No wonder she hadn’t defeated her brother yet. He terrified her. He could tell from her overzealous rage at the mere mention of the man.
If she faced Lorcan now, even if her body completely healed, he doubted she would defeat him. Either her anger or her fear would get the best of her.
And for some inexplicable reason that thought worried the hell out of him. When did he start caring about humans? Unlike some of his kin, he didn’t hate humans. Yet he didn’t live among them either. So his original plans for the human girl were to simply heal her wounds, then dump her near a human village. He didn’t like complications. He didn’t like anyone around him. He liked peace. He liked quiet. And not much else. But the mere thought of just leaving her somewhere sickened him.
He could already tell this was going to get complicated. And he hated complications.
“Good. You’re awake.” Annwyl looked up into the face of a woman. A witch, based on the precise, but brutal scar that marred one side of her face. All witches were marked in such a manner on order of her brother. The face behind the scar looked as if it might have been beautiful once. “You must have fallen asleep after he left.” She pulled the fur covering off Annwyl’s body. “Let’s get you up.”
Annwyl slowly swung her legs off the bed and, using one arm, pushed herself up.
“Careful now. Don’t want to open up that wound again.”
Annwyl nodded as she sat quietly, waiting for the nausea that suddenly descended upon her to pass.
“You’re very lucky, you know.”
“Am I?”
“Most other dragons would have made you a meal. Not a guest.”
Annwyl nodded slowly, “I know.” She looked at the witch again. “I have seen you before.”
“Aye. I help at the village when I can.”
“The healer. I remember now. I had no idea you befriended the dragons.”
“They have my loyalty.”
Annwyl looked at the woman’s scars. Not surprising she risked life among the dragons rather than of men. “Did my brother do that to you?”
“He ordered it. He is not a friend to the Sisterhood.” The woman wrapped a robe around Annwyl’s bare shoulders.
Her brother hated all witches. Mostly because they were women. And he absolutely hated all women. “He’s always been afraid of that which he does not understand.”
“Does that include you?”
Annwyl laughed as she slowly pushed herself off the bed. The laugh sounded bitter even to her own ears. “My brother understands me all too well. That’s why both of us have struggled to take any ground.”
“I see you did not escape his punishment.” The witch motioned to the wounds on the young woman’s back. The raised flesh healed but still an angry red.
“That’s not from him.” Annwyl pulled the robe tight around her body. Velvet and lush, she loved the softness of it against her battle-hardened skin. She wondered what rich baron the dragon took this from as he tore his caravan apart and ate the occupants.
The woman put her arm around Annwyl’s waist and helped her to a table laid out with food and wine. “Your name is… Morfyd. Yes?” Annwyl lowered herself into a sturdy chair.
“Yes.”
“Did you help heal me as well?”
“Yes.”
“Well, thank you for your help, Morfyd. It is greatly appreciated.”
“I did it because the dragon asked. But betray him, lady—”
“Don’t threaten me.” Annwyl easily cut in without even looking up from the food before her. “I really hate that. And you need not remind me of my blood debt to the dragon.” Annwyl sipped wine from a silver chalice and stared at the woman. “I owe him my life. I’ll never betray him. And don’t call me ‘lady.’Annwyl will do.”
Carefully placing the chalice on the wood table, she found Morfyd staring at her. “Something wrong?”
“No. I’m just very curious about you.”
“Well,” Annwyl grinned, “I’ve been told that I’m fascinating.”
Morfyd pulled out the only other chair and sat across from Annwyl. “I have heard much about your brother. It amazes me you still live.”
Annwyl began to eat the hearty stew, desperately trying not to think too hard about what kind of meat it contained.
“It amazes me as well. Daily.”
“But you saved many people. Released many from his dungeons.”
Annwyl shrugged silently as she wondered whether that was gristle she currently chewed on.
“No one else would challenge him. No man would step forward to face him,” Morfyd pushed.
“Well, he’s my brother. He used to set fire to my hair and throw knives at my head. Facing him in combat was inevitable.”
“But you lived under his roof until two years ago. We’ve all heard the stories about life on Garbhán Isle.”
“My brother had other concerns after my father died. He wanted to make sure everyone feared him. He didn’t have time to worry about his bastard sister.”
“Why didn’t he marry you off? He could have forged an alliance with one of the bigger kingdoms.” Annwyl briefly thought of Lord Hamish of Madron Province and how close she came to being his bride. The thought chilled her.
“He tried. But the nobles kept changing their minds.”
“And did you help them with that?”
She held up her thumb and forefinger, a little bit apart.
“Just a little.”
For the first time, Morfyd smiled and Annwyl found herself warming up to the witch a bit. Annwyl pushed her nearly empty bowl away from her and drank more of the wine. It shocked her how well she ate. Shocked her that she still breathed.
“Make sure you finish off the wine. I have added herbs that will heal you and stave off infection.”
Annwyl stared warily into her wine chalice. “What kind of herbs?”
Morfyd shrugged as she stood, picking up Annwyl’s empty bowl. “Lots of different ones. It’s my own potion. It works quite well. It can also heal rashes and gout. And prevent a woman from becoming with child. But I guess that doesn’t matter to you.”
Annwyl glanced up from her wine. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you’re a virgin.”
Annwyl froze. That couldn’t be just an assumption. She’d lived with a male army for well over two years; everyone assumed she’d lost her virginity ages ago.
“How did you . . . know that?”
“He told me.”
Annwyl knew the witch meant the dragon, and that’s when the fury built up in her chest. A fury she never could control. “Dragon!” She bellowed his name so loudly, Morfyd stumbled back away from her.
The ground shook as the dragon returned to her. “What? What is it?”
Annwyl forced herself to her feet, her hand against her recent wound. “How did you know? And tell me true.”
“Know what?” He looked at Morfyd who shrugged and quickly left. Almost ran.
“That I was a virgin. No one knows that. How did you?” She had no idea how long her deep sleep held her. Unable to protect herself. Unable to stop someone from . . . she shook her head. She couldn’t bear to even think it.
“This is why you demand my presence? Because I know your deep, dark secret?”
“Not that you know. But how you know.”
He lowered his head until they were eye to eye. But Annwyl, too angry for logic, did not flinch or back away. Considering his head was the length of her body and she towered over most men, she probably should have. Instead she let her anger wash over her. Just as she always had. “Well? Answer me!”
His black eyes narrowed at her angry shout, and his nostrils flared. “I can smell it on you.”
Annwyl reared back from the dragon. “What?”
“I can smell it on you. That no man has been with you. That your maidenhead is still intact. That you, beautiful one, are a virgin.”
Annwyl looked at the dragon in horror, her voice no more than a whisper. “Really? You can smell that on me?”
“No,” he responded flatly. “But you are quite chatty in your sleep.”
She rolled her eyes. “You tricky . . .” Her anger fled as quickly as it came. She leaned against the table, her strength waning.
“So, did you think I somehow took advantage of you while you slept?”
“Well. . . .” Annwyl flinched as one talon tapped impatiently on the stone floor awaiting her answer. “The thought had crossed my mind.” She lowered herself into one of the other chairs surrounding the table, too weak to stand any longer. “I’m sorry. I know only what I learned from my brother . . . and he would have checked.”
The great beast sighed. “I have heard tales of your brother. You do realize he should have been killed at birth?”
Annwyl smiled. “If only.” She looked across the cave floor to the bed. It looked so far away and her body was still so weak.
“Here.” He lowered his claw and opened it. Black talons as long as her leg glistened at Annwyl.
“You must be mad.”
“How did you think you got in here?”
“Yes, but . . .” There she went again. Treating him as an animal when, in the little time she’d known him, he’d treated her with more respect than any man she’d met at her brother’s castle.
She pushed herself up and took the two steps to his outstretched claw. With force of will she didn’t know she possessed she stepped onto it, pushing out the vision she had of him shoving her into his mouth like a piece of steak. He lifted her up, gently moving his forearm until he had reached the bed. He carefully lowered her onto the fur coverings.
“Now, let’s try not to have any more fits of anger until you get more of your strength back.”
Annwyl laughed. “As you wish.”
She sat down on the bed, her long legs hanging over the side. She watched his body leave the cavern. His long tail following behind. But Annwyl wondered if it had a will of its own as it whipped out and wrapped itself around her leg. For a brief moment she worried it might drag her across the room. But instead it caressed her leg, the ebony scales rubbing against her calf. Then it released her and disappeared with the dragon that wielded it.
Long after he’d gone and she slid herself back under the fur covers, Annwyl still felt where he’d touched her leg. And she wondered what insanity had begun to take over her normally sensible mind.
Lorcan of Garbhán Isle stared out over his battlements, watching the two suns lower in the west, and wondered how his sister kept slipping from his grasp.
No matter what he did or what he tried, she just wouldn’t die. And the longer she lived, the more men she killed. His men. His troops. The number of headless bodies with her name carved on their chest rivaled even his own. Of course, his took thirty-one years to achieve. She’d accumulated hers in little over two.
He wished now he’d killed her when he had the chance. She was ten, he just fourteen. She had just arrived, sleeping soundly in her new bed. He held the pillow in his hands. He knew he could smother her, and no one would ever know. But she woke up, looked at him, and flew into a blinding rage. Which he returned. His father found the two of them rolling around on the floor trying to choke each other. The man had not been pleased and he made them pay for waking him out of a sound sleep.