What a Dragon Should Know
Page 44
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“A friend.”
“Does he have a name?”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
“You plan to tell me?”
“Why would you need to know?”
“Why wouldn’t I need to know?”
Dagmar held her hands up to stop him and herself. “Reason knows, we could do this all day.” Very true. He could ask her questions until her weak little eyes bled. “But we’re wasting time. I have a grand library to visit, and you have to get back to your precious queen.”
“True, but you still have information to provide me.”
“Which you will get once I’m done here and you take me to Gestur’s.” She raised her skirts a bit and walked off, her haughtiness wrapped around her like her cloak.
“Snobby cow,” he muttered, thinking she couldn’t hear him.
He quickly realized that what her eyes lacked, she’d made up for with her hearing when she spun on her heel, raised her middle and forefinger, and flicked him off before spinning back. She never missed a step and was out of the alley before Gwenvael realized it.
“And quite surly, too,” he called after her.
Chapter 12
The Great Library of Spikenhammer was beyond Dagmar’s imaginings, with its marble columns and floors, plus the rows and rows of exquisitely made floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Nearly all the shelf space was filled with tomes from all over the Northlands, Southlands, and the west. The east was less represented since a vast and temperamental sea separated them.
“You all right?”
“Isn’t this amazing?” she sighed.
Gwenvael shrugged. “It’s just books.”
“It’s not just books, you cretin. It’s knowledge.”
“Not the knowledge you can use every day. You get that from talking to people. Chatting them up in the pubs and the market.”
“Are you being contrary on purpose?”
“I didn’t know I was being contrary. I thought we were having a discussion.”
“Not really.” She stepped away from him, her fingers gliding along the big marble tables that had oversized books open for anyone to peruse at their leisure. “If I’d been born a man … This would have been the dream life for me. All day, all night with nothing but books.”
He shook his head. “You are such a liar.”
Insulted he spat that out so quickly, she faced him. “I beg your pardon?”
“You want me to believe you’d be happy trapped here? With all these quiet, boring library monks and their vows of suffering? My Lady Dagmar, we both know that is not the life for you.”
“Is that right? And what is?”
He took a step and was barely an inch or two from her body. “Plotting, planning, negotiating, and, very often, lying.”
Dagmar opened her mouth to argue, but he stopped her with a raised hand. “I’m not talking about the kind of lying your sister-in-law does. She wouldn’t know truth if it slammed into that recently abused ass of hers.” Dagmar laughed but immediately stopped when one of the monks gave her a vicious warning glare. “I’m talking about the ability to successfully manage truth and facts to get what you need. Now that, my Lady Reason, is a gift.”
“I have to say I’ve never been so beautifully insulted before.”
He beamed. “And that’s my gift.”
They laughed together now, ignoring the glares of the monks until one of the much older ones stormed over and banged the flat of his hand against the marble table, startling them both.
“Perhaps,” Gwenvael cheerfully explained to the monk, “you wouldn’t be so tense, Brother, if you managed to get a good fu—”
Dagmar slammed her foot down on his instep before Gwenvael could finish that particular sentence and bowed her head at the monk. “Ever so sorry, Brother. We’ll be quiet.”
With a sniff, the monk stormed off, and Dagmar watched Gwenvael holding his foot and rubbing it. It was an odd physical position for such a large male to be in, but it fit him somehow.
“Do you mind not getting us thrown out of here until I get what I need?”
“What you need?” He dropped his foot to the floor. “You should have said something.”
“Said something about what?”
His answer was to grab her hand and pull her deep into the stacks. “Where are we going?” she demanded. “I don’t need any books at the moment.”
“Neither do I,” he growled before turning and pushing her back into a corner.
Dagmar’s hands flew up and braced against his shoulders. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Helping you get what you need.” Gwenvael took hold of her hands and pinned her arms behind her back, forcing her up onto her toes, her chest lifted and pressed against him. “And I’m seeing if I dreamed that damn kiss last night.”
“But it’s the library!” she managed to gasp before his mouth covered hers and suddenly Dagmar didn’t give a flying flip where she was. Not when the sweetest lips ever were urging hers to part, to allow his tongue to slip inside.
She sighed deeply, his tongue gently caressing and teasing. She’d never had such a sweet, patient kiss before. At least not one that made her feel so damn needy.
He pulled his mouth away from hers, and Dagmar realized her tongue had nearly followed him.
“No. Not a dream.”
Blessed reason … he’s panting. Because of me!
“Does he have a name?”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
“You plan to tell me?”
“Why would you need to know?”
“Why wouldn’t I need to know?”
Dagmar held her hands up to stop him and herself. “Reason knows, we could do this all day.” Very true. He could ask her questions until her weak little eyes bled. “But we’re wasting time. I have a grand library to visit, and you have to get back to your precious queen.”
“True, but you still have information to provide me.”
“Which you will get once I’m done here and you take me to Gestur’s.” She raised her skirts a bit and walked off, her haughtiness wrapped around her like her cloak.
“Snobby cow,” he muttered, thinking she couldn’t hear him.
He quickly realized that what her eyes lacked, she’d made up for with her hearing when she spun on her heel, raised her middle and forefinger, and flicked him off before spinning back. She never missed a step and was out of the alley before Gwenvael realized it.
“And quite surly, too,” he called after her.
Chapter 12
The Great Library of Spikenhammer was beyond Dagmar’s imaginings, with its marble columns and floors, plus the rows and rows of exquisitely made floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Nearly all the shelf space was filled with tomes from all over the Northlands, Southlands, and the west. The east was less represented since a vast and temperamental sea separated them.
“You all right?”
“Isn’t this amazing?” she sighed.
Gwenvael shrugged. “It’s just books.”
“It’s not just books, you cretin. It’s knowledge.”
“Not the knowledge you can use every day. You get that from talking to people. Chatting them up in the pubs and the market.”
“Are you being contrary on purpose?”
“I didn’t know I was being contrary. I thought we were having a discussion.”
“Not really.” She stepped away from him, her fingers gliding along the big marble tables that had oversized books open for anyone to peruse at their leisure. “If I’d been born a man … This would have been the dream life for me. All day, all night with nothing but books.”
He shook his head. “You are such a liar.”
Insulted he spat that out so quickly, she faced him. “I beg your pardon?”
“You want me to believe you’d be happy trapped here? With all these quiet, boring library monks and their vows of suffering? My Lady Dagmar, we both know that is not the life for you.”
“Is that right? And what is?”
He took a step and was barely an inch or two from her body. “Plotting, planning, negotiating, and, very often, lying.”
Dagmar opened her mouth to argue, but he stopped her with a raised hand. “I’m not talking about the kind of lying your sister-in-law does. She wouldn’t know truth if it slammed into that recently abused ass of hers.” Dagmar laughed but immediately stopped when one of the monks gave her a vicious warning glare. “I’m talking about the ability to successfully manage truth and facts to get what you need. Now that, my Lady Reason, is a gift.”
“I have to say I’ve never been so beautifully insulted before.”
He beamed. “And that’s my gift.”
They laughed together now, ignoring the glares of the monks until one of the much older ones stormed over and banged the flat of his hand against the marble table, startling them both.
“Perhaps,” Gwenvael cheerfully explained to the monk, “you wouldn’t be so tense, Brother, if you managed to get a good fu—”
Dagmar slammed her foot down on his instep before Gwenvael could finish that particular sentence and bowed her head at the monk. “Ever so sorry, Brother. We’ll be quiet.”
With a sniff, the monk stormed off, and Dagmar watched Gwenvael holding his foot and rubbing it. It was an odd physical position for such a large male to be in, but it fit him somehow.
“Do you mind not getting us thrown out of here until I get what I need?”
“What you need?” He dropped his foot to the floor. “You should have said something.”
“Said something about what?”
His answer was to grab her hand and pull her deep into the stacks. “Where are we going?” she demanded. “I don’t need any books at the moment.”
“Neither do I,” he growled before turning and pushing her back into a corner.
Dagmar’s hands flew up and braced against his shoulders. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Helping you get what you need.” Gwenvael took hold of her hands and pinned her arms behind her back, forcing her up onto her toes, her chest lifted and pressed against him. “And I’m seeing if I dreamed that damn kiss last night.”
“But it’s the library!” she managed to gasp before his mouth covered hers and suddenly Dagmar didn’t give a flying flip where she was. Not when the sweetest lips ever were urging hers to part, to allow his tongue to slip inside.
She sighed deeply, his tongue gently caressing and teasing. She’d never had such a sweet, patient kiss before. At least not one that made her feel so damn needy.
He pulled his mouth away from hers, and Dagmar realized her tongue had nearly followed him.
“No. Not a dream.”
Blessed reason … he’s panting. Because of me!
