Читать книгу What A Dragon Should Know - G.A. Aiken - Страница 10

“We have a problem.”

Briec glanced up from the book he was reading and into the face of Brastias, general of Annwyl’s armies and one of the few male humans Briec could tolerate.

Closing his book, he asked, “What did Gwenvael do now?

Do I need to contact my mother? Are we already in war, or is it simply heading our way?”

Brastias, whose scarred face looked grim at the best of times, smiled. “Any time I start a conversation that way, all of you ask me the same questions.”

“My brother starts trouble the way horses shit when they walk. And we all know that.”

“It’s nothing like that, I’m afraid. And you might prefer that it were a problem with Gwenvael instead.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You need to see. Telling you will reveal nothing.”

Brastias led him out to the training fields. As Annwyl’s armies had grown, so had the multiple areas used specifically for training. The one Brastias took him to was the one they used for the new trainees. Briec’s daughter was one of those trainees. She spent most days with her training unit, but came and went from the castle as she felt the need. And although her mother—his dear, sweet, quiet Talaith—waited impatiently for Izzy to lose all interest in being a warrior, Briec feared that day would never come, for Izzy talked and dreamed constantly of being in battle, of being a warrior.

Yet every time Briec saw his Izzy she had a new bruise or cut or some part of her was swollen to twice its normal size. When she did join them all for dinner, she’d come in with a scowl that could terrify the gods, limping or with her arm in a splint or bandages wrapped around a nasty head wound. While eating she’d fall asleep at the table, and Talaith and Briec would take her to her room so she could sleep in her own bed. By morning she was gone, back out with her unit for more training, more bruises, more pain.

To say it drove his Talaith mad would be a grave understatement. For sixteen years she’d done all she could to protect a daughter she’d never held in her arms. Izzy had been brutally taken from her by those who worshipped a goddess hell-bent on revenge. They’d used Izzy’s life as the yoke that kept Talaith in line, training her to one day kill on order. When mother and daughter finally met, all was wonderful. Until Izzy decided she wanted to be part of Annwyl’s army. After so many years of trying to protect her daughter, of doing things she’d never be proud of to keep her daughter safe, Talaith now had to worry her precious and only child would be killed on the battlefield. It was a concern any parent of warriors might have, but Talaith simply refused to accept that this was what Izzy wanted. At least for now.

Talaith clung to the hope that Izzy, who had a tendency to walk into walls or trip over her own large feet, would bore of this like she seemed to bore of most things. And although he’d never admit it out loud, part of him hoped the same thing. Izzy may not be his by blood, but she was his daughter in every other way. He didn’t want to see her harmed or put at risk any more than her mother did. In truth, Talaith and Izzy were the few beings he had any tolerance for. Even when they annoyed him, it never entered his head to blast them with flame and dust the remaining ashes from his life. There were few about whom he could say the same.

Briec leaned against the wood fence surrounding the arena, briefly regarding the other army officers and some of Annwyl’s Elite Guard standing around with him. “Now what?”

Brastias rested his arms against the top of the fence and let out a sigh before he began. “When we took Izzy in, it was with the understanding that if she failed, she’d have to go. Not only for her safety, but for the safety of those in battle with her.”

“Of course. I’ll not have my daughter in danger because she has some pipe dream of being a warrior.”

“Aye,” Brastias mumbled. “Pipe dream.”

Briec flinched a bit. “How bad is she?”

“You need to see.”

Brastias motioned to one of the trainers and that man called out, “Iseabail, Daughter of Talaith, come forward and fight!”

Briec could see where this was going. Brastias, weak human that he was, wanted Briec to be the one to break the news to Izzy that she still had much more training to do before she moved to the next level. Not good, because his daughter had little patience for the normal way of things and she wanted to be a soldier in Annwyl’s army now.

Izzy stepped into the training area. She had more bruises on her face, and her lip had been split open. But none of that took away from the beauty she’d gotten from her mother. Although at only seventeen winters she was still all legs, having not really filled out yet. And she was still getting taller. Right now, she was as tall as Annwyl, able to look the six-foot-tall human queen directly in the eye. But in a few more years, Izzy would blossom, rounding out a bit to resemble her mother even more only with light brown eyes and lighter brown hair.

Already, though, the unworthy local boys had been looking closely at Briec’s daughter. A little too closely. And those who had tried to move past mere looking, Briec, Fearghus, and Gwenvael took great delight in slapping around until they learned that anything but looking at his daughter could get a man killed.

Weighed down with a short sword and the full-length metal shields Annwyl’s army favored for close in battles, Izzy glanced around the arena. She wasn’t looking for anyone, he’d guess, but her mind had wandered. Izzy’s mind wandered a lot, it seemed.

Izzy spotted him and her grin grew wide. “Daddy!” she squealed and waved excitedly with the hand holding the sword. She almost hit herself in the head with it too, and had apparently forgotten she’d seen Briec only that morning near the stables.

He smiled back at her. “Hello, little one.”

“Are you here to watch?”

“I am.”

She scrunched up her nose nervously and said, “Oh. Well, remember…I’m still learning!” And she gave him that hopeful look that tore his heart out.

He nodded at her and muttered to Brastias, “It’s only been seven months. Perhaps, you could give her another—”

“You have to see.” Brastias motioned to the trainer, who motioned to a huge bear of a man. A man Briec recognized from battles they’d been in together. This was no fellow trainee, but one of Annwyl’s favored warriors, whom she affectionately referred to as “Slaughter-Bear.”

Briec felt his anger grow, wondering why they were trying to push his daughter out. Most trainees had until they were twenty-one winters to prove they were worthy of any more time and training before they were sent packing. “This is cruel, Brastias. I won’t allow—”

“You have to see,” Brastias said again. “Go!” he yelled at the two combatants, and Izzy smiled and nodded.

Briec did see then. He saw so clearly that he knew his problem was worse than he could have imagined. Worse than he’d ever dreamed of. For the first time in his life he didn’t know how he was going to handle something. Because he knew this would get dangerously ugly before it ever got better. And he knew there’d be no avoiding it. Not now.

Every warrior standing outside the training ring grimaced when they heard bone break and a cry of pain seconds before Annwyl’s favored warrior flew into the fence, knocking part of it and himself completely out.

“Oh!” Izzy said, her teeth briefly gnawing her bottom lip. “Sorry, Captain, about your…uh…face.” She grimaced and slowly peeked over at Brastias. “Sorry about that, General. I guess I forgot to back off…again.”

Slowly, so slowly, Brastias looked at Briec. The expression on the man’s face, the tic under his eye made it clear what Briec needed to do.

But how was a dragon, any dragon, supposed to tell the woman he loved that her only daughter, not yet eighteen, would be going off to war?

Dagmar made sure the last of her dogs were in their runs, fed, and cared for. It took some time to calm them down, the fear of the dragon lingering, but for being not even a year old, they’d done well. They hadn’t backed down from the dragon at all. Good. She couldn’t afford for the dogs to be cowering during battle.

After saying good night to Johann, Dagmar headed back to the fortress, Canute by her side. When she walked into the Main Hall, she wasn’t exactly surprised to find her kin in the midst of a fight. It was a verbal altercation, not yet moving into a physical one. Although it most likely would. Her brothers needed very little reason to fight and as long as she stayed out of their way, she rarely got injured.

Yet the arguing stopped as soon as she walked in, her brothers immediately focusing on her.

Dagmar paused. “Yes?”

“He’s in your room?” Eymund asked, leaning against one of the long dining tables.

“Yes. He wanted to take a bath.”

“A bath?”

“Yes. In a tub. Not everyone feels the need to face the freezing cold water of the river.”

“That’s all well and good, but he shouldn’t be in your room, sister.”

In no mood for any of this, Dagmar walked off, tossing over her shoulder, “I know. He might be writhing all over my bed like a big cat or sniffing my shoes.”

“Or having a hearty snack.”

It was something in his tone that made Dagmar stop. “I sent up cheese and bread.”

“That’s not hearty. Not for him.”

“Is it true?” Valdís rested his arm on Eymund’s shoulder. “Da says he’s that dragon from earlier only changed to look like a man. Can they really do that?”

“Yes. It’s true.”

“That must be from those gods you don’t believe in.”

His sarcasm unappreciated, she said, “I am not, once again, explaining my belief system to—” She stopped abruptly. They were all smiling. Her kinsmen didn’t smile unless they were drunk or they’d killed something. They wouldn’t kill the dragon, or even try, since he was under the protection of their father for the night. Then what had they done?

Dagmar glanced around the room, looking for something that might tell her what was going on. Something out of place or missing…

She scanned the room again, counting this time. “Where’s that puppy from Tora’s litter?” Unlike the rest of the puppies, who were already in training, the too-small, scared little bundle would become a house pet instead of battle dog. He’d feast on scraps, play with children, and basically live a happy, if useless, life.

“What puppy?” Eymund asked, trying to look appropriately innocent.

Dagmar glared at them all. “You bastards!” she nearly yelled, lifting the gown of her skirt and tearing across the hall. Her brothers’ laughter followed her as she ran through the back hallway to the stairs and up to the second floor.

She was panting by the time she reached her closed bedroom door, horrified she could actually feel a tiny bit of sweat trickling down her back. She didn’t sweat! And that her brothers made her exert herself in any way was something she’d be getting retribution for at a later date. Yet for now…

Dagmar pushed her room door open, but the dragon was not in the tub. Quickly surveying the area, she finally spotted his wet, naked ass trying to wiggle under her bed.

“Come here, little one,” he crooned seductively. “Just a little closer, you yummy little thing you.”

Disgusted, appalled, and angry beyond anything she could ever remember before, Dagmar grabbed the naked bastard by his ankle and yanked him out from under her bed, her outrage temporarily providing the strength she needed to move such a large, dog-eating son of a bitch.

“Oy!” he yelped before turning over and cradling that frighteningly large weaponry he had between his legs. And, if she weren’t so upset, she might notice what an amazingly gorgeous human body he had. Unlike her kinsmen who were muscles on top of muscles, some of them appearing to have been born without necks because the size of their shoulders hid the evidence, the dragon at her feet was large but lean. No fat, no oddly shaped, overdeveloped muscles. His thighs were strong and powerful, his abdomen flat and tight, with an interesting but clear delineation between it and his hip bones.

Staring down at him, she realized her fingers twitched and her tongue rubbed the roof of her mouth, but she decided to ignore all that in favor of her anger.

He glared up at her. “I don’t appreciate the stone burn against my balls, woman!”

“And I don’t appreciate you going after one of my dogs—again!”

“Oh. That.” He cleared his throat and gave a little shrug. “Someone opened the door and threw it in. I’d just assumed it was a little treat from you to me.”

So the little barbarian did have a temper after all. At least when it came to her dogs. And her temper was in full swing as she raised her leg and brought her foot down over his cock.

He knew he had the area protected by his hands, but Gwenvael still curled on his side, grunting in pain as her foot slammed down on the area near his kidney instead.

“Stay away from my dogs, dragon! All of my dogs. From the smallest to the largest,” she ordered, marching over him and over her bed to track down the little fur ball hiding on the other side. “Every dog in this fortress and on these lands belongs to me. You are not to touch them, speak to them, or go near them in any way.”

She marched back over the bed and over him, with the puppy now in her arms. She petted him and crooned to him softly.

“It’s a dog, little barbarian,” he sighed with absolutely no pity. “And only a dog. Sometimes I use their bones to pick my teeth.”

With a snarl, she leaned down and grabbed a handful of his wet hair, nearly yanking it from his head.

“Ow! Get off!” He slapped at her hands, trying to get the unhinged female to release his precious and lovely hair. Women always spoke of how they loved when his hair draped across their bodies and how they loved to stroke it before they eventually started stroking him. The last thing he needed was some mad woman removing it.

She gave one more strong tug before she released him and stepped out of his reach. “Listen well, creature. Touch my dogs and I’ll do to you what I do to the male dogs I decide not to breed!”

With fascination, Gwenvael watched Dagmar carefully and precisely rein in her sudden burst of temper. When those grey eyes locked on him again, they were as cold as ice.

“Now that we have that clear, I’ll leave you to finish your bath, Lord Gwenvael.”

She started out, then stopped. “One thing. The men of this land don’t wear their long hair out. They have one plait down their back. It’s custom and to keep the complaining of my siblings down, I’d appreciate if you’d abide by that.”

“Of course.”

She nodded and again started toward the door.

“Tragically,” Gwenvael said to her back, enjoying how she stopped and her entire body tensed.

“Tragically…what?”

“My hair is so long and unmanageable…I’d never be able to braid it properly.” He grinned. “Perhaps you can do it for me.”

“I’ll send a servant to take care of it for you.”

“But as hostess of the house…”

She turned to face him. “As hostess of the house…what?”

“Shouldn’t you tend to your guest?”

Her face showed nothing. Her demeanor didn’t change one bit. But he knew he’d gotten to her because the puppy yelped in her arms and she had to loosen her grip before he stopped squirming.

“If you insist, my lord.”

“Oh”—Gwenvael grinned—“I do insist!”

His groaning seemed awfully excessive and only added to the absurdity of her situation.

Really, she should only be doing this sort of thing for her husband or her kinsmen and only before they rode off into battle. She’d been putting warrior braids in her father’s hair for years. And then when he returned from battle, she’d spend an hour at least trying to get any remaining blood and gore out of it that his “dip” in the river had not touched.

What she should not be doing was braiding the hair of this dragon. Even more appalling, he didn’t simply want her to braid it.

After putting the puppy outside, he’d explained to her as if she were some servant girl, “First comb it for me, love. Carefully. Don’t want you to pull any hairs out, simply get out the tangles.” But he didn’t stop there. “Then three hundred strokes of the brush—each side gets a hundred and then one hundred for the back.”

After he’d explained all that, he’d relaxed in the chair with a fur casually tossed over his naked lap, appearing as if it could and would drop off at any second.

It briefly crossed Dagmar’s mind to use the eating knife she kept tucked in her leather girdle to cut his throat, but that would not be in the best interest of her people. And, more importantly, her. So, instead, she took the ivory comb her father brought back from one of his raids and began to carefully untangle the dragon’s hair. It reached to the floor, so this was no easy task.

Even worse, he never shut up.

Dagmar didn’t know any being on the planet could talk as much as this one dragon. He talked and talked and then talked some more.

Perhaps she wouldn’t have minded so much if he actually said something of interest. The spark of hope she’d had when he mentioned knowing Aoibhell was quickly extinguished. How had the great philosopher that Dagmar based most of her belief system on tolerated an entire dinner with this…this…dragon? He seemed only to manage inane babble about all the women he’d known, which apparently were many!

Eventually Dagmar exchanged the comb for her brush, and that’s when the groaning started and, tragically, did not stop.

“That feels wonderful,” he’d sighed out at one point. “Have you thought of doing this for a living? You’re very good.”

Dagmar kept silent and went through the first one hundred strokes. When she started on the second side, she didn’t think the dragon would notice if she’d brushed fifty times or fifteen hundred. She was wrong.

“That was only seventy-five, love,” he’d told her when she started to move to the back. “Another twenty-five and you’ll be done with that. Then you can do the back.”

Again, she considered killing him but thought better of it.

Three hundred strokes later, Dagmar slammed the brush down. Now to the task of braiding all this hair!

Dagmar began braiding it and was halfway down his back when she said, “It would help with the rest if you’d stand.”

“All right.”

He stood, and Dagmar was greeted with that naked ass. That magnificent naked ass, if she did say so herself. His front had been exquisite, but his back was…reason help her.

“Think you could wrap the fur around you completely?” She feared she may start petting his ass the way she’d petted the puppy’s head.

“I could. But isn’t your question more of a ‘do I want to’?”

“You do know that I and my eating knife have access to much back here and—”

She didn’t even have to finish before he quickly wrapped the fur completely around his hips.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said sweetly.

“Welcome,” he grumbled back.

It took her a bit, but eventually she finished braiding all that golden hair and tied a leather thong to the end. When Dagmar stood, her fingers ached from the task, and the dragon turned to find her flexing her fingers.

He reached for her hand. “Need help with that?”

“No,” she told him, pulling her hand away before he could grasp it. “There are clothes for you—in your room. Evening meal is in another hour. Until then, stay away from the dogs.”

“I will.” He took a step toward her. “This has all been very kind of you, my lady. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Another step. “Perhaps you could come to my room and help me dress.”

She pressed one finger against his chest and the dragon stopped in midstride. “What are you doing?”

His smile was shameless. “What I always do.”

“Well, don’t do it with me.”

“Are you sure? I’m known for my skills.”

“And I’m sure that’s the only skill you possess. But in the Northland, women, including the servant girls, are given proper respect. Do not think because of how their husbands may treat them that anyone, especially an outsider, may do the same.”

“I have no plans to harm you, my lady.”

“I’m sure you don’t. But don’t think because you’re a dragon my brothers will show you any fear. So if you hope for your manhood to stay intact, you’d best watch your step.”

His grin, the absolute beauty of it, lit up the room. “What are you trying to tell me, my lady?”

“I’m telling you to keep your cock in your pants and your hands to yourself.” She walked to the door and pulled it open, a tense Canute jumping to his large feet, ready to defend her honor. “Take it as a friendly warning.”

“Did you just tell me to keep my cock in my pants?”

Dagmar ignored him and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her. She was halfway down the hall when she turned right around and walked back. She knocked, and the dragon opened the door.

“It’s my room you’re in,” she snarled.

His laughter made her jaw clench. “I was wondering when you were going to notice.”

Chapter 8

She had no idea what he was doing, but she was absolutely fascinated.

True, he was ignoring her, but Dagmar had long been used to that sort of treatment. What she wasn’t used to, however, was a man—or in this case a dragon male—ignoring her sisters-in-law. They weren’t all beautiful. Several had features that made Dagmar quite grateful to simply be plain. Yet what they lacked in beauty, they made up for in eagerness. And Kikka—who’d replaced Eymund’s beloved first wife when she was killed during a brazen raid by Jökull several years back—was eager and beautiful.

Yet Kikka’s generously exposed bosom, her perfectly coiffed hair, and the scent she simply drowned herself in didn’t seem to hold the dragon’s attention as well as Eymund’s habit of eating with his fingers.

“So have you been in many battles, Lord Gwenvael?” Kikka asked, making sure to lean over to give him a better view of her chest.

“A few out of necessity. But I’m not much of a swordsman.” He turned in his chair and looked at Eymund. “But you must have quite the way with the sword. So strong.”

Dagmar almost spit out her wine.

Carefully placing her chalice on the table, Dagmar glanced at her other brothers and father. They looked as uncomfortable as Eymund and as…panicked? Yes. It was definitely panic she saw among her kinsmen.

The truth of that did nothing but amaze her. They find out he’s a dragon, and they barely blink an eye. No one said a word or showed a bit of interest when he sat down uninvited at the head table with her father, her four oldest brothers, their wives, and Dagmar.

Yet the idea he may be interested more in them than in one of their women had the lot ready to bolt from the room. The dragon knew it, too. He knew exactly what he was doing and seemed to be enjoying every moment of it.

Her father caught her eye and motioned to the dragon.

She shrugged, unsure of what he wanted. Her father had never offered her to a man except as a wife, and she doubted he’d start now.

But her father scowled harder and she could only guess that he wanted her to distract the dragon’s attention from her brothers.

If she had to be bothered, she might as well make it worth her time.

“So, Lord Gwenvael…What exactly is your connection to Queen Annwyl?”

He gave her a lazy smile while continuing to stare at poor Eymund. “She’s a very good friend of mine.”

“Do you run errands thousands of leagues from your home for all your friends?”

“When they’re Annwyl. It makes sense, though, don’t you think? My kind can fly here in half the time it takes humans to ride across country on horseback.”

“Very true. And yet you say that she’s empowered you to bargain on her behalf. She’s putting a lot of trust in you, especially since an alliance was never discussed in the missive we sent her.”

“But why else would you want to see the queen herself, if not for a discussion on an alliance between the kingdoms? With all those defenses I saw on Reinholdt lands, I can’t help but think perhaps you’re in need of a good alliance.”

“And I can’t help but wonder what it is about Annwyl’s unborn children that makes them such an important target.”

“Don’t you know?”

Holding her chalice between both her hands, Dagmar rested her elbows on the table. “All I know is who wants to cut her babes from her like a festering infection. Why is a question I have been unable to get an answer on.”

He relaxed back in his chair with an air of nonchalance she didn’t buy for one second. “Why should be of no concern to you, but I’m sure there’s some…agreeable arrangement you and I can come to that would work for all involved.”

“You and I? No, no.” Dagmar gave a small, false laugh and placed her chalice back on the table. For a moment, a splendid moment, all he felt from her as they talked was heat and sex. This one loved the game as much as he, but these barbarians held her back. A shame, really. For he wondered what she would really do if given free rein. “I would never handle negotiations of such great importance.”

“What’s this, sister-in-law?” the one who must have bathed in whatever sickening scent she used—Kikka, was it?—cut in. “Are you not the politician of your father’s lands?”

Dagmar didn’t move, her expression never changed, and she did nothing that suggested the woman’s words hit a nerve. But for Gwenvael those cold, grey eyes always gave Lady Dagmar away.

Did these females not know the dangerous animal they played with? Did they really not see it? Or did their jealousy of her make them blind to the risks they took?

Kikka placed one smooth, unmarred hand on his forearm. “You see, Lord Gwenvael, our little Dagmar hopes the rules will change one day and she’ll be reigning warlord over everything you see here. That when our great warriors ride into battle, they’ll be chanting ‘The Beast’ and not ‘The Reinholdt.’”

Ahhh, not blind. Stupid.

The insipid women at the table laughed at Kikka’s joke until Kikka yelled out, pushing her chair back and stumbling away from the table.

Eymund rolled his eyes. “What is wrong now?”

“One of those vicious beasts of hers bit me!”

Dagmar put her hand to her chest. “Oh, Kikka, I’m so sorry.” She glanced under the heavy wood table. “Come here, little one. Come here.” A dog large enough that Gwenvael could ride it back to Dark Plains emerged from under the table. “Now, Idu, I know you want to play with Canute, but not tonight. Go outside now.”

The large but older dog, based on her white muzzle and the grey in her fur, eased out from under the table and sauntered out of the hall.

“You put her under there on purpose!” Kikka accused, one of the servants wiping away the blood from her ankle.

“And why would I do that?”

“You know that dog hates me.”

“The dog hates you. I see. And therefore I put her under the table to attack when you said something she didn’t like? That was the dog’s grand scheme, eh?”

“No! I meant you…you know what I meant, dammit.”

“Sit down,” Eymund ordered. “You’re making a bloody fool of yourself.”

“But she—”

“Sit!”

Her face red from anger, her glare for Dagmar alone, Kikka pulled her chair back and sat down. She looked at Gwenvael and he knew what he saw in her eyes. A clear invitation. With the right word or look, she’d find a way to invite him to her room or to meet somewhere outside later tonight.

In answer, Gwenvael turned in his chair and focused on Eymund again. “Since your sister can’t handle negotiations, I do hope you and I will work together on this. Very closely.”

He so enjoyed the way the man froze any time Gwenvael did that. The human looked like that deer Gwenvael had come upon a few days ago in the forest. He wondered what would make Eymund scamper off completely.

Dagmar pushed her chair back and stood. “I’m off to bed, Father. Lord Gwenvael.”

“Lady Dagmar,” he said, but he kept his attention on Eymund—much to the man’s horror. “So tell me, Eymund…” Gwenvael nibbled on a crunchy piece of fruit. “What are you planning to do…after dessert?”

Morfyd the White Witch tore off the dress she’d put on only moments before and grabbed for another. When did she get like this? This pathetic and…and…female? Honestly! Did she really need to put herself through any of this?

She pulled the red gown on and stared at herself in the mirror. She frowned. Her…in red. Were there not laws against that?

As she began to pull the dress off and try on another, her brother’s voice echoed in her head.

She immediately stopped, feeling guilty as if she’d been caught red-handed, until she remembered he was in the Northlands. And, she reminded herself, he couldn’t read her thoughts. But, like most dragons, they could communicate with each other using their minds alone. A true gift…unless you were hiding something and jumpy as a sparrow.

Are you there or not? her brother’s voice demanded.

Don’t bark at me! She rubbed her forehead, tried to calm down a bit. What is it?

Nothing. But I’m in the Reinholdt Fortress.

The dungeons?

Very funny.

She smiled and dropped down on the edge of her bed. Actually it was very funny.

I’m not in the dungeons. I’m in a room. Just finished dinner with the lot of them. Which was tedious, to say the least.

And what did they tell you? What do they know?

I’m still working on that.

You’re still… Morfyd gritted her teeth together. What did you do?

Nothing.

Gwenvael!

Would you leave it to me? Why don’t you trust me?

Are you really asking me that? She sighed. I told her we should have never sent you.

And thank you for the never-ending trust, sister.

Morfyd grimaced, realizing too late she should have kept that thought to herself.

Gwenvael, I’m sorry. Please—

But she already knew he was no longer there.

She hadn’t meant to hurt him, but this was Gwenvael. She and Fearghus had tried to talk Annwyl out of sending Gwenvael as her emissary, but her friend had insisted.

Morfyd did know her brother would try, but still…This was Gwenvael!

“Is it Gwenvael again?”

Her body immediately tensed at the sudden intrusion until a familiar hand stroked down her back.

“I hurt his feelings,” she said without turning around. “I didn’t mean to.”

Lips brushed against her cheek, the back of her neck. Teeth nibbled lightly at her ear. “I know. But sometimes he does ask for it.”

Morfyd leaned back against the human male behind her. He’d come into her room the same way for the last few months—through her window. Their days may belong to the kingdoms they served, but their nights belonged to each other.

“He says we have no faith in him.”

Sir Brastias, general to the entire Dark Plains armies, put his arms around Morfyd’s body and held her close, his chin resting against her shoulder. “Faith and trust must be earned, Morfyd, and your brother plays too much for that to be the case. Besides, he can’t poke at the bear and be surprised when it attacks.”

“But he does care. In his own way. I know no one thinks he does, but he does. He really wants to help Annwyl. He’s worried about her.”

“We all are. She’s not been looking well these last few weeks.”

“I know. And I appreciate you making sure she’s not bothered with much.” And for keeping their relationship a wonderful secret. Morfyd wished she could say it was only her worries for Brastias’s physical health should her brothers find out that kept her from admitting the truth. But it was more than that. It was having to tell her mother that almost had her curling into a ball on her bed, afraid to move. Queen Rhiannon could be difficult at the best of times, and the gods knew she treated her sons vastly different from the way she treated her daughters.

“I try to protect her, but sometimes she searches me out.” He smiled, a rare thing of utter beauty. She always felt like his smiles were a special gift just for her. “How much longer?”

“I don’t know. It should be at least another two months. But even with twins…she shouldn’t be this big yet.”

“Are you terribly worried?”

“I’m worried.” She rested her head against his. “I’m definitely worried.”

“You’re already doing the best that you can for her. She can’t ask for more than that. None of us can.”

“I know.”

“She won’t be at dinner tonight. Did anyone tell you?”

“No.” She instantly became concerned. “Is she all right?”

“She’s fine. Fearghus said she just wanted to lie in tonight. It sounds like few will be down in the Great Hall.”

“All right.”

“So I thought you and I could have dinner up here. Have our own lie in.”

She turned her face toward his, let the feel of his kiss move through her.

“Were you going to wear that dress tonight at dinner?”

Her eyes fluttered open, and she realized he’d stopped kissing her. She hated when he stopped kissing her.

“This? Uh…I was just trying it on. I wasn’t going to wear it.”

“Let me see.” He pulled away from her. “Go on. I want to see.”

Feeling uncomfortable, she stood and slowly turned to face him. She should never wear red. Her mother had specifically told her she should never wear red. What had she been thinking?

“Back up a bit so I can see the whole dress.”

She took several steps back. “Well?”

“Nice gown. You look amazing in red.”

“I do?”

“Aye.” His gaze swept her from head to foot and back again. “You do.”

Morfyd felt her confidence grow under that gaze. Blossom. “Thank you.”

He stretched out on the bed and let out a wonderfully contented sigh, his gaze never leaving hers. “It’s a tragic shame you won’t be wearing it for long, though.”

Walking toward him, her fingers already sliding the sleeves of the dress off her shoulders, she said, “Aye, Brastias. A tragic shame.”

Gwenvael shook his hair out of that stupid braid and began to pace his room.

“Of course,” he muttered to himself, “don’t send Gwenvael. He’ll just muck it up. Useless, worthless Gwenvael.”

From one of his three brothers, Morfyd’s comment could and would have been dismissed. But from either Morfyd or his younger sister, Keita, it hurt. Deeply. For them to think he didn’t take any of this seriously hurt. Annwyl meant the world to him, and he wouldn’t risk her or the twins. So why did his family not see it? Was it because he refused to face every challenge as some grim test to the death? Should he constantly glower at every living thing like Fearghus? Or show nothing but constant disdain like Briec? Or perhaps be constantly wide-eyed and openly earnest like Éibhear? Could his kin only then take him seriously? How, after all these years, could they still not see?

And he refused to hear any longer that it was his “whoring” as his father loved to call it. None of his kin had been monks, though Morfyd was the closest to that ideal than any of the others.

Yet when it was all said and done, it was only Annwyl, a human he hadn’t even known five years, much less two centuries or more, who seemed to understand his worth. Only she had any true faith in him.

Because of that, she would be the reason he would not fail.

A knock pulled him from his rather depressing thoughts—and the gods knew he hated being maudlin—and he walked across the room to open the thick, sturdy wooden door. When he thought about it, most things in the north seemed made of wood and sturdy. Even the people.

Gwenvael blinked down at the servant girl standing in the hallway.

“Aye?” When she frowned, he said, “Yes?”

“I…uh…” She looked him over and shivered a bit before she boldly walked into his room. “Is there something I can help you with, love?”

“I’m a gift,” she said, already pulling off her dress. “A gift for you, my lord.”

Her gaze devoured him. She wanted his cock, but he wasn’t exactly surprised by that.

“Are you now? A gift from whom?”

“The Reinholdt, of course.”

“I see.” Gwenvael walked across the room and leaned his back against the wall by the window, his arms crossed over his chest. “And what kind of gift are you?”

Her dress fell to the floor, and she stood before him confident and beautifully naked.

His body stirred, but that wasn’t surprising either. It had been awhile. Nearly a whole week! And yet—

Gwenvael abruptly pivoted toward the window and watched as Dagmar Reinholdt slipped out of the shadows beside one of the stables, walking away from the fortress gates. She was dressed warmly in a wool cape and gloves, a satchel over her shoulder.

Now where is she going?

He had to admit, he found the Lady Dagmar quite diverting. At dinner she seemed confused by what he was up to, but intrigued—and thoroughly entertained. The image of a cat with hidden claws always seemed to come to mind when he saw her. Especially when he watched those cold, grey eyes look around the room, taking everything in, processing, and sorting what she saw.

So what was a demure Only Daughter to a Northland warlord doing wandering about in the evening?

He had to know!

“My lord?”

Gwenvael scowled at the girl, and she stepped back. To be honest, he’d forgotten she was in the room.

He smoothed over the scowl with a perfectly acceptable smile. The kind he kept for elderly ladies and detestable small children. “Sorry, love. Can’t tonight.”

“What?”

He picked up her dress, pushed it into her arms, and as gently as possible shoved her toward the door.

“I do, however, really appreciate you stopping by. Very nice of you.” He opened the door and pushed her out into the hall. “Tell Lord Sigmar thanks and, uh…nice tits.”

Then he closed the door and locked it. He stripped off his clothes and walked to the window, throwing it open. By the time he slipped outside into the cold Northland night, he’d shifted to dragon, his claws digging into the stone walls. He then blended into his surroundings and went off after Dagmar Reinholdt.

Eymund and his brothers watched as the lovely Lagertha came tumbling into the hallway from the dragon’s room, as the door was slammed shut and immediately bolted. She was naked but had her dress held up in front of her. She hadn’t been in there three minutes. That wasn’t even time enough for a good suck, in his estimation, much less a worthy fuck.

He motioned to her, and she ran over, her face red and her body shaking.

“That bastard tossed me out. Me!” There had been few men on Reinholdt lands who had not had their time in Lagertha’s bed. She enjoyed a good ride and made no apologies for it. When they’d pointed out the dragon as he’d been heading back to his room, she’d practically tripped over her tongue with lust, and readily agreed to be his “gift.”

“What did he say to you? Did he give you a reason?”

“No. He just wasn’t interested.”

Eymund looked at his brothers and they were equally as confused. How could the bastard, even a dragon pretending to be human, not be interested in free pussy? What male wasn’t?

“Maybe he only likes his own kind,” one of his brothers reasoned. “Can’t say I’d be too comfortable bedding one of them dragon females, though.”

“I don’t think it’s only because he wants a dragoness,” said Valdís. “More like he only wants Eymund.”

And that’s what worried him. Usually it was Dagmar they felt the need to protect from strangers from the outside. But for once she seemed to be at no risk at all. “I’m going to see Father,” Eymund said abruptly.

And off they all went to the pub.

Dagmar got herself comfortable on the roof of one of the army barracks. She had extra furs because she knew she’d get cold. Plus in her favorite satchel she had a bottle of wine, the dessert from the earlier evening’s meal, and a chalice. With everything set into place, she crossed her legs and pulled her plain but comfortably warm skirt over her knees and feet. Then she waited for the entertainment to begin.

She didn’t have to wait long.

Kikka tiptoed from the shadows, looking this way and that, making sure no one could see her. But she wore the expensive cape she’d insisted on buying. It was bright yellow and although dark out, there was enough light coming from the different buildings to make her stand out like a spot on one of the bloody suns.

Foolish girl.

Since she’d come to the Reinholdt Fortress to be Eymund’s bride, Kikka had made it her business to bring Dagmar to heel. She didn’t trust her, didn’t like her, and felt threatened by her. Fair enough, since Dagmar felt the same way about her. The difference, however, was that Kikka was stupid. Dagmar wondered if there was a brain at all in her addled little head. While Kikka tried to sweet-talk Sigmar into sending Dagmar away and seduce her husband into pushing the issue, Dagmar had a lovely and growing list of all Kikka’s lovers in the last five months, including locations, times, and positions.

True, she could have revealed Kikka’s whoring ages ago, but why waste the power? More importantly, Kikka kept her brother happy with more brats while Sigmar worried less about the state of his sons’ marriages and more about important things like Jökull.

And, she could admit to herself, while she sat up here on the barrack roof, that Kikka did provide a form of entertainment Dagmar could not indulge in otherwise.

She enjoyed watching. It was a flaw, but she only used it against those who would try to take what she’d fought so hard for all these years. As long as Kikka remained ineffectual, her secrets were safe with Dagmar.

Kikka slipped into the stablemaster’s room. Horses were so important in the Northlands, so revered by the warriors that the position of stablemaster paid incredibly well and often included a house on the grounds.

Thankfully this stablemaster’s small house included lovely windows that he never closed the small wooden doors on. When he moved toward Kikka, his intentions clear, Dagmar reached into her satchel and pulled out the specially made spectacles Brother Ragnar had given her several years ago. Unlike the ones she wore on her face, these were much larger, needing both her hands to hold them. Nor did she wear them per se, but simply held them up to her eyes, the leather they were encased in allowing her a wonderful grip. While her regular spectacles were merely to see what she should normally see in front of her, these were so she could see much farther away…and in fascinating detail.

She grinned when she saw the stablemaster tear off Kikka’s gown. How would the girl explain the state of her dress when she returned to the fortress? And she had to know by now that Eymund would realize another gown had been “accidentally” damaged. Her brother was stingy with his coin and Kikka’s allure had worn off long ago. Much to Kikka’s growing dismay, if Dagmar was guessing right. The servants told Dagmar of nasty arguments and her brother spending more and more time in the local pubs with his comrades and kinsmen—and bar wenches.

With Kikka’s dress and shift torn open, the stablemaster, Valtemar, bent her over his arm and feasted on her absurdly large breasts. As Dagmar watched, enjoying herself thoroughly, she still grimaced a little at his performance.

“He is lacking technique, isn’t he?”

Mortified and shocked all at the same time, Dagmar lowered the big spectacles to her lap and turned her head to the left. She blinked, looked behind her, then to her right.

“He has eagerness, but he also has a bit of…well…slobber.”

Again, she looked to her left. But all she could see were the tops of other buildings close by, the tops of trees off in the distance. But even though she couldn’t see anything beside her, she still felt…

Stretching out her hand, she hit something hard and smooth. Her hand slid down the surface, trying to understand what she was touching.

“That feels wonderful.”

Dagmar snatched her hand back. “Show yourself, dragon.”

The darkness shimmered and what was not there was now there. Gold scales, large wings tight against his body, talons, fangs. He was facing her, his back to the world behind him, his long tail with the clean blunt end swung lazily back and forth over the edge of the roof.

“Lady Dagmar. It is a beautiful night.”

She didn’t reply; she was too annoyed he’d found her. Too annoyed he’d seen her.

Fire surrounded the dragon, and Dagmar quickly turned her head, the heat of it feeling much too close for her comfort. Then, moments later, he sat down beside her. As human.

And naked.

Like he had in his bedroom, he placed his arms behind him to prop up his upper body, his palms flat against the roof slats. His long legs were bent at the knees, his ridiculously large feet planted firmly in front of him. But it was his sizable cock, lying lazily against his thigh that had the saliva in her mouth drying up immediately. Mighty reason, if that’s him flaccid…

Forcing herself to look away, she asked, “Are you not chilly?”

“No.”

She handed him one of her fur blankets. “Put this on anyway.”

He chuckled, spreading the fur out over his lap. “Did you even peek?”

“I don’t need to. I see naked men everyday.”

“But none as superb as I.” That was truth, but she’d not admit it out loud.

“Why are you here?”

“Came to see the sights. Just as you have.” Dagmar didn’t reply to his glib remark; instead she analyzed how bad this could get for her.

He could try to use this against her, but only if she allowed him to. Her father would not be pleased, but no matter which way she examined it, it all seemed to be worse for Kikka, which could easily distract attention from Dagmar. It was Kikka who was betraying Eymund. It was Kikka who was—

“You can stop.”

Dagmar glanced at him. “I can stop what?”

“Trying to figure out how I’ll use this against you.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Because I won’t be.”

Dagmar closed her mouth, stared straight ahead. “You won’t?”

“No. Is that wine?” He leaned across her and grabbed the bottle.

“Why?”

“Why what?” He unhooked the top, took a long gulp—and choked. “Gods in the underworld! What is this?”

“My father’s wine. It’s not as smooth as the wines from the south.”

“It’s not as smooth as jagged glass.” But he took another gulp anyway before handing it back to her. She started to reach for her chalice, but it seemed to be the kind of night where one drinks right from the bottle. So she did, taking several mouthfuls before she locked the top back into place.

“So you say you won’t use this against me.”

“I won’t.”

“And why is that? We both know there’s something you want from me. Something I won’t give. So why wouldn’t you use this to bargain with?”

“For two reasons. One, that would make you an enemy. And I don’t want you as an enemy. In fact, you’re the last person in all the Northlands that I can afford to have as an enemy.”

“You’re right,” she admitted.

“I know. Were I to use any of this, I’d get the truth, to be sure. But only part of it. Enough to make me go away, but not enough to really help me. Not enough to keep Queen Annwyl safe.”

He was right. He was exactly right. “And the second reason?”

The dragon smiled. “I like to watch too. It would be hypocritical of me to use that against another.”

“I do not watch for enjoyment. I merely need to be sure—”

“Don’t”—he shook his head, his expression serious—“don’t lie to me.” He swung his arm out, encompassing the vast lands around them. “Lie to everyone. Tell them all that they want to hear while you get what you want. But don’t lie to me.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because we understand each other too well, Dagmar, to bother with the smaller games.”

She was confused by his directness. Confused and intrigued.

“So what are you suggesting, Lord Gwenvael?”

“Is that the dessert from tonight?”

She glanced at the rich dessert lying on a cloth beside her. For a moment, it seemed she didn’t even remember bringing it. “Yes.”

“Mind?” he asked while reaching over her and grabbing it. “It was really good. You have excellent cooks.”

“We do.”

He used his fingers to tear off a piece of the dessert and drop it into his mouth. He let out a sigh as the flavor burst against his tongue. “Just wonderful.”

“What are you suggesting, dragon?”

He licked his lips and said, “I’m suggesting several things. But most importantly that we not see each other as combatants.”

“But aren’t we?”

“Only if we want nothing out of this.” He licked delicious paste and dough from the tips of his fingers. “I’m not blind, Dagmar. These are serious defenses built on your father’s lands. There are hidden pits filled with oil just waiting to be lit, constant patrols, the lovely spikes you have built into the ground, waiting for the right trigger to unleash them. And I know those are only the few I spotted.”

“And your point?”

“There are basic defenses, and there are wartime defenses. Clearly war is coming here.”

“War is here.” She let out a breath, and in that moment, all pretenses, all illusions went away and Gwenvael knew he was talking to the true Dagmar Reinholdt. The one her kinsmen never saw and didn’t want to see. And it was this Dagmar who was taking a chance on him.

“My father earned this land when he was only seventeen. Six of his brothers are loyal to him, three of them are dead, two side with Jökull, and then there’s Jökull himself.”

She pulled off a chunk of the dessert as he held it out for her. “Jökull is determined to get this land for himself. He and his armies raided the town and lands near the fortress a few years back. We were caught unprepared and…It was very bad. Eymund’s first wife was there and she was killed. It’s a great source of shame for him.”

“Jökull killed her?”

“It depends who you ask. The Code which my father and kinsmen live by, says that blood- or marriage-related females are to be kept unharmed.” She looked off, out at the lands. “The men of my family refuse to believe Jökull would stoop so low, would willingly break the Code. They prefer to believe her death was an accident.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“I believe Jökull follows no code but his own.”

“And you think he’s planning to strike again.”

“Whether he is or he isn’t, it behooves us to be ready.”

Gwenvael pulled off another piece of the dessert. “And an alliance with Annwyl would—”

She shook her head. “I cannot bargain with you over that alliance. You’ll have to do that with my father.”

“Charming as your kinsmen may be, Lady Dagmar”—he licked cream off his thumb—“it is you that I trust to handle anything that requires actual thought and reason.”

She looked away abruptly, and he knew she was trying not to laugh.

“Allow me to handle your father, Lady Dagmar.”

Her smirk illustrated her lack of faith in his skills. “If you think you can.”

“I know I can.”

Dagmar took another drink of wine and handed him the bottle.

“Interesting,” he finally said.

“What is?”

He gestured toward the stablemaster’s open windows with the wine bottle. “What he’s doing to her.”

Dagmar again lifted up to her eyes those large pieces of glass wrapped in leather. “Oh, my.” She lowered the glasses, looked at him. “Isn’t there some sort of proper preparation that’s necessary for that sort of thing?” she asked.

“If you want her to enjoy it as well…yes.”

“Then that’s just rude.” She brought the glasses back up. “He is all over the place, isn’t he?”

“There is no finesse there. She’d be better off getting mauled by a bear.”

Dagmar laughed while she kept watching. Something told him she didn’t laugh nearly as much as she’d like to.

“Three gold pieces the mauling bear story is what she tells my brother happened to her.”

“No, no. Three gold pieces that he believes it.”

They watched until the bitter end, the dragon’s comments nearly bringing her to tears of laughter. Even more rewarding was that she’d made him laugh as well. She’d never really been considered entertaining before and she could definitely see the allure of it.

When Kikka finally limped and tottered her way back to the fortress, Dagmar packed up the few things she’d brought with her and the dragon stepped off the roof, effortlessly shifting back to his natural form in midair.

“Come, Beast. I will take you back.”

“Take me back?”

He landed on the roof of the barracks, surprising her with his lightness. In the morning the soldiers wouldn’t be wondering what shook their building.

“Aye.” He turned a bit and lowered himself. “Climb on.”

Flying? He wanted to take her flying?

“I—”

“Come on. You know you want to try.” He grinned and showed all those fangs. It worried her more that she wasn’t worried at all. “I promise I won’t drop you.”

“Comforting.”

“Grab hold of my long, luxurious mane and hoist yourself up.”

“I don’t hoist, dragon.”

“Grab hold then.”

She put the strap of her satchel across her shoulders and grabbed onto his mane. She felt his tail slide under her rear and lift her. She gave a startled squeal.

“Just being helpful,” he said before she could start stabbing at his tail with her eating knife. “Now tighten your thighs against my neck and hold on to my hair.”

He stepped off the edge of the building and his wings extended from his back. The Northland winds caught him, lifting them up. He glided for a bit before moving his wings to take them higher. Dagmar stared out over the world, fascinated by what she saw. To look down on everything was amazing, to feel this free was addicting.

He flew her around the town and lands for nearly an hour. She had no idea why he stayed out that long, but she didn’t complain. Why bother when she loved every second of it?

He brought her back to the fortress and she pointed out her window to him. He landed against the wall, his claws holding him in place. She clung to him, terrified she’d slip off his back and fall to her death straight below. But then his tail wrapped around her waist and lifted her up.

“Open your window.”

She did, and the tail carried her inside. It didn’t unwind from her waist until her feet touched the floor.

“I have to say, Lady Dagmar, that is the best time I’ve had in quite a while where I was not the one bedding a woman.”

Dagmar placed her elbow on the windowsill, her chin resting on her fist. “I know it was hard for you not to give him direction.”

“It was! He was a mess.”

She curled her lip in distaste. “And messy. If you understand the difference.”

“I do.”

“Think my sister-in-law enjoyed it?”

“How could she when she spent the whole time thinking about how she was fooling your brother?”

“How do you know she was thinking that?”

“I know. I’ve seen that look before.”

She bet he had.

“In the morning, Lady Dagmar, I’ll need you to trust me.”

“That doesn’t sound very good.”

“It will. But you’ll have to trust me.”

She nodded, hoping that he would trust her as well—even though she most likely wouldn’t deserve it.

He walked back toward his room, his steps light even as his talons tore into the stone face.

Canute growled behind her and Dagmar turned, raising her hand. Canute immediately sat. “Good boy.”

Then she felt it, sliding across her ass, briefly sliding under her dress and between her legs….

By the time she spun around, the tail was gone. She leaned out the window and Gwenvael said, “See you in the morning, Lady Dagmar,” before he disappeared into his own room after a flash of flame and naked male taunted her.

She closed her window and put her hand to her chest. She seriously hoped she’d gauged him correctly. If not, she could end up no better off than that idiot Kikka.

Except that Dagmar had much more to lose than mere dignity.