Aidan stopped crushing ogres to ask, “Take Izzy the Dangerous?”
“We’re four dragons. She’s one human female. How much trouble can she be?”
Aidan smirked at Éibhear. “You’re a much better storyteller than I.”
Éibhear looked at Caswyn. “When Izzy was seventeen, she—with the slight help of her mother—killed Olgeir of the Olgeirsson Horde. When she was nineteen she fought against the Kyvich witches and lived to tell about it. When she was twenty-and-five, she survived in the Sovereign fighting pits and buried a dragon’s axe into the back of Overlord Thracius, one time ruler of the Irons.”
Caswyn blinked. “Oh.”
“And she’s been marked by Rhydderch Hael himself as his champion.”
“All right then.”
“So, just a thought,” Aidan added. “You may not want to piss her off.”
“You mean like Éibhear does?” Uther asked.
Insulted, Éibhear snapped, “I’m trying to be helpful.” And it only pissed him off more when they all laughed at him.
“Oy!” a voice yelled up at them and they all looked at the human female standing beneath them. She stood tall, a blade in each hand, and covered in ogre’s blood. She showed no fear—Dragonfear or otherwise—of standing before four giant dragons who could easily crush her. And, Uther had to admit, he could see what Éibhear found so intriguing about her. Although there was always something about a female with a sword, wasn’t there . . . ?
“We leave in the morning, when the suns rise,” she told them.
“Well—” Éibhear began.
“Shut up.” Izzy pointed one of her swords at him. “I’m not talking to you.”
“Again?”
“You are a true idiot, Éibhear the Blue,” she snarled and walked off.
“You really have a way with the females,” Aidan told Éibhear.
And the blue dragon smiled. “They do like me.”
Chapter 8
As Izzy had ordered, they left the next morning before the suns were even up. But she’d refused to fly when Éibhear refused to carry her horse and her dog. He knew better than to ask the others to carry the two animals. Dragons were not beasts of burden and Izzy, of all humans, knew this.
Brannie, however, managed to find the four Mì-runach horses that were not only strong enough to carry the weight of a dragon male in human form, but also willing to carry a dragon at all.
They traveled for hours until midday, when they stopped in a wooded area for a quick meal. While they pulled out dried meat from their travel packs, Izzy walked off with that monstrosity she had the nerve to call a dog. That thing had run by Izzy’s side all morning and didn’t even appear winded.
And no one thinks that’s strange?
Since they had some time, Éibhear followed Izzy, tracking her down by a freshwater stream. Her dog was busy splashing around, trying to grab the fish, while she crouched beside it taking in palms-full of water.
“Sure he’s not a bear?” Éibhear asked loudly, not wanting to sneak up on her. He was tired of getting things thrown at him. . . . How did Gwenvael put up with that sort of thing constantly?
“He’s a dog,” she replied, shaking off her wet hands. “I promise.”
Éibhear crouched down beside her and she sighed.
“What do you want, Éibhear?”
He let out a breath and plunged forward. “To apologize.”
“For killing the ogre leader? One of my troops? Or for not taking ‘no’ for an answer?”
“Uh . . . I didn’t know I had to apologize for any of that.”
“You didn’t . . .” She shook her head and stood. “Forget it. Just forget it.”
Éibhear caught her hand. “Don’t go.”
“Why should I stay?” She snatched her hand away. “I don’t even know what the mighty hells you’re apologizing for, and to be honest, I’m not sure I’m in the mood to find out.”
Éibhear stood. “I’m sorry, Izzy. I’m sorry for everything.”
“Even that time you yelled at me in front of my mother about that dagger I borrowed from you?”
“Borrowed? You stole that damn . . .” Éibhear stopped. He would not let her goad him into one of these ridiculous arguments they’d been having since they’d met. “Izzy—”
“Or that time you told my father that Gwenvael was taking me flying behind his back.”
“Your mother made it clear she didn’t want you flying.”
“Or that other time you—”
“All right!” Éibhear blew out a breath. “Gods, woman! I’m trying to apologize.”
“Yes. For everything. Perhaps,” she suggested, “if you narrowed the scope of your all-important apology.”
“Fine. I’m sorry about what happened between you, me, and Celyn.”
“Which was what exactly?”
“Now you’re just tormenting me.”
“You mean like you did after you found out I’d been sleeping with Celyn so you beat him bloody just before calling me a whore in front of your kin?”
“Yes,” Éibhear reluctantly admitted. “Like that.”
“Do you know because of what you did there are still at least three of your aunts who call me the whore who got between cousins?”
Éibhear stared down at her. “You expect me to believe you allow any of my aunts to keep calling you a whore?”
She shrugged. “Perhaps after a few knife fights at family dinners, they no longer say the words . . . but they’re thinking it. And then you,” she snarled. “After ten years you simply have to apologize? You have to dredge up the past?”
“As a matter of fact, Iseabail, I did apologize earlier.”
“Oh, really? Was I there at the time of this apology? Because I don’t remember it.”
“I apologized in a letter. But my comrades, Aidan and the others, they burned it.”
“A letter? You apologized to me in a letter?”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“And when was this letter not sent?”
“Five years or so ago.”
“I see.”
“Look, Izzy, I know you don’t believe me. But I am sorry about what happened. I really am.”
She studied him for a long moment and he waited for what had decidedly become an acid tongue over the years. But then Izzy smiled, patted his shoulder, and said, “And I accept your apology, Éibhear. And thank you for it. It was very kind.”
And with that . . . she walked off.
Éibhear watched her for a moment. “Wait.”
She stopped, faced him. “Aye?”
“That’s it then? You forgive me?”
“Of course I do. Why would I cling to the past?”
“I’m not saying you should. It’s just . . .”
“Just what?” She walked back to his side. “It’s over, Éibhear. You’ve apologized. That’s all that matters. Besides, I wouldn’t hold that against you as I would never expect you to hold such things against me. We were young . . . foolish. It’s the past; let’s leave it there.” Concern showed on her brow. “But you should know that Brannie tells me Celyn may be coming to Garbhán Isle in the next few days. I hope you two will make up as well if you haven’t already. He’s your cousin and family is all, Éibhear. Never forget that.” She turned and headed back to the others. “I’m so glad we’re all done with that.” She spun on her heel, facing him as she walked backward. “Although I wish I could have read your letter. I’m sure it was beautiful.”
Then Iseabail was gone and Éibhear was left with nothing but what even he’d call his own paranoid thoughts and a mass of wet fur and muscle that was flying at his head and knocking him out completely.
“What did you do?” Izzy asked her dog while she worked so very hard not to laugh. And gods, did she want to laugh.
But in answer, all Macsen did was roll to his back, paws up in the air, overly long tongue hanging out of his mouth. That was not a pretty sight, but she loved it just the same.
Izzy returned to Éibhear’s side, crouching next to him. She leaned over and looked into his face. “Éibhear?” She tapped his shoulder. “Éibhear?” She cringed and glanced back at his dog. “He won’t be happy with you, Lord Sneak-Attack.”
She brushed the hair off Éibhear’s face and studied his forehead. He had a bit of a knot there, from when he’d hit the ground, but she doubted there was any real damage done. According to her mother, the males in Éibhear’s bloodline had notoriously hard heads.
Resting her arm on her knee, Izzy pointed out, “At least you’re still devastatingly handsome, you letter-sending bastard.” She shook her head and looked at Macsen, who was now right next to her. “A letter? What am I? His granny?”
Macsen leaned over Éibhear’s head, drool pouring on the dragon’s face.
Many of Izzy’s troops had asked her why she’d kept the dog around. He smelled, he drooled, he ate things he really shouldn’t; plus he snarled and snapped for no obvious reason, and had bitten off a hand or two because those particular hands had gotten too close to his food bowl or a rotting carcass he’d dragged back to camp. But Izzy always rewarded loyalty and Macsen was loyal. Blindingly so.
Éibhear coughed and grimaced, his hands wiping at his now wet face. He lifted his head, silver eyes narrowing on Macsen, then her. “I hate that dog.”
Izzy, trying to comb her fingers through Macsen’s always-matted hair, laughed. “The feeling is mutual, I think. But don’t worry, he’ll get used to you now that we are friends again, you and I.”
The dragon sat up, growling low at her words, but Macsen backed up a bit and growled in return, fangs bared.
When she saw Éibhear’s brow lower, she quickly warned, “One flame touches this dog and you will be sorry.”
“Then get control of it.”
She laughed and stood. “Yeah. Right.”
Still laughing, Izzy returned to the others.
Éibhear watched Izzy walk off—laughing.
What in the holy hells was going on with her? He didn’t believe for a second she’d meant any of that forgiveness she’d so gallantly laid at his feet. Not the Izzy he remembered. Was she merely trying to placate him? Why? She wasn’t known for placating anyone except maybe his . . .
His brothers.
Disgusted at the thought, Éibhear got to his feet and used the bottom of his fur cape to wipe the dog drool from his poor, defenseless face.
Izzy always placated his brothers, especially Briec and Fearghus. And then, of course, there was his father, Bercelak. Izzy was the reigning queen when it came to placating his father. But Éibhear wasn’t his father, nor his brothers. He didn’t want to hear what Izzy thought he wanted to hear. He wanted the truth. He wanted . . . well, it didn’t matter. He just knew he didn’t want this . . . this centaur shit of platitudes.