that?”
“No,” she told him, pulling her hand away before he could grasp it. “There are clothes for you—in your room. Evening meal is in another hour. Until then, stay away from the dogs.”
“I will.” He took a step toward her. “This has all been very kind of you, my lady. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Another step. “Perhaps you could come to my room and help me dress.”
She pressed one finger against his chest and the dragon stopped in midstride. “What are you doing?”
His smile was shameless. “What I always do.”
“Well, don’t do it with me.”
“Are you sure? I’m known for my skills.”
“And I’m sure that’s the only skill you possess. But in the Northland, women, including the servant girls, are given proper respect. Do not think because of how their husbands may treat them that anyone, especially an outsider, may do the same.”
“I have no plans to harm you, my lady.”
“I’m sure you don’t. But don’t think because you’re a dragon my brothers will show you any fear. So if you hope for your manhood to stay intact, you’d best watch your step.”
His grin, the absolute beauty of it, lit up the room. “What are you trying to tell me, my lady?”
“I’m telling you to keep your cock in your pants and your hands to yourself.” She walked to the door and pulled it open, a tense Canute jumping to his large feet, ready to defend her honor. “Take it as a friendly warning.”
“Did you just tell me to keep my cock in my pants?”
Dagmar ignored him and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her. She was halfway down the hall when she turned right around and walked back. She knocked, and the dragon opened the door.
“It’s my room you’re in,” she snarled.
His laughter made her jaw clench. “I was wondering when you were going to notice.”
Chapter 8
She had no idea what he was doing, but she was absolutely fascinated.
True, he was ignoring her, but Dagmar had long been used to that sort of treatment. What she wasn’t used to, however, was a man—or in this case a dragon male—ignoring her sisters-in-law. They weren’t all beautiful. Several had features that made Dagmar quite grateful to simply be plain. Yet what they lacked in beauty, they made up for in eagerness. And Kikka—who’d replaced Eymund’s beloved first wife when she was killed during a brazen raid by Jökull several years back—was eager and beautiful.
Yet Kikka’s generously exposed bosom, her perfectly coiffed hair, and the scent she simply drowned herself in didn’t seem to hold the dragon’s attention as well as Eymund’s habit of eating with his fingers.
“So have you been in many battles, Lord Gwenvael?” Kikka asked, making sure to lean over to give him a better view of her chest.
“A few out of necessity. But I’m not much of a swordsman.” He turned in his chair and looked at Eymund. “But you must have quite the way with the sword. So strong.”
Dagmar almost spit out her wine.
Carefully placing her chalice on the table, Dagmar glanced at her other brothers and father. They looked as uncomfortable as Eymund and as…panicked? Yes. It was definitely panic she saw among her kinsmen.
The truth of that did nothing but amaze her. They find out he’s a dragon, and they barely blink an eye. No one said a word or showed a bit of interest when he sat down uninvited at the head table with her father, her four oldest brothers, their wives, and Dagmar.
Yet the idea he may be interested more in them than in one of their women had the lot ready to bolt from the room. The dragon knew it, too. He knew exactly what he was doing and seemed to be enjoying every moment of it.
Her father caught her eye and motioned to the dragon.
She shrugged, unsure of what he wanted. Her father had never offered her to a man except as a wife, and she doubted he’d start now.
But her father scowled harder and she could only guess that he wanted her to distract the dragon’s attention from her brothers.
If she had to be bothered, she might as well make it worth her time.
“So, Lord Gwenvael…What exactly is your connection to Queen Annwyl?”
He gave her a lazy smile while continuing to stare at poor Eymund. “She’s a very good friend of mine.”
“Do you run errands thousands of leagues from your home for all your friends?”
“When they’re Annwyl. It makes sense, though, don’t you think? My kind can fly here in half the time it takes humans to ride across country on horseback.”
“Very true. And yet you say that she’s empowered you to bargain on her behalf. She’s putting a lot of trust in you, especially since an alliance was never discussed in the missive we sent her.”
“But why else would you want to see the queen herself, if not for a discussion on an alliance between the kingdoms? With all those defenses I saw on Reinholdt lands, I can’t help but think perhaps you’re in need of a good alliance.”
“And I can’t help but wonder what it is about Annwyl’s unborn children that makes them such an important target.”
“Don’t you know?”
Holding her chalice between both her hands, Dagmar rested her elbows on the table. “All I know is who wants to cut her babes from her like a festering infection. Why is a question I have been unable to get an answer on.”
He relaxed back in his chair with an air of nonchalance she didn’t buy for one second. “Why should be of no concern to you, but I’m sure there’s some…agreeable arrangement you and I can come to that would work for all involved.”
“You and I? No, no.” Dagmar gave a small, false laugh and placed her chalice back on the table. For a moment, a splendid moment, all he felt from her as they talked was heat and sex. This one loved the game as much as he, but these barbarians held her back. A shame, really. For he wondered what she would really do if given free rein. “I would never handle negotiations of such great importance.”
“What’s this, sister-in-law?” the one who must have bathed in whatever sickening scent she used—Kikka, was it?—cut in. “Are you not the politician of your father’s lands?”
Dagmar didn’t move, her expression never changed, and she did nothing that suggested the woman’s words hit a nerve. But for Gwenvael those cold, grey eyes always gave Lady Dagmar away.
Did these females not know the dangerous animal they played with? Did they really not see it? Or did their jealousy of her make them blind to the risks they took?
Kikka placed one smooth, unmarred hand on his forearm. “You see, Lord Gwenvael, our little Dagmar hopes the rules will change one day and she’ll be reigning warlord over everything you see here. That when our great warriors ride into battle, they’ll be chanting ‘The Beast’ and not ‘The Reinholdt.’”
Ahhh, not blind. Stupid.
The insipid women at the table laughed at Kikka’s joke until Kikka yelled out, pushing her chair back and stumbling away from the table.
Eymund rolled his eyes. “What is wrong now?”
“One of those vicious beasts of hers bit me!”
Dagmar put her hand to her chest. “Oh, Kikka, I’m so sorry.” She glanced under the heavy wood table. “Come here, little one. Come here.” A dog large enough that Gwenvael could ride it back to