Keita cleared her throat. “These were the ones who rescued me from Olgeir.”

“Bullshit.”

“Do you think I’d really protect anyone who had a hand in my kidnapping?”

“It wasn’t them?”

“I assure you, Annwyl, it wasn’t—”

“Annwyl?” Ragnar repeated, suddenly remembering that Keita had said the same name before they’d burst out of the woods. “This is Annwyl?” Ragnar looked the woman over, from her absurdly large feet to the top of her unkempt head. “This? ”

This human who had more muscles than seemed necessary for any royal and watched him and his kin with what he could only term as the mad eyes of a diseased animal.

Keita lifted her hand to silence him, her intense gaze warning him. He noticed that she made no large moves, kept her voice even and controlled.

“Queen Annwyl of the Dark Plains, please allow me to introduce you to Ragnar the Cunning, his brother, Vigholf the Abhorrent, and their cousin Meinhard the Savage. My lords…this is Queen Annwyl, human ruler of these lands and my eldest brother’s mate. Now, before we go any further, just let me say—”

The human held up her hand. “Wait. I’m sorry. Your name is…

Vigholf the Abhorrent? ”

“Annwyl—”

“Why don’t we have names like that in the Southlands?”

“It used to be Vigholf the Vicious,” the Blue decided to add for some unknown reason, “but in the last war it became Vigholf the Abhorrent.”

“Now see, I’m just Annwyl the Bloody. That’s bloody boring is what that is. But Annwyl the Abhorrent? Now that has a lovely ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Annwyl.” Keita pressed her hand to the woman’s forearm. “Lord Ragnar and his kin are here under my and Éibhear’s protection.”

“Really? Even though they kidnapped you…twice? First this one’s father and then him.”

“I already told you, he rescued me from Olgeir. And the gods know we can’t charge him with what his father did. You, Annwyl, should know that better than anyone.”

“So when I’d heard he’d taken you to barter with your mother…?”

“Nothing more than a silly misunderstanding and absolutely no reason for there to be any anger.”

“Silly misunderstanding? Really?” The queen’s grin spread across her face, making her appear even more insane. “Then I guess we can call all this”—she swung the braid in her hand—“a silly misunderstanding as well?

Eh?”

She laughed, kissed Keita on the cheek, and waited until the Blue lowered himself so she could kiss his cheek. “I’m glad you’re both home.

Perhaps you’ll stop my mate from roaring so much these days.” She clicked her tongue against her teeth, and her horse came forward. “Be sure to see the children. Tell Fearghus I’ll be back later.” The human queen tucked Vigholf’s braid into the belt around her waist, slung her sword and shield on her back, and somehow managed to mount a horse that would be too big for many Northland men. “I look forward to seeing you all at dinner.”

With another laugh, she spurred her horse and rode off.

“That’s your human queen?” Ragnar asked again. “ Her? ” Keita shrugged. “She has moods.”

“She took my hair.” Vigholf drove his sword into the ground. “My hair! ”

“My lord.” Keita took Vigholf’s hand and held it between her two smaller ones. “Please forgive her. So much weighs on her, and she only did it for me. I promise to do all I can to make this up to you.” Ragnar knew it took a lot for his brother to say, “It’s not your fault, princess. Think no more of it.” But his strength of will was as strong as any Northlanders’.

“Come.” She tugged at Vigholf. “Let’s get you settled.” She smiled at a wounded Meinhard. “And get you a healer.”

“And what do I get?” Ragnar asked her.

“My patience.”

And her response made him laugh.

“Welcome to Garbhán Isle, my lords,” Keita said to them all. “I can, at the very least, promise you that not a moment will be dull.”

Chapter Seventeen

“Sister!”

Morfyd gritted her teeth. She could do this. She would do this. Not merely because she’d promised Brastias, but because she’d promised herself.

Forcing a smile to her lips, she faced her sister. “Keita.”

“Oh, you look lovely!”

Morfyd instantly scowled. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Her sister scowled in return. “That those plain white robes you wear every day bring out the dark circles under your eyes?”

“Snake.”

“Birthing cow.”

“Keita.”

At the chastising tone coming from behind her sister, Morfyd gave a genuine smile. “Ren!” She kissed the Eastland dragon on both cheeks. “How are you, old friend?”

It was a fact among the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar that sweet Ren of the Chosen Dynasty was much beloved. Even by the likes of Briec, who loved no one but himself, and Bercelak, who loved only their mother.

Ren had come to them nearly a century ago, sent by his family to learn about the Southland dragons while one of their cousins who was on the Dragonwitch’s path had gone east in his stead.