Dragon Witch Series - Dragon Witch Part 13

"I wonder what he is up to now?" She stared hard at the glowing crystal. "I think I do not like that man."

"Sardon?" The man's eyebrows lifted in surprise.

"He thinks himself a master wizard, but he has far to go to compete with my powers. Concern yourself not with the likes of him, my dear. He is just there to make the game more interesting, after all."

The woman stared steadily at him for a long moment.

"Never underestimate your opponent, dear," she said tightly.

"Especially a dragon-mage, no matter what side of the light they spring from. They can be very dangerous to the unwary."

FIFTEEN.

Adrian paced the room, a worried look on his face. He had been visited by Miriam, then the kitchen drudges, Anna and Mary, but there had been no word of Tempest since early morning when Christiana had burst in on them. His chest felt tight with the thought of never seeing her again, of losing her to the man she would wed in the spring.

"I will not let that happen," he exclaimed loudly to the empty room. "She is mine. I feel it here!" He hit his chest and felt a searing pain as his fist struck the neat row of st.i.tches Tempest had used to sew up the gaping wound over his heart.

He staggered to the bed and sank to the edge as dizziness overcame him. A stream of blood from the torn st.i.tches ran down the center of his chest and he sat there looking at its descent to his navel. "Tempest," he whispered as he watched the blood trickle slowly down his torso. "I need you. Do not leave me."

"Adrian?" Tempest was leaving the dining hall after a very difficult evening spent watching her mother fuss over Sardon as though he was visiting royalty. She smiled as she recalled how early Marisa had gone to bed. Marisa's excuse had been the need to rise early to exercise her horse. Evidently she and Tris had found quite a few things in common.

Tempest... His voice reverberated through her mind.

She picked up her skirts and hurried up the narrow staircase to his room. I am coming, Adrian. I am on my way. Sardon di Mercia, seated at the dining table, deep in conversation with Lady Christiana, stopped in mid sentence and looked toward the staircase. His mind echoed with Adrian's cry for help, then Tempest's answer whispered closely upon its heels.

She is too weak to help you. The words stormed through Adrian's mind ricocheting into his soul. This time I shall destroy you, but she will be my slave for eternity. You shall never have her!

"Nay!" Adrian's angry voice rolled like thunder down the hall as Tempest hurried to his room. She pushed the heavy oak door open, fearful of what she would see. What met her eyes made her stop her headlong rush.

The room was a shambles, the soft blankets were tossed across the bed, the heavy fur spread lay tangled at Adrian's feet. One corner of the tapestry hanging above the bed, was pulled down, hiding the final outcome of a hunting scene.

Adrian stood strong and defiant in the center of the room. Candlelight gave his body a golden sheen. His blue eyes glowed yellow, like a wild animal's in midnight's soft moonlight. Blood was smeared across his wide chest, and the light around him had taken on a golden hue. He seemed to grow even larger. The golden light glittered as she watched.

"Adrian?" she whispered softly, mesmerized by his transformation. "What is happening?"

"Tempest?" He blinked his eyes and there was only a normal-looking, bleeding man swaying before her. His blue eyes showed confusion as they looked into hers. "Help me!"

He staggered, his face pale. He reached out his hand to her, fingertips smeared with blood. "I am bleeding," he sighed as he sagged slowly to the floor.

Adrian was unconscious for three days, and Tempest refused to leave his side. On the second day Christiana came to the sick room.

"Tempest, we have guests. 'Tis unseemly for you to neglect them and spend all your time here. Marisa is constantly at the stables with those smelly, dangerous horses your father insists he must have, and Sardon has asked after you several times.

He needs to finalize plans for your marriage." For once she did not scream or berate her daughter. Tempest looked so tired and drawn that even Christiana was concerned for her health.

"He will not wake, Mother." Christiana's consideration and her own weariness made Tempest vulnerable. "I cannot leave him until I know he is all right."

"Someone else can stay with him." She did not like her daughter's stubbornness and, in fact, never had. It raised her ire and her voice rose in keeping with her burgeoning anger.

"I will have you here no longer, Tempest. Come with me, NOW!".

"Mother, lower you voice or leave." Her tiredness vanished to be replaced by anger at her mother's thoughtlessness.

"I will not!" Christiana took Tempest's arm and began pulling her toward the open doorway. "I will make no more excuses for your absence to that nice Sardon!"

"Nice?" Tempest gave an unladylike snort. "Sardon di Mercia-nice? I hardly think so. I refuse to talk to that man about the wedding or any other matter. He is evil and I want nothing to do with him, now or ever!" She pulled away from Christiana to stand looking at her defiantly, hands on hips, feet planted firmly.

"b.i.t.c.h. Changeling," Christian shrieked. "You are no child of mine to be so obstinate." She slapped Tempest's cheek, leaving a crimson handprint.

Christiana's slap was the last straw for the already overwrought young woman, and Tempest lost control.

She seized her mother's arm in a steely grasp and propelled her across the room and out the door before Christiana had time to collect her thoughts. As Christiana wheeled around to further berate her unruly daughter, the door was slammed in her face, and she could hear the distinct sound of a bolt being driven home.

Stunned by Tempest's reaction, she turned and walked slowly down the hall to Wendall's rooms, but changed her mind in mid-stride. She realized she did not want the inevitable confrontation with her husband. He had a habit of siding with Tempest whenever it came to her healing arts. Instead, Christiana went to the Great Hall to find Sardon. Her new friend would help her. He was such a kind, understanding man.

Tempest laid her hand on Adrian's forehead to check for

fever and was relieved to find it cool to the touch. She gently brushed a golden lock of hair away from his face, then smiled as he opened his eyes.

"Tempest." Adrian's whisper was weak. "Do not leave me."

"I shan't leave you, Adrian," she whispered softly, looking into his blue eyes, now cloudy with pain. "I will stay here until you are well. I promise."

He smiled and faded back into unconsciousness.

Tempest was sleeping in a big chair close by his bed when Adrian awoke much later. This time his eyes were clear, and he felt ready to get out of the bed and conquer the world. Or at least do something about this man who thought he would wed my Tempest in the spring, he amended silently.

He was also very hungry, but Tempest was sleeping so peacefully and she looked so weary that he was loathe to disturb her. He watched her for a long time, but became distracted when his bladder demanded attention. Then his stomach growled like an angry bear disturbed in its winter sleep.

He slipped quietly to the far side of his bed and reached for the nearby chamber pot.

Adrian tried his best to be quiet, but he could not stop the huge sigh of relief as his bladder emptied itself noisily into the metal pot. He smiled contentedly, then frowned as his stomach gave out another ferocious growl.

He glanced around quickly to see if he had disturbed Tempest, only to find her green eyes watching him.

"I could have helped you," she said. "You should not be up yet. You have been unconscious for three days, Adrian."

"I can do this for myself," he growled to cover his embarra.s.sment. "Besides, I feel fine. I am hungry," he announced as his stomach agreed with yet another not so subtle roar.

"You are always hungry." Tempest smiled at his obvious discomfort, enjoying the sight of the pink flush that colored his cheeks.

"Well then, where is my food? I need three roasted chickens,

a whole leg of lamb, two rare venison-"

"Adrian," Tempest warned as she rose and started around the bed. "I will get your food when you are safely back in bed and not a moment before."

He hastily pushed the chamber pot under the bed and turned to crawl into his former resting place. But he moved too fast, and dizziness overcame him. The blood drained from his face and he swayed, dangerously close to fainting.

Tempest hurried to him in time to prevent any serious damage and helped him lie down.

"G.o.d's teeth, Adrian," she said, her fear for him making her angry. "Will you never listen to me?"

"I am listening," he answered meekly. "Would you please feed me? I perish from hunger. I need food! Ladies do not curse, Tempest," he added with a mischievous grin.

"Honestly, Adrian," she laughed, "sometimes you drive me mad with worry."

"Do you worry so much because you love me?" he asked, a hopeful twinkle in his eye. "Tell me you love me, and I will be good forever."

"I will get you something to eat." Tempest turned and abruptly left the room, leaving his question unanswered.

"I shall make you love me!" he said softly to the empty doorway. "You will belong to me, not some rich, ugly old man!

You will be mine, Tempest! Forever!"

"Interesting turn of events," mused the man as he again gazed into the glowing blue crystal ball.

"Aye," the woman answered with a small smile. "He heals quickly for one such as he."

"I did not mean his healing abilities," the man answered absently. "His type always heals fast."

"You meant the trouble brewing with the sorcerer?" she asked quietly. "Is he too powerful for them?"

"It matters not if he is. I am in control of the situation."

"Of course you are, dear." She patted his hand. "You are always in control."

"Do not mock me, woman," he growled. "No mere

mortal can ever have as much power as I."

"No mortal," she hesitated. "But what about-"

"Quiet!" he interrupted, glancing around furtively. "To speak HIS name is to invoke HIM. You know that!"

"I was not going to say HIS name." Her reply was quietly dignified. "You are not the only one around here with intelligence, you know.

SIXTEEN.

Adrian was bored. He had been in lying in the huge old oak bed for two days-five, if he counted the three days he had lain unconscious-and he had not seen his sweet Tempest since early the day before. He tossed and turned, trying to find a spot in the bed where the feathers had not been compressed with his weight, but was unsuccessful.

He finally gave up his losing battle and sat on the side of the bed. There was no dizziness, so he stood, stretched and started for the narrow window to look outside. He stopped mid- journey, returned to the bed and retrieved one of the lighter wool blankets. After he wrapped himself in it, he continued on.

He hated using the blanket, but reflected upon the various reactions of the women who had attended him recently. All of them, with the exception of Tempest and Miriam, giggled and flirted outrageously whenever they saw him. Not a few had become quite bold, and it made him uncomfortable.

"I need some clothes," he muttered thoughtfully. "Why will these silly women not find me some clothes? I will never understand them. They act so foolish whenever they see me uncovered. If someone would just bring me something to wear, we would all be happy."

He smiled when he recalled an incident two days previous.

Tempest had entered the room with his midday meal and seen Mary rubbing his newly-mended scars with oil to keep them pliant. He had not objected when her hand had strayed away from the scars to follow the line of golden hairs leading from his chest, down the center of his flat belly and lower. It had felt good, and he closed his eyes, an image of his beloved Tempest

coming to mind.

"Mary!" Tempest's angry voice shattered the peaceful image. "What do you think you are doing?"

"Rubbin' the man with oil, Ma'am," Mary stuttered. "Just like you tol' us to."

"I said rub the wounds with oil, Mary." Tempest's voice became low and quiet. "Do you see any wounds where you are rubbing?"

"Nay, M'lady." Mary's head ducked with guilt and embarra.s.sment.

"Leave." Tempest pointed to the open door. "I will care for him. You will stay in the kitchen, where you belong, from now on. Have I made myself clear?"

Mary, sobbing now, edged past an angry Tempest and ran out the door, unable to respond.

"You!" Tempest turned her anger upon the man lying in bed with a crooked smile on his handsome face. "You let her do it, and you enjoyed it!"

"But that warm oil felt good." His soft blue eyes sparkled with good humor as he spoke. "She poured out too much and did not want to waste it," he added with an innocent look.