What a Dragon Should Know (43 page)

Then Annwyl stood there, panting, her naked body covered in blood. But she was alive. Very much alive.

And completely insane.

Gwenvael heard a small cry and looked up to see Dagmar walk out of the tunnel. She was dirty, her clothes torn, and she had some blood on her, but she was alive and so were the twins. They were the ones crying, annoyed, it seemed, more than anything. But all four were fine—four because he now included Dagmar’s spectacles in all estimates.

She looked at him, her relieved smile warming him in a way he’d never felt before. He stepped forward, determined to get to her, but her eyes widened and she quickly shook her head. Good thing, too, because Annwyl turned on him so fast, Gwenvael took a hasty step back. She held the blade in both hands, raised high on her side. A move for a running attack.

Fearghus scowled, more confused than angry. “Annwyl?”

Her green eyes shifted toward Fearghus, but Gwenvael saw no recognition of her mate. No undying love and loyalty. As far as Annwyl the Bloody was concerned, all of them were enemies.

“Get on the horse,” Annwyl ordered Dagmar.

Gwenvael shook his head. “Wait—” But his mother caught his arm, pulled him back. She stepped in front of him, prepared to protect her son, and kept her eyes on Annwyl.

“Move!” Annwyl commanded again.

Dagmar did, going to Annwyl’s stallion. The horse lowered himself to the ground and Dagmar climbed onto his back, the babes in her arms making it an awkward ordeal. Annwyl moved toward the horse, her gaze constantly scanning from one dragon to the other. She reached Violence and slid on behind Dagmar. She still held the sword and appeared ready to use it at any second.

“Take his mane,” she ordered Dagmar as the horse stood tall. “Now hold on. He knows where to go.”

Annwyl pointed her sword at Celyn and Branwen.
“Move!”
The two youngsters fell over each other trying to get out of the way, until their mother grabbed them by their hair and yanked them back.

“Go,” Annwyl told her horse.

Violence reared up then shot off, tearing through the empty space the young siblings left.

As the horse disappeared over a hill, Gwenvael’s Dragon Kin stood silent, unsure what to do next.

Then Addolgar earnestly asked, “I’m confused. Is she dead or not?”

After all that, Dagmar had really hoped they were heading back to Garbhán Isle, but no. A nice inn somewhere in one of the villages? No. A pub for a pint … or twelve pints, one after the other until she could no longer see straight with or without her spectacles? No.

Instead of any of those lovely ideas, the Queen of Dark Plains took her to a cave. A dark, dank cave. She couldn’t even see her hand in front of her face or the babes in her arms, but of course this place must be safer than the tunnel they’d just escaped from.

She hoped so, anyway.

Thankfully the horse seemed to know where he was going, happily trotting along through the winding black tunnels. Eventually he stopped and Annwyl jumped off. Dagmar could hear the queen moving around and some cursing when she walked into things. But then flint struck rock and a torch was lit. Annwyl walked around the cavern, lighting more torches attached to the walls, and as she did, Dagmar could now see she was not in some random cave Annwyl had stumbled upon. They were in a furnished cave. A dragon’s cave. She let out a sigh of relief and the horse lowered himself to the ground, allowing Dagmar to slip off. Not easy when she was desperately trying not to drop the sobbing babes in her arms.

“Why are they crying?”

The naked queen stood before her, blood covering most of her, and there seemed to be a fresh wound or two, but this … this was the queen Dagmar had always heard of. Tall, powerfully built. Muscles any male warrior would envy and generous breasts any woman would love to have been gifted with. The only sign that showed Annwyl had once been with child was the horizontal scar across her lower abdomen. But it looked as if it had been there for years.

It seemed Annwyl had a new patron goddess who took much better care of her subjects than Rhydderch Hael, bringing Annwyl back to the way she was before the babes were born—at least physically.

Emotionally, the woman was a mess.

“They’re crying because they’re frightened,” Dagmar explained, hoping the queen took her babes soon. Her arms were growing tired, their abnormally large size turning them into quite the burdens.

Annwyl looked at the Minotaur sword in her hands, then set it down. After that she walked around the large cavern, rubbing her hands together. Dagmar noticed a table and chairs, so she sat down.

The queen turned and faced her again. “I put the sword down, why are they still crying?”

“They’re probably hungry.”

“Then feed them.”

Uh-oh.

“They’re not mine to feed.”

“Who do they belong to?”

This is just bloody wonderful!

Dagmar cleared her throat, and spoke carefully. “They’re yours.”

“I don’t have children.”

Dagmar was so tired, the patience she prided herself on quickly deserting her. “What do you remember?”

The queen thought for a moment, pointed at the horse. “I remember him.”

“Do you remember his name?”

Annwyl frowned. “Black … ie?”

Dagmar exhaled. “Do you remember your name?”

She chewed the inside of her mouth, stared up at the ceiling. After several
minutes,
the queen asked, “Do I need to?”

“Reason preserve me,” Dagmar sighed. The babes cried louder and she looked down at them. “You need to settle down.”

And when they did, she found herself more disturbed than she’d been by their crazed mother.

“See?” Annwyl said, smiling with relief. “They are yours.”

“No, my lady, they are most definitely—”

“They couldn’t be mine,” she cut in quickly. “I’d make a horrible mother. Five minutes with me and they’re already covered in blood.”

“Yes, but—”

“I’ll be back.” Abruptly, the queen walked away down a dark tunnel Dagmar had no intention of following her into.

Gwenvael turned to his mother. “So she’s gone ’round the bend then?”

“Well, she’s clearly not sane.”

“I’m going after her,” Fearghus said.

Rhiannon grabbed her eldest son by the hair.

“Mother!”

“For once, don’t be a prat, Fearghus. She doesn’t even recognize you. Go near her now and she’ll kill you.”

“If that’s true, then it’s a good thing she’s alone with the children,” Briec stated dryly.

“And she has Dagmar.” When they all looked at him, Gwenvael added, “She matters, too.”

“They’ll be fine,” Izzy said, positive as always. “Annwyl just needs a little time to get back to her old self.”

Éibhear snorted. “And aren’t you the one who said we should trust Rhydderch Hael and he’d never hurt her?”

Izzy’s mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. “You blue haired—”

“That’s it!” Talaith stood between the enormous blue dragon and her daughter. “Separate. Separate! You’re both irritating me!” Talaith took a deep breath. “Fearghus, go to her, but approach her carefully. Think of it as battle fatigue. Go slowly, don’t startle her, don’t rush her. Take it slow and easy. Understand?”

“I understand. Now I just have to figure out where she’s gone.”

“We’ll fly until we find her.”

Talaith shook her head at Gwenvael’s suggestion. “She’s going to go where she feels safe.”

“Even if she doesn’t remember?”

“She knew to protect the babes. She knew her horse. Fearghus, she’d go where she feels safest. Where she’s always felt safest.”

Fearghus’s smile was small, but there. “Dark Glen.” He nodded, knowing he was right. “She’d go to Dark Glen. She’d go home.”

Dagmar was asleep on the large bed she’d found in one of the caverns. She placed the babes down first on the fur, surrounding them with protective pillows in case she rolled over while she slept. Once done, she stretched out lengthwise on the bed and that was the last thing she remembered until she sensed someone near her.

Before opening her eyes, she went for the small dagger tucked into her girdle and sat up. But as she tried to focus on the man in front of her, the dagger slipped from her fingers and spun away.

Thankfully the human male was quick of hand and caught the blade before it slammed into his forehead. Squinting, she leaned in and winced. “Sorry, Fearghus.”

First she gets his mate killed, then his twins almost get killed, and now she was throwing knives at his head.

“I am teaching you how to use that damn thing,” a voice said behind her. “You’re bloody hopeless with it.”

Dagmar could barely make out that gorgeous body in brown leggings and long gold hair, but she knew her Gwenvael. Jumping off the bed and into his open arms, she gasped out, “I’m so glad you found us!”

Gwenvael hugged her tight against his body so her feet didn’t touch the floor.
“I’m
glad we found you.” He kissed her cheeks, forehead, and chin. “Are you all right? Are you hurt? Tell me you’re all right.”

“I’m fine.” Although she had the irrational desire to cry. “I’m not hurt. And the babes are fine.”

“And where is Lady Madness?”

Without moving her head from the wonderful spot on his shoulder, Dagmar pointed in the direction she remembered Annwyl going. “She and that stallion from the underworld went that way. She said she’d be back. I decided not to take it as a threat.”

Fearghus sat on the bed, stroking his hand across each babe’s head. “The lake is in that direction.”

“Considering she’s positively saturated in Minotaur blood, that would make sense.”

Gwenvael put her back on her feet, but before stepping away from her, he placed the sweetest kiss on her forehead. “Before my brother goes off after his crazed mate, think you can tell us what happened? The more we know, the better he’ll be able to deal with Annwyl.”

Dagmar nodded. “Yes. Of course.” She sat down on the bed. “First off, Fearghus, I must apologize.” And that’s when the first tear fell.

“Dagmar?”

“It’s all my fault, Gwenvael. All of it. I only wanted to help, but instead I nearly wipe out your entire family!”

Gwenvael crouched in front of her, taking her hands in his. The simple feel of his flesh against hers, his thumbs rubbing across her knuckles, calmed her down almost immediately.

“I want you to listen to me well, Dagmar Reinholdt,” he said. “No one’s blaming you for anything.”

“Yet.”

Dagmar and Gwenvael looked at Fearghus.

“Did I say that out loud?” Then he winked, and Dagmar almost started to cry again, even while he got her to smile.

“Ignore him, Beast.” Gwenvael grabbed a straight-back chair and sat down in front of her. He took hold of her hands again. “Now tell us everything.”

She kept it clean and direct, no emotions tossed in. No mentions of her own mother and the desire to prevent the twins from going through what she went through herself.

Instead, she told them as she would have told her own father. In plain words, with “none of that fancy analyzing you do” and that her father hated.

Fearghus stayed on the bed, near his babes, his eyes constantly straying over to them. Neither spoke while she did. Neither asked questions. Instead they waited until she finished.

“I know the babes are hungry,” she said when she was done. “But they’ve been surprisingly good-natured about the whole thing and went right to sleep when I put them down. But at some point they are going to need to eat, and either Annwyl has to pull those udders out or we need to get a nursemaid in here because I’ll be of no use. Other than that”—she shrugged—“that’s pretty much the whole story.”

The following silence nearly choked her and she was moments from a good bout of panic when Fearghus leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

Clasping his hands together, he said, “I’m sorry. Can we go back for a moment—you bargained your way out of that with socks?”

That hadn’t been what she’d expected the future Dragon King of Dark Plains to ask, but … all right.

“Yes, but it was because she was vague that—”

“Now aren’t you glad I bought you the socks?”

Dagmar scrutinized Gwenvael. “Pardon?”

“If I hadn’t gotten you that new pair, you wouldn’t have given up your socks to a traveling goddess.”

“He has a point,” Fearghus tossed in.

“Yes, but—”

“Which means you owe me your life.” Gwenvael glanced at his brother. “Like Talaith and Briec—I can keep her.”

“No, you cannot!” Dagmar snapped, completely confused.

“But I bought you the socks,” Gwenvael insisted.

“Only because I made you take back the puppy.”

Regarding his brother, Fearghus asked, “Puppy?”

“I was trying to make her feel better. She was all upset because I wouldn’t bring that bloody dog of hers.”

“Was he a nice one?”

“Large. Lots of meat. With the right seasoning …” Gwenvael sighed, his eyes staring far off. “Gods, I’m hungry.”

Dagmar dragged both her hands through her hair. “Shouldn’t both of you be a little more … livid with me?”

“But I have my Annwyl back,” Fearghus said. “Sort of. She doesn’t know who she is.”

“Or that she’s a mother.”

“Let’s not be negative,” Fearghus insisted lightly. “All that matters is that my Annwyl wiped out an entire murderous unit of Minotaurs.”

“Fearghus,” Gwenvael asked, appearing sincere, “can Annwyl fight naked all the time?”

“Don’t make me kill you. I’m in a good mood, and it’ll just upset Mother.” He stood and bundled the fur around his children, carefully lifting them. “I’m off to find Annwyl.”

Gwenvael tapped his leg. “Remember what Talaith said, Fearghus. Take it slow with her. Give her time to remember who she is.”

“I will.”

Fearghus took several steps away, but stopped. He faced her. “Dagmar?”

“Yes?”

He gazed down at his twins and then at her. “Thank you.” He smiled and it was something so beautiful and sincere she didn’t know what to say. “For everything. I’m eternally grateful.”

Unable to speak, she nodded, and Fearghus disappeared down one of the dark tunnels.