siege will be necessary. Once you state that you carry word of their former lord, the gates will open to you. Furthermore, your name and reputation should command the trust and respect of those inside. Tis why I chose you for this honor, Lord Dragon. Enjoy Ayrdale and your new bride.”
“I intend to rename my barony Dragonwyck,” Dominic said with sudden decision. “Lord Dragon of Dragonwyck.” He smiled. “Aye, I like the sound of it.”
Chapter One
A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.
—Gertrude Stein
Dominic’s destrier danced impatiently beneath him as he drew rein at the moat’s edge and stared at the magnificent fortress with its four square crenellated towers honed smooth by decades of wind, rain, snow and sun. Set in a narrow glen between two craggy hills, the stone fortress was surrounded by high walls. Dominic was not pleased to note that the drawbridge securing the keep against invaders was raised, preventing him from entering.
Glancing upward, Dominic saw that the guards on the parapet were looking down at him and his party, but they appeared in no hurry to alert the fortress to his presence or to lower the bridge so he could enter.
A sudden flurry on the battlements alerted Dominic to the fact that his distinctive banner, a rampant black dragon on a red field, had been seen and recognized.
“Think you they will lower the bridge, master?” Raj asked.
Dominic sent Raj a smug smile when he heard the sound of gears and saw that the drawbridge was slowly being lowered.
“You have your answer, Raj.”
Once the bridge was in place, Dominic clattered across, followed closely by Raj and the two score knights attached to his service. Dominic’s smile turned sour, however, when the grilled portcullis remained firmly in place. He reined in sharply and waited, his famous temper growing shorter by the minute.
“A warrior rides out to meet us, master,” Raj said with a hint of amusement.
Dominic saw no reason for levity until his mind registered the fact that the warrior approaching the portcullis was a woman. Tall and shapely, she wielded a sword as if she knew how to use it and wasn’t afraid to do so.
Dominic’s first thought was that this woman was no vassal. A headdress of semitransparent linen covered her head, held in place by a gold circlet. Her golden hair hung free beneath the headdress, proclaiming her an unmarried woman, and a fringe of bangs across her forehead curled seductively beneath the circlet of gold.
Her deep red under-gown had long, fitted sleeves and appeared to be made of the finest wool. Her over-gown of dark blue was belted at the hips with a gold chain and embroidered at the hem in a green, blue and black motif. She reined in at the closed portcullis and aimed a fierce glare at Dominic.If she hadn’t looked so bloodthirsty, Dominic would have laughed at her. She appeared too young to be Fairchild’s widow, so he assumed she was his daughter.
If this was the woman he was to wed, Lord help him!
Rose of Ayrdale stared through the iron grillwork at the knight demanding entrance and knew not what to make of his unexpected appearance. No good would come of his visit, she was sure. Clad from head to toe in chain mail shirt, hood and leggings, he sat his destrier as if he were a part of the magnificent animal. His white linen, knee-length surcoat was belted at the waist with leather, and a broadsword hung in its scabbard from a baldric slung over his right shoulder.
Rose studied the dragon emblem emblazoned on the triangular shield he carried, and frowned. Some thing jogged her memory but was quickly lost when she noted the look of irritation on the knight’s ruggedly handsome face and the spark of anger in his dark eyes. He looked so ferocious, so dangerous, that she brought her heavy sword up defensively.
“Who are you? State your business with Ayrdale and be gone.”
“Who are you?” Dominic challenged.
“A daughter of Ayrdale. What do you want?”
Suddenly a
“I intend to rename my barony Dragonwyck,” Dominic said with sudden decision. “Lord Dragon of Dragonwyck.” He smiled. “Aye, I like the sound of it.”
Chapter One
A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.
—Gertrude Stein
Dominic’s destrier danced impatiently beneath him as he drew rein at the moat’s edge and stared at the magnificent fortress with its four square crenellated towers honed smooth by decades of wind, rain, snow and sun. Set in a narrow glen between two craggy hills, the stone fortress was surrounded by high walls. Dominic was not pleased to note that the drawbridge securing the keep against invaders was raised, preventing him from entering.
Glancing upward, Dominic saw that the guards on the parapet were looking down at him and his party, but they appeared in no hurry to alert the fortress to his presence or to lower the bridge so he could enter.
A sudden flurry on the battlements alerted Dominic to the fact that his distinctive banner, a rampant black dragon on a red field, had been seen and recognized.
“Think you they will lower the bridge, master?” Raj asked.
Dominic sent Raj a smug smile when he heard the sound of gears and saw that the drawbridge was slowly being lowered.
“You have your answer, Raj.”
Once the bridge was in place, Dominic clattered across, followed closely by Raj and the two score knights attached to his service. Dominic’s smile turned sour, however, when the grilled portcullis remained firmly in place. He reined in sharply and waited, his famous temper growing shorter by the minute.
“A warrior rides out to meet us, master,” Raj said with a hint of amusement.
Dominic saw no reason for levity until his mind registered the fact that the warrior approaching the portcullis was a woman. Tall and shapely, she wielded a sword as if she knew how to use it and wasn’t afraid to do so.
Dominic’s first thought was that this woman was no vassal. A headdress of semitransparent linen covered her head, held in place by a gold circlet. Her golden hair hung free beneath the headdress, proclaiming her an unmarried woman, and a fringe of bangs across her forehead curled seductively beneath the circlet of gold.
Her deep red under-gown had long, fitted sleeves and appeared to be made of the finest wool. Her over-gown of dark blue was belted at the hips with a gold chain and embroidered at the hem in a green, blue and black motif. She reined in at the closed portcullis and aimed a fierce glare at Dominic.If she hadn’t looked so bloodthirsty, Dominic would have laughed at her. She appeared too young to be Fairchild’s widow, so he assumed she was his daughter.
If this was the woman he was to wed, Lord help him!
Rose of Ayrdale stared through the iron grillwork at the knight demanding entrance and knew not what to make of his unexpected appearance. No good would come of his visit, she was sure. Clad from head to toe in chain mail shirt, hood and leggings, he sat his destrier as if he were a part of the magnificent animal. His white linen, knee-length surcoat was belted at the waist with leather, and a broadsword hung in its scabbard from a baldric slung over his right shoulder.
Rose studied the dragon emblem emblazoned on the triangular shield he carried, and frowned. Some thing jogged her memory but was quickly lost when she noted the look of irritation on the knight’s ruggedly handsome face and the spark of anger in his dark eyes. He looked so ferocious, so dangerous, that she brought her heavy sword up defensively.
“Who are you? State your business with Ayrdale and be gone.”
“Who are you?” Dominic challenged.
“A daughter of Ayrdale. What do you want?”
Suddenly a
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