He pushed with his arms, levering his torso up off the ground. Georgie's breath caught. She'd never seen an adult man's naked chest before. It was ridged and sculpted and sprinkled with short black hair. She fisted her hands at her sides to resist the urge to touch. When he pushed up farther and she got a glimpse of him below the waist, she averted her gaze. Oh, my. His manhood hung heavily from a nest of dark curls between his legs. Georgie felt wetness gather between her own. What would that feel like in her hands? Or even in her...
"Is that water?" His voice was still breathy as if fatigued. "May I have a drink please?"
"Help yourself." She kept her face turned away, but was excruciatingly conscious of the sound of him picking up the waterskin and drinking from it.
"Thank you." His voice sounded steadier, stronger, as if he was regaining lost energy by the moment. "May I borrow your blanket?"
"Of - of course," she stammered. She faced out over the ocean, keeping her back to the naked man. "What... I mean, how..."
His hand settled on her bare shoulder, and she shivered at the warm tingle that suffused her skin.
"Breathe, Georgie. We need to talk, but I'd prefer not to do it here. Can you trust me enough to take you somewhere a little warmer for this conversation?"
"I...umm...of course." It sounded so reasonable when he phrased it that way. She bent down and picked up the blood-covered St. George sword.
The earl flinched. He'd wrapped the quilt about his waist and held it closed with one hand. "You're not thinking of using that again, are you?"
Georgie shook her head. "No. But it's Richard's inheritance. I can't just leave it here."
She thought he almost smiled. "Fine. Now I have to change back in order to fly us out of here. I'll need to carry you in my arms - err - paws, but I promise to be mindful of the talons, if you promise to wrap the sword up in the blanket. Do we have an agreement?"
"Yes, my lord." She tried very hard not to stare at that naked masculine chest.
"Now, one last thing. Did you see a large pearl fall away when I changed back? I had it tucked beneath a scale..." He scanned the grass around his feet intently.
"A pearl?" She poked at the grass with her bare toes, finding a smooth, pale orb, as big as a small plum, then picked it up. "You mean this?"
"Ah, yes. The token. Wouldn't do to forget that." He took it from her hand and laid it against the granite standing stone. "Ready?"
"You're leaving the token?" She licked her lips. "Does that mean you won't be bringing me back?"
He sighed, entreating her with those hooded eyes that shone silver in the night. "I can't, Georgie. The villagers - they still believe in the magic of their pact with the dragon. If the dragon failed to appear, they'd lose hope, lose their way. But I promise you, none of the girls have ever been hurt. You'll join your sisters and brother in London, just like I promised."
Georgie nodded slowly. She believed him. She'd trusted him with her family, now she only had to trust him with herself - a much easier prospect.
"Good." He ran one long finger lightly along the line of her cheek. "Now close your eyes for a moment."
She did. At least - she meant to. Somehow she couldn't resist a peek when she heard the blanket land in a heap beside her feet. She slitted her lids open just enough to glimpse his tall, toned body, standing proud in the torchlight. Then he shimmered again, and the dragon stood in his place, showing no signs of the injury she'd dealt him.
"Your hand," she said. "It's healed."
"The change," he rumbled in the deep, powerful voice that had frightened her just minutes earlier. "It heals me. I was losing consciousness from the bleeding. Otherwise I'd not have let you see it."
"I'm sorry," she said. At his gesture, she rolled the sword back into the blanket and tied it. "I was frightened..."
"Understandably so," he said. "Now come here, and do not make any sudden moves. I would not hurt you with my talons, either."
Clutching the bundle to her chest, she stepped over to stand between his paws. She lifted one finger and touched the skin, finding it warm and smooth, leathery instead of metallic as it looked. The claw that tipped it was longer than her entire hand, and wickedly sharp.
"Easy now." One scaly arm wrapped around her shoulder and the other slid under her knees. He lifted her effortlessly, carefully cradling her close to his massive chest. "All right?"
"Fine." She snuggled against the warmth of his chest, ignoring the slight roughness against her skin. She clasped the sword against her with one hand while her other arm twined around his, holding on.
She heard his powerful wings, then felt the ground fall away beneath them. It was an effort to keep her eyes open, but she didn't wish to miss a thing. She was flying! She had to look. Surely she'd never have this experience again.
He kept low, his enormous silver wings flapping just above the treetops. They moved north along the coastline, then inland. A few windows glowed like tiny golden stars below, and the stream they crossed was a ribbon of reflected silver moonlight. The wooded areas were a deeper shade of black than the velvety pastures, dotted with the paler forms of sheep.
She recognised the Weir estate as they passed over it, then they moved farther up into the hills. A tiny hut stood in a small clearing, the soft glow of a banked fire shining through the one narrow window. The dragon settled onto the grass outside the hut, much to the dismay of a handful of sheep who bawled loudly and fled the clearing at top speed.
"We're here," he told her, setting her gently on her feet. "Go inside, and I'll join you shortly. I have clothing around the side."
Still clutching the wrapped sword, Georgie pushed open the door. The hut was warm inside, and clean, with a small bed, a tiny table, and two chairs. A kettle hung over the fire, and a few crocks and mugs sat on a rickety shelf beneath the window.
Georgie leaned the sword against the wall and moved swiftly to the fire. A poker rested next to the hearth, along with a hod of wood, so she poked the coals into life and added a log. She hadn't realized quite how cold she was until the fire's warmth began to seep out into the room.
She'd just checked the kettle, pleased to find it full and warm, when she heard the door. She turned to find Lord Weir entering the room, ducking his head to clear one of the low ceiling beams. He was barefoot and wore a pair of buckskin trousers and a loose linen shirt. Even in his familiar human form she fancied she could see the strength and power of the dragon lurking underneath.
His eyes widened as he looked at her, and he crossed the room in two rapid strides. "Are you hurt? Did I cut you somewhere?"
"No, not at all." She followed his gaze down to the gown she wore and realised it was splattered with still-wet blood. All his. Georgie felt her gorge rise and her head began to swim. She hated the sight of blood.
Lord Weir caught her shoulders and guided her into a chair. His big hands ran up and down her equally bloody arms. He was probably checking for injury, but his examination was making her light-headed for a whole different reason.
"'Tis all yours, my lord. I am unscathed." She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm sorry for being missish, I just hadn't realised there was quite so much..."