The Duchess And The Dragon Part 11

"Do you remember when I asked you to find my trunk, while I was sick on board the s.h.i.+p? Well, I've recovered the trunk and some, a little, of the money."

"Someone stole it? And thou foughtest them to get it back?"

"My friend Daniel was with me and it was an easy conquest. Only my own foolishness won me a wounding."

"Let me see." Serena led the way to the back of the house and the separate building that was the kitchen.

Once inside the small, warm room, Drake leaned against the counter and pulled his s.h.i.+rt over his head. He winced as the sleeve pulled against the cut, then held it out for her to examine. "You wouldn't have any brandy, would you?"

Serena shook her head then stopped and thought a minute. "Wait here, I will go and get something from the neighbors. They will have something."

Drake watched her go, her straight spine intent with purpose, the back of her pale neck, slim and elegant, the white cap covering her glorious hair. He closed his eyes and thought of her hair all around her, like a living veil . . .

When she returned bearing a dark bottle, he had to clear his throat before he could speak. Her face was close as she grasped hold of his arm, then tilted the bottle with careful precision over the wound.

It burned, deep into his flesh, but he was so busy watching her face that he barely felt it.

Serena. How to describe her? He wanted to memorize this moment, knowing that they would change, hoping that they would grow old together but knowing that she would never look exactly this way again.

Her skin was ivory, with a rosy tint here and there, a flush on her forehead and cheeks and chin. Eyebrows like wings of reddish gold swooping out, giving her a regal mien when she was serious, and an elfish delight when she was happy and laughing. Her face was oval, her chin a little pointed, and her lips, her lips were the coral of a sh.e.l.l he'd seen once, thin with a delicate curve at the top of the upper lip. No dimples. No, she had lean cheeks and high cheekbones, a rather wide forehead accentuated by the sc.r.a.ping back of her hair to fit it all in the cap.

Suddenly she looked up at him. "What art thou doing, sir?"

Drake smiled, allowed all he felt for her to glow from his eyes. "I am remembering you just as you are now, so I'll have that picture in my mind for years to come."

She stared at him, a deep smile coming into her green eyes, happiness and something else that she'd recently learned-a flirtatious, admiring look-curving her lips. "I would like to do the same."

Drake offered a wicked grin for her answer. "Then you shall. Are you finished with that bandage?"

Serena nodded, looking shy and eager at the same time. She tied the two ends together, making a perfectly fitting bandage over the cut. "'Tis only a flesh wound and should heal in a few days." She washed her hands in a bowl of water, dried them on a muslin towel and then turned to face him, so unsure now, her hands loosely held behind her back, her head down.

"Come here, Serena."

She moved closer, then lifted her face to stare into his eyes.

"Look at me."

She took a deep breath, her hands still safely behind her back, her eyes roaming over his face. He felt himself flush, surprised that he could be embarra.s.sed by something so simple as a woman's scrutiny. And yet, it was as powerful as anything he'd ever imagined.

He watched her study his hair, his eyebrows and forehead, his nose. He grinned then, unable to suppress it, knowing he had such an aristocratic nose, the nose of his Celtic ancestors. She smiled back, her breathing deeper now. Her gaze traveled across his cheeks like she was studying the hollows and planes of a map, then they stopped at his lips. Her lips curved into a slow smile as she took another deep breath.

Pressing her lips together she seemed to force her gaze lower, to his chin, studying the stubble as it grew in a thick patch down his throat. He truly hated shaving and only managed it every other day.

She didn't stop, as he thought she might, as he had. No, her study continued down to his shoulders and then his chest until he thought he might explode- Serena backed up suddenly, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. "What art thou doing to me? What power dost thou have over my mind and heart?"

Drake shook his head. "It is the same for me, love. I am undone."

She stared into his eyes, so many emotions in those beautiful depths: fear . . . longing . . . tenderness . . . more fear. She swallowed hard, the slim column of her throat working. "I do not know what to do. I have painted it. I have gone to meeting and . . . I thought I knew, but . . ."

Drake wanted to take her into his arms and rea.s.sure her. He wanted, more than anything, to kiss her doubts away and tell her that everything would work out perfectly, but he couldn't. Only she could make this decision.

He pushed away from the counter, slipped his s.h.i.+rt over his head and walked toward the door. Turning, he gazed at her, standing there in the late afternoon sun. "I would give up everything to be with you, Serena."

It was the truth and that was the best thing he could

give her.

He turned and walked away.

Chapter Fourteen.

Serena stood at the back of the strange church, the reality of what she was doing chipping away at her happiness, causing the b.u.t.terflies in the pit of her stomach to feel more like bouncing lead b.a.l.l.s instead of a bride's wedding jitters.

There were few to witness their marriage. Gone were all the Birthright Friends that Serena had known since childhood, the foundation of her life. Gone was the guarded fence of her church, leaving her a colt, running free, seeing the world anew with wide, blinking eyes.

Her father had been required to explain their marriage to the Quakers at the monthly business meeting, and Serena hadn't needed to imagine their reactions. They had come, knocking at the Winters' door, shocked and dismayed, squawking at her like chickens whose eggs were s.n.a.t.c.hed away.

At night, lying next to her sister's warm and familiar body, the naysayers' voices rattled about in her dreams, causing her to toss and turn, knowing that little by little the life she'd always known was slipping away. Her mother had finally told them that Serena had heard enough. It was decided. She would be "read out of meeting" and banished. The weight, like a heavy blanket thrown over her head, d.a.m.ned and dampened what she knew should have been the most joyous of times, the planning of her wedding.

Her smile wobbled, but she forced it upright. She had always pictured it so different, playacting with her dolls as a child and then, older, in her imagination. Her dream wedding had always been set against the backdrop of the plain meetinghouse with all the Friends in attendance, faces wreathed in smiles, broad foreheads glistening with the sweat of a summer's day, the bridegroom saying his vows, she saying hers. Then the Friends speaking out their blessings, their convictions for such a couple . . .

But no. This was Drake, and it was early, gusty spring, a time when thunderstorms reigned. And she loved him with everything in her set apart to love.

Mary Ann stood up with her. The rest of her family filled the first row in the pew of Christ Church, a Protestant Episcopal church on Second Street, similar to one Drake would have attended in England. That her parents had entered such a sanctuary in their plain, brown shoes appeared a blunder. But they had. For her.

Drake arranged it all. The license, the church, even a simple dinner and room of their own afterward at a nearby inn. All was in readiness for their beginning. He had no family present, a fact that saddened Serena, but Drake had brought his friend from the voyage, Daniel McLaughlin, to stand witness with him. A charming man who expressed interest in an apprentices.h.i.+p with Serena's father-and had looked overlong at Mary Ann.

Little wonder her father said he had help enough.

With quiet intent, Serena lifted her chin and started down the long, decadent aisle, with its crimson runner of carpet, into the echoing emptiness of the room's vaulted ceilings.

He was waiting for her, looking devastatingly handsome. Dark-blue silk clung to his shoulders, falling into the graceful lines of a coat. His waistcoat was a shade lighter with matching and darker shades of swirling embroidery, a striking white neckcloth fell in neat, starched folds. His hair, dark and unbound, was swept carelessly away from his forehead, waving, framing his face . . . a face and form that was every inch the n.o.bleman he swore he was not. Looking into his eyes, heavy with the promise of a life she could only imagine, she walked on, little but shaky breaths and the conviction of her heart carrying her.

She loved him. She loved him. She loved him.

It was her wedding march.

The sunlight filtered over them into myriad colors, split by the opulence of the stained-gla.s.s windows. Streaks of bright light haloed the altar and Serena inhaled suddenly, feeling as if she was walking out of drab browns and grays into the brilliant colors of life. An intoxicating excitement rose to her throat, threatening sobs. She held them back and inhaled instead, blinking out the tears, reaching him, reaching out for his hand. The strong

warmth of his hand clasped hers like a root grafting with a young plant.

Serena looked up into Drake's eyes, ready to make any vows necessary to make him her own.

DRAKE LOOKED DOWN at his bride, pride nearly crus.h.i.+ng him.

She looked the picture of virtue in a gown the color of dark cream. Her hair sat atop her head in a s.h.i.+ning red-gold ma.s.s of thick braids and curls. A band of small pink rosebuds haloed the curls, their stems a tightly intertwined crown. There was no cap now. Her face was pale and glowing, her neck as graceful as any swan's he had ever seen on the lakes of Northumberland, her delicate collarbones as elegant and stately as the jewels of a queen.

What he wouldn't have done to give her the magnificent London wedding she deserved. He would relish seeing her in rich satin and jewels, the envy of the civilized world. But Serena would never be in London . . . would probably not wish to be, he realized.

Gazing at her beauty, her tranquility, he had a blinding realization that caused him to grasp more tightly to her hand and almost falter as he turned toward the minister: Had he not left all behind, he never would have found her. For the first time, he had something to be thankful for in the wake of his ruined existence. Had he stayed in London, he would have wed one of the haughty women of the ton, a woman in whose eyes he would have seen a hunger that was never satisfied. Instead, he was marrying a woman of quiet strength and faith, all of which gave the very air around her peace.

Was she not worth a dukedom?

Yes. A thousand times yes. That and more. She was worth all that he had gone through to have her.

The ceremony began with the sacraments of communion, something the Friends had rejected, believing that the sacraments of the cross were lived out each day, not in a ceremony. Serena faltered a little when given the ornate golden cup of blood-red wine, but only for a moment. She knew this was only the first of many new things she would now have to embrace.

Her vows were simple and stated with a strong voice that surprised her as she promised to become Drake's. His vows were similar, but stated with such heartfelt conviction that she was, again, moved to tears. Then he pulled a stunning silver ring from his pocket.

She stared at him, lips open, trying to remember to breathe.

He looked down, shy for a moment, then he leaned closer.

"Your father helped me make it," he whispered for her ears only as he slid it onto her finger. She stared at it in awe, never having seen anything so lavish. A silver band that grew in thickness toward its center where the tall silver setting held a huge, square, glittering sapphire with smaller diamonds mounted around about it, the guardians of greatness.

"But I have nothing for you!" She couldn't help feeling devastated at both his generosity and her lack. He smiled, pulling a simple silver band from his pocket and handing it to her. As she studied it she realized it wasn't really simple at all.

This was her father's work.

Burnished silver with an elegant edging, perfect in its simplicity, perfect in strength. She stole a look across her shoulder to her father, who was beaming, a sheen of tears in his eyes as he gave her a quick nod.

He was giving them his blessing. His blessing. Something she'd doubted until now.

At the ceremony's end, Daniel clapped Drake on the shoulder and gave Serena a big kiss square on the mouth, causing her sisters to giggle, wide-eyed, behind their hands. Her parents hung back at first, and then her mother rushed forward to hug them both. Eyes twinkling, MaryAnn slid a paper-wrapped package into Serena's hand and whispered into her ear, "For tonight." At the same time, Serena heard the clinking of coins and saw out of the corner of her eye as her father pressed a heavy leather bag and a folded paper into Drake's hands. "Don't argue-a wedding gift."

It was done. She was now Serena Winslow. Everyone filed out of the church, leaving her and Drake alone together. They rushed out into the cold New England day-and the beginning of their lives. They stood, just outside the doors of the church, hands clasped tightly, and looked up toward the sky as the wind blew against them.

"We should hurry. A storm gathers."

Serena laughed up into her husband's-her husband!-face. "Is it not wonderful?"

Drake shook his head, smiling, the wind tearing at his hat. "The gathering storm?"

She made a great sweep of her arm, giddy in her happiness. "Everything. The storm . . . the night . . . the power of it all." They watched as the web-like clouds, thin, wispy and dark, raced across the lighter gray sky behind them. Suddenly sleet fell from the sky, thunder rolling in the distance. Drake took hold of her hand and they raced to the inn.

"Heaven help me," Drake shouted above the noise, "I have married a thunderstorm lover!"

She laughed in glee as they ran to the music of the thunder, the flas.h.i.+ng of the lightning igniting the sky as if in celebration.

The inn was cozy, well warmed, and thankfully, close to the church. They were shown immediately to the private upper room reserved for them. Serena ran, laughing, to the fire, shaking the rain off her cloak before draping it over the back of a nearby chair where it lay dripping, making a puddle on the hardwood floor. She looked up at him, knowing her face was wet and rosy from their flight.

Drake was busy giving instructions to the serving woman and shaking out his overcoat, but his eyes never left his bride's face. He kissed her lightly on the lips as he pa.s.sed her on the way to hang up his wrap on a peg on the wall. "Let's see about some food, shall we?"

Dinner was soon brought up. Drake directed the placement of the meal and ordered the wine poured with an authority Serena was fast becoming accustomed to and knew was as natural to him as breathing. She leaned her chin onto her palm, watching him from the small table set up for them, their faces reflected in the flickering firelight, hers in grinning fascination as the serving woman curtsied her way out of the room in apparent awe.

"How dost thou do it?"

"Do what, my love?"

"Command such fearsome respect in others."

Drake motioned toward the food and grinned back at her. "If you will sup, madam, I shall tell you all of my secrets."

The heated timbre of his words caused her to s.h.i.+ver. "Secrets, my lord?"

He seemed not to notice her flirtatious tone, and Serena had to wonder if that, too, was as natural to his ears as the trickling of water is to river rock.

He handed her a gla.s.s of wine. "Drink. It will relax you."

She took a sip. "Tell me, why do they all bow and sc.r.a.pe in thy presence?"

Drake shrugged out of his waistcoat, tossing it on the bed as he sat down across from her. He loosened his cravat, a picture of an elegant gentleman at ease. "I have found that if you expect certain standards and speak with the authority of one who is used to expecting those standards, people generally-" he shrugged-"do what is expected." He smiled, one side of his mouth quirking in a way that left Serena a little breathless.

"Very philosophic of thee. May we eat, my lord? I am famished."

Drake frowned, but the smile stayed in his eyes. "You tease me, I know, but . . . call me anything but that."

A glimpse of pain, quickly extinguished, gave her heart a pang. Determined to banish it, she said playfully, "Anything? How about Kitten? Or Peaches?" She laughed as he came around the table and pulled her into his arms.

Kissing her quiet, he murmured. "How about husband. I think I might like the sound of that."

"Hmmm, husband. It fits thee." She leaned back, his strong arm supporting her waist. "I like it that I am the only one who may call thee that."

"Let me take your hair down." His fingers dug into the coif, finding pins and tossing them on the table before she could protest.