The Dragon Who Loved Me (Dragon Kin #5)(27)

“No need.” Vigholf, pul ing off his chain-mail shirt, walked over to the forge and picked up a poker that stil sat in the burning coals.

“Wait—” Rhona cried out as he pressed the poker to his open wound, sealing it closed. It hurt, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Once he knew he’d stopped the bleeding, Vigholf pul ed the poker away, ignoring the bits of skin that went with it, and tossed it back into the forge. When he faced father and daughter, he found them gawking at him. Rhona’s mouth was open, but her father was grinning, even laughing a little.

“You are a mad bastard,” she whispered.

“What? It’s done, isn’t it?” He pul ed his shirt back on. “Now—” Vigholf began until that familiar scent caught his attention, and he moved quickly toward the tent opening, ignoring the way Rhona scrabbled out of his way as if he was some dangerous animal.

Such an odd female.

Rhona watched the crazed male walk out of her father’s forge and she couldn’t help but fol ow, curious to see what had caught his relentless attention. She was taken by surprise, though, when she saw the Lightning put his arms around an older She-dragon in human form.

“Mum,” she heard him whisper.

“My dear, sweet son,” the female whispered back. “Oh, how I’ve missed you so.” Al right. That surprised Rhona. Not that the Lightning had a mother, but that he’d treat her so . . . tenderly.

Rhona’s father tapped her shoulder and she stepped back into the tent.

“You want to tel me what’s going on? Why are you really here?” her father asked, and al Rhona could do was shrug.

“You know me, Daddy. I fol ow orders and don’t ask questions. Especial y when it’s al coming from the royal side of my kin.”

“Not like your mother at al .”

“As she likes to remind me.”

Her father put his arm around her shoulders. “She just doesn’t understand you. But it’s not your job to help her with that.”

“But—”

“No time to discuss.” He laughingly pushed her toward the forge. “You’ve got work to do, child. And I have much to teach you in a short amount of time. So to work with you!”

“What are you doing here, Vigholf?” his mother asked, her hand reaching up and stroking his jaw. “Is everything al right?”

“Everything’s fine, Mum. I promise.”

“Then why—”

“It’s complicated. But you,” he asked, changing the subject, “are you al right? Are you safe?”

“I’ve been treated like a princess since I’ve been here.” Davon the Elegant leaned in and whispered, “I’m considered a returned prisoner of war, so they’re al very gentle with me and give me lots of things. It’s been nice.”

“Mum.”

“Wel , if it hadn’t been for my wonderful sons, it would have been horrible living with your father. But you al looked out for me. So it’s easy for me to sit back and enjoy the pity.”

“As long as you’re safe, Mum. That’s al Ragnar and I care about. That’s al we’ve ever cared about.” She pushed long gold hair behind her ear. “I’m fine. I promise.”

He stepped back and took his mother’s hand. “Then I want you to meet someone.”

“Oh?”

“No. Nothing like that,” he laughed and pul ed her toward the tent, lifting the flap so he could escort her in. But Vigholf stopped right at the entrance, his eyes on Rhona as she worked at her father’s forge with a skil he’d only seen in blacksmiths who’d been working for hundreds of years. She swung a hammer, working away at some weapon.

Yet it wasn’t just the skil that startled him. It was the joy on her face while she worked and laughed with her father. It was that thing that had been missing when he watched her fol owing orders and flying into battle.

“My,” his mother murmured. “She’s quite . . . hearty.” She glanced up at him. “A Cadwaladr, I’m assuming.”

“We traveled here together.”

“And you like her.”

“Not real y,” he blatantly lied. “She just needs protection and like a true Northlander, it’s my duty to protect helpless females.”

“Helpless?” His mother looked over at Rhona. The Fire Breather lifted the sword she worked on, stil glowing bright from the heat. The grin on her face, the light in her eyes . . . it was a beautiful sight to behold. Rhona put the blade in water to cool and caught another weapon her father tossed at her. A good-sized battle-ax. She swung it a few times, then threw it, the blade imbedding into the stuffed head of the practice dummy standing in the corner.

His mother nodded. “Oh, yes. I see now, my son. She’s extremely helpless.” Chapter 10

Rhona stopped not far from the Garbhán Isle gates. The gates lined with Kyvich witches keeping watch. She’d forgotten how imposing the human females could be.

In one lone line, they snaked around the top of the gate wal s, a shorter spear cal ed a pilum gripped in each witch’s hand. Considering it was winter, they wore little clothes. Mostly animal skins and bits of armor covering the important areas and arteries. But it was the black tattoos that marked their faces and/or necks. There was no uniformity in those markings or in the way the females dressed or looked—and yet there was no doubt they were a unified army. A deadly and wel -trained one that had no mercy, no heart, and no loyalty but to those their gods had chosen for them.