“If you don’t take me, I am doomed.”

“I’m sorry.” James winced and didn’t like the sound of woe in her tone, but there was nothing to do. His hands were tied so to speak.

She tossed a key on the cot. “If you change your mind, use the key and find the door with the dragon.” Without another word, she stomped irefully from the tent.

James sat back upon the bedding dumbfounded. “It appears I might have caused a war regardless.”

Chapter Nine

Throughout the day, Emlyn couldn’t shake the dread of what she did with James. She had to go through with her plan and when he wanted her, she was willing. After all, her father bid her to do whatever necessary to gain his compliance. And yet, she failed.

He in no way compared to Bevan. When she had coupled with her betrothed, she’d only done so to appease him and he seemed to want to. It mattered not to her at the time, and verily it wasn’t all that bad. In the end, she enjoyed it. Yet the encounter with James was far more thrilling. He knew what he was about and affected her like no other, even in his inebriated state. His touches were akin to fire, his kisses much like being ensconced in warmth, his body, hard and pleasing.

She sighed knowing the consequence of her actions would be her demise. For she wished with all her heart that she had stayed and allowed him to have her again. If she was going to wed Marshall, her days of freedom were limited and the days of her life possibly numbered.

With a light step, she walked along the path toward the back of the keep. Aled walked beside her with Iola on his back. She trekked to the hillside near the back wall. Ahead, she looked at the dragon emblem above the white door. Using the spare key she kept for emergencies, she opened it and went inside.

Aled and Iona moved within and went to their favorite spot, near the old hearth that sat empty for years. It was always cold inside the cavern, and for as much as she’d been there, she had never traveled into its depths.

Emlyn looked fondly about the chamber, for this was where her grandfather had practiced his sorcery. He’d told her unbelievable stories about the most revered sorcerer, Merlin, and the tale of King Arthur. As young lass, the stories captivated her. Her grandfather also told her that the cavern was the home of Ddraig Goch, the red dragon.

As she thought of the dragon, sounds came from deep within the fissure and she peered into the dark depths. She walked close to the mouth of the tunnel that led to it. One day she would be brave enough to venture into it and investigate, but for now, she was content to leave it to her imagination.

A knock came at the door and she startled. Aled growled low, baring his teeth. Hopeful James had changed his mind, she hastened to the door.

Before she opened it, she shushed Aled. “Quiet, Aled. Down.” He did as she bid and settled again on the floor near the hearth, keeping watch on the door. Iona flapped her wings madly until she settled next to him.

“There you are. I looked for you all morn,” Branwyn said, disgruntled, and brushed by her. She hastened inside the chamber and turned to glare at her.

“I, ah, I’m sorry. I was busy.”

Delyth followed Branwyn inside and they sat at the small table they often occupied as young lasses when her grandfather entertained them. Emlyn had brought them to the chamber many times throughout their childhood and even when they’d become older. It was the only place besides the lake, they could hide. None knew her grandfather had given her the key and no one would dare enter his domain, even after he’d died. Their clan considered it sacred ground.

“What happened to you last eve? You left the celebration and I couldn’t find you. I worried.”

“I’m sorry, Bran, but I had to … I should tell you of what my father bespoke.” Emlyn needed to explain, especially to Branwyn, since she was going to be leaving regardless of whether James cooperated with her or not. “My father betrothed me to his enemy, Marshall. I’m to leave soon.”

“Surely you jest. Tell me you do.”

“Oh, Emlyn, I feared something dreadful would come of this. If only Bevan hadn’t …” Delyth’s words trailed off when Branwyn gave her a scowl.

“Aye, and my mother is readying even now for my departure. I don’t have much time before I’m to leave.”

Branwyn moved from her chair and hugged her. “I’m sorry, Emlyn. Are you afraid? I would be. Marshall is known to be brutal. We’ve all heard the stories and after what happened at the last peace-keeping gathering … I will worry so for you.”

She hugged her friend in return. “I would be afeared, except … My father told me not to go to him, to thwart the betrothal, against my mother’s wishes.”

Delyth gasped. “Aye? He coverts war then? I disbelieve he would be so blatant to tell you to do so. Does he not care that we’ll be besieged?”

Emlyn shook her head. “I doubt Marshall will come this far south. The keeps he covets are closer to his lands and farther inland. My father wants to fight his enemy, wants him to come. I would be harmed either way, Delyth. He does not want me in the hands of Marshall and told me to beg one of the Scots to take me away.”

“He did? I vow this is shocking news. Have you found someone to?” Branwyn took her hand, squeezing it tightly. “Is that where you were last eve?”

“Aye. I did find someone and thought … I considered he would do as he promised, but I fear he won’t. He says he won’t cause a war. But we’ll to war regardless so …” She sighed. “I even gave myself to him as my father bid to sway him but he—”

“You what? Verily?” Branwyn pulled her hand away. “I am shocked, nay, distraught. Are you well? Did he harm you? Which Scot was it?”

She pulled her feet onto the chair and hugged her knees. “He didn’t hurt me and it wasn’t … unpleasant. It wasn’t my first time. You see I … with Bevan, before he left on his last mission.” Emlyn couldn’t stand to see the looks on their faces and kept her eyes averted and on the table.

“I want to hear every detail,” Delyth said.

Branwyn rose and walked around the table. “I knew it. I am gladdened he had that time with you before he … Still, you gave yourself to the Scot? You have more courage than I. Which one was it? It wasn’t their leader, was it? I deem he’s handsome, but too stern looking for my liking.”

Emlyn could’ve laughed at their discussion, but resisted because she knew it would upset her friends. “Did you watch the training the other day? It was the Scot who I went against in the last round, the one that—”

Delyth gasped. “Him! Why he’s even more stern looking than their leader. At least his face is hairless.” She giggled.

Branwyn scoffed and flopped back into her chair. “Oh aye, we watched all right. Delyth pointed out which of them she’d take to her bed, as if she’d ever. I deem she pointed to him because of his hairless face. You’re such a sguthan, Delyth, aye, a stupid woman, for you don’t have the courage.”

“Leave her be. Aye, it was he and I vow I never imagined such an encounter. But he is not willing to take me with him as my father bid. I must find another.”

“Such a shame, he won’t comply. He is dreamy.” Branwyn punched her arm. “I can’t believe you slept with him.”

“It doesn’t matter now, because I have to find someone else. I cannot go to Marshall.” The problem with that was Emlyn didn’t want anyone else. She wanted the warrior, James.

“Come, we should return,” Branwyn said, and rose, taking her arm.

“I am not returning. I will stay here until I figure out a way out of this. If anyone asks after me, especially my mother … you didn’t see me.” Emlyn gently released her friend’s grasp.

“Your mother will send a search,” Delyth said.