“I’d like to avoid that.”
“So would I. Can’t have my way with you if you’re dead.”
“That’s an excellent point.”
Vigholf charged back the other way, pushing Fire Breathers aside as he tried to make his escape.
“We could sneak out like my baby brother did a few minutes ago with one of the human nobles’ daughters.”
“If you witnessed him sneaking out, he wasn’t sneaking out well.” Keita snorted. “That little bastard wanted to be seen. He’s being so obvious about this whole thing.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“It’s nothing. My brother’s still young. He’ll learn about females soon enough.”
“I’m thinking your brother will be a thousand years old and still know nothing about females.”
Vigholf suddenly appeared before them and whispered, “Help. Me. ”
“Where’ dya go?” the dragoness captain asked, getting a good hold on Vigholf and dragging him back to the dance floor.
“When I was your brother’s age,” Ragnar continued, “I’d already been in battle against one of my own uncles’ Hordes, traveled into the Ice Lands to train for ten years with a small group of mages that believed they were neither good nor evil, and destroyed an entire monastery of monks.”
“Gods,” Keita said on a shaky breath. “It’s like you want me to f**k you right here.”
Briec walked up to them, his eyes locked on the dance floor.
“What’s going on out there?” he asked, motioning to Vigholf, who was trying desperately to keep the brown She-dragon from getting as close as she’d like.
“Aedammair is helping poor Vigholf forget his tragic hair loss.”
Briec shook his head at Keita, smiling. “You really are a heartless cow.”
Instead of being insulted, Keita laughed and replied, “I know!”
“By the way,” her brother said, and Ragnar wondered how one dragon could possibly sound so bored all the time. “Ren wanted me to tell you he’ll be back soon.”
“Wait. What?” Keita stood straight. “Ren left? When?”
“Sometime this afternoon.”
“Where did he go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you not think to ask?”
“Do you actually think I care?” Briec asked, before walking off.
“Well, you don’t have to be rude!” Keita began to play with the gold bracelet she had on her wrist.
“You’re worried.”
“It’s not like Ren to leave like that. He always tells me when he’s going off.”
“Maybe he wasn’t planning to be gone for long.”
“Perhaps.”
“You’re obsessing.”
“I don’t obsess.”
“You’re obsessing right now.”
“I am not.” She quickly stepped to the side as Vigholf slammed into the table.
“By the sweet shit of gods, help me!”
The captain walked up to them. “What’s wrong with him anyway?”
“He’s shy.” Keita leaned in and whispered, “And I think he’s a little sweeter on Gwenvael than you.”
“Oh. Like that, is it?”
“I’m afraid so.” Keita pointed across the room. “But there’s his cousin. Meinhard.”
“Meinhard. I like that name.” And off the Brown went.
“You are cruel, Princess Keita,” Ragnar chastised.
“And here I was trying to be helpful.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Éibhear let the duke’s daughter lead him through the forest to a
“deserted little spot” she knew. She was pretty enough, but, more importantly, she was nice! If he wanted to be talked down to and have food thrown at his head, simply because he was trying to be helpful, he could have stayed in the north.
But he wouldn’t let thoughts of Iseabail the Bitchy ruin what he was sure would be an entertaining finish to a magnificently shitty night.
“Have you been here before, my lord?” she asked.
“No, I haven’t.” He was lying, of course. There were few places this close to his brother’s cave and Annwyl’s castle that he’d not explored. But the duke’s daughter wanted to believe that she was showing him something new, and why should Éibhear disabuse her of that? Especially when she was pretty and eager. He liked eager.
She led him up a ridge that looked out over one of the many lakes in this territory. It was a quiet place, and he thought she’d chosen well until she stopped, tilting her head, and put her finger to her lips. “I think I hear someone,” she whispered.
Together they continued up the ridge, but kept quiet. Éibhear had the distinct feeling the duke’s daughter was a bit of a snoop. He’d have to tell Dagmar. She might prove useful to his brother’s mate. Dagmar did like snoops.
As they neared the top, they dropped to the ground and crawled the rest of the way, both laughing a little as they did.
But Éibhear’s laughter died in his throat when he saw it was Izzy by the lake—and she was alone with Celyn. Even Branwen was nowhere to be seen. Only that damn puppy he’d already told her twice to return to Dagmar.
Did she not hear a word he’d said? Did she not understand anything?