Last Dragon Standing (Dragon Kin #4)(58)

“Gods,” she said, turning to her brother.

Together they shot off, heading for the nearby road. They ran past the trees, and Keita squealed, falling back onto her rear, the blade of a sword nearly taking off what she’d always considered her very precious nose.

Hands lifted her from the ground and put her back on her feet. “You all right?” She expected it to be Ren, but it was Ragnar who stared down at her with concern.

“I’m fine. We need to stop them.”

“My brother would never kill a woman.”

“That’s not a woman,” Keita said. “Not specifically.” Meinhard raised his shield, and the bitch’s blade slammed into it, pushing him back. Gods! What strength she had.

And yet she was human.

He lowered his shield to see that the woman had her back to him, busy now with his cousin. Meinhard thrust his sword forward, aiming for her side.

His intent to wound, incapacitate. Not kill. But she turned at the last second, his blade moving past her. Meinhard stumbled forward. That’s when she slammed her elbow into his face, shattering his nose.

He barked, and she went low, her foot slamming into his calf. To Meinhard’s shock, he heard bone break, felt something go “pop” in his leg, and he went down hard on one knee.

The pain would be tolerated. The break would heal. But the humiliation—that would not be borne!

Meinhard watched his cousin force the woman back toward him. She was less than a foot away when he swiped his shield at her back. It hit her on the side, sending her flying into a close-by tree. She crashed into the trunk hard, bounced away from it and onto the ground, rolled to her feet, and went at Vigholf once more.

Vigholf swung his blade, but she went up and on his back, her short sword raised high.

“Annwyl, no! ” Princess Keita screamed while Éibhear caught the vile woman and yanked her off Vigholf from behind. At the same time Ragnar caught hold of Vigholf and pulled him back.

Keita stood in the midst of them all, her hands raised. “Everyone calm down!”

“Calm down?” Vigholf demanded. “That crazed bitch attacked us!” Meinhard felt hands on him and looked up into the strange face of the foreign dragon. Without a word said between them, Meinhard allowed Ren to help him to his one good foot.

“My Lord Vigholf,” Keita said soothingly. She turned to face him.

“Please accept my…”

Eyes wide, she stared at Vigholf, and Meinhard quickly followed her gaze, terrified that he was about to see his cousin bleeding to death from a wound they hadn’t noticed. But it was worse than that. Far worse.

Keita covered her mouth with her hand, her brown eyes wide. Unsure what he’d find, Ragnar looked at his brother—and released him.

“Oh.”

“What?” Vigholf asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Uh…uh…”

Poor deformed Vigholf looked down at himself. “What are you all looking at?”

“Perhaps,” said a cold female voice, “they search for this.” Vigholf raised his head as the human female held up the long, single braid of thick purple hair that once belonged to him.

“Sorry about that,” the woman said, grinning. “I was trying for your entire head. But you move much faster than your oxlike size would suggest.”

“Oxlike? ”

“Don’t worry.” She swung the braid back and forth. “This will look amazing in my helm when I ride into battle. Purple’s never been my color, but I think it’ll work just fine.”

“You mad cow! ” Vigholf screamed, and Ragnar caught hold of his shoulders, barely managing to hold his raging brother back. Not that he blamed him.

“Come,” the human laughingly challenged. “Let’s finish this, Lightning.”

Keita moved closer to the woman and slammed her hands against her shoulders. “Stop this right now!”

The woman frowned, staring at Keita. For a moment, Ragnar feared for the royal’s safety until the woman asked, “Keita?” Then she smiled, pushing the Blue’s hands off her waist. “Keita!” The woman dropped her blade—if not the braid—threw her arms around Keita, and hugged her tight.

“Gods! I’m so glad to see you!”

Keita let out a breath, gave a small nod to Ragnar. “And I you, sister.”

“It’s been too long.”

“And what about me? Do I not get a hug?”

The woman spun around and faced the Blue. “Éibhear!” She threw herself at him, wrapping long legs around his waist and arms around his neck. “Oh, Éibhear!”

Laughing, the Blue hugged her back. “That’s the welcome I was hoping for.”

“She mutilated me,” Vigholf said to him. And he wasn’t far off.

Although no Northland male would ever wear his hair as long as the Southlanders did, they still prided themselves on what they did have. Before any major battles, related females or mates would put the Dragonwarrior’s hair into war braids. When the battle or war was over and had been won, another ritual took place where the braids were taken apart and the long single plait was returned. It was a simple, unadorned thing, but meant much to many.

But the truth of it was that they were in dangerous and foreign territory. Retribution for the damage this female had done could not happen.