“I had gloves on for the trip.”
“Just let me hold her for a second,” Branwen begged, and Talaith felt bad for the young dragoness.
Especially when Izzy bellowed back, “Unclean!”
“Fine! I’ll wash me hands then.”
“You need a bath. You’re filthy.”
“You ungrateful little—”
“Why don’t I make this easy for all?” Dagmar cut in. She gestured with a crook of her forefinger and Fanny, who was still in charge of the servants but had somehow become Dagmar’s personal assistant, suddenly appeared.
“Yes, Lady Dagmar?”
“Fanny, could you get these two settled? A hot bath for both, and food.”
“Of course, my lady.” Fanny smiled at the pair. “Welcome home, Lady Iseabail and Lady Branwen. Please follow me.”
“Come on, Rhi,” Izzy said to her sister, “you’ll come with us.” She started off behind Fanny and Branwen, but stopped and glared at her parents.
“And don’t think you two are off the hook.”
Talaith opened her mouth to tell her spoiled brat of a daughter what she could do with her “hook,” but Keita, Dagmar, Briec, and Morfyd all covered her mouth with their hands. She stamped her foot, but they refused to take their hands away until Izzy and her cousin disappeared up the stairs and down the hallway.
“Brat!” she yelled once they released her.
“She was hurt,” Briec said. “I warned you—”
“Shut. Up.”
“And normally I’d be fine with her being mad at you—but she’s mad at me too. That’s not acceptable. My daughters adore me. I won’t have that ruined by you.”
Keita gazed up at her brother. “Do you really think this is helping?”
“Helping? I’m supposed to be helping?”
“She’s so stubborn!” Talaith snarled, pacing. “I don’t know where she gets it from.”
Now they all stared at her.
“I can’t believe you had the nerve to say that out loud,” Briec remarked.
“And what’s that supposed to—”
They all jumped, the sound of squealing young females reaching them moments before Izzy and Branwen shot back down the stairs, over the dining table, and right out the Great Hall doors.
“Gods!” Talaith exclaimed. “Where’s the—”
“Rhianwen is fine,” Fanny called out. A few seconds later, she appeared at the top of the stairs, a giggling Rhianwen in her arms. “I’ve got her.”
“What’s going on?”
“Don’t know. They looked out the window of their room, tossed, uh, handed me the baby, and ran for the door.”
“What in all the—”
Gwenvael ran into the hall. He was so overwhelmed with whatever was going on, he couldn’t even speak. He just kept pointing.
Dagmar placed her hands on her hips. “What is wrong with you?” Gwenvael took a breath, then spit out, “In the main training ring.
Outside. Annwyl…and the Lightnings.” He held up two fingers. “Two of ’em. She’s taking on two of them.”
There was a moment of stunned silence as they all glanced back and forth at each other; then everyone ran for the door, leaving Talaith and Dagmar behind.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Dagmar yelled. The group of them stopped and faced her. “You have to stop them,” she ordered.
Briec snorted first and charged out the door, the rest of them following while Talaith went to check on Rhianwen.
Ragnar sat under a tree and stared off across the tall grass. He had a book open on his lap, but he’d barely glanced at it since he’d sat down. He had far greater things on his mind at the moment.
He couldn’t get the looks on Dagmar’s and Queen Annwyl’s faces out of his mind. Not because they thought he’d bedded Keita. That was part of her grand plan, after all.
No, Ragnar was upset because Keita then had to face the rest of her immediate kin on her own. Of course, it hadn’t been his choice to walk away. She’d made it clear that was how this all had to be played, but that didn’t mean it felt right to him. And although he could pretend his desire to protect Keita was something instinctual among all Northland male dragons, he knew better. He knew there was more to his feelings for her than mere instinct.
Still, Keita understood her kin better than he ever could, but even knowing that didn’t ease his concern.
Dagmar charged up to him, skidding to a stop. She was out of breath, and she’d obviously run to get here. Dagmar? Running?
“Ragnar—” she began, but her gaze snagged on the small tornado spinning in the middle of the field. “By all reason, what is that?”
“Oh. Sorry.” Ragnar unleashed the winds he’d called to him, and the tornado quickly ended.
“You did that?”
“It’s nothing. It just helps me think.”
“Yes, but—”
“Is there something you need, Dagmar?”
She blinked hard behind her spectacles, one hand pressing against her chest. “Uh…yes. Yes.” She took a breath, calmed her nerves. When she spoke again she was in control once more. “Your brother and cousin are in the training ring with Annwyl.”
“Doing what?” he asked.
One brow rose over cold grey eyes and plain steel-framed spectacles and Ragnar could only sigh, “It’s as if they want me to flay the scales from their bones.”
Keita had always loved a good fight. She avoided fighting herself, buts he did love to watch it. And this…this was good fighting.
Using only one shield and one sword, Annwyl had managed to keep both Lightnings at bay while landing in a few good shots here and there. All three were bleeding, but nothing major had been cut, torn, or removed.
Besides, that was the rule in the training rings on Annwyl’s territory. They were for training only, not killing.
But Keita knew enough of fighting to know that these two Lightnings were not exactly holding back on their swings. She’d bet gold they had in the beginning. Fighting females was not something any Northlander liked to do—mostly because there was no honor in it—but after five minutes in the ring they’d probably realized Annwyl was not some queen who merely liked to believe she could fight, who presented a symbol to her men as something to fight for.
No. Not Annwyl. She was and always would be a fighter. A warrior who led her men into battle and to possible death.
“What’s going on?”
Keita looked up at her eldest brother. “I believe it’s training.” Fearghus shook his head. “She’ll fight anyone these days.”
“And she’s learned some new moves,” Briec tossed in.
“Wonder who taught her all that?” Gwenvael added, and Keita slammed her foot onto his. “Ow! What was that for?” Fearghus briefly glared at his brother before focusing back on Annwyl. “She practices every day now. Sometimes nine to ten hours a day.” And all that work showed. Keita had marveled at Annwyl’s muscles when she’d first seen her, but watching her fight two males much stronger and bigger than she was a mighty sight to behold. Annwyl also seemed to understand she wasn’t as strong as either male so she used her speed and smaller size to her advantage. It was working, too. These two mighty Northland warriors were barely holding their own against this one woman.
They were probably confused and a little ashamed by this. They shouldn’t be. Keita’s own kin had accepted that Annwyl was, and would always be as long as she had breath, a dangerous opponent. The Cadwaladr Clan actively refused to fight her and had no shame over that decision.
A shadow covered Keita, and she looked over her shoulder to see Ragnar walk up. Behind him ran an out-of-breath Dagmar. Did she have to race to the Northlands to retrieve him? The woman appeared exhausted.
Ragnar pushed between Keita and Fearghus. “Do they not listen to a word I say?” he asked her.
“Apparently not,” Keita replied. “But don’t worry. They can’t kill each other in the training ring. It’s a rule or something.”
“And yet that doesn’t make me feel better.”
“Are you going to go in and stop them?”
“They made the decision to travel down this road,” Ragnar explained,
“now they must see it through to its end.”
Without looking away from his mate, Fearghus said, “In other words, you’re not about to get in there and risk your own head.”
“Those words work, too, but mine sound much more honorable.” Inside the ring, Vigholf used his sword to rip the shield from Annwyl’s hand. She stumbled back and stumbled back again. Now she was between Vigholf and Meinhard. Both males moved at the same time, and Annwyl jerked aside at the last moment, forcing both to pull back their weapons before they hacked into each other.
Annwyl took the moment to kick the same leg on Meinhard that she’d broken the day before. The dragon roared in pain, lightning strikes spraying out. Keita ducked, not in the mood to get shocked, but Briec quickly unleashed a spell that brought up a shield, protecting them all.
With Meinhard temporarily taken care of, Annwyl charged into Vigholf’s legs, taking him to the ground. She quickly got to her feet and rose over him, her sword grasped between both hands and raised over his belly.
Moments from bringing that blade down on the dragon—and Vigholf most likely moments from shifting back to his dragon form so he could stomp Annwyl to oblivion—Annwyl glanced over at her audience, back at her prey, then over at them again.
“Izzy?”
Izzy raised her hand, waved.
“Izzy!” Annwyl slammed her sword into the ground by poor Vigholf’s head—forcing the dragon to grit his teeth, most likely to stop himself from screaming like a startled baby—and charged across the training ring.
Annwyl leaped over the fence, all of them scrambling back, and right into Izzy’s arms.
“Iseabail!” Annwyl cheered, swinging her niece around. “I’m so happy to see you!”
Gwenvael leaned in and whispered in Keita’s ear, “It’s like a battle of the giant females.”
Before she could laugh, Briec slapped Gwenvael in the back of the head.
“Ow!”
Annwyl put Izzy down, but still held her hands. She took a step back and looked her over. “You’re looking so well. How’s it been going?”
“I’m still in formation,” Izzy whined.
“And you will continue to be until your commanders feel you’re ready for advancement. You want too much too soon.”
“You didn’t expect that to change, did you?” Izzy muttered, making Annwyl laugh.
“No. I didn’t expect that. I also didn’t expect you back this early.”
“Oh, well, I came here to confront my mother about her betrayal.”
“Izzy,” Briec warned.
“Still not talking to you either,” she said without looking at him. “And to bring you this from Ghleanna.”
She dug in to the top of her boot and handed over a piece of leather.