Chapter Eleven #2
The path from the slope ended at the cavern.
Delia retraced her steps and then bypassed the place where she had awakened.
Beyond that, the slope became a ledge wide enough to be called a field.
Delia walked on for perhaps ten minutes, ignoring her aches, which did not seem to be anchored in any one part of her body but still felt like a thousand lacerations.
She crossed the field and walked along a path on the other side. Though the view changed with each bend in the path, the contents of that view remained the same. Lake. Mountains. Grass. Trees.
No sign of habitation. No hint that humans had ever been here or would ever come.
She might be in some wild untouched part of England, or she could be anywhere else in the world.
No. Not quite anywhere else. The plants and birds she could see were familiar, and the weather did not have the extreme cold she understood to belong to northern climes nor the heat of the tropics.
It was coming on to rain. She had better get back to the cave before the dragon found her missing. He had been pleasant enough so far—even polite, which seemed like a strange word to use in reference to a dragon. Still, she did not want to make him angry.
With nothing else to do, she decided to explore her temporary home.
There was her own cave, of course, with the prepared bed and, she found, a bundle that proved to be a pile of women’s clothes, still attached to a clothesline.
Despite her dire circumstances, she giggled at the mental image of her dignified dragon flying through the air trailing a clothesline full of skirts, bodices, and petticoats—for she guessed that he had stolen someone’s washing to provide her with clothing.
She moved on to check the rest of the complex. Four of the caves were empty of anything except rocks, lichen, dust, and possibly insects. One appeared to go on and on into the hill. She ventured only until she risked losing the flicker of light from the fire.
She would not explore it yet. She would need some sort of torch, but it might give her an escape route. And even if it led nowhere useful, she might be able to use it as a refuge from the dragon, if it was long enough and had bends to protect her from dragon fire.
The smallest cave had been used for storage, and showed that the cavern had been a home, or at least a shelter, to humans before now.
Several boxes proved to contain useful tools and other items, all carefully wrapped in spelled cloth to protect them from insects and damp.
She retrieved a couple of cooking pots, a kettle, a cooking knife, a mug, and eating utensils, as well as a leather bucket in which to fetch water and two more blankets.
She lugged one of the boxes out into the cavern and set the cooking things on it.
If she could find or catch anything to eat, at least she had the means to cook.
She filled the bucket at the little waterfall that splashed down the mountain just beyond the mouth of the cavern, put some of the water into the kettle, and set it close to the fire.
She tidied up the bracken in her own cave and used the blankets to finish making up her bed. Then she untangled the garments from the line, folding them neatly as she went.
One of the other boxes in the storage cave held food staples—salt, pepper, even tea.
There was no teapot, but she put two teaspoons of tea into one of the smaller pots, poured boiling water onto it, and covered it with the lid.
More of the boiling water went into a wash bowl with some of the cold water from the bucket.
A good wash and a cup of tea, and she would be ready to face what came next. She hoped.
She was sitting on a box by the fire drinking her tea when she heard a noise outside the cavern—something between a gurgle and a roar, but definitely the dragon. Scraping sounds followed—the cavern entrance was a tight squeeze for the mighty creature.
And here he was, first his head, and then, inch by inch, the rest of him.
He was carrying something in his mouth, and he held one foreleg close to his chest. He laid both burdens down, one at Delia’s feet, and one several yards away. He then straightened, balanced on his hind legs and his tail, and looked around the cavern.
Perhaps it was Delia’s imagination, but she thought the tawny eyes expressed approval.
They were now looking at her in expectation. Ah! He wanted her to examine what he had brought. At her feet was a basket. She could see a dead rabbit and a fish. He had brought her food!
She picked the basket up and moved things around to see a turnip, several carrots, and a cabbage, the latter still with its root clump and the rest with their leaves, as if the dragon had hauled them all from the ground. Which, she supposed, he had.
“Thank you,” she said. “I can make the rabbit into a stew and can bake the fish.”
The dragon bowed again and then made his pointing gesture to the other package.
How he had done it she could not imagine, but he had brought her a fresh loaf of bread, wrapped in paper.
Goodness gracious! She supposed a pat of butter and a jar of jam was too much even for her dragon, but she was thankful for what he had managed.
“I am very grateful,” she assured him, “but I hope the original owners of the bread, the vegetables and the clothing were not too discomforted.” Presumably the rabbit and the fish were wild caught, and she had a sudden mental picture of the dragon silently swooping on the unlucky creatures.
Delia was country-reared and hungry. She would not waste time feeling sorry for a rabbit and a fish, but she did worry about the country women who were, presumably, missing clothes, vegetables, and a delicious-looking loaf of bread.
However, the dragon stretched his lips and showed his teeth in what was presumably intended as a grin. He reached out a claw to a pebble on the floor. The emerald shimmer that always surrounded him flared in a flash of impossible color, and when it faded, the pebble shone like gold.
It was gold! Delia picked it up, and it was twice as heavy as she expected and easily dented.
“You paid for what you took,” she guessed.
The dragon nodded.
She had a second worry. “Will it change back like the fairy gold of legend?” That wouldn’t be fair, but the dragon shook his head, which eased her conscience.
“I shall have a slice of the bread and then prepare a pot of rabbit stew,” Delia announced. “Would you like some, Lord Dragon?”
The dragon gave his amused gurgle, and shook his head. Whether he was laughing at the idea she could feed him with one rabbit and few vegetables, or whether he was reacting to her name for him, she had no idea.
She was pleased he didn’t want to eat her cooking, for she was by no means certain how it would turn out. She had often seen the cook at Nettleford Manor put together a stew, and the woman used to narrate her recipe as she prepared food, but watching and listening was not the same as doing.
As to the name, she had to call him something, and anything less than ‘lord’ seemed disrespectful.
After another courtly bow, dragon-style, Lord Dragon left the cavern. Delia followed him with the fish, the rabbit, and the fletching knife. She had a dinner to cook, and the first step was to prepare the meat.
She was feeling more hopeful. She might be the dragon’s prisoner, but he had taken care to provide her with food, a bed, and clothing, all of which indicated she wasn’t in imminent danger of becoming his lunch.
As to the babies, they were safe with Polly and the nuns. Sapphire might be cross about losing his maiden, but to be truthful, he was possibly more attached to Sister Anne and Sister Therese than her. Theodosia was convinced that Sister Louise was her mother, and Mary was closest to Polly.
And hadn’t Delia been wishing for adventure? It was clearly another case of “be careful what you ask for.”