Strange. She’d always thought he kind of liked her. Not seriously, but enough to fuck a time or two. She wasn’t asking for a lifetime mating. She had no doubts she’d find her mate one day, but she was sure it would be another warrior like her. Loyal to the army and the troops. Another captain perhaps. Or even a general. That would be nice.

But until that happened—and she knew it was a long way off—she still had “needs” as her mother liked to call it when her youngest daughter had volunteered for Her Majesty’s Army.

“You’ll have needs,” Ghleanna had said, picking a quiet time when everyone, even Brannie’s father, was out somewhere else. “And there’s no shame in that. You just have to be careful who you choose. Don’t be like your grandfather or cousin Gwenvael and choose whatever piece of ass crosses your path. Pick someone kind, who won’t call you a beauty to your face and a whore behind your back.”

It seemed a strange conversation with her mum. Especially when Brannie found out Ghleanna’s conversation with Celyn was “Treat females like trash, and I’ll hunt you down and cut your prick off. Understand?”

But as Brannie advanced through the ranks, she’d kept her mother’s words in mind and found she was right. Those she’d chosen to share her bedroll with had been fun, nice, and discreet. Only one had decided to get drunk in a pub and expound on what a “great lay” Brannie was. Too bad for him, her cousin Éibhear had been standing behind him. It was before he’d become Mì-runach but he was already becoming known for his temper.

But you know . . . some dragons don’t need their wings. Or tail. Or right front claw.

Rhona walked up to Brannie, pulling her out of her thoughts. “I have something special for you, cousin.”

Brannie sat up straight and didn’t bother to hide her grin. “A halberd? To replace the one I lost.”

Rhona held out her hand and Brannie stared at it. “Oh . . . how nice,” she lied. “A stick.”

Rhona glared at her. “It’s not a stick.”

“Really? Because it looks like a stick.” The glare became worse, so Brannie took the metal stick from her cousin and held it under her cousin’s nose and demanded. “What do you see, Rhona? Because all I see is a bloody stick!”

“Perhaps,” Aidan decided to interject, “it’s a stick that turns into an actual weapon with a thought. I believe you have a spear like that, Rhona. Yes?”

“It’s a spear?”

Rhona grinned. “It’s whatever you want.”

“Gold?”

Her cousin’s glare instantly returned.

“Bread?” Brannie tried again. Of course, now she was just being an ass. “Wine!”

“No, ya irritating cow!” Rhona let out a frustrated breath. She used to make that same sound whenever she had to train Brannie and Izzy back in those early days. When they were just privates with dreams of being more. It was, as Rhona had told them more than once at the time, one of her least favorite things to do in the “universe.”