About a Dragon

Outrageously arrogant, too. But it amused her. Mostly because she didn’t have to live with that every day. If she did, she might kill him in his sleep—once she was done with him, of course.

Still, she should have never spoken to him. Strangers didn’t come through this little village often and it had gotten worse in the last three years. Even with one of the main travel roads cutting close by, less than a day’s foot travel away, the traders and travelers who once came often, came no more.

Those in the village recently started to blame her for the lack of outsider gold. Of course, lately they’d been blaming her for everything. A cow died…her fault. A child caught the brain fever…her fault. One of the village women twisted an ankle…

Apparently everything was her fault. My, she never knew she had such awesome powers.

Aye, their lack of kindness made speaking to the strange knight from parts unknown easy, but a dangerous chance to take. He would feel no need to protect her or respect the bonds of her marriage bed. Yet, she simply couldn’t help herself. He’d been so outrageously ridiculous he made her smile. And, the gods knew, she didn’t smile often.

She doubted she’d see him again, but he would be a nice memory to hold on to.

Finally, her husband pushed her away with an angry snarl.

“Evil bitch, what have you done to me?”

She strained herself trying not to sigh in annoyance. This conversation had become tiresome ten years ago, now it neared intolerable.

“I know not of what you speak, husband.”

He stood, knocking the chair over in the process. “Lying bitch! You’ve hexed me or something! I get near you and…” He gritted his teeth and glanced down at his groin.

“I don’t understand, husband.” She barely reined in her sarcasm. Barely. “From what I understand many of the ladies have been lucky enough to find out what a steed you are in bed. I assumed you’d merely tired of me.”

Then he was there, his hand raised. She didn’t flinch, which is what he wanted. But she knew he’d never follow through. He’d only hit her once and quickly learned never to do it again. Of course, since then, he’d looked at her like a demon incarnate.

Just like now.

Unwilling to take the risk, he turned over the dining table and stormed out into the night. Tomorrow, he’d return with muttered apologizes and it would all start once more in a month or two.

For sixteen years this had been her life and it would continue to be her life until told otherwise.

With a sigh, she righted the table, cleaned up the mess, ate a little of her own dinner—without the herbs she’d put in her husband’s meal—cleaned the grime of the day off her body, put on her white nightdress—after securing the dagger tied to her thigh—and finally crawled into bed.

As she drifted to sleep she thought of violet eyes and arrogant men in chainmail.

Chapter Two

They dragged her from bed before the two suns even rose over the Caffyn Mountains. She fought as best she could, but the noose they’d wrapped around her throat cut off her ability to breathe, weakening her. And they bound her hands tightly with coarse rope because they feared she’d cast a spell on them. She had none to cast, but what really annoyed her was her inability to get the dagger still tied to her thigh.

Of course, only she would get an entire town to try and kill her. Nice one, idiot.

Strong men threw the end of the rope over a sturdy branch and slowly pulled her off her feet. They didn’t want her to die too quickly. They wanted to watch her hang for a while, and it looked like they’d prepared a pyre for a good, old-fashioned witch burning.

Lovely.

The man she called husband screamed at her. He screamed how she was a witch. How she was evil. How they all knew the truth about her and now she would pay. If she weren’t fighting for her life, she’d roll her eyes in annoyance.

But what truly galled her…what set her teeth absolutely on edge—other than choking to death—was that the goddess who sent her here all those years ago was the same one leaving her to die.

She thought the evil bitch would at least protect her until she finally accomplished what she needed her to do. What she’d been training to do since she was sixteen.

But Talaith, Daughter of Haldane, had learned long ago that no one was to be trusted. No one would ever protect her. No one would ever do anything but use her. Eventually she’d learned to trust no one but herself.

Of course a few allies might have helped you this day, Talaith.

She coughed and squirmed in her bonds, praying her neck would finally just break. She would definitely rather not die by burning. Talaith never considered flame a witch’s best friend.

As she wondered what it would take to snap her neck using her own body weight, she saw him.

He stood out like a jewel among pigs. Her arrogant, handsome knight, still in his chainmail with the bright red surcoat over it, but without the black cape he wore that shielded part of his face and hair from her sight. She wasn’t sure if it were her imagination or if her impending death had made her sight untrustworthy, but he had—silver? —yes. He had glossy silver hair that reached past his knees. But it wasn’t the silver hair of an old man. This beauty couldn’t be more than thirty winters. At most.

Gods, and he was a beauty. The most beautiful thing Talaith had ever seen. Well, at least she’d leave this world with something pretty for her last vision.

He walked up to one of the townsfolk and motioned toward her.