Chapter Five – Poppy

He watched her. And when he wasn’t watching her, he was looking at their son. She longed to ask him what he was thinking. Was he going to give them sanctuary?

That thought stuck in her head, and made fear creep though her body. He would give Charlie sanctuary, she had no doubt about that. How could he not, when he knew his blood flowed through the child’s veins? But Poppy? Poppy was simply the woman who had given birth to that child.

She chose to ignore the theft of the Heartsfire Blade. She was tired of going around and around in circles in her head, trying to decide if she should tell him all that she knew about the people who had made her steal it. It dredged up too many memories she had spent years trying to bury, shoveling dirt on all the hurt, pain, and betrayal she felt over the whole episode.

If she told George Lancaster she had been played, she would not get any sympathy. More likely he would pour scorn on her for being so stupid, so naive, so… trusting. Like a gullible fool, she had been sucked into one of her brother’s plots and schemes once more. Hadn’t she spent the whole of her childhood learning what a despicable human being he was, always willing to use others for his own gains?

“The boy should sleep,” George said, as he finished his coffee. He had made some sandwiches, which she had forced herself to eat. Not because there was anything wrong with them, but because her stomach churned with nerves.

Since they had slid off the road, she had been intently focused on getting here. From finding George Lancaster’s address, to getting on the bus, to making sure Charlie had food. Now that she was here, the consequences were starting to pile up. She had placed herself and Charlie in the hands of a man who was shrewd and deadly when it came to business. That much she had learned from searching the internet while looking for his address.

Meeting him had reinforced what she had read. He wasn’t the same man she had met five years ago. Yes, he still made her insides squirm with desire when he looked at her, and his body was still the same, muscles hewn from stone, that his expensive shirt could not disguise. But there was a hardness to his expression, and guilt swept over her. She had to admit to herself that she was the cause of that hardness. Stealing that damn blade had set them both on a path, hers to the top of a mountain, his to the top of an empire. Neither were paths they would likely choose if they were free to make their own decisions.

But no matter how many times she told him she was sorry, it was never going to be enough. She would have to make the best of the situation, and if he let her stay, she would learn to tolerate the snide comments, she would learn to shoulder the accusations he threw at her. Anything to stay with Charlie. The small boy, now half asleep in his chair, was worth every sacrifice she had made so far, and every future sacrifice she might have to make. Even the ones demanded by George Lancaster.

“Do you want to carry him?” Poppy asked, as Charlie nodded his head toward the table.

George looked at her as if she might have an ulterior motive—she’d get used to that, and she could not blame him—but where Charlie was concerned her motives were always pure. Poppy hoped to one day make George see that, but right now she was just too damn tired.

“It’s been a long couple of days, and I ache in every muscle,” she admitted. “I don’t want to risk dropping him.”

George nodded and moved to stand next to Charlie, who looked up at the big man, the stranger he had only just met. But instead of being shy, he raised his arms, and George lifted him up. Cradling Charlie against his chest, he looked down at the child and inhaled his scent. Was that why Charlie was so relaxed in his father’s arms? He could smell that they were family.

The sight wrenched her gut. Would she lose her son to his father? Two dragons… She reached out and grabbed the countertop, her knees weak. George moved fast, his left hand reaching out and grabbing her elbow to keep her upright.

“I’m OK.” Poppy inhaled deeply. “Just tired.”

“Come.” George released her, and she felt the loss of his presence as he turned his back on her and walked away with their son. It was the weirdest sensation for Poppy. She had been the center of Charlie’s world for so long, and he had been the center of hers. Now that had changed, irrevocably. It would never be just the two of them. Those days were gone.

No matter what happened, she could never run again, never take Charlie away from his father. As she followed George back upstairs, she accepted her fate, whatever it would be now she had handed her son’s safety over to George Lancaster. He would protect Charlie.

As George opened the door of what must be a guest bedroom, and laid Charlie down on the bed, she watched a wave of tenderness wash over his face, only to be replaced almost instantly by a hard, resolute expression. Poppy quickly took over, taking off Charlie’s shoes and his jeans, leaving him to sleep in his T-shirt. Then she kissed him goodnight and pulled the covers up over him.

George stood back, watching her, and when she had finished, he leaned forward and murmured, “Goodnight, Charlie.”

He left the room, pausing at the door, waiting for her to follow. Poppy took one last look at her son, and prayed he would be safe. If she had broken into the house, what if someone else did the same? What if someone kidnapped him? Was there anywhere safe in the world?

“He will be OK,” George said. “The alarm is on.”

Poppy nodded. “Good night, Charlie bear,” she whispered and then left the room.

George turned and walked down the hallway. Poppy stood watching him, not knowing what she was supposed to do. Did he want her to follow?

Realizing she wasn’t behind him, he stopped and turned to her. “Come. We need to talk.”

Obediently, she walked after him, her insides churning and her breathing ragged as she wondered what fate he had in store for her. She was at his mercy. Running wasn’t an option. Steeling herself to accept whatever punishment he might decide to issue for… well, everything, she followed him, only stalling when, instead of going downstairs, he stopped at his bedroom door.

“I thought you wanted to talk,” she said her voice high.

“I do.”

“Then maybe we should go downstairs… Maybe coffee.”

“You do not need caffeine in your system,” George insisted.

“I’m not so sure.” She took a step back, heading for the stairs.

“Poppy, that is not a request,” he said, and kicked the door open, while not taking his eyes off her.

Poppy stood her ground, but his unwavering stare made her realize this was not a battle she was going to win. With a sigh, she walked towards him, slipping past him into his bedroom. Her body heated up at the thought of what was going to happen between them. All those sleepless nights spent dreaming of his hands on her body, his mouth kissing her, tongue licking her… She blushed at those thoughts, a tremor of desire passing through her.

She wanted him. She could no more deny that knowledge than she could deny the love she felt for Charlie.

“Why did you come here?” George asked.

“I told you. We need your help.” She sighed. “We need your protection.”

“From who?” George asked.

There he had her. If she told him whom she was running from, she would also have to reveal whom she stole the dagger for. The whole shameful story would pour out of her mouth.

“You want me to protect you, but you won’t tell me who from?” George asked.

“Does it matter who it is?” she asked.

He snorted and turned away, shaking his head. “It does to me. And I thought you actually wanted to protect the child. But not as much as you want to protect yourself.” He turned back to her, his eyes flashing green. “Or do you protect a lover?”

“No,” she said hoarsely, full of shame. Shame for wanting to protect her brother from this man before her, despite the way he had betrayed her. And why? Because she had promised their parents she always would, and she hated breaking promises. Yet her loyalty was misplaced.

George raked his hand through his hair, and turned from her, heading out of the door. “Bathe, and then sleep. We will speak of this in the morning. I hope you use the time to think about whose side you are truly on. If not, I may have to think carefully about keeping you under the same roof as my son.”

His words cut her deeply. George Lancaster was going to make her choose. Her son and his father, or her brother. There would be no contest. Poppy was sure they both knew that.

The door closed behind him, and she stood in the middle of the room, listening to the sounds of the house. Then she went to the bathroom and filled the bath with hot water. She could not remember the last time she had sat in a bath full of water; on the mountain all water had to be carried from the water pump and heated on an open fire. She had soon got used to washing in minimal amounts of water.

But tonight, she was going to spoil herself. Poppy closed her eyes and let go of all her thoughts and fears. She would take everything as it came, one moment at a time.

Getting out of the bath, she dried herself off and went back into the bedroom, expecting to find him there. When he wasn’t, she experienced an inexplicable wave of disappointment.

Hoping he wouldn’t mind her borrowing his clothes, she went to his closet and took out a large T-shirt. With it nearly reaching her knees, and her damp hair hanging around her shoulders, she left the bedroom and tip-toed down the hallway to check on Charlie.

She stood in the doorway and listened to his breathing: it was so familiar, so comforting. Hoping she had made the right decision to come here, and still trying to figure out how her mountain refuge had been discovered, she padded back to George’s bedroom and slipped into his bed.

Sleep took her, but somewhere in her dreams, he was there, holding her tenderly. If only that could be her reality, instead of the man who looked at her as if she were the worst person on Earth.

Which, to him, she was.