Last Dragon Standing
“Shut. Up.”
“And normally I’d be fine with her being mad at you—but she’s mad at me too. That’s not acceptable. My daughters adore me. I won’t have that ruined by you.”
Keita gazed up at her brother. “Do you really think this is helping?”
“Helping? I’m supposed to be helping?”
“She’s so stubborn!” Talaith snarled, pacing. “I don’t know where she gets it from.”
Now they all stared at her.
“I can’t believe you had the nerve to say that out loud,” Briec remarked.
“And what’s that supposed to—”
They all jumped, the sound of squealing young females reaching them moments before Izzy and Branwen shot back down the stairs, over the dining table, and right out the Great Hall doors.
“Gods!” Talaith exclaimed. “Where’s the—”
“Rhianwen is fine,” Fanny called out. A few seconds later, she appeared at the top of the stairs, a giggling Rhianwen in her arms. “I’ve got her.”
“What’s going on?”
“Don’t know. They looked out the window of their room, tossed, uh, handed me the baby, and ran for the door.”
“What in all the—”
Gwenvael ran into the hall. He was so overwhelmed with whatever was going on, he couldn’t even speak. He just kept pointing.
Dagmar placed her hands on her hips. “What is wrong with you?” Gwenvael took a breath, then spit out, “In the main training ring.
Outside. Annwyl…and the Lightnings.” He held up two fingers. “Two of ’em. She’s taking on two of them.”
There was a moment of stunned silence as they all glanced back and forth at each other; then everyone ran for the door, leaving Talaith and Dagmar behind.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Dagmar yelled. The group of them stopped and faced her. “You have to stop them,” she ordered.
Briec snorted first and charged out the door, the rest of them following while Talaith went to check on Rhianwen.
Ragnar sat under a tree and stared off across the tall grass. He had a book open on his lap, but he’d barely glanced at it since he’d sat down. He had far greater things on his mind at the moment.
He couldn’t get the looks on Dagmar’s and Queen Annwyl’s faces out of his mind. Not because they thought he’d bedded Keita. That was part of her grand plan, after all.
No, Ragnar was upset because Keita then had to face the rest of her immediate kin on her own. Of course, it hadn’t been his choice to walk away. She’d made it clear that was how this all had to be played, but that didn’t mean it felt right to him. And although he could pretend his desire to protect Keita was something instinctual among all Northland male dragons, he knew better. He knew there was more to his feelings for her than mere instinct.
Still, Keita understood her kin better than he ever could, but even knowing that didn’t ease his concern.
Dagmar charged up to him, skidding to a stop. She was out of breath, and she’d obviously run to get here. Dagmar? Running?
“Ragnar—” she began, but her gaze snagged on the small tornado spinning in the middle of the field. “By all reason, what is that?”
“Oh. Sorry.” Ragnar unleashed the winds he’d called to him, and the tornado quickly ended.
“You did that?”
“It’s nothing. It just helps me think.”
“Yes, but—”
“Is there something you need, Dagmar?”
She blinked hard behind her spectacles, one hand pressing against her chest. “Uh…yes. Yes.” She took a breath, calmed her nerves. When she spoke again she was in control once more. “Your brother and cousin are in the training ring with Annwyl.”
“Doing what?” he asked.
One brow rose over cold grey eyes and plain steel-framed spectacles and Ragnar could only sigh, “It’s as if they want me to flay the scales from their bones.”
Keita had always loved a good fight. She avoided fighting herself, buts he did love to watch it. And this…this was good fighting.
Using only one shield and one sword, Annwyl had managed to keep both Lightnings at bay while landing in a few good shots here and there. All three were bleeding, but nothing major had been cut, torn, or removed.
Besides, that was the rule in the training rings on Annwyl’s territory. They were for training only, not killing.
But Keita knew enough of fighting to know that these two Lightnings were not exactly holding back on their swings. She’d bet gold they had in the beginning. Fighting females was not something any Northlander liked to do—mostly because there was no honor in it—but after five minutes in the ring they’d probably realized Annwyl was not some queen who merely liked to believe she could fight, who presented a symbol to her men as something to fight for.
No. Not Annwyl. She was and always would be a fighter. A warrior who led her men into battle and to possible death.
“What’s going on?”
Keita looked up at her eldest brother. “I believe it’s training.” Fearghus shook his head. “She’ll fight anyone these days.”
“And she’s learned some new moves,” Briec tossed in.
“Wonder who taught her all that?” Gwenvael added, and Keita slammed her foot onto his. “Ow! What was that for?” Fearghus briefly glared at his brother before focusing back on Annwyl. “She practices every day now. Sometimes nine to ten hours a day.” And all that work showed. Keita had marveled at Annwyl’s muscles when she’d first seen her, but watching her fight two males much stronger and bigger than she was a mighty sight to behold. Annwyl also seemed to understand she wasn’t as strong as either male so she used her speed and smaller size to her advantage. It was working, too. These two mighty Northland warriors were barely holding their own against this one woman.