Page 64 of The Queen's Huntsman
Jago did not meet her gaze. He said quietly, “We did not know we would be presented such an opportunity.” But Taryn’s face remained a mask of fury.
“Opportunity?” she countered furiously, and it was clear to Gwendolyn that she must have tempered her outrage to save it for this moment.
“To free the Queen,” Jago explained.
Taryn’s gaze moved warily to Gwendolyn, but that didn’t prevent her from speaking her mind. “Yet you attended the feast for that very purpose. What did you believe would come of it?” Jago said nothing, merely shook his head, and Taryn continued. “It would have been far wiser to call for an evacuationbeforeyou left, notafteryou returned, when it was already too late.”
In the answering silence, tensions mounted.
“And regardless, Jago, what I am most furious over is that you sent my aging father to defend our queen—the eldest of our warriors. You should have gone in his stead!”
“We believed—because she gave us her word—no harm would befall our village, and as for your father, he’s the one who volunteered. Would you have me disrespect the man by questioning his competence? Your father wielded a sword before I learned not to piss down my own legs.”
“But that is the point,” argued Taryn.
“Now is not the time for quarrels,” interjected Esme, who, till now, had remained silent, only listening.
They’d happened upon the small party in the woods as Esme and Málik were scouting the area, concerned about Catuvellauni. The three had arrived bloodied, battered, and glum. Clearly, Taryn blamed Jago for this travesty, but it was not his fault.
“I must take full responsibility,” Gwendolyn interjected. “I sent Jago with Adwen to secure your village, believing myself capable of fighting beside your father.”
There was more to it, of course, but she didn’t wish to say that she’d also sent Bryn away to keep Ely safe, knowing that Loc and his men would pursue her with Beryan. She swallowed her guilt, remembering the scarf she’d dropped to lure their pursuers away from the others.
Gods knew she’d embarked upon a suicide mission, and she felt as though Beryan had known this as well, that he’d wittingly made this decision. Like Jago, she would never have disrespected the man by questioning his competence. She had understood even then that, no matter how well the rescue party could fight together, they could not have defeated Loc’s party. Beryan must have known this, too, and it was Gwendolyn’s decision to support him.
Whatever she believed, Taryn did not argue. She said nothing, but averted her gaze, peering again at the litter and the figure lying so still upon it, his face bloodless, even against the warm glow of the firelight. “I thought he had ridden to the Iceni,” Gwendolyn said.
“He did,” said Jago. “On the way, he was captured.”
Gwendolyn’s brow furrowed. “So, how did he end in Durotriges?”
It was Taryn who spoke now. “He arrived with two Catuvellauni warriors. So I’m told… they did not trust him, and they came to speak with Adwen. Regrettably for them, they arrived as the battle engaged. Bryn rushed in to save me from a beheading but fell to the same axe.”
A sting of tears pricked at Gwendolyn’s eyes. That was so like Bryn—ever ready to fight for what was right.
“Without his intervention, I’d not be here to tell this tale.”
A sudden rush of fear squeezed Gwendolyn’s heart. “What of his sister?”
Jago shook his head. “The lady did not return with him, Majesty. But there was no time to speak of it before he fell, so we do not know what became of her. We only know what we know because Wihtred told us before he succumbed to his wounds.”
“Wihtred?”
“Caradoc’s son. He fell, too.”
Gods.The Catuvellauni chieftain’s son. This, too, boded ill.
Taryn added, “Bryn was unrestrained when he arrived with them, and he seemed to come of his own free will, fully armed, so I must believe they are merely detaining her.”
Poor Ely. How much more was she bound to suffer?
“What of Adwen?” Gwendolyn dared to ask.
“Dead, Majesty.” Jago turned his head, the apple in his throat bobbing. “He, too, fell in battle. I… I made certain… before leaving him.” He shook his head. “He… was gone.”
Gwendolyn swallowed. “Dead,” she whispered. But that did not seem possible.
She blinked away the sting of tears, scarcely able to understand how far they had fallen from grace. Adwen had been so young… she had liked him so very much. His death simply wasn’t fair, and it was so inconceivable that she must now bear the responsibility of yet another death, one more person she cared for so deeply. “What of Durotriges?”
