Dragon Actually
Page 4
“Make sure you finish off the wine. I have added herbs that will heal you and stave off infection.”
Annwyl stared warily into her wine chalice. “What kind of herbs?”
Morfyd shrugged as she stood, picking up Annwyl’s empty bowl. “Lots of different ones. It’s my own potion. It works quite well. It can also heal rashes and gout. And prevent a woman from becoming with child. But I guess that doesn’t matter to you.”
Annwyl glanced up from her wine. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you’re a virgin.”
Annwyl froze. That couldn’t be just an assumption. She’d lived with a male army for well over two years; everyone assumed she’d lost her virginity ages ago.
“How did you . . . know that?”
“He told me.”
Annwyl knew the witch meant the dragon, and that’s when the fury built up in her chest. A fury she never could control. “Dragon!” She bellowed his name so loudly, Morfyd stumbled back away from her.
The ground shook as the dragon returned to her. “What? What is it?”
Annwyl forced herself to her feet, her hand against her recent wound. “How did you know? And tell me true.”
“Know what?” He looked at Morfyd who shrugged and quickly left. Almost ran.
“That I was a virgin. No one knows that. How did you?” She had no idea how long her deep sleep held her. Unable to protect herself. Unable to stop someone from . . . she shook her head. She couldn’t bear to even think it.
“This is why you demand my presence? Because I know your deep, dark secret?”
“Not that you know. But how you know.”
He lowered his head until they were eye to eye. But Annwyl, too angry for logic, did not flinch or back away. Considering his head was the length of her body and she towered over most men, she probably should have. Instead she let her anger wash over her. Just as she always had. “Well? Answer me!”
His black eyes narrowed at her angry shout, and his nostrils flared. “I can smell it on you.”
Annwyl reared back from the dragon. “What?”
“I can smell it on you. That no man has been with you. That your maidenhead is still intact. That you, beautiful one, are a virgin.”
Annwyl looked at the dragon in horror, her voice no more than a whisper. “Really? You can smell that on me?”
“No,” he responded flatly. “But you are quite chatty in your sleep.”
She rolled her eyes. “You tricky . . .” Her anger fled as quickly as it came. She leaned against the table, her strength waning.
“So, did you think I somehow took advantage of you while you slept?”
“Well. . . .” Annwyl flinched as one talon tapped impatiently on the stone floor awaiting her answer. “The thought had crossed my mind.” She lowered herself into one of the other chairs surrounding the table, too weak to stand any longer. “I’m sorry. I know only what I learned from my brother . . . and he would have checked.”
The great beast sighed. “I have heard tales of your brother. You do realize he should have been killed at birth?”
Annwyl smiled. “If only.” She looked across the cave floor to the bed. It looked so far away and her body was still so weak.
“Here.” He lowered his claw and opened it. Black talons as long as her leg glistened at Annwyl.
“You must be mad.”
“How did you think you got in here?”
“Yes, but . . .” There she went again. Treating him as an animal when, in the little time she’d known him, he’d treated her with more respect than any man she’d met at her brother’s castle.
She pushed herself up and took the two steps to his outstretched claw. With force of will she didn’t know she possessed she stepped onto it, pushing out the vision she had of him shoving her into his mouth like a piece of steak. He lifted her up, gently moving his forearm until he had reached the bed. He carefully lowered her onto the fur coverings.
“Now, let’s try not to have any more fits of anger until you get more of your strength back.”
Annwyl laughed. “As you wish.”
She sat down on the bed, her long legs hanging over the side. She watched his body leave the cavern. His long tail following behind. But Annwyl wondered if it had a will of its own as it whipped out and wrapped itself around her leg. For a brief moment she worried it might drag her across the room. But instead it caressed her leg, the ebony scales rubbing against her calf. Then it released her and disappeared with the dragon that wielded it.
Long after he’d gone and she slid herself back under the fur covers, Annwyl still felt where he’d touched her leg. And she wondered what insanity had begun to take over her normally sensible mind.
Lorcan of Garbhán Isle stared out over his battlements, watching the two suns lower in the west, and wondered how his sister kept slipping from his grasp.
No matter what he did or what he tried, she just wouldn’t die. And the longer she lived, the more men she killed. His men. His troops. The number of headless bodies with her name carved on their chest rivaled even his own. Of course, his took thirty-one years to achieve. She’d accumulated hers in little over two.
He wished now he’d killed her when he had the chance. She was ten, he just fourteen. She had just arrived, sleeping soundly in her new bed. He held the pillow in his hands. He knew he could smother her, and no one would ever know. But she woke up, looked at him, and flew into a blinding rage. Which he returned. His father found the two of them rolling around on the floor trying to choke each other. The man had not been pleased and he made them pay for waking him out of a sound sleep.
Annwyl stared warily into her wine chalice. “What kind of herbs?”
Morfyd shrugged as she stood, picking up Annwyl’s empty bowl. “Lots of different ones. It’s my own potion. It works quite well. It can also heal rashes and gout. And prevent a woman from becoming with child. But I guess that doesn’t matter to you.”
Annwyl glanced up from her wine. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you’re a virgin.”
Annwyl froze. That couldn’t be just an assumption. She’d lived with a male army for well over two years; everyone assumed she’d lost her virginity ages ago.
“How did you . . . know that?”
“He told me.”
Annwyl knew the witch meant the dragon, and that’s when the fury built up in her chest. A fury she never could control. “Dragon!” She bellowed his name so loudly, Morfyd stumbled back away from her.
The ground shook as the dragon returned to her. “What? What is it?”
Annwyl forced herself to her feet, her hand against her recent wound. “How did you know? And tell me true.”
“Know what?” He looked at Morfyd who shrugged and quickly left. Almost ran.
“That I was a virgin. No one knows that. How did you?” She had no idea how long her deep sleep held her. Unable to protect herself. Unable to stop someone from . . . she shook her head. She couldn’t bear to even think it.
“This is why you demand my presence? Because I know your deep, dark secret?”
“Not that you know. But how you know.”
He lowered his head until they were eye to eye. But Annwyl, too angry for logic, did not flinch or back away. Considering his head was the length of her body and she towered over most men, she probably should have. Instead she let her anger wash over her. Just as she always had. “Well? Answer me!”
His black eyes narrowed at her angry shout, and his nostrils flared. “I can smell it on you.”
Annwyl reared back from the dragon. “What?”
“I can smell it on you. That no man has been with you. That your maidenhead is still intact. That you, beautiful one, are a virgin.”
Annwyl looked at the dragon in horror, her voice no more than a whisper. “Really? You can smell that on me?”
“No,” he responded flatly. “But you are quite chatty in your sleep.”
She rolled her eyes. “You tricky . . .” Her anger fled as quickly as it came. She leaned against the table, her strength waning.
“So, did you think I somehow took advantage of you while you slept?”
“Well. . . .” Annwyl flinched as one talon tapped impatiently on the stone floor awaiting her answer. “The thought had crossed my mind.” She lowered herself into one of the other chairs surrounding the table, too weak to stand any longer. “I’m sorry. I know only what I learned from my brother . . . and he would have checked.”
The great beast sighed. “I have heard tales of your brother. You do realize he should have been killed at birth?”
Annwyl smiled. “If only.” She looked across the cave floor to the bed. It looked so far away and her body was still so weak.
“Here.” He lowered his claw and opened it. Black talons as long as her leg glistened at Annwyl.
“You must be mad.”
“How did you think you got in here?”
“Yes, but . . .” There she went again. Treating him as an animal when, in the little time she’d known him, he’d treated her with more respect than any man she’d met at her brother’s castle.
She pushed herself up and took the two steps to his outstretched claw. With force of will she didn’t know she possessed she stepped onto it, pushing out the vision she had of him shoving her into his mouth like a piece of steak. He lifted her up, gently moving his forearm until he had reached the bed. He carefully lowered her onto the fur coverings.
“Now, let’s try not to have any more fits of anger until you get more of your strength back.”
Annwyl laughed. “As you wish.”
She sat down on the bed, her long legs hanging over the side. She watched his body leave the cavern. His long tail following behind. But Annwyl wondered if it had a will of its own as it whipped out and wrapped itself around her leg. For a brief moment she worried it might drag her across the room. But instead it caressed her leg, the ebony scales rubbing against her calf. Then it released her and disappeared with the dragon that wielded it.
Long after he’d gone and she slid herself back under the fur covers, Annwyl still felt where he’d touched her leg. And she wondered what insanity had begun to take over her normally sensible mind.
Lorcan of Garbhán Isle stared out over his battlements, watching the two suns lower in the west, and wondered how his sister kept slipping from his grasp.
No matter what he did or what he tried, she just wouldn’t die. And the longer she lived, the more men she killed. His men. His troops. The number of headless bodies with her name carved on their chest rivaled even his own. Of course, his took thirty-one years to achieve. She’d accumulated hers in little over two.
He wished now he’d killed her when he had the chance. She was ten, he just fourteen. She had just arrived, sleeping soundly in her new bed. He held the pillow in his hands. He knew he could smother her, and no one would ever know. But she woke up, looked at him, and flew into a blinding rage. Which he returned. His father found the two of them rolling around on the floor trying to choke each other. The man had not been pleased and he made them pay for waking him out of a sound sleep.
