It probably took her all of five minutes to dress every day, but Dagmar knew her brothers’ wives spent hours attempting to look as effortlessly beautiful as this woman.
“Well …” Morfyd gave a small shrug. “If you’re talking about dragons, it’s a little game hatchlings play with their parents. You know, before their wings can actually carry them, when the family’s out flying. The hatchlings will run and jump from one parent to the next. I did it with mine. It was fun, but it also helps the hatchlings learn how to fly because very often you’ll catch the wind and you learn to coast.”
“Right,” the woman said, her smile not fooling Dagmar at all, “fun and a learning experience.” That’s when she leaned down and screamed into poor Morfyd’s face, “And that’s why my daughter is doing it with your family!”
Morfyd’s eyes grew wide. “Oh.”
“Yeah! ‘Oh’!” She turned toward Annwyl. “And I blame your fat ass for this, you pregnant sow!”
“Me?” Rolling back to her other side, Annwyl faced them. “How is this my bloody fault?”
“She’s out of control and it is your fault.” The woman threw herself into a chair and said in a mocking, childlike voice, “ ‘They say I can go to war. They say I’m really good. I want to be the Queen’s Champion one day.’ Your fault!” she finished in her own healthy yell.
“I haven’t watched training in three months, how is this my fault?”
“Brastias speaks for you now, does he not?”
Annwyl pursed her lips before slowly stating, “He is in complete charge of my armies until I can mount my war horse without him whinnying in terror, yes.”
“Then it’s your fault! Because he says she’s ready to go to war and so she wants to go.”
Morfyd leaned forward a bit, her hands clasped in front of her. “Perhaps—”
“Shut up, scaly!”
Morfyd leaned back in her chair. “All right then.”
Finally, the woman caught sight of Dagmar, her dark eyes raking over her before she said, “Talaith.”
Dagmar had no idea what that meant until Morfyd cut in, “Sorry. Talaith, Daughter of Haldane. This is Dagmar Reinholdt. Of the Northland Reinholdts.”
Ahh. Talaith was her name.
Talaith focused her lethal gaze back on Morfyd. “Are there Reinholdts in the south?”
Morfyd’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“Then don’t embellish!” she screamed.
“I’m not!” Morfyd screamed back.
Suddenly Annwyl sat up, one hand on her belly, a cry exploding from her lips. Immediately the women stopped bickering.
“Gods, Annwyl. What’s wrong?” Morfyd demanded.
Green eyes turned to them and Annwyl sneered, “Nothing. I just wanted the two of you to shut up. You’re going to make us look bad in front of the barbarian!”
The silence that followed was awkward, to say the least. And lasted a good thirty seconds. Until Morfyd spit out that first laugh, and then all of them followed suit. They couldn’t seem to stop either. Even when Gwenvael walked in, stared at them all for a bit, and then walked back out, slamming the door behind him, they kept right on going.
Chapter 19
Gwenvael returned to Dagmar’s room several hours later when he was sure his sister and brothers’ mates were gone. She was stretched out facedown on a bed she was way too small for, her long hair, now clean and smelling delightfully of flowers, hanging over the side and nearly touching the floor. Her freshly washed body was covered only in a robe, and one small hand was balled into a fist, resting by her month. The other hand rested by her hip, palm up, and her spectacles were on the side table across the room.
She also snored, but only a little.
He walked around the bed and crouched down by her head. Reaching out, he gently brushed her hair off her face, smiling at how innocent she looked. Not at all like the manipulative little barbarian he’d been traveling with for days.
“Dagmar.” He said her name softly, gently, his fingers petting her cheek. He liked how her skin felt under his fingertips. “Dagmar,” he said softly again.
And, when she didn’t answer, “Dagmar!”
She snapped awake, head and chest off the bed, her eyes immediately open and alert. “It is not a lie!”
“Sorry, love,” he said softly again. “Did I wake you?”
Rolling her eyes, Dagmar dropped back to the bed. “Go away.”
“No. You were mean to me, and I want reparations.”
“You want—what are you doing?”
“Getting comfortable,” he explained while crawling onto the bed and over her until he’d draped himself across her back. Once in position, he sort of dropped on top of her, and he enjoyed the sound of air abruptly shoved out of her lungs.
“Get off me!”
“Not until you apologize and make me feel better. Much better.”
She tried to drag herself out from under him, but he wouldn’t budge, making sure all his weight stayed on her back.
“Apologize for what?”
“For being mean to me in front of my much-loved kin.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Gwenvael bounced his lower body up and down, causing his groin to slam against her ass.
“Stop! Stop!”
“Take it back.”