Especially a man like him.
Remembering the wounded shame in Gwendolyn’s eyes as she’d fled his arms, he lifted his hands to gaze at them. Even when they sought to give pleasure, they brought only pain.
A muffled footfall, followed by an awkward cough, warned him he was no longer alone. “When I went to check on Gwendolyn just now,” Tupper said softly, “the panel was ajar. At first I thought…”
“… that you’d find her in my bed,” the Dragon finished, shooting his friend a wry look. “I hate to tarnish my reputation, but my powers of seduction aren’t quite what they used to be.”
“If that’s true, then why didn’t she run away?”
“Why don’t you ask her?”
“I didn’t wish to wake her. From the tearstains on her cheeks I deduced that she’d cried herself to sleep.”
The Dragon’s anger flared. “What’s wrong, Tup? Bored with tormenting the villagers? Aren’t they providing enough sport for you?”
“Actually,” Tupper said, propping one booted foot on the stone embrasure between the merlons, “I’m finding their antics quite entertaining. Old Granny Hay took to her bed because she believed my piping was the wail of a banshee coming to claim her soul. One of the blacksmith’s sons got into fisticuffs with one of the tinker’s sons because they were both convinced the other’s father was the one who betrayed the Mac-Cullough. And Ian Sloan nearly shot his wife when he awoke from a drunken stupor and mistook her for the Dragon.” Tupper rolled his eyes. “Or so he claims.”
“You’re getting rather cozy with the good folk of Ballybliss, aren’t you? “ the Dragon remarked, studying his friend’s face.
Tupper flushed. “How else am I to ferret out that thousand pounds?”
The Dragon turned back to the sea. There had been a moment last night when all of his grim plans had seemed to recede into the shadows before the tender sweetness of Gwendolyn’s kiss. But that moment had been as elusive as the pleasure they’d shared. He had no future to offer her, only a past.
His eyes followed the path of a gull as it went wheeling down the rocky coast. “ The ship is anchored in an inlet right beyond those cliffs, you know. Just waiting for my signal to come take us away from this place.”
“Ah, but there’s no r-rush, is there?” Tupper stammered. “After all, the villagers are just beginning to show signs of cracking. We mustn’t be too hasty. Perhaps if we gave them another fortnight… ?”
The Dragon surged to his feet. “I don’t have another fortnight to give them! I’m not even sure I have another night.”
He paced the length of the parapet, raking his windswept hair from his brow. How could he explain to Tupper that the darkness that had sheltered him for so long was now his enemy? That he could no longer roam its shadows without fear? Fear that as soon as the gloom of dusk began to descend, he would betray his own will and make that long climb to the tower. Fear that he would no longer be content to lurk in the dark and watch Gwendolyn sleep, but would slip over to that bed and cover that delectable mouth and body of hers with his own.
He had not lied. He would never force her. But he could use all the sensual skills at his disposal to seduce her, which would make him even more of a monster than he already was.
He faced Tupper. “I’ll give you one more night to scare some truth out of the villagers. If you have no luck, then we’ll admit this has all been nothing but a miserable folly and we’ll leave this accursed place on the morrow and never speak of it again. Agreed?”
Tupper’s shoulders slumped. “Agreed.” He was almost to the stairs when he turned and said softly, “You could tell her who you are, you know.”
The Dragon spared his friend a pained smile. “ If I knew, I just might do that.”
You could tell her who you are, you know.
As Tupper traversed the moonlit meadow, his own words mocked him. He stumbled over a root, feeling every inch the bumbling oaf his father had always accused him of being.
Stop slumping. Stand up straight. You’re not half the man I was at your age.
Perhaps his father had been right about him all along. After all, what sort of man would borrow another man’s identity to impress a dewy-eyed young girl? He sighed, finding it only too easy to imagine the awe in Kitty’s luminous eyes hardening to contempt when she discovered the truth—that he was nothing but a dull-witted sheep masquerading as a dashing wolf.
When cloaked in the shimmering scales of the Dragon, he could be eloquent and witty. He could whisk a bouquet of wildflowers out from behind his back and coax a blush into Kitty’s creamy cheeks. He could lie next to her on a bed of sweetgrass and point out the constellations strewn like diamonds across the night sky, putting the classical education he’d obtained at Eton to good use for the first time in his life.
He could be the mysterious stranger he saw reflected in her eyes instead of a plain Englishman with thinning hair who blathered too much and blushed too easily.
As he leapt over a fast-running burn, his boot sank into the chill water, soaking it to the knee. Both of those men might very well be departing on the morrow, he thought glumly, and for that, he had no one to blame but himself. He had fooled himself into believing he could learn more about the villagers by wooing Kitty than by setting off smoke pots or letting out a savage roar whenever one of them strayed too far from his cottage in the dark of night.
If he was never going to see Kitty again after tonight, then why should he reveal his true identity? Why crush her romantic dreams? Why not leave her with her memories of the stolen moments they’d shared? At least then he could remain a hero in someone’s heart.
Until Gwendolyn returned to the village after their ship sailed and told her sister what a fool he’d made of her.
Tupper stumbled to a halt and closed his eyes, knowing what he must do.
When he opened them, she was there, as ethereal as the wisps of mist rising from the dew-soaked grass. She wore the Dragon’s cloak draped over her slender shoulders, just as she had done every night since their first meeting.
“Catriona,” he said. “I’m so glad you came. There’s something I must tell you.”
She moved toward him, her shapely hips swaying. “I’m weary of you telling me things,” she said thickly. “It’s all you’ve done for the past week. Told me how bonny I am. Told me how my eyes sparkle like dew-drops on the heather. Told me how my lips were as ripe and pink as rose petals.” Tupper stood paralyzed with anticipation as she cupped his cheeks in her hands and drew him down until those lips were only a breath away from his own. “Your friend was right. You do blather too much.”
Tupper groaned as that succulent flower of a mouth budded beneath his, drawing him into a kiss as hot and irresistibly carnal as the weight of her small, firm breasts pressed against his chest. As every last droplet of blood in his body surged from his brain to his groin, he nearly let her drag him down to the sweet-smelling hummock of grass behind her. Nearly let himself accept the invitation she was so clearly offering.
It took more strength of will than he’d known he possessed to gently reach around and unfasten Kitty’s slender arms from his neck. Struggling to catch his breath, he set her away from him. She would surely know he was a fraud now. The real Dragon would have never let himself get so flustered by a mere kiss.
A shock of dismay ran through him when he saw the tears glistening on her cheeks. “Nessa was right, wasn’t she?” she cried. “You can resist my charms!”
Tupper reached for her, but she was backing away from him as if he had struck her. He stopped, fearful she would bolt altogether.
“Is that what you believe?” he asked, letting out a bark of disbelief. “That I haven’t kissed you because I haven’t wanted to?”
Kitty slowed her retreat, but skepticism still shimmered in her eyes. “Glynnis says you have an appetite only for virgins. That you’ll never want a lass like me because I’m not—” She bit her bottom lip and shifted her gaze to the ground.
&nb
sp; “Glynnis is right. That’s exactly why I don’t want to kiss you.” Before her face could crumple, Tupper dared to draw nearer. “ I don’t want to kiss you because you deserve more than fumbling caresses and kisses stolen in the moonlight.” He brushed a trembling teardrop from her cheek with his fingertips. “In truth, I would never do you such a grave dishonor unless I intended to make you my wife.”
Tupper was nearly as surprised by his words as she was. He had never allowed himself to imagine returning to London with a little bit of Highland heaven to treasure for the rest of his life. He had never let himself dream that Kitty’s lilting laughter or her graceful footsteps on the stairs might make his lonely town house a home.
A strange excitement buzzed along his nerves. Kitty was gazing up at him as if he’d dragged the luminous pearl of a moon down from the sky and slipped it onto her finger.
He threw back his shoulders and sucked in his stomach, unable to hold back a grin. “I suppose I’m trying to warn you, Catriona Wilder, that if you compromise my virtue with a kiss, you’ll simply have to make an honest man of me.”
Tupper had expected to see his own joy reflected on her face. But as she reached up to cup his cheek in her palm, a wistful sadness made her look older than her years. “You’re already an honest man,” she said. “A good man. A kind man. A decent man. Which is why I’m not worthy to be your wife.”
Before he could fully absorb her words, she turned to go. The real Dragon might have been quick enough to catch her, but he was only Theodore Tuppingham, the plodding son of a minor viscount. He made a clumsy grab for her, but she had already melted into the mist, leaving him with nothing but an empty cloak that had never truly fit him.
Kitty ran through the forest, away from the sound of the Dragon calling her name. It had hurt to believe that he would not want her because she wasn’t a virgin, but it was even more painful to learn that he wanted her anyway.
She dashed away her tears as she ran, dodging the slapping branches of alder and oak. Gwendolyn had tried to warn her, but she had refused to listen. After all, what did Gwendolyn know? She spent her days tending to the tiresome demands of their father while Nessa spent her nights accepting the flattery, the trinkets, and the rapt attentions of her many admirers.
What did it matter that those attentions seemed to wane as soon as they got what they wanted from her? There was always another lad just as eager for a saucy kiss or a quick cuddle behind the blacksmith’s barn.
So Kitty had spent her innocence in a hasty, clumsy encounter that had been more painful than pleasurable, leaving her with nothing to bring to the bed of the man who wanted to make her his wife. The man she loved. A hoarse sob escaped her. She did love him—his plain face, his kind heart, his earnest brown eyes. And that was exactly why she couldn’t marry him.
She stumbled to a halt, clinging to the weathered trunk of a birch. The Dragon’s voice had faded, leaving her surrounded by the eerie creaks and croaks of the forest. A cool breeze chittered through the thin web of branches overhead. Kitty shivered. She’d been too blinded by tears to pay any heed to where she was running and now everything that should have been familiar to her seemed spooky and foreign.
A branch cracked in the darkness behind her. She spun around, her heart leaping into her throat. “Who goes there?”
The night whispered its secrets in a voice too low for her to hear, mocking her trepidation. She began to back toward the way she had come, hoping to retrace her path before the moon began its downward descent.
Before she could take three steps, a brawny arm snaked around her waist. A hand covered her mouth, stifling her startled yelp. She dug her fingernails into her assailant’s hairy knuckles, shuddering at the suffocating heat of his breath in her ear.
“Sheathe yer claws, wee kitten, or I’ll pull ‘em out one by one!”
Only then did Kitty realize that it was Ross’s meaty paw clapped over her mouth. Her eyes widened as Glynnis, Nessa, and Lachlan emerged from the darkness, their faces uncharacteristically somber.
Kitty lifted her foot and gave Ross’s instep a vicious stomp. As he relaxed his grip, biting off a blistering oath, she scrambled out of his arms and whirled around to glare at him. “How dare you put your hands on me, you overgrown oaf?”
Ross took a threatening step toward her. “Ye’ll let some beast paw ye, but ye’re too good for the likes o’ me?”
She expected Glynnis and Nessa to rush to her defense, but her sisters closed ranks around Ross with a reproachful look in their eyes.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Kitty looked from one to the other of them, seeking some sign that this was all a jest.
“We know what you’ve been doing,” Nessa said.
“And who you’ve been doing it with,” Glynnis added gently, the sorrow in her eyes more unsettling than all of Ross’s blustering.
“All this time we thought the Dragon was some sort o’ monster,” Lachlan said. “But thanks to ye, lass, we now know he’s just a man.” A sneer touched his mouth, giving it a sinister cast. “A mortal man.”
Kitty took an instinctive step backward. Her only thought was to flee—not to save herself, but to warn the Dragon.
“What are you going to do? “ she whispered, hoping to buy them both some time.
In answer to her question, the forest came alive. Dark shapes came melting out of every tree, every bush, and every shadow just as the druids of old must have once done. But instead of bearing sacred stones and healing herbs, the villagers of Ballybliss were armed with crude cudgels, muskets, ropes, unlit torches, and all the daggers and claymores that had been buried in their backyards and hidden in their cellars since the English had outlawed them. Some of them were still stained with the ancient blood of Clan MacCullough’s enemies. Even old Granny Hay clutched a pitchfork in her withered hand, its jagged tines gleaming sharp and deadly in the moonlight.
As Kitty backed right into Ailbert’s bony chest, Ross grabbed her by the elbow. “What does it look like we’re goin’ to do, lass? We’re goin’ to hunt us a dragon!”
Chapter Sixteen
GWENDOLYN STOOD ON THE TABLE in the tower, clutching the cold iron bars of the grate as she watched the shadows rob the day of the last of its light. There was no longer any need for her to gaze longingly at the sea, dreaming of freedom. She had been granted that gift, only to discover that it wasn’t what she wanted at all. Perhaps it never had been.
She climbed down from the table and began to pace the tower. Toby was stretched out on the bed pillows like some overfed sultan waiting for the dancing of the harem girls to begin. As he swiveled his head to follow her path, it was only too easy to imagine a hint of contempt in his arrogant golden gaze.
She had accused the Dragon of being a coward at their very first meeting, yet she’d spent the day huddled in this cell of her own making, ignoring the open panel. She could no longer even say exactly what she was afraid of. Him? Or herself?
He might cloak himself in shadows, but she had spent the last fifteen years hiding behind a wall built with her own hands. The mortar binding its stones had been duty, pride, and virtue. She’d worn her duty to her father as a penitent wears his beloved hair shirt and taken as much pride in being plain and virtuous as her sisters did in being bonny. Even her hopeless yearning for a boy long dead had served only to protect her heart from the risks of living… and loving.
She picked up a copy of Manderly’s The Triumph of Rational Thinking and riffled through its pages. The neat print with its tidy explanations and rationally drawn conclusions seemed to be no more than gibberish to her aching eyes. For once, logic had failed her, leaving her in the grip of an emotion that defied all reason.
She let the book slip from her fingers as she remembered her last sight of the Dragon. He had stood there on the brink of the shadows, a lonely ghost of a man, yet with more substance than anyone she had ever known.
How could I have let you do any of those things when I’ve never even se
en your face? When I don’t even know your name?
That may be true, but for just a moment there, I would have sworn you knew my heart.
She squeezed her eyes shut, wondering if he had been right. She might not know his name or his face, but she felt as if she knew his soul—his kindness, his tenderness, the generosity of spirit he sought to hide beneath his gruff exterior and mocking detachment.
Perhaps it was that glimpse of the man behind the mask that had frightened her so badly, driven her to say the words that would wound his pride and force him to set her free.
But she would never be free as long as her heart was still his prisoner.
Gwendolyn slowly turned to face the panel. She could slip into her nightdress, extinguish the candles, and climb into that inviting bed, but she knew instinctively that the Dragon would not come to her as he had done in the past.
If she wanted to set herself free, she would have to go to him.
Vaporous tongues of mist crept out of the glens and hollows, swirling like dragon’s breath around the parapets of Castle Weyrcraig. The sea pounded at the cliffs below, roaring with mindless fury. The full moon cast an icy glow over the castle, chilling everything it touched and deepening the illusion that the ancient stones had been frozen in time.
Gwendolyn moved through the shadowy passages, refusing to be mired in the past for another moment. She was no longer a girl in search of a boy, but a woman in search of a man. A man woven not of myth and moonlight, but flesh and blood.
She cupped a hand around her candle flame to shield it from a violent gust of wind, not sparing so much as a glance at the gaping wound in the north wall of the stairwell or its shocking plummet into the sea. She sidestepped the fallen blocks of stone as if they were no more than a handful of pebbles scattered in her path.
The moonbeams streaming through the splintered remains of the entranceway door proved no enticement to Gwendolyn. She turned her back on them to scan the shadows, wondering just where a dragon might hide if he didn’t wish to be found.