Margaret.
“Yes, look,” said Cathryn, turning her head to show her the lovely piece. She turned back with a smile. “Favian said that you instructed him to give it to me.”
“Ah, yes, of course! How forgetful I am becoming. You are most welcome, my dear.” She met Cathryn’s grin with a bland expression. “How was your afternoon?” she enquired.
“Interesting,” said Cathryn. “Favian joined me as I was walking in the woods.” She paused a moment. “We saw a dragon,” she added.
“Ouch, look at that!” exclaimed Margaret, pulling a bleeding finger away from her work. “How careless of me.” Laying the canvas aside, she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed the tiny wound. “A dragon, did you say?”
“Yes,” said Cathryn. “I didn’t even believe dragons existed before today. It seemed to make Favian very angry, however.”
“He was probably concerned about the flocks,” said Margaret, examining her finger closely.
“Maybe,” said Cathryn, her tone doubtful. She watched Margaret as she continued to dab at her finger, her attention focused on the tiny puncture, before finally putting the handkerchief aside and picking up her needlepoint once more.
“Do you fear the dragon?” Cathryn asked.
“Fear it? No. The dragons around here would never intentionally hurt someone at Drake Manor.”
“Dragons? How many are there?”
“I meant dragon, of course. Just one.”
“So would the dragon hurt someone beyond Drake Manor?”
Margaret laid her needlepoint aside with a sigh, and looked at Cathryn.
“There is no need to fear the dragon, Cathryn. It will not hurt you.”
“But how do you know that? It is a wild beast.”
“You need to trust me when I say there is nothing to fear. I can say no more.” Cathryn stared at Margaret as she picked up her needlepoint once more. She felt more confused than ever, and after another few minutes she excused herself and headed to her room.
Cathryn did not see Favian again that evening, and after a quiet meal, she retired to her room, pleading a headache. It had been a confusing, exhausting day, bringing with it a host of questions that remained unresolved, and she felt quite overwrought. She longed for the peace of a restful slumber, but sleep eluded her, and as the hours passed, she tossed and turned in her bed. She was still awake when Margaret and Owain climbed the stairs, their voices muted. They passed her room and moments later she heard the soft clicking of the door to their chambers.
Still later she heard other footsteps mount the stairs. They stopped outside her door, and she held her breath, listening. She thought she heard a hand laid gently on the door, but couldn’t be sure, and a few moments later the person moved away, their footsteps fading down the passage.
She listened as the house creaked and groaned, settling itself for the night, before finally growing quiet as the servants found their pallets in the hall below and settled down to sleep. She heard an owl hooting in a tree near her window, and she shivered, remembering the night she had walked with her father from the Bradshaws’. Was there a dragon in the alley that night? she wondered. The questions kept coming as the events of the day slipped through her exhausted mind, mulling around like the ingredients in a witches’ brew, conjuring uncanny thoughts but bringing no answers.
The sky was already starting to lighten when she finally fell into a restless sleep, the thoughts pursuing her into her dreams. She was trapped, surrounded by flames while overhead a dragon was roaring, flying closer and closer in tight circles, its claws extended as it neared her. There was no escape from the flames, and she looked around in terror. Beyond the flames stood Aaron and Favian, one on either side. “Favian,” she cried out, “help me.” He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, and looked at her with an odd mixture of pity and disdain. “Help me,” she cried
“Yes, look,” said Cathryn, turning her head to show her the lovely piece. She turned back with a smile. “Favian said that you instructed him to give it to me.”
“Ah, yes, of course! How forgetful I am becoming. You are most welcome, my dear.” She met Cathryn’s grin with a bland expression. “How was your afternoon?” she enquired.
“Interesting,” said Cathryn. “Favian joined me as I was walking in the woods.” She paused a moment. “We saw a dragon,” she added.
“Ouch, look at that!” exclaimed Margaret, pulling a bleeding finger away from her work. “How careless of me.” Laying the canvas aside, she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed the tiny wound. “A dragon, did you say?”
“Yes,” said Cathryn. “I didn’t even believe dragons existed before today. It seemed to make Favian very angry, however.”
“He was probably concerned about the flocks,” said Margaret, examining her finger closely.
“Maybe,” said Cathryn, her tone doubtful. She watched Margaret as she continued to dab at her finger, her attention focused on the tiny puncture, before finally putting the handkerchief aside and picking up her needlepoint once more.
“Do you fear the dragon?” Cathryn asked.
“Fear it? No. The dragons around here would never intentionally hurt someone at Drake Manor.”
“Dragons? How many are there?”
“I meant dragon, of course. Just one.”
“So would the dragon hurt someone beyond Drake Manor?”
Margaret laid her needlepoint aside with a sigh, and looked at Cathryn.
“There is no need to fear the dragon, Cathryn. It will not hurt you.”
“But how do you know that? It is a wild beast.”
“You need to trust me when I say there is nothing to fear. I can say no more.” Cathryn stared at Margaret as she picked up her needlepoint once more. She felt more confused than ever, and after another few minutes she excused herself and headed to her room.
Cathryn did not see Favian again that evening, and after a quiet meal, she retired to her room, pleading a headache. It had been a confusing, exhausting day, bringing with it a host of questions that remained unresolved, and she felt quite overwrought. She longed for the peace of a restful slumber, but sleep eluded her, and as the hours passed, she tossed and turned in her bed. She was still awake when Margaret and Owain climbed the stairs, their voices muted. They passed her room and moments later she heard the soft clicking of the door to their chambers.
Still later she heard other footsteps mount the stairs. They stopped outside her door, and she held her breath, listening. She thought she heard a hand laid gently on the door, but couldn’t be sure, and a few moments later the person moved away, their footsteps fading down the passage.
She listened as the house creaked and groaned, settling itself for the night, before finally growing quiet as the servants found their pallets in the hall below and settled down to sleep. She heard an owl hooting in a tree near her window, and she shivered, remembering the night she had walked with her father from the Bradshaws’. Was there a dragon in the alley that night? she wondered. The questions kept coming as the events of the day slipped through her exhausted mind, mulling around like the ingredients in a witches’ brew, conjuring uncanny thoughts but bringing no answers.
The sky was already starting to lighten when she finally fell into a restless sleep, the thoughts pursuing her into her dreams. She was trapped, surrounded by flames while overhead a dragon was roaring, flying closer and closer in tight circles, its claws extended as it neared her. There was no escape from the flames, and she looked around in terror. Beyond the flames stood Aaron and Favian, one on either side. “Favian,” she cried out, “help me.” He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, and looked at her with an odd mixture of pity and disdain. “Help me,” she cried
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