Dagon materialized in the castle foyer and tossed his overcoat to a waiting servant. When first informed of the disastrous situation at the castle, he grew angry. But by the time he made a hasty apology to a petulant Linda and instructed Alastair to drive home alone, Sarina’s predicament had settled in his thoughts and his anger had turned to concern and then worry.
What if she was hurt? And surely she was frightened being stuck in the tight, dark chimney.
He entered the receiving parlor and stood staring at the chaotic scene. He had hoped that by the time he reached the castle, Bernard would have found a way to extricate Sarina, but that was not the case. Bernard stood instructing two male servants whose only visible parts of their bodies were from their waists down. They stood on small ladders apparently attempting to free Sarina.
Several female servants hovered in front of the hearth, and Margaret calmly stood to the side, but all eyes were steadfast on the fireplace.
“Bernard.”
His deep, direct voice had all heads turning.
“I see you have not been successful in freeing her,” Dagon said and joined everyone in front of the hearth.
Bernard wiped his perspiring brow with his white handkerchief. This alarmed Dagon, for he never saw the man perspire.
“I have tried everything from spells to potions to simple mortal means, and we cannot dislodge her.”
The male servants, hearing Dagon’s voice, removed themselves from the ladders and stood to the side along with the other servants presently waiting further instructions.
“Is she all right?” Dagon asked Bernard.
He lowered his voice to answer. “I think she grows tired and she suffers more discomfort than she will admit. She was not found until late afternoon and has been stuck there since early morning. She most certainly must be feeling the effects of her confinement.”
Dagon swore silently as he entered the large hearth, bending his head until he could stand straight and lift his head to look up. This time his silent curses became mumbles as a lone lantern cast a harsh glow up the chimney.
He had a full view of her slim body wedged a good distance up along the bricks that narrowed with the climb. Her stockings were torn, her legs scraped, and her shoulders and arms were wedged tightly. Angling his head in an odd position, he could see that a good amount of soot covered her face not allowing him to determine any further damage. She looked to be asleep. Her head rested back and her eyes were closed.
“Sarina,” he said softly and she glanced down as best she could, her eyes opening wide. The white pupils looked enlarged against her soot-covered face and made her appear terrified, startling his emotions all the more.
“Dagon,” she said as though relieved by his presence. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Her relief washed over him along with her weariness. She was completely exhausted, and he realized he had to free her as fast as possible.
“I’m afraid I became too overzealous in my attempt to complete my chore,” she said in way of explaining her strange predicament.
“We can discuss that another time. What is important is that we get you out of here.”
She sighed. “That would be nice. I am growing tired.”
“Hold on tight, I’ll be right back.” Dagon reluctantly left her side and joined Bernard, who spoke quietly with Margaret.
“No spells or magic works?” he asked the couple.
“None,” Bernard answered. “And I am worried. Without our powers I don’t know how we will be able to dislodge her. We already attempted to pull her free but it was quite a chore, and I think our useless efforts cost her to suffer dearly.”
Dagon rubbed his forehead in thought. “We must use mortal wit. It is the only way.”
“Sir,” Bernard said with obvious concern. “We are witches; how are we to ever think as commonly as mortals? It will take us forever to find a solution.”
“I think I may have one,” Margaret offered.
“Tell me,” Dagon said anxiously.
“I have a special solvent I created for various chores. It’s thick and greasy and once spread over her body may just help to slip her out of there.”
“It’s worth a try,” Dagon said, eager to try anything instead of standing there while she continued to grow wearier.
“I’ll have John and Ben see to it immediately,” Bernard said.
“No,” Dagon said so abruptly that Bernard looked as though he had made a grievous error. Dagon wanted no one touching her. He tried to rationalize it by explaining to Bernard that he felt responsible for her dilemma since he had ordered her duties confined to the receiving parlor. But he was fully aware that the thought of John and Ben spreading grease all over Sarina’s body sent his blood boiling. He would have no one, absolutely no one but him touching her.
He finished with “Therefore, I think it best that I see to taking care of this myself.”
“As you wish, sir,” Bernard said, “though I would suggest a change of clothes.”
Dagon agreed and hurried to his quarters, insisting Bernard stay and help Margaret with the solvent. He hastily changed into jeans, an old gray sweatshirt, and sneakers and rushed back to the parlor, where he dismissed all the servants.
He entered the hearth to see how Sarina was and noticed tear tracks running through the soot on her face. He swore yet again beneath his breath and used his powers to float up as close as he could to her. He managed to get near her hips and placed a reassuring hand to her waist.
“You’re going to be all right,” he told her and gave her slim waist a gentle squeeze. “I’ll have you out of here in no time.”
She sniffled. “I am a fool who can do nothing right. I make a mess of everything. I lack simple common sense, which makes me wonder how I survived all these years.”
“How old are you—one hundred, perhaps one hundred and twenty-five years old? Why, you are barely grown.”
She kept silent, knowing the truth would not at all please him.
“This will all be over soon.”
She sighed. “You forever rescue me, Dagon. And how do I repay you... by being even more incompetent than before.”
A sudden cramp caught at her neck and she cried out.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, moving his hand to grasp at her stiff one and growing more concerned when he realized just how ridged her body had grown. Her tense fingers were barely able to wrap around his.
“I’m afraid my muscles are protesting my prolonged confinement.”
He attempted to comfort her. “A steaming hot bath after all this is done should set things right for you.”
She sighed and in her weariness and need to remain alert she teased him. “You tempt me yet again, my lord.”
He laughed softly, admiring her ability to joke in this awkward situation. “I have not even begun to tempt you, Sarina.”
“The solvent, sir,” Bernard called out.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, and with a gentle stroke of his hand to her waist he floated down.
“Dagon,” she called to him anxiously. “Please hurry back.”
His feet touched the stone when he said teasingly, “Miss me already, do you?”
“I miss you terribly,” she said on a whispered sigh.
“I’ll rescue you, Sarina, on that you have my word,” he said with a chivalry that seemed long since gone.
“If only you were the one who could,” she whispered softly and sniffled back her tears.
Margaret warned him that the solvent had to be dissolved in hot water that was sprinkled with a liberal mixture of herbs. She advised him that she would prepare a tub to soak Sarina in once she was removed from the chimney.
Bernard raised an eyebrow, though Margaret did not find it odd when Dagon ordered her to prepare his tub for Sarina.
She immediately took herself off to do as directed.
Bernard remained with Dagon to help him.
Dagon had assessed the situation while he had talked with Sarina. He knew exactly where the solvent needed to be rubbed on her to free her, and he wasted no time in sending the bucket upward with the crook of his finger.
He instructed Bernard to remain close by and then floated up near Sarina. He managed to work himself close enough to her to be able to reach the pertinent areas and he quickly dipped his hands into the thick greasy mess that thank goodness did not smell as bad as it looked.
“I’m going to coat your body with this solvent and slip you right out of here,” he said, making sure she understood why his hands were about to become intimate with her.
“Ready?”
“I trust you,” she said without hesitation.
Her simple remark affected him much more than he was prepared to admit, and he made a concentrated effort to focus all his attention and emotions on the task at hand. He worked his goop-covered hands up the front of her blouse, scraping his knuckles on the rough bricks that held her prisoner. He coated her ribs and placed gobs of the solvent on her breasts, massaging the thick goop over every inch of her chest.
He repeatedly sunk his hand into the bucket to retrieve more solvent and continued to concentrate on his chore. He worked the solvent over her stiff arms, and she occasionally moaned when he touched a sore muscle.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he said, having moved himself closer to her so that his hand could reach farther up. His head now rested on her hip while his hand worked a thick portion of goop over her tightly wedged shoulders.
“You’re not hurting me,” she reassured him. “Actually, your hand feels quite good on my—” She paused a moment as if weighing her words. “Stiff muscles.”
He tried not to think of how good her breasts felt in his hand. The soft mounds fit his palm just perfectly, but this certainly was not the time for such sensuous thoughts. He was rescuing her not ravishing her. But still, she did feel so very good.
He focused on her shoulders and down her back, which was the most difficult part of her to reach. His hands worked their way down a little more roughly than he intended, and she moaned.
It was not a suffering moan. It was a responsive moan, one that responded most satisfyingly to his touch.
He ignored the soft ache that issued from her lips and ignored his own lusty ache. He worked heavy gobs of the solvent again over her shoulders and down her arms. He massaged a good portion over her neck to protect her skin when he attempted to dislodge her.
Then his hand fought his way up her backside, squeezing the firm flesh harder than he had intended. His intimate action elicited another moan that left little doubt to either of them that his hands were causing her sensual havoc.
He worked as fast as he could, warning himself that she was exhausted and in her fatigued condition her body instinctively responded without thought or reason. He didn’t bother to consider that his own body had responded out of plan, old-fashioned desire.
“Almost finished,” he said and roamed his hand slowly over her body, making certain the solvent covered all the necessary places. It was a methodical task, though it took on the intimacy of a lover acquainting himself with a new partner, and this time they both moaned.
“Please, hurry, Dagon,” she pleaded. “This ordeal has become unbearable.”
He had to agree with her, though he remained silent and finished the task with a hasty hand that titillated all the more. He promised himself he would free her and leave her in Margaret’s care. He swore he would, he vowed he would, he damn well knew he wouldn’t.
“Sarina,” he said gently. “I’m going to slowly ease you down toward me. If I tug too hard or you feel any pain, let me know.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said, her voice sounding a bit stronger, though it quivered.
With a swipe of his finger he sent the bucket to land gently on the ground and wiped his goop-covered hands on his sweatshirt. He then positioned his hands below her hips on her thighs were there wasn’t as much goop and tugged slowly. He had trouble getting a solid hold and grew annoyed.
Knowing his only choice was to grasp on to something solid and free of the solvent, he ran his hands beneath her skirt.
“Sorry, but I need to get a good hold of you,” he said, explaining his intimate intrusion. His fingers rushed up her legs and caught on the edge of her lace panties. He cursed his fumbling fingers and the lusty thoughts that invaded his senses and finally grabbed a solid hold of her hips.
“Please do whatever you will,” she pleaded softly.
Her words begged for release, and he pressed his forehead to her hip as he took a calming breath. Only this bumbling witch who haunted his every thought and intruded upon all his senses could turn a difficult situation into an erotic one.
With a groan of annoyance Dagon gave a gentle tug and he felt her slip, only slightly, but still her body moved. He tried again, and again her body slid a little way down the wall.
He called down to Bernard. “It’s working! Tell Margaret and be ready with the blanket.”
“Yes, sir!” Bernard shouted, and Dagon heard him rush out of the room.
He then directed his words to Sarina. “This may take a little time. I don’t want to rush and hurt you.”
“I’m all right, really I am. I’m just very tired and stiff.”
“Margaret has a hot bath waiting for you, keep your mind focused on that.”
She sighed. “Oh, yes, I will do that. A hot bath, how wonderful.”
Dagon worked her slowly down the chimney inch by inch. He heard Bernard return, and he hastily told him that all was in readiness for Sarina.
Dagon kept himself focused, a difficult task since as they made their way down, the chimney widened and she began to slip down his body. Her limbs were rigid from her long confinement, and she couldn’t move them at all.
“I feel so helpless,” she said when she was finally free and her head came to rest on his chest.
His hands had forced her skirt up, and while he wished her no further embarrassment, he could not push her skirt back down. He needed to keep his hands around her waist and besides the solvent already had her bunched-up skirt stuck together.
When he finally had her down in the mouth of the hearth, he lifted her as easily as he could into his arms, and Bernard didn’t waste a minute draping the blue cotton blanket over her.
“Margaret waits upstairs, she will see to her care,” Bernard informed him.
Dagon nodded and hurried out of the parlor and up the stairs.
Sarina continued to rest her head on his chest. “My arms, I cannot move them.”
“Your muscles are rigid from being wedged in so long. It will ease once you soak in the hot water.”
Her voice held a touch of panic as though she just realized she could do nothing for herself.’ ‘Margaret will help me?”
Dagon knew he couldn’t turn her over to Margaret’s care. He had to make certain she was all right. He wanted to see for himself with his own eyes, and he wanted his hands to be the ones who took care of her. He didn’t understand why he felt the need, but it was an urgent need and one he didn’t intend to ignore.
He refrained from answering her as he made his way down the hall to his quarters.
Realizing her whereabouts, she asked anxiously, “Why are you taking me up here? I thought Margaret was to look after me?”
He answered her honestly. “I ordered the bath prepared in my quarters. The tub is large and will be more comfortable for you.”
Sarina shivered. “Suddenly I’m cold.”
“A normal reaction to your ordeal,” he assured her and entered his bedroom, walking straight for the bathroom. “You’ll be in that hot bath in no time.”
Margaret’s presence sobered him fast and made him realize he had no choice but to leave Sarina in her care. Reluctantly he lowered her feet to the floor, but her legs gave way before he released his hold on her.
After several minutes it was obvious that Margaret was not going to be able to handle Sarina’s care on her own. Between her stiff limbs and the gobs of goop, there was no way Margaret had the strength to hold her and undress her, never mind lift her into the tub.
Dagon spoke softly to her. “I think it would be best if I helped you into the tub.”
Sarina was so embarrassed she buried her face against his sticky sweatshirt.
Margaret was the one who eased the situation. “Dagon has the strength, patience, and honor to handle what must be done. I think it is best if I go fix you a hot pot of tea and something to eat.”
Margaret didn’t wait for any acknowledgments; she made a hasty exit.
Dagon slipped the blanket off Sarina. “I promise to be a perfect gentleman.”
A weak smile teased her lips. “I was afraid you’d say that.”