How to Drive a Dragon Crazy (13 page)

Authors: G. A. Aiken

BOOK: How to Drive a Dragon Crazy

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Fearghus cracked his neck. “Last we heard, you were killing ogres. Why would we stop you from doing that? We know how you enjoy it so.”

“Ragnar said I’d been sent for. At least that’s what he told Éibhear.” She briefly studied the males. “And why were you fighting with Éibhear?”

“He didn’t like what we had to say about why he was sent to the Mì-runach.”

“Although, he was lucky,” Briec argued. “It could have been the salt mines.”

“Did sending him away have anything to do with me?”

“Sending him away?” Fearghus shook his head. “Of course not, Izzy. We’d never do that.”

“Good.”

“But
keeping
him away? Aye. That we did.”

Izzy winced and had to admit, “That doesn’t seem fair to him.”

“Perhaps, but it seemed easier that way,” Briec sighed.

“Easier for whom?”

“For me. Was I not clear on the importance of
me
?”

Izzy smiled at Fearghus and Gwenvael. “I love my daddy.”

Briec sniffed. “Of course you do.”

Éibhear grabbed an apple from the bowl on the table, shaking his head as he bit into the fruit.

“Ragnar didn’t tell me who asked for her,” he said around the bite of fruit in his mouth. “Then again, I didn’t ask.”

Annwyl, who was sitting on the table and ramming the wood with a dagger, demanded, “How could you not ask?”

“By not opening my mouth and speaking.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You and that sarcasm.”

“I was actually just being honest.”

Talaith checked Éibhear’s head wound again. “That ointment I put on there should help heal this by tonight.”

“Will it leave a scar?”

“Do you care?”

“Maybe. If I’m left hideous, will you still love me as you do?”

Talaith folded her arms over her chest. “Who says I love you now?”

“You do . . . with your
eyes.
” Talaith and Annwyl laughed, and Éibhear, grinning, reached blindly over for another piece of fruit. But what he now held in his hand didn’t feel like an apple. More like a melon . . . covered in chain mail.

Confused, he looked over and realized that he’d inadvertently taken hold of Izzy’s right breast. Even worse, his three brothers stood behind her, all of them focused on where his hand met her chest.

Éibhear raised his gaze and met Izzy’s. They stared at each other, with Éibhear’s hand still . . . there.

Izzy raised a brow and asked, “You just going to leave it there?”

“Well,” he answered honestly, “it is comfortable.”

That’s when Gwenvael slapped his hand off and Briec and Fearghus began pummeling him, slamming him to the table. He didn’t have to look to know Izzy had walked away.

Chapter 12

Izzy grabbed some clean clothes from her old room and went down to one of the lakes to take a bath. She scrubbed herself clean in the cold water, trying not to think too much about having Éibhear’s hand on her. It surprised her, the effect that one touch had had on her. Surprised and annoyed her. She shouldn’t have any feelings about Éibhear’s hands being anywhere—except maybe a slight loathing.

Izzy went under the water once more, hoping the cold would make her forget everything. It didn’t.

But as she walked to shore, she smiled at the woman serenely waiting for her by her clothes.

“Lady Dagmar,” she greeted.

“General Iseabail.”

“Something wrong?”

“There is some . . .
thing
in my dog kennels. Eating metal, wood, and rocks. And shitting.
Everywhere.”

“Is he shitting metal, wood, and rocks? Because that would be fascinating.”

Prim lips pursed, Dagmar tapped one toe and Izzy giggled.

“I hate that thing, Izzy!” Dagmar finally exclaimed, laughing with her. “Hate it.”

“He is loyal and I love him. You said the loyalty of a dog is all.”

“I lied,” the Northlander told Izzy flatly. “He’s ugly. He farts.
Constantly
. He drools. He’s always dragging that giant penis of his around!”

“How is that his fault? And what am I supposed to do about that? Force him to wear doggie leggings?”

“Well, do something because the first thing he did was escape from his run and then try to mount every one of my in-heat bitches he could get next to.”

“Was Mum upset about that? Annwyl? Because they are Claimed by others.”

The toe-tapping began again, but Dagmar was having a hard time with that smile. She couldn’t quite hide it. “Not those bitches, dear niece. The four-legged ones.”

“Ahh.”

They both laughed and Izzy hugged her aunt. “Don’t worry. I’ll take him to my house. I’ll probably stay there anyway while I’m home.”

“You’re getting me soaked,” Dagmar complained, playfully pushing Izzy away. “I can’t be coldly calculating when I’m covered in lake water.”

“Never fear, dear aunt. You’re coldly calculating no matter what you do.”

“You’re staying at your house?” Dagmar asked, never one to let something slip by her.

“I like my house. Gwenvael had it built for me.”

“He did. But you only stay there when you’re meeting with some man—”

“Dagmar!”

“—or you’re avoiding another fight with your mother. But usually it takes a little time for you two to get into a good, frothy battle of wills, and I haven’t heard anything about you sleeping with anyone at the moment—”

“Wait. How do you know when I’m sleep—”

“—so that leaves a third option, which I’m going to assume is you’re avoiding dear, sweet Éibhear.”

“Dear, sweet
who?
”

Éibhear stepped out of the tub and grabbed a giant cloth to dry himself off.

Home only a few hours and already two fights with his brothers and a tit grab with Izzy. Although the tit grab had been an accident. Not that his brothers wanted to hear that. They just wanted to believe he was the kind of bastard who would run around grabbing a woman’s breast without compunction.

Of course, if it had been anyone else, he would have immediately released that breast, but his hand
had been
comfortable. So what was a dragon to do? Besides, Izzy hadn’t seemed to mind too much and it was her breast after all.

But leave it to his kin to turn something so innocent into the worst offense ever known to dragon or god.

Bastards.

Éibhear pulled on a pair of black leggings. Clothes that he’d left behind a decade ago and, to his annoyance, his brothers were right. He’d grown since he last stayed in this room. His hips were still narrow, but his thighs barely fit into the material and he wouldn’t discuss how the bottom of the leggings did not reach to his ankles. They barely covered his calves.

“I need to get new clothes,” he decided, reaching for the things he’d just taken off to have his bath. He loathed putting them back on since they were covered in travel dirt, but at least they didn’t make him look foolish. His kin made him look foolish enough, no need to assist them further with that. But before he could get his hands on the calfskin leggings, there was a knock at his door.

“What?”

The door opened and the wounded male he’d seen earlier in the Great Hall walked in. Éibhear wouldn’t say he recognized the tall boy as someone he knew, but he recognized those black eyes.

The boy looked him over. Smirked. “Uncle Éibhear?”

“Talan.”

“Yeah.” He walked in, closing the door behind him. “Aunt Dagmar said you may need these.” The boy handed him a stack of clothes. “And I see by those leggings . . . she was right.”

Éibhear chuckled, shrugged. “I seem to have outgrown the clothes I left behind.”

“Clearly.”

While Éibhear changed into the clothes—and thank the gods, they actually fit—the boy lifted the fur cape Éibhear had lying across the bed.

“What is this made of?”

“Buffalo. They’re all over the Ice Lands, used for their meat and hides. There’s little the Ice Landers don’t make good use of.”

“What’s it like there?”

“Cold. Very, very cold.”

“Did you hate it there?”

“No.” And realizing that surprised Éibhear. “I wouldn’t like to set up a cave there. Or live there in my later years.” He moved his shoulder around and cringed when he added, “Our scales tend to freeze together. I can’t express to you how unpleasant that can be. Especially when you’re about to go into a fight.”

Finally dressed in clothes that fit and weren’t made of rough animal hide, Éibhear sighed. He’d forgotten what it was like to put his human form in nicer clothes; to sleep in an actual bed, to eat food he hadn’t beaten into submission himself.

“So you’re the infamous Éibhear the Contemptible,” the boy said.

Éibhear faced his nephew. “I am?”

“That’s not your name?”

“That’s my name, didn’t know I was infamous.”

The boy studied him, arms crossed over his chest. For someone so young, he was amazingly confident.

“Would you train with me?” Talan asked.

“If you’d like.”

“I watched you kick the shit out of my uncles and father. That’s what I’d like to learn.”

“That was just brotherly—”

“Abuse?”

“Some might say. But I prefer good-natured—”

“Brawling? Battery? Assault? Destruction?”

Éibhear shrugged. “Depends who you talk to.”

“So no one knows why I’m here?” Izzy asked while she dried off her body.

“You weren’t summoned by any of us, that I know of,” Dagmar said, “but I am glad you’re here.”

“Why?”

“I have concerns.”

Uh-oh.
Dagmar didn’t mention “concerns” unless she was terribly worried.

“Concerns about what?”

Dagmar sighed, looked off. “Oh, where to begin . . .”

Uh-oh
.

They invaded quietly, like the Mì-runach. Slipping into his room while he talked to the boy. First, there was Talan’s twin, Talwyn. A beauty that one, but dangerous. Unbelievably dangerous. Like her mother. But in those green eyes there was none of the love combined with insanity that Éibhear had always seen in Annwyl’s. What kind of leaders would these twins make? Both seemed surprisingly cold, but curious. Like jungle cats that toy with the wounded deer found lying by a tree. They poke with their paws, bite down with their fangs. They test, taste, and wonder . . . is it worth tormenting anymore? Or is it already dead?

But then he met his youngest niece, Rhianwen. She was now called Rhi by everyone and just sixteen winters. She was, in a word, beautiful. Stunning. And he could see why his brothers were so protective of her. Not only because of her beauty—beauty could be found anywhere. It was that wonderful, bright smile; that inherent innocence; and that intense goodness. Her warmth. While her cousins sized Éibhear up like a very large bug they’d found under their beds, Rhi came to him, arms opened wide, tears in her eyes.

“I’m so glad to see you again after all these years, Uncle Éibhear.” She hugged him tight, arms around his waist, head resting against his chest. “You’ve been greatly missed.” She sniffed and leaned her head back to look up at him. “Although no one but my mother and aunts will ever admit that to you.”

He kissed her forehead and hugged her back. “Don’t worry. I already know that.”

“He’ll train us,” Talan told his sister.

“Good. Something new to learn.”

“Later,” Rhi chastised. “At least let him get comfortable before you come at him with your stupid requests.”

“Fine.”

“Whatever.”

Then the twins were gone, quickly, quietly. It was a little more than frightening.

“Don’t let them worry you,” Rhi said, although he hadn’t spoken a word. “They’re not nearly as horrible as everyone thinks they are . . . but they are annoying.”

“Good to know.”

She stepped back, took his hands into hers. “I’ve heard you’re a bit of a reader.”

“More than a bit.”

Rhi grinned. “So am I! Although I love to draw as well. I bet we’re just alike, you and I!”

Uh . . . all right.

Dagmar blew out a breath, smoothed down the front of her unadorned dress. She no longer wore a kerchief over her long hair as she had when she’d first arrived, even though it was custom among the Northland women. Instead she wore her hair in a simple, single braid that reached down her back—something, Izzy was sure, Gwenvael delighted in unbraiding every night. But other than that, she looked no different from the Northlander who’d first arrived with Gwenvael all those years ago. She still wore her simple gray gowns, with fur boots in the winter and leather boots in the summer. And her spectacles. Gods, who could forget those spectacles that Gwenvael spoke of as if they were breathing human beings? As always, they were perched primly on her nose, while those sparkling gray eyes watched Izzy. Calculating. Dagmar always calculated.

“I’m . . . concerned.”

“About Lord Pombray’s son?”

“Oh, gods no.” She rolled her eyes. “That boy and your sister are the least of my worries.”

Izzy dropped to the ground and pulled on socks and her boots. “So it’s the twins then.”

“It’s Talwyn. She’s become . . . close. To the Kyvich. Especially Commander Ásta.”

Izzy shrugged, tugging her boots on and wondering if she should get another pair now that she was home for a bit.

“Well, she’s young. And Ásta is an attractive woman.” She stood and stomped her feet to get the boots perfectly fitted. “I’m sure it’s nothing to be worried about. Some women are just more comfortable with other women. It doesn’t mean she can’t breed with a male when she’s ready to have a child and then she and the other woman can raise the child togeth—”

“No, no.” Dagmar eyed Izzy. “That is
not
what I meant, Iseabail.”

“Oh.” Izzy shrugged. “Then what’s your concern? They were her protectors. Of course Talwyn’s close to them, just as I was close to my protectors.” When Dagmar only stared at her, Izzy said, “You think they want something more?”

“She’s a powerful girl. Her fighting skills . . . and I’ve been told she has untapped Magick about her. Not at the same level as Rhi does, of course, at least she hasn’t shown it in front of any of us. But that Magick is something the Kyvich would be drawn to.” True. The Kyvich were warrior witches who pulled their number mostly from outsiders. But . . . “They only take children, Dagmar. That’s what I was told.”

“And that’s true.” Dagmar adjusted her spectacles. “In the Northlands there are stories of the Kyvich coming in from the Ice Lands and snatching female newborn babes from their mothers’ arms. But, like most, power is what draws them.”

“And Talwyn has power.”

“Much of it.”

“And my sister?”

“She is a Nolwenn witch by blood. The Kyvich barely speak to her.”

“And Talan is male.”

Dagmar smirked. “Very.”

“I see. Like uncle, like nephew?”

“He hasn’t quite racked up the same body count with women as Gwenvael the Handsome, but he’s clearly working on it.”