The Dragon Who Loved Me
Page 24
“No one’s supposed to know I’m here.”
“Why the hel s not?”
“Keita—”
“Och! That female!” Talaith raised her hand to silence Rhona’s immediate defense of her cousin. “What is she up to now?”
“Maybe you should ask—”
“Forget it.” Talaith caught Rhona’s hand, pul ing her along with a surprising amount of strength. Then again, Rhona did often forget that Talaith was once an assassin. A very good one.
With a little snarl, Talaith said, “Let’s find that damn female.”
“How is everything going?” Dagmar asked while Vigholf tucked into a heaping bowl of delicious-smel ing beef stew.
“Fine.”
The bowl suddenly disappeared, his spoon dangling in midair.
“You’d get between a dragon and his food?” Vigholf asked, only half seriously.
“When he insists on answering my question like a true Northland male—yes.” She lifted the bowl, holding it in both hands. The scent of it wafted to his nose and Vigholf couldn’t help but growl a little. “But unlike most of my countrymen, you can and do create and execute ful and complete sentences. So I ask again . . . how is everything going?”
“I see my brother has taught you very wel .” Honestly, during the last five years, Vigholf had been forced to stretch his opinion on what was right for females to be involved in and what was not.
“Yes. Your brother did train me wel ,” she replied. “And he told me I could trust you as I trust him.” Those words meant much to Vigholf because his brother would have never said them to Dagmar unless he’d meant it. “You can, my lady.”
“Dagmar. Please.”
“First off, Dagmar, your mate is wel . Mean. But wel .”
“Mean?” She placed the bowl of food back in front of him. “Are you sure you have the right—”
“Gwenvael the Ruiner, yes?”
She nodded, eyes wide behind those spectacles his brother had made for her many years ago.
“He is quite . . . loyal to you, I’m afraid,” Vigholf explained. “And has been for the last five years. But for someone like him that is not easy.
Especial y since, like his brothers, he has not returned here for the last three years. He’s turned impatient, mean, and nasty; and he takes it out on the rest of us—and the enemy. The Irons cal him Gwenvael the Defiler.”
The woman burst into laughter, something Vigholf never thought he’d hear from the dour little human. She stuttered to a stop. “Sorry. Private joke.
And . . . uh . . . why do they cal him that?”
“He has a tendency to dismember the bodies. Sometimes while the owner of that body stil breathes. I told you . . . he’s become quite mean without you.”
“I see.”
“As to the war itself . . .” Vigholf sighed. “That’s a bit more complicated, I’m afraid.” Rhona pul ed on a sleeveless chain-mail shirt, brown leather leggings, and knee-high black leather boots. Thankful y, Annwyl was close to Rhona’s size. The height of the boots covered up that the leggings were a tad short, and the fact that the human queen had larger tits gave Rhona more room in the shirt for her bigger shoulders.
And while Rhona pul ed on the queen’s clothes, the queen’s sisters-by-mating argued like two angry harpies.
“How could you not tel them?” Talaith demanded of Keita. “You should have told Briec and Fearghus.”
“And give Vateria exactly what she wanted? You seem to forget, sister, that I am a Protector of the Throne.”
“Blah, blah, blah!”
“I made the decision to tel my brothers nothing, but I’m here to protect my nieces and nephew myself with the help of Ren. So please . . . get over it already!” Keita looked at Rhona in the mirror. “And you should have kept your gods-damn mouth shut.”
“I’m off duty, cousin, which by Cadwaladr law means I can beat you ugly.” Talaith blinked. “There’s Cadwaladr laws?”
“When necessary,” Rhona said, and picked up her sword and the remnants of her beloved spear. “You two argue this out. I’m off to find my father.”
“You’re leaving?” Keita demanded.
Rhona faced her cousin. “You asked me to escort you and Ren here safely. You’re now here safely. What you do from here is up to you.” She walked to the bedroom door. “I’m off at dawn,” she told them and walked out, closing the door behind her.
Talaith watched her mate’s cousin leave the room. “Is she al right?”
“She’s Rhona.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means what it says—she’s Rhona. Now let’s get something to eat. I’m starving for real food.” Talaith locked her gaze back on Keita. “Don’t try to change the subject—Ren’s not taking my daughter anybloody-where.” Keita pressed her fingers to her temples. “If you’d only listen—”
“No. She and her cousins are perfectly safe here, Keita. I’l not risk sending them to a country I know nothing about with Ren. Or anyone that’s not me, Briec, or Izzy.”
“But—”
“No. And that’s the end of it. And just so we’re clear, don’t think for a second you’l get the twins past the Kyvich. I know that coven. They’l hunt Ren down and rip the scales from his hide. So if I were you, sister, I’d let this go.” Dagmar and Vigholf walked into the Great Hal from the kitchen. “When are you leaving?” Dagmar asked.
“Why the hel s not?”
“Keita—”
“Och! That female!” Talaith raised her hand to silence Rhona’s immediate defense of her cousin. “What is she up to now?”
“Maybe you should ask—”
“Forget it.” Talaith caught Rhona’s hand, pul ing her along with a surprising amount of strength. Then again, Rhona did often forget that Talaith was once an assassin. A very good one.
With a little snarl, Talaith said, “Let’s find that damn female.”
“How is everything going?” Dagmar asked while Vigholf tucked into a heaping bowl of delicious-smel ing beef stew.
“Fine.”
The bowl suddenly disappeared, his spoon dangling in midair.
“You’d get between a dragon and his food?” Vigholf asked, only half seriously.
“When he insists on answering my question like a true Northland male—yes.” She lifted the bowl, holding it in both hands. The scent of it wafted to his nose and Vigholf couldn’t help but growl a little. “But unlike most of my countrymen, you can and do create and execute ful and complete sentences. So I ask again . . . how is everything going?”
“I see my brother has taught you very wel .” Honestly, during the last five years, Vigholf had been forced to stretch his opinion on what was right for females to be involved in and what was not.
“Yes. Your brother did train me wel ,” she replied. “And he told me I could trust you as I trust him.” Those words meant much to Vigholf because his brother would have never said them to Dagmar unless he’d meant it. “You can, my lady.”
“Dagmar. Please.”
“First off, Dagmar, your mate is wel . Mean. But wel .”
“Mean?” She placed the bowl of food back in front of him. “Are you sure you have the right—”
“Gwenvael the Ruiner, yes?”
She nodded, eyes wide behind those spectacles his brother had made for her many years ago.
“He is quite . . . loyal to you, I’m afraid,” Vigholf explained. “And has been for the last five years. But for someone like him that is not easy.
Especial y since, like his brothers, he has not returned here for the last three years. He’s turned impatient, mean, and nasty; and he takes it out on the rest of us—and the enemy. The Irons cal him Gwenvael the Defiler.”
The woman burst into laughter, something Vigholf never thought he’d hear from the dour little human. She stuttered to a stop. “Sorry. Private joke.
And . . . uh . . . why do they cal him that?”
“He has a tendency to dismember the bodies. Sometimes while the owner of that body stil breathes. I told you . . . he’s become quite mean without you.”
“I see.”
“As to the war itself . . .” Vigholf sighed. “That’s a bit more complicated, I’m afraid.” Rhona pul ed on a sleeveless chain-mail shirt, brown leather leggings, and knee-high black leather boots. Thankful y, Annwyl was close to Rhona’s size. The height of the boots covered up that the leggings were a tad short, and the fact that the human queen had larger tits gave Rhona more room in the shirt for her bigger shoulders.
And while Rhona pul ed on the queen’s clothes, the queen’s sisters-by-mating argued like two angry harpies.
“How could you not tel them?” Talaith demanded of Keita. “You should have told Briec and Fearghus.”
“And give Vateria exactly what she wanted? You seem to forget, sister, that I am a Protector of the Throne.”
“Blah, blah, blah!”
“I made the decision to tel my brothers nothing, but I’m here to protect my nieces and nephew myself with the help of Ren. So please . . . get over it already!” Keita looked at Rhona in the mirror. “And you should have kept your gods-damn mouth shut.”
“I’m off duty, cousin, which by Cadwaladr law means I can beat you ugly.” Talaith blinked. “There’s Cadwaladr laws?”
“When necessary,” Rhona said, and picked up her sword and the remnants of her beloved spear. “You two argue this out. I’m off to find my father.”
“You’re leaving?” Keita demanded.
Rhona faced her cousin. “You asked me to escort you and Ren here safely. You’re now here safely. What you do from here is up to you.” She walked to the bedroom door. “I’m off at dawn,” she told them and walked out, closing the door behind her.
Talaith watched her mate’s cousin leave the room. “Is she al right?”
“She’s Rhona.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means what it says—she’s Rhona. Now let’s get something to eat. I’m starving for real food.” Talaith locked her gaze back on Keita. “Don’t try to change the subject—Ren’s not taking my daughter anybloody-where.” Keita pressed her fingers to her temples. “If you’d only listen—”
“No. She and her cousins are perfectly safe here, Keita. I’l not risk sending them to a country I know nothing about with Ren. Or anyone that’s not me, Briec, or Izzy.”
“But—”
“No. And that’s the end of it. And just so we’re clear, don’t think for a second you’l get the twins past the Kyvich. I know that coven. They’l hunt Ren down and rip the scales from his hide. So if I were you, sister, I’d let this go.” Dagmar and Vigholf walked into the Great Hal from the kitchen. “When are you leaving?” Dagmar asked.
