She headed toward the big doors. “I’d rather set myself on fire.”
“I can manage that well enough,” he muttered.
Izzy stopped, looked at him over her shoulder. “What was that?”
He sighed. “Nothing.”
“That’s what I thought.”
That’s when Izzy noticed the boy. He stood in the corner, probably hiding there, hoping Éibhear wouldn’t notice him. She could understand that. When he was focusing on something, Éibhear had a brutal frown. Made him look like the mass-murdering bastard she’d heard him called over the last few years.
“Why don’t you help him with all those books . . . uh . . . ?”
Eyes wide, the boy stuttered out, “Fred . . . Frederik. Reinholdt.”
“Dagmar’s nephew.” Although it was somewhat easy to tell that just from the look of the boy. Pale, like he’d never seen the suns, and tall, like most of the Northland men. Not bad looking but a bit fearful to be around this brutish lot. “Can you read?”
“A bit.” He glanced away. “It’s a bit of a struggle.”
“No matter. You learn to read by doing and gods know, Éibhear needs the help.” She took the boy by his shoulder and led him to the table. “This has to be cleaned up by dinnertime.”
Éibhear blew out a breath. “Damn. Dinner.”
Laughing, Izzy left.
Éibhear glared at the cute ass walking out of the Great Hall, then refocused on the boy. “Frederik?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Nice to meet you. Name’s Éibhear.”
He frowned up at him. “You’re very . . . tall.”
“So are you . . . for a human boy.”
“You’re really a dragon?”
“I am.”
“And the lady?”
“Lady?”
“Who just left.”
Éibhear laughed. “I wouldn’t call Izzy a lady. Might get you punched. That’s General Iseabail, Daughter of Talaith.”
“You have women generals? She goes into combat? And you let her?”
“What you’ll learn, lad, is that you don’t let the females of the Southlands do a damn thing. You simply get out of their way or pray they don’t run you down.” He motioned to the books. “Let’s just get these to the library. We’ll organize them later.”
By the time Iseabail walked down the Great Hall stairs, Morfyd was coming around the corner. She wore the white robes of a healing cleric, her bag of herbs and spell paraphernalia over her shoulder.
“Morfyd!” Izzy waved and Morfyd rushed over, the pair hugging each other tight.
“Izzy! I heard you were back. I’m so glad to see you.” Morfyd stepped away, looked her over. “You’re too thin.”
“Am I?” She glanced down at herself, frowned. “Really?”
“To my eyes. Where are you off to?”
“To my house. I’m exhausted.”
“You’re not coming to dinner tonight?”
“No, but Uncle Fearghus said there might be something in a day or two, and that I’ll be attending.” She grinned. “There will be dancing.”
“Of course. Now, I’m glad you’re here. Your sister has plans to spend time with Lord Pombray’s son.”
“Isn’t Brastias escorting them?”
“He is, but I’ll need you to manage your father. He’s already burned the poor boy and . . . Iseabail! Stop laughing!”
“You know how Daddy is. Remember Lord Crom? All he did was put his hand on my lower back and the next thing I knew he was flying over the tops of the trees and Daddy was dropping him from his talons. . . .” She thought a moment and asked, “How is he anyway?”
“Dead. It wasn’t the fall that killed him. Or even the landing. It was Briec following up the whole thing with enough flame to wipe out a village.” She patted Izzy’s arm. “We didn’t tell you that part at the time. It would have just upset you.”
Appalled, Izzy demanded, “But he barely touched me!”
“And you were barely sixteen. It was completely inappropriate and Briec had warned him off. Twice. But he kept staring. The touching was the final straw. Now Lord Pombray’s son is your sister’s age, but that won’t matter much to your father.”
Izzy folded her arms over her chest. “What else have you lot hidden from me over the years?”
“Oh, lots of things. But it was always for the best.”
Before Izzy could argue that point, Morfyd asked, “So what brings you here? I thought we’d see you closer to the fall harvests.”
“I have no idea.”
“You have no idea why you’re here?” Morfyd frowned. “So you just . . . wandered away from battle?”
“You know how my mind wanders. . . .”
“Izzy.”
Izzy chuckled and replied, “Ragnar sent Éibhear to retrieve me, but Éibhear doesn’t know why. My mother doesn’t know why. No one seems to know why. But here I am.”
“And that doesn’t concern you?”
“Keita has always said I’m too pretty to be concerned with anything.”
“Gods!” Morfyd exclaimed. “If you start taking advice from that small-brained idiot—”
“I’m joking. Of course I’m concerned. But it’s not like I was summoned to a pit in one of the hells. At worst, I’m home for whatever problem may come up.” She patted her aunt’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. With me and Brannie here, I’m sure everything will be just fine.”
She stepped around Morfyd and headed toward the kennels.
“Good. And Izzy?”
Izzy stopped and faced her aunt.
“Have you heard from Rhydderch Hael?”
Taking a breath, Izzy outright lied. “No.”
Her aunt studied her. “You let me know if you do.”
“Of course,” Izzy stated, again heading toward the kennels.
She had no idea why she’d just lied to Morfyd, but her gut had told her that, at least for the moment, it was the best idea all around.
Chapter 13
Éibhear, as was his way, got lost in the books. Instead of merely piling them in the corner of the library and going to take a nap before evening meal, he ended up attempting not only to organize the new books he’d brought to the library but the ones that had been there before Annwyl’s father’s time.
To be honest, he’d thought Dagmar’s nephew would have wandered away by now—he seemed a constantly dazed boy—but, like Éibhear, he seemed comfortable in the library, quickly and easily taking orders on where to place books or what shelves to clean off so they could start again.
It was a nice, quiet time such as Éibhear realized he hadn’t enjoyed in quite a while. As one of the Mì-runach, spending more than a few hours reading, once or twice a week, was frowned upon. “Who has time for books when there’s drinking and whoring and killing to do?” Old Angor would demand before slapping some book Annwyl or Talaith had sent to Éibhear from Éibhear’s hands and shoving him toward the closest pub.
Not that Éibhear minded drinking and whoring and killing. He didn’t. But he’d always felt that reading and book buying fit easily into that list as well.
Frederik handed over another book to Éibhear. “I wish I could read better.”
“Spend time in here and you’ll be able to. Reading is learned by doing. It’s a skill almost all can have to some extent as long as they practice.” He leaned in and added low, “Besides, it’s a wonderful escape from your family when necessary.” He shrugged and stood tall, looking at the spine of the book. “Unless, of course, they track you down and—”
“My dear sweet son!”
Éibhear bit back a sigh and slowly faced the front of the library. He smiled. “Hello, Mum.”
Izzy had just stirred the simmering stew once again when she heard the knock.
Grinning, she dropped the ladle on the table and charged across the small room. She snatched the door open and grinned.
Brannie held up two bottles of Bercelak’s ale, her smile wide. But it was what was behind Brannie—or, in this case, who—that had Izzy pushing past her friend and straight into the arms of the dragon standing there.
“Celyn!”
Big arms tightened around her waist, lifting Izzy from the ground and holding her tight. “My little Izzy.”
“Pack it in, you two,” Brannie said, walking into the house. “There’s stew and bread and ale. . . . We can save the hugging for later.”
Éibhear hugged his mother, smiling when she whispered in his ear, “Oh, how I’ve missed you, my son.”
“I’ve missed you too, Mum. So much.”
“Did you miss me too, boy?” Éibhear could hear the sneer in that voice, his own lip starting to curl in annoyance as he spotted his father in the doorway.
His mother quickly pushed him back and asked, “And who is this young lad?”
Father and son snarled at each other until his mother shoved Éibhear’s shoulder. “Introduce us, son.”
“This is Frederik Reinholdt. Lady Dagmar’s nephew.”
“Ohhh, well aren’t you a strapping lad!” his mother exclaimed. She motioned Frederik closer. “I’m Queen Rhiannon, but you can call me Queen Rhiannon.”
Gazing at Rhiannon, his mouth slightly open, Frederik took the hand Rhiannon offered and bowed low from the waist. “My . . . my lady.”
Rhiannon’s smile was wide as she leaned in and said, “Aren’t you just adorable! I could just eat you right up!”
“Mum!”
“Well, I don’t mean literally!”
Izzy took the stew off the fire and placed it in the middle of the table, while Brannie put bowls and spoons out and Celyn poured the ale. It was an old routine that they’d started a few years back.
Hard to believe, though, considering all that had happened.
Although Izzy knew many didn’t believe her, she’d never planned for things to end up as they had among her, Éibhear, and Celyn. She’d been young and she’d been . . . curious. There had been a few among her fellow soldiers who’d offered to satisfy that curiosity for her. Some politely and some with an outright, “I’ll f**k ya proper,” which did nothing but cause Izzy to reach for the closest weapon or simply throw a punch. But it was Celyn who’d kept her interest merely by being sweet, funny, and confident. He didn’t offer anything because he didn’t need to. And, one night, alone in the woods, they took the next logical—at least to her—step.
But it had never occurred to Izzy that things would turn out so badly. Then again, she’d never thought Éibhear would find out. And if he did find out, she hadn’t thought he’d really ever care. And although the sixteen-year-old Izzy, who’d fallen hard for the dragon from the first time she’d seen him and his blue hair, had wanted to believe that he’d cared about her, that he’d been jealous, the more jaded, realistic nineteen-year-old she’d been at the time knew better. Knew it was more about ego and competing with his cousin than it was about Izzy.