Page 51 of Miss Bennet's Dragon
“Aye.”
His intonation was familiar. “Are you Scottish?”
“That I am. Been in England a long time. I thought my tongue had lost its brogue.”
“I understand there are Bennets in Scotland.”
“Are you a Bennet, then?”
“I am. Our family has Scottish ancestors.”
“Lang may yer lum reek.”
What on earth? I chose “Quite” as a reply, which works in most circumstances. One grizzled eyebrow rose.
Perhaps I should ask directly. “Where is the Rosings wyvern kept?”
“Well, you don’t so muchkeepa wyvern.”
“No draca house?”
“No ma’am. They do not require a house. They fly.”
“Our family’s drake flies, and he has a house.”
“You have a drake?” Both eyebrows rose. “What have you named him?”
“Named him? I would not name a draca.” This felt like a test. Draca were not pets.
“You think draca don’t have names?”
“If they do, they are not chosen by people.”
He thought about that. “Well, let’s see if she’ll come. It’s a rare day when…” His voice trailed off.
I heard rushing wind and turned as a powerful bronze shape winged to a graceful landing, scattering leaves and sand, and billowing my skirts.
“Good gracious,” I said.
Her body alone was twice the size of any draca I had ever seen, heavy and muscular like the Hursts’ lindworm, but two-legged like our drake. The size of a hunting dog, fifty pounds or more. Her wingspan was only a few feet more thanour drake’s, but her wings were much deeper and heavier, with prominent bones and bands of sinew that flexed under the skin as she tucked them away.
I crouched to be level with her head, and we examined each other. Her neck was stout, not sinuous like our drake’s, and her head larger. Almost like a spaniel, if spaniels had no ears and were clothed in shining bronze scales. She was curious and alert, studying me while I studied her.
And her eyes…
Her eyes were remarkable. Stunning. Every draca I had seen had black eyes, but hers shifted color in the sunlight like a spinning crystal, flickering through purest green and blue and red.
“Incredible,” I breathed.
“Aye. That she is.” The man crouched beside me and clicked his tongue. Loosening her wings for balance, the wyvern took two waddling steps forward. Close enough to touch. “She likes you.”
“She is beautiful.” I touched my fingertips to her neck. The scales were smooth and warm. That was the same as other draca I had touched.
There was a surprised laugh beside me. “You’re a bold one.”
“Me?” I was not sure which of us he meant.
“You, lassie. ’Twas years before I touched a wyvern. Only seen two other women do it, ever.”
