Rhiana. Michele Hauf

with warmth, Rhiana convinced herself it was merely the close presence of fire.

      So close, the fire, and in the form of muscles and sinew and beguiling dark eyes.

      “You never talk to me, douce et belle. Do I frighten you? I would like it if you would say but a few words.”

      Frightened by something so wonderful as flame and…and…him? Rhiana began a grin.

      “My lord, the dragon slayer!”

      Suddenly alerted by the seneschal’s voice, she turned from Sebastien’s beguiling eyes and stood on tiptoes to see about the keep. Dancers who reveled and made merry parted as a stranger entered the keep.

      Finding an audience with the baron of St. Rénan proved easy enough, even after the squire had abandoned him for the lure of hot dragon meat and a game of sticks. Macarius had merely to sight in the high table amidst the revelry of drunken lackwits. The glint of gold tableware could not be missed.

      Macarius strode through the grand hall glittered with golden fixings and freshly strewn rushes. Fresh flower garlands draped the doorways and the backs of chairs. Tapestries on the east wall depicted the dragons’ fall from grace with the evil angels. A particularly grand dragon skull, gilded around the circumference of the eye openings, hung high on the wall over Lord Guiscard’s chair. The upside-down cross indicating the kill spot glittered with rubies set in gold.

      Studying the beast’s skull, he determined Amandine might have been responsible for that one. He knew of but two other slayers in Europe, and rarely did they venture close to the sea, for the added hazards, such as the cliff-side entrances to the dragons’ lairs and, well, there was the sea and all its dangers. Amandine had liked to travel the coast, knowing the greatest challenge always offered the most satisfying results. Besides, he’d once told Macarius of the sirens. He had not seen one himself, but what riches he would give to see a flash of scale and to catch a pretty green smile.

      Sirens. Macarius nodded. Yes, he would like to see the sort, and would, surely, for his travels took him far and wide. What a catch that would make, eh? He would commission a massive tank and display her for all to see when finally he settled and built his own castle upon the sea.

      But enough of that nonsense. He had a more urgent commission to gain. If there were so many dragons, that could only mean one thing—the hoard, which attracted the beasts, must be tremendous.

      The seneschal who had seated himself to the right of the lord whispered into his ear and gestured toward Macarius. His reputation obviously preceded him for the baron nodded and grinned. How joyous this village would be to receive him into their arms!

      “My lord Guiscard.” Macarius bowed grandly before the damask- and silver-lace festooned high table. His gauntlets clicked against the sword sheath at his hip. Flames from the many wall torches glittered across the mesh hauberk skirting in dags below his coat of plates. The very flesh on the left side of his body pinched with the movement of so grand a bow, but Macarius was accustomed to pulling a face over the pain. “I am delighted you have bid me welcome into your home.”

      Guiscard twisted his fingers, ringed with sapphires, and studied Macarius with vivid blue eyes. “My seneschal tells me you are a dragon slayer?”

      Did Macarius detect a note of boredom in that tone? Must be the abundant wine, and a night of festivity surely altered a man’s sense of generosity and need for protection.

      “I am indeed a slayer, the greatest in all the land. Macarius Fleche. I travel constantly, and mark no city, village, or demesne my home. I have followed my father’s profession, and before that, his father. I once worked with a partner, but alas, he has fallen to the bane of our profession. Therefore, I am the last of a most fearless and revered breed.”

      “I see. Quite the pedigree.”

      Macarius bristled proudly. “I’ve patents if you wish to look them over.”

      “No. Just get to the point, Fleche. What brings you to St. Rénan? Do you not see we celebrate? If you wish to join the revels, be my esteemed guest, but if you’ve another reason for interrupting…”

      Macarius snickered at Guiscard’s bantering disregard. A glance about found the entire keep had settled to observe and whisper. So let them! This day their lives would alter for the better, thanks to his skills.

      “My lord, and good people of St. Rénan—” Yes, involve them all. It only increased his esteem. “I understand you’ve a dragon problem.”

      The woman sitting to Guiscard’s left—very nearly in his lap—reached for a sugared sweet and pressed it to her thick red lips. Her dark eyes held him with an intense fascination that bordered on eerie.

      Guiscard gave a dismissive sway of hand. “Eh. St. Rénan has always been known to harbor dragons. You’ve seen one…”

      Such complacent disregard!

      “But, as I am given to understand,” Macarius said, now a bit quieter, but still firmly, “not for some years. Yet the dragons have returned to the caves overlooking the sea.”

      “You purport to know our village well.”

      “My father spent the summer here a few years back. He waxed effusively on the gorgeous meadows strewn with fragrant meadowsweet, and of your hospitality, my lord.”

      Best to lay things thickly, Macarius knew.

      “Seems we’ve a rash of eager slayers, of late,” the baron announced.

      “My lord?”

      Another dismissive shrug.

      Macarius felt the eyes of all upon him. Beaded hennins draped in silks of all colors tilted in interest. Men wielding pewter mugs of ale, and a woman’s backside in the other hand, paused to listen. Still the musicians played, but quieter, background accompaniment to the show before the high table. At the rear of the keep a man holding elaborate fire torches held a pose of interest, his arms high to light him like a gilded statue. Even the three-legged mutt wending its way through the crowd seemed interested.

      Macarius did not mind the attention. Stand back, one and all; he’d show them his skills. Who dared to put a challenge to the greatest slayer in all the land? He’d snatch that challenge up with his teeth and spit out the booty for all to admire.

      Lord Guiscard stretched forward in his chair. “We don’t need you, Fleche.” He flicked his multi-ringed fingers at Macarius. “I bid you leave as quickly as your mount can carry you from the village.”