Last Dragon Standing
Page 139
“Of course! I’ll miss you terribly.” But then she clapped her hands together and squealed, “But I’m going to be Annwyl’s squire!” Gwenvael sat in the chair, his foot tapping.
“So,” Dagmar said from behind him, her voice very calm, very controlled, “you’ll all escort Esyld back to Outerplains when you leave?”
“Aye,” he replied, clenching his hands. “She still smiles, but I think she grows weary of my mother. Any longer and I’m afraid she’ll crack from the pressure.”
“Are you sure she’s strong enough to return?”
“Morfyd said she will be by the time we leave. But she is still healing.”
“I know she is, but I’m sure she’s ready to return to her home and try to find a way past what she’s been through.”
“You’ll be sure to have someone keep an eye on her, won’t you?”
“Already taken care of,” she said, her hand on his shoulder. Her soft, reassuring hand. “And remember I love you very much, Gwenvael.”
“I know you do.” He waited, teeth gritted. And he lasted right up until he felt Dagmar pick up that first lock of his precious, precious hair!
“I can’t!” he said, jumping out of the chair and scrambling across the room.
Dagmar tapped those viperous scissors against her leg. He knew those scissors were out to get him. He could feel it.
“You cannot go into the Northlands and battle with all that hair.” He noticed that her voice was no longer calm and controlled. “It’s unseemly.”
“Will you not miss my hair at all?”
“I’ll miss you more, but the hair needs to go. Now get in this blasted chair!”
“I can’t do it. It’s my hair. It loves me for who I am.”
“You act as if I plan to shave you bald. I only plan to cut up to the middle of your back or so.”
Gwenvael gasped, horrified! “You might as well shave me bald!” Dagmar threw down the scissors, and Canute slipped under the bed in the face of his mistress’s rarely seen rage.
“Just let me get through the feast,” he said, bartering. “Three more days not only for me, but for you to luxuriate in my hair.” Dagmar crossed her arms over her chest. “My father was right, you know…. You are completely insane.”
Briec sat on the bed, his elbow resting on his knee, his chin in his palm, and watched his lady love rage.
“Who does she think she is? Making my daughter her squire?”
“Perhaps she thinks she’s queen.”
“Shut up!” She paced in front of him, looking wonderfully yummy in a dark blue gown he’d had made for her. “And that simpering idiot—”
“You should just call her Izzy.”
“—is running around announcing it to everyone like it’s a good thing.
‘I’m going to be Annwyl’s squire. I’m going to face death on a daily basis with this crazed monarch.’”
“I don’t remember our Izzy’s voice being so high before.”
“Shut up!”
Izzy charged down the hallway toward her bedroom. She needed to get dressed; the guests were already arriving for the feast. She turned a corner and ran head first into that slab of brick that someone had the nerve to call a chest.
She fell back, her ass hitting the floor. And while rubbing her forehead, which seemed to have taken the worst of the impact, she scowled up at the big idiot in her way.
“Are you all right?” he asked, trying to sound so concerned.
“I’m fine.” He reached for her, and she slapped his hands away. “I don’t need your help, thank you very much.”
“Are you going to keep acting like this?”
“Yes.” Izzy stood. “You’re a prat. I knew you were a prat—I just didn’t realize the extent of your pratiness!”
“Fine. Be that way.”
Éibhear walked around her, and Izzy tossed out, “And nice move getting Celyn sent to your brother’s troops.” He stopped and faced her. “What are you talking about?”
“Like you didn’t know.”
“Celyn’s going to be in the Northlands? With me? Well, I’m going to end that centaur shit right now.”
She caught his arm before he could search out Fearghus. “Or you could stop this shit between you. I don’t need you watching out for me, Éibhear. I don’t need you beating up my lovers—”
“Never use that word to me again.”
“—or deciding who I can f**k and who I can’t.”
“We’re not having this conversation.”
“He’s your cousin,” she reminded him.
“And you f**ked him! ” Éibhear bellowed in her face.
Izzy was calm when she replied, “I did. More than once. And you’re not going to make me feel bad about that. But he’s your cousin. Don’t ruin what you have with your kin over something you can’t control. Which is namely me.”
She headed to her room, slamming the door behind her.
And Branwen didn’t even look up from the book she was reading when she gleefully stated, “I swear, you two have the best arguments.” Fearghus dashed across the room and yanked the small eating knife from his daughter’s hand, his son falling back on the bed laughing hysterically, as Annwyl finished turning around to show off the new gown Keita had chosen for her.
“So,” Dagmar said from behind him, her voice very calm, very controlled, “you’ll all escort Esyld back to Outerplains when you leave?”
“Aye,” he replied, clenching his hands. “She still smiles, but I think she grows weary of my mother. Any longer and I’m afraid she’ll crack from the pressure.”
“Are you sure she’s strong enough to return?”
“Morfyd said she will be by the time we leave. But she is still healing.”
“I know she is, but I’m sure she’s ready to return to her home and try to find a way past what she’s been through.”
“You’ll be sure to have someone keep an eye on her, won’t you?”
“Already taken care of,” she said, her hand on his shoulder. Her soft, reassuring hand. “And remember I love you very much, Gwenvael.”
“I know you do.” He waited, teeth gritted. And he lasted right up until he felt Dagmar pick up that first lock of his precious, precious hair!
“I can’t!” he said, jumping out of the chair and scrambling across the room.
Dagmar tapped those viperous scissors against her leg. He knew those scissors were out to get him. He could feel it.
“You cannot go into the Northlands and battle with all that hair.” He noticed that her voice was no longer calm and controlled. “It’s unseemly.”
“Will you not miss my hair at all?”
“I’ll miss you more, but the hair needs to go. Now get in this blasted chair!”
“I can’t do it. It’s my hair. It loves me for who I am.”
“You act as if I plan to shave you bald. I only plan to cut up to the middle of your back or so.”
Gwenvael gasped, horrified! “You might as well shave me bald!” Dagmar threw down the scissors, and Canute slipped under the bed in the face of his mistress’s rarely seen rage.
“Just let me get through the feast,” he said, bartering. “Three more days not only for me, but for you to luxuriate in my hair.” Dagmar crossed her arms over her chest. “My father was right, you know…. You are completely insane.”
Briec sat on the bed, his elbow resting on his knee, his chin in his palm, and watched his lady love rage.
“Who does she think she is? Making my daughter her squire?”
“Perhaps she thinks she’s queen.”
“Shut up!” She paced in front of him, looking wonderfully yummy in a dark blue gown he’d had made for her. “And that simpering idiot—”
“You should just call her Izzy.”
“—is running around announcing it to everyone like it’s a good thing.
‘I’m going to be Annwyl’s squire. I’m going to face death on a daily basis with this crazed monarch.’”
“I don’t remember our Izzy’s voice being so high before.”
“Shut up!”
Izzy charged down the hallway toward her bedroom. She needed to get dressed; the guests were already arriving for the feast. She turned a corner and ran head first into that slab of brick that someone had the nerve to call a chest.
She fell back, her ass hitting the floor. And while rubbing her forehead, which seemed to have taken the worst of the impact, she scowled up at the big idiot in her way.
“Are you all right?” he asked, trying to sound so concerned.
“I’m fine.” He reached for her, and she slapped his hands away. “I don’t need your help, thank you very much.”
“Are you going to keep acting like this?”
“Yes.” Izzy stood. “You’re a prat. I knew you were a prat—I just didn’t realize the extent of your pratiness!”
“Fine. Be that way.”
Éibhear walked around her, and Izzy tossed out, “And nice move getting Celyn sent to your brother’s troops.” He stopped and faced her. “What are you talking about?”
“Like you didn’t know.”
“Celyn’s going to be in the Northlands? With me? Well, I’m going to end that centaur shit right now.”
She caught his arm before he could search out Fearghus. “Or you could stop this shit between you. I don’t need you watching out for me, Éibhear. I don’t need you beating up my lovers—”
“Never use that word to me again.”
“—or deciding who I can f**k and who I can’t.”
“We’re not having this conversation.”
“He’s your cousin,” she reminded him.
“And you f**ked him! ” Éibhear bellowed in her face.
Izzy was calm when she replied, “I did. More than once. And you’re not going to make me feel bad about that. But he’s your cousin. Don’t ruin what you have with your kin over something you can’t control. Which is namely me.”
She headed to her room, slamming the door behind her.
And Branwen didn’t even look up from the book she was reading when she gleefully stated, “I swear, you two have the best arguments.” Fearghus dashed across the room and yanked the small eating knife from his daughter’s hand, his son falling back on the bed laughing hysterically, as Annwyl finished turning around to show off the new gown Keita had chosen for her.
