Last Dragon Standing (Dragon Kin #4)(62)

“Don’t worry. I won’t be long. You two can stay out of trouble for five minutes, can’t you?”

Vigholf pointed at his head. “You look at the two of us and you have the nerve to ask that?”

Ragnar walked away from his kin and headed into the thick trees surrounding the well-used road. Although he could see the house easily from the gates, the walk took him several minutes. Several minutes that allowed him to worry.

Had she been dismissed out here? Already tossed aside by that whorish dragon she was now mated to? No longer of use to the Mad Queen of Garbhán Isle, so they’d banished her to live alone in the woods? Like some useless old spinster? Had he led her to the wrong path?

The fear that Ragnar had been wrong, once again, in less than a week, nearly choked him as he approached the small house. It reminded him of Esyld’s little house, although there was no herb or vegetable garden. Just flowers and bushes that lined the walk and surrounded the house itself. Not only that, but there was Magick here. Strong protection Magick that would keep most beings out.

Most beings but him.

With a wave of his hand against the unseen boundaries, he tore a hole that was large enough for his human form to walk through and stepped onto the stone path leading to the front door.

He walked up to the entrance and worked hard to keep control of his growing concern. If they’d tossed her aside, he’d fix it. He’d take her from here. Take her to a place where her mind and skills could and would be truly appreciated. He’d not let her end up as his mother had until his father’s death. That would not be the life for her. No matter what he had to do to make it happen, Ragnar would fix this.

Resolved, he knocked once on the door before opening it, not even thinking he should wait to be told to enter. He stepped into the warm interior, a pit fire built into the wall blazing brightly and fresh tea sitting ready to be poured on the small dining table. With a single glance, he took in the one-room home with its tiny kitchen, dining table, large bed, and books and papers piled high in nearly every corner. Except for the corner that held the desk. The sound of a quill quickly and efficiently scratching against paper made him smile and the low “woof” of warning from the dog sitting beside small, bare human feet had Ragnar raising his hand to silence the large beast.

Before he could announce himself, the female who sat at the desk with her back to the door said without turning around or pausing in her writing said, “You, dragon, promised me four solid hours of work time this afternoon. So you can take that randy c**k of yours and sheathe it until I’m done.”

Shocked more than he could possibly admit, Ragnar finally managed,

“It’s actually quite sheathed, my good lady.” Entire body tense, she slowly looked over her shoulder in Ragnar’s direction. Then, after a moment, she squinted in an attempt to see him better.

“Your spectacles,” he reminded her.

Her cheeks turning a charming crimson, she reached desperately for the spectacles resting on the desk beside her arm. She put them on and again looked at him over her shoulder. Her sight now clear, they stared at each across the small room.

“Uh…Lord Ragnar?”

“Lady Dagmar.”

“Uh…”

“Hhhm…”

“You—”

He pointed at the door. “I should have—”

“No. No. Not necessary. I just…didn’t…uh…”

“This is our first time, eh?” he finally said and, when her eyes grew wide behind her round spectacles, Ragnar quickly added, “Awkward moment. This is our first time having an awkward moment. I think we’re both well known for causing others to have awkward moments, but for us to avoid them quite nicely.”

“Oh. Right. Yes. Right.”

They were silent for several long moments, and then Dagmar Reinholdt admitted, “Do you know that even when Gwenvael the Ruiner is not here, he still manages to embarrass me beyond all reason. It’s a gift he has. Or an illness.”

“Like the plague?”

A rough snort passed Dagmar’s nose, and their first awkward moment ended as quickly as it had begun.

After passing through another set of gates, Keita and Ren entered the courtyard of the queen’s castle. As they neared the stairs that led to the Great Hall, it was Gwenvael who charged out to greet them. A bright, welcoming smile on his handsome face, he ran down the stairs and straight to them.

Keita opened her arms for a big hug from her brother. “Gwenvael!” she cried.

And Gwenvael replied, “My old friend!” while shoving Keita aside so he could hug Ren instead. “It’s so good to see you!”

“And you, Gwenvael.”

Barely stopping herself from hitting the ground, Keita dropped her arms to her sides and spun on her heel to face them. “What about me?” she demanded, not used to being ignored by anyone but especially not by her own kin!

Placing one arm around Ren’s shoulders, Gwenvael turned and peered down at her. “Do I know you?”

“Oh, come on now!”

“I remember someone who looked like you. A sister, I believe. But it’s been so bloody long since I’ve seen or heard from her—not even a letter,” he said to Ren. “That I wouldn’t know what she looked like these days.”

So he was going to play that little game, was he? Well, he could play it alone! “If you’re going to be that way about it, I’m leaving!” Keita turned, ready for her grand exit, which would involve a great deal of flouncing off before shifting and majestically flying away into the two suns, but the black eyes she now faced scowled down at her so hard, she immediately stopped in her storming-off tracks. “Oh…Fearghus.”