“I do have your back. You don’t have to worry about that.”
She reached up, slid her hand into his hair, and gripped the strands tight. She pulled him closer and said, “Good. But don’t get in my way.”
“With you constantly trying to impale me with that bloody spear? Not a chance.”
She grinned and kissed him hard.
Aye. She was very glad he’d come with her.
Rhona’s kiss was hard and lusty, surprising him because Vigholf had always wondered if she’d be as military-like in bed as she was in battle. She wasn’t. Not even a little. She took, she gave, and she didn’t hold back. At least not with him. Not when she was busy pushing him to the ground and taking his cock inside her.
She smiled down at him, her brown hair loose around her face, those damn dimples making her look unbelievably adorable.
Vigholf grabbed her hips, the feel of her pussy squeezing and releasing him nearly driving him insane. She rode him with her back arching, her hands gripping his thighs and digging into the flesh. Although she took him hard, she didn’t rush anything. She wanted to enjoy this and he was enjoying her.
He reached up and gripped her breasts, teasing the nipples with the tips of his fingers. Eventually he needed more, and he pushed himself up, slid his arms around her waist and his mouth around her breast. He lashed his tongue across and around the nipple, then tugged with his lips. Rhona made that little squeal sound again as she wrapped herself around him, holding him tight against her chest.
He continued to suck and tease and nip while she squeezed his cock, tormenting him almost, because it felt so damn good.
Rhona dug her hands into his hair, pinning him to her breast. He gripped the other breast with his hand, the pair of them groaning and sweating even though there was snow under the bedroll they sat upon. If it was cold, they neither felt it nor cared.
Vigholf heard a sob catch in Rhona’s throat, and he rolled her over onto her back, placing his palms flat on either side of her. He plunged into her as her body shook beneath his, the cries of her release echoing out, making the horses restless while they tried to sleep.
He came right after her, the power of it racing from his head to his toes. He roared in pleasure, his body draining into hers, until he could do nothing but drop on top of her, exhausted and sated as he never had been before.
With one good push, Rhona shoved him off, Vigholf groaning when his cock left her.
“You’re not as light as a feather, Northlander.”
“Neither are you,” he said, which not surprisingly got him a punch to the ribs. A deserved one.
Laughing, he pulled Rhona into his arms and held her against him.
After a while, she stated, “We can’t keep doing this, you know.”
He decided not to overreact to that statement and instead asked, “We can’t? Why not?”
“We’ve got to finish all this and get back to the Valley.”
“We will. You act like we’ve deserted everyone.”
“Maybe we have.”
He pulled her in tighter and kissed the top of her head. “There’s no reason to worry. I’m sure they’re all sitting around, immensely bored, waiting for that damn tunnel to be finished, so we can finish the Irons. We’ll be back in time.”
“But—”
“The war’s been at a standstill for five years, Rhona,” Vigholf reminded her. “I doubt they’ll even miss us.”
Ragnar was going over the state of their supplies when Fearghus the Destroyer and Briec the Mighty walked in. Their royal armor no longer glinted shiny and bright as it first did when they’d headed out from Dark Plains that early morning five years ago. Now there were dents on the steel plate, blood in the crevices they no longer bothered to wash away. Briec sported a spear wound to the throat he’d barely survived. Fearghus had a limp that worsened during the winter months due to the spear tip still buried past scale, flesh, and muscle and deep into bone.
“Where’s our sister?” Briec demanded. Ragnar had become used to Briec’s arrogant and rude nature, but that didn’t mean he liked it.
“She’s returned to Dark Plains,” he admitted.
“Alone?”
“With Ren.”
“Why?”
“For her safety.” It wasn’t a lie. He’d agreed to Keita’s return because he knew she’d be safe in the Southlands. But he needn’t mention the rest of it, because Keita, as always—he’d grudgingly learned—was right. They couldn’t afford to lose the soldiers and Dragonwarriors the two Fire Breather princes led, especially since most of the Cadwaladrs would go with them if they returned to Dark Plains to protect the children. For that Clan it was all about protecting their kin, especially the hatchlings.
So Ragnar kept his answers short and vague. It was the safest route when dealing with Keita’s brothers.
Fearghus, the smarter of the pair—or perhaps the more devious—circled around Ragnar.
“She just let you send her back? Without question?”
“Yes. But I’m being careful with what I eat over the next few days.” For good or ill, Keita was known for her vengeful nature and her method of vengeance usually involved slipping certain herbs in the offender’s food. Even if that offender was kin.
“Probably for the best,” Fearghus murmured.
“But why now?” Briec pushed. “Why send her back now?”
“Because we’re almost finished with the tunnel. And once that’s done, we’re not going to wait before we move. I don’t know about you two, but I want this done and the Irons out of our lives for good. Now if you two will excuse me . . .”
“Where’s your brother?” Fearghus asked.
“Which one?”
“The only one that is around you constantly. I’ve seen your cousin Meinhard, but I haven’t seen Vigholf in days. Where is he?”
“I asked him to accompany Keita and Ren.”
“Ren doesn’t need a Lightning for protection. Ren doesn’t need any protection.”
“I’d feel safer if my brother was with them. He’ll be back in a couple of days, so I wouldn’t . . .”
Ragnar’s words faded out when he saw Fearghus’s gaze straying to the ceiling.
Briec watched his brother. “What is it?”
Fearghus raised his front claw, lifted one black talon. “Don’t you hear it?”
That’s when Ragnar heard the distinct whistling sound, his body instinctively tightening, waiting for the impact as something large and extremely heavy hurtled into the cave walls.
“Siege weapons,” Fearghus said, before he turned and charged out of the cavern, all of them following.
They pushed past scrambling soldiers and warriors, all of them speeding toward the north side, where a circle of mountains kept the Fire Breathers and Lightnings separated from the Irons.
They made it to the wide cavern opening. The forces that usually protected this important area were diving for cover as giant boulders hurtled over the mountaintops and rammed into their stronghold.
“Pull back!” Briec ordered, grabbing Fearghus by the neck of his armor and yanking him away moments before a boulder crashed where Fearghus had just been. “Pull back!”
Ragnar helped two of his kin to their claws and pushed them toward the entrance. “Inside! Everyone in! Now!”
The air around Ragnar changed and he used his wings to quickly drag his body back, away from the entrance. “Briec!” he called out, seeing the boulder hurtling toward the back of Keita’s brother. But the dragon was busy helping others. He didn’t see. And that boulder slammed into the back of the Silver with a mighty force, ramming his big body into the far wall.
Chapter 22
Dagmar followed the captain of the guards to the barracks. As they walked in, the guards and soldiers moved out of her way, none of them speaking to her or each other.
“We found them last night. Just . . . lying there.”
Dagmar studied the soldiers. The morning light streaming in through
the windows making it easy to see that their throats had been slit but no other damage had been done. There were no signs that they’d fought back. Perhaps they didn’t have the chance.
“Did you see any signs of Tribesmen inside the castle walls?” Dagmar asked the captain. “Perhaps when they left the bodies. Because this is clearly the work of their assassins.”
“That’s just it, my lady. We don’t think the bodies were left, as you say.”
“One second there was nothing there,” one of the soldiers volunteered. “The next second . . . there they were.”
“They just appeared?”
“Aye, my lady.”
Dagmar raised her hands, palms out, to silence them although none had said anything. “The fact that we have no idea how these bodies got here is irrelevant. All we do know is that assassins were inside castle walls. This cannot happen again.”
“We’ll take care of it.”
“Deal with the bodies first. Quietly and quickly. We can give them a proper burial later.”
“Aye, my lady.”
Dagmar headed to the exit, her dogs by her side. She motioned to the captain to follow. “You won’t discuss any of this,” she told him. “They must all swear to it.”
“Aye, my lady. But why?”
“Not sure yet. Just . . . let’s keep it quiet, eh?”
“Understood. And the assassins?”
“Do a room-to-room search for them. If you find anything, inform me immediately.”
“If we find assassins?”
“Kill them. Then bring their bodies to me. Discreetly.”
“Aye, my lady.”
Dagmar walked back to the castle and inside. The Tribesmen had been quiet today. Something that did not make her feel better.
“Commander Ásta,” Dagmar called out when she saw the Kyvich witch with her troop leaders.
“Lady Dagmar.”
“Is everything all right? Any problems last night?”
“No, my lady.”
“You sure?”
“Did you hear there was a problem?”
“No,” Dagmar lied. “Not at all. Guess I’m just a little nervous about all this.”
The Kyvich smiled at her. “Something tells me, Lady Dagmar, that you don’t get nervous over anything.”
“Of course I do. My whole life is filled with worry.” She pointed toward the gates. “Is there a reason you haven’t followed the Tribesmen out into the woods and finished them there?”
“That’s not our job.”
“Pardon?”
“We’re here to protect the children and only the children. We will not leave them to take on a battle that your people should be fighting.”
“So if the Tribesmen get past the gates, wipe us out . . .”
“Not our problem. The children are our concern. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
Annoyed, Dagmar headed downstairs to where they kept the children.
“What’s wrong?” Talaith asked as soon as Dagmar sat down at the small table with her.
“Nothing,” Dagmar lied again. “Everything all right here?”
“Fine.”
“No problems last night?”
“No. None at all. Why?” Talaith leaned across the table a bit. “Are you sure everything’s all right, Dagmar?”
“Yes, yes. Everything is fine.”
Talaith sat back. “How’s it going outside?”
“It’s being handled, but it’s clear that Annwyl has made enemies of pretty much every Tribesman from here to the Desert Land borders.”
“So they’re not giving up?”
“No, but we’ll be fine,” she assured Talaith.
“As my guests keep reassuring me.” Talaith looked over at the squad of Kyvich who stood on guard duty inside the room.
“Would you rather be down here alone?”
“Might as well be. They’re not exactly chatty.”
“I don’t mean for your social life, Talaith. I’m talking about the safety of the children. So please, do me a favor and suck up the misery for a little while longer.”
“Oh, fine. Here. Have some tea. It’ll make you feel better.”
While Talaith poured Dagmar some tea, Dagmar watched Ebba search among the children’s bedding.
“Lose something, Ebba?” she asked.
“Can’t find the children’s swords. And you know how they get when they don’t get in their morning training. Cranky doesn’t begin to describe it.” She winked at Dagmar and went back to her search while Talaith complained about the Kyvich. She didn’t complain about anything in particular, just that they existed.
Slowly, Dagmar shifted her focus to the children. The three of them sat cross-legged on the floor in a circle. Rhian drew symbols on parchment and appeared much more worried than usual, her smooth brow pulled down into a very deep frown; Talan played with one of the dogs; and Talwyn read. To everyone’s surprise, Talwyn was an advanced reader like her mother. Very advanced. She could read at least three languages that they knew of. The language of the humans in this region, the language of dragons, and now, according to Ebba, she could read the language of centaurs.
As Dagmar watched her, the seven-year-old girl lifted her head and looked at Dagmar through dirty, unkempt hair, black eyes like her father’s and yet she seemed so much like Annwyl. Especially when the child suddenly smiled at her.
And it was at that moment that Dagmar realized . . . the captain of the guard would never find those assassins alive.
Fearghus watched Ragnar hover over his brother. Briec hadn’t moved since he’d been struck, the healers working on him through the night, but no one had told the rest of them anything and he was beginning to get anxious.
After several minutes, Ragnar came to his side.
“Well?”
“It seems that—”
“I don’t have time for one of your carefully worded replies, Northlander. Just tell me if my brother’s going to live or die.”
“I don’t know. He’s completely unresponsive, barely breathing, and . . .”
“And?”
“His spine’s been split.” Ragnar shook his head. “Neither I nor the healers know how to fix that. Perhaps your mother or Morfyd . . .”
“Will they even know what’s happened to him?”
“No. We’ve been cut off. I can’t contact my brother or Keita or anyone.”
“Neither can I.” Fearghus cleared his throat. “If he survives . . . will he walk?”
“I don’t know. But I do doubt he’ll ever fly again.”
“Thank you,” Fearghus said and walked out of the chamber. He went around the corner and tried to control his breathing. He couldn’t allow the troops—or his kin—to see this.
“Fearghus?”
He looked up at his Aunt Ghleanna.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Nothing’s definite. We keep it quiet for now. Just say he’s recovering.”
“That’s all well and good for everyone else, but I’m asking as your aunt. How’s me Briec?”
He shook his head, working hard to gain control. “It’s bad. Ragnar, the other healers . . . they say there’s nothing they can do.”
“What about your mum?”
“She’s his best bet, but we’ll never get him out of here now.”
“But if we finish the tunnels, strike the next blow . . . the last blow.” She gripped his forearm. “Then we can get your brother back to Devenallt Mountain and let your mum heal him. Don’t give up on him, Fearghus. Please.”
“Of course I won’t.”
“I’ll get the ones working on the tunnels to move their collective arses. We’ll get this done.” She pressed her claw to his cheek. “We don’t give up on each other in this Clan, boy. Don’t you forget that.”
“I won’t.”
She nodded and stomped off, ordering recruits to get to the tunnel, while all around them the cave walls shook from the never-ending siege from the Irons battering
them mercilessly, giving them no way to get out—to get his brother out of here and someplace safe.
Yet Fearghus knew his aunt was right. They didn’t give up on each other, and he wouldn’t start now.
Chapter 23
After a quick but lusty morning romp, Rhona and Vigholf bathed in the river, dressed, and were riding toward the Western Mountain Pass by the time most people were sitting down for their first meal.
They rode hard and made good time, stopping at a few small towns along the way so Vigholf could do what he did so well: get information from complete strangers. Rhona would have to admit, she was impressed. She simply didn’t have an easy way like that with people she didn’t know. And those she did know, she wasn’t above threatening to get information. Vigholf never had to do that. She couldn’t explain it; he just . . . had a way.
Yet Rhona wasn’t completely useless, able to follow the queen’s tracks once they got into the Karpos Forests that surrounded the Western Mountains. Then again it wasn’t hard to differentiate Annwyl’s tracks from the many others that ran into and around the area. The woman had such big feet for a human female....
They rode the horses deep into the forests, Rhona keeping an eye out for any new markings that would show a change in direction. She was just pulling to a stop to get a closer look at something near a tree when Vigholf murmured, “Smoke.”
“What?”
“Smoke.” He pointed. “Over there.”
Rhona scented the air. Aye, there was smoke—and fire.
She turned her horse and rode in that direction, Vigholf beside her. As they moved along, they could see the stillburning remains of a small village. Before they got too close, she dismounted and left the mare. Unlike Rhona and, to a lesser degree, Vigholf, the horses weren’t immune to flame.
As she neared the village, Rhona could hear the wailing and cries of those who’d survived the fire that had gutted their homes. Worried it was the work of a pissy dragon, Rhona walked up to the first human she found not completely lost in grief.
“What happened here?” she asked.
The man looked up at her, his eyes red from the smoke and his own tears. “Soldiers. From the Provinces.”