Dragon Actually (4 page)

“No. Not really.”

There went that rage. “
Why not
?”

“Because
you
don’t think you can.”

Her rage came and went so quickly, it was quite the sight to behold. Her whole body seemed to deflate, her hand going to her wounded side. “You’re right. I don’t think I can.” She sat on her bed. “He’s so fast. His skill with a blade . . . I couldn’t even touch him.”

“You give up too easily. You just need training.”

“From whom? I know of no warrior as skilled as my brother.”

“I do.”

Annwyl looked up. “You know someone?”

“Uh . . .” Things just kept getting more and more complicated.

“Yes. I do.”

“Do you trust him?”

Only as much as he trusted himself. “Aye. I do.”

“And he will help me prepare to kill Lorcan?” Fearghus nodded. “Then, perhaps, you could help my army against my brother’s troops?”

“Annwyl . . .”

She leaned forward, wincing from the pain she caused her side. “Please, Fearghus. I know I already owe you my life. But if there’s anything . . . It’s just to have the power of a dragon behind us—”

“So I help you defeat your brother,” he cut in churlishly.

“And then what are your plans?”

Annwyl frowned. “My plans?”

“Yes. Your plans. You take your brother’s head, your troops are waiting. What is the next thing that you do?”

Annwyl just stared at him. He realized in that instant that the girl had no plans. None. No grand schemes of controlling the world. No plots to destroy any other empires.

Not even the plan to have a celebratory dinner.

“Annwyl, you’ll be queen. You’ll have to do something.”

“But I don’t want to be queen.” Her body shook with panic, and he could hear it in her voice.

“You take his head, you’ll have little choice.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do as queen?”

“Well . . . you could try
ruling
.”

“That sounds awfully complicated.”

 “I don’t understand you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You command the largest rebellion known to this land.

From what I understand, your troops are blindingly loyal to you. And other kingdoms send you reinforcements and gold.”

“Your point?”

“You’re already queen, Annwyl. You just need to take the crown.”

She shook her head. “My father didn’t believe in crowns. There’s a throne, though.”

“Then take your throne. Take it and become queen.”

“I will. If you fight with me, dragon.”

“Will I get any peace if I don’t?”

“Sometimes queens have to do things they’re not always proud of,” she teased. “Including the torturing of handsome dragons, such as yourself. I could have people traipsing in and out of here all the time.
Talkative
people.” She smiled as she spoke—and called him “handsome”—but he wouldn’t put anything past her.

“Then you don’t give me much choice, do you?”

“No. I don’t.”

“Then I will fight with you, Annwyl.”

She grinned, and he felt pride for causing it.

As the days passed and Annwyl became stronger, she began to venture out into the glen surrounding the dragon’s lair. She’d never felt safer than she did at this very moment. In the middle of a dragon’s territory with only a sword to protect her. And she could never be safer. He allowed her to do what she wished. Go where she wished. Which she did. Although she actively avoided the section where the smell of burned men still lingered.

Annwyl moved slowly among the trees and flowers. All so beautiful and hers to enjoy in solitude. Like everyone else in the surrounding kingdoms, she had learned to fear Dark Glen. And from the outside, it stood dark and imposing. But once inside, the dense forest created a place of tranquility and quiet. If she’d known as a child that she had nothing to fear, she would have escaped to it long ago.

She rubbed her side. Her wound still a bit tender, but nearly healed. The dragon and witch had done a brilliant job of keeping her alive.

Yet she agonized over the agreement she’d made with the dragon. Was she that desperate to defeat her brother? That desperate to see her brother’s blood on her sword that she’d risk the life of the dragon who saved her? Clearly the answer was yes.

But she must be mad. She should flee. Back to her men. Back to the safety of her troops and away from the dragon. She should. But she most likely would not. The question she kept asking herself, though, was why. Why wouldn’t she leave this place? Why wouldn’t she leave him?

And why did he himself seem to resist the idea any time she mentioned leaving?

Annwyl smiled as she thought about how her little space within his lair kept becoming more and more furnished.First only a bed to sleep in and table for her to eat at. After that, several stuffed chairs appeared. Then a rug. Then a tapestry. Some beautiful silver candlesticks with sweet-smelling candles.

He wanted to make her feel comfortable. At home. Surprisingly, the beast’s lair felt more like a home than any place she’d lived in since she was a child and sent to live with her father.

No. She could never repay the dragon for his kindness. As it was, what life she possessed already belonged to him. And yet she felt no fear. She should. He could ask her for anything in order to pay her blood debt to him. No, she felt something altogether different from fear. Anticipation.

Annwyl stopped, her silent revelry broken. She’d sensed the battle before she heard the clash of swords and the cries of dying men. She knew she didn’t have all her strength back yet, but she had to see. Had to know if her brother’s men had infiltrated the dragon’s glen. And if they had, she’d kill them all. She wouldn’t put the dragon at anymore risk.

She ran quickly and silently, reassured by the weight of the blade strapped to her back and the dagger sheathed at her hip. She slipped behind a boulder and watched the brutal conflict. Her brother’s men. About eight of them. All fighting one man.

The man from her dreams.

Annwyl’s chest constricted as gooseflesh broke out over her skin. She watched him with wide eyes. His face was the face she saw in her dreams almost every night while she recovered her strength. That black hair the same hair she always made sure to dig her hands into. Who the hell was this? Other than remembering him from her dreams, she still didn’t recognize him. A stranger. A large, gorgeous stranger who wore the crest of an army not seen for many years on the bright red surcoat worn over his chainmail.

Annwyl shook her head. She refused to believe that her dream had come to life and now brutally fought her brother’s men.

And fight he did. He moved fast. Faster than she’d ever seen a man move before. His skills with a blade unparalleled. He dispatched two of the men within seconds and moved onto the remaining six.

But the blade in her back distracted her from the knight. There hadn’t been eight men in the dragon’s glen . . . there had been nine.

“Lady Annwyl. When I had the men scout this area, I had no idea we would actually find you.”

Annwyl gritted her teeth. She recognized that voice. Desmond L’Udair. One of her brother’s many lieutenants and the man who once grabbed her breast during dinner. Of course, only the remaining four fingers on his right hand currently held the blade now digging into her spine.

“Lord L’Udair. I’d really hoped you died.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “So, how’s the hand?”

Some thought L’Udair handsome. But she only saw the ugly side of him. Like now, when his lips twisted into an angry snarl. He seized her by the hair and snatched her to him so her back and sword slammed against his chest.

“The question, as always, my sweet, is whether I return you to your brother with or without your head?” He held the blade of his weapon against her neck. “Or perhaps we should spend a little time together before I return you at all. I still owe you for the loss of my finger.”

“Lay with me, L’Udair, and you risk the rest of your... parts.” She smiled at him and saw his leer fade.

 “What amazes me,” said a low voice in front of her, “is that you haven’t killed him yet.”

Annwyl focused on the mysterious man who had, while L’Udair made his threats, eliminated the rest of the small scouting party.

“Do you really have time for this?” he asked.

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re right, of course.” Annwyl unsheathed the dagger at her side and in one fluid move brought it back over her shoulder, not stopping until it tore through L’Udair’s eye. As soon as he began screaming she pulled away from him before he could finish her off with his own sword. She would have taken his head, but he died quickly and she rarely removed the heads of the dead.

Annwyl heard her dream lover move. She drew the blade strapped to her back, touching the tip against his throat as he got within arm’s reach of her. “Hold, knight.” She stared at him, taking a deep breath to still her rapidly beating heart.
By the gods, he’s beautiful
. And Annwyl didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. Which wasn’t far. He had to be the biggest man she’d ever seen. All of it hard-packed muscle that radiated power and strength.

She tightened her grip on her sword. “I know you.”

“And I know you.”

Annwyl frowned. “Who are you?”

“Who are
you
?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You kissed me.”

“And I believe
you
kissed
me.
”

Annwyl’s rage grew, her patience for games waning greatly. “Perhaps you failed to realize that I have a blade to your throat, knight.”

“And perhaps you failed to realize”—he knocked her blade away, placing the tip of his own against her throat— “that I’m not some weak-willed toady who slaves for your brother, Annwyl the Bloody of the Dark Plains.”

Annwyl glanced down at the sword and back at the man holding it. “Who the hell are you?”

“The dragon sent me.” He lowered his blade. “And he was right. You are too slow. You’ll never defeat Lorcan.”

Her rage welled up and she slashed at him with her blade. But it wasn’t one of her well-trained maneuvers. It felt awkward and messy. He blocked her easily, slamming her to the ground.

Her teeth rattled in her head. Good thing her wound had already healed, otherwise Morfyd would be sewing it up once again.

The knight stood over her. “You can do better than that, can’t you?” She stared up at him and he smiled. “Or maybe not. Guess we’ll just have to see.”

He wandered off. Annwyl knew he expected her to follow. And, for some unknown reason, she did.

She found him by the stream that ran through the glen. It took all her strength to walk up to him. She really wanted to run back into the dragon’s lair and hide under his massive wings. She wasn’t afraid of this man. It was something else. Something far more dangerous.

As she approached, he turned and smiled. And Annwyl felt her stomach clench. Actually, the clenching might have been a bit lower.

She’d never known a man who made her so... well… nervous. And she’d lived on Garbhán Isle since the age of ten; all she’d ever known were men who made it their business to make women nervous, if not downright terrified.

“Well,” she demanded coldly.

He moved to stand in front of her, his gorgeous smile teasing her. “Desperate are we?”

Annwyl shook her head and stepped away from him. “I thought you said something about training me for battle, knight.”
For the dragon
. She would only do this because the dragon asked her to. And she would damn well make sure he knew it, too.

“Aye, I did, Annwyl the Bloody.”

 “Do stop calling me that.”

“You should be proud of that name. From what I understand, you earned it.”

“My brother also called me dung heap. I’m sure he thought I earned that too, but I’d rather no one call me that.”

“Fair enough.”

“And do you have a name?” He opened his mouth to say something but she stopped him. “You know what? I don’t want to know.”

“Really?”

“It will make beating the hell out of you so much easier.”

She wanted to throw him off. Make him uneasy. But his smile beamed like a bright ray of sunlight in the darkened glen. “A challenge. I like that.” He growled the last sentence, and it slithered all the way down to her toes. Part of her wanted to panic over that statement, since it frightened her more than the dragon himself. But she didn’t have time. Not with the blade flashing past her head, forcing her to duck and unsheathe her own sword.

He watched her move. Drank her in. And when she took off her shirt and continued to fight in just leather leggings, boots, and the cloth that bound her breasts down, he had to constantly remind himself of why he now helped her. To train her to be a better fighter. Nothing more or less. It was
not
so he could lick the tender spot between her shoulder and throat.

Annwyl, though, turned out to be a damn good fighter. Strong. Powerful. Highly aggressive. She listened to direction well and picked up combat skills quickly. But her anger definitely remained her main weakness. Anytime he blocked one of her faster blows, anytime he moved too quickly for her to make contact, and, especially, anytime he touched her, the girl flew into a rage. An all-consuming rage. And although he knew the soldiers of Lorcan’s army would easily fall to her blade, her brother was different. He knew of that man’s reputation as a warrior and, as Annwyl now stood, she didn’t stand a chance. Her fear of Lorcan would stop her from making the killing blow. Her rage would make her vulnerable. The mere thought of her getting

killed sent a cold wave of fear through him.

Yet if he could teach her to control her rage, she could turn it into her greatest ally. Use it to destroy any and all who dare challenge her.

The shifting sun and deepening shadows told him that the hour grew late. The expression on her face told him that exhaustion would claim her soon, although she’d never admit it. At least not to him. But he knew what would push her over the edge. He grabbed her ass.

Annwyl screeched and swung around. He knocked her blade from her hand and threw her on her back.