Realizing that Bercelak thought she’d seen her time—and apparently the times of their offspring—ending much sooner than she had any intention of tolerating, Rhiannon began laughing and couldn’t stop. Even when he caught hold of her and lifted her up, carrying her back to their bedchamber, snarling the entire time, she didn’t stop laughing.
Chapter Sixteen
The trip from Devenallt Mountain took them straight down to Dark Plains below. They landed about two miles away from Garbhán Isle, in the surrounding forests. What was strange, though, to Vigholf was that for the entire trip, Ragnar, Keita, and that foreigner argued. In hushed whispers, but it was arguing. Something that Vigholf rarely saw his brother do. Ragnar didn’t believe in arguing. He gave his orders, and he expected them to be carried out. If they weren’t, he gave the task to someone else, and he forgot the existence of the one who’d failed him. It may not sound like much, but it was enough. His brother’s coldness rivaled the icy mountaintops of their home.
Yet here Ragnar was. Arguing. First with Princess Keita alone. Then the foreigner joined in. They never raised their voices. Not like Vigholf and Meinhard were known to do, but still. It was an argument.
Vigholf shifted to human, put on his clothes, and watched the three continue to argue. He didn’t know what they were talking about, and he didn’t care. He was ready to go home. This place with all its greens and heat.
Gods, it was warm here even though the Southlands were nearing their winter, the princess pulling out a fur to cover her long-sleeved gown illustrating the chill that at least she felt. Did they even have snow in this country?
Not that it mattered. Once his brother stopped arguing, they’d take the pup and the princess to their kin and they’d be on their way.
“What’s going on?” Meinhard asked him.
“I have no idea.”
“We shouldn’t let them argue,” the pup said. He was always worried about everyone being upset, this one. He prided himself on all the arguments he stopped. Although it wasn’t his soothing words that halted fights among Vigholf’s kin. It was his size. Lightnings were well known for their size, although they had a tendency to be slower than the trimmer Fire Breathers.
But the pup, he had the size of any Northlander, but the speed of his fire-breathing kin. Shame he wasn’t much of a fighter. Ragnar had already written him off and didn’t want him sent back to the Northlands anytime soon. Although Meinhard was quietly working to change that. He’d taken to the oversized hatchling, though Vigholf simply didn’t know why.
“I wouldn’t get in the middle of a Ragnar argument, if I were you.”
“We should do something.”
Seeing that he was going to debate this, Vigholf caught hold of the pup’s arm and dragged him from the trees to the road. “Let’s wait here until they’re done.”
Vigholf and Meinhard went through their travel bags while the pup paced from one side of the road to the other.
“Think we can get more supplies before we leave?” Meinhard asked.
“Dried beef will help when we go through the Outerplains again.”
“The princess promised to replenish our supplies.”
“They’re still arguing!” The pup shook his head. “I can’t let this go on.”
“Wait—”
“Let him go, Meinhard,” Vigholf said, standing. “He’ll interrupt, Ragnar will slap him around, he’ll learn not to do it again.” Meinhard stood, his gaze down the road.
“What?” Vigholf asked. Meinhard gestured with a nod of his head, and Vigholf followed.
It was a woman walking down the road, her hand holding on to the reins of an enormous black horse. She stopped and stared at them.
Smiling, wishing he’d remembered to put on his cape sooner—he hated explaining his purple hair to humans, all that horse shit about tragic curses and such—Vigholf waved. “Greetings!” he called out.
The woman, tall with long golden brown hair, released the reins of her horse and walked closer. Her eyes narrowed, her head dipping down.
“What is she doing?” Vigholf muttered to his cousin.
“I have no idea,” Meinhard muttered back. “Maybe she’s lost. Or scared.”
“Or crazed,” Vigholf added, seconds before the crazed bitch—he’d been right, by the gods!—unsheathed one of the swords she had tied to her back and silently charged.
“This is the way it is to be,” Keita said to Ren—again! She didn’t like having to repeat herself, and just because Ren was a noble in his own bloody country, didn’t mean he had any more right to ignore her than one of her mother’s subjects.
“I don’t like it. I don’t like him.” Ren glared at Ragnar. “He looks down on you, and he just hurt you again.”
“And that,” the Northlander said through clenched teeth, “is still none of your business.”
“What do you hope to gain from this, barbarian? Perhaps you and Keita’s mother have a plan that she knows nothing about. Perhaps you plan to betray her.”
Ragnar lifted his hand, sparks flicking off the tips of his fingers. Ren did the same, only it was flames that charged from his. Keita, used to much more physically reacting males, ordered, “Stop it! Both of you! This is ridiculous!”
“What’s going on?” Éibhear demanded, storming over to them. “Why are you all arguing?”
Keita glanced at the two other males, shrugged, and said sweetly,
“We’re not arguing.”
“Keita!”
“A discussion does not an argument make, Éibhear.”
“What aren’t you telling me?” He looked from one to the other.
“What’s Mum up to?”
“Nothing. She was just being herself. You should be used to that by now.”
“Don’t lie to me, Keita. You know you can’t lie to me.” He was right.
She couldn’t lie to any of her brothers because none of them were distracted by a random touch or secret smile. “There’s something going on, and I want to know what.”
“Go back to Meinhard, boy,” Ragnar ordered.
Keita held up her hand. “Don’t order my brother around.”
“Fine then. We’ll let him stay.”
“Don’t get that tone with me, warlord. I can handle my own brother without any help from you.”
“Handle me? You need to handle me?” Éibhear repeated.
Her patience waning, Keita said, “Stop. Everyone just…” She frowned, her head tilting to the side. “Ren? What’s wrong?” He pointed at something behind Keita. “Don’t we know that horse?” Keita glanced over her shoulder. “Looks like Annwyl’s horse,” she said, scratching her ear.
A moment later, she froze at the sound of steel against steel.
“Gods,” she said, turning to her brother.
Together they shot off, heading for the nearby road. They ran past the trees, and Keita squealed, falling back onto her rear, the blade of a sword nearly taking off what she’d always considered her very precious nose.
Hands lifted her from the ground and put her back on her feet. “You all right?” She expected it to be Ren, but it was Ragnar who stared down at her with concern.
“I’m fine. We need to stop them.”
“My brother would never kill a woman.”
“That’s not a woman,” Keita said. “Not specifically.” Meinhard raised his shield, and the bitch’s blade slammed into it, pushing him back. Gods! What strength she had.
And yet she was human.
He lowered his shield to see that the woman had her back to him, busy now with his cousin. Meinhard thrust his sword forward, aiming for her side.
His intent to wound, incapacitate. Not kill. But she turned at the last second, his blade moving past her. Meinhard stumbled forward. That’s when she slammed her elbow into his face, shattering his nose.
He barked, and she went low, her foot slamming into his calf. To Meinhard’s shock, he heard bone break, felt something go “pop” in his leg, and he went down hard on one knee.
The pain would be tolerated. The break would heal. But the humiliation—that would not be borne!
Meinhard watched his cousin force the woman back toward him. She was less than a foot away when he swiped his shield at her back. It hit her on the side, sending her flying into a close-by tree. She crashed into the trunk hard, bounced away from it and onto the ground, rolled to her feet, and went at Vigholf once more.
Vigholf swung his blade, but she went up and on his back, her short sword raised high.
“Annwyl, no! ” Princess Keita screamed while Éibhear caught the vile woman and yanked her off Vigholf from behind. At the same time Ragnar caught hold of Vigholf and pulled him back.
Keita stood in the midst of them all, her hands raised. “Everyone calm down!”
“Calm down?” Vigholf demanded. “That crazed bitch attacked us!” Meinhard felt hands on him and looked up into the strange face of the foreign dragon. Without a word said between them, Meinhard allowed Ren to help him to his one good foot.
“My Lord Vigholf,” Keita said soothingly. She turned to face him.
“Please accept my…”
Eyes wide, she stared at Vigholf, and Meinhard quickly followed her gaze, terrified that he was about to see his cousin bleeding to death from a wound they hadn’t noticed. But it was worse than that. Far worse.
Keita covered her mouth with her hand, her brown eyes wide. Unsure what he’d find, Ragnar looked at his brother—and released him.
“Oh.”
“What?” Vigholf asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Uh…uh…”
Poor deformed Vigholf looked down at himself. “What are you all looking at?”
“Perhaps,” said a cold female voice, “they search for this.” Vigholf raised his head as the human female held up the long, single braid of thick purple hair that once belonged to him.
“Sorry about that,” the woman said, grinning. “I was trying for your entire head. But you move much faster than your oxlike size would suggest.”
“Oxlike? ”
“Don’t worry.” She swung the braid back and forth. “This will look amazing in my helm when I ride into battle. Purple’s never been my color, but I think it’ll work just fine.”
“You mad cow! ” Vigholf screamed, and Ragnar caught hold of his shoulders, barely managing to hold his raging brother back. Not that he blamed him.
“Come,” the human laughingly challenged. “Let’s finish this, Lightning.”
Keita moved closer to the woman and slammed her hands against her shoulders. “Stop this right now!”
The woman frowned, staring at Keita. For a moment, Ragnar feared for the royal’s safety until the woman asked, “Keita?” Then she smiled, pushing the Blue’s hands off her waist. “Keita!” The woman dropped her blade—if not the braid—threw her arms around Keita, and hugged her tight.