Georgie slumped back into her chair. Of course he'd overheard. Richard's skill at eavesdropping was unsurpassed. She cast him a pleading glance. "Please. Don't tell the girls."
"I won't." Even at twelve, he was very much the man of the family. He seemed to have an intrinsic need to protect his sisters that was as endearing as it was tragic. "But only if you agree to take the sword."
"They said I could have a blanket," she reminded him. "And a torch or two, and some wine. They might not allow me to bring a sword."
"Wrap it in the blanket," he said with a grimace that said, girls can be so silly. "Along with a torch and some water. You can say it's two torches."
Georgie wrapped her arms around his slender shoulders and hugged him tightly. "Whatever would I do without you, Richard?" She kissed the top of his rumpled hair. "I'll do exactly that. Now be off with you to pack your things."
Several hours later, she stood on the steps of the vicarage and waved good-bye. Lord Weir was at her side, his presence strong and comforting.
"Buck up, you'll see them in a few short days," Lord Weir whispered. He squeezed her hand where it rested on his forearm. "I have faith that you'll come back down that hillside, if only to spite the villagers."
Georgie smiled wanly. "I know. There are no such things as dragons, my lord. But I've never been away from the children before. Our mother died when Richard was born - I've practically raised them ever since."
"I promise, they'll be well tended," he vowed. "My letter to my aunt was quite explicit in that regard. And having never had children of her own, she loves to spoil other people's."
"Thank you, my lord. You've done more than I had any right to expect."
One side of his lips twitched into a grin. "And our acquaintance, my dear, is just beginning."
The children had gone and the time had arrived. The flat, grassy circle surrounding the single granite monolith was perhaps as big as the vicarage kitchen, while beyond that low trees and scrubby brush were filled with normal night creatures and shadows. Georgie fought to catch her breath as she watched the parade of villagers walk away, leaving her alone on the hillside next to the standing stone. Lord Weir was the last to go, his final words soft and encouraging. Her eyes followed him until, at last, his tall dark shadow moved out of sight.
Now she waited on the hillside - alone and practically naked in the softly glowing moonlight. She pressed her back up against the standing stone, listening to the sounds of the men making their way back down the hill to the village. As soon as the footsteps were no longer audible, she carefully unrolled the quilt onto the ground and sat in the centre with her legs crossed beneath her, and the St. George sword laid across her lap.
She scanned the sky. The three-quarter moon hung low in the sky, glowing silver-white against the diamond-studded velvet blackness. The air was cool, but not cold. If she'd had a real gown on, instead of the flimsy piece of white gauze they'd insisted she wear, she'd have been quite warm. She thought about wrapping the quilt around her shoulders, but she'd save that for later. Right now the cool breeze was keeping her awake and alert.
With her thumb, she traced the hilt of her ancestor's sword. The sturdy steel pommel was etched with silver and gold St. George crosses and studded with precious gems, cut in the old-fashioned round cabochon style. She wondered if she should try to sleep, or if she should be on the alert. It was very possible that some sort of human interference was planned, so she sipped from Richard's waterskin and waited.
At some point, she must have dozed despite her best intentions. The moon was beginning to set when her eyes flew open and her hand tightened around the pommel. She couldn't say what noise had woken her, but she stood, carefully scanning the shrubbery that ringed the small clearing. All she could see were darker spots within the shadows. She heard nothing but the flicker of the torch, which was almost out. Still watching the horizon, she carefully lit the second torch and speared it into the soil. Then she stood with her back flat against the obelisk and waited.
Something about the silence teased at her awareness. It felt unnatural. Then she realized what it was. Total silence. There were no crickets chirping nor small animals rustling in the undergrowth. She lifted the sword in both hands and tested the balance, grateful that her father had once taught her how to fence - purely for exercise of course. Reverend Horatio Burns would never have believed one of his daughters might one day need to use a sword in self-defence.
The flapping noise began as little more than a flutter, but grew in intensity until she wanted to let go of the sword and cover her ears. She didn't, though. She inhaled deeply, bent her knees for balance, and hefted the sword with both hands, keeping the stone at her back.
Caddoc stretched his wings and soared into the night sky. It had been too long since he'd allowed himself the luxury, and the cool off-shore breeze caressed his scaly hide as he rose into the air. It was a short flight from the hills on his estate down the coast toward Draigmor and the standing stone, so he took just a moment to fly out over the waves and glide on an updraft.
Georgie would be terrified when she saw him. There was no help for that. He'd scoop Miss Georgiana up, carry her off to Weir Castle, and then set about dealing with the repercussions. The villagers could never know that the dragon they feared and the lord they respected were one and the same. Changing the way things were done could result in the populace turning on the dragon. And that could be deadly, for the Maddox family, or for the townsfolk, if Caddoc was forced to defend himself from pitchforks and pikes.