Kiss of the Dragon (2 page)

“Once upon a time, many, many years ago, a handsome young prince
set out to find his true love. He traveled far and wide, searching kingdom
after kingdom for his fair lady but alas, he searched in vain. It was only by
chance that he heard of a beautiful princess being held captive in a tall
tower, guarded by a wicked witch who would cast a spell on anyone who dared try
to rescue the princess. It was a terrible spell, which turned any prospective
suitor into a horrible ogre, green and covered with…”

The delicate hand holding the quill paused for a moment as
Bianca read over her words. Dawn was only moments away and she wanted to finish
the tale before the waking castle distracted her. She found the predawn quite
soothing and she did her best writing at that time of the day. She glanced out
her tower window at the lightening horizon as she tapped her fingernail against
her front teeth, a habit for which she had been scolded many times by her new
stepmother. But it helped her concentrate and, most times, she was unconscious
of the action.

“What would a huge, ugly ogre be covered with?”

Bianca’s attention was suddenly drawn to the distant hills
as a light flickered into view. First one light and then another and another
appeared and the multitude soon grew into a long line of twinkling lights that
began to snake their way slowly through the trees and down the hill into the
valley below. Bianca rose to her feet, moved to her window and watched with
fascination. The glistening points of light brought to mind a scene straight
out of one of her fairy tales.

She stood entranced as the sun rose over the hills, chasing
the predawn shadows across the valley floor until the sunbeams hit the front of
the long line. It was then she recognized that what she saw as an army of
warriors, the sunlight flashing off their armor as they moved forever forward.

“Oh no! Not again.” The soft denial leapt from soft red
lips, which pursed in disgust as she stood watching the army of men invade her
valley, her privacy, her life.

“Will it never cease?”

* * * * *

“When I fall in love—” A derisive snort interrupted his
declaration in mid-sentence and Charles turned to raise one elegant eyebrow
questioningly at his companion for the rude interruption of his thoughts. “You
have an opinion on the matter?”

“I do not believe in love.”

“How could you not believe in love?”

A slight shrugging movement of massive shoulders rippled the
heavy muscle and hinted at the strength and power that lay beneath the heavy
chain mesh and armor. “It is a simple matter, cousin. I do not believe in
myths.”

The cavalcade of armed warriors moved through the quiet
countryside of the province of Toulouse on an assignment more important than
any they had ever undertaken. At the head of the long procession rode two great
warlords, battle-hardened knights. These two had earned their reputations as
two of the mightiest warriors in all of France. They had fought in battles
across the length and breadth of the land in the service of their king for the
last decade. Their numerous, hard-won victories had gained them high praise
from their grateful sovereign. He, in turn, rewarded them with the noble titles
of barons and extravagant gifts of land. These honors and rewards lifted them
in status from poor landless knights to wealthy noblemen.

After so many years of warfare, facing blood and near death
at every turn, and with this remuneration firmly in their possession, it made
sense that their next quest would be to see to their own prosperity. It was
with this purpose in mind that they marched south. At least one of the
baron-knights looked to wed. And it was on this issue that the two disagreed
most heartily.

As much as they differed in their notions about women and
marriage, they also differed greatly in their appearances, one knight as light
as day, the other as dark as night.

Sir Charles Servais, now the Baron de Charmont, sat tall
upon his magnificent white steed, dressed in gleaming mail and polished armor
over which he wore a glorious white silk jupon trimmed in brilliant crimson.
Riding behind him, his squire carried his two-toned standard, which furled in
the gentle breeze, divided down the middle, one half crimson and one half pure
white, decorated with a golden eagle, its massive wings spread high and bold.

Sir Charles had a handsome face that drew women, young and
old. He had inherited his good semblance from his lord father, along with his
dazzling blue eyes and a smile so warm and charming, it melted the hearts of
many a young maiden.

Charles glanced at his companion for several long moments
without speaking, taking in the sight of the large, solemn man sitting astride
his giant, ill-tempered black stallion, which had a reputation of stepping on
anyone who crossed his path. Even as tall and broad as Charles was, his huge,
dark-haired companion was taller, with an immense shoulder span and
thick-muscled arms and thighs. His dark, brooding mien suggested a dangerous,
withdrawn man, untouchable.

Draco wore his usual black silk jupon over his black painted
mail and armor. He carried his great helm in the crook of his arm and his dark,
cropped hair stuck out from his head from his habit of thrusting his hands
through it. The only relief from the darkness of his attire was the golden
pennant that whipped and whirled in the air behind him, on which was depicted a
fierce black dragon sejant.

Baron Draco d’Ensoleille, known to many as the Black Dragon
of Normandy, carried scars on his magnificent warrior’s body from many hard
fought battles. Several marked his face, giving him a fierce, forbidding look.
He did not have great beauty of countenance, but neither was he unsightly. He
was a true friend and Charles considered him more brother than cousin, knowing
that he would readily die defending those he considered his own. It was a
tragedy that such a powerful man had so little confidence when it came to
courting women.

“You are an arse, Cousin. You cannot let that woman color
your view of all others. She was a beautiful, selfish shrew who thought of no
one but herself and what she believed the world owed her. Her own brother said
as much. He was so disgusted with her, he sent her into seclusion to teach her
humility. She is probably still sitting in a nunnery to this day.” At the
fierce glare Charles received from the huge, brooding man riding at his side,
he chuckled. “There is no denying the truth of the matter.”

“I have no desire to have this discussion, Charles. I am
content with my life as it is now. If I want a woman, I will search out a
willing wench and, for a coin or two, slake my needs between her soft white
thighs. You will soon come to realize that it is lust that controls a man’s
humors and love has nothing to do with lust. A man has only three basic needs
in his life that he can easily satisfy—a faithful steed to carry him into
battle and back, a strong sword to defend his honor, and a willing woman. One
he can walk away from when he takes the notion to do so. You are the one
thinking to end this journey with marriage in mind. That makes you more of an
arse than I.” Draco snorted with disgust.

Charles shook his head in chagrin as he recalled the
incident that left his life-long friend distrusting all women. He remembered
Draco in his younger days, so much in love for the first time in his life. Lady
Deidre—he remembered the lady well. She had pledged her love for Draco and sent
him to war carrying her favor. But her love and loyalty proved to be shallow
and false, the greedy little bitch.

They’d returned from a particularly fierce battle in which
Draco had been seriously wounded fighting at the king’s side. He had taken a
blow from an enemy’s sword intended for the king, and had nearly died. He’d
barely survived his wounds. Charles was shocked and horrified at his cousin’s
condition when he was carried back to their camp from the battlefield. Draco
was unconscious and covered in so much blood, it was inconceivable that he
still lived. Under the blood and filth that covered him, he was as pale as
death. A horrible gash had been carved across his broad chest, from the top of
his left shoulder slicing a path over his collarbone to curve down his right
side, nearly cutting him in half. A dagger left a particularly vicious cut that
ran from the outer corner of his left eye across his cheek and down over his
chin, just missing his lips. Charles had been certain Draco would be dead
before daybreak.

It had taken him months to recover. And when they finally
made it home, Lady Deidre took one look at the pale, battered Draco and she
refused to marry him. The shocked warrior had, at first, been stunned at her
rejection. He knew little of women with only that selfish bitch to judge all
others by, but with her open rejection and betrayal, Draco had turned his pain
inward and hidden his devastation well. He had merely nodded stiffly when she
had finished her teary excuses and agreed to her demands that they end their
betrothal. Draco had mounted his black stallion and rode out the gates never
looking back.

Even now, years later, Draco still kept his heart
well-guarded behind a wall of indifference, which no woman had ever been able
to penetrate. He only took a woman when his needs called for it, but never
again did he take a maiden’s attentions seriously. It had taken a debt of honor
to get him to accompany Charles on this mission of love.

“Don’t make me regret accompanying you on this sorrowful
undertaking, Cousin. I will do my duty by you and see that you are successful
in your quest to find a rich wife. But that is all I am agreeing to. Whether
you stay here is up to you, but I will be riding out in two weeks’ time with or
without you.”

Charles studied Draco’s face as he made his speech, trying
to determine his true feelings. The high color mounting his chiseled features
showed Charles better than words that Draco was not unaffected by the theme of
their current conversation. Whether his cousin wanted to admit it or not, he
was not as cold and remote as he would have everyone believe.

“I promise you, Dragon, I will not be leaving this place
without a bride.”

Yea, they were nothing alike in looks or temperament but
they were the best of friends. Had been for many years. And now they rode side
by side at the head of the long line of fighting men through the early morning
haze, conversing on many subjects to pass the time as they made their way
through mile after mile of rolling hills, lush meadows and thick woodlands. But
the one subject that they did not concur on was that of the heart.

“How could you not believe in love, Draco?” Charles refused
to be put off, knowing even as he asked what he would hear on the subject,
because he had heard it over and over again these last few years.

“I do not believe in the fairy tale of true love.” Draco
shrugged his massive shoulders as if in doing so, he could shrug off old
painful memories. “Now physical love, ah, that is another issue entirely.” The
arcane reply was accompanied by a wickedly arched brow as black as sin. “Even I
can appreciate a good bedding now and again. No, do not try to convince me that
there is anything more to it. As an old, hardened warrior, I have learned to
believe in only what I can see with my eyes, touch with my hands, or taste with
my mouth. That is how I have survived these many years.”

“Ah, cousin, surely somewhere within that mighty chest of
yours there must be a small spark of feeling, a little romance deep in your
soul. I agree that no man can live without the simple joy of sensual pleasure.
But what of the gratification that only true love brings? The high passion that
sends you out of yourself when your climax takes you?” He hit his chest to make
his point. “No, I have to disagree with you, Draco. Love is no myth, but rather
an unfeigned emotion to which all men, including you, my doubting friend, will
eventually succumb. Someday, whether you want to believe it or not, you will
happen across the perfect maiden and you will find your heart tumbling wildly
within your chest. Your head will turn to mush and then you will know what I am
saying is true. Love is real.”

“Love is but a foolish whim of women and bards, in which
only beautiful people find happiness. It is an asinine emotion, the substance
of imbecilic ballads and absurd fairy tales, but a myth nonetheless. Now lust,
that I can believe in. Lust is real.”

Charles’ laugh broke from his lips like a crack of thunder.
He slapped his companion on the back so hard a lesser man would have found himself
on the ground.

“It is fortunate that I am the wooer on this mission of
love, Cousin. One look at the great dark, cynical beast that you are and the
legendary beauty of Castle Neige might be tempted to jump into her father’s
moat to drown herself.”

Ignoring his cousin’s predictable grumbling rejoinder,
Charles smiled to himself and let his thoughts wander to the lady he had come
all this distance to woo for his future wife. He knew that he must find himself
a rich heiress to wed, but he had not actually made a conscious effort to that
end until he heard tales of the magnificent Beauty de Neige. It was claimed
that she was her father’s only heir and a prize worth winning in the marriage
market, and if he had to marry an heiress, why not a beautiful one? The lands
he had acquired with his barony were immense and he would need all the wealth
he could acquire to ensure their continued prosperity. He was not necessarily a
greedy man, but he wanted this woman’s dowry to ensure his future and that of
his sons. And he certainly had no objections to having a beautiful woman
warming his bed to ease his carnal needs. If affection and even love happened
to follow in the years to come, so be it.

The stillness of the dawn broke over the band of horsemen as
they made their way across the lush, green, fertile farmlands and through the
blooming orchards and vineyards below the white granite castle in the distance.
They rode in unwavering silence as they took in the wealth of the estate. The
thundering hooves of their mounts and jingling of their accouterments and those
of the twenty mounted lesser knights, who trailed out behind them, were the
only sounds to be heard. The condition of his estate showed the wealth of the
Duke de Neige and it was greater than Charles had expected. He looked forward
to meeting his prosperous future father-in-law and finding out just how much
his future bride would bring to him in the marriage agreement.