Dagmar was sneaking out the back of the castle when she saw her leaning against some fencing, her head on her folded arms. She approached slowly, cautiously.
“Annwyl?”
The queen’s head snapped up. “Oh. Dagmar.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Just needed some fresh air.”
She needed bed. There was a light sheen of sweat on her and her hands trembled.
Dagmar heard the soft mutterings all evening from the few human royals who were at the court. Annwyl was not the Annwyl they remembered. Her hair had thinned; her face had lost its luster, becoming drawn and lined. Her arms and legs were much too thin for someone so weighed down with child. Since Dagmar knew nothing of the queen before she’d met her—except for the rumors, of course—she couldn’t tell one way or the other. But Dagmar did know when a birth was at risk. She knew the signs well.
“Why don’t I get Fearghus to—”
“Please don’t.” She forced a smile. “It’s been so long since he’s had some time to himself and he’s enjoying his kin—for once.”
Dagmar chuckled. “I understand that. I can help you up, though. To your room.”
“You don’t have to.” Yet her eyes were begging for that bit of help.
“You’re giving me a reason to get out of there.” She went over to Annwyl and slipped one arm around what remained of her waist. Dagmar forced herself not to physically flinch when her fingers felt actual ribs beneath the queen’s gown. She took Annwyl’s arm with her free hand. “Come on. I think two mere humans can manage this, don’t you?”
Annwyl laughed. “I would hope so.”
Together they made their plodding way to the back stairs and up them. It wasn’t easy and Dagmar wasn’t exactly known for her momentous strength, but she handled it better than she could have hoped. Keeping the conversation light with stories of her vapid sisters-in-law, Dagmar helped the queen to get out of her gown and washed up. Then she helped her into bed, smiling when she realized the queen was already asleep before Dagmar was able to cover her with the fur bedding.
She silently slipped out of the room, closing the door, when she heard a woman’s voice. “Oh, Gwenvael! I simply adore you!”
Dagmar looked down the hallway and watched as Gwenvael led some big-breasted royal toward his room.
Shaking her head at her own idiocy—Did you really think you had a bolt’s chance in hell with that?—Dagmar turned and headed back to the stairs and the fresh night air.
Chapter 21
Gwenvael didn’t think he’d ever pry Duchess Bantor off his neck. She clung to him like a vine, the wine she’d been guzzling all evening making her much bolder and harder to get rid of than usual. He finally dumped her off at her room into the arms of a giggling servant girl who liked the way he crossed his eyes when her ladyship drunkenly told him to “take me, Gwenvael. Take me now!”
Chuckling, Gwenvael went down the four flights of stairs to the second floor, walked past his own room, and rounded a corner, walking right into Briec.
“Ho there, Briec! What a delightful ass you’re carrying.”
“A delightful drunken ass.”
“I’m not drunk.”
Gwenvael grinned. “The ass speaks.”
“Put me down!” the ass demanded. “I can walk on my own.”
“As you wish.” Briec dropped his package, and Talaith grabbed hold of her mate’s arm to prevent her rear from hitting the floor.
“See?” she said, when she’d finally found her balance. “I’m as dry as the desert sands.”
And to prove it, Briec pulled his arm away. With nothing to hold on to, Talaith went down like a stone statue Gwenvael once stole.
Talaith glared up at Briec. “Bastard.”
“I told you, my beautiful Talaith, that I was the dragon for you,” Gwenvael reminded her. “But no. You had to go with the arrogant one. Whereas I am always loving and charming and simply wonderful to be around. There isn’t an arrogant bone in my beautiful, perfect body.”
Briec’s eye twitched seconds before he jerked toward his brother, but Gwenvael held up his hands. “Not the face! Not the face! I have plans for this evening and my perfection must remain unmarred.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Prove it.”
Looking down at his brother’s mate, “Speaking of which, last I saw you, you were with the cunning”—Gwenvael flashed his teeth at his brother, making Briec laugh—“Lady Dagmar.”
“Last I saw her,” Talaith said while trying to get herself to her feet, “she was heading outside.”
Gwenvael threw up his hands. “I order a woman to be in her room, nak*d, waiting for me, and she traipses off.”
Shaking his head, Briec reached down and grabbed hold of his mate’s shoulders, lifting her to her feet. “Next time use the chains. That way they can’t get away.”
“Good idea. Perhaps I can borrow your set.”
Now that she was on her feet, Talaith slammed her hands against Gwenvael’s chest. When he didn’t fall back, she frowned and hit him again.
“We do not have a set. Borrow Annwyl and Fearghus’s like everyone else. And another thing, slag, keep your dirty, dirty, whorish hands off Lady Dagmar. She’s nice.”
Gwenvael stared down at his hands. “They’re not whorish.”
“A bit slurry, though,” Briec joked.
“And what makes you think I plan to take advantage of Lady Dagmar?”
“She has a p**sy, doesn’t she?” Talaith sneered.
Gwenvael’s laugh rang out through the hallway. “We should keep her drunk every day!”
Briec sighed. “Once a year is quite enough, thank you. But I will say this one is different from the others you’ve rutted with. She’s well read. Well spoken, too. And her thoughts progress in a nice logical order. She actually kept my interest in our conversation for five … maybe even six minutes before my mind wandered away to something much more interesting.”
“Talaith’s ass?”
“Rude,” Talaith hissed. “Tell him he’s rude!”
Briec shook his finger at Gwenvael. “You’re rude! Don’t speak to her that way!” He pulled Talaith into his body, holding her tight against him before he added a wink and mouthed at Gwenvael, “Definitely her ass.”
Dagmar marched up the hill and awkwardly climbed on top of a boulder. It was a good choice. Gave her a lovely view of the entire valley that separated Garbhán Isle from Dark Plains as a whole.
“So many lakes,” she said out loud. “So much potential defense.” The queen had asked for her help and Dagmar happily accepted, determined to prove her worth, at least to the Southlanders.
About to step down, Dagmar noticed the tall male standing beside the boulder. It wasn’t Gwenvael, but definitely another sneaky dragon. She could tell easily now, which made her wonder how she’d ever missed it before. Of course, Ragnar had been different. He had an entire backstory and even playacted as if he were old and wounded. All very brilliant, and it still pissed her off.
“Good evening to you,” she said.
The male looked up at her and then around as if he expected her to be speaking to someone else.
“Um … good evening?”
“I don’t remember seeing you at the dinner.” She held her hand out for him to grasp it, and, after a pause, he did just that, helping her to settle comfortably on the boulder.
“I didn’t attend. I’m searching for my wandering mate. Some days I don’t think she loves me at all.”
“Traveling has an allure of its own. I know that now. And perhaps the time away strengthens her love for you.”
“She may have said that one or two times. But I miss her.”
He smiled and Dagmar had to hold back a little sigh. He was astoundingly beautiful with his long dark hair and violet-colored eyes. She’d love to meet the female, dragon or human, who’d willingly wander away from him.
“Are you meeting someone out here tonight?” he asked.
“Doubtful.” The image of Gwenvael taking that royal back to his room had not left her head. “I just needed a bit of fresh air.”
“And some time to yourself. Noisy lot,” he added, motioning toward the castle.
“Very noisy. But not what I expected.”
“Everyone expects the worst of dragons. They can’t help themselves.” His head cocked to the side. “I think it’s time for me to go.”
Dagmar nodded. “As you wish.”
“It was nice”—he looked at her strangely—“talking to you.”
She didn’t know why he seemed so surprised she’d talked to him, but she didn’t care enough to ask.
“And you.”
He gave her a very courtly bow before walking off into the surrounding woods. She watched him go, impressed with the rear view as much as the front one.
“Reason preserve me,” she muttered, appalled with herself.
She turned back around, her entire body jolting when she heard, “I thought I told you to wait in your room and be nak*d?”
With one hand against her chest, she raised the other. She was appalled at herself even more now that she’d allowed the Gold to startle her.
“Well?” he pushed.
“Don’t snarl at me. And I didn’t see the point of being in my room waiting for you when you seemed to be off with someone else.”
“I was?”
“Do you not remember the royal draped around your neck like a noose?”
“The duchess you mean?”
“Yes. Her.”
“Why would I waste my time with her when I thought I had you waiting in your room for me?”
“To quote my father, ‘Bigger tits?’ ”
“You think so little of me.”
“No, actually. I don’t.”
He casually walked around the boulder until he faced her. “My brother Éibhear says you’re too smart for me.”
“Your brother Éibhear spends too much time in his books and staring at Izzy.”
“Annwyl said you defended me to Morfyd.”
“I was simply clarifying the situation to her.”
“I appreciate your clarification then. It means much to me.”
He grabbed her hands and held her arms away from her body. “I do like this dress on you. Fannie has a good eye.”
“She knew not to bring me something garish. I appreciate that. And thank you for the compliment.”
“You’re very welcome. Now come down here.”
Gwenvael stepped back and she carefully slid to the ground.
“Take off your dress.”
Startled, Dagmar glanced around. No kiss? No romance? Just orders? And even more annoying was how her n**ples hardened at the thought.
“Out here? Now?”
“Yes. Here. Now.”
“Lord Gwenvael, there’s quite a difference between enjoying the observation of others and enjoying being observed.”