Читать книгу: «Dragon Desire»

Chapter One – Tavia the Fair

The deadbolt slammed home with deafening force. The clang of metal sang against metal. The sound reverberated through unyielding oak doors set in solid stone walls. Tavia knew the thick silence that came afterwards was locked in the dungeon with her. She swallowed as she studied her surroundings. She struggled not to be afraid. And she doubted the sense of paying two gold pfennigs for this dubious and dangerous privilege.

Blazing torches hung from sconces on the walls. The flames splashed shadows and a glaring orange light onto the cobbled stones of the dungeon floor. Spirals of black smoke spewed upward toward the faraway roof. Sulphuric smells and unearthly stinks crept from the shadowy corners.

‘This is not a waste of time.’ Tavia muttered the words like a mystical chant, determined to invest them with truth. ‘It was not a waste of money. It is not a waste of time.’

She had entered the dungeons against the advice of her twin, Caitrin, and without the knowledge of her father, Duncan, castellan of Blackheath. It had cost her dearly to bribe guards and key-keepers to get this far. And she wouldn’t let herself believe that it could all be for nothing. She brushed a stray lock of blonde tresses from her brow and stepped nervously from one foot to the other.

She wore wooden pattens with leather straps. The heels tripped loudly against the stone floor. Drawing a deep breath she tried to decide which way she needed to walk to find the man she had come looking for. A stirring to her right made her hesitate. For an instant she feared she had woken some dangerous and malevolent creature from its slumber.

There was the growl of a man clearing his throat.

She glanced toward the sound. ‘Hello?’

‘Fuck off,’ a voice called. ‘I’ve got a hangover and I’m in no mood for damned visitors.’

Tavia stiffened.

In a corner of the gloomily lit dungeon she glimpsed a shadow. As her eyes became used to the contrast of fire-bright light and pitch-dark shadows she made out the shape of a figure slumped over an escritoire. He was round-shouldered, slovenly in silhouette and hunched like a predatory reptile.

‘Seer?’ she asked doubtfully.

He raised his head and fixed her with a sullen glower.

There was a dirty smear of beard stubbling his cheeks and jaw. Even in the black and orange of the dungeon’s illumination, Tavia could see that his eyes were red from the memories of too much ale. A mop of unkempt hair, dishevelled and as dark as winter nights, fell loosely over his brow.

He picked up a pewter tankard and sniffed the contents. A sneer of disgust wrinkled his lips. Reluctance shaped his features into a frown. And yet, he drank from the tankard anyway. As Tavia watched he drained the contents.

‘Seer?’ she repeated. ‘Is that you?’

‘No. I’m not a seer. I’m a prisoner. Now fuck off.’

She was annoyed to catch herself thinking of him as handsome. She supposed it must be a remnant of the dragon horn floating through her system. There had been times since taking the dragon horn when she found herself admiring men whom she normally wouldn’t have considered worthy as suitors or lovers. There had been times since taking the dragon horn when she had briefly lusted after farm hands, serfs and night soil workers. Her interest in this uncouth specimen seemed an obvious illustration of that condition. Unsettled by the moody glint in this man’s eye, and appalled by her own growing need for him, she willed herself to believe that his appeal was merely an after-effect of the dragon horn. She told herself that was the only reason why her loins were now warming.

‘You are Alvar, son of Erland.’ Tavia stepped closer as she spoke. Her heels clipped crisply against the cobbled floor. She wished she felt as confident as she sounded. ‘You were the famed seer from the Red River. You were respected counsel to Kendric of Cambrai Typus. You were –’

‘I’ve had a change of career,’ he broke in. ‘I’m now the prisoner of scītanhole dungeons. I no longer have the gift of second sight. I just have a tankard and a bucket. Now don’t let the dungeon door bang your arse on your way out of here.’

Tavia glared at him.

This was not going as she had hoped, but she knew, if skill at negotiations had been easy, her own well-honed abilities to influence and manipulate would have little worth. Quashing her exasperation, refusing to let the emotion show on her features, she fixed him with a politic smile.

‘What a shame,’ she muttered.

She had come to him dressed in formal military surcoat over her red and gold kirtles. The surcoat was emblazoned with the silver-on-black arms of the Order of Dark Knights. The Order of Dark Knights was an elite military unit headed by the castellan of Blackheath. Wearing the formal surcoat over her best kirtles, Tavia felt reassured by the protection that came from the symbol of silver swords crossed over a stone tower. It seemed a more imposing motif than her family heritage of three golden water-carrying maids on a crimson background.

She glimpsed the arms of the Order of Dark Knights as she reached into the folds of her skirts to remove a cloth purse. The sight gave her a surge of confidence.

‘I can do this,’ she whispered.

The cloth purse was heavy. The gold pieces it contained rattled together. Tavia shook the purse lightly, allowing the coins inside to chatter. There was a distinctive sound to gold on gold that she had never heard replicated by any other metals scratching together.

She saw the seer stiffen and tilt his head, as though listening.

He was clearly familiar with the sound of money.

‘I had wanted to do business with a seer.’

Tavia said the words as though she was speaking to herself. She shook the purse again. The musical chink of gold on gold rang from the dungeon walls.

‘But, if you no longer have the gift of second sight, Alvar, son of Erland, then I’ll leave you to your tankard and your bucket. I shall say prayers to the benevolent gods that you don’t confuse those two receptacles too often. And I’ll wish you a good morrow.’

Turning away from him, she started toward the dungeon doorway.

It was a calculated bluff. But she knew that all successful negotiations were nothing more than calculated bluffs. And Tavia prided herself on being a mistress of successful negotiations.

She didn’t hear him follow her.

He moved from his escritoire with a stealth that she would later consider chilling. She had taken three brisk steps toward the dungeon doorway when he placed his right hand on her right hip and clamped his left hand over her mouth.

Her gasp of surprise was muffled beneath his palm.

She was spun until she faced him.

The purse of coins fell heavily to the floor.

There was a clatter of gold rolling over cobbles.

Tavia’s stifled squeal of surprise was lost beneath the sound of money rolling away from her on the darkened floor. Her heartbeat raced as she realised she was in the arms of a strong and powerful man. He had a gaze that made her loins melt with sultry need. The musky scent of his nearness made her yearn for him.

‘Is this some sort of trick?’ he whispered.

She waited until he had removed his hand from her mouth. She liked that he was holding her tight. She could feel the thrust of his rigid manliness. It pressed from his loins, through his rich obsidian tunic, toward her stomach. It struck her that he wanted her as greedily as she wanted him. She stifled that thought, knowing that throwing herself at the seer at this stage would not help with the delicate negotiations she was trying to make.

‘Is this some sort of trick?’ he repeated.

‘You’re supposed to be the seer,’ she replied. ‘You tell me if this is a trick.’

In the light of the raw orange flames his eyes glittered with menace. He inhaled deeply and for an instant she saw something that resembled a smile crossing his lips.

And then the expression was gone.

With a grunt of frustration he pushed her from his embrace.

Tavia stumbled and almost fell to the floor.

‘Get down on your knees and pick up your gold,’ he snapped. His voice sounded hurt and angry. ‘Gold coins are of no use to me in this dungeon. Nothing is of any use to me in this damned dungeon; so you can take your gold coins and your nice-smelling hair and you can fuck off.’

She glared at him.

She was thankful for the poor light because it hid her blushes. He thought she had nice-smelling hair. The compliment struck her as being absurdly touching. She was grateful that someone had noticed she washed her blonde curls in a balsam of lemon and orange oils. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to be touched by the seer’s praise.

‘I knew you weren’t a real seer,’ she scoffed. ‘I knew you didn’t have the gift of sight.’

He reached into the pocket of his tunic. When he pulled his hand free she saw he was holding a well-thumbed deck of tarot. He rolled his shoulders and shuffled the cards with one hand. For a man who looked as though he had been dragged from the depths of a grog-induced slumber, his fingers worked on the deck with surprising agility.

She stared up at him as he stood with his back to one of the torches. He was nothing more than a silhouette but she thought his shape seemed to grow as he handled the cards.

She had seen expert swordsmen demonstrate skill in the mastery of their craft and believed it was always a pleasure to watch any competent artist excelling in their field. She had watched horsemen breaking wild stallions and she had witnessed gifted sculptors carving great statues. She had seen the smiths and tailors showing off their talents in demonstrations of more commonplace skill, craft and artisan mastery. But she had never before seen a man who was so clearly in love with his own vocation as the seer was with his gift of second sight.

Alvar, son of Erland, beamed as he shuffled the cards.

He pulled one from the deck and studied it with a single cocked eyebrow.

‘Your name is Tavia, twin sister to Caitrin and younger sister of Inghean. You’re the daughter of Duncan, castellan of Blackheath.’

She started to pluck the gold coins from the floor. It had not been the impressive display of second sight she had hoped to witness. ‘You could have recognised me from your dealings in Blackheath. I’m known in my father’s court. You might even have overheard the gaoler addressing me before I came in here.’

Alvar sniffed.

He plucked another card from the top of the deck and studied it with an unreadable gaze. ‘You’ve recently had an experience.’

She flashed a silencing gaze in his direction.

He chuckled. It was a low and lewd sound but not entirely unpleasant. He studied the tarot card in the fluttering torch light as though it showed moving pictures. ‘It seems it was a very exciting experience,’ he decided. ‘A pleasant experience. And it’s clearly an experience you want to repeat.’

Tavia’s blushes deepened.

She figured she had retrieved as many of the gold coins as she was likely to find in the dark. Drawing the strings on the purse closed she put it back into her kirtles as she stood up.

‘The cards seem to tell you so much and so little,’ she said primly. ‘Perhaps your cards could say some things that don’t sound like the cold-reading comments of a cheap court conjurer?’

Idly, he plucked another from the pack and studied it before responding. ‘The cards tell me that you’re willing to do a lot in return for my assistance. Is that true?’

‘I have gold.’

She reached for the purse but he stopped her. The warmth of his hand on hers was surprisingly pleasing. She wanted to refuse the suggestion of pleasure that came from his touch.

‘I have a life sentence to serve in this dungeon. As I’ve already told you, I own a tankard and a bucket. With those essentials covered, I don’t have a lot of need for your gold.’

‘What do you want?’

His lips settled into a businesslike frown that she wanted to kiss.

‘I want three things,’ he decided eventually. ‘First and foremost, I want you to organise my freedom from these dungeons.’

‘I can try to organise something,’ she allowed. ‘I can’t promise success because I’m a mere maid and –’

‘You will petition for my freedom,’ he broke in. ‘Your father is Duncan, castellan of Blackheath. You’re one of his daughters and he is sufficiently corrupt to heed the advice of his kith and kin in matters of justice.’

He raised his hand to stop her from interrupting.

‘The cards tell me you will do all that for me.’

Perplexed, she asked, ‘What else do the cards tell you I’ll do?’

He plucked a card from the top of the deck. It made the crisp sound of stiff paper snapping from the darkness.

‘The cards tell me you’re going to suck my cock.’

Tavia rolled her eyes. She had expected he would try something sexual. A part of her was almost tempted to go along with his suggestion because she did find him vaguely attractive. The heat from the dragon horn still nestled in her loins making her hungry for the taste of a man. But she had hoped the seer would try something that didn’t sound like such a blatant insult to her intelligence.

‘Good morrow, Alvar, son of Erland,’ she said tiredly. ‘Thank you for being honest with me earlier and admitting that you are no longer a seer. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.’

She turned her back on him and headed toward the dungeon doorway.

Behind her she heard the sound of him flicking another tarot card from the top of the deck.

‘Do you want to hear my third condition?’ he called.

‘Not really.’ She tossed the words back over her shoulder. ‘I’m bored now.’

He sniffed. ‘My third condition is not open for negotiation. I want a share in the dragon horn you’re going to import.’

Tavia stopped. She turned and glared at him. ‘How the hell did you know about the dragon horn?’

‘Suck my dick and we’ll talk about that.’

‘If you were a genuine seer …’ she began. She shook her head. That wasn’t what she wanted to say. ‘If you were able to offer me some genuine assistance …’ Again, that wasn’t quite right. ‘If I didn’t think you were an absolute charlatan,’ she decided finally, ‘I might consider your proposal. But –’

‘How much more proof do you need that I’m a genuine seer?’

He asked the question with a forced innocence. Snapping a card from the top of the deck he glanced at the contents and then said, ‘You’re not wearing braies.’

She blushed. It was true. She wasn’t wearing undergarments beneath her kirtles. But he could have guessed she wasn’t wearing braies.

‘So?’

He snapped another card from the top of the tarot.

‘You had twenty-five golden pfennigs in your purse when you set off this morning. But now you’ve only got twenty-three. I don’t know if two of them are still on the floor of this dungeon from when you dropped your purse. Or if you used the other two pfennigs to bribe your way in here. But there are now only twenty-three pfennigs in your purse.’

Tavia caught a startled breath. He was right. She had counted twenty-five golden pfennigs into her purse before leaving home that morning. The guard had insisted on two gold pfennigs in payment for opening the dungeon door. She studied the seer with renewed respect.

Was it possible that he really did have the gift of sight?

‘Tell me something that only I would know,’ Tavia demanded. ‘Tell me something that no one else in the world but me could know.’

He pulled another card from the top of the deck.

His salacious smile glittered in the darkness. When he glanced up to grin at her she could see the sexual interest that sparkled in his gleaming eyes.

‘You masturbated twice this morning. Once with a carrot.’ He winked and added, ‘You came hard with the carrot because it was pushed into your arsehole.’

Tavia stepped back. ‘I’faith,’ she gasped. She touched her brow to ward off the dangers of the evil eye.

‘Now, if that’s enough proof for you, you can get down on your knees and suck my cock,’ he said boldly. ‘It won’t suck itself you know.’

She didn’t hesitate.

Falling swiftly to her knees, Tavia lifted the hem of his tunic to find his braies. The linen pants, tied at the waist and hanging down to his knees, were distended at the crotch by the bulge of his excitement. She stroked the shape of him with sincere and hungry affection.

‘Go on,’ he urged. ‘Suck it.’

She reached for the drawstring at his waist. As the braies fell to his ankles she pushed back the folds of his tunic to expose the thick length of his throbbing manhood.

A swatch of curls as dark as those on his head, covered his sac. The pale stalk of his erection protruded snake-like from the forest of his dark hairs. She traced a finger against the sweat-slick skin and sighed when she reached the swollen end of his glans. It was fat, bulbous and already dewy with arousal.

Tavia did not lay claim to any gifts of second sight but she could tell that Alvar, son of Erland, wanted her as badly as she wanted him. She stroked her thumb over the rounded end of his erection and watched him shiver with need.

‘Don’t just tickle it,’ he mumbled. ‘I’ve asked you to suck the damned thing.’

She moved her face close to him and allowed her long blonde tresses to caress his shaft. Positioning her head carefully she blew soft breath against the side of his length. Savouring the way he squirmed she moved closer and drew her tongue against him.

He gasped.

During the week when she had first been introduced to the pleasures of the flesh, as she languished in the highest tower of Blackheath Priory between bouts of tasting Robert’s dragon horn and the hours when she watched her sister lie beneath him, Tavia had taken pains to learn how best she could satisfy the needs of a man.

Robert of Moon Valley was not a patient lover but he was precise and particular. Because they had been drinking dragon horn, an elixir noted for improving the pleasures of sex, he insisted that those pleasures they enjoyed were of an exacting standard from the beginning. He had been meticulous and instructive in every aspect of intercourse. He had gone to great lengths to school Tavia in the proper ways for a woman to use her mouth on a man’s flesh, and the memory of his words now echoed in her thoughts as a reminder of how she could best please Alvar, son of Erland.

She savoured the taste of the seer’s clean sweat, murmuring appreciatively as she worked her tongue from the curls at his balls up to the tip of his erection. Robert of Moon Valley had told her that a man liked to hear murmurs of appreciation from the woman lapping at his length and she felt sure that Alvar would take satisfaction from her sighs of approval. Her hands clutched at his thighs as she pressed her face closer.