Once upon a Dream (14 page)

He'd kissed a hundred women, and none had ever affected him like this one. None had ever tasted so sweet,
or smelled so clean and fresh, like wild mountain flowers. None had ever clung to him so softly—or kissed him back with such passion. He was used to being in command of such encounters, but she had made him hunger and thirst for more than he could ask of her.

More than he
would
ask of her.

She was too young, too innocent, and too vulnerable. Even he had limits—and rules.

Don't kiss her again
, he told himself.
Think about your future bride. Think about beating everyone else to Maighdin's marriage bed. Then you'll get all the kissing—and everything else—you want.

“Night is coming.” He took a long breath. “We're deep in the forest now, and Eadric and his men—and who knows what other evil beasts—will be on the prowl. We'd best find shelter.”

He turned back to find her still standing as he'd left her, her skin flushed, her eyes bright, her luscious mouth trembling. She looked as delectable as a ripe peach begging to be tasted.

But he couldn't taste her again, Blaine sensed warily, not without feasting on all of her.

“Did you hear what I said?” he asked. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded harsh. “We must find shelter. Come, I'll fetch your mare. Can you ride?”

Can I ride?
Willow thought dazedly.
Can I think? Can I even speak?
Heaven help her, she was behaving like a dullard and a fool, but kissing Blaine of Kendrick had robbed her of her senses.

She wondered with a flash of panic if they would ever return.

She stared at him and finally took in his impatient expression, the tension in his face.

He was finished with her. One kiss, no,
two
, and her debt was paid. His interest was gone. It had all been a game.

Shame flooded her, and as it did so, saving pride returned.

His words at last sank in.

“I will find my own shelter, thank you, when I choose to halt my day's travel. I have already wasted enough time—”

“If you keep riding, wounded, in this haunted forest, I won't be responsible,” he cut her off. “Other outlaws will find you, and they can roast you over an open fire without my lifting a finger to help you. A troll will come and pluck out your eyes and your fingernails, and I won't so much as pause on my way to finding that necklace.”

“I wouldn't expect you to.”

She lifted her chin once again. Did she have any idea how fetching she looked when she notched it up like that and her hair swung back from those fine-boned cheeks?

Blaine clenched his jaw. “Good. Because I'm not like your precious Adrian, you know. I'm not noble, I'm not good, and I'm not bound by any chivalrous code other than my own: do what you must to survive, and damn everyone else.”

“I am well aware of that.” She scooped her cloak up from the ground and slipped into it, her cheeks bright with fury. Not even glancing at Blaine, she started marching toward Moonbeam, grazing in a stand of birch trees. But it was then that her gaze fell upon the carnage no more than thirty feet from where she stood.

Nausea rose in her, and she swayed.

Instantly Blaine was at her side. “By all that is holy, girl, I told you not to look!” One glance at her utterly white face unleashed a stream of oaths. “That settles it. You're in no shape to ride anywhere.”

That said, he swung her up into his arms and carried her to his own horse. She was busy trying to keep down the bile in her throat and erase the bloody scene from her mind. She didn't notice when he hefted her into the saddle, or when he vaulted up behind her. Even when they trotted forward and he grabbed her mare's bridle, her mind did not register what was happening.

Only when they were galloping through the forest together, as the encroaching dusk began to cast long, inky shadows and the menacing growl of unseen wild creatures
reached her ears, did she realize that she was seated before Blaine in his saddle, that Moonbeam was being drawn along with them, that the bitter cold was seeping through her tunic and cloak, and that Blaine's powerful arms enclosed her on either side, providing some warmth and shelter from the biting wind.

“Where are we going?” She twisted in the saddle to peer into his face, which looked hard and grim in the failing light.

“I'll know it when I see it,” he replied, barely sparing her a glance.

The going became rougher. The trees, which earlier on this path had been widely spaced, now seemed to grow even more tightly together, their roots snarled and thick, interlocking one with the other, making it difficult for the horses to travel without stumbling. A black, impenetrable darkness, unbroken by moon or stars, descended over the entire forest. With it came raging gusts of wind—furious wind—and a sudden blinding whirl of snow. Numbing cold ate into their bones.

It was only autumn, yet the frigid air and thick snow and howling wind made it seem like late December.

This was an evil night, full of some wicked magic, Willow realized, shivering in Blaine's arms, and she was suddenly glad that she was not alone, that another human being shared her need to find shelter from the dangerous cold and wind. Any kind of shelter, even a cave…

“I don't like the feel of this,” Blaine muttered in her ear, as if reading her thoughts. “I'd swear these trees are moving closer together all the time—forming some sort of trap.”

His words echoed Willow's thoughts, and fear rose in her.

Neither of them saw the jet-haired figure perched in a tree branch high above. Her silver cloak blended with the white of the snow as Lisha the Enchantress waved an arm, and a sprinkling of silver sailed through the forest and fell upon a clearing in their path.

Then the magic dust and the enchantress were gone, and only the fierce night remained.

It was Willow who shortly after saw the dark hutlike shape ahead of them. “Look.
There!
Blaine, is it—can it be a cottage?”

She pointed, and he saw it, too. Swiftly he turned the horses in that direction as even thicker whorls of snow surrounded them.

“Empty or not, we're taking it for the night!” he shouted, and then fixed all his attention upon guiding the horses toward the rough dwelling, a wooden hut packed with mud and twigs.

Before they reached the door, the snow was already carpeting the forest floor and weighing down the branches of the trees.

“There's a lean-to behind. I'll settle the horses after I've got you inside!”

She could barely hear his shout over the rising scream of the wind. Willow had never seen such a night as this, and she knew it was borne of a dark magic.
The Troll King's magic.

She braced herself as Blaine helped her down, and together they staggered toward the door. He kicked it open and drew his sword as they stepped inside.

Utter darkness.

And silence.

When they lit the tallow candle that Willow took from her cloak, they discovered that the cottage was empty.

Blaine kicked the door shut. “I'll build a fire.”

“No. Leave it to me.” Willow put a hand on his arm as he started toward the grate. “Take care of the horses, or they will surely die.”

He glanced down at the small, icy hand upon his arm and then into her taut, lovely face. Her cheeks were reddened from the cold, and her mouth was trembling. The snow was still melting on her eyelashes.

Something clenched hard inside of him, something that was at once painful and sweet.

“I won't be long, then.”

He lifted a hand, touched her face, then was gone.

A small stack of twigs was piled beside the hearth. Willow set about tossing them into the grate and setting them ablaze, even as she thought how strange it was that she awaited the return of the Wolf of Kendrick with a sense of something she could only describe as eagerness.

 

“As usual, my darling, you have made a rather large mistake.” Lisha the Enchantress popped so suddenly into the dungeon that Artemus had to stifle a scream.

“Where did you come from?” he demanded, his brows drawing together. “And more to the point, are you prepared to let me out of here now?”

He started toward her but was rudely halted when she lifted a hand and he crashed into an invisible stone wall.

“Drat it, Lisha. Stop showing off.”

“I've come to gloat. You deserve it.”

“I deserve to be set free. Enough of this nonsense.”

She regarded him from beneath a mop of dramatic black curls shot through with a few striking strands of silver. Her pale green eyes glimmered, as unreadable as a cat's. Lisha was beautiful, sleek, and sensuous—and she was powerful. While Artemus's strongest powers lay in the Realm of Dreams, and he was able to do a few simple tricks, like lower-level transformations and moving objects about with his wand—when he could
find
his wand—Lisha was known to be a cousin to Merlin himself, and she possessed powers that were truly splendid. Artemus eyed her warily, unable to help noticing how lovely she looked. Beneath her shimmering silver cloak, a rich turquoise velvet gown clung most provocatively to every single one of her curves.

Oh, my
. But even as he admired her, he didn't trust her, for she had an infamous temper and bewildering moods.

He didn't understand women, not even his own daughter. So how could he hope to understand this intoxicating enchantress who was as unpredictable as a firefly on a summer night?

“Don't you want to hear about your mistake?” she
fairly purred, stretching out on the fur rug she'd cast into the dungeon, arranging herself sensuously upon it. “It concerns your daughter.”

“Willow?” Artemus took a deep breath, his eyes wide with alarm. “Tell me. What has gone wrong?”

“You sent her a dream, didn't you? To help her find the necklace. But you also sent another dream.”

“That's right. To Sir Dudley. What's wrong with that? He will aid and protect her.”

“He
would
have aided and protected her, if you'd carried out the spell correctly, you bumbler.” Lisha stroked her hand back and forth across the fur. “You sent the dream to the wrong man, Artemus. The man accompanying your precious Willow through the Perilous Forest is none other than the Wolf of Kendrick.”

Artemus's blood curdled. He could only stare at her, an expression of horror creeping across his face. “The…Wolf of Kendrick?” He felt as if he was going to faint. “Who…is he?”

“An adventurer.” She smiled carelessly. “Young. Brilliantly handsome. Ruthless. He is a womanizer, a mercenary. He wants the necklace for himself.”

Artemus covered his face with his hands. “What have I done?” he whispered.

He sank down upon the hard stone floor, visions of Willow in danger, not only from what lurked in the forest but from the man he himself had sent in after her, filling his tortured mind.

“I don't care about the necklace anymore.” The words tore from him. “I'll gladly stay here forever, if only Willow can come to no harm. Lisha, let me out of here. I must go to her, help her, then I'll come back, I swear. I'll come back for the next hundred years—”

“I've already assisted her. There's no need for you to go anywhere. Thanks to me, she and the Wolf have a cozy place to spend the night.”

“Spend the night?” Artemus bellowed. A terrible
thought struck him. “Why do they call him the Wolf?” he demanded.

Lisha shot him a cool smile. “You don't want to know, darling.”

For a moment Artemus closed his eyes and shuddered. “Why are you doing this?” he asked at last in a weary tone. “All because I turned your lover into a toad? It wasn't my fault that some stupid hawk ate him.” He ran a hand through his thin, graying hair. “I should have turned him into a cockroach!”

Lisha rose from the rug in one lithe sweep of her body. “You know full well that is not the real reason why you are in here,” she said, and for the first time there was a throb of emotion in her velvety voice.

“It isn't?” Artemus stared at her. “But you said…I thought…”

“Men.” Lisha flushed with anger. “I'm going now, before I am tempted to turn
you
into a cockroach,” she muttered between gritted teeth.

“But…give me some clue…some hint…”

“The Melwas Ball. Remember?” She spit out the words, then vanished in a puff of fire.

The invisible stone wall vanished with her, and Artemus stalked across the dungeon and back, then paused to stare down at the fur rug.

The Melwas Ball?

“Oh,” he said suddenly, incredulity filling him. For the moment he even forgot about the fix that Willow was in—trapped for the night in the Perilous Forest with the Wolf of Kendrick. He was remembering himself and Lisha the Enchantress, four months ago, dancing together at the Melwas Ball.

And then there was what had happened in the dark seclusion of the garden
after
the ball. “Oh. Yes,” he murmured, stroking his jaw with long, slender fingers. He grimaced. “
That.
”

S
NOW PELTED THE
roof of the tiny thatched cottage. Within its humble walls, Willow and Blaine sat on stools at a small table near the fire and dined on what food Blaine had stored in his pack: day-old bread, a hunk of cheese, and wine.

Willow was no longer shivering with cold, but it was not the fire alone that warmed her. The heat of Blaine's eyes each time they settled on her seemed to melt her very soul.

What magic is this
? she wondered as she sipped from the flask of wine and then handed it back to him, watching him all the while from beneath her lashes. A quiet mood had descended upon them both.

“Don't you think it time you told me, Willow?” His deep, steady voice brought a fluttering into her heart.

She didn't pretend not to understand. “Told you…the reason behind my quest for the necklace?”

He nodded. “Or do you hesitate because your cause has
less merit than mine?” Despite this challenge, there was an oddly gentle smile upon his lips. That smile, boyish and frank and almost sweet, took her completely by surprise. If she'd been standing, it would have knocked her right off her feet.

“On the contrary, it has far more merit.” Willow was finding it difficult to speak evenly with her heart pounding like an anvil. She continued with effort. “You will agree when you hear.”

Blaine studied her, searching those breathtaking blue eyes, which were deeper, more intense, and more expressive than any other eyes he'd ever seen. “More merit than the quest to wed a princess? Doubtful, my imp. But tell me, and we shall see.”

Somehow the words spilled out of her, and to her surprise, he listened without comment as she told him about her father, Lisha the Enchantress, and Artemus's misbegotten sorcery. She told him of the dungeon in the decaying castle, of Lisha's decree that she would not release Artemus until he managed to secure for her the Necklace of Nyssa.

“And he allowed you to set out on this quest to save him? He sent you alone into the Perilous Forest?” Blaine demanded, clearly furious. “What kind of a man would—”

“He couldn't stop me.” There was blue fire in Willow's eyes. She pushed away the crust of bread left on the table before her. “He begged me to bring along a male protector, but I refused. I travel lightly and more quickly on my own. Besides,” she added before Blaine could comment on her penchant for landing in trouble, “he did help me in another way. A way that's going to be invaluable once I reach the Troll's Lair. He sent me the dream.”

Blaine choked on his last bite of cheese, grabbed the wine flask, and washed the errant crumb down with a long, noisy gulp. Then he went perfectly still. “What's this you say…about a dream?”

“My father. He's a Dream Sorcerer. He can dream the
future—also the past and the present. He can send his dreams out to others to guide them, or to warn them, or to steer them on a better course. He sent me a dream about this forest, and about the bluebird I was following this very afternoon. He showed me the Troll's Lair and where I will find the necklace once I am inside—” She faltered at his thunderstruck expression. “Blaine, what is it?”

“
I
had the same dream, Willow.” His powerful shoulders hunched as he leaned forward across the table. “That's why I'm here, in this forest. That's what gave me the idea for my quest to get the necklace for Princess Maighdin in the first place. On the night of the full moon, I had a vivid and very specific dream—about the Troll's Lair, about the Necklace of Nyssa. I think it was the same dream as yours.”

Willow paled. The night of the full moon. That was when Artemus had sent the dream to her. She pushed herself off the stool and began to pace around the cottage, her cloak billowing about her, the firelight burnishing her hair until it rivaled the brilliance of the flames.

Suddenly she whirled toward Blaine. “You don't by any chance know a knight named Sir Dudley, do you?”

Blaine stretched out his long legs. “I know him well. Dull, solid type. Been a soldier all his life. Decent fighter,” he added fairly, “but not too bright. Matter of fact, the other night I stole his precious cloak as a jest, and he never even—”

He halted in mid-speech, his eyes narrowing.

“You stole Sir Dudley's cloak?” Willow began to pace again, raking her hands through her hair. She spun back toward Blaine abruptly. “Did you by chance fall
asleep
with it wrapped around you?”

He didn't even have to nod. She saw the glint in those hard black eyes, and she nearly shrieked in frustration. “Sometimes Artemus needs to fix his mind on some feature of the person to whom he's sending the dream—or on something the person wears, perhaps a ring, or a medallion—or a cloak,” she explained, grimacing. “He must
have sent you the dream by mistake! It was supposed to go to Sir Dudley. Artemus must have wanted to direct him into the forest and to the Troll's Lair, no doubt to protect me.”

Blaine came off the stool and stalked toward the fire, his face set. “That isn't
my
fault,” he muttered. “I got the dream—and the idea for what to do with that necklace—and I'm entitled to it, same as you. And don't think I'm going to let you have it, Willow. Sounds to me like your father is getting exactly what he deserves. Maybe he needs to spend twenty years in that dungeon and begin thinking about getting his spells right for a change.”

Willow's eyes flashed. “I won't ever let that happen.”

“You shouldn't be here—in danger—in the first place.”

“He's my father. I can't abandon him. Or let him down.” She shook her head, sending her curls flying around her cheeks. “Isn't there anyone, anyone in this world, that you care about, Blaine?” she asked wonderingly.

The wind howled at the door, the firelight danced and set the tiny cottage aglow with flickering amber light, but all she could see was the face carved in stone of this lean, dark man who had kissed her today with such force and such fire. Could a cold heart hold such passion, she wondered, or stir such heat as had sparked between their two souls?

“I don't understand you,” she said softly. Her eyes mirrored the bafflement inside her. “Don't you understand at
all
what it is to love?”

“No.” The word came quickly, harsh and certain, torn from the depths of him. His eyes glittered, frightening her with their sudden iciness, for they were as cold as the night beyond the cottage walls. “
My
father was a duke, a hated one as I recall. When I was a boy, he was murdered by his enemies, one or a dozen, who knows—they were too numerous to count. Among them,” he added, gripping her shoulders, his jaw taut, “were his natural sons, my
half brothers. I was only the little bastard, of no consequence to anyone.”

Willow's throat went dry, aching for him, for the boy he had once been. “Surely your mother…” she whispered.

“Dead within minutes of my birth. I had a twin, you see, a brother, but he left this world with her, never having drawn a living breath.”

“Blaine…”

“Don't pity me, imp.” Never had he sounded so indifferent. A hard smile touched his lips. “I decided long ago that it was my fate to travel this world alone. To make my own way, look after my own skin. And I survived.
Alone
. Not only that, I grew strong. I learned that I don't need—don't want—anyone. You should do the same, Willow,” he said suddenly, giving her a shake. “You'd be much better off.”

Her gaze was soft and searching upon his. “I don't wish to go through this life alone. Without family, without anyone to love.” She reached up suddenly, touched his jaw, shadowed now with a day's growth of beard, as his heart, she suspected, was shadowed with loneliness. “Nor, I think, do you, Blaine of Kendrick,” she murmured softly.

Blaine's hands dropped from her shoulder. He took a step back. “You're wrong.”

“Am I?”

He frowned and turned away, suddenly uncomfortable beneath that warm, steady gaze. “Believe what you want.” He stalked nearer the fire, warming his hands. “But you'll have to beat me to get the necklace, Willow,” he said in an offhand tone. “And as you remember, no one ever beats me.”

“We'll see.” Quiet determination flowed through her voice. “But I believe this is one battle you will lose.”

His eyes narrowed, and he spun back to study her again, filled with anger, frustration, and reluctant admiration toward this slender, intractable beauty with her dusting of freckles and her mouth softer than flower pet
als. What was it about her that fascinated him so?

Everything
. Everything from the graceful way she carried herself, to the determination that blazed in her soul, to the devotion to her father that would set her on a path of danger in a bid to save him.

That the Wolf of Kendrick would find her so noble, so enchanting, was ironic, Blaine reflected tersely, considering that he himself had never known devotion from or toward anyone.

He'd always stood alone.

He advanced toward her, his gut clenching when instead of retreating before him, she held her ground.

“Then let the battle be joined, my imp.” He spoke with resignation. “Tomorrow, at dawn.” His voice lowered, roughened. “But for now the hour is late. For tonight and tonight only, I propose a truce.”

Before she could respond, Blaine caught her in his arms and drew her close. “Do you consent?” His breath ruffled her hair. “A truce until the morn?”

Willow wavered. She ought to pull free, stalk away, warn him to keep his distance until dawn, when the quest could begin again—for each of them. But she yearned to stay right here where she was. How warm and safe and snug she felt in his arms, as if she belonged there for all time.

How could that be? He was a man who cared for no one, nothing, only his own interests. And he was her enemy.

Surely it was wrong to want to kiss your enemy…

“I agree to…a limited truce. Tonight only,” she conceded, keeping her tone steady with an effort. Without being able to stop herself, she reached up and touched the soft thickness of his hair. Being close to him always seemed to have an unsettling effect on her, and just now, in the firelit cottage with the wind and snow pummeling the forest beyond these four walls, and with his eyes so alight and keen, looking at her as no man had ever looked at her before, that effect was even more pronounced. A
powerful current surged between them. Thinking clearly was a challenge, and pulling away seemed out of the question.

“Tonight only,” he agreed, and with wonder she realized that his voice was no steadier than hers. His strong warrior's hand cupped her chin, gently but firmly, sending tingling sensations all the way down to her toes. He tilted her head up so that she could not have looked away from his penetrating eyes even if she'd wanted to. “As long as we're negotiating, there is something else to decide. Another kiss.”

“You said just one. And then you took two,” she murmured breathlessly.

“Indeed. Because I found it quite enjoyable. Did you?”

“It was…somewhat enjoyable.” Willow swallowed, feeling herself drawn against her will into a kind of mesmerizing spell that she was powerless to break. “Perhaps not…as enjoyable as…climbing a tree, but—”

“Ahhh. You wound me.” A wicked smile lit his face. “I suggest we try it again and see if we can improve.”

“Improve?” Truth be told, Willow couldn't imagine anything more wonderful than the kisses she'd shared with him, but as he leaned slowly down toward her and she realized he was going to kiss her again, she felt panic. And a hot jolt of desire. Blaine ignited feelings in her that no one else—even Adrian—ever had, and she didn't know what to make of that. She wasn't sure she liked it and…

He's going to kiss me again
, she realized and made one quick, futile effort to pull away, but he slid those iron arms around her and held her even more closely and kissed her before she could squeak a protest.

And kissed her…and kissed her…

Before, she had been cold, but now she was hot. The snow and ice and wind might not have been raging outside the tiny cottage at all; the small, rough chamber might have been carved of gold; the very night might have been blazing day, for all she knew of anything but the power of his kiss, the need that rushed through her, the pleasure that ran
from the top of her hairline to the underside of her dainty little toes. Sweet, hot, dizzying pleasure.

Her arms flew around his neck, and she found she was kissing him back. Ardent, hungry kisses that burned from her soul to his.

Somehow, as the fire flickered and the blue-orange flames cast their shimmering light across Blaine's strong-boned face, she found herself being swept up into his arms and cradled against his chest. It was not the first time this had happened, but it was the most delightful, for this time his lips never left hers as he carried her across the room to the pallet against the wall.

He had spread his cloak upon it earlier when the fire began to blaze, and now he lowered Willow to it as gently as a fresh spring leaf.

“Is this still not as enjoyable as climbing a tree, Willow?” he asked as he leaned across her, lifting his mouth from hers only long enough to gaze down into her eyes.

“I…shall try to decide.” She gasped and pulled him down to her, her mouth seeking his with a boldness she'd never known she possessed. Her very blood seemed to be on fire as he stroked her hair and her throat with tender caresses, and pressed gentle kisses upon her cheeks and eyelids.

Despite Blaine's strength and his powerful body, she wasn't at all frightened by his hungry touches. She was lost in a world of vivid sensations, of sweeping pleasure, as a hot, demanding need began to throb deep inside her feminine core.

“Blaine, this might prove…even more enjoyable than…jousting against King Felix's…men-at-arms,” she whispered with a small laugh, and he laughed along with her.