He barked, and she went low, her foot slamming into his calf. To Meinhard’s shock, he heard bone break, felt something go “pop” in his leg, and he went down hard on one knee.
The pain would be tolerated. The break would heal. But the humiliation—that would not be borne!
Meinhard watched his cousin force the woman back toward him. She was less than a foot away when he swiped his shield at her back. It hit her on the side, sending her flying into a close-by tree. She crashed into the trunk hard, bounced away from it and onto the ground, rolled to her feet, and went at Vigholf once more.
Vigholf swung his blade, but she went up and on his back, her short sword raised high.
“Annwyl, no! ” Princess Keita screamed while Éibhear caught the vile woman and yanked her off Vigholf from behind. At the same time Ragnar caught hold of Vigholf and pulled him back.
Keita stood in the midst of them all, her hands raised. “Everyone calm down!”
“Calm down?” Vigholf demanded. “That crazed bitch attacked us!” Meinhard felt hands on him and looked up into the strange face of the foreign dragon. Without a word said between them, Meinhard allowed Ren to help him to his one good foot.
“My Lord Vigholf,” Keita said soothingly. She turned to face him.
“Please accept my…”
Eyes wide, she stared at Vigholf, and Meinhard quickly followed her gaze, terrified that he was about to see his cousin bleeding to death from a wound they hadn’t noticed. But it was worse than that. Far worse.
Keita covered her mouth with her hand, her brown eyes wide. Unsure what he’d find, Ragnar looked at his brother—and released him.
“Oh.”
“What?” Vigholf asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Uh…uh…”
Poor deformed Vigholf looked down at himself. “What are you all looking at?”
“Perhaps,” said a cold female voice, “they search for this.” Vigholf raised his head as the human female held up the long, single braid of thick purple hair that once belonged to him.
“Sorry about that,” the woman said, grinning. “I was trying for your entire head. But you move much faster than your oxlike size would suggest.”
“Oxlike? ”
“Don’t worry.” She swung the braid back and forth. “This will look amazing in my helm when I ride into battle. Purple’s never been my color, but I think it’ll work just fine.”
“You mad cow! ” Vigholf screamed, and Ragnar caught hold of his shoulders, barely managing to hold his raging brother back. Not that he blamed him.
“Come,” the human laughingly challenged. “Let’s finish this, Lightning.”
Keita moved closer to the woman and slammed her hands against her shoulders. “Stop this right now!”
The woman frowned, staring at Keita. For a moment, Ragnar feared for the royal’s safety until the woman asked, “Keita?” Then she smiled, pushing the Blue’s hands off her waist. “Keita!” The woman dropped her blade—if not the braid—threw her arms around Keita, and hugged her tight.
“Gods! I’m so glad to see you!”
Keita let out a breath, gave a small nod to Ragnar. “And I you, sister.”
“It’s been too long.”
“And what about me? Do I not get a hug?”
The woman spun around and faced the Blue. “Éibhear!” She threw herself at him, wrapping long legs around his waist and arms around his neck. “Oh, Éibhear!”
Laughing, the Blue hugged her back. “That’s the welcome I was hoping for.”
“She mutilated me,” Vigholf said to him. And he wasn’t far off.
Although no Northland male would ever wear his hair as long as the Southlanders did, they still prided themselves on what they did have. Before any major battles, related females or mates would put the Dragonwarrior’s hair into war braids. When the battle or war was over and had been won, another ritual took place where the braids were taken apart and the long single plait was returned. It was a simple, unadorned thing, but meant much to many.
But the truth of it was that they were in dangerous and foreign territory. Retribution for the damage this female had done could not happen.
“Not here, brother. Not now,” Ragnar whispered.
“Then when?”
“Whenever you like, Lightning,” the woman offered, finally crawling off the Blue. “Now, if you so choose.”
Vigholf snarled, but Ragnar held him back with his hands against his shoulders. “Calm down.”
“Don’t hold him back. Unleash him so I can finish what I started and then”—the human female pointed a finger at Ragnar—“I can finish the rest of you.”
“What is wrong with you?” Keita demanded of the human. “Why are you acting like this?”
“You don’t think I know? That I hadn’t heard what they did to you?” Green eyes glared at them from under uncombed hair. “They kidnapped you, Keita. Trying to force a female into what they want. And for that”—the woman bent her head from one side to the other, the sound of bones cracking radiating across the road—“they lose their heads.” She pressed forward, and Ragnar turned so he faced her. Not willing to let anything happen to Vigholf, Ragnar prepared to unleash a spell, but again Keita got between Ragnar and his kin and this crazed human female.
“No! You’re wrong. That’s not what happened.” Keeping her eyes on Ragnar, the human asked, “Then what did happen?”