“I think I can manage a few books and papers by myself, Captain.”
“You better,” she muttered.
Bram faced her. “Are you going to be this difficult the entire trip?”
“Probably.”
“Lovely.”
He motioned to a large table covered in papers and books; then she noticed that nearly every wall in the hall had floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books and scrolls, but especially books. More books than she’d ever seen before in her life. She thought her mum had a lot—she didn’t. And Ghleanna had a feeling there were even more books within the castle and the attached tower.
Gods, had he read all these books? Was it possible? He hadn’t been alive for that long.
“You can sit there. I won’t be long,” he said while still searching through that blasted bag.
“Good. I want to meet with my brothers before the suns go down.”
The dragon stopped, peered at her. “Whatever for?”
She frowned. Didn’t they just have this conversation on the way here? “Because they’re coming with us . . . to protect you? Remember?”
“Dammit, I’d put it out of my mind.”
More like he’d hoped she’d changed hers. “It’s better to be protected by five Cadwaladrs than just one.”
“Perhaps, but your brothers hate me.”
“Only Bercelak.”
“No. I’m certain they all hate me.”
“Don’t be so full of yourself—my brothers barely know you exist.”
Now he looked insulted. “So I’m meaningless?”
“To a Cadwaladr . . . yes.”
“Then I’m so glad it’s the Cadwaladrs protecting me.” And that sarcasm lashed across the room.
“You don’t have to take it so personally. Most royals don’t matter to us. So you don’t especially not exist to us. You’re just one of many royals that don’t exist to us.”
“Is any of that supposed to make me feel better?”
“Thought it might help.”
“It didn’t.”
“I hope you don’t always take things so personally. It’ll be a long trip for us both if you do.”
“Thanks so much for the warning.” He dug through his travel bag again. “Blast and damnation! I can’t find—”
“The terms of your proposed alliance agreement?” Charles asked, holding out a scroll to the royal.
“Oh,” Bram said, taking the scroll. “There it is.”
With a weary sigh, Ghleanna dropped into a chair and put her feet up on the table.
“Oh, my Lady!” Charles cried, horrified. “Please.” He rushed to the table and carefully lifted Ghleanna’s boot-shod feet so he could remove the books and papers from under them.
“Sorry, Charlie,” Ghleanna said with a smile. “And you can call me Ghleanna. I’m not a royal like Bram over there.”
“Of course, my Lady . . . uh . . . Lady Gh—I mean ... uh . . .”
“Or just Captain. You can call me Captain.”
Appearing heartily relieved at being able to use a title, Charles smiled and said, “Yes, Captain.”
Once he’d cleaned off the area, he returned her feet to their proper place.
“There you go, Captain.” He turned back to Bram. “I’ll gather all you require, my Lord.”
“Excellent.”
Ghleanna waited until Charles had rushed off before she asked, “Does he know then? What we are?”
“He knows what I am—and I’m sure he’s guessed about you. I simply don’t have time to run around hiding that particular fact from my assistant.” Bram leaned against the table and asked Ghleanna, “Now, what about your battalion?”
“What about them?”
“Can’t a few of them accompany us?”
“Are we here again? My brothers do not hate you,” she insisted.
“They don’t exactly respect me either.”
“They don’t respect anyone but our mother.”
“Well, I understand that. Your mother’s amazing.”
“I know.” Amazing and smart enough not to be taken as a fool by any male. She’d made Ailean work for her love, and work he did. “And I’m nothing like her.”
“You have her freckles.”
“You mean these bloody dots on my face?” She swiped at her face with her hands.
“You can’t rub them off, Ghleanna,” Bram told her with a laugh.
“I know. I know. I just hate having them.”
“I like them.” And he smiled a little. Was he laughing at her?
“Yeah . . . well . . .” She lowered her hands, forcing herself not to act so self-conscious. “You don’t have to live with them.”
He continued to stare at her, making her nervous, when he finally observed, “You’re letting your hair grow out.”
“What? Oh.” She refused to run her hands through her hair. “Haven’t had much call lately to keep it short.”
She shrugged and pulled out one of the blades she kept in her boot. “Guess I can do that now.”
He caught hold of her hand. “What are you planning to do with that?”
“Cut my hair. You were the one complaining about it.”
“I didn’t complain.”
“Then you dislike my hair when it’s short?”
“You better,” she muttered.
Bram faced her. “Are you going to be this difficult the entire trip?”
“Probably.”
“Lovely.”
He motioned to a large table covered in papers and books; then she noticed that nearly every wall in the hall had floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books and scrolls, but especially books. More books than she’d ever seen before in her life. She thought her mum had a lot—she didn’t. And Ghleanna had a feeling there were even more books within the castle and the attached tower.
Gods, had he read all these books? Was it possible? He hadn’t been alive for that long.
“You can sit there. I won’t be long,” he said while still searching through that blasted bag.
“Good. I want to meet with my brothers before the suns go down.”
The dragon stopped, peered at her. “Whatever for?”
She frowned. Didn’t they just have this conversation on the way here? “Because they’re coming with us . . . to protect you? Remember?”
“Dammit, I’d put it out of my mind.”
More like he’d hoped she’d changed hers. “It’s better to be protected by five Cadwaladrs than just one.”
“Perhaps, but your brothers hate me.”
“Only Bercelak.”
“No. I’m certain they all hate me.”
“Don’t be so full of yourself—my brothers barely know you exist.”
Now he looked insulted. “So I’m meaningless?”
“To a Cadwaladr . . . yes.”
“Then I’m so glad it’s the Cadwaladrs protecting me.” And that sarcasm lashed across the room.
“You don’t have to take it so personally. Most royals don’t matter to us. So you don’t especially not exist to us. You’re just one of many royals that don’t exist to us.”
“Is any of that supposed to make me feel better?”
“Thought it might help.”
“It didn’t.”
“I hope you don’t always take things so personally. It’ll be a long trip for us both if you do.”
“Thanks so much for the warning.” He dug through his travel bag again. “Blast and damnation! I can’t find—”
“The terms of your proposed alliance agreement?” Charles asked, holding out a scroll to the royal.
“Oh,” Bram said, taking the scroll. “There it is.”
With a weary sigh, Ghleanna dropped into a chair and put her feet up on the table.
“Oh, my Lady!” Charles cried, horrified. “Please.” He rushed to the table and carefully lifted Ghleanna’s boot-shod feet so he could remove the books and papers from under them.
“Sorry, Charlie,” Ghleanna said with a smile. “And you can call me Ghleanna. I’m not a royal like Bram over there.”
“Of course, my Lady . . . uh . . . Lady Gh—I mean ... uh . . .”
“Or just Captain. You can call me Captain.”
Appearing heartily relieved at being able to use a title, Charles smiled and said, “Yes, Captain.”
Once he’d cleaned off the area, he returned her feet to their proper place.
“There you go, Captain.” He turned back to Bram. “I’ll gather all you require, my Lord.”
“Excellent.”
Ghleanna waited until Charles had rushed off before she asked, “Does he know then? What we are?”
“He knows what I am—and I’m sure he’s guessed about you. I simply don’t have time to run around hiding that particular fact from my assistant.” Bram leaned against the table and asked Ghleanna, “Now, what about your battalion?”
“What about them?”
“Can’t a few of them accompany us?”
“Are we here again? My brothers do not hate you,” she insisted.
“They don’t exactly respect me either.”
“They don’t respect anyone but our mother.”
“Well, I understand that. Your mother’s amazing.”
“I know.” Amazing and smart enough not to be taken as a fool by any male. She’d made Ailean work for her love, and work he did. “And I’m nothing like her.”
“You have her freckles.”
“You mean these bloody dots on my face?” She swiped at her face with her hands.
“You can’t rub them off, Ghleanna,” Bram told her with a laugh.
“I know. I know. I just hate having them.”
“I like them.” And he smiled a little. Was he laughing at her?
“Yeah . . . well . . .” She lowered her hands, forcing herself not to act so self-conscious. “You don’t have to live with them.”
He continued to stare at her, making her nervous, when he finally observed, “You’re letting your hair grow out.”
“What? Oh.” She refused to run her hands through her hair. “Haven’t had much call lately to keep it short.”
She shrugged and pulled out one of the blades she kept in her boot. “Guess I can do that now.”
He caught hold of her hand. “What are you planning to do with that?”
“Cut my hair. You were the one complaining about it.”
“I didn’t complain.”
“Then you dislike my hair when it’s short?”
