So by the time they arrived in a safe place early that evening—the foreigner asking them to cut their daily trip short in the middle of nowhere—Ragnar was exhausted, cranky, and dangerously annoyed with himself and the world.
He sat down on the ground, his back pressed into the small hill behind him, his wings spread out so they could get a good stretch after so much flying.
“Éibhear.” The Eastlander tapped the Blue’s shoulder. “I’m taking your sister over to that lake about a half-mile away. She wants a bath.” The Blue nodded and pulled out one of the books his sister had picked up for him.
After the pair walked off, Vigholf crouched in front of Ragnar.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“She’s become like one of those boring royals we always made fun of, and you’ve become a mean bastard. Something must have happened between you two. What did you say to her?”
“Nothing I want to discuss. So let it go, brother.” Now Meinhard crouched in front of him. “If you hurt her feelings, cousin—”
Unable to stand a second more, Ragnar stood and walked off, picking up his travel bag before he left camp.
Perhaps a good calming spell would ease his tension. And gods!
Anything to stop the itching, which had gotten considerably worse since his last meeting with Keita by that lake. Ragnar stopped at a tree, shifted to human, and, leaning against it, scratched where the itching was the worst.
Scratched so hard he feared there might be blood. This was becoming intolerable!
Moments from tracking Keita down and demanding she remove whatever spell she’d included when she’d impaled him with her gods-damn tail, Ragnar caught sight of the princess walking off alone through the trees.
She was human now, dressed in another gown he’d never seen before, a fur cloak, and no shoes.
Ragnar scowled. For a She-dragon who loved human clothes as much as she did, he’d think shoes would be a given.
And exactly where did she think she was going in the middle of nowhere? Alone, human, and shoeless?
Keita stood in front of the big gate that surrounded Castle Moor.
Unlike the more fortresslike castles that the Southland territorial lords lived in, Castle Moor was like a palace. There were guards, but only a few strong ones to throw out any who might get out of hand after too much drink and pu**y or cock, but there was nothing else to protect against a raid or army attack.
Then again, Lord Athol Reidfurd didn’t need that kind of protection.
At one time he may have been called a mage or a sorcerer or a wizard, but these days none who followed those paths would claim Athol as their own. It was said he’d gone down a darker path, perhaps sold his soul. Keita didn’t know, and she’d rarely worried about it. She didn’t have enough Magickal power to interest someone of his stature, and what went on behind his castle walls whenever she was in attendance seemed to have one focus and one focus only—pleasure.
The gate slowly swung back, and Athol, with his personal assistant, met her there.
“Keita.”
“Athol.” She walked into his outstretched arms and gave him a hearty hug.
“It’s been too long, my beauty.” He lifted her chin with two fingers.
“And you are still beautiful. I do hope you plan on staying.”
“I actually can’t. Not for long anyway.”
“Too bad,” he murmured. “I have such entertainment planned for this evening. I’m sure you’d enjoy it.”
She probably would, but that wasn’t why she was here.
“Perhaps another time?”
“As you wish.” He released her. “Where’s Ren?”
“I don’t really know,” she lied. Against Ren’s wishes, Keita had insisted on leaving her old friend behind. She had to. The tension between Ren and Athol had always been a problem. They tolerated each other because of Keita, but barely. If she wanted to get anything out of the elf, she couldn’t have Ren there, needling Athol to death. Something the Eastlander was very good at.
“And your friend?” Athol asked.
Unclear what he was talking about, she asked, “Friend?” Athol raised his chin, motioning to a spot behind her. Keita looked over her shoulder and had to work very hard not to show her shock at seeing the warlord standing right behind her. How long had he been there? Why hadn’t she noticed him following her?
Ragnar stepped forward. “Brother Ragnar of the Order of the Knowledge, my lord. I’m accompanying Lady Keita on her current trip.”
“A monk?” Athol asked, his gaze on Keita.
She quickly took Athol’s arm, her mind scrambling. “He hopes to save my soul,” she finally said, keeping her voice low. “And I hope to take his.”
Athol laughed. “Ahhh. My scandalous little Keita. I’m so glad to see you haven’t changed.” He gave her a wink before bowing before the warlord. “I am Athol Reidfurd, brother, lord of this manor.” Athol motioned them both in with a wave of his arm. “And you are both more than welcome here.”
Ragnar couldn’t believe the power of this place once he walked past that gate. It was as if the Magick he carried around with him had been locked into his skin, making most of his spells ineffectual. The loss of power was so great, Ragnar knew he’d be unable to shift back to his dragon form or unleash his lightning, no matter how much he might want to. Even his physical strength wasn’t as strong—it was as though he’d become truly human. And what really astounded Ragnar was that all the power that protected this place emanated from one source and one source alone—Lord Reidfurd himself.