He was half a head taller than Malcolm, with a shock of blonde hair that somehow always seemed to make his green eyes a little greener. His gaze was keenly intelligent, drinking in his surroundings with a presence that meant he easily got everyone’s attention on himself. It didn’t hurt that he was lean but muscular and an impeccable dresser. Safe to say, he intimidated Malcolm in every way a fellow dragon could be intimidating. He also happened to be a formidable swordsman.
“Ready for a bout in the circle then, highness?” Sir Patrick winked.
“A moment spared for refreshments,” Malcolm replied. “And then I will be more than happy to wipe the floor with you.”
There was a rather remarkable change that came over Malcolm whenever he got a sword in his hand. He was not one for daily confrontation the way some dragons were. A blade about to sing its song through the air had the same effect on him as Iona’s presence did, leveling him out and reminding him what he was capable of. Telling him that no matter how inadequate he might sometimes feel, he was capable of this. As formidable as Patrick was, as good as Iona had gotten, Malcolm knew he was better.
“If you’re using magic, does that mean we’re all allowed to?” Patrick asked, cocking an eyebrow at how he clearly thought Malcolm had broken every rule in the book. “Nicely fought,” he added with a slight bow to Iona, who blushed from the roots of her hair down to the base of her neck.
“Thank you, Sir Patrick,” she said, looking as though she wished she could be anywhere in the castle, anywhere at all, except for in the spot where she now stood.
“Iona of Lakely,” Sir Patrick said, thoughtful. “Do I recognize you from somewhere?”
“Yes, she is a castle maid,” Lady Shannon said, tone casual but each word clipped so the comment sounded dismissive.
Malcolm hoped that, to her, Iona’s status was neither here nor there, but he had a feeling he was missing a point to the equation. There was something implied in the perceived dismissal that spoke of exactly how flummoxed she was by the presence of a maid in their midst. A maid that was allowed to speak and exist and breathe the same air. Malcolm did not wish to believe the lady capable of such pettiness—she had always treated everyone around her with kindness and respect—but he had to concede that those had been people of her own class. And if she ever dealt with the lower classes with patience and fortitude, it was in situations where clear boundaries existed.
He was crossing every social boundary ever put down between the highborn and those who were not. In light of this, he could forgive her confusion. She was certain to come around. Should Iona choose to become a courtier, they would be equals.
“She is a fine and upstanding member of our society, Lady Shannon,” he offered. “What she does for an occupation should be of little consequence, but isn’t it refreshing with a woman who is thrifty?”
He could practically hear Iona suppress her gag reflex next to him and kept from glancing at her. He didn’t want to see the look on her face. There would most likely be soft disdain for how he was talking her up as though she had asked him to. She was very sensitive of appearing as though she was seeking anyone else’s approval.
“Yes, I’m very good with chores,” she said, every word carrying a tartness that sent goosebumps up his arms. He was definitely getting an earful that evening.
Lady Shannon merely made an ‘ah’ noise, eyebrows raised, seemingly having no further desire to linger on the subject. She turned instead to Sir Patrick, and the two of them excused themselves.
He watched them go, determined to somehow forge a bridge between the two females. He wanted them to get along. In fact, it was imperative to his future happiness that they did.
Then Iona’s fist connected with his arm, and he turned wide eyes on her.
“Ow,” he said.
“Thrifty,” she muttered.
He made an apologetic face. “Yes, that was an ill-advised word choice,” he admitted.
“You made me sound like a street peddler or caravan salesman,” she said.
“You’re right. I heard it as I said it. Forgive me.”
“Maybe someday,” she said. “If you are truly lucky.”
He smiled then, and she did as well. They both knew she could never stay mad at him for long.
“You won’t be able to use magic at the tournament, you know,” she said.
The words stung, especially since she had been helping him train for the past several months and knew how hard he had worked to prepare himself. “Hadn’t even thought it,” he stated earnestly, a wondering note that asked her why she would even make such a comment, but then he noticed her set jaw.
She knew very well that he would never dream of sitting up on a horse with a lance and risking another man’s life by taking him off guard with the forbidden interference of magic. This was really about how she was truly vexed that he hadn’t kept to the same sense of honor while fighting her.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he said. “I swear it.”
“Better get in there or Sir Patrick may begin to combat the balustrade and we both remember what that did both to the wood and to his sword last time,” she said. “Well, I only know because I surveyed the damage the next day. Not as though I was here to play spectator.”
“You’re here now,” he remarked with a small smile.
She held his gaze, returning the smile, and he felt how genuinely happy he was that she was there, among people he knew she felt uncomfortable around, doing her best to keep up the appearance that she felt at ease. He would have to leave her while facing Sir Patrick, and he raised a hand to get Lady Shannon’s attention.
