Dream of Me/Believe in Me

in hell's name was she doing traveling alone? No wonder she was gotten up as a boy, but that was scant protection. If he'd had more than a few seconds to look at her earlier he would have realized at once what he had finally discovered.
A girl
.
    “It's all right, sweetling,” Dragon said gently. He set her down with the utmost care, watchful lest in her exhausted state she topple over. “There's nothing for you to be afraid of. No one's going to hurt you. I'll see you safely to wherever you're going and—”
    She turned and, fleet as a young doe, ran. He stared after her in amazement. Where had she possibly found the strength to try to escape yet again? It was truly amazing and just one more testament to the extraordinary mystery of women. Not that he could let her go, of course. She might get lost, or have trouble finding food, or be cold once night came, or run into some man with altogetherthe wrong sort of attitude toward women. Dragon couldn't allow any of that to happen. Nor could he allow her to harm herself by dashing through the woods probably paying no attention at all to her surroundings.
    Frowning with concern, he hurried after her.
    Rycca's breath came in labored gasps. Her legs were lead, the effort of running agony. Only the desperate courage deep within her kept her from slumping to the ground in defeat. Of all the cruel tricks for fate to play upon her. She had escaped the brutality of her family and their nightmare plans for her future only to find herself in the hands of the most terrifyingly powerful warrior she had ever seen in her life.
    And the handsomest man.
    If she had possessed even a whisper of breath to spare, she would have laughed in sheer disbelief at herself. Even now, fleeing for her life, she could harbor such a thought. She must be possessed of some inner demon.
    Only truth.
    Truth be damned! And with it all the rest that life had inflicted upon her. She would not fall to the warrior or to her own weakness. She would run until her heart burst if she had to but she would never,
ever
give up. Surrender was for the craven and meek. She was neither. Heedless of the tears of exhaustion and fear that streamed down her cheeks, Rycca ran on. She did not see the ground change around her, did not notice the trees thinning away, paid no heed to the sea shining below the cliff that suddenly loomed before her. Nor did she hear Dragon's frantic shout. Drained of strength, bereft of hope, driven only by despair, she tumbled straight over the cliff face. A strangled scream broke from her. Grasping at bushes, she tried to halt her headlong plunge. The effort failed and with a last sob of terror she glimpsed the white-foamed breakers rushing up toward her.
    Dragon saw the girl disappear over the cliff andfought the wave of sickness that clawed at him. He could scarcely believe what his stubborn pursuit had wrought but there was no denying the brutal result. The girl was gone, might even at that moment be dead or dying, and it was his fault. With a horrified groan, he flung himself down the cliff side, scarcely controlling his fall as he slipped and slid until leaping the last dozen feet to the beach.
    The sight that greeted him made bile rise in his throat. She lay crumbled at the edge of the water against the boulder that had finally stopped her. Tendrils of copper hair drifted on the incoming tide. Another few minutes, and the water would be deep enough to drown her. As it was, her slender form was unmoving. A thin trickle of blood oozed from a wound on her forehead, flowing away into the sea.
    Scarcely breathing, Dragon lifted the girl and carried her a safe distance up the sand. He laid her down carefully, then hesitated, momentarily uncertain of what to do. The man who had seen more injuries on the battlefield than he could count, and who had prevented his own death a year before by swiftly dealing with a wound that would have killed him, found himself at an utter loss. She looked so fragile lying there, all the strength and courage suddenly gone from her. Swallowing thickly, he opened the small pack hanging from his belt, drawing from it the supplies that good sense and his sister-in-law, herself a renowned healer, assured he always carry with him. The soft, clean cloth he pressed against the wound on the girl's forehead slowed the bleeding. He left the makeshift bandage in place and quickly checked her limbs, relieved to find none of them broken. In the process, he could not help but