“Sleep well, milady,” he called as he rounded a bend in the corridor.
Leaving her in total darkness once more.
Frustration left Ian feeling like a caged beast. He prowled the confines of his chamber, his body as restless as his mind. He knew Llywelyn had lied to him, could feel it deep within his bones. He’d witnessed that act of innocence too often not to recognize it now. He simply didn’t understand why Llywelyn would treat him thus.
“Quit your pacing and sit down, milord,” Dai snapped. He shoved a stool in Ian’s direction. “All this stomping about is making me daft. You’re acting like a spoiled little lordling. Christ, man, use the brain God gave ye.”
He forced himself to stop, and faced Dai, letting the words sink in. When would he learn to listen with his head, instead of his emotions? Most of the time, he could keep his temper contained. But Dai had witnessed it often enough in private that it had no effect on him— except to exasperate him.
Nodding, Ian righted the stool and sat down. “He’s lying. We both know it.”
“Aye. And why would he do that, milord? I think you’d better tell me more about this girl.”
“Woman,” he corrected absently. “She’s a woman full grown.”
“Is she? Is that what’s got your head in a spin, lad? I’d never have believed it of ye, but there’s a first time for everything. Even a dragon needs a mate.”
Dai knew him too well.
“Something about her haunts me,” he admitted. “Although she’s dirty, and wears men’s clothes, there’s a…beauty about her. She won’t leave me alone.”
“Tell me about her, and what you want me to do.”
It didn’t take long, he knew so little.
“I want you to go to Saint Winifred’s Abbey and find out all you can. Something about this bothers me— all the more because of Llywelyn’s reaction. I’ll nose around tonight. She could still be here.”
“Should I wait till the morn to leave?” Dai asked.
“Aye. No need to arouse suspicions. Take two men with you. If anyone asks, I’ll say you have business for me at Gwal Draig. But get back to Gwal Draig as swiftly as you can. If I cannot meet you there, I’ll send word. I mislike this entire situation.”
He ushered Dai out, then went to stand by the window. Darkness had fallen. He stared out into the welcoming shadows and sought counsel from the night.
The wisest course would be to return to the hall, as he did most evenings, but the chances he’d learn anything of value there were virtually nonexistent. Perhaps he ought to share a few ales with the castle guard in their quarters. No one would think anything of it. He’d done so before.
Whether Lily had left Dolwyddelan of her own volition, as Llywelyn maintained, or had simply been moved, someone had to have seen her.
He would find her.
And when he did, somebody would pay.
By midnight, Ian felt awash in ale but no closer to finding Lily. His feet heavy on the tower stairs, he sought the cool night air. He needed to clear his head before deciding what to do next. After half a night spent dicing and drinking, the only information he had was that no one had seen her leave.
So either Llywelyn had lied to him, or the guards at the castle gates had all gone blind. In his present mood, ‘twas all he could do to prevent himself confronting his princely kinsman and demanding the truth.
That would gain him nothing.
No one had seen Lily outside, but there were bound to be passageways throughout the keep that he didn’t know about. A smart man always left himself an escape route. He would return to Lily’s cell and investigate further.
There wouldn’t be a better time. No one had any business in the cellars at this time of night.
He moved quickly through the shadows and retrieved a shuttered lantern and his cloak from his chamber. He saw no one as he slipped into the cellars and closed the door behind him.
As far as he knew, none of the cells held prisoners. He should be able to search to his heart’s content. A rabbit warren of corridors lay deep beneath the keep. He’d never had reason to explore them before, so he set about it in a methodical fashion.
From the number of undisturbed spiderwebs he found, he knew that some areas hadn’t been occupied in quite a while. But several passages could have been used recently. He chose the widest and set off.
He hadn’t gone more than fifteen paces before the corridor ended in a wall.
Ian smiled.
Only a fool built a passageway leading nowhere. He set the lantern on the floor, then felt around the edges of the wall, pushing and prodding at the stones until his patience was rewarded. Just as he had suspected, the wall was actually a door. Surprisingly silent, it opened inward. Picking up the lamp, he pushed on.
The air had a sweetish scent overlaying a dank, earthy odor, as if something had died. The stench, combined with the ale he’d consumed, made his stomach roil in protest. But he kept walking. The ceiling dropped so low his hair brushed against the splintery planks above him. Crouched low over the lantern, he almost missed the two doors to his left.
“Lily?” he called, banging on the first door with his fist. “Are you here?”
He heard the sound of footsteps, then pounding on the other door. “Dragon?”
He couldn’t mistake that voice.
And no one else called him Dragon.
Holding the lantern high, he turned toward the door. “Aye, Lily, it’s me.”
He tugged on the door, but the lock held firm. “There’s no key,” he said after scanning the area. “I’ll have to try my dirk.”
When he lowered the lamp to the floor, Lily called out, “Don’t take away the light.” He could understand her plea; it must be black as pitch inside the cell. He hooked the lantern over the wall pricket and drew out his dirk.
The blade scarcely fit in the lock, but Ian took his time. If he snapped the knife off, he’d never get her out on his own.
And he had no intention of seeking help, now that he saw where they’d put her. Locking her away down here could only be a deliberate attempt to keep her hidden.
Most likely from him.
Slowly, gently, he wiggled the knife, until he felt the lock give. He pulled the dirk free, shoved it back in its scabbard and yanked the door open.
Lily leaped into his arms with an inarticulate cry.
He gathered her quivering body close and held her tight, smoothing his hand over her tangled hair. “Hush,” he whispered. She tried to speak, but the words came out jumbled and indistinct. “Slowly, sweeting. Hush. It’s all right.”
He held her as he would an injured child, trying not to notice the way her body fit so well to his, nor the softness of her hair beneath his cheek.
But his body would not listen. Heat rose in his blood, intensifying her scent, magnifying the feel of her pliant curves pressed against his hardness.
Carrying her with him, he stepped back into the corridor, into the light. He framed her face with his hands and stared into the eyes that had haunted him, asleep and awake, for the past day. She met his gaze, stare for stare, until, with a muttered curse, he crushed his lips to hers.
Her mouth didn’t move, but neither did she try to push him away. She kissed like a child, lips pressed to lips. He gentled his hold and showed her another way.
He