Page 11 of The Queen's Huntsman
The only other choice she had was her Prydein gown, and she knew how much Loc detested it. Therefore, resigned to the lavender dress, she laid it aside to rummage through her remaining treasures, hopeful of finding some of her mother’s Prydein gems.
At the bottom of the chest, she discovered the Minoan earrings—the dangly ones with the golden bees. She also found the silver armband.
As she’d already expected, the crown with the moonstones was gone, but the silver hairpin remained—the long one with the fish knob and sapphire eyes. And much to Gwendolyn’s relief, she also found the lunate pendant, though, of course, without many of its jewels.
Here, too, was her mother’s brooch, the one fashioned in the shape of a fish with an arrow through its gob. Undoubtedly, Estrildis had found little value in these items, with so much patina to mar the sheen. Compared to her shining jewels, these would seem timeworn and unworthy of even the effort to clean them, but all had once belonged to Gwendolyn’s grandmother and she cherished them deeply. Clasping the brooch in her hand, she sat cross-legged on the floor, as she used to do in her bedchamber at home… examining the brooch.
It seemed a lifetime ago that she and Ely had been so carefree, giggling over absurdities.
Back then, Ely had not yet acquired the duties of her lady’s maid, and their relationship was so much less complicated. But who could ever have imagined that, in such short time, so much would change? That Gwendolyn would find herself a prisoner in her husband’s home, subject to the whims of his mother and mistress?
That her father would be dead.
That her beloved Trevena would be occupied by the enemy…
And her mother…
Dead as well?
Much to her regret, she remembered their final moments together… That day on the ramparts, on the night of her wedding, Gwendolyn had been so furious with her. She’d longed so desperately for an embrace, and to have her mother tell her how much she would be missed in their home. Instead, she’d been reprimanded, admonished to smile, then lectured on the differences between a woman and a child… as though Gwendolyn did not know.
Alas, though there was truth in her final lessons, Gwendolyn resented that this should be their final memory—along with that fleeting moment by the yew, when her mother ultimately proclaimed how proud she was of her only daughter.
For so long Gwendolyn had waited to hear that, and now, even those words stabbed at her heart like a shot of yew poison, administering grief and self-loathing every time she remembered her mother’s words… killing her slowly.
“Today you have brought great joy and healing to our people and our lands,” she had said.
But nay, Gwendolyn hadn’t. If aught, she’d been the catalyst to this end.
And Demelza?
More than her own mother, she thought of the maid as her dam. After all, it was Demelza who’d swabbed her fevered face, Demelza who’d mended her knees and her dresses.
It was also Demelza who’d wagged a finger in her face, offering unsolicited advice… always with so much love in her deep, dark eyes.
More tears filled Gwendolyn’s eyes, spilling down her cheeks, only this time, unlike the last time she’d prepared for a special occasion, there was no kohl to be smeared, nor any galena to stain her face. She sighed and then reconsidered Bryn’s words.
Should she take them strictly as spoken, he was only issuing a warning—“behave,” do as Loc expected, or he would kill Ely, and worse, he’d make Bryn strike the blow.
“Remember when last we saw my Uncle?”he’d asked.“Try not to repeat the offense.”
Try as she might, Gwendolyn could still not make sense of the rebuke, and when Ely arrived, unsmiling and reticent, the guards made her keep the door open, preventing Gwendolyn from speaking freely.
“Majesty,” Ely said, with a bow, and her sweet blue eyes, so much like her brother’s, were red-rimmed, as though she’d been weeping.
What did she know?
The question bedeviled her, but Gwendolyn asked gingerly, “Have you spoken to Bryn?”
Ely nodded, and then promptly changed the subject. “I really think you should wear your mother’s gown!”
“Truly?” Gwendolyn asked, screwing up her face, more than a little surprised.
Ely nodded, moving at once to the dowry chest, proceeding to empty it of every piece of her mother’s jewels—the Minoan earrings, the silver armband, the lunate pendant, and then she plucked the brooch out of Gwendolyn’s hands. “Wear them all,” she advised.
But…Gwendolyn blinked, confused. The silver armband would be hidden beneath the sleeve of her tunic. And if she wore her mother’s wedding garb, the brooch would be too difficult to apply through the leather. Only the pendant and earrings would be visible. But when she gave Ely a questioning glance, Ely begged with her eyes, and Gwendolyn capitulated.
“You reallymustbe prepared,” Ely said, and then without another word, she helped Gwendolyn dress, in finality pulling a bright yellow scarf from the belt at her waist, meant to replace Gwendolyn’s soiled scarf. “A gift from the Queen Mother,” she explained, as she wrapped Gwendolyn’s tresses, taking great care to tuck all the shorn ends beneath the cloth, before fastening it with her mother’s brooch.
