Chapter Thirty-five

OLLIE

Mia was staying at Lacey's yet again—study group, she'd claimed. Which was possible as her lessons had started, but I remembered the number of times I'd used that excuse, and it hadn't been homework I'd ended up studying. Regardless of what she was actually up to, her absence meant I was counting the hours alone, waiting for Rufus Mortimer while Archer was busy in the forge.

I didn't know how he could stay so calm. I wanted to know what valuable secrets the bible contained.

Archer finally came in just before lunch to shower and change. After we'd eaten, he worked on bills and invoices in the dining room while I paced the hall. Cheated of being able to go into the dining room and visit my friends the candlesticks, because I didn't want to disturb Archer, I was left stroking my cuff to calm myself.

The sound of a motorbike had me peering through the hall window. Sure enough, it was Helen of Troy and his human partner, who wasn't the tall and equally beautiful figure I'd imagined. He was a normal person who was talking away as Rufus swung off the bike, dark jeans stretched tight over the best thighs I'd seen after Archer's.

"They're here," I called towards the dining room.

They seemed to take forever getting to the door, though I couldn't tell whether that was because I was impatient or because they were searching for a drawbridge. The big iron doorbell finally clanged, and I yanked the door open. Now we'd get some answers.

"Hey, thanks for coming, it's great to meet you," I said to Rufus, who was standing protectively between me and his human. "I've never met a red dragon before."

As soon as the words were out, I froze, horror washing through me until I trembled. " Shit. Does your—"

"If I didn't know Rufus was a dragon before, I would now. Mark Stevens," his human companion said, pushing his glasses up his nose as he stepped out from behind Rufus. "Good to meet you."

"Oh. Um, Ollie Shaw."

"Please excuse the butler. He's new." Archer's drawl rescued me, and he slid his arm around my waist and pressed a swift kiss to the side of my head to let me know he wasn't really criticising me. I was too gobsmacked that Archer had made a joke in front of strangers to be offended.

"How do you do? I'm Archer Talbot, and I'm very grateful to you for coming. Do come in. Cup of tea?"

"Please," said Mark, just as Rufus Mortimer shook his head, rich brown hair swinging.

"Oh, well, we'd better look at the bible first," Mark said, though he sounded disappointed. "You said it's a sixteenth century German edition with hand-drawn decorations. Are you sure it's sixteenth century?"

"Honestly, I have no idea." Archer led the way towards the library. "Why?"

"It's supposed to be valuable. I was wondering if it might be an undiscovered Gutenberg Bible. Unlikely, I know, but that would be an incredible find."

"It would?" Archer asked. "And that would make it valuable?"

"Invaluable to theologians and historians, and it would be worth tens of millions, though I have no idea how many."

"Really?" I was almost skipping with excitement. And Chris had tried to walk off with it.

They headed straight for the table in the centre of the room, where we'd left the bible. It seemed wrong that they'd driven all this way and Mark still wasn't getting his cup of tea. "I could bring your tea in here, if you'd like?" I offered.

" No. " Archer and Rufus spoke in unison.

"No drinks or food near the books," Rufus told me severely, his brown eyes so fierce that I wanted to sink through the floorboards.

"Okay," I said meekly.

Archer pressed another kiss to the side of my head. "I love you, but you and tea and priceless books don't seem like the best mix." He slid his arm around my waist once more as we watched Mark carefully examine the bible.

Archer touched me often, and I noticed he always did so whenever anyone else was around, but he wasn't usually this demonstrative. I wasn't complaining that he was today, but I was trying to work out why. His arm tightened as Rufus looked over at us, and with a rush of joy, I understood that he was staking his claim, letting the strange dragon know I was his.

I pressed close against his side, scarcely able to breathe, though I wasn't sure if it was from pride and happiness or from excitement at what Mark and Rufus might tell us. All of Archer's money problems might be about to disappear.

ARCHER

"Sorry to have got your hopes up," Mark said, looking apologetically at me. "It's not a Gutenberg. Probably still worth a bit if you wanted to sell it, though."

I bit down on sudden, sharp disappointment. "At least that means there's something else about it that's special. Unless dragons in the past were as good at gossiping and making up rumours as they are now."

Mark grinned, and bent his head back to the book. "What do you think?" he asked Rufus.

Rufus examined the bible intently. "That number of endleaves wouldn't be too excessive in a book from this era, but it looks as if some have been added later."

"How are we going to do this?" Ollie asked me. "Is there somewhere that would be safe for Rufus to shift in daylight so he can look at it?"

"No need," Mark said. "We have a workaround."

"Mark's idea," Rufus said. I hadn't been sure what to make of him so far. He'd said very little, and he'd been abrupt on the phone yet willing to come and visit. Now, I could see the pride in him as he looked at Mark.

The workaround involved a hood over Rufus's head and the book, and a lamp of some sort, both produced from Mark's sizeable backpack. "Honestly, we could have told you how to do this over the phone," Mark said apologetically. "But when you told Rufus about the library and the bible, we wanted to come. Rufus loves books, and bibles are kind of my thing."

"You're a priest?" Ollie asked.

Mark snorted with laughter. "No, I'm a research student in theology."

That was a thing? Well, evidently. Rufus made a small sound from under the hood, and we all fell silent.

"Holy shit," Rufus said as he pulled off the hood. "Do you know what you've got here?"

Obviously not, but he seemed too shaken to realise what he'd asked.

"I was hoping you'd tell us ," I pointed out.

"Evelyn has to see this." He was about to dive back under the hood when Mark stopped him. Thank God, because I might have throttled him, which wouldn't have gone down well with the Mortimers.

"It's your family tree up to the mid-sixteenth century. But its interest lies not in where it ends but where it begins."

"Which is?" I thought Ollie might burst with excitement.

Rufus licked his lips. "I mean, this might be myth and legend, like the way if you follow some family trees back far enough, they end up with the Norse gods."

"Rufus. Just tell us," Mark begged.

"If you believe this, all the British dragon families are descended from King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. It means there was a time when dragons ruled most of Britain."

As Ollie turned to me, his eyes shining, I shook my head. "Arthur and his knights were nothing more than a legend, weren't they?"

"No one knows," Mark said. "But we've recently met a dragon family who have a clear tradition of being descended from King Arthur, so I wouldn't bet against it."

"Which one is Archer descended from?" Ollie asked, practically vibrating with excitement. "And can you look up the Shaws?"

Rufus retreated under the hood again, and Mark pulled out a laptop from his bag. He began constructing a tree as Rufus read names and dates to him. That gave me the space to deal with my reaction. What they'd found was interesting, but I couldn't get as worked up about it as the other three. It wasn't useful. And for a few, glorious minutes, I'd thought I might no longer have to worry about money.

Oh well, I was no worse off than I'd been ten minutes ago, and Ollie's delight was palpable. He'd squirmed against me when Rufus had mentioned King Arthur.For his happiness, I'd hide my disappointment.

OLLIE

As Rufus and Mark worked, I followed Archer to the sofa in front of the window. He sat down, and reached out a hand to me. Instead of pulling me down to sit beside him, he drew me onto his lap.

For an instant, I froze at the unfamiliarity of warm, muscled thighs under me. I'd been a small child the last time I'd sat on anyone's lap. But as he held me, carefully avoiding my burn, I realised this was exactly what I wanted—for him to hold me, to treasure me. I laid my head against his neck, breathing in his scent as he placed his other arm across my thighs, his big hand spanning the outside of my leg. A very definite declaration to Rufus that I belonged to Archer.

Not that Rufus was interested in me in the least, but that didn't matter. I sat quietly, enjoying the strength in Archer's body as he played idly with my hair in the sunshine streaming through the windows. I couldn't remember ever being wanted by anyone before. I certainly couldn't remember being this happy.

After a while, Mark squeezed Rufus's shoulder. "If this goes to the sixteenth century, we're going to be here for a few hours. Time for a break?"

"Cup of tea?" I offered, reluctantly standing up from my warm, muscly seat.

Rufus sent me a shy smile as he emerged from the hood, and if not for the fact that no one could live up to my Archer, I'd have been a puddle on the floor. "Thank you," he said. "As to your question, the Talbots are descended from Tristan, and the Shaws from Galahad."

"Galahad? I've heard of him," I blurted out, excited.

"He was known for his purity," Mark said, and I bit back a laugh. How shocked he'd be by his descendant who used to love blowing strangers or being blown in the backroom of Tunbridge Wells' seediest club. Now, I had no idea why I'd enjoyed it so much.

"What about the Mortimers?" Mark asked.

Rufus's lips quivered as if he wanted to laugh. "According to this, their ancestor was Mordred."

"Mordred? Wasn't he the one who betrayed and killed Arthur to take the throne?" Archer asked, standing up.

"Something like that," Mark said.

"Oh my God, that is classic. I can just see Abimelech Mortimer's face if that gets out. Hey," I said, turning to Archer. "Maybe you could ask him for a donation to the upkeep of the library to make sure it doesn't get out?"

"I'm not sure blackmailing Abimelech Mortimer is the best way to ensure my continued survival," he said, before putting his mouth against my ear. "You seem to have forgotten that our guest is a Mortimer."

"Oh, shit. " I stared at Rufus in horror. He seemed so nice, when he wasn't telling me off about tea and books, and I'd forgotten.

"In name only," he said. "Don't worry about it."

"It's all ancient history anyway." I tried to recover the situation. "I mean, it doesn't change anything now."

"I don't know," Mark said slowly. "It doesn't change the facts of how things are now, but it could change people's actions. If you felt you had a destiny, you might do things you wouldn't normally consider."

Well, shit. That was a scary thought.

"How would it feel to learn that you were from a vastly powerful family who used to rule the land?" Mark continued.

"Honestly, I'd think they'd just be disappointed in me," I said.

"Come on, Sir Galahad. Let's make our guests some tea." Archer tugged me after him out of the library.

ARCHER

I hated how self-deprecating Ollie was and the way he'd been doing it so long that he knew how to make it sound like a joke. I hated that it had taken me so long to see what he was doing. I hated more that he believed he was no one special.

I took a moment in the hall to kiss him, to let him know I saw him, how truly amazing he was.

"How's your shoulder?" I asked afterwards. The burn looked to be healing well—dragons heal fast—but I couldn't help worrying.

"It's definitely not hurting as much," he said. "But can you believe what Rufus said? I can't wait to read up about King Arthur and his knights and to visit the fake Round Table again. You know it has all those names on it? I wonder Tristan or Galahad are there. It'll be different looking at it now."

"The Galahad connection doesn't surprise me," I told him.

"Even after what I did to you last night?" His grin brought back vividly the way he'd deep-throated me until I'd been practically wailing with how good it felt.

"Not that kind of purity," I said. I ran my hand over his arse, lingering long enough to squeeze, suddenly wishing we didn't have visitors. Ollie's arse was perfect, and damn near heaven to sink into. What had I been saying? Oh, yes. I firmly removed my hand from where it had, of its own accord, started to trace the centre seam of Ollie's jeans, causing his colour to rise.

"The sort of purity I think Mark was talking about isn't physical," I said. "It's of the heart. And you're full of that kind of goodness."

Ollie's cheeks flared even redder, and I decided to leave this conversation for when we wouldn't be interrupted. One day, I'd get him to believe how special he was. It wasn't going to be easy, going against all those years when he'd been made to think he was lesser, but I wasn't someone who gave up.