Page 16 of The Queen's Huntsman
“For now, it appears we’ve escaped them,” said Adwen, leaning forward to pat a hand against his horse’s withers, calming the black beast as it struggled for breath. “There’s no telling how long we have.”
Gwendolyn drew up beside him, her heart pounding as she waited for the others. “He is vain enough that he’ll linger to repair himself,” she reassured. “We’ve at least that much time to gain some advantage.”
She knew the cretin well enough to know that his first concern would be himself, always. As little as he thought of her, he’d never suspect her childish ruse, and she knew that, even if someone else noticed Adwen’s absence from the hall, no one would wish to face him in his state of pique.
She also suspected Innogen had put the notion of a knob gobbling into her son’s head for a good reason—to explain his prolonged absence from the hall.
“But, no doubt, as soon as his vanity is appeased,” Gwendolyn continued, “he’ll return to the hall. He was quite pleased with the prospect of your bending the knee,” she apprised Adwen. “Eventually, he’ll note your absence and, make no mistake, he will ride against Durotriges.”
Adwen’s eyes were darker for the woodland shadows. “Nay. He will not,” he said with certainty, and Gwendolyn allowed herself to be distracted, noting how the years had treated this man. He had grown to be quite handsome and virile—well formed, with a well-chiseled face—but with circles beneath his eyes that betrayed the burden of his leadership. Moreover, the easy smile she remembered was displaced by a frown.
“If we travel together, his men will overtake us,” suggested Bryn, arriving, but he did not look at Gwendolyn. Neither did Ely. She sidled over to the other side of Bryn, fidgeting on her horse, nibbling nervously at a thumbnail, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“Has he hounds?” asked the younger guard.
Bryn nodded. “He does. But those poor beasts have not been fed properly since Brutus died. All but one or two will tire quickly.”
“He will drive them to death,” assured Gwendolyn. “Once he sets them loose, he will not stop until they are dead, or we are found.”
“That pinched-nosed bastard!” said the elder guard. “Did you see his face when the Queen soiled his tunic?”
The other guard barked with laughter, and Adwen chuckled, too, finding humor in the ordeal despite the circumstances. “Good show at the banquet, Gwendolyn,” he said, with a nod of approval. “I feared you’d grown too old or too soft to employ such a ruse.” He gave her a familiar wink. “I’m glad you remembered.”
Bryn’s frown was firmly etched upon his handsome face. “We haven’t time to waste,” he interjected, his black hair shining against the dark night. He cast an anxious glance over his shoulder in the direction they’d come, and then at his sister, reaching over to tap her arm, drawing her fingers away from her mouth. Gwendolyn’s heart ached—not only for the worry he must be feeling for his little sister, but because she feared she had forever alienated her two dearest friends. He’d risked much to help her in this escape, but he didn’t have to like her to perform his duty to her. At the moment, his demeanor was cold and removed in keeping with his manner earlier this day.
“Whatever we decide, one of us must return to Durotriges to be certain we are prepared,” the elder guard suggested.
To this, Adwen nodded, his gaze returning to Gwendolyn, giving her deference. “The decision must be yours, Majesty. How will you have us proceed? Do you wish us to travel together? Or should we separate?”
Intensely aware that all eyes had turned to her… except Bryn’s, Gwendolyn fidgeted under so much scrutiny, fiddling with her reins.
She wasnotthe one who made such decisions, and she didn’t know how to respond. If they separated, wouldn’t they lose whatever strength they had in numbers? And if she sent someone in the wrong direction, she would bear the burden of their fate.
Indecision paralyzed her tongue.
Adwen seemed to understand. His gaze softened. “I could send Beryan to Durotriges with Jago and remain with you, if you’d like?”
“Nay,” argued the elder guard. “You will be needed. There will be much unrest when they are told what has transpired and they’ll not listen to any but you.”
Unlike Trevena, Durotriges was not a walled city. Nor did Adwen keep a large army. His men had served her father, and those warriors had most likely resided in Trevena, training with the Mester at Arms. Until Loc’s treachery, no one would have dared attack one of the King’s villages for fear that her father would strike to defend. The last true raid on any of Cornwall’s villages was the one that took Adwen’s father. But no matter what Adwen claimed, Gwendolyn knew Loc would seek revenge. He would presume accurately Adwen was the one who took her, and if he did not catch her, he would send his men to Durotriges. Those people were in peril. “I agree,” said Gwendolyn. “Adwen, you return to your people. They need you now more than ever.”
“As you wish,” he said, giving her another wink that brought a hot blush to her cheeks. “Beryan, ride with our Queen.”
“What of my sister?” asked Bryn, a note of trepidation catching in his voice. “I do not wish her to be anywhere near Durotriges.”
Adwen turned to face Ely. “How well do you ride, niece?”
Looking as frightened as she ever had, Ely shook her head. “Not well,” she confessed, and this was true. She could not ride the way she danced.
“Very well,” said Adwen. “If we are agreed, Bryn should escort Ely to some safer location—far from Durotriges… and… far from our Queen.”
He turned to give her that familiar winsome smile, and Gwendolyn had the most undeniable urge to fling herself into his arms and weep. Right now, he appeared to be her one true friend.
Awaiting Gwendolyn’s agreement, the mood between the warriors grew tense now, their eyes skittering from face to face. Gwendolyn had the sudden sense they were keeping something from her, but there was no time to press. “I agree,” she said.
At long last, Bryn met her gaze, with a hint of gratitude apparent in the shimmering blue of his eyes. “Thank you,” he said.
No more needed to be said.
