Pendragon

And, at the very bottom of things, she knew she didn't know him very well at all.

She pulled away and looked back toward Pendragon, a magnificent heap of gray stone fashioned into a lasting structure that was more a castle than not. It was big, overpowering, it would surely make an enemy pause, and they had held Cromwell off the first time. Yes, Pendragon dominated everything around it, including nature, and it was, she thought, watching a dark cloud chase across it, menacing. It had secrets, perhaps even secret passages. One could only hope. She shivered, but she was smiling.

Meggie lay in her bed, wide-awake. Thomas had loved her, then leaned over her and said, "I think I want to sleep in my own bed tonight. Good night."

And he'd kissed her mouth one last time and left her.

There was moonlight spilling in through the windows, and it was beautiful. It was also frightening, that moonlight. It cast strange shadows on all those white walls.

Why had he changed his mind? He'd made love with her, and she'd felt flooded with pleasure and with something that was deeper, something that made her want to cry with the power of it. She'd thought he'd felt the same things. Evidently not.

She shivered beneath the thick covers. It was turning cold, a storm was coming, and very soon now, a big storm with lightning, pounding thunder and torrents of wild rain. But the moon was still so bright. She felt tears sting her eyes and swallowed. She wanted him beside her. What was wrong?

"Damn you, Thomas," she said, then willed herself to sleep. She'd written to her father and Mary Rose, telling them about Pendragon, the lovely stretch of coastline, asking for recipes, asking Alec and Rory to write a cooking song for her, praising, for example, a buttock of beef done in the French way. She'd sounded happy because she pe

Her mother-in-law had read from her journal, dated from the fall of 1808, for two hours, without pause. Unfortunately it was in French and Meggie understood perhaps one word in five. She'd finally rolled her eyes toward her husband, and he had stood up and taken her hand. "Meggie is very tired, Mother."

They'd left William, his mother and Madeleine, her journal still open, in the drawing room. Barnacle was hovering just outside. He said, shaking his head, "I remember it was five years ago now, she read those very same pages. It was 1808, was it not?"

"It was," Meggie said. "You've an excellent memory, Barnacle. Do you speak French?"

"One must when one's back hurts this much," and he screwed up his face into such agony, that Meggie automatically stepped forward.

"I'll walk on your back tomorrow, if you wish, Barnacle. Did today help?"

"A bit, milady, a meager bit. Naturally I speak French."

Meggie fell asleep. She didn't know what woke her, but it was something she hadn't heard before in this strange house. A mouse scurrying across the wooden floor? A moth trapped against the windowpane? Just the crackle and heaviness of thunder in the air, not quite ready to strike yet?

She was suddenly very afraid.

Chapter 24

MEGGIE LAY THERE, eyes wide open, perfectly still, adjusting her hearing, her vision. Waiting, waiting for another sound. The moonlight no longer sliced into the white room. There were only clouds now cloaking the sky, thick, bloated, black as the bottom of a cauldron. It was nearly black inside the bedchamber. The storm was here, the wind coming hard through the partially open window, too cold now. Rain would begin any time now. She'd heard nothing, for how long now?

She'd been a fool. She started to get up to close the window when she heard it again. It wasn't a scurrying sound, it was quite something else. It was close, very close. Too close. She didn't see anything. But that didn't matter. She rolled to the side of the bed that gave onto the dressing room, and when she jumped up, she tangled in the covers. She staggered, fighting to get free of the covers, when suddenly lightning lit up the black sky, once, again, and then the thunder rolled and boomed, making Pendragon shudder as those huge hits shook it to the ground. She heard someone's intake of breath, and that someone was right behind her, she could hear the breathing, low and fast and something else, something-She yelled even as she whirled about to see who was there.

She saw something, it was black, a figure, and then something struck her hard on the side of her head. She slid down into the pile of covers that she'd pulled off the bed.

"Meggie!"

She thought she heard a man's voice, but she wasn't all that sure and what's more, she didn't really care. She felt warm and safe and there was nothing to touch her, nothing at all.

"Meggie! Damnation, wake up! What the hell's wrong? Wake up!"

The man slapped her face, and not light taps either, he really smacked her good, and it made her so mad that she reared right up and said in his face, "Don't hit me again or I'll clout you back."

Thomas said, "Good, that's better. Please don't clout me. Are you all right?"

"I must think about that."

"Jesus, Meggie, I heard you scream, thought the thunder and lightning frightened you. I'm sorry I slapped you so hard, but I was scared, you wouldn't wake up." He grabbed her against him. She felt his pounding heart beneath her cheek.

She said against his shoulder, "You really heard me scream? I didn't know if I managed to get it out before whoever it was hit me on the side of the head with something hard."

His breath caught in his throat and he coughed, and continued to cough until Meggie got herself together enough to hit him on the back.

"What did you say?" he finally got out, his voice a croak. "Oh God, you're bleeding." He stared at her blood, wetting two of his fingers. He was up in a flash, hauling her in his arms and gently laying her out on the bed, as if for burial. She expected him to fold her hands over her breast, but he didn't. "Don't move." And off he went, lit a candle, then searched every inch of the White Room. He closed the window, as rain was blowing into the room. A huge strike of lightning filled the room with light. He still saw nothing. He pulled the draperies closed over the battering rain. Then he opened the bedchamber door and went into the corridor. It was some minutes before he was back.

"No sign of anyone." He placed the candle on the small table just beside the bed, and leaned over to gently ease her hair away from the wound.

He cursed, fluently, with great variety, she thought, and she asked, "Did you make those things up?"

"Make what up? Are you all right, Meggie?"

"The curses, all those incredible uses of animal body parts, did you make them up?"

He gri

Meggie bit her bottom lip and yelped. "I'm sorry, just a bit, not bad-"

"All right. Be quiet, I'm going to get you cleaned up. Don't move, Meggie."

She didn't. Her head was starting to pound and truth be told, she felt light-headed. The wispy candlelight was wavering, the white walls were shimmying a bit, now leaning to the right.

"Oh dear," she said, and held up her hand in front of her face.

"Meggie, what are you doing?"

"I want to see if I can count my fingers."

"Damn," he said, then pulled the covers over her. "Whoever hit you, knocked you out, and that can be dangerous. Now, count my fingers. How many am I holding up?"

"I believe there are three fingers there. Do you know, Thomas, all of those fingers you're waving about have touched me very intimately?"

"Well, yes, I suppose that's true."