not back to five, are we?”
“No. One legion, for my father. As you promised.”
“Then I don’t understand—”
“I know who can help you, who can give you the information.”
“All right.”
“All you need to do…is take me with you.”
Gwenvael stared at her a long moment, her back straight, her eyes looking intently at him through those bits of glass. “You want to run away with me?”
It hadn’t been the first time a woman had asked him, begged him even, to take her away from her life. But Dagmar only laughed. “By all reason! Of course I’m not asking to run away with you!”
“Then what are you asking me for?”
“The one who can give us the information is no more than a day’s ride from here. Even less if we’re flying. I go with you and help you get this information, and before you say it, you will need me to help you get this information. Then you bring me back.” She snapped her fingers. “Even better you can take me to Gestur’s.”
“Who the hell is Gestur?”
“He’s my uncle. Loyal to my father.”
“And why would you want to go there?”
“I have my reasons. Besides, he’s planning to come out here anyway in another month or so. I could return with him. It would be my own little holiday away.”
“Before you start enjoying your holiday, your father will never let you go. All that Northman Code to contend with.”
“My father barely remembers my name. He refers to me as girl or little miss.”
“I thought those were terms of endearment.”
“Does he look endearing to you? But if you insist, it can be part of the deal that includes the legion and supplies—”
“What supplies?”
“The supplies you promised.”
“I never promised you any supplies.”
“You meant to.”
“I did not.” She was enjoying this entirely too much! He could see it by the little smirk on her face. She knew he needed the information on those bloody tunnels and she had no problem extorting him over it.
The world should be glad she hadn’t been born a man. She’d be emperor by now.
“I’m not doing this.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re up to something.”
“A few hours of freedom are all I ask, Lord Gwenvael. Is that really too much?”
Damn her.
“You swear you’ll really help me.”
“On my life as a Reinholdt, anything I can do to help your queen, I will.”
“Fine.” He lowered his head, took several breaths, and when he looked at her again, he saw her through tears.
She reared back a bit. “What are you doing?”
Gwenvael didn’t have time to warn her before her father came storming in, the simple fact the warlord hadn’t bathed in at least two days giving him away to Gwenvael’s poor nostrils. “What the hell’s going on?” Sigmar demanded, a pint in his hand.
Sniffing dramatically, Gwenvael gazed across the desk at Dagmar. Without even a twitch, she immediately stood and walked to her father’s side. “Give us a moment, won’t you, Lord Gwenvael?”
“Of course,” he choked out, impressing even himself by the little added sob at the end.
Dagmar took her father out into the hallway again. She wanted to jump up and down and clap her hands, but that would definitely work against her. Instead she said, “Sorry about that. He’s very upset.”
“By all the war gods—what did you say to him?”
“It’s not what I said, Father, but what I couldn’t. I know there’s more information from Brother Petur. You remember him, yes?” Good gods, why did she pull that man’s name out of her ass?
Perhaps because her father didn’t find Petur remotely threatening. He belonged to an order that preached tolerance over war. Unlike Brother Ragnar’s Order of the Warhammer or her other favorite, Order of the Burning Sword.
“Can’t you show him on a map how to get to that idiot’s convent?”
“It’s not a convent, Father; that’s for women.” And how many times had she wished he’d sent her to one? “It’s a monastery. And I gave him the directions there, but he wants me to go with him.”
“Not in my life, girl. I’m not letting you out of here with that…that…weeper.”
“Come now, why not? Surely you’re not worried about my chastity.” She laughed, even as delicious visions of dessert cream and a liberty-taking dragon tail swam into her head.
“What do you mean ‘why not?’ He can’t protect you. He’ll be too busy sobbing like a bloody girl while you’re captured by some other warlord!”
“Keep your voice down! And his size alone will protect me.” Her father grunted, which gave her hope she could convince him. “How about we do this? I go with him today, which will take a few hours, and then he can take me to Gestur’s. He’s barely two hours on foot from that monastery. I can bring the messages that you have for him and be back on safe Reinholdt ground before nightfall.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed. “You seem to have it all worked out.”
She shrugged. “It’s been ages since the cousins have been here. And Gestur can bring me back next month when he travels here.”
“Next month?” Her father looked at her strangely and she had no idea what his expression meant. “I don’t like it. And you still ain’t given me much of a reason to send you.”
“A legion.”
“What?”
“As I told you, he wants to protect Annwyl the Bloody. He’s promised us a legion of her troops.”
“And you believe him?”
“I do. That’s fifty-two-hundred men, Father.”
“Southlanders,” he sneered.
“Human targets, I say. Keep Jökull busy until you can tear the skin from his bones.”
A rare smile crossed her father’s face. “Like your mother sometimes, you are. You’ve got a vengeful streak.” Her father’s compliments were rare and strange, but she took them eagerly nonetheless.
“I do. And if helping the weeper gets us what we need…It’s a small price to pay. For once, Father, please trust me.”
“I always trust you’re up to something, little miss.” But he was no longer fighting her and they both knew it. “But you’re sure, though? About being alone with him? You sure you’ll be safe with him—he’s still a male and I seen how your sisters-in-law have been watching him.”
She eased the door open a bit, and her father looked in to see Gwenvael blowing his nose into a cloth and continuing to make choking noises. Dagmar raised her brow. “Unless I suddenly turn into Eymund…I’m relatively certain I’ll be just fine.”
Chapter 10
“My lady? My lady, please wake up.”
Morfyd opened her eyes. “What is it, Taffia?”
“You’d best