Page 13 of The Cornish Princess
“Who could have guessed.”
Gwendolyn grinned. “Let us swim instead.”
Bryn scowled. Neither was he tempted to dismount. He twisted his lips, peering back through the woods as though he considered leaving. “’Tis unwise,” he said finally.
“Why?”
“Because your mother will think it unseemly.”
“Gods! We’ve swum together a thousand times.”
“Everything is different now.”
Gwendolyn twisted her face. “Since when?”
“Since your betrothed is due to arrive at any moment,” he reminded, and Gwendolyn’s brows collided. She straightened her shoulders, unwilling to be led astray.
“He does not come till the morrow,” she argued.
“And still…”
“Well,Iam going for a swim,” she said, turning her back to Bryn, and collecting her mare’s reins. “You may remain here.”
After today, everything would, indeed, be different, and that was all the more reason she must do what she needed to do. Come tomorrow, Prince Locrinus would be here, andifhe liked her, they would be bound. After their ceremony,allher decisions would be made with him in mind. But right now, Gwendolyn was still Gwendolyn.
Unbound. Unwed. Uncowed.
ChapterFour
Gwendolyn made her way down the familiar path toward Porth Pool, her mood lifting even as she went.
A swim would clear her head, and that could only aid her mother’s cause, improving her temperament, and perhaps it would even give her a more healthful glow.
Who could object to such things?
Some people claimed that beauty itself was a gift of the spring, and if that was true, then for the sake of the realm, she could use all the help she could get.
Although, in truth, Gwendolyn didn’t know what other people saw when they looked upon her, the most obvious consequence of her “gift” was this: Depending on how they viewed her, people treated her differently. If she feared anything at all, it was the possibility of spending the rest of her life with a man who did not, or could not, love her, because of her face. She prayed that when Prince Locrinus finally looked upon her, he wouldn’t see what her mother saw.
Tomorrow she would know for sure.
The thought sent a rush of starlings aflight, this one straight from her heart.
For obvious reasons, she knew Bryn would relent, but she didn’t feel too terrible about that, because as reluctant as he was to cross her mother, he also relished a good swim.
He worked too hard, she reasoned, never thinking of himself. If it weren’t for Gwendolyn, he might never rest, and therefore, she was doing him a favor—at least that’s what she told herself as she skipped along, eager as well to immerse herself in the warm, healing waters.
Porth Pool wasn’t as big as Dozmaré, where the Lady dwelt, but this pool was the last of its kind. As near as it was, few ever ventured here until the bloodroot and trilliums bloomed because the Winter woods were inhospitable and Jakk Frost was a tricksyfaewho guarded these woodlands jealously until long after Spring’s first melt. Too many luckless fellows had been discovered hereabouts, bones wrapped in threadbare cloaks, curled up by long-dead fires.
Doubtless, most of these men had been searching for Porth Pool, for its restorative powers, because even during the midst of Winter, its waters remained warm and its ability to heal was strong. Even during midwinter, folks were driven to locate it, but the mists surrounding it could make men lose their way, and some said it was possible to lose their way completely and cross the Veil. Certainly, if thepiskieshad their way, luring men with their foolish fire, no man would ever find the pool. And yet, once upon a time, these pools had been plentiful throughout Cornwall. Now, there were only a handful remaining.
Whereas the rest of the forest was still waking from its long slumber, because of the temperate clime and warm steam, Porth Pool was always lush. Like an oasis, it lay hidden in a glen filled with oak, rowan, and hawthorn trees, all sacred to the gods. About two years ago, all the trees began to form disease—nowhere else in the woods save here. The oaks formed leaf blisters; the rowans ceased to give fruit; and the hawthorns became spotted.
Alas, theGwyddonstried everything in their power to restore them, but ’twas said the land was attuned to the spirit of the age, and theysbryd y bydwas suffering.
Much to the dismay of theAwenydds, and particularly over these past few years, people coveted things shiny and new, turning their hearts and minds from the Old Ways.
At one point, theGwyddonsmight have been among those whose minds were turned toward progress, but they were foremost men of spirit, and so now the scientists worked closely with theAwenyddsto see if together they could make a difference. If, alone, they could not manage, they must call upon the Druids, whosemagikwas ancient, but dangerous.
