The Dragon Who Loved Me (Dragon Kin #5)(109)

Everyone wandered off after that, and Vigholf told her, “I find your kin unbelievably entertaining.”

“That’s good,” she said, “because they wil visit . . . often. And for long periods of time.”

“What’s long?” he asked her as she walked away from him. “A few days? A week? Perhaps we should start discussing what’s long and what’s too long . . . wait. Are you saying you’re coming back with me? Wel , that’s a rude gesture! It’s a valid question, female!” Vigholf grabbed Rhona around the waist and carried her into the closest stable.

“Great,” he muttered. “More horses.”

“Annwyl’s horse, Violence. Isn’t he cute?”

“No.” Vigholf turned Rhona to face him. “You need to give me a straight answer.”

“About what?”

“You are a cruel, heartless tease, Rhona the Fearless! Just tel me.”

“My sisters’ discussion over your breed-worthiness wasn’t a clue?”

“They’re not you, Rhona. I need to hear it from you. Tel me. Is this tail mine or not?”

“This tail belongs to me, Vigholf the Abhorrent.” She stepped closer to him, put her arms around his shoulders. “But my heart . . . my heart is yours from now until the end of time.”

Vigholf grinned, a weight he didn’t know had been there lifted from his shoulders. He kissed her then, holding her close.

“Oy!” The couple pul ed back and gawked at the horses. “Could you two do that somewhere else? We were here first.” They walked over to the empty stal beside Violence and leaned over the top.

Rhona shook her head in disgust. “Gwenvael!”

“What? I’m making up for lost time.”

“Lady Dagmar,” Vigholf said, giving her a wink as the poor woman tried to hide her naked body and embarrassed face under her mate.

“You,” Rhona told her cousin, “were appal ing as a hatchling and you’re worse now! Anyone could have walked in. We did!”

“Piss off!”

“I’m tel ing your mother!”

“Like always! Blabbermouth!”

Vigholf caught hold of Rhona’s hand and dragged her outside, closing the stable door.

“The stables?” Rhona asked, disgusted. “They’re doing it in the stables? Those poor horses!”

“And who knows what’s in that hay.”

“Eeeww.”

Laughing, Vigholf took Rhona’s hand in his own and dragged her away. “Come on. I’l find us a nice, clean place to f**k.”

“You know, that’s al I’ve ever asked!”

Chapter 39

There were three weeks of official mourning in the Southlands. A time to remember those who’d died in order to protect the kingdoms and the reigning monarchs. At the request of Celyn, Austel ’s body was brought back to Garbhán Isle and a funeral pyre built to honor him. His kin attended, along with the Dragon Queen and her offspring, and the Cadwaladr Clan. The event was sorrowful but necessary.

When the mourning period final y ended, the Cadwaladrs had a feast at Garbhán Isle. It was to celebrate many things: the end of the war; that they’d won the war; those who’d earned promotions, including Branwen and Izzy to corporal; the oncoming end of winter; the upcoming return of spring; and anything else they could think of that would warrant a feast.

And as Garbhán Isle readied for the celebration it was obvious that some things had changed for longer than just the duration of the war.

The Kyvich did not leave simply because the war ended, much to Talaith’s annoyance. The barbarian witches planned to stay until the twins reached their eighteenth year, stil guarding the gates and surrounding territories even while everyone toasted to a new time of peace.

Ren of the Chosen would be heading back to the Eastlands at the request of his father. He had every intention of returning to the Southlands, but no one, not even Ren, knew when that would be.

Keita would be returning to the Northlands with Ragnar, although she stil refused to cal him her mate. Rhona also would be going back with Vigholf, but she seemed more than happy to cal him her mate.

Meinhard, probably because he feared being made to dance, had already headed back to the Northlands with his troops, escorting the Northland females who had no desire to stay for the feast, including Ragnar and Vigholf’s mother.

And now, as the hour grew late and the ale flowed more freely, Izzy stepped out the back door and away from the castle. The moon was ful and the air crisp and cold. She should have worn her fur cape over her dress, but she’d slipped away from the party, not wanting to be seen.

As she walked past the Kyvich on guard duty at the back gate, Izzy had to smile a bit. She loved hearing her family happy and together again.

Hearing the music, seeing them dance. Even her grandparents were dancing! Both of them ecstatic their offspring were home and safe, but neither wil ing to simply say the words out loud.

The music faded behind her as she trudged through the trees and, after about a mile, up Rose Hil . She reached the top and sat down on the ground, gazing out over the land she and so many others had fought hard to protect. The bonfires that went on for several days to dispose of the Tribesmen’s corpses were gone, and Dagmar had taken care to rid any signs of what had happened there. If Dagmar had her way, by springtime, there would be nothing but tal grass and flowers down there. Izzy wouldn’t be here to see that, though. In another week, she would be shipped out again. Her mother was not happy, but Izzy, to her own surprise, was. After the last five years, she thought she’d want to take the next year off before returning to the life of the troops—barely tolerable army food, sleeping on bedrol s, and taking orders. But gods, she longed for the army life. She loved it. Even after everything that happened, she absolutely loved it.