What a Dragon Should Know
Page 137
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“Chain of Beathag. And she’ll give it to him,” Morfyd admitted. “I know she will. But she’ll make me crawl to get it.”
“Morfyd, after meeting your mother and getting to know her, I’m forced to agree with you.” Morfyd finally laughed. “That being said, I wouldn’t worry too much about your pride. We all tolerate things for those we love. And I’m sure your Brastias is quite worth it all.”
“He truly is.”
“Then you will endure. For we all endure when we’re in love.” She was talking about herself now. How she’d have to “endure” Gwenvael. And endure she would, Morfyd was sure of that. Poor thing.
“But,” Dagmar went on, “before you run off to do any of that, perhaps you can give me something for the pain.”
“Pain? From the rash?”
“No. That’s merely itchy. I need something for the pain of this …”
Morfyd’s eyes widened at the sight Dagmar presented to her. The Northlander’s back to her and her dress lifted up above her waist so Morfyd could see … everything.
“Uh … oh … Dagmar.” It was taking everything—absolutely everything!—not to laugh. “Um … congratulations?”
“Instead of feeding me shit and telling me it’s bread, why don’t you get some bloody ointment before I start screaming.”
“Absolutely. I’m sure I have …” She covered her mouth, choked back laughter—barely. “Something.”
Gwenvael stared down at the surcoat he’d put on over his chain mail, once again trying to remember whom he’d wiped from the face of the earth for this.
Then he realized it would be mostly family tonight, so would it really matter? He thought not and fitted his belt around his waist.
A brief knock at his door and he looked up. “Enter.”
Annwyl and Morfyd walked into the room. They stared at him, both of them looking beautiful in their gowns, Annwyl’s a deep forest green and Morfyd’s a bright and bold red.
They stood and stared at him. Perhaps it was a glare. It was something.
“What?” he asked when they didn’t say anything for entirely too long.
Annwyl put her hands on her hips. “You marked her ass?”
* * *
Dagmar dodged Fal’s busy hands once again and cut through the crowd in the Great Hall. Yet, she couldn’t be too angry with the dragon. She’d never experienced such male interest before—it was rather intoxicating.
As was Bercelak’s wine.
Now this her father would consider real wine. None of that weak Southlander wine, but a hearty, rich, take-the-rust-off-your-shield wine. Between that and Morfyd’s ointment, Dagmar was feeling very little pain.
Stopping, she stared at Queen Annwyl. Desperation in her face, the queen mouthed, “Help. Me.”
Rolling her eyes, Dagmar walked over and tapped Éibhear on the shoulder. “You have to put her down now,” she explained—yet again—when he looked at her.
“I don’t want to.” He hugged Annwyl tighter, making the queen gasp. “We almost lost her. I was unhappy about that. I hated being unhappy!”
“I know. I know. But you’re crushing her.” She pointed at the ground. “Down. You must put her down.”
With an adorable pout, the blue-haired dragon shook his head. “No.”
“All right. But I have a concern. About Izzy.”
“I already told my brothers and now I’m telling you … I don’t care about Izzy except as a niece. She’s a very spoiled, annoying niece.”
“I absolutely understand that and told the same thing to Gwenvael. But, as you know, I have twelve brothers. And when I see one of them dragging one of the servant girls off behind the stables, I worry. And when I saw Celyn doing the same thing—”
“What?” He immediately dropped Annwyl and, thankfully, the queen had her balance back well enough to manage not falling on her ass. “Where?”
“I saw them going out that way.” She pointed toward the other end of the Great Hall. “She seemed a little unsure.”
“Damn him!” Éibhear took off after Izzy, and Dagmar motioned to one of the servants for another chalice of wine.
“Thank you.” Annwyl adjusted her dress by grabbing her br**sts and moving them around, then took the chalice the servant held out for her. “I do love him but once he gets hold of you, he’s like a wild monkey.”
“I’ve noticed.”
The queen took a deep sip of her wine and asked, “And if Izzy is really behind the stables—”
“She’s over there somewhere.” She waved toward a group of giggling young females. “I will say Celyn tried, but Izzy completely blew him off.”
Laughing, the women saluted each other with their chalices and took several more sips.
Morfyd rushed up to them a few moments later. “We have a problem. And stop drinking that wine,” she snatched the chalice from Annwyl. “You’re still breastfeeding!”
“So what? The healer said I could.”
“That healer is human and humans are idiots. No offense, Dagmar.”
Dagmar shrugged and drank more of her wine.
“I’ll not have you risk my niece and nephew until they’re weaned off those udders.”
“Everyone needs to stop calling them that!”
“Now more importantly, there seems to be a rumor going around that you’re undead and unholy. Lord Craddock has been trying to stir up the other human baron lords.”
“Morfyd, after meeting your mother and getting to know her, I’m forced to agree with you.” Morfyd finally laughed. “That being said, I wouldn’t worry too much about your pride. We all tolerate things for those we love. And I’m sure your Brastias is quite worth it all.”
“He truly is.”
“Then you will endure. For we all endure when we’re in love.” She was talking about herself now. How she’d have to “endure” Gwenvael. And endure she would, Morfyd was sure of that. Poor thing.
“But,” Dagmar went on, “before you run off to do any of that, perhaps you can give me something for the pain.”
“Pain? From the rash?”
“No. That’s merely itchy. I need something for the pain of this …”
Morfyd’s eyes widened at the sight Dagmar presented to her. The Northlander’s back to her and her dress lifted up above her waist so Morfyd could see … everything.
“Uh … oh … Dagmar.” It was taking everything—absolutely everything!—not to laugh. “Um … congratulations?”
“Instead of feeding me shit and telling me it’s bread, why don’t you get some bloody ointment before I start screaming.”
“Absolutely. I’m sure I have …” She covered her mouth, choked back laughter—barely. “Something.”
Gwenvael stared down at the surcoat he’d put on over his chain mail, once again trying to remember whom he’d wiped from the face of the earth for this.
Then he realized it would be mostly family tonight, so would it really matter? He thought not and fitted his belt around his waist.
A brief knock at his door and he looked up. “Enter.”
Annwyl and Morfyd walked into the room. They stared at him, both of them looking beautiful in their gowns, Annwyl’s a deep forest green and Morfyd’s a bright and bold red.
They stood and stared at him. Perhaps it was a glare. It was something.
“What?” he asked when they didn’t say anything for entirely too long.
Annwyl put her hands on her hips. “You marked her ass?”
* * *
Dagmar dodged Fal’s busy hands once again and cut through the crowd in the Great Hall. Yet, she couldn’t be too angry with the dragon. She’d never experienced such male interest before—it was rather intoxicating.
As was Bercelak’s wine.
Now this her father would consider real wine. None of that weak Southlander wine, but a hearty, rich, take-the-rust-off-your-shield wine. Between that and Morfyd’s ointment, Dagmar was feeling very little pain.
Stopping, she stared at Queen Annwyl. Desperation in her face, the queen mouthed, “Help. Me.”
Rolling her eyes, Dagmar walked over and tapped Éibhear on the shoulder. “You have to put her down now,” she explained—yet again—when he looked at her.
“I don’t want to.” He hugged Annwyl tighter, making the queen gasp. “We almost lost her. I was unhappy about that. I hated being unhappy!”
“I know. I know. But you’re crushing her.” She pointed at the ground. “Down. You must put her down.”
With an adorable pout, the blue-haired dragon shook his head. “No.”
“All right. But I have a concern. About Izzy.”
“I already told my brothers and now I’m telling you … I don’t care about Izzy except as a niece. She’s a very spoiled, annoying niece.”
“I absolutely understand that and told the same thing to Gwenvael. But, as you know, I have twelve brothers. And when I see one of them dragging one of the servant girls off behind the stables, I worry. And when I saw Celyn doing the same thing—”
“What?” He immediately dropped Annwyl and, thankfully, the queen had her balance back well enough to manage not falling on her ass. “Where?”
“I saw them going out that way.” She pointed toward the other end of the Great Hall. “She seemed a little unsure.”
“Damn him!” Éibhear took off after Izzy, and Dagmar motioned to one of the servants for another chalice of wine.
“Thank you.” Annwyl adjusted her dress by grabbing her br**sts and moving them around, then took the chalice the servant held out for her. “I do love him but once he gets hold of you, he’s like a wild monkey.”
“I’ve noticed.”
The queen took a deep sip of her wine and asked, “And if Izzy is really behind the stables—”
“She’s over there somewhere.” She waved toward a group of giggling young females. “I will say Celyn tried, but Izzy completely blew him off.”
Laughing, the women saluted each other with their chalices and took several more sips.
Morfyd rushed up to them a few moments later. “We have a problem. And stop drinking that wine,” she snatched the chalice from Annwyl. “You’re still breastfeeding!”
“So what? The healer said I could.”
“That healer is human and humans are idiots. No offense, Dagmar.”
Dagmar shrugged and drank more of her wine.
“I’ll not have you risk my niece and nephew until they’re weaned off those udders.”
“Everyone needs to stop calling them that!”
“Now more importantly, there seems to be a rumor going around that you’re undead and unholy. Lord Craddock has been trying to stir up the other human baron lords.”
