Kiss of the Dragon (9 page)

Turning away from her mirror, she grabbed her comb and
stroked it through her hair before she sat down to braid a narrow plait at the
side of her face which she drew back to hold the long mass of black silky
tresses and keep it somewhat restrained. There were times when she wished she
had the courage to cut her hair to waist length. But since it was so glorified
by bards in their song, her stepmother would never allow it. Heloise told her
that if she appeared with half her hair missing, half of her suitors would
disappear. The outrageous belief made Bianca smile. Imagine it. Marrying a
woman for her hair. It was too ridiculous.

“Am I asking too much to want a man to want me for more than
just my outer beauty?”

Leia slipped into the room hiding a wide yawn behind her
hand. “Here, here, my lady, let me finish dressing your hair. Please, sit. Now
tell me what has you so sad.”

“I was considering the silly songs that bards conjure up.
They are so asinine and nonsensical.”

“Oh, no, my lady. The ballads are beautiful. I have been
brought to tears by their sweet words on more than one occasion,” Leia assured
her as her swift fingers weaved their magic as she dressed Bianca’s beautiful
tresses.

With a sigh, Bianca grew quiet as her thoughts strayed to
Baron Draco and the sweet kiss they had shared. The man had captured her fancy
if not her heart and she wasn’t sure what to do.

Finishing with her mistress’s hair, Leia moved to kneel
beside her and took one of her soft, delicate hands. She squeezed gently as she
spoke from her heart. “The bards praise your great beauty, my lady, which you
have in abundance. But I think what truly draws the gentlemen, is the goodness
of your heart. It is that which comes out in the songs and poems. If you would
but listen carefully, it is not only your fair looks that are praised.” With a
reassuring smile and an encouraging nod, Leia stood to leave, stifling a yawn
as she did so.

Bianca felt as if her lagging spirits had been renewed.

It would be pleasant to think that perhaps some of the men
who came to woo her saw more in her than just a fair countenance and fine form.
She would keep this in mind as she sat at the table and endured another long
evening of ballads and poems composed about her beauty. Fortunately, she had
something else to keep her occupied. She had a mission to see to this night,
and it would take all of her cleverness to carry out her plan to catch the man
she had set her sights on.

“Oh.” Leia paused at the door. “I nearly forgot, my lady.
Just an hour past, a new suitor arrived. I was told he is very handsome. An
older Spanish gentleman with fire in his blood and ambitious enough to court
the Beauty de Neige.” She giggled behind her hand. “My lady, you have so many
handsome men seeking your favor. I think the number of swains, young and old,
showing up at the gates of de Neige grows by the hour.” Still giggling, Leia
slipped out the door.

Moving to her mirror Bianca once again pondered her
reflection. Her hair, pulled back into a coif of skillfully twisted plaits, was
entwined with thin gold ribbon. The resulting effect brought out the fine bone
structure of her cheeks and left her long, fragile neck bare, except for the
gold ribbon she wore with a heart-shaped amethyst pendant suspended from it.
The deep plum color of her gown did indeed make her eyes appear to be a darker
violet than usual.

“Do you think, Beauty, that I can make the great Black Dragon
jealous?”

The young woman in the mirror smiled at her with supreme
feline confidence.

* * * * *

A revered Beauty, her soul unclouded by pride,

The one thing her heart desired, was true love at her side.

A gentlewoman, she was not afraid of honest labor,

Getting soot upon her cheeks only added to her inner
splendor.

She waited for her prince to sweep her off her feet,

She tarried at her tower window nightly, torn from her
peaceful sleep.

With images of a knight-errant riding across the valley
floor,

To take her soft white hand and pledge his love forever
more.

“My Lady’s cheeks so delicately smooth,

Lips as red as a blushing rose

Caressed by love’s first kiss,

Soft and sweet, oh heavenly bliss.

In a voice so fine, the meadowlark weeps,

As he listens to her sighs of passion, so sweet.

In her ears, like silvered moons, he doth whisper

His vows of love

And she sighs in sweet surrender.”

The melody plucked upon the lute was the only part of the
tribute that did not irritate or embarrass the blushing maiden for whom it had
been composed.

With a tight smile fixed upon her full red lips, which would
surely be praised more than once during the duration of the evening, Bianca
tried not to roll her eyes as she listened to current entertainer embellishing
her attributes with the added coloring of sexual innuendo. It was indeed a new
experience for her and one that she deeply wished she did not have to endure.
But sit there she did, through every last verse offered her. Many bards had
praised her beauty, some more lavishly inventive than others, but until tonight
she could not remember her attributes being so lustily praised, so poetically,
so vigorously.

The handsome troubadour tossed his mane of black, curling
locks over his shoulder in a very sensuous manner and smiled boldly up at her
in a superior mien. It was obvious that he waited for a word of praise as his
fantastic phrases, which hung in the air like a well-timed fart. But she could
not bring herself to utter a word, but sat, red-faced and stunned, trying to
pretend that she was somewhere else. Her mortification held her captive as she
found herself seated at the high table with Baron Draco d’Ensoleille, who
glared fiercely at the unfortunate bard, his hand on the hilt of his dagger as
if he would avenge her honor.

All in all, the evening had so far turned out to be a total
failure. Her hope to capture Lord Draco’s attention was coming to naught and
she did not think she could have been more mortified if she had come to supper
naked. That was how the bard had left her feeling with his descriptive verse
praising her attributes. It was somewhere in the middle of the last verse that
she had noticed the newly arrived Spanish duke giving her lewd glances.

Surely, she had never alluded that she welcomed such
attention, had she? She glanced at her father who sat down the table and
noticed his frown as he stared from her to the bawdy bard and then he raised
his hand and dismissed the man for other entertainment. Her sigh of relief was
almost audible and she just caught herself before she raised her fan to cool
her burning face.

Lord Rodolfo Xavier Del Jara sat to her left, chortling
through the risqué verses. The heated looks he gave her left her in little
doubt as to his lascivious thoughts. But imagine her shock in the middle of
supper to find his hand suddenly making its way up her thigh, squeezing it
suggestively in front of the crowded hall!

“I am enjoying this evening’s…entertainment…enormously.” The
Spanish nobleman leaned close and whispered in her ear. Bianca froze in a
mixture of horror and disgust. Before she realized what the Spaniard was about,
he snatched her lax hand and pressed it over the obvious swelling of his member
beneath his codpiece.

“
Merde
!”

Bianca spat out the unladylike curse under her breath as she
snatched her hand back, outraged by his obscene boldness. She glared at him.

“Pardon, my Lady Bianca. I meant no offense. I merely wished
to show how much your beauty and sweetness affect me. As you can see, I have
great desire for you.”

Bianca was not sure how to respond to his apology for his
outrageous behavior so she merely gave him a stiff nod and eased as far from
him as she could. It was not until her thigh came in contact with Draco’s that
she realized how close she came to sitting in his lap in her attempt to stay
out of the way of unwelcome roaming hands. She glanced up to find Draco
watching her closely. He raised a questioning brow. “Are you in need of
assistance, my lady?”

Bianca was too mortified to do more than shake her head in
denial. It was obvious that Draco had witnessed the shameful display between
her and the bold Spaniard. She carefully eased back to the middle of her chair.
But she kept up her guard for any further uninvited endeavors from her left.

“There is no reason to run, little chick. My intentions are
honorable, I promise you. It will only be a matter of time before we are wed
and you are in in my bed, at my tender mercies,” Lord Rodolfo whispered loudly,
not caring who heard his challenge. But Bianca was determined to ignore him
completely. She had more important issues to deal with this evening.

But as the meal progressed, she found her attention divided
equally between picking at her food, fighting off the Spaniard’s unwanted
attention and trying to catch Lord Draco’s eye. The latter proved to be a
failure, so she decided to ignore her main objective and fight to keep what
dignity she had left intact. It proved to be quite a task. To save herself
further embarrassment she conceded to let Lord Rodolfo fondle only her hand as
she tried to keep her mind on the conversation between them.

At their initial introduction, Bianca had not really
listened as Lord Rodolfo Xavier Del Jara rattled off the long list of his
antecedents and other credentials. Suffice to say, the middle-aged noble was
from one of the oldest families in Spain and made certain that everyone
understood it from the beginning. He was a handsome man who knew only too well
his own charm, and he was serious in his search for a suitable wife. He was
also a widower who had never had children and doted on his two younger sisters.
Bianca found this attribute appealing.

“And you are an excellent choice for my duchess,
mi amore
.
Even my family thinks so. My sisters are more than willing to share me with a
suitable wife.” It was an ambiguous statement but Bianca chose to ignore the
underlying implication.

Just down the table from Lord Rodolfo sat his two sisters,
Lady Pia and Lady Belia. They had accompanied the duke on his journey north to
advise their brother on his choice. Two more sour-looking ladies Bianca had
never met. They appeared as if they had each just sucked on a lemon; their lips
were so puckered in disapproval. They had let it be known upon their arrival
that they did not approve of their brother looking so far afield for a bride.
They had complained about every possible thing imaginable since their arrival,
from the attire of the guard in the hall to the wide, stone staircase, and
later, Bianca was informed that they had not approved of the rooms furnished
for them. Even if they had been given the best accommodations in the ladies’
tower, it was not good enough for the royalty from Spain.

Duke Rodolfo however had not complained about anything. He
was a pleasant enough man, but spoiled beyond belief. He had only to snap his
fingers and his personal servants raced to do his bidding. Everyone in his
entourage bowed to his every whim. And that was part of the problem Bianca had
now. He refused to believe that she would reject his advances and laughed off
her coolness as being a maiden’s modesty.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a nasally complaint from
the end of the table. Belia was at the moment attempting to drown out the
tenor, who had just started his tribute to “the beautiful Angel de Neige”, with
a high-pitched nasally whine that threatened to snap the tightly strung strings
of the lute.

“Is there nothing decent to assuage one’s thirst in this
entire provincial manor than this…this…?” She put the goblet beneath her long,
hooked nose, gave a disdainful sniff and then made a horribly scornful face,
“wine?”

Paul, the young page who had the misfortune to serve the
Spanish noblewoman, looked ready to spill the pitcher of fine Neige wine down
her back. He was known for being unforgiving of any and all insults to the
hospitality of the Duke de Neige. He was proud to be a member of the Neige
household and took offense when a visitor uttered any derogatory remarks about
it. If Belia was not careful with her disparaging complaints, she would likely
find a little something extra in the bottom of her wine cup or possibly beneath
the sheets on her bed. Young Paul was well known for avenging any and all
insults personally. Never before had anyone criticized the local wine for which
Castle Neige was renowned. It was clear that Bianca would have to move to put
an end to the criticism before Paul took a step to see that it never happened
again. Bianca leaned forward a bit so that she could see Belia who sat as
straight as a poker in her chair with her tight blonde curls and lavish
jewelry. The gowns that she and her younger sister wore were beyond outlandish
in adornment. The heavy velvet bodices were high-necked, encrusted with a
profusion of pearls and gems worth a small fortune. It was clear that the Del
Jara family was very wealthy and they thought nothing of swaggering under the
weight of it. Rings on every finger and ropes of pearls twined about their
necks until they had to keep their heads high just to breathe properly. If this
was an example of the way noble women dressed in Spain, Bianca did not envy
them. From remarks Belia had made earlier, they had just come from the court of
the Spanish king and this venture into the quaint French countryside was taking
its toll on her.

“Castle Neige is known for serving its guests only the best
wines. If you are not happy with the vintage perhaps you would prefer something
stronger, maybe ale or mead, or even cider.” Bianca knew that this last
offering would be offensive to the Spanish noblewoman but she could not resist
the backhanded insult after all the woman’s criticisms since she had arrived.

“No! Dear God, no! I would never drink such a demeaning
libation. I will just have to make do with this….offering.”

“You are too kind,” Bianca murmured under her breath. “Paul,
please refill the other cups. I am sure that everyone is parched after
listening to the delightful ballads the good minstrels have entertained us
with. Please, my lords, drink, drink. More entertainment will follow supper. My
father demands the best.”

Bianca had made it a point to always find something good in
every person she came in contact with, but she was hard-pressed to find
anything at all that recommended the two younger sisters of Duke Rodolfo Xavier
Del Jara. Near the same age or perhaps a few years old than herself and
Modesta, the two Spanish gorgons had done nothing but criticize everything and
belittle what they seemed to consider lowly French aristocrats.

She had witnessed an incident earlier in which Modesta came
away rather on the bad end of one of their raucous remarks. Bianca opened her
mouth to berate the two women for their churlish remark but was arrested when
Lord Charles appeared at her side and defended her with chivalry worthy of a
white knight in shining armor. He had smoothly turned the tables on the two
Spanish sisters leaving them standing with their mouths hanging open while he
took Modesta’s hand and led her to the opposite end of the table where they
would not be further bothered by the pompous Spanish nobles.

That heartwarming scene had thus far been the highlight of
her evening and brought a lump to Bianca’s throat even now as she fought back
the envy she felt for her cousin’s good fortune to have a man so attentive to
her feelings.

With the Spanish sisters jostling for attention down the
table, and Draco all but ignoring her, Bianca was left to entertain the Spanish
duke and she could not have felt any more depressed about matters. She gave her
attention to Duke Rodolfo instead of Draco in an attempt to make the latter jealous.
But she soon found out that it was an impossible task to get a rise from a
person who apparently was not even aware of her existence.

“This troubadour does you a great injustice, my princess.”
Lord Rodolfo leaned intimately close and whispered in her ear. Because she had
been preoccupied with the great hulking dragon next to her, Bianca was caught
off guard. But the foulness of his breath brought her attention back to him
forthwith and she nearly gagged. Holding her breath, she fought to keep from spewing
what little she had eaten all over the table. It seemed the man was not in the
habit of cleansing his teeth nor had he partaken of a sprig of mint in his
entire life. Bianca made a grab for her wine cup and took a healthy swallow to
wash the rising bile down. It took several deep breaths to steady her nerves
before she considered herself safe from being physically ill. He would
definitely not be in the running as a candidate for her future husband. It
crossed her mind that when Lord Draco had kissed her earlier in the day, the
experience had been oh, so lovely. In fact of the matter, she had rather liked
being kissed by him.

No, the Spaniard was out of the question as an acceptable
husband.

“Oh, perhaps you would liken my eyes to spring violets?”
Bianca surreptitiously leaned away from the Duke and then took another drink of
her wine to hide her antipathy toward him. Then to give herself a further
barrier to his foul exhalation she took her napkin and pretended to wipe away
some excess wine from her top lip.

“No, your eyes are the color of the late sunset, right
before the dark arrives.”

“You mean twilight?”

Thinking she heard a derisive snort from her other side,
Bianca turned her head to find her nose pressed against Lord Draco’s massive
shoulder. She pulled back and looked up suspiciously to see if he had been
listening to the conversation between her and the Spanish duke. But she must
have been mistaken because he seemed to be in deep conversation with the
resident healer, Galen. Surely, she had not imagined the sound.

“Thank you for the compliment, Your Grace.” However, her
sarcasm was lost on the thickskulled Spaniard. Then an imp of mischief rose in
her and she decided to put the gallant on the spot and at the same time catch
Lord Draco in his eavesdropping. “Perhaps Your Grace would entertain us with a
song to praise my attributes next. I do not think the company in this hall
could ever get enough of hearing me described right down to my littlest toe.”
Bianca’s request did not have the expected results, however.