"Why not?"

Putting one arm around Dagmar, she motioned to Morfyd with the other. "Close your ears, woman, you don't want to hear this."

"G.o.ds help me."

Talaith leaned in close. "As I said, Magdar-"

"It's Dagmar."

"Whatever. You don't want to do this because if he's anything like his brother, you'll be trapped. Caught for eternity."

"And why will that happen?"

"Because he'll f.u.c.k you until your eyes roll into the back of your head and that'll be it! There will be no getting free from that, my dear. You'll be trapped here. In this h.e.l.l."

Dagmar calmly glanced around. "This h.e.l.l?" she asked flatly. "This castle-h.e.l.l with pleasant servants to do your bidding, beautiful rolling hills and forests filled with fresh game, a benevolent queen, fierce dragons bent on protecting you and your daughter, and a gorgeous silver-haired warrior who's madly in love with you? That h.e.l.l?"

"Yes! You understand!"

"Perfectly. And I will keep this in mind if and when I get around to ... uh ... f.u.c.king Gwenvael."

"Just make sure it's what you want. Because once you're in, you're not getting out. And don't let him brand you. You'll be trapped with him forever!"

"Talaith!" Morfyd exclaimed.

"Branding? With actual irons?"

"No! It's not like that," Morfyd argued. "It's called a Claiming. The brand is placed on you by the dragon you love without implements. It's quite mystical and ... romantic."

"It's hardly romantic," Talaith muttered before she perked up and nearly shouted, "But it will make you come!"

Morfyd dropped her head into her hands. "G.o.ds, please stop drinking and talking." She glared at the human witch. "Just pa.s.s out already!"

Dagmar simply had to ask. "Talaith, are you unhappy with Briec?"

"Absolutely not!" She sighed deeply and looked moments from emotional tears. "I love him so much."

"All right then."

Morfyd shook her head when Dagmar glanced at her. "I won't discuss it. I just accept they're my kin and go on about my day."

Patting Morfyd's leg, Dagmar offered what comfort she could, "That's probably for the best."

eibhear handed his brother a pint of ale when Gwenvael stumbled to a stop beside him. He grinned. "d.u.c.h.ess Bantor again?"

"It may appear that she only has two hands, but clearly she has six."

"She's been trying to get you into her bed for over a year."

"Although never acknowledged by the lot of you, I do have standards."

"She's very pretty-huge b.r.e.a.s.t.s-and from what I understand willing to do anything."

"Her hands grip me like claws. It makes me uncomfortable. She makes me uncomfortable."

"And you have your sights set on someone else tonight."

Now Gwenvael grinned. "I do."

eibhear pursed his lips and glanced away.

"What?" Gwenvael sighed. "What was that look for?"

"Nothing."

"Just spit it out, little brother."

eibhear peered at his brother, wondering how to broach the topic tactfully. "It's just ..."

"It's just what?"

"Don't you think Lady Dagmar's just a little ... well ... that she's ..."

"That she's what?"

eibhear decided to be cautiously direct. "A little bit beyond you?"

"Sorry?"

"She reads an awful lot. I talked to her for quite a bit, and she's so knowledgeable. Extremely knowledgeable."

Gwenvael put his hands on his hips. "You think she's too smart for me?"

"Perhaps 'more savvy' is a better phrase."

"You oversized cub!"

"Don't get mad. I'm only suggesting you should aim ... a little ... lower."

"What kind of brother are you?"

"An honest one. Would you prefer I lie to you?"

"Yes!" Gwenvael yelled, slamming the ale back into eibhear's hand. "As a matter of fact, I would prefer that!"

Dagmar was sneaking out the back of the castle when she saw her leaning against some fencing, her head on her folded arms. She approached slowly, cautiously.

"Annwyl?"

The queen's head snapped up. "Oh. Dagmar."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Just needed some fresh air."

She needed bed. There was a light sheen of sweat on her and her hands trembled.

Dagmar heard the soft mutterings all evening from the few human royals who were at the court. Annwyl was not the Annwyl they remembered. Her hair had thinned; her face had lost its l.u.s.ter, becoming drawn and lined. Her arms and legs were much too thin for someone so weighed down with child. Since Dagmar knew nothing of the queen before she'd met her-except for the rumors, of course-she couldn't tell one way or the other. But Dagmar did know when a birth was at risk. She knew the signs well.

"Why don't I get Fearghus to-"

"Please don't." She forced a smile. "It's been so long since he's had some time to himself and he's enjoying his kin-for once."

Dagmar chuckled. "I understand that. I can help you up, though. To your room."

"You don't have to." Yet her eyes were begging for that bit of help.

"You're giving me a reason to get out of there." She went over to Annwyl and slipped one arm around what remained of her waist. Dagmar forced herself not to physically flinch when her fingers felt actual ribs beneath the queen's gown. She took Annwyl's arm with her free hand. "Come on. I think two mere humans can manage this, don't you?"

Annwyl laughed. "I would hope so."

Together they made their plodding way to the back stairs and up them. It wasn't easy and Dagmar wasn't exactly known for her momentous strength, but she handled it better than she could have hoped. Keeping the conversation light with stories of her vapid sisters-in-law, Dagmar helped the queen to get out of her gown and washed up. Then she helped her into bed, smiling when she realized the queen was already asleep before Dagmar was able to cover her with the fur bedding.

She silently slipped out of the room, closing the door, when she heard a woman's voice. "Oh, Gwenvael! I simply adore you!"

Dagmar looked down the hallway and watched as Gwenvael led some big-breasted royal toward his room.

Shaking her head at her own idiocy-Did you really think you had a bolt's chance in h.e.l.l with that?-Dagmar turned and headed back to the stairs and the fresh night air.

Chapter 21.

Gwenvael didn't think he'd ever pry d.u.c.h.ess Bantor off his neck. She clung to him like a vine, the wine she'd been guzzling all evening making her much bolder and harder to get rid of than usual. He finally dumped her off at her room into the arms of a giggling servant girl who liked the way he crossed his eyes when her ladyship drunkenly told him to "take me, Gwenvael. Take me now!"

Chuckling, Gwenvael went down the four flights of stairs to the second floor, walked past his own room, and rounded a corner, walking right into Briec.

"Ho there, Briec! What a delightful a.s.s you're carrying."

"A delightful drunken a.s.s."

"I'm not drunk."

Gwenvael grinned. "The a.s.s speaks."

"Put me down!" the a.s.s demanded. "I can walk on my own."

"As you wish." Briec dropped his package, and Talaith grabbed hold of her mate's arm to prevent her rear from hitting the floor.

"See?" she said, when she'd finally found her balance. "I'm as dry as the desert sands."

And to prove it, Briec pulled his arm away. With nothing to hold on to, Talaith went down like a stone statue Gwenvael once stole.

Talaith glared up at Briec. "b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"I told you, my beautiful Talaith, that I was the dragon for you," Gwenvael reminded her. "But no. You had to go with the arrogant one. Whereas I am always loving and charming and simply wonderful to be around. There isn't an arrogant bone in my beautiful, perfect body."

Briec's eye twitched seconds before he jerked toward his brother, but Gwenvael held up his hands. "Not the face! Not the face! I have plans for this evening and my perfection must remain unmarred."

"You're an idiot."

"Prove it."

Looking down at his brother's mate, "Speaking of which, last I saw you, you were with the cunning"-Gwenvael flashed his teeth at his brother, making Briec laugh-"Lady Dagmar."

"Last I saw her," Talaith said while trying to get herself to her feet, "she was heading outside."

Gwenvael threw up his hands. "I order a woman to be in her room, naked, waiting for me, and she traipses off."

Shaking his head, Briec reached down and grabbed hold of his mate's shoulders, lifting her to her feet. "Next time use the chains. That way they can't get away."

"Good idea. Perhaps I can borrow your set."

Now that she was on her feet, Talaith slammed her hands against Gwenvael's chest. When he didn't fall back, she frowned and hit him again.

"We do not have a set. Borrow Annwyl and Fearghus's like everyone else. And another thing, slag, keep your dirty, dirty, whorish hands off Lady Dagmar. She's nice."

Gwenvael stared down at his hands. "They're not whorish."

"A bit slurry, though," Briec joked.

"And what makes you think I plan to take advantage of Lady Dagmar?"

"She has a p.u.s.s.y, doesn't she?" Talaith sneered.

Gwenvael's laugh rang out through the hallway. "We should keep her drunk every day!"

Briec sighed. "Once a year is quite enough, thank you. But I will say this one is different from the others you've rutted with. She's well read. Well spoken, too. And her thoughts progress in a nice logical order. She actually kept my interest in our conversation for five ... maybe even six minutes before my mind wandered away to something much more interesting."

"Talaith's a.s.s?"

"Rude," Talaith hissed. "Tell him he's rude!"