fast she could not track it, Favian swung around to the other side of the table, taking the book with him. His voice was choked with laughter as he continued to read, moving away again as she quickly rounded the desk.

  Her upper lip she wiped so very clean

  That not one bit of grease was ever seen

  Upon her drinking cup. She was discreet

  And never reached unseemly for the meat.

  And certainly she was good company,

  So pleasant and so amiable, while she

  Would in her mien take pains to imitate

  The ways of court, the dignity of state,

  That all might praise her for her worthiness.

  “You are so impertinent,” she said, her voice filled with laughter. He looked at her over the desk as he finished reading, his blue eyes creased with laughter, but as their eyes met the laughter fell away, and the room fell into silence. She shivered, and he closed his eyes, breaking the spell.

  “You’re cold,” he said. “Come stand next to the fire.” The fire was behind him, and as he moved away, Cathryn walked around the desk to stand before the flames. A wayward strand of hair fell across her face, and she lifted a hand to push it away before smoothing it over the rest of her hair. The movement loosened the hairpin that was holding her hair in place, and she groaned as she felt the pin tumble from its knot, turning in time to see it spill into the flames.

  Favian darted forward, his hand chasing the falling article into the fire as the blaze brushed his skin. He jerked his hand out again, empty, as Cathryn’s groan of dismay turned to one of horror, and she caught his hand in her own, certain the burns would be severe. But although his skin was hot, it appeared to be untouched by the flames. Turning it over, Cathryn subjected the hand to a thorough examination, before looking up in confusion to meet Favian’s sardonic gaze.

  “I stand at risk of breaking my promise,” he said, taking a step closer. Long fingers wrapped around hers before sliding up her hand in an intimate caress. Pulling herself free from his grasp, she stepped back, tripping over a pile of logs stacked next to the grate. Catching herself on the wall, she stepped clear of the fallen firewood as Favian watched, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

  “I, uh, thought you had burnt yourself,” said Cathryn awkwardly, “but I was mistaken.”

  “As you can see, I am quite unharmed,” said Favian, looking away. “Was that pin of particular value to you?”

  “No,” replied Cathryn. “I have a proclivity for losing them, and that is the fifth in as many weeks. But the loss is not significant, and the item is not irreplaceable — it is merely the annoyance. I am glad you didn’t injure yourself in your efforts to save it.”

  “Your concern for my well-being is much appreciated, Mistress,” replied Favian. Cathryn looked down at the floor, refusing to meet his gaze.

  “I will bid you goodnight,” she said, turning towards the door.

  “Goodnight, Cathryn,” he said, executing an elegant bow. “I will see you on the morrow.”

  Cathryn nodded, sweeping past him and out into the passage. As she reached the stairway, she glanced back over her shoulder, catching Favian’s gaze as he watched her from the doorway.

  Chapter 14

  It rained during the night, a shower that tapped out a rhythmic lullaby against the leaded glass in the window. It had stopped by the morning, but the sky was grey, the air damp and misty. The fire had died down to just a few glowing embers, but as Cathryn lay in her bed, snuggling deep into the covers in pursuit of warmth, the door was quietly opened by a servant, coming to stoke up the flames. She returned a few minutes later with a cup of hot mulled wine and an offer t
o help Cathryn get ready for the day, an offer that Cathryn quickly accepted. She had not forgotten about her early morning ride with Margaret, and despite the inclement weather, was eager for the pursuit.

  Warmly dressed, she descended the stairs a half hour later. Margaret was already awaiting her presence in the hall, and she greeted Cathryn with a warm smile.

  “The horses are saddled and waiting, but we can remain indoors until the mist burns off if you prefer.”

  “No,” responded Cathryn. “A little mist does not scare me, and it is bound to lift as we ride.”

  “Excellent,” responded Margaret. “Then let us be off,” she said, “the stables are not far.” She led the way out the hall and into the courtyard. As they reached the stables, Cathryn could see the wilderness stretching into the distance ahead of them, while to the east lay the woods.

  “We will follow the bridle path through the wilderness,” said Margaret as she mounted her horse, “and then swing back through the woods. There is a pretty little pond where we can stop for a while.”

  Cathryn knew that many country estates allowed a few acres of their land to remain wild, although the name ‘wilderness’ was often misleading, since it was carefully cultivated. As they rode, she saw bright yellow daffodils dancing in the early morning breeze, while purple lupines and small white daisies added to the colorful display. The mist was starting to lift, revealing the sun hiding behind the curtains like a shy debutante. Birds sung out their chorus in the grass and bushes, and as they rode, Margaret pointed out robins, wrens, sparrows and woodpeckers flittering between the trees. A speck in the sky caught Cathryn’s eye, and she looked up to see three shadows circling high in the air above them.