How to Drive a Dragon Crazy
Page 14
“What do you think you’re doing, boy?” Briec the Mighty’s voice boomed across the glen.
“Father!”
“Quiet, Rhi!” her father ordered, while he stomped through the trees. At least he was in his human form. She had the distinct feeling Albrecht would have soiled himself if Briec the Mighty had faced him while in his silver dragon form.
Her father pointed at the boy. “What makes you think you’re worthy of my perfect, perfect daughter, you worthless human? Now get from my sight before I have you turning on a spit for my evening meal!”
Holding his singed hand, Albrecht bolted off and Rhi got to her feet.
“Oh, Father!” She stomped her foot. “How could you?”
Face blank, her father shrugged, and asked calmly, “How could I what?”
Talaith, Daughter of Haldane, sat on the big table in the dining hall and watched one of her sisters-by-mating pace in front of her. Matching the woman step by step, as always, were two of her well-trained battle dogs.
“I don’t know why you’re getting so upset,” Talaith said again.
“Because I should have said no. To think I actually agreed to this!” Dagmar Reinholdt, Steward to Annwyl the Bloody and Battle Lord of Garbhán Isle, stopped and faced her. “I should have said no.”
“But you didn’t. So suck it up already.”
Steel-grey eyes narrowed on Talaith behind round spectacles. “You’re not being very sympathetic.”
“I didn’t know I had to be.” Talaith tossed up her hands. “Look, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Your nephew is one blood relative. How bad can he be?”
“You met my father. That should tell you something.”
“I liked your father.”
“Which disturbs me endlessly.”
Talaith took Dagmar’s hand. “It’ll be fine.”
“You’re right, you’re right. I’m panicking over nothing.” She pulled her hand back—Dagmar never liked to be touched except by the children and her mate, Gwenvael—and took a deep breath. In that instant, Dagmar Reinholdt had put herself under control again. It was something that Talaith absolutely envied about the small Northlander. Her ability to keep control. It was a skill Talaith didn’t have when she became angry enough and Annwyl never had in the first place.
When Talaith had first seen Dagmar Reinholdt, she’d dismissed her as a sad, plain woman that the hedonistic Gwenvael the Handsome was hoping to f**k. In her plain gray gowns and fur boots, and with a gray scarf on her head, it seemed she was just some old maid. Oh, how wrong Talaith had been. There was nothing sad about Dagmar. Instead, she was fascinating and terrifying all at once; her time in Annwyl the Bloody’s court had allowed her to flourish.
Being the power behind the crazed throne was a role that suited Dagmar very well, but having even one member of her own blood kin coming to the south was setting the poor woman’s teeth on edge. It was the first chink in Dagmar’s armor that Talaith had seen that had nothing to do with Gwenvael.
“So . . . how is your day?” Dagmar asked, trying to calm herself as she waited for the arrival of her kin, which should be any minute now.
“Not bad. But, as you know, sister, that can change in a—”
“Mum!”
“—second.”
Sighing, Talaith slid off the table. A few moments later, her youngest daughter ran into the Great Hall, tears streaking down her face. But even all that sobbing could not take away from Rhi’s natural beauty. She had the brown skin and long curly hair of Talaith’s Desert Land bloodline, but like her father, her hair was a gorgeous silver and her eyes a vibrant violet.
Rhi threw herself into Talaith’s arms and openly sobbed against her shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” Talaith asked, worrying something terrible had happened.
“Ask Daddy!”
Talaith’s fear disappeared and she immediately looked over at Dagmar. Together, they both crossed their eyes and waited.
“I don’t know what you’re getting so upset about,” Briec complained as he stalked into the hall behind their daughter. “I was saving you from a life of misery and boredom.”
“What did you do now?” Talaith demanded of her mate.
“Why do you have to say it like that?”
“Because I know you so bloody well.”
“He was just trying to hand me some flowers!” Rhi sobbed out. “And you burned him!”
“You expect me to let some worthless low-born human get near my daughter? You don’t really think I’d let that happen, do you?”
“But I like him!”
Briec rolled his eyes. “I’m sure he’s a very nice boy who will one day get a very nice girl and they’ll have very nice babies together. You, however, are a royal princess of the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar and you will not be involving yourself with riffraff!”
Bursting into tears, Rhi again buried her face against Talaith’s shoulder.
“I don’t know why you’re getting so hysterical,” Briec complained. “You sound like that crying boy!”
“Both of you stop.” Talaith pushed her daughter back a bit, looked into her tear-streaked face. “Who was trying to hand you flowers, Rhi?”
“That idiot,” Briec answered for their daughter.
Rhi glared at her father. “He’s not an idiot! Albrecht is a perfectly nice—”
“Father!”
“Quiet, Rhi!” her father ordered, while he stomped through the trees. At least he was in his human form. She had the distinct feeling Albrecht would have soiled himself if Briec the Mighty had faced him while in his silver dragon form.
Her father pointed at the boy. “What makes you think you’re worthy of my perfect, perfect daughter, you worthless human? Now get from my sight before I have you turning on a spit for my evening meal!”
Holding his singed hand, Albrecht bolted off and Rhi got to her feet.
“Oh, Father!” She stomped her foot. “How could you?”
Face blank, her father shrugged, and asked calmly, “How could I what?”
Talaith, Daughter of Haldane, sat on the big table in the dining hall and watched one of her sisters-by-mating pace in front of her. Matching the woman step by step, as always, were two of her well-trained battle dogs.
“I don’t know why you’re getting so upset,” Talaith said again.
“Because I should have said no. To think I actually agreed to this!” Dagmar Reinholdt, Steward to Annwyl the Bloody and Battle Lord of Garbhán Isle, stopped and faced her. “I should have said no.”
“But you didn’t. So suck it up already.”
Steel-grey eyes narrowed on Talaith behind round spectacles. “You’re not being very sympathetic.”
“I didn’t know I had to be.” Talaith tossed up her hands. “Look, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Your nephew is one blood relative. How bad can he be?”
“You met my father. That should tell you something.”
“I liked your father.”
“Which disturbs me endlessly.”
Talaith took Dagmar’s hand. “It’ll be fine.”
“You’re right, you’re right. I’m panicking over nothing.” She pulled her hand back—Dagmar never liked to be touched except by the children and her mate, Gwenvael—and took a deep breath. In that instant, Dagmar Reinholdt had put herself under control again. It was something that Talaith absolutely envied about the small Northlander. Her ability to keep control. It was a skill Talaith didn’t have when she became angry enough and Annwyl never had in the first place.
When Talaith had first seen Dagmar Reinholdt, she’d dismissed her as a sad, plain woman that the hedonistic Gwenvael the Handsome was hoping to f**k. In her plain gray gowns and fur boots, and with a gray scarf on her head, it seemed she was just some old maid. Oh, how wrong Talaith had been. There was nothing sad about Dagmar. Instead, she was fascinating and terrifying all at once; her time in Annwyl the Bloody’s court had allowed her to flourish.
Being the power behind the crazed throne was a role that suited Dagmar very well, but having even one member of her own blood kin coming to the south was setting the poor woman’s teeth on edge. It was the first chink in Dagmar’s armor that Talaith had seen that had nothing to do with Gwenvael.
“So . . . how is your day?” Dagmar asked, trying to calm herself as she waited for the arrival of her kin, which should be any minute now.
“Not bad. But, as you know, sister, that can change in a—”
“Mum!”
“—second.”
Sighing, Talaith slid off the table. A few moments later, her youngest daughter ran into the Great Hall, tears streaking down her face. But even all that sobbing could not take away from Rhi’s natural beauty. She had the brown skin and long curly hair of Talaith’s Desert Land bloodline, but like her father, her hair was a gorgeous silver and her eyes a vibrant violet.
Rhi threw herself into Talaith’s arms and openly sobbed against her shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” Talaith asked, worrying something terrible had happened.
“Ask Daddy!”
Talaith’s fear disappeared and she immediately looked over at Dagmar. Together, they both crossed their eyes and waited.
“I don’t know what you’re getting so upset about,” Briec complained as he stalked into the hall behind their daughter. “I was saving you from a life of misery and boredom.”
“What did you do now?” Talaith demanded of her mate.
“Why do you have to say it like that?”
“Because I know you so bloody well.”
“He was just trying to hand me some flowers!” Rhi sobbed out. “And you burned him!”
“You expect me to let some worthless low-born human get near my daughter? You don’t really think I’d let that happen, do you?”
“But I like him!”
Briec rolled his eyes. “I’m sure he’s a very nice boy who will one day get a very nice girl and they’ll have very nice babies together. You, however, are a royal princess of the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar and you will not be involving yourself with riffraff!”
Bursting into tears, Rhi again buried her face against Talaith’s shoulder.
“I don’t know why you’re getting so hysterical,” Briec complained. “You sound like that crying boy!”
“Both of you stop.” Talaith pushed her daughter back a bit, looked into her tear-streaked face. “Who was trying to hand you flowers, Rhi?”
“That idiot,” Briec answered for their daughter.
Rhi glared at her father. “He’s not an idiot! Albrecht is a perfectly nice—”
