“Dagmar?”
“It’s all my fault, Gwenvael. All of it. I only wanted to help, but instead I nearly wipe out your entire family!”
Gwenvael crouched in front of her, taking her hands in his. The simple feel of his flesh against hers, his thumbs rubbing across her knuckles, calmed her down almost immediately.
“I want you to listen to me well, Dagmar Reinholdt,” he said. “No one’s blaming you for anything.”
“Yet.”
Dagmar and Gwenvael looked at Fearghus.
“Did I say that out loud?” Then he winked, and Dagmar almost started to cry again, even while he got her to smile.
“Ignore him, Beast.” Gwenvael grabbed a straight-back chair and sat down in front of her. He took hold of her hands again. “Now tell us everything.”
She kept it clean and direct, no emotions tossed in. No mentions of her own mother and the desire to prevent the twins from going through what she went through herself.
Instead, she told them as she would have told her own father. In plain words, with “none of that fancy analyzing you do” and that her father hated.
Fearghus stayed on the bed, near his babes, his eyes constantly straying over to them. Neither spoke while she did. Neither asked questions. Instead they waited until she finished.
“I know the babes are hungry,” she said when she was done. “But they’ve been surprisingly good-natured about the whole thing and went right to sleep when I put them down. But at some point they are going to need to eat, and either Annwyl has to pull those udders out or we need to get a nursemaid in here because I’ll be of no use. Other than that”—she shrugged—“that’s pretty much the whole story.”
The following silence nearly choked her and she was moments from a good bout of panic when Fearghus leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.
Clasping his hands together, he said, “I’m sorry. Can we go back for a moment—you bargained your way out of that with socks?”
That hadn’t been what she’d expected the future Dragon King of Dark Plains to ask, but … all right.
“Yes, but it was because she was vague that—”
“Now aren’t you glad I bought you the socks?”
Dagmar scrutinized Gwenvael. “Pardon?”
“If I hadn’t gotten you that new pair, you wouldn’t have given up your socks to a traveling goddess.”
“He has a point,” Fearghus tossed in.
“Yes, but—”
“Which means you owe me your life.” Gwenvael glanced at his brother. “Like Talaith and Briec—I can keep her.”
“No, you cannot!” Dagmar snapped, completely confused.
“But I bought you the socks,” Gwenvael insisted.
“Only because I made you take back the puppy.”
Regarding his brother, Fearghus asked, “Puppy?”
“I was trying to make her feel better. She was all upset because I wouldn’t bring that bloody dog of hers.”
“Was he a nice one?”
“Large. Lots of meat. With the right seasoning …” Gwenvael sighed, his eyes staring far off. “Gods, I’m hungry.”
Dagmar dragged both her hands through her hair. “Shouldn’t both of you be a little more … livid with me?”
“But I have my Annwyl back,” Fearghus said. “Sort of. She doesn’t know who she is.”
“Or that she’s a mother.”
“Let’s not be negative,” Fearghus insisted lightly. “All that matters is that my Annwyl wiped out an entire murderous unit of Minotaurs.”
“Fearghus,” Gwenvael asked, appearing sincere, “can Annwyl fight nak*d all the time?”
“Don’t make me kill you. I’m in a good mood, and it’ll just upset Mother.” He stood and bundled the fur around his children, carefully lifting them. “I’m off to find Annwyl.”
Gwenvael tapped his leg. “Remember what Talaith said, Fearghus. Take it slow with her. Give her time to remember who she is.”
“I will.”
Fearghus took several steps away, but stopped. He faced her. “Dagmar?”
“Yes?”
He gazed down at his twins and then at her. “Thank you.” He smiled and it was something so beautiful and sincere she didn’t know what to say. “For everything. I’m eternally grateful.”
Unable to speak, she nodded, and Fearghus disappeared down one of the dark tunnels.
“You keep staring at my brother like that and I’m sending Annwyl after you.”
Startled, Dagmar’s spine snapped straight and she gave Gwenvael her haughtiest look. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m not wearing my spectacles, so I can’t see anyway.”
“Ohhh. That’s what that was. It wasn’t you staring longingly at the spot where that deep, low voice told you ‘Thank you, Daughter of The Reinholdt … for everything.’ ”
“I hate you,” she managed before she started laughing.
Gwenvael rested his hands on the bed, braced on either side of her legs. As he moved forward he teased in a high-pitched voice, “Oh, Fearghus! I’ll happily help you because you’re so big and strong!”
He kept moving forward, forcing her back, even as she pushed at his shoulders. “Stop it! I did not say that, nor do I sound like that.”
“I’ll save you any day, little Dagmar.”
“You’re just jealous,” she shot back.
“I am.” He caught her off guard with the quick reply. “I don’t want you looking at anyone like that but me.”
He stretched out on top of her, bracing his weight on his right forearm while his left hand brushed against her cheek. His teasing expression turned serious and he studied her face so intently, she became uneasy.
“What?”
“I’ve never been so scared for anyone before in my life, Dagmar. Not like that. But I knew, I had no doubt, that you’d give us time to get to you. I knew you’d never go down without a fight.”
She didn’t doubt his words for a moment. She knew they were as truthful and unadorned as what she’d recounted for him and his brother.
“I …” she swallowed, unable to fight the emotions surging through her at that moment. “I think I need to have a slight breakdown right now.”
“Feel free.” He kissed her forehead and pulled her close to his body, rolling to his back so she could lie on top of him. “You’ve had a very long day, Lady Dagmar.”
She rested her chin on his chest. “I truly have, Lord Gwenvael. I truly have.”
Chapter 30
He found her by the lake, as he knew he would. They’d fallen in love here, made love here, argued here, and even trained for battle together here. Whenever Annwyl needed time away from her day-to-day responsibilities as the Queen of Dark Plains, Fearghus brought her here. It was here she felt safe and sane and loved.
The fact that she’d returned here now gave him hope he hadn’t lost her completely.
Still nak*d and covered in blood, she stood at the edge of the lake, peering into the water. She didn’t move as he approached, although he sensed she knew he was there.
“Annwyl?”
She glanced at him, saw the babes, and turned away. “Why did you bring them here? They need their mother.”
He kept his voice even, controlled. “Because they’re hungry.”
“I can’t help them.”
“Then who can?”
“I have no idea, but it’s not my problem.”
Fearghus began to speak but realized the next words out of his mouth were probably the wrong ones. Slow and easy, he needed to remember that.
Deciding to settle the babes first, he walked over to a pile of furs he kept by the lake and spread the softest one out. Crouching down, he placed the twins on their stomachs, across the fur. It amazed him how healthy and well developed they already were. How beautiful.
He covered them with a much smaller fur and smiled when the boy rolled to his back as his sister did and grabbed hold of the fur, pulling it up until it covered his sister’s face. She slapped the fur aside, then slapped her brother. The crack of her small hand against her brother’s face made Fearghus wince and the boy cry.
“If you cry every time one of your kin hits you,” Fearghus murmured, “you’re doomed before you’ve even begun.”
“What’s wrong?” Annwyl demanded from behind him. “Why is he crying?”
“His sister hit him, but he needs to toughen up.”
Annwyl’s fist slammed into his shoulder and he was grateful he wasn’t really human. Shattered shoulders were almost impossible to repair, even for a healer as good as his sister.
“What kind of response is that? What kind of man are you?” Annwyl snarled at him.
Still crouching, he looked at her over his shoulder. He took a breath, trying desperately to maintain his temper. “I’m not a man, Annwyl. I never have been. And you know this.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She motioned to their still-crying son. “Pick him up. He wants you to pick him up.”
“No. He wants you to pick him up. He wants his mother.”
“I’m not—”
Fearghus stood and the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, “Stop pissing about and pick him up.”
Those green eyes turned dark and her glare dangerously nasty. “Go to hell.”
Fearghus stepped into her body, scowling down into her face. “I said … pick him up.” He waited one beat … then two, before he yelled, “Now!”
Her fist flew out, slamming into the side of his jaw, the power of it sending him stumbling back while colors burst behind his eyes. And since he’d taught Annwyl to punch like that, he had no one to blame but himself.
She swung her fist at him again, but he caught her hands this time, yanking her close by her arms.
“Pick him up,” he snarled in her face, unclear as to why he wanted to force this down her throat.
“No!” Then she brought her head forward, slamming it into his chin.
“Dammit!” Fearghus shoved Annwyl away and she hit the ground, rolled, and was on her feet in seconds.
They stared at each other, both panting.
Fearghus pointed at the boy. “Pick him up.”
Annwyl dragged her tongue across her top lip and said, “No.” Then she was moving, stalking across the cave floor to the weapons they kept piled in several corners. Fearghus went to the pile closest to him, snatching up a spear with a steel staff and turning just as two blades swung down on him. Grasping the spear in both hands, he blocked the weapons and shoved Annwyl away. She took quick steps back and spun on her heel, swinging the weapons up and behind her. Fearghus again blocked both weapons, turned the spear, and twisted until Annwyl fell on her ass.
He leered down at her. “Just where I’ve always liked you, Annwyl the Bloody. On the ground, at my feet.”
Her cry of rage ricocheted off the walls and Fearghus barely moved before the swords cut through the air where his legs had been.