The Dragon Who Loved Me
Page 52
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“In where?”
“In the cave. With the wyvern. Have you fought them before?”
“No, but Mum has. So has my father. They have a lot of them in some of the caverns in the Black Mountains.”
“Wel . . . you handled al that bril iantly.”
“You sound surprised.”
“We were trapped in a cave with an animal you never fought, that you’d only heard about from your parents, and yet you knew just what to do, and you knew quickly. That’s impressive, Rhona. I know I wouldn’t have handled it as wel if you hadn’t been there.”
“I’ve seen you handle the unexpected, Vigholf. You would have done fine on your own.” She stopped the mare and Vigholf halted the stal ion. “But your words mean much to me. Thank you.”
He shrugged, feeling a bit foolish. “I merely note what I see. Nothing more.”
“It’s more to me,” she said.
And, no longer feeling foolish, Vigholf moved the stal ion closer until they were side by side.
Vigholf reached out and stroked Rhona’s cheek. She tensed, her eyes blinking wide in surprise. She’d had the same expression when she first saw the wyvern. A look of panic she was desperately trying to control.
He should stop. He should pul back and they should ride on. There was so much going on in their world, they didn’t have time for any of this.
But the honest truth of it was he couldn’t help himself. Not with those beautiful brown eyes watching him.
Vigholf slipped his hand behind Rhona’s neck and leaned in closer, the stal ion beneath him surprisingly calm and unmoving. Holding the back of her neck loosely, Vigholf brought his face in a bit closer, brushing his forehead against her chin, her cheek; his fingers massaged her neck. When she didn’t pul away—or impale him with that damn spear—Vigholf pressed his lips against hers.
Her whole body immediately tensed, her fingers curling into fists gripping the mare’s mane tight.
Vigholf tipped his head to the side, his tongue gently sliding against her lips, trying to coax her into returning the kiss without seeming desperate.
And gods . . . he was desperate.
He’d wanted to do this for five years. Five long years of being stuck in the same cave with a female who told everyone he was a pest while swinging that damn tail at him.
Yet there was nothing from her or her lips. No response. No reaction except those tight fists.
Too fast. He was going too fast. Like she’d warned him their night together at Garbhán Isle, she wasn’t like her sisters or her cousins when it came to this sort of thing.
So he’d wait because, he knew, Rhona was a female worth waiting for.
Vigholf pul ed back, but let the fingers that stil rested on her neck linger as he sat up straight.
She watched him but said nothing, and he had no idea what to make of that. But he wouldn’t apologize for what he’d done. Not now. Not ever.
Rhona began to speak, stopped, frowned, and with a short shake of her head, turned her attention to the road ahead of them and spurred her horse into a gal op.
And, after letting out a soul-deep sigh, Vigholf fol owed.
Overlord Thracius walked by his soldiers, watching as they worked hard to ready everything.
“Any word from my daughter?” he asked his next in command, General Maecius.
“No, sir. I sent out scouts to see if they could find the messenger.”
“And?”
“They discovered his body beside a lake.”
Thracius stopped and faced the general. “Accident?”
“Signs of poisoning and his body showed signs of torture. He was kil ed.”
“So the message got to the Southlanders?”
“I would assume. But there’s been no retreat. No exodus of troops.”
“That’s fine. If the princes had left to save their spawn, I would have only had to kil them later anyway.” He walked on, but asked, gesturing at the work going on around him, “How far along are we?”
“Another two days. Maybe three.”
“Then start the siege tonight.”
“But my lord—”
“Tonight. We start the siege and prepare everything else while they’re dealing with that. But”—he stopped again and faced the general, pointing his talon in his face—“the timing must be perfect, Maecius. Understand me?”
“I do, my lord. And it wil be perfect.”
“Good.” He headed toward his private chambers deep inside Polycarp Mountains. “By the time we’re ready to strike . . . those idiots won’t see us coming.”
Chapter 18
They rode most of the day until they reached a town about another day’s ride outside of the Aricia Mountains. Crossing the mountains would be the chal enge. Not only because of the terrain, but because of what lay on the other side. But until then, Rhona wasn’t going to think about it. Instead, she only wanted warm food and ale.
She knew the horses would never al ow themselves to be placed in a stable for the night, so she left them about a mile outside of town near the river that cut through the mountains. And, if the horses were stil there in the morning, they’d hopeful y take them into the mountains the fol owing day.
As soon as Rhona and Vigholf reached the town, they separated. He didn’t say why, and she didn’t ask. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other since Vigholf had kissed her. He didn’t seem angry, which she appreciated, but she never saw that kiss coming. And when it did, it took her completely by surprise. So she’d ended up just sitting there, feeling confused and foolish and annoyingly warm. But . . . what else could she do? For five years the dragon had done nothing but obsess over her spear and get in her way. Now he was kissing her—while on horseback. Acting as if he meant that kiss. As if kissing her was the most important thing in the entire world . . .
“In the cave. With the wyvern. Have you fought them before?”
“No, but Mum has. So has my father. They have a lot of them in some of the caverns in the Black Mountains.”
“Wel . . . you handled al that bril iantly.”
“You sound surprised.”
“We were trapped in a cave with an animal you never fought, that you’d only heard about from your parents, and yet you knew just what to do, and you knew quickly. That’s impressive, Rhona. I know I wouldn’t have handled it as wel if you hadn’t been there.”
“I’ve seen you handle the unexpected, Vigholf. You would have done fine on your own.” She stopped the mare and Vigholf halted the stal ion. “But your words mean much to me. Thank you.”
He shrugged, feeling a bit foolish. “I merely note what I see. Nothing more.”
“It’s more to me,” she said.
And, no longer feeling foolish, Vigholf moved the stal ion closer until they were side by side.
Vigholf reached out and stroked Rhona’s cheek. She tensed, her eyes blinking wide in surprise. She’d had the same expression when she first saw the wyvern. A look of panic she was desperately trying to control.
He should stop. He should pul back and they should ride on. There was so much going on in their world, they didn’t have time for any of this.
But the honest truth of it was he couldn’t help himself. Not with those beautiful brown eyes watching him.
Vigholf slipped his hand behind Rhona’s neck and leaned in closer, the stal ion beneath him surprisingly calm and unmoving. Holding the back of her neck loosely, Vigholf brought his face in a bit closer, brushing his forehead against her chin, her cheek; his fingers massaged her neck. When she didn’t pul away—or impale him with that damn spear—Vigholf pressed his lips against hers.
Her whole body immediately tensed, her fingers curling into fists gripping the mare’s mane tight.
Vigholf tipped his head to the side, his tongue gently sliding against her lips, trying to coax her into returning the kiss without seeming desperate.
And gods . . . he was desperate.
He’d wanted to do this for five years. Five long years of being stuck in the same cave with a female who told everyone he was a pest while swinging that damn tail at him.
Yet there was nothing from her or her lips. No response. No reaction except those tight fists.
Too fast. He was going too fast. Like she’d warned him their night together at Garbhán Isle, she wasn’t like her sisters or her cousins when it came to this sort of thing.
So he’d wait because, he knew, Rhona was a female worth waiting for.
Vigholf pul ed back, but let the fingers that stil rested on her neck linger as he sat up straight.
She watched him but said nothing, and he had no idea what to make of that. But he wouldn’t apologize for what he’d done. Not now. Not ever.
Rhona began to speak, stopped, frowned, and with a short shake of her head, turned her attention to the road ahead of them and spurred her horse into a gal op.
And, after letting out a soul-deep sigh, Vigholf fol owed.
Overlord Thracius walked by his soldiers, watching as they worked hard to ready everything.
“Any word from my daughter?” he asked his next in command, General Maecius.
“No, sir. I sent out scouts to see if they could find the messenger.”
“And?”
“They discovered his body beside a lake.”
Thracius stopped and faced the general. “Accident?”
“Signs of poisoning and his body showed signs of torture. He was kil ed.”
“So the message got to the Southlanders?”
“I would assume. But there’s been no retreat. No exodus of troops.”
“That’s fine. If the princes had left to save their spawn, I would have only had to kil them later anyway.” He walked on, but asked, gesturing at the work going on around him, “How far along are we?”
“Another two days. Maybe three.”
“Then start the siege tonight.”
“But my lord—”
“Tonight. We start the siege and prepare everything else while they’re dealing with that. But”—he stopped again and faced the general, pointing his talon in his face—“the timing must be perfect, Maecius. Understand me?”
“I do, my lord. And it wil be perfect.”
“Good.” He headed toward his private chambers deep inside Polycarp Mountains. “By the time we’re ready to strike . . . those idiots won’t see us coming.”
Chapter 18
They rode most of the day until they reached a town about another day’s ride outside of the Aricia Mountains. Crossing the mountains would be the chal enge. Not only because of the terrain, but because of what lay on the other side. But until then, Rhona wasn’t going to think about it. Instead, she only wanted warm food and ale.
She knew the horses would never al ow themselves to be placed in a stable for the night, so she left them about a mile outside of town near the river that cut through the mountains. And, if the horses were stil there in the morning, they’d hopeful y take them into the mountains the fol owing day.
As soon as Rhona and Vigholf reached the town, they separated. He didn’t say why, and she didn’t ask. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other since Vigholf had kissed her. He didn’t seem angry, which she appreciated, but she never saw that kiss coming. And when it did, it took her completely by surprise. So she’d ended up just sitting there, feeling confused and foolish and annoyingly warm. But . . . what else could she do? For five years the dragon had done nothing but obsess over her spear and get in her way. Now he was kissing her—while on horseback. Acting as if he meant that kiss. As if kissing her was the most important thing in the entire world . . .
