Last night the dream changed again.  The woman spoke, begging for help, her eyes pleading for a rescue.  He had awakened with a strangled cry in his throat. 

     He stood and pushed away from the desk.  “Enough,” he said, as he walked out of the library.  “What will be, will be.”  Hoping his afternoon ride would chase away all thoughts of the woman and the legend, he went straight to the stable and saddled his horse.

     Although exhilarating, the long ride did not exorcized either of them from his mind.  Giving up hope, he headed home.   A stable boy waited and took the lathered, chestnut stallion.  He led the horse away without speaking or looking at the Duke.  

     Away from the stable, he stopped and gazed at Fairhaven, his ancestral home.  It had withstood many generations of Dragons.  History claimed that before the Norman Conquest, even before Roman times, his ancestors had lived on this land.  If Fairhaven’s Legend was true, then his bloodline would remain here for many more generations. 

     His heart hardened.  What woman would ever consent to give him children?  Even if she were born of the legend, could she close her eyes to the ugliness of the scars on his face and body?  If the legend was not true, the castle would crumble into nothing  without any heir after his death.  He couldn’t imagine a golden-eyed goddess coming from another time to marry and bear him a family as his ancestors predicted.  Why would she be any different from the women of his time?  Besides, he’d already married.

     He rubbed his fingers along the red welts that stretched across his cheek to his ear.  For a single moment, he thought to retrieve his wife Amelia from the convent and force her to bear him a son, but knew he couldn’t face her revulsion.  Amelia had not allowed his touch after the accident.

     His chin dropped to his chest, and once again he pushed the memory of his drunken attempt to get his wife pregnant from his thoughts.  He had, in his stupor, begged her to bear him a child, and because of his groping, had not seen her since.  Rumors of the Duke of Fairhaven's lost wife had been the talk of London for an entire season.  Now, two years later, he longed for a family. 

     Dragon stretched the tightness from his scarred shoulder as he entered from the rear of his home and welcomed the familiar smells of the huge kitchen.  The oak table in the center of the room beckoned him.  Its warm brown surface, scarred by years of use, held fond memories of his youth.  A time when he had pilfered warm pies for himself and his friend Quinton. 

     There were only a few servants present and as soon as they noticed the Duke, they looked away.  He knew they couldn't bear to look at his ugliness, except for Betsy, the housekeeper, and the cook, Robby, who had served his father.  He sighed, hoping the other servants would become accustomed to him some day.

     “What are you cooking for us tonight, Robby?” Dragon asked, inhaling the fragrant mixture of cinnamon and oranges.

     “Your aunt has requested roasted duck, Your Grace.”

     Nodding his approval, he left to find Lady Charlotte.  After searching the library and the garden, he found his aunt in her beloved greenhouse.  A smile brightened his face as he noticed that several strands of silver hair had escaped the bun atop her head and hung in wavy wisps along her collar.  Smudges of rich brown loam stained her apron and fingers because she refused to wear gloves, telling him she wanted to feel the dirt, to sense its richness, its life. 

     Aunt Charlotte’s passions had given his life purpose.  Fairhaven estate now had a conservatory with a small shed next to it that housed stray or hurt animals.  He did everything in his power to indulge the only family he had left.  Amelia, his once beloved wife, no longer came to mind when he thought of family. 

     The legend’s promise came to mind, a promise he’d ignored because he wasn’t a man who believed in fairytales or dreams.  He had wanted a real woman; a wife who would give him a family - not one conjured from the stories of his ancestors. 

     “Aunt Charlotte, it’s almost time for dinner.”

     “My dear boy, come, come.  Look.”  She proudly displayed a rosebush, which held one flawless red rose and an equally beautiful pink one she had grafted onto the stem weeks ago.

     “They're wonderful.  I wasn’t sure your experiment would work.”  He inhaled their sweet scent.  “You amaze me more and more.”  He brushed a spot of dirt off his aunt's cheek and felt a pull at his heart.  He loved Aunt Charlotte.  She had become his surrogate mother after his parents had died in a carriage accident when he was fifteen.  “It's almost time for dinner, perhaps you should clean yourself up.”

     “Yes, of course, you're right.  I do lose track of time, don't I?”  She wiped her hands and asked, “What has Robby cooked up for us this evening?”

     The Duke took his aunt's arm and guided her gently from the greenhouse.  “Roasted duck.”

     “How marvelous, one of my favorites.”  She hurried away from him and called over her shoulder, “No time to chat, dear.  You better get cleaned up for dinner.”

     Suppressing a smile, he followed his aunt upstairs, going their separate ways at the top.  In his room, Carson, stood pouring another bucket of hot water into the tub.

     “Ah, Your Grace, right on time.”

     “Thank you, Carson.  There are times I don’t know what I’d do without you.”  London society would have frowned on his familiarity with his servants, but he didn't care.  Carson had been with him since birth and he had to have someone other than his Aunt to talk to.  After his parents' deaths, he had eaten his meals in the kitchen with Betsy and Carson.  Amelia had admonished him for such casualness after their marriage, and now he missed the warmth and companionship.  As each day passed, he yearned for a real family. 

     The Fairhaven Legend invaded his thoughts again, as it had more often since Amelia’s abrupt departure and since the dreams.  It proclaimed the marriage of a blue-eyed Duke to a golden-eyed woman.  Amelia's eyes were ice blue.  Only in his dreams, and in the secret chamber, had he seen a woman with gold eyes.  If he died with no heir, would Fairhaven’s Legend also die?  Had he changed destiny for all future Dragons by marrying Amelia?  Shaking the thoughts aside, he stepped into the large tub.

     Hot water soothed the aching muscles beneath the scars on his left shoulder and hip.  Afterward, Carson massaged away the tightness then helped the duke dress for dinner.

     Dragon sat at the head of the twelve foot, cherry wood table with his aunt to his right.  It had been years since more than the two of them had dined at the table.  It was a situation he wanted to change.  The duck tickled his palette with warm bursts of spices.  They ate in comfortable silence until his aunt spoke.

     “Derek, you must come and see the new calico kittens.  They’re adorable.”

     “Perhaps tomorrow.”  He waited for the servant to refill his wine glass before asking, “Have you received any invitations to London recently?”

     “No, and I’m becoming somewhat disillusioned with those who have called themselves our friends in the past.”  She leaned back in order for her plate to be removed.  “I heard yesterday the Earl of Stutes’ daughter would be coming out soon.  Surely we’ll be invited to the affair.”

     “It matters not to me.”

     “Well, it does to me.  I would like to see my friends more than two or three times a year.  We should plan a trip and stay in the townhouse.”

     “Aunt Charlotte, I’ll arrange for the house to be opened if you’re inclined to go, but I’d rather not.”

     “Posh.  You’re absolutely no fun these days.”  She brushed the napkin across her lips, fingering the lace edging, glancing from it to her nephew.  “I do have other news.”

     He waited for the server to place his dessert of rice pudding in front of him before speaking.  “From the sour look on your face, it must not be good.”  His aunt toyed with her napkin.  “You won’t sleep tonight unless you tell me.”

     “I know.”  She finally grew tired of the napkin, tossed it aside then pushed the pudding away.  “I’ve received another letter from Amelia.”

     He forced his hand to remain steady as he placed his wine glass on the table.  His left shoulder throbbed with stress, and he rolled it backward to ease the pressure.  Amelia’s desertion still pricked his heart, and he had to wonder if she had ever truly loved him.  If not for his insistence about a family, she might not have left. 

     The mere mention of her name brought a hated reaction, emptiness.  She had refused to give him an heir and had, he’d found out later, taken precautions against becoming pregnant.  In his heart, he had no wife.  He jerked himself to his feet, the legs of his chair scraping against the wooden floor.

     “Aunt Charlotte, I have told you before that I do not mind if you correspond with…”  His jaw tightened.  “With my wife, but I have no desire to hear from her or about her.”  He turned and left the room.  Amelia's name brought anger and painful memories of all he had lost because of the accident and his drunken groping.

     Later in the evening, he endured another one of Carson's massages.  The servant's hands worked the stiffness out of his muscles, but his emotions raged against the content of Amelia's letter. 

     “It's late, Carson, why don't you retire?”

     The servant poured brandy into a crystal goblet and eased out of the room.  Dragon drained the glass and fell into bed.  Would the dream come?  He did not welcome thoughts of it.  

                            ***

     Cassandra Lassiter cringed in the corner of the room, willing it to swallow her.  Willing herself to disappear.  She curled into a fetal position, protecting her stomach as well as she could.  Bradley's beating had left her hollow.

     She knew she’d lost her baby.  The emptiness inside her could have swallowed a mountain.  Blackness engulfed her, and she welcomed the black void, for within it she felt no pain, no sadness, no grief.  

     Her body jerked, and the ache in her side woke her.  She heard a persistent knocking on the door. 

     “Who’s there?”

     “Cassie, it’s Tess.” 

     A co-worker opened the door and stuck her head inside.  When their eyes met, she entered the room. 

     Cassandra turned away, not wanting her friend to see the bruises on her face.

     "Oh my God, Cassie! He did this to you, didn't he?  It was Bradley."  Tess pulled a chair close to the bed and sat.  "Cassie, talk to me."

     Cassandra shook her head. 

     Tess stood and walked around the bed.  “No one has come to see you, have they?”

     “Only Bradley, the abuser.”

     “Figures.  What can I do for you?”

     “Nothing.  I don’t know what came over Bradley.  It was horrible.  I lost my baby.”

     Sitting on the side of the bed, Tess laced her fingers with Cassandra’s.  “Do you want to talk about it?”

     “Sometimes I wonder if it’s my fault.”

     “This is not your fault.  Didn’t you tell the doctors what happened?”

     “They don’t want to know the truth.  I should have told Bradley he was my first.  I tried, Tess, but he told me to keep quiet.  It wasn’t what I expected.”

     “It never is the first time.  Oh, Cassie, I wish you had talked to me first.”

     “I trusted Bradley.  We were going to get married.  He told me the insurance company had given him a raise and that he could support a family.”

     “That damn insurance company pays him more because he’s the most ruthless investigator they have.  He always succeeds in finding the lies hidden behind the truth, but he does it by being a bully.  He’s a henchman, Cassie.”

     “After waiting all these years for the right man, I thought he was the one.  How can I ever trust a man again?”

     “Stop talking like that.  None of this is your fault.”

     “I didn’t tell him about the baby right away.  He followed me to the doctor’s office and found out.  I should have known the relationship wouldn’t work, none of the others ever did.  Even in college, if I didn’t put out, they left me.”

     “Cassie, not all men are jerks.  You’ll find the right guy.  Just don’t give up.”

     “Sometimes I wish I could roll over and…”

     “What?” asked Tess.  She reached for the pitcher of water and poured a cup.  “Here, drink this.”

     “Thanks.”  Cassandra drank the water and handed the cup back.  “I’ve been having weird dreams.”  She pushed herself into a sitting position.

     “Tell me.”

     “There’s a man with eyes as dark as indigo and black hair.  I’m attracted to him.  It’s strange because I feel like I know him, but he’s not from this time.”   

     Tess laughed.  “He’s not an alien, is he?”

     No smile came.  The sorrow lodged in her empty womb wouldn’t let it.  “No.  I think he’s from the past.”

     “Interesting.  What else do you see?”

     “A woman.”

     “Well, get rid of her.  It’s your dream.”

     “I find myself praying for him to come and rescue me from this situation, and in my heart, I think he can.”  Cassandra stared out the window at the clouds drifting across the sky.  “Do you think I’m crazy?”

     “No.  I think you need more friends and a better man.”

     Cassandra looked back at her only friend.  “The man in the dream understands what I’m feeling.”  She grabbed the cup of water and took another sip.  “I’m really tired, Tess.  They keep giving me drugs even when I tell them not to.”

     “Do you want me to talk to the doctor?”

     “Maybe.  Just don’t let Bradley find out.  I don’t know what story he’s given them.  Every time I tell them he beat me, they pat my arm and tell me to rest.  Something’s going on.”

     “Well, I’ll ask around.  Go back to sleep and dream about your man.”

     “Thanks for coming.”

   Tess slipped out of the room and Cassandra let her thoughts drift to the raven-haired man that had haunted her dreams and willed his image to come to her.  His face held an emotion she had longed for her entire life.  She didn’t know why or how, but she knew the man in her dreams felt her pain and that he cared.  Her eyelids drifted shut.

     In her fevered dreams, Cassandra saw a sea of strangely dressed people swaying and moving in rhythm to a haunting waltz.  It must be a costume party, she thought.  The men wore formal coats in all colors of the rainbow with lace ties about their necks.  The women's full-skirted dresses undulated like tolling church bells as they danced.  Her eyes searched the ballroom in a frantic attempt to find the man with the indigo eyes and midnight hair. 

     Large chandeliers glowed with candlelight above the ballroom casting warm shadows around the dancers.  She found him, and her heart leaped to her throat, but not with joy.  He danced, as if on a cloud, with a beautiful, petite woman.  She had honey-colored hair and her sky-blue eyes regarded him coldly.  The man smiled, whispering in the woman's ear.

     He called her Amelia and held her close as the music played.  Cassandra sighed, wishing he had his arms wrapped around her because the one called Amelia held no warmth in her embrace.  The man didn't notice the disdain on his partner’s porcelain face.  He smiled and nuzzled his chin against her hair then led her out onto the terrace.  A cool evening breeze lifted his long hair and Cassandra ached to run her hands through that dark mane.  Amelia took him by the hand and pulled him away from the house. 

     “Nooo...!”  Cassandra sensed a hideous danger lay waiting, but she could neither stop, nor warn him.  Was this an image of his future, his past?  What had brought these strangely dressed people into her dreams?  Once again she prayed for the darkness.

                            ***

     As Dragon escorted Aunt Charlotte through the crush of the party, he watched people stare then turned away at his approach.

     “I don't know how you talked me into this,” he said.  “You know I’ve come to detest these parties.”

     “Don't be a bore, Derek.  It's the first invitation we've accepted in months.  I would have pulled you here by your ears if you had not agreed to escort me.”

     “I've no doubt you would have tried.”  Dragon suppressed a smile as they continued through the room.

     “Oh, there is Lady Emily.  I really must speak to her about my roses.”  Charlotte abandoned him in a flurry of gray silk.  The ball gown accented her silver hair and almost matched the color of her eyes.  She moved and behaved as lively as the younger ladies.

     Dragon helped himself to a glass of champagne, ignoring the surprised gasp from the servant.  Would they ever get used to his scars?  The ton would have enough to talk about for weeks from this one appearance.  He wondered if Lady Claudia Seldan, his former mistress, would ever welcome him again.  He searched the room and found her on the arm of Lord Nelson Barton.  Abruptly, he turned away from them. 

     Dragon's thoughts drifted like the dancers gliding across the ballroom.  Four years ago he would have been among them with a beautiful woman on his arm.  Today, he had neither a mistress, nor a wife.

     A large hand clasped his shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts.

     “By God, Derek.  It’s you.”  Strong arms drew Dragon against a massive chest nearly squeezing the air from his lungs during that brief moment.  His oldest friend released him and brushed his hand across the left side of Dragon's face.

     Dragon hadn't meant to flinch from his friend's hand, but it was too late to regret the motion.  He had not seen his friend in over four years.

     Quinton Torrington ignored Dragon's reaction.  “Your scars aren’t as bad as people claim.”  He draped his arm across Dragon's shoulders and escorted him along the edge of the dance floor.  “Come, old friend, I'd like you to meet my wife.”

     Dragon's initial shock at seeing his friend again multiplied by the news of a marriage.  “Are you telling me you found a woman willing to marry you during your stay in America?  Why didn’t you send me word?  You stopped corresponding after two years.”

     “Is that a smile I see?” Quinton laughed.  “I've missed you, Derek.  I had a shipping company to take over and make profitable.  Then I had a wife to care for.  Not much time for correspondence.”  He stopped and looked directly into his friend’s eyes.  “Now that I'm back, I hope you won't let this,” he said pointing to Dragon's face, “come between our friendship.”

     “If you can live with it, I surely can.”  This time Dragon's smile was genuine.  It felt good to have his friend back.  “Come, introduce me to the brave woman who wedded the dark and fierce Quinton Torrington, Duke of Blackmoor.”

     Although aware of the stares he received, Dragon ignored the ladies whispering behind their fans.  As he walked past his former mistress, he heard her sigh.  After the accident, Claudia had treated him as Amelia had - unable to touch him.  He knew his body would repel her also.  She would no longer tell him he was devilishly handsome.

     When he turned and caught her eye, he saw a tremor of pity and disgust sweep over her.  Her companion, Lord Barton, watched and smiled.  Dragon nodded to the younger man.  Claudia’s new protector immediately propelled her onto the dance floor, but not before Dragon overheard his fleeting comment.

     “Such a hideous sight.”

     Quinton tugged on Dragon's arm.  Turning, he looked into the greenest eyes he had ever seen.

     “Derek Dragon, may I present my wife, Judith Torrington, Duchess of Blackmoor, formerly of America.”

     The woman wasn't what Dragon had expected.  Actually, except for her extraordinary green eyes, she was somewhat plain and very short.  He waited for her to cringe away from him, for the look of horror to haunt those beautiful eyes.  Would she step away as so many did?  As if his scars would leap from his face to theirs.  He took a deep breath and bowed.

     The Duchess of Blackmoor placed a hand on each of his arms and pulled him closer.  She pressed a light kiss to each of his cheeks.  “I am so pleased to finally meet you.  Quinton has spoken of you often over the last four years.  I feel as if I already know you.  You must come to the house and meet the children.  I'm proud to say…”

     The rest of her monologue was lost in the fog of Dragon's thoughts.  He released the breath he hadn't realized he still held.  She hadn't cringed or moved away from him.  She acted as if he were normal and not some freak.  He knew his scars weren't as bad as some people viewed them, but they were offensive to most, and she'd kissed him.  Perhaps it was customary in America.  Quinton brought Dragon back to the present with a hearty slap on the back.

     “She won't leave you alone until you agree to come.”

     “What?”

     “You and your aunt must come for dinner tomorrow night.  You can meet our twins.”

     “Twins?”  Dragon saw pride and happiness nearly bursting from his friend, and he regretted he didn't have children who would grow up with Quinton's.  He shook the feelings aside and accepted their gracious invitation to dinner.  Perhaps their children would accept him as a favored uncle.

     “You must tell me all about your trip,” Dragon said.  “How long have you been back?” 

     The blinding light caught Dragon unaware, and he stumbled back against the wall as though dealt a physical blow. 

     The golden-eyed lady reached out to him.  He saw bruises along her arms and on her face.  She called to him.  The tightening in his gut pushed an audible moan from his throat.

     “Derek, are you all right?”  Quinton pulled him away from the wall and the image disappeared.

     Dragon shook his head and gathered his thoughts.  She'd never appeared to him except in his dreams.  Something was wrong!  He had to find a way to help her.

     “I'm sorry, Quinton.  I must find my aunt.  We have to leave.”

     “Is everything all right?” Quinton asked.

     “I'll explain later.”  Dragon hurried away in search of his aunt, thinking it might be time to tell her of his dreams.  He found Aunt Charlotte near the refreshment table with a host of elderly ladies.  They all covered their blushes with their fans as he ushered his aunt out of the house.

     “Derek, please slow down.  I'm not a young woman anymore.”

     “I'm sorry, Aunt Charlotte.”  He helped her into the carriage, and they sped away from London, but not away from his memory of the golden-eyed woman.

     “What is it, dear?  You're troubled, and I would have you tell me why.”

     Dragon debated whether he should tell her about the dreams and the vision.  She was probably the only person who would believe him, or perhaps understand.

     Once again the light came.  The woman screamed.  A weight pressed against Dragon’s chest, and he had trouble drawing air into his lungs.  He called to her, offering his help.  The image disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared.  Dragon jerked forward and inhaled deeply.

     “Oh dear,” Aunt Charlotte said.  “This is why you rushed away from the party isn’t it?  You saw her, didn't you?”

     “What?”  Dragon choked on the word and stared at the pale face of his aunt.  “Yes, did you also see her?”

     “Yes, of course I did,” Charlotte said.  “I see her often.  She's in a great deal of pain.  A man has beaten her severely.”

     Dragon clutched his aunt's hand.  “How do you know this?”

     “I've always seen Cassandra Lassiter in my dreams.  I never thought to tell anyone, or imagined that you might have also seen her.”

     “How long, Aunt Charlotte?  How long have you seen her?”  Dragon felt the pain beneath his scars as his body tensed.

     “Since she was a young girl.  How long have you seen her, Derek?”

     Dragon released her hand and slumped against the seat of the coach.  He rolled his shoulder and grimaced at the slice of pain.  “Two years.  You know her name.”

     “Her life has been revealed to me in my dreams.  I don't see everything, of course.  I guess you could say the special or important moments come to me.  I'm not sure, but I believe it was her fiancé who beat her.”  Charlotte stared into the darkness of the carriage as though looking at some distant object.  “I never liked the man.  He never treated her well.”

     “Why do you think she’s calling out to me?”

     “Don't you know?”  Charlotte tilted her head to one side.  “I thought it would be apparent to you.”

     “Stop speaking in riddles.  Tell me what you mean.”  He didn't want to believe in the legend.  He'd already married.  How could he spend the rest of his life with a woman born from a myth?

     “It's her, golden-eyes from Fairhaven’s Legend.”  Aunt Charlotte leaned forward and put her hands over her nephew's.  “You shouldn't deny it any longer.  Cassandra will be the mother of your children.  I've seen it in my dreams.  She is your future, and the future of the Dragon lineage.”

     Dragon pulled his hands free and rubbed them over his face, lingering at the scars.  “I already have a wife, Aunt Charlotte.  Have you a witch's power to make Amelia disappear?”

     She folded her arms across her chest.  “If I did, you would not be married to her.  You must petition for a divorce.  Amelia has abandoned you and refuses to give you an heir.  Those are sound reasons.”

     “Yes.”  Dragon stared into the darkness.  He’d had his solicitor draw up divorce papers last year but had not petitioned the courts.  Had he waited too long?  “What about Cassandra Lassiter?”

     “She wishes to die or escape.”

     Dragon jerked forward.  He could not let her die.  The woman held a piece of his heart, a piece he had not given up willingly.  His aunt patted his knee. 

     “Don't worry, dear, I’ll make sure she escapes.”

     The Duke of Fairhaven stared blankly at his last living relative in speechless wonder.  He rubbed his hands over his face again then asked, “How?”

     His aunt smiled.  “It would be best to wait until we arrive at Fairhaven to explain,” she said.  

     Dragon knew his aunt well.  There would be no answers until she was ready to give them.  He had no choice but to wait, so he stretched his legs along the seat and let the rocking of the carriage relax him. 

     Not long after he closed his eyes, the coach stopped.  He stepped out then reached to help his aunt.  “Will you tell me now how you will help the woman?”