Love in the Time of Dragons (8 page)

Baltic opened his mouth to answer, but I was through being tolerant.

“His purpose is to bully and frighten,” I said loudly. “He is a coward, nothing more.”

His breath hissed in as he leaned forward. “No man has ever spoken those words to me and lived.”

“I am not a man,” I said, gritting my teeth against the burn of the sword as it slid deeper into my flesh.

“You would be dead if you were,” he snarled, lowering the sword and stepping back.

“You wish to challenge me?” I asked, shoving him hard in the chest.

He looked so surprised by the action, I had to bite back the urge to laugh. Kostya’s mouth dropped open into an O as I took two steps forward until I stood toe-to-toe with Baltic. “I will meet your challenge, warrior, but on my terms.”

An odd look crossed his face. “What terms?”

“No weapons,” I said, lifting my chin. “If you wish to challenge me, I will meet you body to body, but with no weapons, no armor. Just your fists against mine.”

Pavel gave a short bark of laughter. Kostya’s frown relaxed into a smug smile. Baltic’s face remained expressionless, nothing but his eyes giving away any indication of what he was thinking.

“Very well,” he said after a minute’s silence. “But you must make it worth the ridicule I will suffer for such an indignity.”

“Indignity!” He actually had the nerve to smile when I hit him on the chest. “Because I am a woman, you mean?”

“Because I am the wyvern, and you are merely a young female who has not yet learned her place.” He handed Kostya his sword. “I will be happy to teach it to you, but I must have payment.”

I eyed him as Pavel came down the stairs to help divest him of his mail and armor. Both guards were smiling. “What form of payment do you seek?”

“When I win the challenge, you will disavow your fealty to the traitorous bastard who rules your sept.”

“I don’t know any bastards other than Jack, the carter’s brother, and he is simpleminded and hardly could be called traitorous.”

“I refer to Constantine of Norka,” Baltic said, all but spitting the words out.

“Well, I don’t know him either, and I certainly haven’t sworn fealty to him.”

“Your parents must have, else you would not bear the brand of the silver dragons on your back.” Baltic peeled off his leather armor and stood before me wearing nothing but boots, braies, and jerkin.

It struck me for the first time that he was quite comely for a man. The high, sharp cheekbones gave his face a measure of strength. His nose was thin and sharp, sitting below a broad forehead from which dark hair swept back. Twin slashes of straight black eyebrows drew attention to his deep, dark eyes beneath. His jaw was angular, but blunted at the chin, as if God had decided that he had too many angles in his face and wanted to soften the sharpness a little. But it was his mouth that seemed to hold an unholy attraction for me. His lips were full, the lower creating a down-turned crescent, while the upper had a gentle curve that belied the anger held within him.

“Do you agree to the terms?” he asked, and I realized I’d been staring at his mouth.

I cleared my throat. “You have neglected to state the full terms. I must have a boon if I defeat you.”

All three men laughed loud enough that the remaining guard came in from where he had been tending to the horses.

“Lady Ysolde has accepted Baltic’s challenge,” Kostya told him when he entered casting curious glances around the now-destroyed common room.

“What challenge?” the guard asked. His name was Matheo, I remembered from the brief introduction Baltic had made when he took me from my home. Kostya leaned over and whispered to him. Matheo smiled broadly.

“You will not defeat me,” Baltic said, and once again, I was possessed with the desire to slap him. “But let us live in the world of the impossible, and say that you do. What boon would you like of me?”

“I wish to go home,” I said, my gaze steadfast.

He was silent for a moment, then made me a bow. “I accept the terms of the challenge. When would you like to begin?”

I looked around the room. It was only four warrior dragons and myself, the innkeeper wisely keeping himself out of sight.

“Is there anything wrong with now?” I asked, pinning my cloak so my hands were free.

“No.” He waved a hand around the room. “Would you like to fight here, or would you prefer we go out—”

I moved swiftly. He dropped like a sack full of bulls, his body curling into a circle as he clutched at his privates, unable to speak except to gasp for air.

“You should never have taken off your codpiece,” I said, gesturing toward that piece of armor that lay half hidden by the leather cuirass that had been discarded a few minutes before. “And I believe this qualifies as a win.”

His guards, all three of them, stared with open-mouthed surprise as Baltic stopped writhing on the ground, his eyes open and glaring at me with promised retribution. He uncurled himself, his face beautiful and deadly.

“You . . . will . . . pay . . .” he finally managed to get out.

“No, I think you will pay—you will take me home.” I kept my ground as he got painfully to his feet, his body hunched as if . . . well, as if he’d just taken a very hard kick to the privates. “Do you deny that I won the challenge?”

His face worked again, and I was certain that he was going to either spit at me or strike me, but he did neither; he simply turned and slowly made his way up the stairs to where the bedchamber was located.

The guard Matheo, after a long look at me, followed him. Pavel shook his head and gathered up Baltic’s armor before doing the same.

Only Kostya was left with me, and he watched me with an expression that I found difficult to read.

“You do not approve of my method of winning?” I asked him.

He was silent for the count of six, then shook his head. “You are a woman. He is a wyvern. I would expect you to use whatever method you could to disable him. It is not how you struck the blow that you will regret.”

“Then what?” I asked, feeling more than a little ashamed at the way I’d taken Baltic off guard.

Slowly, Kostya smiled. “There may come a day when you wish to enjoy those parts you have this day so grievously injured.”

Heat flooded into my cheeks as he, too, made a bow, then went outside.

Had he seen me staring at Baltic’s mouth, and assumed I was a woman of no virtue? I couldn’t blame him if he did. I didn’t feel particularly virtuous around Baltic, not with my mind reliving over and over again that kiss in the forest.

“By the rood,” I swore to myself. “Kostya’s right. But the saints help me, Baltic is driving me insane.”

Guilt ate at me later, as I sat alone in a cramped bedchamber, nothing more than a closet, really, with a pallet crammed up against the eaves, a three- legged stool, and a cracked chamber pot.

The inn boasted two rooms—this one, and the larger room that took up the remainder of the upper floor—but as it was a communal room, one containing several pallets upon which Baltic and his guards would sleep, I had been given the closet. I walked the two paces that was the available free space, turned, and paced back, listening with half an ear to the sounds coming up through the floorboards.

Kostya had evidently made things right with the innkeeper, because earlier, when I had come in from using the privy, two lads and a frightened-looking woman were clearing away the debris left by Baltic’s fit, and shortly after that, three new benches appeared. Two hours later the locals slowly arrived, no doubt reassured that the mad lord was safely asleep upstairs. The soft murmur of conversation drifted upward, livened now and again by a hearty laugh that was stifled quickly, as if the patrons feared causing too much noise.

“This is silly. He challenged me. He held a sword to my neck. I shouldn’t feel the least bit sorry for what I did,” I told myself, touching the spot on my neck where the sword had pierced my flesh.

The wound wasn’t there. It had healed almost immediately, and if a thin trickle of blood hadn’t seeped into my chemise, I might have thought I imagined it. I had changed my torn clothing once Pavel brought my traveling basket, but my chemise lay on top of it, the rusty stain a glaring accusation. I rubbed at the dried blood and tried to ignore the feeling of guilt and shame.

“It’s no good,” I said finally, and straightening my shoulders, opened the door and entered the main chamber.

There was no light but the moonlight that came in through the shutters. I held high the candle from my closet, scanning the pallets to locate the one Baltic had chosen. To my surprise, they were all empty, all but one.

I approached the dark shape cautiously. I couldn’t tell which man it was—a fur was thrown over him, leaving only the tip of his head showing, and all the guards had varying shades of dark hair.

Setting the candle down on the ground next to the pallet, I reached out to pull back the fur just far enough to see who lay there, but before I could touch it, a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist in a grip that came close to grinding my bones. I cried out, and the man sat up, releasing my wrist when he saw it was me.

“What are you doing?” he snarled.

It was Baltic, and he didn’t look any too pleased to see me.

“I came to see if you were hurt,” I said, suddenly feeling very awkward. I gestured toward his legs. “In your . . . place.”

He stared at me a moment just as if two carrots suddenly sprouted from my ears. “You came to see if I was hurt?”

“Yes. I know men are sensitive there. Well, you would have to be, wouldn’t you? I mean, it’s all just hanging there, right out in the open, not tucked away nicely like women. And I knew it would disable you, but I was thinking about it, and I realize that perhaps I took you by surprise, and that even though I said we’d start right then, you weren’t ready for my attack. So I thought I would see if you were hurt. Seriously hurt, that is, because I know you were hurt, or else you wouldn’t have rolled around on the ground as you did.”

He sat through that entire speech without saying anything, but when I was finished he shook his head, and said in a quite reasonable tone of voice, “Yes, you hurt me. You damn near kicked my stones up into my belly. But you didn’t permanently damage me, if that’s what you’re having this attack of conscience about.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, kneeling down next to him. I wanted to check his parts, but couldn’t think how to suggest that without sounding like I just wanted to ogle him. Which, sadly, I had to admit I wouldn’t mind. “Perhaps I should make sure. My mother—Lady Alice—taught me much about tending ailments. I’m known throughout the keep for my healing skills.”

He muttered something that sounded like a blasphemy against healers, then suddenly sat up straight. “You want to look at my cock?”

“I think it would be best if I examined your man parts for signs of injury, yes,” I said, trying my best to look knowledgeable in the area of genitals. “After all, I caused the injury. If anyone should look at your . . . er . . . area, then I should.”

He scooted back until he was leaning against the wall. “Go ahead,” he said, crossing his arms.

I licked my lips nervously, biting my lower lip as I pushed the fur down his legs. He was dressed in a thin tunic and braies, and unless he had donned his armor, he would have no codpiece on under the tunic. Carefully I lifted the edge of his tunic. “Oh. My. Um. I was expecting . . . hmm.”

“What were you expecting?” he asked, pulling up his tunic in order to stare down at himself. “What are you hmming about?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” I said, frowning just a little at his man parts.

“Like hell it is!” he said, sounding quite incensed.

I looked at him in confusion.

He sighed, closed his eyes for a minute, then opened them back up, and with a tight jaw, asked, “Are you going to examine my cock or not?”

I eyed the part in question. “I don’t want to touch it if it’s bruised.”

“It’s not bruised,” he snapped.

“It looks . . . angry.”

“For god’s sake, woman, it doesn’t have emotions of its own!”

“Of course not. All right then. I will just check to make sure everything is as it should be.” I put one hand on his shaft. He didn’t move, the expression on his face suspicious.

“Well?” he demanded.

There was nothing for it. I put my other hand on his parts, lifting them to look for signs of damage.

A noise at the door had Baltic jerking up the fur, my hands trapped beneath it.

Kostya stood at the top of the stairs, giving us a puzzled look. “I heard loud voices. Is everything all right?” he asked.

“Yes!” Baltic answered through gritted teeth.

Kostya looked pointedly at me.

“Baltic’s man parts are angry, and I was seeing if there was something I could do to ease the pain,” I explained, not wanting him to think me wanton.

Kostya’s expression went absolutely blank. Baltic ran a hand over his face, clearly trying to maintain a grip on his formidable temper. “It’s not like that. She wanted to see if she had seriously hurt me. I told her she could look for herself to see that I wasn’t.”

“I see,” Kostya said in a voice that sounded as if he were choking. “I’ll just leave you to that, then.”

He disappeared. A roar of laughter came up from below that had Baltic swearing under his breath as he shoved the fur down again. “For the love of the saints—get on with it, woman!”

“Very well.” I lifted his shaft, looking for signs of injury, but saw nothing. Despite the knowledge that I was renowned in the village and by folk of the keep as a healer, I couldn’t help but feel wicked as I touched him. I was no stranger to the sight of man parts—the male villagers frequently wore short tunics that left little to the imagination when the wind was high, but my mother had kept Margaret and me from bathing visitors, as was the common custom. Baltic’s parts were . . . interesting. “You don’t appear to have any injury,” I added, suddenly feeling a bit breathless. I let his stones slide slowly from my fingers, and was surprised by both the sudden hitch in his breath and the fact that his shaft began to harden.