This had to be some sort of trick. Some sort of grand trick she thought she could play on him for her own amusement. But her eyes looked so sincere, and her fingers on his face were gentle and so careful.
Gods, was she actually concerned about his welfare? About his health? This had to be progress. Yet, she looked appalled at herself for even asking.
“I’ll be all right. I’ve taken worse hits. Growing up in this family, you learn to deal with surprise attacks.”
She pulled her hand away. “Good. Yes, very good.”
Rhiannon tried to turn away, but he pulled her back around again. “Aren’t you going to greet me?”
“Greet you?”
He nodded and leaned down until his lips hovered over hers. “Anytime I return from defending your throne you should make sure to greet me like this so that the entire court knows you care for me.”
“I don’t care—” But he cut off her denials with a kiss.
Gods, for someone who didn’t spend much time as human, Rhiannon truly knew how to kiss like one. Her warm tongue teased his, her throaty groans slowly destroying his control.
Somehow, he pulled away from her and Rhiannon looked up with absolute frustration. “What now?”
Bercelak pulled the thin silver chain he currently wore around his neck out from under his shirt. He kept the key to Rhiannon’s bondage on it. He unlocked the collar at her throat while she watched him with narrow eyes.
“What is this? What are you up to?”
Taking her hand, he pulled her onto the bed with him. “One of my brothers told me he got word from one of his friends at court . . .” Gods, how did he tell her this? He looked into Rhiannon’s clear blue eyes. They stared at him, waiting. No. There would be no delicate words for his female. She deserved nothing but absolute truth.
“Rumors are flying around court, Rhiannon.”
“Rumors? What kind of rumors?”
“Some are saying your mother wants you dead.”
She shrugged. “I already knew that.”
Rhiannon said it so nonchalantly. Whereas his kin would never believe in a million lifetimes Shalin would ever harm them in anyway, Rhiannon took it for granted her mother would.
“You are handling this much better than I did.” That was actually how he got the black eye. His brother told him the news. He called him a liar. They pushed, they shoved, they yelled, and then the hitting started. It wasn’t until their father, who tolerated no fighting among his offspring, jumped in. With one punch he snapped Bercelak out of his rage, and with one solid backhand across the face, Ailean controlled his younger son.
“What’s there to handle? This is the way of my life. Always has been. My father warned me long ago this time would come. That’s why he made sure I was trained.”
“Trained?”“Aye. Whether human or dragon I can handle sword, mace, dagger, bow, and whip. I also know many forms of hand-to-hand combat.” She smiled and he saw pride light up her eyes. “And I can do things with flame that would amaze even you.”
He wondered if she even realized he still held her hands while they talked. “Amaze even me, eh?”
“Well . . . as a battle-dragon you must have seen many amazing things.”
Rubbing the back of her knuckles with his thumbs, he said, “Nothing as amazing as you, Rhiannon.”
Startled, she cleared her throat and looked away from him. “So what does this change?”
“Maelona knows a witch who may be able to help you now that you have your full powers. Tomorrow we’ll go see her together.”
“I don’t need you babysitting me, Bercelak. I think I can talk to a witch on my own.”
“She’s a very old dragon, Rhiannon, who will no longer shift to human. And I’ll not risk you.” Old dragons could be a bit unstable. Catch them on the wrong day and they would rip the scales from your body without a second’s thought. And what they were known for doing to humans. . . .
Sighing, she nodded. “Fine.”
“We’ll go in the morning.” Bercelak finally released her hands so he could push the fur from her shoulders. “Tonight I have other plans.”
She tried to hide her smile, but she didn’t do a very good job. “And I wonder what plans those could be.”
Chapter 8
“A white dragon, too. Haven’t seen your kind around in a bit.”
Rhiannon sighed heavily, mostly from boredom, as Bercelak stood in front of her, trying to get the old bitch to help them.
Donnfhlaidh, an old brown dragon—I didn’t even know their kind still existed—had been keeping her waiting for nearly half the hour.
“Mistress,” Bercelak tried again with a patience Rhiannon had become well acquainted with, “we truly need your help.”
“She can’t shift back to dragon, can she?”
“No. She can’t.”
“Well, I can’t help her with that.”
“Fine!” Rhiannon’s patience ran out. She stormed around Bercelak. “If you won’t help me, I’ll find someone who will!” she yelled up at her.
The old dragon cackled hysterically. “Gods, Bercelak! Do you know what you’re getting yourself into with this one?”
Rhiannon, uncaring she had no protective scales, growled and moved forward. But something grabbed hold of the back of her gown and she turned to see that the tip of Bercelak’s tail had caught hold of the thick material and held her in place. She glared up at him and he winked.